Free Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_02 by Framed in Lace Page A

to meet with Sergeant Malloy to take a look at the bit of silk they found on the boat. She seems to think she can tell what that tangle of thread is, or was supposed to be.”
    The women started talking in low voices as Betsy went for the wool, and as she came back into earshot, a sudden silence fell. Jessica’s thin mouth was a mere line, Alice’s complexion was a bright pink, and the other two women were trying out poker faces. Honestly , thought Betsy, the way these people gossip! I wonder what they’re saying about me.
    She sat down with a sigh and asked a question a customer had brought in, about how to get colors that run out of needlework (soak in frequently renewed ice water or milk, wash in Orvus, rinse copiously, roll in towels, iron dry, don’t hang). Then, satisfied they were back on topic, she said she needed their advice getting started on her counted cross-stitch Christmas ornaments. She got out the kit and complained that the cloth was all one big piece, and they wanted her to leave it that way—“Is that right?”—and to baste all around the edge of it, and then across its length every four inches, and then sort the floss, making sure all the colors were there, and on and on. “When do I get to start stitching?”
    â€œBut you are stitching,” said Kate in some surprise. “I almost like that part best, when you prepare your cloth and sort the colors, and start to see in your head what the project will look like, and even plan little changes you’ll make and so on.” Her voice had gotten dreamy at the prospect, and the women chuckled.
    Betsy said, “Oh, I get it. It’s like baking. You find a new recipe or a new version of an old one, and you get out the pans and line up the ingredients. You heat the milk and pour it and the sugar into the bowl, and the smell of the yeast as it starts to work is wonderful.”
    Jessica said a little dreamily, “Yes, it’s a lot like that,” and this time there was laughter.
    The Monday Bunch began discussing serging around the fabric on a sewing machine or even putting masking tape on it instead of basting, and were just starting on finding the center of a pattern, when the door went bing and Patricia entered, Malloy close behind her. She was wearing a green plaid swing coat and her dark hair was pulled back into a ribboned clip, which made her look prosperous and responsible. Malloy was wearing a raincoat that Columbo might have coveted. “Hi, everyone!” said Patricia, looking around. “Where’s Martha?”
    â€œNot here today,” said Jessica. “Why?”
    â€œOh, no! I told Sergeant Malloy she was our bobbin lace expert. He wants to talk to her about that little piece of fabric they found, because I told him I think it’s part of a handkerchief edged in bobbin lace.”
    Malloy’s face also showed disappointment, but Alice Skoglund said quietly, “I used to do bobbin lace.”
    All heads came around. Since she had joined the Monday Bunch, no one had seen her do anything but crochet endless afghan squares. She set her heavy jaw and looked back calmly.
    â€œWell, Alice, can you look at this, then?” Patricia gestured at Malloy, who obediently put the square of glass on the table in front of Alice.
    She peered at it closely for a few moments, turning it once, then said, “Have we got a magnifying glass anywhere?”
    â€œYes,” said Betsy, and went to the checkout desk. She pawed through two drawers before finding the big rectangular one with its handle on one corner. She brought it to Alice, who bent close and used it to study the glass plates for a longer while.
    â€œYes,” she said finally, leaning back. “This is bobbin lace.”
    â€œAre you sure?” asked Malloy.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow can you tell?”
    â€œIf you pick a strand and follow it, you can see how the twists were made. And these are