Read Online 1 The Underhanded Stitch by Marjory Sorrell Rockwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjory Sorrell Rockwell
Ads: Link
Maddy’s ten-year-old granddaughter with the ease of a professional jewel thief.
“Yes, a plan,” repeated Maddy thoughtfully.
≈≈≈
Tall Paul Johnson sighed when he answered the knock at his front door, finding Cookie Brown standing there dressed in her Sunday finery. “What do you want now? I done told you women everything I know about that blasted ruby ring.”
“Oh, I’m not here about that,” she lied. “As you know, Watermelon Days is coming up, and every year we display our best quilts at the Grange Hall. This year the committee voted to show not only new designs, but also some of the older quilts in the community. Someone pointed out that your grandmother’s quilt there over the fireplace won a state prize, so it would be only right to give it a place of honor in the show.”
“Not interested,” said the giant, slamming the door in her face.
Darn! Back to square one.
≈≈≈
Knock, knock!
“Yeah?” Tall Paul answered the door. At first he thought no one was there. The neighborhood kids were always knocking on his door and running, thinking it a fine joke to play on the two carnival freaks who lived on Easy Chair Lane. Then, he dropped his eyes to notice the small girl standing at his doorstep. “Young missy, whattaya want now?”
“I’m selling Girl Scout cookies,” Agnes announced brightly, holding up the two boxes her grammy had bought last year but never eaten.
“Girl Scouts! Young girls oughta stay home and learn to cook and clean. Ain’t got no business hiking and camping in the woods like wild Injuns.”
“Won’t you buy a box of cookies? It’s for a good cause.”
“Them things are filled with preservatives. Might stunt my growth,” chucked the seven-foot-tall man, pleased with his own joke.
Agnes’ assignment was to keep him talking while Lizzie slipped in the back door and grabbed Martha Ray Johnson’s prizewinning quilt. A criminal act, but Lizzie was a natural-born rule-breaker. Bootsie Purdue had refused to come along, spending the morning with her husband in order to have an alibi.
“You sure are tall,” Agnes marveled at Tall Paul’s height. “I’ll bet your taller than Michael Jordan.”
“By six full inches,” he said proudly.
“That’s neat-o. Were you already big when you were my age?”
“What age’s that?”
“Ten.”
“No, when I was ten – ”
Crash!
“What was that?” the big man looked over his shoulder.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Might-a been Bertha. She could’ve fallen off the bed. That happens sometime when she has them wild dreams about the circus. I told her to stop taking naps if she can’t sleep in peace, but she don’t listen to me. Says when she’s tired she’s tired. S’pose we gotta get her a king-size bed one-a these days.”
“Wait!” said Agnes, but it was too late. Tall Paul had disappeared into the interior of his house. He was sure to catch Lizzie in the act of burglarizing his prized patchwork quilt.
Not waiting for the police to come, Agnes raced across the front lawn, jumped the low hedge, and hotfooted it up Easy Chair Lane. Grammy and Cookie were waiting in the parking lot of the old chair factory with the SUV’s engine running.
“Where’s Lizzie?”
“I think she got caught.”
“Oh my,” her grandmother said to Cookie. “I told you Plan B would never work.”
≈≈≈
“I can’t believe you girls left me behind!” shouted Lizzie as she stepped into Maddy’s kitchen where the remnants of the Quilter’s Club had gathered to access damage.
“Lizzie!”
“What are you doing here?” said Maddy. “Aggie told us you got caught.”
Lizzie Ridenour stood there in the doorway, hands on her angular hips. “Do I look like I’ve been caught?”
As a matter of fact, the redhead did. She was a complete mess – hair askew, slacks ripped, scratches on her bare arms as if she’d been running through a briar patch. She’d made her escape through the wooded area behind
“Yes, a plan,” repeated Maddy thoughtfully.
≈≈≈
Tall Paul Johnson sighed when he answered the knock at his front door, finding Cookie Brown standing there dressed in her Sunday finery. “What do you want now? I done told you women everything I know about that blasted ruby ring.”
“Oh, I’m not here about that,” she lied. “As you know, Watermelon Days is coming up, and every year we display our best quilts at the Grange Hall. This year the committee voted to show not only new designs, but also some of the older quilts in the community. Someone pointed out that your grandmother’s quilt there over the fireplace won a state prize, so it would be only right to give it a place of honor in the show.”
“Not interested,” said the giant, slamming the door in her face.
Darn! Back to square one.
≈≈≈
Knock, knock!
“Yeah?” Tall Paul answered the door. At first he thought no one was there. The neighborhood kids were always knocking on his door and running, thinking it a fine joke to play on the two carnival freaks who lived on Easy Chair Lane. Then, he dropped his eyes to notice the small girl standing at his doorstep. “Young missy, whattaya want now?”
“I’m selling Girl Scout cookies,” Agnes announced brightly, holding up the two boxes her grammy had bought last year but never eaten.
“Girl Scouts! Young girls oughta stay home and learn to cook and clean. Ain’t got no business hiking and camping in the woods like wild Injuns.”
“Won’t you buy a box of cookies? It’s for a good cause.”
“Them things are filled with preservatives. Might stunt my growth,” chucked the seven-foot-tall man, pleased with his own joke.
Agnes’ assignment was to keep him talking while Lizzie slipped in the back door and grabbed Martha Ray Johnson’s prizewinning quilt. A criminal act, but Lizzie was a natural-born rule-breaker. Bootsie Purdue had refused to come along, spending the morning with her husband in order to have an alibi.
“You sure are tall,” Agnes marveled at Tall Paul’s height. “I’ll bet your taller than Michael Jordan.”
“By six full inches,” he said proudly.
“That’s neat-o. Were you already big when you were my age?”
“What age’s that?”
“Ten.”
“No, when I was ten – ”
Crash!
“What was that?” the big man looked over his shoulder.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Might-a been Bertha. She could’ve fallen off the bed. That happens sometime when she has them wild dreams about the circus. I told her to stop taking naps if she can’t sleep in peace, but she don’t listen to me. Says when she’s tired she’s tired. S’pose we gotta get her a king-size bed one-a these days.”
“Wait!” said Agnes, but it was too late. Tall Paul had disappeared into the interior of his house. He was sure to catch Lizzie in the act of burglarizing his prized patchwork quilt.
Not waiting for the police to come, Agnes raced across the front lawn, jumped the low hedge, and hotfooted it up Easy Chair Lane. Grammy and Cookie were waiting in the parking lot of the old chair factory with the SUV’s engine running.
“Where’s Lizzie?”
“I think she got caught.”
“Oh my,” her grandmother said to Cookie. “I told you Plan B would never work.”
≈≈≈
“I can’t believe you girls left me behind!” shouted Lizzie as she stepped into Maddy’s kitchen where the remnants of the Quilter’s Club had gathered to access damage.
“Lizzie!”
“What are you doing here?” said Maddy. “Aggie told us you got caught.”
Lizzie Ridenour stood there in the doorway, hands on her angular hips. “Do I look like I’ve been caught?”
As a matter of fact, the redhead did. She was a complete mess – hair askew, slacks ripped, scratches on her bare arms as if she’d been running through a briar patch. She’d made her escape through the wooded area behind
Similar Books
