Free Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_04 by Unraveled Sleeve

patterns.” There was a pleased murmur. “Charlotte wouldn’t tell me the teacher’s name; she was very mysterious about it.” Isabel’s tone was again humorous and the ladies laughed.
    Betsy sat up straighter. Wow, she was going to get an actual glimpse of how designing was done!
    Isabel continued. “So, will our mysterious instructor please stand up and introduce herself? Or himself?”
    There was a rustle as everyone looked around. But no one stood up.
    â€œMaybe it was Charlotte herself who was going to teach the class,” someone suggested.
    But another said, “No, Charlotte doesn’t do hardanger well enough to teach it.”
    Isabel forced a smile and said, “Well, this is mysterious!”
    There was brief, uncomfortable laughter, then a quiet murmur moved around the room as Isabel frowned and tried to think what to say next. A slim woman with a deep tan at the next table said, “Who?” to the table beyond hers, and repeated the name to the others. “Kaye of Escapade Design.”
    Betsy said to Jill, “I see I wasn’t the only one thinking it might be her.”
    Isabel said, “Well, maybe she’s not here yet. While we wait for her, let’s get started. Come on into the lounge.”
    The room filled with pleased, anticipatory murmurs as the guests began to stand and move.
    Jill and Betsy returned to their room to load up with the paraphernalia of needlework. Betsy took a moment to tuck the magazine into her knitting bag.
    Back downstairs, the women—and two of the men—had just about filled the sunlit lounge. There was a sign-in sheet on a clipboard displayed on a table; Jill and Betsy signed it.
    Jill said, “I see two seats there,” nodding toward the middle of the room. As they moved toward them, Betsy glanced out the big windows and halted in amazement. The lake steamed as if it were coming to a boil. A light breeze bent the steam this way and that, uncovering small areas of dark blue water and quickly covering them again.
    â€œOh, pretty!” said Betsy.
    â€œYes,” Jill said, “the air is colder than the lake. As soon as it warms up a little, the steam will quit.”
    Jill followed Betsy to a pair of facing couches. Isabel was sitting on one, the strong sunlight putting lavender highlights on her purple dress, and on the other was the tanned woman who had repeated the name “Kaye of Escapade Design.”
    Isabel said, “Sit down, sit down! I’d introduce you to Carla, but I don’t know your names.”
    â€œI’m Jill Cross,” Jill said, sitting next to Carla, “and this is my friend Betsy Devonshire. We’re from Excelsior, where Betsy owns a needlework shop.”
    Betsy sat next to Isabel, smiled, and said, “Hello.”
    Carla, whose short hair was salt and pepper, smiled back and said, “I’m Carla Prakesh, from Duluth and Fort Myers, Florida. What kind of needlework do you sell?”
    Betsy said, “Needlepoint and counted cross-stitch, knitting yarn, and patterns, some crochet supplies. I carry only a few Penelope canvases, as not many people care to do both petit point and needlepoint on the same piece.” She mentioned that because the brown canvas Carla was working on was called Penelope.
    â€œAnd isn’t that a shame?” drawled Carla. “I mean, trame is the original, isn’t it? This is how the medieval noblewoman applied her needle. Cross-stitch was done by the peasants.”
    Betsy didn’t know what to say. While she really liked needlepoint herself, she didn’t think it was because she carried the genes of a medieval noblewoman.
    Isabel had made a sound in her throat, and Betsy glanced over to see she was working on a cross-stitch pattern of roses.
    â€œWhere do you find your trame canvases?” asked Betsy. Only a few months ago she would have pronounced it “trame.” Now she knew it was pronounced