The Grub-And-Stakers Quilt a Bee by Charlotte MacLeod, Alisa Craig

don’t bother trying to explain. I want to hear the rest about Perry and Fred.”
    “Well,” Dittany went on, “the mooching continued for some unspecified length of time. Then Mrs. Fairfield, who also makes me think of buzzards over the buttes, vowed she’d put a stop to it.
    Fred got into a really bad scrape and nicked Perry for five thousand dollars to bail him out. Mrs. Fairfield couldn’t stop her husband from forking out, but she did make Fred sign a note for the money. Thereupon, he vanished into the sunset and never resurfaced again until this morning, by which time the statute of limitations for getting her cash back must have run out.”
    “Maybe that’s why she was so miffed with him.”
    “I suppose so, but it does seem to me that if I happened to bump into an old pal of my husband’s on the eve of his funeral, I’d want to bury the hatchet for auld lang syne. I mean, wouldn’t you think having Fred Churtle show up would recall those halcyon days when Perry and Vangie were still lovestruck young kids? Not that I can visualize Mrs. Fairfield as a blushing bride, but there it is.”
    “There what is?” demanded Arethusa, licking mustard off her fingers. “Tea and cookies, perchance?”
    Thus reminded of her duties as hostess, Dittany got up to clear away the plates and fetch dessert. Osbert sprang to help her. They happened to meet in the pantry by the cookie crock, so it was some time before they got back to the table where Arethusa sat gathering her brows like gathering storm, nursing her wrath to keep it warm, as Sergeant Mac Vicar would indubitably have observed, given the opportunity.
    “Does Sergeant Mac Vicar know about Churtle?” Osbert wondered, perhaps catching that same hint from his aunt’s by now well-gathered brows.
    “Need you ask?” said Dittany. “He came along right after Churtle left and give Mrs. Fairfield the third degree. She’d offended his sense of decorum by going to work instead of staying at Minerva’s nursing her tear-tortured eyeballs. She offended mine, too, though I know it’s mean to say so. I think she was bending over backward not to be a burden on anybody, for fear we’d get fed up and give her the heave-ho.”
    “Meseems she was taking a great leap forward to let us know she intended to intimidate us into keeping her,” Arethusa retorted less charitably. “That reminds me, I must alert Minerva to invite the rest of the board to tea.”
    “Arethusa,” cried Dittany. “Do you mean you made up all that about Mrs. Pennyfeather and the shrimps on toast and whatnot?
    How could you?”
    “Silly question. I always can. However, there was a modicum of truth to my remarks. I’d seen Mrs. Pennyfeather at the market buying shrimp for old Deacon Hayes. She told me he likes them better than anything else since he cracked his upper plate and doesn’t dare chew hard, and she was having him over this noon because it’s his birthday. As Mrs. Fairfield was going to be there at eleven, I knew they’d ask her to stop and eat with them. The Pennypackers couldn’t turn anybody away from their table if they had only one crumb to divide among them. And if by ‘how could you?’ you mean, ‘why didvyou?’ I should think the answer was obvious.”
    “Not to me,” said Osbert.
    “It is to me, now I think of it,” said Dittany. “Have another cookie, Arethusa. Osbert, you’ll be interested to know Mrs. Fairfield claims she saw that woman in the purple dress Dave Munson mentioned.”
    “Dave said the dress was blue.”
    “He also mentioned green and purple, if you recall. Mrs. Fairfield said it was purple with a chartreuse and turquoise design on it.”
    “Sounds god-awful, eh. Did she say who the woman was?”
    “No, she only noticed the dress. I think it must have been a stranger from the inn, unless somebody we know has a new dress nobody’s heard about yet, which hardly seems likely. Arethusa, whom do we know who’d buy an outfit that color?”
    “Almost