Free Knot in My Backyard (A Quilting Mystery) by Mary Marks

river to jog my memory. I planned not to go any farther than the yellow police tape. If I did, it would be just my luck for Detective Kaplan to show up.
    Since my new athletic shoes were in the dryer, I wore my gardening shoes, a pair of bubble-gum-pink Crocs that made me look like Barbie’s plump mother.

CHAPTER 13
    A Joshua Beaumont groundskeeper rode a large green power mower in straight lines over the outfield. A very tall young woman stood on the street at the chain-link fence and gazed in his direction. She wore a pair of white slacks and a gauzy white shirt over a black halter top. Her long, Malibu-blond hair drooped in the hot sun, and large sunglasses covered her face. A yellow Mercedes SL convertible sat at the curb behind her.
    As I got closer, I could see she was crying. She held a wad of tissues in her right hand and lifted her sunglasses with her left so she could wipe her eyes. The sun glinted off the large diamonds in her wedding ring. Expensive hair, expensive car, big diamonds—clearly, she was a Joshua Beaumont person.
    I stopped about three feet away from her. “Hi.”
    She glanced at me, blew her nose, and looked away.
    “Are you okay?”
    She took a shaky breath and sniffed. “I’m fine,” she said in a voice hoarse from crying.
    “I’m guessing you knew Dax Martin.”
    She turned sharply toward me. “Who are you?”
    “My name is Martha Rose. I live in that house over there.” I pointed to the one near the end of the street. “I went for a walk a couple of days ago and found his body.”
    She must have been as tall as Lucy in her bare feet, because she stood well over six feet in her platform sandals. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose again. “I just can’t believe what happened.”
    I put my hand reassuringly on her arm. “Are you his wife?”
    She took a step backward. “Oh no, I’m an old friend. We went to high school together. Beaumont. We used to joke we both ended back where we started.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Dax worked for my husband, Jefferson. He’s the headmaster of Beaumont. I’m Diane Davis.” She offered her hand, apparently forgetting she’d just used it to blow her nose.
    “Well, I can see how Mr. Martin’s death would be such a personal loss. I’m so sorry.”
    “You saw him. Did he . . . Did he die right away?”
    Oh, my God. How should I know? He may have been conscious through the whole savage beating, in which case he would have suffered greatly .
    “I’m not an expert, but I think it was an ambush. The attack was probably over very quickly.”
    Her hands shook as she covered her face.
    The severe August sun was creeping toward its zenith. “I need to get out of this heat. Can I offer you a cold drink back at my house? It’s much cooler inside.”
    She hesitated for a moment and then relaxed. A sniff, more nose blowing, and “Yeah, I could really use something cold. Just let me close up the car.”
    She walked rather skillfully on her five-inch platforms. I wore a more moderate version of platform sandals in the 1970s. They boosted me all the way up to five feet five, but I turned my ankle once and nearly broke my neck in the fall. Now my shoes were all about comfort, and I painted quite a contrast walking alongside this dazzling California girl in my bubble-gum-pink rubber shoes.
    The inside of my house felt mercifully cool. I gestured for Diane to sit on the sofa. “I have diet cola or water. Which would you prefer?”
    She took off her sunglasses and her puffy red eyes disturbed an otherwise perfect face. “Water and lots of ice, if you have it.”
    We sat for a minute, just enjoying our drinks. Between sips Diane pressed the frosty glass against her forehead and around her eyes.
    I cleared my throat softly to get her attention. “So tell me about the Beaumont School. Has anything changed since you went there? I’m guessing that wasn’t so long ago.”
    Diane Davis smiled for the first time. “I graduated twelve years ago and the