Tapestry of Lies: A Weaving Mystery Read Online Free PDF

afternoon.”
    “You shouldn’t make coffee ahead of time. Why don’t you wait until a customer comes in before making a fresh pot?”
    She grimaced. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m always so worried when I have to make customers wait. What if word got out that the service here is slow? With the McDermotts just down the street, it would be just as easy for customers to go there.”
    “I think you’re doing much better than you give yourself credit for. Marnie’s baking is more delicious than anything they serve—even with their stolen recipes. Marnie bakes heart into her food. If anybody should worry, it’s them, not you.”
    “Thank God for Marnie,” she agreed. She stepped over to the window and glanced out. “It’s dead out there. There’s not a soul on the street.” She looked at her watch. “I might as well go home and get ready for the party. Why don’t you lock up and do the same?”
    I was weaving samples, large tweed patterns made of thick linen thread. Maybe it was optimistic on my part, but I was hoping to have my samples ready to show just as soon as Bunny gave me the word. I wanted to impress her.
    “You go,” I said, throwing the shuttle through the shed a few more times. “I won’t be far behind.”
    “You don’t mind being here by yourself?”
    “I’m not alone. Winston is with me.” At the mention of his name, he popped his head up from the mat I’d moved to the foot of my loom. “You’d protect me if I were in danger, wouldn’t you?” He looked at me as if I had clearly lost my mind.
    Jenny returned to the back. I heard some clicking of glassware and dishware. A few moments later she returned, throwing a lovely handwoven wrap around her shoulders. “I’ll be at your place by five fifteen, in time for Matthew to pick us up,” she said, and the door closed behind her.
    I continued throwing the shuttle and walking the pedals, but the silence lent a spooky feel to the shop. I kept darting worried glances around until, twenty minutes later, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I marched over to the door and peeked out. Up and down the street as far as I could see, the shops showed CLOSED signs in their windows. Was I the only business left open? I flipped my own window sign to CLOSED.
    Winnie and I did the day’s bank deposit and then headed upstairs to my apartment. Just opening the door gave me a lift.
    My new home was as different from my condo in Charlotte as antique is to modern. In the city, I’d prided myself on my Zen-like decor. Everything there had been smooth lines and sharp angles. In Briar Hollow, I had shed my old preferences and replaced them with a desire for everything cozy and comfy. I now lived in an old apartment built during the 1940s. I had replaced all my modern furnishings with the collectibles Matthew had helped me refinish.
    My living room was beautiful. It had inlaid hardwood floors and a working fireplace with an antique mahogany mantel. I’d slipcovered a sofa, added an armchair and a few coffee tables, and the room was complete. For the dining room, I’d picked a small, round white table, and Matthew and I had painted four cane-back chairs to match. As a finishing touch, I’d hung a light fixture with toile cabbage roses above the table—very French country.
    Of all the rooms, the kitchen was my favorite. The first time I’d walked in and seen the old Chambers gas stove, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And then I’d noticed the farm sink with a drain board, the high cabinets that reached all the way to the ten-foot ceiling, and the black Formica countertops finished with stainless-steel edging. I couldn’t have wished for a more perfect decor.
    When the real estate agent suggested gutting the place and renovating with laminate floors and stainless-steel appliances, I’d been outraged. In hindsight, I probably bought the building as much to save it from destruction as for the long-term investment.
    I filled a water bowl for