Threads of Deceit (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 1) by Mae Fox, Jan Fields Page A

and he believed it was Daniel Franklin.

T EN

    A fter being up half the night at the dig site, Julie slept through her alarm in the morning. She woke in a panic and didn’t even take time to tame her curls before heading downstairs. She found Shirley at the front desk, beaming at her. The cheerful woman’s cloud of red hair was covered with a bright blue crocheted cap that matched the bluebirds appliquéd onto her quilted jacket. “Hannah asked me to watch things a bit.”
    Julie made a silent promise to get something nice for her best friend as she thanked Shirley. “Did you have any problems?”
    Shirley shook her head. “No one checked in or out.” Then she leaned closer to whisper. “I heard about the horrible goings-on out at the Winkler farm.”
    “What did you hear?” Julie asked, dreading the reply.
    “That historian fella went crazy and killed his friend.”
    “He did not!” Shirley’s shocked face suggested Julie had snapped a little harshly. She softened her tone. “Mr. Franklin was away from the site when Mr. Benning died.”
    “Oh,” Shirley said, disappointment clouding her features. “But someone did kill him?”
    “The police didn’t say. George was found in a flooded excavation hole in the pitch dark. It’s possible he simply fell in. The mud is so slick, he might not have been able to get back out.” Julie didn’t think for a moment that’s what had happened, but if she was going to have the hub of the gossip network working for her, she might as well use the woman to quell the more lurid rumors.
    “Oh, how horrible.” Shirley’s round eyes made it clear she was imagining the struggle herself.
    “I’m sure the police will figure it out eventually.”
    The front door opened and a short, round woman with close-cropped gray hair walked in leading a rolling suitcase like a dog on a leash. She was followed by a much taller man who looked around at the hanging quilts with the misery of someone who isn’t looking forward to the next few days. As Shirley scampered back to the tearoom, Julie turned a warm smile toward the new guests, welcoming them to the Quilt Haus Inn.
    Julie’s morning quickly filled with the normal requirements of her job, but her focus kept straying back to that dark hole on the Winkler farm. With George dead, the mysterious call to buy the farm took on an ominous tinge. She would love the chance to look around the excavation site in the daytime, but she knew better than to tromp around a crime scene—especially in broad daylight. She wanted the police to look beyond Daniel for the murderer, but she’d rather they didn’t look at her.
    When she finally took a break to grab a sandwich in the kitchen, she was surprised to find Daniel chatting with Hannah while she showed him how to make kuchen , a cross between a small cake and a tart that was very popular in the tearoom. They both wore long white baker’s aprons with “Quilt Haus Inn” stenciled on the bib.
    “You know this part of the inn isn’t public,” Julie said.
    Daniel gestured with the apple peeler. “I know. I’m hiding. Since I can’t go out to the site, I’m stuck for something to do. I tried reading some local history in your library. You have quite a nice collection, by the way. But the lady from the tearoom kept popping into the library and staring at me.”
    Hannah cut a ball of pastry dough into small sections and began pressing them into tart pans. “Shirley’s the curious sort.”
    Julie spotted a batch of huge chocolate chip cookies cooling on a wire rack and grabbed one. “I didn’t know you were interested in baking.”
    Daniel shrugged as he set aside the peeled apple and picked up another. “I’m interested in everything. Besides, I’ve never been good at not working.”
    “I did think of something we might do.” Julie bit into the warm cookie. The chips were still slightly soft and spread like silk over her tongue. She refrained from moaning. She didn’t want Daniel to