The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

He smiled at me. “I like a forgiving woman. I’m glad you decided to try Belle’s Beans.”

“Why?” I said.

“Because I found you here today. I was thinking last night how rough you’ve had it in the past year and how it’s not getting much better. But you seem to have handled what life’s thrown at you with mettle.”

“You must have me confused with Miss Upstate John Deere or Candace. I am not the least bit brave.”

He laughed. “Winnebago. Miss Upstate Winnebago. She’s something, huh?”

“I kinda like Lydia,” I said.

“Because she let you off the hook yesterday?” he said. “Don’t be fooled by that.”

“She considers me a suspect?”

“Can we not go there? I don’t know much of anything except not to trust Lydia. She’s a nutcase. So let’s talk about something else. I heard you took in one of Wilkerson’s cats.”

“No secrets in Mercy,” I said. “But what’s this about Lydia?”

“You do not want to know. Just let me say she’ll show her true colors soon enough. I also heard Shawn’s got himself in trouble.”

“What exactly have you heard?” I said.

“He’s down the street at the police station this minute trying to dig himself out of a hole.”

“I know that much. I was at the Sanctuary when they took him in.”

“Whoa. Really?”

“You think they’ll arrest him?” I said.

“You’re worried, huh?” he said. “Because you two are friends, I take it?”

“He’s a good guy,” I answered. “Why is he being interrogated again?”

“It’s about his fingerprints, I hear. Fingerprints found in the wrong place.”

“No way,” I said, horrified. “Shawn’s fingerprints were on the knife?”

Tom’s ears reddened. “I didn’t say that. I heard his fingerprints were found somewhere other than the places you’d expect—not just upstairs where the cats had been kept.”

“Then they might not have been in all the wrong places.” A morsel of relief eased the knot in my gut. “That makes me feel better, because I helped get Shawn into this mess.”

“Hey, Jillian, you didn’t make him do anything. You told the police the truth. That’s what you’re supposed to do. And maybe this is news to you, but most people in town know he can get into trouble all by himself.”

“What does that mean?” I said.

“He has strong opinions about his animals,” Tom said. “Mostly the way the county quickly carts off dogs and cats to county or state facilities rather than checking with Shawn to see if he has room to take them at the Sanctuary.”

“That sounds like a passionate man who wants to take care of a problem,” I said. “Gosh, I wish we hadn’t gone to the Pink House the day before.”

“The day before?” His blue eyes were wide with surprise.

I took a hefty swig of much-needed coffee before I explained about the visit Shawn and I made to Wilkerson’s house and that I felt I’d gotten him in trouble by telling the police about it.

“You shouldn’t be too worried about a small disagreement at Wilkerson’s front door. I’m betting that’s not the first time around for Shawn.” Tom removed his cup lid so he could drink the dregs of his coffee.

“Still, it doesn’t look good for him. He and Allison told me they refused to adopt cats out to Wilkerson,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “Shawn mentioned Wilkerson when I installed their security system. He said he suspected him of breaking in. But Shawn had a bad rep with the county. Guess he cussed out more than one person when he complained, and he figured Morris Ebeling didn’t bother to do much investigating after the Sanctuary break-in.”

“But that’s so wrong,” I said. “Animals were taken and—”

“This is small-town America, Jillian. You make friends and they’re yours for life. You make enemies and the same thing is true.”

“That doesn’t make it right for the police to ignore—”

“Wait. I’m not saying they ignored Shawn’s complaint. I don’t have all the details. I was hoping to reassure you that the fact that he had a beef with Wilkerson isn’t fresh news.”

“I still want to help Shawn. He didn’t kill that man.”

“Help him? Then I hope you have information on other possible suspects, because the cats sure didn’t stick a knife in the man. Unless you’re talking about yourself as a suspect—which doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I got the feeling Baca thought I was a suspect yesterday, but Lydia Monk was so nice and seemed to understand I wouldn’t have had time to get to the house, kill the man, change my clothes and—”

“Hold on. Remember what I said about her? Do not trust that woman,” he said.

“But she wants to find the truth, right? That’s her job,” I said.

“This has more to do with her personality than how she does her job. You should know that even though I don’t suspect you, if I were still a cop, I couldn’t rule you out simply by looking at you.”

“She’s trying to be the good cop when she talks to me?” I said.

“That would imply there’s a bad cop. Are you thinking of Chief Baca? I’m sure she wants him to appear that way, believe me,” he said. “In my opinion, this shows the coroner system is flawed. Mike Baca is better equipped to handle this case.”

“I don’t pretend to understand any of it, so I believe you. Now, back to Shawn. Even if he does have a temper, there’s this wonderful compassionate side to him. He seems—”

“Yeah, yeah, so you like the guy. But surely you saw that he’s happily married?”

“It’s not like that.” I was surprised at Tom’s reaction—that I might be interested in Shawn as more than a friend. And though I felt a little guilty because John came immediately to mind, I realized the very good-looking Tom Stewart was acting, well, jealous . And it made me feel something I hadn’t expected to feel again. Attractive.

“Then what is it like between you two?” Tom cocked his head.

I paused after that question. “I met him the other day and was impressed with the Sanctuary. I had already come to think of him as a friend. Like you’ve become. And that means I have to do something to help him. And besides, you see a person dead by such violent means and you . . . you . . . well, that makes it even more important to make sure justice is done. Especially since I’m certain Baca is wrong about Shawn.”

“How can you be so sure about Shawn’s innocence? Are you relying on instinct?” he said.

“Yes—maybe that’s it. Though I do have a partial left brain,” I said with a laugh. “You need a few math skills for making quilts. Angles, numbers, precision—all come into play.”

He laughed. “I know nothing about making quilts. But if you want to teach me, that’s great. Just don’t tell anyone. Especially any guys.”

My turn to smile. “There are plenty of wonderful male quilters. But as for this instinct thing, maybe I should pay attention to what my gut is telling me.”

“Instinct I understand.” He was nodding. “Cops rely on it all the time.”

“You know how to run an investigation, so could you give me some pointers?”

“Huh? Why would you want to learn how to—Uh-oh.” He was staring over my left shoulder and I turned to see why.

Lydia Monk and Candace had come inside the café. I heard Lydia say, “Get us two coffees to go, Candy. Plenty of sugar for me.”

Candace put the order in with Shondra while Lydia walked over to us. She wore a tight denim skirt, a hot pink sweater that plunged nearly to her navel and high black boots with stiletto heels.

“I knew you’d be here, Tom, but Ms. Hart’s presence is a surprise,” Lydia said. “You two look plenty cozy in this corner. Are you talking about the murder? Or something more personal?”