The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Epigraph

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Praise for Leann Sweeney’s Yellow Rose Mysteries

“As Texas as a Dr Pepper-swigging armadillo at the Alamo. A rip-roaring read!”

—Carolyn Hart, author of Death of the Party

“ Shoot from the Lip is full of emotions! Anger, sadness, fear, happiness, laughter, joy, and tears . . . they are all there, and you will feel them along with the characters in this book!”

—Amanda Shafer, Armchair Interviews

“I adore this series.”—Roundtable Reviews

“A welcome new voice in mystery fiction.”

—Jeff Abbott, bestselling author of Collision

“A dandy debut . . . will leave mystery fans eager to read more about Abby Rose.”

—Bill Crider, author of Of All Sad Worlds

“ Pick Your Poison goes down sweet.”

—Rick Riordan, Edgar ®Award-winning author of The Battle of the Labyrinth

“A witty, down-home Texas mystery . . . [a] fine tale.”

— Midwest Book Review

The Yellow Rose Mysteries

by Leann Sweeney

Pushing Up Bluebonnets

Shoot From the Lip

Dead Giveaway

A Wedding to Die For

Pick Your Poison

OBSIDIAN

Published by New American Library, a division of

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First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

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First Printing, May 2009

Copyright © Leann Sweeney, 2009

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This book is for Maddie

Acknowledgments

A huge thanks to my critique group for their inspiration and keen eyes: Kay, Amy, Laura, Bob, Charlie, Millie, Dean and Joe, as well as Susie and Isabella. I am grateful to Felicia Donovan for her wonderful computer forensic knowledge and to the online “cozies” who have carried me along as a friend—you know who you are and I love you. My family—Mike, Shawn, Jillian, Jeffrey, Allison, Maddie, and to my sister Candy and my great friend Lydia—thank you all for your love and support. To my agent, Carol Mann—I am so glad you keep sticking by me. And to my editor, Claire, who encouraged me to write this book and stood by patiently during a year of challenges—I can never thank you enough. You are amazing.

Curiosity is lying in wait for every secret.

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

One

My cat is allergic to people—yes, odd, I know—so when I came in the back door and heard Chablis sneeze, I stopped dead. Why was she sneezing? This couldn’t be a reaction to me. I use special shampoo, take precautions. Chablis and I are cool.

Besides, she hadn’t been near any humans for more than twenty-four hours, since I was just arriving back from an overnight business trip to Spartanburg, a two-hour drive from my upstate South Carolina home. I’d left her and my two other cats, Merlot and Syrah, alone in the house, as I’d done many times before when I took short trips out of town. So how did human dander, better known as dandruff, find its way up her nose?

I released my grip on the rolling suitcase and started for the living room, thinking there could be a simple explanation for a sneezing cat other than allergies. Like an illness.

The thought of a sick Chablis pushed logic down to the hippocampus or wherever common sense goes when you have more important matters to attend to. I dropped my tote on the counter and hurried past the teak dining table. Since my kitchen, dining area and living room all blend together, the trip to where I’d heard Chablis sneeze wasn’t more than twenty feet. But before I’d taken five steps, I stopped again. Something else besides a sneezing cat now had my attention.

Silence. No background noise. No Animal Planet playing on the television. I always leave the TV tuned to that station when I go away. If the cats were entertained by The Jeff Corwin Experience or Heroes or E-Vet , I’d convinced myself, my absences were more tolerable. Okay, I’m neurotic about my three friends. Not cat-lady neurotic. At forty-one I’m a little young for that. But cats have been my best friends for as long as I can remember, and the ones that live with me now have been amazing since my husband, John, died ten months ago. They take care of me. So I try my best to take care of them.

Could the TV be off because of a power failure?

Glancing back at the microwave, I saw that the clock showed the correct time—one p.m. Perhaps the high-def plasma TV blew up in a cloud of electronic smoke? Maybe. Didn’t matter, though. Not now. I’d only heard from Chablis, and none of my cats had shown their faces. I was getting a bad vibe—and I can usually rely on my intuition.

“Chablis, I’m home,” I called. I kept walking, slowly now—didn’t want to panic them if I was overreacting—and went into the living area. “Syrah, where are you? Merlot, I missed you.”