Free Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_02 by Framed in Lace

Shelly tiredly.
    â€œWhy, Shelly, I thought you’d be home grading papers or something.”
    â€œNow, Irene, you know that’s how I spend my Sunday afternoons, smoking and drinking and grading papers.” When she was tired, Shelly could be difficult, too.
    â€œMay we help you, Irene?” asked Betsy, anxious to get this over with so she could go upstairs and sit on the edge of her bathtub and do that trick of running cold then hot then cold then hot water over her feet.
    â€œI’ve come to look at that picture you have of the lace collar.”
    â€œWhat? Oh. It’s not a picture, it’s a Xerox copy. And we don’t know exactly what it was part of. Sergeant Malloy left it in hopes that people can identify it.” Betsy led the way to the desk.
    Irene studied the copy from different angles, coming beside the desk and even behind it. Betsy, seeking a second to Patricia’s opinion, was beginning to feel optimistic when Irene said, “Humph, doesn’t look like much of anything to me.”
    Betsy sighed. “I agree, and I saw the real thing.”
    Irene straightened so abruptly that Godwin, who had been standing close behind her, was forced to jump backward, which he did adroitly. Irene said, “I thought perhaps I could be of significant help with your second case, as I was with the first one”—she smirked proudly, then her face fell—“but I suppose not.”
    â€œThis isn’t my case, Irene,” said Betsy, annoyance lending strength to the assertion, which she had made several times that day. “I am not involved. I am only allowing Sergeant Malloy to leave a request for information here. He probably has also left it at Needle Nest and Stitchville and who knows where else.”
    â€œDo you mean to tell me, Irene,” purred Godwin, “that there is a needlework style you can’t identify? I am stunned to hear that, Irene, at a total loss for words.”
    Irene did look him in the eye then. For about three seconds. Then, silently, she turned and walked out of the shop.
    Shelly, giggling, said, “Godwin, you are the limit.”
    â€œThank you, Shelly, I try.”

5
    T oday’s Monday Bunch more resembled the usual gathering, with four present. Oddly, one of the most faithful wasn’t there: Martha Winters.
    Her best friend Jessica explained, “The refrigeration unit in her dry cleaning machine has been acting up for weeks, and Jeff had the repairman over at least once, but now it’s broken down completely, and everyone’s cleaning is going to be late. So Martha decided to supervise the replacement herself.”
    â€œJeff’s her grandson,” Alice explained briefly to Betsy.
    Jessica nodded. “Her grandson is careless about repairs and replacements, but you can be sure Martha’s going to stand right behind that poor repairman to make sure he does it right.” Jessica sniffed righteously and then added, “Oh, she said to ask if anyone knows how Emily and her baby are doing, and she’ll be here next Monday.” The baby blanket Jessica had been working on was nearly finished. It gleamed in soft white folds in her lap, and her crochet hook moved as rapidly as if it were attached to a machine rather than a work-thickened hand.
    Alice said, “Emily’s named her Morgana Jean. Six pounds, twenty inches, both at home, grandmom’s there helping.” She sighed and shrugged her big shoulders, fingers working on yet another afghan square.
    Jessica said, “Then I’ll have that pink wool, Betsy; just one skein, please. I’ll embroider little pink daisies around the edge of this.”
    As Betsy got up to get it, Kate, a trim woman working on a complex counted cross-stitch of a horse-drawn carriage on a rain-wet cobblestone street, asked, “Have they identified that skeleton yet?”
    Betsy replied, “I haven’t heard anything. But Patricia is going