Free 4 Plagued by Quilt by Molly MacRae Page B

Clod.
Had
he interrogated me? Not really. It was more like he’d interviewed me with intent. But with intent to do what besides irritate? He’d passed the time with a few questions and a smattering of accusations. He hadn’t learned anythingmore earth-shattering than the fundamentals of retting linen, or that Phillip took an interest in local names, or that I didn’t know someone named Fredda. He hadn’t learned that there’d been a woman with Phillip last night, because I hadn’t thought to mention it. Grace? Or could that have been Fredda? Was that why Shorty had asked me about her? Had they already talked to her? But she was a good liar . . .
    A door closed down the hall or across the hall. Nadine stood up.
    “Maybe that’s Deputy Dunbar,” she said, “and we’ll hear something.”
    But it wasn’t Clod; it was my idea of a better Dunbar.
    “Hey, Kath, have you seen—oh.” Joe stopped short of bending to kiss me. “Hey, Nadine.” His hand settled in the small of my back. “Sorry to hear about Phillip, Nadine. He seemed like an interesting guy. I know he was going to make things easier for you around here. If I can help in the short term, just give the word.”
    “That’s good of you, Joe. Thank you.”
    “In the meantime, has either of you seen Fredda?”

Chapter 8
    “F redda had an appointment in Knoxville today,” Nadine said. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “Her truck’s behind the equipment shed.” Joe’s hand left my back. He’d caught sight of the banjo and went to pick it up. “Maybe under the circumstances she didn’t go.”
    “Then if she’s heard about Phillip, that’s one less person I have to tell,” Nadine said. “But I left her off the list I gave Cole of everyone who was here this morning.”
    “I think Cole already knows she was here,” I said. “But, um, who is she?”
    “You haven’t met her?” Nadine asked. “I’m sure you’ve seen her around, though. She’s our new caretaker. She took the job after Joe filled in that short while for us. It was Joe who recommended her.”
    “She used to have a lawn care business,” Joe said. “Good with small engines. And animals.” He plucked a banjo string. It jangled discordantly, and he put the banjo back next to the filing cabinet. “You’ve had your share of excitement out here in the past couple of days.”
    “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” Nadine said, hugging herself. “Poor Phillip. He enjoyed stirring things up.”
    Clod darkened the doorway at that point. “Ms. Solberg? May I—”
    “Finally
.
”
Nadine’s terse greeting pinched off whatever else Clod had planned to say.
    Joe and I took that as our cue to slip away.
    *   *   *
    “What would Fredda have to lie about?” I asked as we made our way to the excavation site. Joe wanted to see it—and the elbow if he could. Because Jerry and Zach had vacated the auditorium, we hoped they’d been given the go-ahead to start the careful work of uncovering the bones.
    “What makes you think she has anything to lie about?”
    “Something your brother bark—er, something he said.”
    “You shouldn’t listen to everything he barks.”
    “You’re right. You’re a wise man, Joe Dunbar. With long legs.”
    Loping Joe adjusted his stride with a smile. Neither of us was a hand-holder, but we walked companionably across the site grounds. Joe hummed and I indulged myself by comparing and contrasting the Dunbar brothers. It was an interesting pastime, but not really fair, due to my personal bias. I also knew it might be dangerous to the relationship Joe and I were still working on.
    Joe liked to say we were knitting our relationship—going forward, dropping a stitch now and then, unraveling a bit, then moving forward again. I thought of it more as weaving—one of us on either side of a huge loom, sailing shuttles of bright colors back and forth to each other—creating a tapestry we could both live with. But considering the pieces of