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and move hundreds of miles away, and I was the last to know. A day that had started off badly was now getting worse.

C HAPTER 7
    W hen I got back to Someday Quilts, I immediately went to Eleanor’s office, but she was gone. Natalie had little Patch curled up on her lap and didn’t seem to notice me at all. She was too busy stroking the kitten’s fur while Patch slept contentedly.
    â€œShe’s so precious I just want to eat her.”
    â€œWhy do people say that?” I asked. “People are always saying that to babies and puppies and anything cute. Are we cannibals at heart or something?”
    â€œWhat put you in a bad mood?”
    â€œEleanor’s retiring.” I told her everything Maggie had told me, and I could tell by the shocked look on her face that she hadn’t known anything about it either.
    â€œShe’s closing Someday?” Natalie looked on the verge of tears. She sunk back in her chair and sighed heavily. That woke Patch, who meowed at her, concerned that her new friend was unhappy.
    I shrugged. “Why tell us if she is? We only work here.”
    â€œDon’t get overly excited by it, Nell. Maybe Maggie is jumping to conclusions.”
    Aside from being a mother of eleven, grandmother of twenty-five, and great-grandmother of two, Maggie was a retired librarian and the researcher of our little amateur detective agency. Maggie didn’t jump to conclusions, and Natalie knew it as well as I did.
    â€œWell, maybe Eleanor’s waiting to tell us,” Natalie tried again. “Maybe it will be a surprise. Maybe she’s giving the shop to you!” She jumped up to hug me, grabbing poor Patch and squeezing her between us. I expected the kitten to yelp but instead we got a long, satisfied purr.
    Was that Eleanor’s plan—to give me Someday Quilts? And if it was, did I want it?
    I would have liked a moment to consider the idea, but suddenly the shop got busy. A month before, we’d been featured in a national quilt magazine as one of the best shops in the country because of our eclectic mix of both modern and traditional fabrics and the wide range of classes we taught. Plus the article had a photo of us with Barney front and center, his goofy doggy grin making the quilt shop a must-stop destination. Lots of out-of-town quilters had begun making a special trip just to see the place, meet Barney, and feed their insatiable need for all things quilt.
    For more than an hour, I stood behind the desk ringing up sales while Natalie was busy at the cutting table. At the first sign of customers Patch had retreated to the office. I envied her the peace and quiet. I wanted a moment to think everything through, to put a needle in my hand and quietly appliqué while my mind settled on an answer to what seemed to be dozens of new questions. But there was no letup of customers.
    When I saw Jesse walk by the shop, I nearly left the customers to run out and see how he was, but instead I watched him. He didn’t look in the window as he usually did. In fact, he didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. He was just walking in a sort of daydream. Jesse was always alert, always on duty, so seeing him like that was unsettling, even a little frightening. But then I’d never seen Jesse suffer a loss before.
    I debated whether he’d want me to say hi—if it would be a welcome part of his day or just disturb his daydream. But my decision was made for me when a woman in a bright pink coat put a pile of about twenty different fabrics on the counter, along with several patterns, two rulers, and a rotary cutter.
    â€œDid you find everything you needed?” It was my standard line, though with this woman buying up half the store, it was impossible to imagine she hadn’t found
more
than what she needed.
    â€œNo, actually,” she said. “Where’s the pattern for that?”
    I turned to where she was pointing and saw one of my own