Read Online Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_01 by Crewel World - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Crewel World
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Women Detectives, Minnesota, Needlework, Crime - Minnesota
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enjoyable, to have Betsy here, it was also different.
She must decide when she would formally talk to Betsy about her future. Betsy made a nice salesperson, she was interested and friendly; she would make an excellent one once she got up to speed on the terminology and practices of needlework. Yesterday she had sold a beginning inquirer an impressive amount of silks and evenweave fabric and counted cross-stitch patterns, though she knew almost nothing about counted cross-stitch.
But was Betsy really interested in the shop, or was she only âhelping out,â as any polite guest would? Perhaps it was still too early to get an honest answer. Betsy had always been interested in something new.
But today was not the day to start inquiring. Margot was going to be out all day today. First, to the Minneapolis art museum, to make a detailed drawing of the Tâang horse for the canvas.
And about time, too, if she wanted that project finished by Thanksgiving. She wished she hadnât thrown away the original drawings; then she wouldnât have to make this trip. No, wait, she was also going to meet with Hudson Earlie at the museum, so she had to go anyway.
She found herself smiling at the memory of Betsy meeting Hud at Christopher Inn. Betsy was attractive and witty and she enjoyed flirting. But twice burned by bad marriages, what would she do when she found out Hud was himself a three-time loser? Run? Or make another bad choice?
Probably neither. Betsy wasnât a youngster anymore; she knew better than to get mixed up with someone like Hud. And she was in the process of sorting herself out, which was not the time to be starting a courtship, or even an affair. But what if she was her usual reckless self and got involved, and it turned out badly? Where would she run to this time? Sheâd confessed she was here because she had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. Perhaps Margot had better say something to Hud, though if he got on his high horse about it, sheâd warn Betsy, too.
Margot eased herself out of bed, remembered her robe, and used the bathroom as quietly as she could. Once Betsy had been a morning person, but confessed she had gotten over that. The sunrise over Excelsior still had two hours of travel before it reached the West Coast; morning would come early until her internal clock adjusted.
Margot went back into her bedroom and booted up her computer, checked her E-mail, and started to download a couple of newsgroups. RCTN took forever; its thousands of members were incorrigible chatterers. While it was working, she went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, then went back to the computer to scan the messages, reply to a few, and send them. Then she finalized and printed the presentation she was going to make this evening. By the time that was done, she could hear Betsy in the bathroom.
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Betsy sighed and rolled over. Margot hadnât used to be such an early bird! It was barely light out, and already Margot was putzing around in the bathroom. Betsy pried an eye open and checked her watch. Six oâclock. God, these Midwesterners; youâd think they all were farmers. Didnât they know that early to bed and early to rise means you miss all the parties?
Betsy rolled back onto her side, seeking more sleep. After all, it was only four A.M. in San Diego; some of last nightâs parties were just breaking up.
It was awkward living in someone elseâs home. You had to adjust your sleeping patterns, your TV-watching habits, your eating habits. No more cereal for supper, no more cold pizza for breakfast. And in this place, lots more salads.
Which Betsy could use a little of. So okay, bring on the salads.
Very faintly, Betsy heard a series of beeps, and then a chord of musicâjust the one chord. Ah, Margot was surfing the net. Interesting how her sister, who, back in high school, had difficulty mastering the electric typewriter, was now so proficient on the
She must decide when she would formally talk to Betsy about her future. Betsy made a nice salesperson, she was interested and friendly; she would make an excellent one once she got up to speed on the terminology and practices of needlework. Yesterday she had sold a beginning inquirer an impressive amount of silks and evenweave fabric and counted cross-stitch patterns, though she knew almost nothing about counted cross-stitch.
But was Betsy really interested in the shop, or was she only âhelping out,â as any polite guest would? Perhaps it was still too early to get an honest answer. Betsy had always been interested in something new.
But today was not the day to start inquiring. Margot was going to be out all day today. First, to the Minneapolis art museum, to make a detailed drawing of the Tâang horse for the canvas.
And about time, too, if she wanted that project finished by Thanksgiving. She wished she hadnât thrown away the original drawings; then she wouldnât have to make this trip. No, wait, she was also going to meet with Hudson Earlie at the museum, so she had to go anyway.
She found herself smiling at the memory of Betsy meeting Hud at Christopher Inn. Betsy was attractive and witty and she enjoyed flirting. But twice burned by bad marriages, what would she do when she found out Hud was himself a three-time loser? Run? Or make another bad choice?
Probably neither. Betsy wasnât a youngster anymore; she knew better than to get mixed up with someone like Hud. And she was in the process of sorting herself out, which was not the time to be starting a courtship, or even an affair. But what if she was her usual reckless self and got involved, and it turned out badly? Where would she run to this time? Sheâd confessed she was here because she had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. Perhaps Margot had better say something to Hud, though if he got on his high horse about it, sheâd warn Betsy, too.
Margot eased herself out of bed, remembered her robe, and used the bathroom as quietly as she could. Once Betsy had been a morning person, but confessed she had gotten over that. The sunrise over Excelsior still had two hours of travel before it reached the West Coast; morning would come early until her internal clock adjusted.
Margot went back into her bedroom and booted up her computer, checked her E-mail, and started to download a couple of newsgroups. RCTN took forever; its thousands of members were incorrigible chatterers. While it was working, she went into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, then went back to the computer to scan the messages, reply to a few, and send them. Then she finalized and printed the presentation she was going to make this evening. By the time that was done, she could hear Betsy in the bathroom.
Â
Â
Betsy sighed and rolled over. Margot hadnât used to be such an early bird! It was barely light out, and already Margot was putzing around in the bathroom. Betsy pried an eye open and checked her watch. Six oâclock. God, these Midwesterners; youâd think they all were farmers. Didnât they know that early to bed and early to rise means you miss all the parties?
Betsy rolled back onto her side, seeking more sleep. After all, it was only four A.M. in San Diego; some of last nightâs parties were just breaking up.
It was awkward living in someone elseâs home. You had to adjust your sleeping patterns, your TV-watching habits, your eating habits. No more cereal for supper, no more cold pizza for breakfast. And in this place, lots more salads.
Which Betsy could use a little of. So okay, bring on the salads.
Very faintly, Betsy heard a series of beeps, and then a chord of musicâjust the one chord. Ah, Margot was surfing the net. Interesting how her sister, who, back in high school, had difficulty mastering the electric typewriter, was now so proficient on the
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