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seen quite enough to make a decision about taxing the quilting group’s proceeds and requiring permits. It was good of Ramsay to invite me here today. You’ll have to thank him for me.”
    Georgia gave a small gasp. Her eyes clouded up, which, in Beatrice’s experience, meant that the waterworks were about to turn on. Beatrice’s head started to hurt. “But you haven’t really given us a chance,” said Georgia. “Did you notice that most of the proceeds from this event are going to fund local charities?”
    Meadow’s face was thunderous. She thrust her hands on her hips and glowered down at the shorter Booth. “You should eat something sweet,” said Meadow pointedly, “to improve your sour disposition.”
    Meadow’s stance and her booming voice were definitely drawing attention. Opal Woosley hurried over. She clasped her hands and said anxiously, “Mayor Grayson! Would you like to have some caramel cake?”
    Meadow said excitedly, “You’ve had Opal’s cakes before, haven’t you, Mayor?”
    A spark of interest appeared in Booth’s eyes. “Actually, I have. I will say that her cakes are positively amazing. I guess that it won’t hurt to have caramel cake before I head out into the rain again. And I suppose I should give Posy a few more minutes at the quilt show. Maybe the rain will have let up a little by then.”
    Meadow, Opal, and Georgia all seemed to simultaneously exhale. Meadow grabbed Booth by the arm and pulled him toward the next room. Opal and Georgia scurried behind them.
    Meadow got that mulishly determined cheerful expression again, and Beatrice knew Meadow was still stuck on Jo’s absence. “She was probably held up at work. Jo said she’d come to the show right after she finished delivering the mail. Plus, you know, it’s pouring down rain, so that’s probably slowing her down, too. She said she was going to deliver it as fast as possible, though.”
    Beatrice could scarcely wait to see whose mail ended up in her mailbox today.
    Karen joined them, sighing at the mention of Jo. “She’s done an awful job delivering the mail even on the days when it’s beautiful weather.”
    Meadow’s pasted-on smile was strained. “Karen, Beatrice and I were admiring your quilt. We loved that art deco style, didn’t we, Beatrice?”
    Karen’s shoulders relaxed from their stiff posture and she beamed at Beatrice with gratitude. “That’s high praise coming from you, Beatrice. Thank you. You, too, Meadow,” she added, in a bit of an afterthought. “Unlike Jo, y’all have some taste. It’s absolutely astounding to me that she’s a judge. It’s sad because she’s not even fit for judging a dog show. She’s doing a real disservice to the quilting community.”
    Beatrice said, “Why exactly is Jo so critical of your quilts, Karen? I overheard her at the Patchwork Cottage, and it sounded like she was really going overboard with the feedback.”
    Karen lifted her chin up, then opened her mouth as if planning on really lambasting Jo . . . then apparently edited herself, with some difficulty, before she spoke. Instead she shrugged. “You know how it is. Some people like to pretend they know the best way to do everything. It’s only natural, I guess. She’s trying to change the way that I quilt and make it more traditional and less edgy. I think she has ulterior motives for doing it, though—when I’m experimental, I win shows. And Jo wants to win everything. Can’t you tell? She’s a very competitive woman. Her solution for winning is to try and make me change what I’m doing.”
    “I think,” said Meadow with determination, “that Jo’s ulterior motive is to make everyone better quilters. Why, at our guild meeting, she was instructing each one of us on ways we could improve.”
    Karen gave her a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s very nice.” Her voice didn’t exactly ring with sincerity.
    Beatrice thoughtfully studied Karen. It was interesting that