Read Online Sewed Up Tight (A Quilters Club Mystery No. 5) (Quilters Club Mysteries) by Marjory Sorrell Rockwell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marjory Sorrell Rockwell
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be. Not many people realized she’d started out in the circus as an acrobat, graduating to a star trapeze artist. That was before she was wooed by a handsome ringmaster who happened to own the circus.
“Why don’t you go back to being a fireman?” she said as they neared the tents. “Tat would solve everything.”
“Ha! Who would hire an ugly puss like mine?”
“Your brother-in-law, the mayor.”
“Do you think Volunteer Unit 1 would take on another fireman?” There was no Unit 2, only one firehouse serving the town.
“I was thinking fire chief.”
“I believe that job’s already taken,” he sighed.
“Swami Bombay tells me Pete Watson’s ready to retire. You’d be perfect for the job.”
“How does Swami Bombay know this?”
“Who knows? Maybe he really is psychic.”
≈ ≈ ≈
The Quilters Club decided to pay a call to Maisie Daniels’s medium. If they were going to get at who – or what – might have frightened Skookie into having a heart attack, they should eliminate the ghost angle. And Madam Blatvia seemed to be in charge of ghosts.
Maddy made an appointment for them the next day at 4 o’clock. She wasn’t familiar with the address in Burpyville, but she was sure they could find it. Her iPhone was pretty good at giving directions. For the fun of it, she’d programed the device to have a male voice, so instead of Siri she had Sir (as in Sir Galahad).
A quick poll showed that none of the Quilters Club members had ever attended a séance before. And Aggie commenced to pout when they unanimously told her that she couldn’t go along on the boondoggle.
“You mother would kill me,” said Maddy.
“Too scary,” said Lizzie.
“Social Services would file charges against us,” said Bootsie.
“You’ll be in school,” reminded Cookie.
“Not at four o’clock,” Aggie whined.
“It will take an hour to get there. You won’t be out of class when we leave,” the blonde woman retorted.
“I could skip last period,” argued the girl. “It’s a study period.”
“Not going to happen,” said her grandmother.
“Be that way,” sniveled Aggie. “I’m going to solve this mystery without you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Entering the Spirit World
M adam Blatvia received them politely at her storefront reading room, a long and narrow space that had been sectioned into thirds by heavy red curtains. The first section was a waiting area replete with cheap yellow couch, a coffee table strewn with out-of-date celeb magazines, and a fake potted plant. The second section was reserved for séances and psychic readings, furnished with a round wooden table and six straightback chairs. The back area was presumably the “medium’s cabinet” where she stored her paraphernalia such as trumpets, candles, and fresh decks of tarot cards.
“Please have a seat,” she indicated the chairs. “I assume you are here to talk about the death of Robert Daniels?”
“You can’t tell by reading our minds?” challenged Bootsie.
“It doesn’t work that way, dearie.”
Maddy took over, following a sharp jab to Bootsie’s ribs. No need to alienate Madam Blatvia before they even got started. “Yes, we thought you could contact Skookie Daniels and ask him what was the last thing he saw. That might help us determine if his mother’s assertion that he was frightened to death was true.”
“I don’t have to summon Mr. Daniels to tell you that Marvin Johansson was not responsible for the school principal’s death.”
“How can you know that?”
Madam Blatvia smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “Because he said so. And all his body signs indicated he was telling the truth.”
“Body signs?” said Lizzie.
“Yes, I am adept at reading body language. Sometimes the spirits need a little help. Mediums are trained in picking up clues from the way a person holds her body or reacts to questions.”
“Trained?” Lizzie was surprised. She believed in psychic phenomena, but assumed it
“Why don’t you go back to being a fireman?” she said as they neared the tents. “Tat would solve everything.”
“Ha! Who would hire an ugly puss like mine?”
“Your brother-in-law, the mayor.”
“Do you think Volunteer Unit 1 would take on another fireman?” There was no Unit 2, only one firehouse serving the town.
“I was thinking fire chief.”
“I believe that job’s already taken,” he sighed.
“Swami Bombay tells me Pete Watson’s ready to retire. You’d be perfect for the job.”
“How does Swami Bombay know this?”
“Who knows? Maybe he really is psychic.”
≈ ≈ ≈
The Quilters Club decided to pay a call to Maisie Daniels’s medium. If they were going to get at who – or what – might have frightened Skookie into having a heart attack, they should eliminate the ghost angle. And Madam Blatvia seemed to be in charge of ghosts.
Maddy made an appointment for them the next day at 4 o’clock. She wasn’t familiar with the address in Burpyville, but she was sure they could find it. Her iPhone was pretty good at giving directions. For the fun of it, she’d programed the device to have a male voice, so instead of Siri she had Sir (as in Sir Galahad).
A quick poll showed that none of the Quilters Club members had ever attended a séance before. And Aggie commenced to pout when they unanimously told her that she couldn’t go along on the boondoggle.
“You mother would kill me,” said Maddy.
“Too scary,” said Lizzie.
“Social Services would file charges against us,” said Bootsie.
“You’ll be in school,” reminded Cookie.
“Not at four o’clock,” Aggie whined.
“It will take an hour to get there. You won’t be out of class when we leave,” the blonde woman retorted.
“I could skip last period,” argued the girl. “It’s a study period.”
“Not going to happen,” said her grandmother.
“Be that way,” sniveled Aggie. “I’m going to solve this mystery without you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Entering the Spirit World
M adam Blatvia received them politely at her storefront reading room, a long and narrow space that had been sectioned into thirds by heavy red curtains. The first section was a waiting area replete with cheap yellow couch, a coffee table strewn with out-of-date celeb magazines, and a fake potted plant. The second section was reserved for séances and psychic readings, furnished with a round wooden table and six straightback chairs. The back area was presumably the “medium’s cabinet” where she stored her paraphernalia such as trumpets, candles, and fresh decks of tarot cards.
“Please have a seat,” she indicated the chairs. “I assume you are here to talk about the death of Robert Daniels?”
“You can’t tell by reading our minds?” challenged Bootsie.
“It doesn’t work that way, dearie.”
Maddy took over, following a sharp jab to Bootsie’s ribs. No need to alienate Madam Blatvia before they even got started. “Yes, we thought you could contact Skookie Daniels and ask him what was the last thing he saw. That might help us determine if his mother’s assertion that he was frightened to death was true.”
“I don’t have to summon Mr. Daniels to tell you that Marvin Johansson was not responsible for the school principal’s death.”
“How can you know that?”
Madam Blatvia smiled, revealing a gold tooth. “Because he said so. And all his body signs indicated he was telling the truth.”
“Body signs?” said Lizzie.
“Yes, I am adept at reading body language. Sometimes the spirits need a little help. Mediums are trained in picking up clues from the way a person holds her body or reacts to questions.”
“Trained?” Lizzie was surprised. She believed in psychic phenomena, but assumed it
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