Read Online Wreath of Deception by Mary Ellen Hughes - Free Book Online Page A

would definitely need Susan Crosby to pitch in, but I’ll have to find out when she and her husband are taking that cruise to the Bahamas,” as well as several other problems that stood in the way of a definite answer.
    Jo got an enthusiastic response when she called the office of the Abbotsville United Methodist Church, but then she was given the numbers of several more women to call who “may or may not be available for the project. And thank you so much for thinking of us.”
    Even the professional craftsmen she contacted left her hanging, some describing their schedules as in flux and saying they would therefore need to hold off on a definite answer for a bit, “but really, what a nice opportunity it sounds like.” Others responded only with messages on their answering machines that promised to get back to the caller “very soon.” It quickly became clear why Bob Gordon had been so happy to give her the job.
    “Arrgh!” Jo cried after hanging up from possibly her twentieth unproductive call. “Herding cats is right. Gordon must be dancing in his office right now.”
    “I thought the phrase was ‘herding chickens.’” Carrie looked over from the stamping section where she stood, filling out an order sheet.
    “No, it has to be cats. A chicken might at least gift you with an egg for your efforts. Cats give you nothing, and the harder you try, the more they secretly laugh at you. These people are cats, and they’re all rubbing their paws beside their phones right now, saying, ‘Hee, hee, she thinks she’s actually going to get cooperation from us, snicker, snicker.’”
    “Spoken as one who never owned a cat, of course.”
    “There’s a good reason for that.” Jo got up from her chair and stretched her tired back. “And as soon as I think of it, I’ll let you know. What’s on our agenda for tonight?”
    “The scrapbooking workshop. But you’re on your own for that. I’m going to ‘Parents’ Night’ at the school.”
    “Oh, yeah. Guess I better bone up on scrapbooking some more. They never taught it at art school, you know, mostly because it didn’t exist at the time.”
    “We all kept scrapbooks as kids. Mine were always a mess, though, just pages with everything I wanted to save thrown in—awards certificates, school pictures, dried corsages. This is a lot different, isn’t it?”
    “Absolutely. This is a real art form, Carrie. Each page is decorated according to the theme of the entry, snapshots are trimmed to set off the subject, and everything is arranged on layers of beautiful papers. It can be quite elaborate. And the range of tools available,” Jo moved over to the scrapbooking section, pointing out the stock, “embossers, calligraphy pens, paper punchers, special paper trimmers—”
    “Sounds like a great hobby to encourage,” Carrie said with a grin. “The more enthusiastic the scrapbooker, the better your business.”
    “Right! Tonight’s workshop, though, is for beginners, of which I still consider myself one.”
    “Oh, I know your wheels will start turning as they always do, as soon as you see those blank pages before you. Who’s signed up for it?”
    Jo found the sign-up sheet and laughed. “Ina Mae, for one. She seems determined to learn everything our little Craft Corner can offer.”
    “It’s the elementary school teacher in her. All those years of decorating bulletin boards. They can’t stop.”
    “And Deirdre Patterson’s coming too. She signed up at the end of the wreath workshop.”
    “Even after the glued fingers? You must have really stirred up the hobbyist in her. I never thought she’d be inclined toward arts and crafts, what with the damage that can do to one’s manicure.”
    “I don’t know. She’s clearly never done much of it before. Maybe it’s the novelty, or she might just like the camaraderie. Could she be feeling lonely?”
    “I wouldn’t think so. As Mrs. Alden Patterson, I’m sure her social calendar is well booked.”
    “Well,