Free Darned if You Do by Monica Ferris Page A

blond hair was cropped short, a contrast to Grace’s auburn locks, which tumbled in easy curls to her shoulders.
    Betsy sometimes took a seat at the table, and she did so now, allowing a few minutes for the group’s members to greet one another and bring out—and comment on—their needlework projects in progress.
    She was herself working on a needlepoint canvas of red and pink roses from a counted cross-stitch pattern. Instead of wool, she was using size three perle cotton. She hadn’t done any of the roses, with their leaves and buds, in the shop because counted cross-stitch was not her forte
and the frequent changes of colors took all her concentration, but now she was doing the background in buff, using the basket weave stitch, which was easy.
    â€œThat thing you’re stitching,” said Bershada. “I just love those colors, so rich. What’s it going to be, a pillow?”
    â€œNo,” Betsy said. “It’s going on the seat of a chair.”
    â€œGirl, if I put something as beautiful as that on the seat of a chair, no one would be allowed to sit on it.”
    Betsy, who had slaved over the piece for many hours, was inclined to agree that no one of lower rank than the Queen of England was going to rest her bottom on the stitching. She had spent countless hours frogging (or ripping out stitches—“rip it, rip it, rip it,” hence the term); nearly as many hours as she’d spent stitching. But all she said was, “Thanks, it is nice, isn’t it?”
    The general sharing of needlework progress had subsided, and the gossip was about to begin, when Betsy spoke up again. “May I ask you all something?” she asked. “It’s important, about Tom Riordan.”
    Tom Take’s misfortune had been a hot topic since the night of the storm, and all eyes lifted to Betsy when she mentioned his name. “What about him?” asked Doris in her throaty voice.
    â€œHis cousin is in town, and she’s been asked to clear out his house.”
    â€œBy who? You?” asked Emily, not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
    â€œTom didn’t ask anyone to do it, I’ll bet,” said Phil, grinning.
    â€œNot Tom,” agreed Betsy. “But his social worker and his attorney think that if this woman doesn’t take on the task, Hennepin County will—and they might not be as careful of his things as she will.”
    â€œHis cousin is a woman?” said Bershada. “Does she look something like Tom?”
    â€œShe looks a lot like him, actually. Why, have you met her?” asked Betsy.
    â€œNot to speak to, but I saw a woman standing outside Tom’s house last week, kind of looking it over, and she didn’t look happy with what she was seeing. I thought maybe she was a real estate agent. That house might be a mess, but it’s on a big lot only a block from the lake, and property values around here are staying nice and high.”
    There was a murmur of agreement.
    â€œAnd this woman looked like Tom?” asked Cherie.
    â€œYes. Yes, she did. I almost went over to speak to her, but she was looking kind of mad, so I didn’t.”
    â€œThat was probably her,” Betsy said. “Her name is Valentina Shipp. Leona sent her to me, because she thought maybe I could get some volunteers to help Ms. Shipp sort out the things in Tom’s house.”
    â€œWrite my name down,” said Phil immediately. “I’ll do it for free. In fact, I’d pay her for a chance to get a close look at the inside of that house.”
    â€œNo need to do that, Phil,” said Betsy, smiling. She sobered. “But this is a job for volunteers. There’s no pay involved. Ms. Shipp is far from wealthy. She drove here all the way from Indiana to help Tom, because he’s the last of her family.”
    Phil looked around the table. “What, I’m the only one who would like a chance to see just what Tom Take has