Read Online Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_03 by A Stitch in Time - Free Book Online

experience.
    â€œBut they open a lot of doors,” Godwin said, the voice of his own experience. Betsy nodded. Godwin was so handsome he was almost pretty. “He talked real estate with Joe Mickels,” Godwin continued—real estate was one topic on which Joe was always willing to converse—“oh, and at church yesterday morning, he expressed surprise and disappointment that you weren’t there.”
    Betsy groaned again. “What am I going to do about him?”
    â€œNothing,” said Godwin. “People are already speculating. Some think he’s here because he heard about your money, others that the father of one of the coeds he seduced has a contract out on him.”
    Betsy giggled and Godwin smiled. “Well, it’s Irene who offered that one. If you really have to do something, sic Jill on him, why don’t you? She could find an excuse to shoot him, maybe.”
    Betsy said, “No. I’ve read about what shooting a person does to the shooter.”
    â€œNot to mention the shot, ” said Godwin, surprised.
    â€œI’m serious,” said Betsy. “I have a friend in San Diego, her name is Abbey, and she has a friend who is married to a cop, and he shot some teenage thug who was holding up a bank. He got a medal for valor, but he was suicidal for years afterward. So don’t even joke about doing that to Jill.”
    â€œAll right,” said Godwin.
    A customer came in looking for a needlepoint project and expressed disappointment that they hadn’t marked down the Christmas stockings, now that Christmas was almost here.
    â€œThere’s no need to mark them down,” said Godwin. “Many customers give them as gift kits. And besides, it can take as long as two years to finish a project like this, so it isn’t exactly a seasonal thing.” He looked around as if to check for eavesdroppers and winked at Betsy with an eye the customer couldn’t see—and then at the customer with the other eye. “However,” he murmured, “we may be able to give you a special price on the wool or silk you select for the project, or on one of our scheduled classes on needlepoint. I think there’s an opening in the one I’ll be teaching, the one that starts the middle of January.”
    â€œWell,” hedged the customer, “I always did want to learn beading, and Emily told me you do wonderful beadwork.”
    â€œI hope you will consider it. I was very impressed with that sampler you worked. You do a beautiful mosaic stitch. In another year, you’ll be teaching your own class for us. Just let me get the schedule.”
    Her brunette and his blond heads were soon bent over the calendar on the checkout desk, and then she was writing a check.
    After the woman left, Betsy got out her employee list and their schedule of hours and tried to find ways to reduce them. But she had gotten to know her part-timers. Several spent the greater part of their wages on needlework projects—a saving to the shop all by itself, even considering the employee discount. The one young woman Betsy felt she could most easily spare was newly separated from her husband and desperately needed the little Betsy was able to pay her.
    â€œI don’t want to cut any of these people,” said Betsy.
    â€œWell, what else can you cut?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe I can cancel my medical insurance. Crewel World pays for it, and it’s very expensive.”
    â€œDon’t do that,” advised Godwin. “The goblins of fate are just waiting to pounce on people who cancel insurance policies.”
    â€œWell then, what does Hollytree expect me to do?” she grumbled, throwing her pencil down. It bounced on its eraser and barely missed Godwin’s ear on its way into a basket of fuschia wool.
    The phone rang. Godwin was retrieving the pencil, so Betsy answered it. “Crewel World, good morning, may I help