really just begun his investigation.” And
I guess so will I.
The
mild-mannered Bunch was still unsettled. “Because the idea of a random killer...
you know, like that crazy sniper who stalked the Washington, D.C., area some years back?’
Suzanne nodded.
“A
random killer would be utterly terrifying,” said Bunch. “I hope it’s nothing like
that,” he added hastily.
“The
sheriff’s thinking it was probably an isolated inci dent,” said Suzanne.
“If even a hint of
worry gets out,” said Bunch, “it could affect the Quilt Trail. A lot of
people have worked ex tremely hard to make this happen.” He bobbed his head for emphasis.
“We’ve got historical sites all over the county that are scrubbed and polished
and staffed with hardworking volunteers. Plus we’ve been promoting it like
crazy for the last three
months.”
“I know you have,”
said Suzanne.
“Plus the smaller
merchants, like antique shops and cafe’s, are counting on an influx of tourists for
this event,” said Bunch. “Business has been tough for them these last couple of years.”
“I hear
you,” said Suzanne, as she counted her bless ings once again. For some reason
the Cackleberry Club had weathered the vicissitudes of a bad economy. Whether it was the cozy cafe,
the Book Nook, or the Knitting Nest that attracted people, there had been a steady
uptick in their bottom line. They hadn’t scored a huge profit, mind you, but they were making a decent living.
Suzanne plated a
scone for Bunch and added a huge dol lop of Devonshire cream. Two seconds later, Toni
brought out
a large bowl of chili and placed it in front of him.
“A veritable feast,”
declared Bunch.
Suzanne slid into the
chair across from him, while Toni finished setting up tables for tomorrow. “Mr.
Bunch ...” she began.
“Arthur,” he said,
spooning up chili at a rapid rate.
“Arthur,”
said Suzanne. “Do you, by any chance, know a woman by the name of Evelyn Novak?”
He shook his head
without breaking pace. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s
possible she could have donated some items to the historical society.”
Now he paused. “Novak?
And you say she donated items?” He looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I said she might have,”
explained Suzanne. Then she quickly summarized her reason for asking. Told him about Peebler’s
quarrel with Jane Buckley concerning the miss ing items.
“Oh my
goodness,” said Bunch, finally seeing the connection. “I see what you’re
driving at. So you want me to check our records, in case the pieces are with us? I can surely do that for you.”
“Would
you?” said Suzanne, feeling better already. “That would be great.”
“And these were
paintings?” asked Bunch.
“That’s
what Evelyn Novak donated to the Darlington College museum, but I don’t know
what items were miss ing from
her house.”
Bunch sat back and
pursed his lips, looking suddenly academic, as if he was about to deliver a lecture.
“You re alize,
the Logan County Historical Society specializes in American pieces only. Artifacts that
have to do with early settlers.”
Suzanne smiled as
Bunch went on with his little speech.
He
really was a man dedicated to his job. Plus he had kindly agreed to deliver a
short lecture at their Quilt Trail Tea on Wednesday. Probably, Suzanne
decided, he’d be the perfect counterpoint
to all their tea and frills.
Thirty minutes after Arthur Bunch left, with an extra scone tucked in his baggy jacket
pocket and a take-out cup filled with Darjeeling, Suzanne, Toni, and Petra were
ready to
throw in the towel. Busy days were welcomed, stressful days were not.
“Whew,” breathed Petra
as she plopped down in a frayed velvet armchair in the Knitting Nest. She shucked off her Crocs
and gave her feet a much-deserved rest on the op posing ottoman.
Toni joined her in a
swoopy orange swivel chair that looked like it had once belonged to the Jetsons. “Glad I cancelled
book club tonight.”
I guess so will I.
The
mild-mannered Bunch was still unsettled. “Because the idea of a random killer...
you know, like that crazy sniper who stalked the Washington, D.C., area some years back?’
Suzanne nodded.
“A
random killer would be utterly terrifying,” said Bunch. “I hope it’s nothing like
that,” he added hastily.
“The
sheriff’s thinking it was probably an isolated inci dent,” said Suzanne.
“If even a hint of
worry gets out,” said Bunch, “it could affect the Quilt Trail. A lot of
people have worked ex tremely hard to make this happen.” He bobbed his head for emphasis.
“We’ve got historical sites all over the county that are scrubbed and polished
and staffed with hardworking volunteers. Plus we’ve been promoting it like
crazy for the last three
months.”
“I know you have,”
said Suzanne.
“Plus the smaller
merchants, like antique shops and cafe’s, are counting on an influx of tourists for
this event,” said Bunch. “Business has been tough for them these last couple of years.”
“I hear
you,” said Suzanne, as she counted her bless ings once again. For some reason
the Cackleberry Club had weathered the vicissitudes of a bad economy. Whether it was the cozy cafe,
the Book Nook, or the Knitting Nest that attracted people, there had been a steady
uptick in their bottom line. They hadn’t scored a huge profit, mind you, but they were making a decent living.
Suzanne plated a
scone for Bunch and added a huge dol lop of Devonshire cream. Two seconds later, Toni
brought out
a large bowl of chili and placed it in front of him.
“A veritable feast,”
declared Bunch.
Suzanne slid into the
chair across from him, while Toni finished setting up tables for tomorrow. “Mr.
Bunch ...” she began.
“Arthur,” he said,
spooning up chili at a rapid rate.
“Arthur,”
said Suzanne. “Do you, by any chance, know a woman by the name of Evelyn Novak?”
He shook his head
without breaking pace. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s
possible she could have donated some items to the historical society.”
Now he paused. “Novak?
And you say she donated items?” He looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“I said she might have,”
explained Suzanne. Then she quickly summarized her reason for asking. Told him about Peebler’s
quarrel with Jane Buckley concerning the miss ing items.
“Oh my
goodness,” said Bunch, finally seeing the connection. “I see what you’re
driving at. So you want me to check our records, in case the pieces are with us? I can surely do that for you.”
“Would
you?” said Suzanne, feeling better already. “That would be great.”
“And these were
paintings?” asked Bunch.
“That’s
what Evelyn Novak donated to the Darlington College museum, but I don’t know
what items were miss ing from
her house.”
Bunch sat back and
pursed his lips, looking suddenly academic, as if he was about to deliver a lecture.
“You re alize,
the Logan County Historical Society specializes in American pieces only. Artifacts that
have to do with early settlers.”
Suzanne smiled as
Bunch went on with his little speech.
He
really was a man dedicated to his job. Plus he had kindly agreed to deliver a
short lecture at their Quilt Trail Tea on Wednesday. Probably, Suzanne
decided, he’d be the perfect counterpoint
to all their tea and frills.
Thirty minutes after Arthur Bunch left, with an extra scone tucked in his baggy jacket
pocket and a take-out cup filled with Darjeeling, Suzanne, Toni, and Petra were
ready to
throw in the towel. Busy days were welcomed, stressful days were not.
“Whew,” breathed Petra
as she plopped down in a frayed velvet armchair in the Knitting Nest. She shucked off her Crocs
and gave her feet a much-deserved rest on the op posing ottoman.
Toni joined her in a
swoopy orange swivel chair that looked like it had once belonged to the Jetsons. “Glad I cancelled
book club tonight.”
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