Read Online The Grub-And-Stakers Quilt a Bee by Charlotte MacLeod, Alisa Craig - Free Book Online

so?”
    “Firstly, the board of trustees, of whom I’m one. We don’t intend to settle your bill until we’ve made positively sure that skylight isn’t going to leak again. Unless you can give us a positive ironclad guarantee, you might as well leave that stuff right where it is till after the next rain.”
    “Look, lady, when I fix a skylight, it’s fixed. I want my gear.”
    “That brings us to objection number two,” said Dittany, “namely and to wit, Sergeant Mac Vicar. In case you hadn’t heard, we had a sudden death here yesterday.”
    “What’d that to do with me?”
    “That remains to be seen,” Dittany replied darkly. “Anyway, Sergeant Mac Vicar’s in charge of the investigation, so you’d better trot yourself down to the station and get his permission before you start tampering with the evidence.”
    “What’s all this?” That was Mrs. Fairfield, right on the job. “Is that the plumber you’re talking to, Mrs. Monk? Did you tell him about the-why, Frederick Churtle! After all these years. If you’ve come to borrow more money from Peregrine, I’m afraid you’ve left it a bit late.”
    “Haven’t changed a bit, have you, Evangeline?” The roofer squinted up at her with what could be dimly discerned through his three-days’ growth of whiskers as an expression of deepest distaste.
    “Hey, you don’t mean that was Perry who got killed yesterday?”
    “It was, since you’re so kind as to inquire.”
    “Ill be damned.” He took a moment to digest the news, then shook his head. “Poor old Perry. How’d it happen?”
    “He went up to shut the attic windows Mrs. Monk here left open, and fell out.”
    The roofer shifted his gaze yet farther upward and shook his head again. “You trying to kid me?”
    Mrs. Fairfield’s not inconsiderable jaw dropped. “Frederick, whatever do you mean?”
    “Gripes, Evangeline, I always knew you weren’t anyways near so smart as you took credit for, but I’d never have believed you could be that dumb. Take a look at ‘em.”
    Instead of following his suggestion, Mrs. Fairfield turned to Dittany.
    “Mrs. Monk, if you have any idea what Frederick Churtle is driving at, would you be kind enough to enlighten me?”
    She did look thunderstruck, as well she might. Dittany tried to think of a tactful way to explain. “Well, you remember yesterday when we were up attic?”
    “How could I forget? If you hadn’t chosen that particular time to go-“
    Dittany’s tact began to wear thin. She fought the urge to remind Mrs. Fairfield that she had gone alone and would have been better content to remain so, and furthermore that she wasn’t the one who’d said to leave the windows open.
    “Yes, well, we can’t change that now, can we? What I started to say was, don’t you recall how tiny those windows are?”
    “Why no, I can’t say I do. When you say tiny-“
    “I mean they’re hardly more than portholes. Come out on the lawn and see for yourself.”
    Mrs. Fairfield heaved a mighty sigh, stepped down to the ground, and did as she was bidden. “Oh, dear. I do see what you mean. All right, Frederick, for once in your life, you were right and I was wrong. But if Peregrine didn’t fall out the window, then-“
    The roofer snorted. “Then I guess we know now why this young woman says Sergeant Mac Vicar doesn’t want me to take my rigging down, eh?”
    “Are you trying to say he fell off the roof? That’s absurd, and you should know it better than I. You know how Peregrine always was about heights, Frederick.”
    “I know. Wouldn’t even climb up on a chair to change a light bulb. Puts you on land of a sticky wicket, eh, Vangie?”
    Mrs. Fairfield didn’t say anything for what seemed a long time.
    Then she sighed again, more heavily than before. “Yes, Frederick, it does. If Sergeant Mac Vicar is-but I mustn’t even think of that, must I? After all, you were Peregrine’s friend once.”
    “Evangeline, what the bloody hell do you think you’re