Free Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_04 by Unraveled Sleeve Page A

“trah- may .” In trame, the pattern is first painted onto the canvas, then floss is basted horizontally across the pattern in colors to match, and the result sold to a stitcher who stitches over the basting. It is an expensive form of needlework, but allows complex and beautiful patterns, often based on medieval and Renaissance patterns or the paintings of old masters.
    â€œI buy them from a sweet little shop in Fort Myers,”Carla replied, with an archness that encouraged her listeners to deduce that “sweet little” meant very upscale. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it? C. Chapell is the name.”
    â€œNo, but I’m new to the business,” said Betsy. “I inherited the shop from my sister, and I still have a great deal to learn about it.”
    Carla drew a deep breath to expound further, but Isabel had simultaneously drawn a shallower breath and so got in ahead of her with, “What are you working on this weekend, Jill?”
    Jill had set up her project, a large painted canvas of an elegant tiger sitting on a green silk pillow, looking over his shoulder at the viewer in a grand and aloof way. She had a set of stretcher bars and was preparing to stitch the needlepoint canvas onto the bars.
    â€œI love the way he sits alone in all this space,” said Jill, “and I’m tempted to just fill the background with basketweave stitch.”
    â€œOh, I think it would be boring to do that much basketweave,” Carla said. “Don’t you, Isabel? Well, maybe not you; you do all your pictures with lots and lots of little x’s.”
    Isabel’s roses were highly detailed, in at least six shades of pink and six of green on very fine, snow white linen. “I don’t find counted boring at all,” she said with hardly any rancor.
    â€œBut with just plain basketweave and all in the same color, the slightest flaw would just jump out at you, Jill,” remarked Betsy, the voice of experience.
    â€œNow if it were trame,” pounced Carla, “there would probably be a pattern of jungle leaves and flowers in fifteen or twenty colors all around that tiger. Very lovely and elegant.”
    â€œBut leaves and flowers wouldn’t look as good as this vast plain,” said Jill, smiling at her subtle pun. “Maybe I won’t even stitch over it, just have it finished with awhite backing. Or maybe a lighter shade of green than that pillow he’s sitting on.” She held it out at arm’s length by the top stretcher bar, her head cocked a little.
    Jill was rarely forthcoming like this, especially among strangers. Betsy sat back, watching, sure Jill was up to something.
    Jill said, “I wonder what our mystery instructor would suggest.”
    â€œWho can guess? No one knows who she was supposed to be,” said Isabel, making a single cross-stitch in a deep shade of pink on a rose petal.
    Jill said, “But didn’t Carla here say it was Kaye of Escapade Design?”
    Carla said, “No, I heard someone else say that. I don’t know for a fact who it was supposed to be.”
    Betsy said, “Do you know Kaye?”
    â€œYes. She’s from Duluth, as am I. So naturally our paths have crossed a few times.”
    â€œIs she a good teacher? I’m thinking about hardanger, and it might be helpful to take a class.”
    Carla grew thoughtful. “Well, she’s all right, I suppose. Of course, her specialty is counted.” The drawl was very apparent. But apparently realizing she’d gone a little too far, she amended, “Now she is a very talented needlewoman, she really is. Her hardanger is amazing. And with beginners she can be sweet. But if anyone comes to her with an idea of their own, she’s not . . . sympathetic. Not actually rude, just not . . . sympathetic.” She looked at Isabel for confirmation.
    And, reluctantly, Isabel nodded. “But we don’t know that she was