Read Cancelled by Murder for Free Online

the style of her own mother’s era, with thick carpets, heavy drapes, and elaborate furniture. Even Quinn had been astonished by the weight of a dark oak dresser that was almost immovable until he detached the mirror, ornate posts, and extra drawers that rested on the top surface. A rolled-arm love seat with delicately carved wooden trim also presented a physical challenge to Quinn and the crew he worked with at Ashcot’s Attic.
    Six of us assembled at Eileen’s home at the west end of town tonight. Sunni had expressed her regrets at missing the meeting. We all understood how busy she must be, and I figured she was also not ready to face a firing squad in the form of a group of quilting women eager for the latest information.
    Eileen, tall and stately, with a teacher’s commanding voice, assumed Daisy’s role and called us to order. We carried our sewing totes and works in progress into the living room and took seats in the same configuration that we chose in Daisy’s back room. Frances Rogers, a middle-aged woman who worked as a teller at the Main Street Bank, sat to my left; beauty salon owner Molly Boyd, to my right. Molly, a short, heavy woman, was on crutches this evening.
    â€œMy brand-new porch chair, a big Adirondack, got tippedover during the storm and landed on my ankle,” she explained. “Don’t ask why I didn’t go inside as soon as the wind picked up. Now I have a broken ankle, just because I wanted to sweep up outside in honor of the new furniture. How dumb can I be? And now it’s a mess out there anyway, of course.”
    We all expressed our sympathies and hoped Molly would be walking normally soon.
    Someone suggested a moment of silence for Daisy. I joined in, though I’d already had many moments of silence and meditative thought inspired by Daisy’s passing. For a minute or two, all we heard were the Westminster chimes from the Jacksons’ grandfather clock, the only gesture to the past among the modern furnishings. We resumed normal chatter slowly, with murmurs that our mourning wouldn’t really be over until we knew what had happened behind Daisy’s shop.
    Terry Thornton, our youngest member, got us started on the future. Excited about her upcoming bachelorette party, Terry asked for advice on whether she should wear her long blond hair up or down. She demonstrated both styles for us. My first thought was of the inappropriateness of a cheerful bride-to-be conversation, but I quickly realized that we needed something to help focus on the future and whatever good news might be on the way. The vote was nearly unanimous that Terry should take advantage of her natural curls and let her hair cascade past her shoulders.
    I never would have guessed that the next bit of good news would be the start of what old Ben would have called a “catfight.”
    Andrea Harris was a veteran quilter whose niece wasexpecting her first child. This evening, Andrea was ready to put the finishing touches on a baby quilt in different shades of yellow and pale green.
    â€œThey don’t want to know the baby’s gender before the birth,” she moaned, referring to her niece and nephew-in-law. “So I have to use these so-called gender-neutral colors.”
    We all uttered a version of “It’s still beautiful.”
    â€œBut look what I had to pass up,” she said, her short, pudgy fingers extracting a swatch of very pink cloth from her tote. “Look at these adorable pink creatures.”
    Liv Patterson looked closely at the piece of fabric and screwed up her nose. I felt another version of yesterday’s unpleasant mood coming on. “A mermaid and a hippo on the same piece of fabric? Maybe they do know the gender, Andrea, and that’s why they won’t tell you,” Liv suggested, drawing a nervous chuckle from most of us. Emboldened by the response, Liv went on. “Aren’t you supposed to be the color expert for paint