Read Online Smoky Mountain Mystery 01 - Out on a Limb by Carolyn Jourdan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Jourdan
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about what an unexpectedly action-packed and exhausting day it was turning out to be.
Ivy lived in a low-rise building in Sequoyah Hills. The place was popular with students, and there were sufficient comings and goings to render one person more or less unremarkable, he hoped. He carried a crowbar tucked up into the sleeve of his jacket, and a pair of gloves in his pockets.
He got in quickly without being seen, but the manner of his entry meant the latch wouldn’t work anymore. Once he was inside he had to prop a book against the door to hold it closed while he searched the place.
Ivy wasn’t much of a housekeeper, but even in the messy state she’d left the apartment, it was obvious after a few minutes that what he was looking for wasn’t there.
That was unwelcome news, but not totally unanticipated. Fortunately there was another place to look.
***
It was mid-afternoon when Bill dropped Phoebe off at her car, but she still wasn’t ready to go home, so she went back to Hamilton ’s to sit with her friend Jill. She knew at this time of day Jill would be sewing.
Jill made wearable art for women in a spare room she’d converted into a studio. Over the past few years, she’d built up a clientele on Etsy.com and now sewing was her primary source of income. Her sweater coats were highly sought-after, particularly by middle-aged women. The reconstructed clothes were metaphors for their lives. Jill took clothes other people had thrown away, cut out the worn and damaged places, salvaged the best parts, and reconfigured the leftovers into something practical and pretty.
Her designs were a modern retooling of an Appalachian icon, like Joseph’s coat of many colors or Dolly Parton’s homemade coat made famous in a country song. What had been an embarrassing necessity for the very poor, making recycled clothes out of scraps, was now the province of fiber art collectors and had been renamed upcycling or eco-couture .
Jill’s intention was that her creations be unique and cheerful talismans for women going through menopause, divorce, illness, or any other life situation when resurrection by bootstraps was required.
Phoebe knocked on the doorjamb and said, “Can I come in?”
“Sure, you can help me sort these pieces. I’m trying to coordinate the colors and group them into bundles.”
“These are t-shirts!” said Phoebe, delighted.
“Yeah, I don’t have enough business from Australia and New Zealand yet to keep me busy during our summer, so I’m expanding into a new lightweight line,” Jill said. “They’re gonna be longer than regular t-shirts, more like tunics or dresses, and have lettuce-edges and asymmetrical hems.”
She pointed to one of her dress forms where she had a t-shirt tunic pieced together with pins, “ Whaddya think?”
Phoebe went over to get a closer look. “I love it,” she said. “How fun, and what a flattering alternative to a boring old t-shirt.”
She pulled a fall-colored cardigan off a shelf and held it against herself. “This one would probably sell better in LaLa Land , though.”
“That’s Sumac ,” said Jill. “And the other one’s Wild Turkey .” Her designs relied on color palettes inspired by Smoky Mountain flora and fauna.
Jill sold a few pieces a week through the boutique in Cloud Forest, the exclusive 5-star dude farm near the park. The world famous resort was called LaLa Land by the locals. It was a lucrative concept – a cleverly reversed version of The Beverly Hillbillies where the rich people paid to leave their exclusive gated enclaves for a vacation in the sticks. They could visit Green Acres without having to live there.
In a tiny cove that had been a subsistence farm until recently, the urban rich could pay $1,000 a day to sit in rocking chairs and watch other people perform farm labor. It was a canny twist on the venerable Tom Sawyer fence-painting con, but you didn’t dare let any of the city people actually touch live animals or farm
Ivy lived in a low-rise building in Sequoyah Hills. The place was popular with students, and there were sufficient comings and goings to render one person more or less unremarkable, he hoped. He carried a crowbar tucked up into the sleeve of his jacket, and a pair of gloves in his pockets.
He got in quickly without being seen, but the manner of his entry meant the latch wouldn’t work anymore. Once he was inside he had to prop a book against the door to hold it closed while he searched the place.
Ivy wasn’t much of a housekeeper, but even in the messy state she’d left the apartment, it was obvious after a few minutes that what he was looking for wasn’t there.
That was unwelcome news, but not totally unanticipated. Fortunately there was another place to look.
***
It was mid-afternoon when Bill dropped Phoebe off at her car, but she still wasn’t ready to go home, so she went back to Hamilton ’s to sit with her friend Jill. She knew at this time of day Jill would be sewing.
Jill made wearable art for women in a spare room she’d converted into a studio. Over the past few years, she’d built up a clientele on Etsy.com and now sewing was her primary source of income. Her sweater coats were highly sought-after, particularly by middle-aged women. The reconstructed clothes were metaphors for their lives. Jill took clothes other people had thrown away, cut out the worn and damaged places, salvaged the best parts, and reconfigured the leftovers into something practical and pretty.
Her designs were a modern retooling of an Appalachian icon, like Joseph’s coat of many colors or Dolly Parton’s homemade coat made famous in a country song. What had been an embarrassing necessity for the very poor, making recycled clothes out of scraps, was now the province of fiber art collectors and had been renamed upcycling or eco-couture .
Jill’s intention was that her creations be unique and cheerful talismans for women going through menopause, divorce, illness, or any other life situation when resurrection by bootstraps was required.
Phoebe knocked on the doorjamb and said, “Can I come in?”
“Sure, you can help me sort these pieces. I’m trying to coordinate the colors and group them into bundles.”
“These are t-shirts!” said Phoebe, delighted.
“Yeah, I don’t have enough business from Australia and New Zealand yet to keep me busy during our summer, so I’m expanding into a new lightweight line,” Jill said. “They’re gonna be longer than regular t-shirts, more like tunics or dresses, and have lettuce-edges and asymmetrical hems.”
She pointed to one of her dress forms where she had a t-shirt tunic pieced together with pins, “ Whaddya think?”
Phoebe went over to get a closer look. “I love it,” she said. “How fun, and what a flattering alternative to a boring old t-shirt.”
She pulled a fall-colored cardigan off a shelf and held it against herself. “This one would probably sell better in LaLa Land , though.”
“That’s Sumac ,” said Jill. “And the other one’s Wild Turkey .” Her designs relied on color palettes inspired by Smoky Mountain flora and fauna.
Jill sold a few pieces a week through the boutique in Cloud Forest, the exclusive 5-star dude farm near the park. The world famous resort was called LaLa Land by the locals. It was a lucrative concept – a cleverly reversed version of The Beverly Hillbillies where the rich people paid to leave their exclusive gated enclaves for a vacation in the sticks. They could visit Green Acres without having to live there.
In a tiny cove that had been a subsistence farm until recently, the urban rich could pay $1,000 a day to sit in rocking chairs and watch other people perform farm labor. It was a canny twist on the venerable Tom Sawyer fence-painting con, but you didn’t dare let any of the city people actually touch live animals or farm
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