Read 2 The Patchwork Puzzler for Free Online Page B

transform the neighborhood into a magical fairyland. Fireflies twinkled in the ni ght sky like the dancing embers from a campfire.
    The grownups were ensconced inside the house, enjoying a family reunion – everybody here, other than middle-son Fred who’s a fireman in Atlanta. Maddy had just served an after-dinner brandy and Beau was offering the men an imported Dominican cigar.
    “No smoking around me,” Tillie warned. A health nut when it came to her unborn child.
    “When are you due?” Kathy asked her sister-in-law.
    “Imminently,” laughed Tillie, patting her oversized tummy. “A girl, they tell me.”
    “Goodness, I wish I could experience what you’re going through. But no luck there.”
    “You’ve skipped the hard part. N’yen’s going to be a great son.”
    “He’s a wonderful kid,” confirmed Bill.
    Beau began awkwardly. “What made you decide to adopt a kid who isn’t– ”
    “ – white?” Bill finished his father’s sentence.
    “What I meant to say was – ”
    “Dad, you’re so obvious. You live here in a little town that’s ninety-nine percent Caucasian. Minorities scare you.”
    “Asians aren’t a minority,” mumbled Beau. “There are more of them in the world than anybody.”
    “Well, there’s one in the family now. I hope you can accept that.”
    “Bill, don’t be so hard on your father,” interceded Maddy. “Give him a chance to get used to it. You caught us all by surprise, adopting a child. Nonetheless, we’re very happy for you.”
    “Sorry, mom. Guess we’re overly protective of N’yen.”
    “And well you should be. N’yen’s a treasure.”
    “Thanks.”
    Kathy changed the subject, trying to avoid any further tension between her husband and his father. “Tillie says the Quilter’s Club has lost a valuable quilt.”
    “True,” admitted Maddy. So much for secrets. “Someone substituted a phony for a genuine Pennington.”
    “A Pennington? Isn’t that the Amish woman whose fantastic quilts were found hidden away in an attic?”
    “Exactly. They are considered to be among the world’s great quilt designs.”
    “And you lost one? What does the Smithsonian say about that?”
    Maddy cleared her throat, a nervous habit. “They, uh, don’t know yet. We’re hoping to recover it.”
    “How, pray tell?” asked Bill. “You have to admit, Jim Purdue’s no Hercule Poirot.”
    Maddy glanced at her husband for support. After all, it was his assistant who had let the thief have the keys. “Oh, we have a few clues.”
    “Mom, the Quilter’s Club isn’t trying to solve this on its own, is it?” exclaimed Tillie.
    “Well, you might say we’re looking into it. The quilt was stolen on our watch, so we have a certain responsibility.”
    “Maddy,” interjected Mark, “we’ve already had to bail our daughter out of jail today for trespassing. This is not what we had in mind when we allowed her to join your silly quilting club.”
    “Mark the Shark, as a lawyer you know very well that there was no bail involved. And no charges of trespassing. Aggie simply wandered off the beaten path.”
    “Quilter’s Club? Are you still involved in all that needlecraft stuff?” asked Bill. He remembered his mother’s many knitting, crocheting, and quilt-making projects. He still had that turtleneck sweater she’d knitted for him as a Christmas present back when he was in the Peace Corps.
    “Knitting and crocheting are relaxing pastimes. And designing quilts can be very creative,” argued Maddy.
    “How does crime-solving fit in with that?” asked Tillie. Like a prosecuting attorney going for a confession  on the witness stand.
    “I think we’re making too much of your mother’s sleuthing,” interjected Beau Madison. “She just dabbles.”
    “She – and all the members of the Quilter’s Club,” muttered Mark, not very happy at being called a shark.
    “Bootsie, Lizzie, and Cookie are not exactly Charlie’s Angels,” remarked Beau, a lopsided grin on his