out her stitching until she came to the mistake that caused the error. She began stitching from there—and it still didn’t match. She had counted carefully this time; there was no mistake.
Char came by and at a glance saw that Betsy had made two errors originally and had corrected only the second one. She had to go even farther back to the first mistake.
Rattled now, Betsy found that no matter how carefully she counted, she kept making mistakes. The others were happily snipping threads while she was still working on the doggone outline of the heart.
“Oops,” said Godwin. “Rats.”
“Also,” Char pointed out, taking Godwin’s project from him and holding it out as an example, “you have to be careful to cut the proper side of the kloster block, which Godwin has done. Good for you. But not to cut beyond it, which he also has done. That’s why I recommend a really good pair of little scissors.”
Char had brought along several pairs to lend, but Shelly, holding out her piece admiringly, said she thought she’d buy a pair. Bershada, also smiling, said, “Me, too.” Betsy pulled two pairs from a spinner rack of accessories. Shelly set to clipping with hers. Shelly paused long enough to look at the price and sigh, but she didn’t give them back.
By the end of the class, everyone but Betsy and Godwin had finished pulling threads, and he was in the process of making his first snips. Shelly, who was halfway through a second heart, wanted to know how to make the little lace-like pattern in some of the squares on Char’s big piece, but Char said that was for a later class. Betsy was thinking of getting another piece of fabric and starting over. She’d pulled her thread out so often the weave of her fabric was becoming distorted.
At eight-thirty, the class broke up. As the others filed out, Char lingered. Betsy, tired after a long day and frustrated by her first attempt at Hardanger, hoped Char wouldn’t remember she had not asked the question she started to earlier.
But she did. “Betsy, I really need to talk to you.”
“What about?” asked Betsy as politely as she could.
“Did you see the Channel Four news tonight?”
“No, I didn’t have time. I am hoping to stay awake long enough to watch at ten—but I’m awfully tired.” Hint, hint.
But Char was determined. “Did you see where they arrested a juvenile for the murder of that artist at the art fair?”
“Was it on the news? Someone told me about it.”
“Yes, I heard that Jill told you.” Char either didn’t see or ignored Betsy’s wince. “Betsy, the boy they arrested is my nephew. My sister and brother-in-law are frantic, as you can imagine.” Char took a strengthening breath and said, “They want to know if you can help.”
Betsy didn’t want to say yes to anything that would add to her burdens right now. “I don’t know how I could help. I don’t know any of the people involved in this. And Sergeant Malloy is sure he’s got the right person.”
“Yes, I know he’s sure. That’s what’s got Faith and Greg so frantic. You see, Mickey’s been in trouble ever since he was eleven. He’s been arrested half a dozen times for stealing bicycles and shoplifting, for getting in fights, and for smoking marijuana at school. But he’s never done anything like this; this is murder. He’s sixteen and the police told Greg that when it’s a homicide by a sixteen-year-old, the county attorney automatically petitions that he be tried as an adult.”
Betsy said, “That’s too bad. I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, and you know Malloy, he’s as sure as he can be he’s got the person who did it, so he’s not even looking at any other possibility. Mickey swears he didn’t do it, but he’s scared and angry and so he’s acting out, which isn’t helping a bit. Please, Betsy, won’t you just talk to him?”
“To who? Mickey’s father? I’m not sure that’s a good idea; he may think I’m willing to help, but I don’t know if
Char came by and at a glance saw that Betsy had made two errors originally and had corrected only the second one. She had to go even farther back to the first mistake.
Rattled now, Betsy found that no matter how carefully she counted, she kept making mistakes. The others were happily snipping threads while she was still working on the doggone outline of the heart.
“Oops,” said Godwin. “Rats.”
“Also,” Char pointed out, taking Godwin’s project from him and holding it out as an example, “you have to be careful to cut the proper side of the kloster block, which Godwin has done. Good for you. But not to cut beyond it, which he also has done. That’s why I recommend a really good pair of little scissors.”
Char had brought along several pairs to lend, but Shelly, holding out her piece admiringly, said she thought she’d buy a pair. Bershada, also smiling, said, “Me, too.” Betsy pulled two pairs from a spinner rack of accessories. Shelly set to clipping with hers. Shelly paused long enough to look at the price and sigh, but she didn’t give them back.
By the end of the class, everyone but Betsy and Godwin had finished pulling threads, and he was in the process of making his first snips. Shelly, who was halfway through a second heart, wanted to know how to make the little lace-like pattern in some of the squares on Char’s big piece, but Char said that was for a later class. Betsy was thinking of getting another piece of fabric and starting over. She’d pulled her thread out so often the weave of her fabric was becoming distorted.
At eight-thirty, the class broke up. As the others filed out, Char lingered. Betsy, tired after a long day and frustrated by her first attempt at Hardanger, hoped Char wouldn’t remember she had not asked the question she started to earlier.
But she did. “Betsy, I really need to talk to you.”
“What about?” asked Betsy as politely as she could.
“Did you see the Channel Four news tonight?”
“No, I didn’t have time. I am hoping to stay awake long enough to watch at ten—but I’m awfully tired.” Hint, hint.
But Char was determined. “Did you see where they arrested a juvenile for the murder of that artist at the art fair?”
“Was it on the news? Someone told me about it.”
“Yes, I heard that Jill told you.” Char either didn’t see or ignored Betsy’s wince. “Betsy, the boy they arrested is my nephew. My sister and brother-in-law are frantic, as you can imagine.” Char took a strengthening breath and said, “They want to know if you can help.”
Betsy didn’t want to say yes to anything that would add to her burdens right now. “I don’t know how I could help. I don’t know any of the people involved in this. And Sergeant Malloy is sure he’s got the right person.”
“Yes, I know he’s sure. That’s what’s got Faith and Greg so frantic. You see, Mickey’s been in trouble ever since he was eleven. He’s been arrested half a dozen times for stealing bicycles and shoplifting, for getting in fights, and for smoking marijuana at school. But he’s never done anything like this; this is murder. He’s sixteen and the police told Greg that when it’s a homicide by a sixteen-year-old, the county attorney automatically petitions that he be tried as an adult.”
Betsy said, “That’s too bad. I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, and you know Malloy, he’s as sure as he can be he’s got the person who did it, so he’s not even looking at any other possibility. Mickey swears he didn’t do it, but he’s scared and angry and so he’s acting out, which isn’t helping a bit. Please, Betsy, won’t you just talk to him?”
“To who? Mickey’s father? I’m not sure that’s a good idea; he may think I’m willing to help, but I don’t know if
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