Read Online Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_02 by Framed in Lace - Free Book Online Page A

Saturday after Thanksgiving is traditionally the best day for American retailers, but for needlework shops, it’s the Saturday after Halloween. That’s when the procrastinators realize that unless they want to offend their mother-in-law again with a store-bought gift, they’d better get down to Crewel World and see if there is something that looks as if it took more than two months to finish, but doesn’t.
    For the first time, Betsy began to believe she could actually make a go of the little shop. Customers were waiting outside for her to open, and it was nonstop from then till closing. Fortunately, Shelly was able to join Godwin and Betsy.
    Shelly was slim, not yet thirty, with long, thick, straight brown hair pulled into an untidy bun at the nape of her neck. She had beautiful eyes, intelligent and compassionate, and was a skilled counted cross-stitcher, a hard worker in the shop—but an incorrigible gossip. “... Linda chose that same cream-colored linen,” she was telling a customer, “and frankly, I think iris-blue and purple silk would go even better for your sampler than her shades of pumpkin.”
    Meanwhile, Godwin was saying, “If the Ott table lamp is too small, you might want to try a light by Chromalux; it’s a floor lamp, and comes already on a stand. And if you stitch in the nude—like I do—you’ll appreciate the heat it puts out.” The customer giggled, and Godwin reached for a catalog. “See, here’s a picture of it; we can order it for you ...”
    Betsy stopped eavesdropping and looked at the completed piece of counted cross-stitch, Mermaid of the Pearls, lying across her hands. “Wow,” she said sincerely, “this is much prettier than the picture of it I saw. Let’s look at the sample mats to pick a color to match, and then we’ll choose a really nice frame. You’ll want to do justice to this, I’m sure.”
    While Betsy was writing up the order, her customer noticed the Xerox taped to a corner of the checkout desk. When Betsy saw her bend over it, she asked, “Recognize it?”
    â€œWhat’s it supposed to be?” asked the customer.
    â€œLace edging on a collar or handkerchief or sleeve. It was hauled up from the bottom of the lake, and we’re hoping someone who does lace will be able to tell something about it.”
    â€œLooks like a spill of spaghetti to me,” remarked the customer, taking her slip and looking at it. Betsy held her breath; the finishing, mat, and frame came to over two hundred dollars. But the customer only said, “You’ll have this back in three weeks? Good, I can get it in the mail on time, then. Thank you, Betsy.”
    â€œYou’re welcome, Mrs. Liljegren.” Betsy had thought she’d never get used to people calling her by her first name while she must address them more formally, but at these prices they could call her anything they liked.
    â€œWhat’s this about some lace you want identified?” asked a very handsome woman Betsy recognized as one of the Monday Bunch. She had a fistful of silk floss and a packet of needles for Betsy to ring up.
    â€œHello, Patricia. Detective Malloy found something on the Hopkins and hopes someone here can help identify it.” Betsy indicated the Xerox copy taped to the desk. “It’s a corner of a handkerchief or maybe a bit of a silk dress, and that tangle- of string may be crochet lace.”
    Patricia bent over the paper, frowning. Betsy wrote the sales slip, then rang up her purchase, but Patricia didn’t move. Betsy gave her a minute, then saw Godwin bringing another customer to check out. “Er-hem, excuse me?” Betsy said. “That’ll be seventeen dollars and fifty-three cents, including tax. Patricia?”
    Patricia said, “Hmm?”
    â€œThat’ll be seventeen dollars and fifty-three cents.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œExcuse me, Patricia?”