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

talking about?”
    “Oh, Frederick, how can I tell? Such a dreadful, dreadful-Mrs.
    Monk, do you think you could possibly find me a cup of tea?”
    “I’ll put the kettle on,” said Dittany. “You go on into the parlor and stretch out on the chesterfield.”
    “No, no. I mustn’t give in. Peregrine wouldn’t have wanted that.
    I’ll just go into my office and get back to work. Frederick, if you happen to run across that plumber, I’d thank you to tell him I want him here at his earliest convenience.”
    “How come his convenience instead of yours? Gettin* soft in your old age, Evangeline?”
    “Frederick, this is hardly the time or the place for one of your singularly tasteless jokes. Surely you can’t object to delivering a simple message. You owe me a few favors, in case you’d forgotten.
    Among other things.”
    Before the roofer could reply, Mrs. Fairfield turned and stalked back inside. Dittany waited to ask the man, “If your name’s Churtle, why do you call yourself Brown?”
    “I’m a remittance man. I don’t want to embarrass me dear old daddy the dock.”
    “Thank you. And how come you picked today to come after your tackle, when you allegedly finished patching the skylight two weeks ago and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since?”
    “I been busy writing my memoirs. Ta-ta, miss.”
    He got into his van and chugged off. Dittany went to make Mrs.
    Fairfield’s tea. As she was scalding the pot, she thought of phoning Sergeant MacVicar about this interesting new development. Then she reflected that the phone was on the desk where Mrs. Fairfield would be sitting, that she didn’t quite know what to tell, and that Sergeant MacVicar must already know the roofer had been here.
    News of any sort wasn’t apt to lie around gathering dust in Lobelia Falls, and the Mac Vicars’ own grapevine was almost preternaturally efficient. She rinsed out a pink teacup with For a Loving Grandma printed on it in gold, clearly one Therese hadn’t yet got around to putting into the flea market, made the tea, and carried the tray to Mrs. Fairfield.
    The widow was at the ledgers again. She took off the plasticrimmed granny glasses that had been perched halfway down her nose and let them dangle from the black cord around her neck.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Monk. This will perk me up. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what a ghastly shock it was having Frederick Churtle pop up like that. It’s been thirty years or more since I hoped I’d seen the last of him. You don’t really believe what he was trying to make out, do you?”
    “It’s not a question of what I believe.” Dittany was through trying to be tactful. “It’s what Sergeant MacVicar believes that matters. He’ll be hotfooting it over here, I expect, once he learns you’re up and about.”
    Normally he wouldn’t have come badgering a widow quite so soon, but this one was asking for bother. Mrs. Fairfield might be wondering whether she’d have done better to stick with the cologne and the darkened bedroom. She fussed around with the milk and sugar and took a fortifying sip of her tea.
    “I’m sure you’re wondering, Mrs. Monk, how my husband and I ever came to know a man like Frederick Churtle. The thing of it is, Frederick and Peregrine were boyhood chums back in their hometown and kept up their acquaintance as they grew up, even though their lives were taking very different paths.”
    She had recourse to the pink teacup again, then shook her head.
    “No, that won’t do. You may as well know the plain truth. My husband, who you must realize was the best-hearted man alive, allowed Frederick to impose on his good nature long after he’d outgrown the acquaintance. Not to put too fine a point on it, Frederick borrowed large sums of money from Peregrine and never paid them back.”
    “Oh,” said Dittany.
    “Yes, that’s how it was. I daresay we could all tell stories of false friends. Forgive me for airing my personal problems this way,