Wild Goose Chase Read Online Free PDF Page A

couldn’t hear anyone moving inside. I knocked again, louder. Still nothing. Damn, she had said she’d be here.
    What a letdown. Once I made up my mind, I wanted action. If Bo hadn’t answered my knock the night I went for my tattoo, my ankle would still be unadorned. I liked it so much better with the poppy.
    Would I be able to go through with the sale if I had more time to think? I didn’t want to find out. I wanted an agreement from Claire to buy the shop. Now.
    I knocked again. My knuckles hurt, and I blew on them. I had to see Claire. I didn’t have an alternative plan.
    The hall was empty. Most of the hotel occupants were gone for the day, in quilt classes or at the show. I heard a door open behind me. A man carrying golf clubs headed for the elevator. Some quilter’s husband on his own for the day.
    The man with the golf bag reminded me of my father. What was he going to think about me selling the store? He hadn’t had much to say about my running the shop to this point. I didn’t know if he’d approve or not.
    I tried again. “Claire. You in there?”
    The elevator pinged, and a thin woman in a business suit disembarked as the golfer got in. I recognized her as Claire’s assistant, Myra. She would be able to help me. I took a step toward her.
    “Oh, good, you’re here,” I said.
    She was carrying a lunch tray with an apple, a container of cottage cheese, and a Diet Coke. A napkin was wrapped around a plastic fork. Between the fingers on her left hand, she held a key card.
    She looked at me expectantly. “Need something?”
    “We met earlier, remember? Dewey Pellicano,” I said. “I’m looking for Claire.”
    The woman eyed me. Her clothes were drab, a uniform more suited to a bank than a quilt show. The only bright color she wore was a beaded bracelet on her right arm.
    “How did you know she was here? She never gives out her room number.”
    “We had an appointment.” That was an exaggeration, but I hoped this guard dog of a woman would believe that.
    “I calendar Claire’s appointments,” she said. “We had none this morning.”
    “Look, Claire and I have business to discuss. Obviously, if you’re bringing her lunch, she’s in there. Let me in.”
    “I can’t do that. Claire specifically asked not to be bothered. She’s busy with last-minute preparations for our class.”
    I’d had my fill today of passive-aggressive women whose only power came though their connections with others—Kym via my mother, Myra through Claire. I felt the need to exercise a little power myself. I threw my shoulders back and faced Myra down.
    “I’ve got to see her,” I said.
    She remained unmoved, feet planted in front of the door, blocking me. She wasn’t going to let herself in until I was long gone.
    My resolve deepened. Downstairs, Kym was running the QP booth the way she wanted. I was not going back to that.
    I reached for the key and got two fingers on it before Myra tightened her grip and I lost my grasp of the plastic. I grabbed the soda can. As I’d hoped, the sudden weight shift caused the plastic tray to teeter. Myra scrambled to keep it balanced. The apple slid, and the cottage cheese began its descent to the floor. I grabbed the room key from Myra’s loosened fingers, reached over her arm, and swiped the door before she could react. I heard the apple hit the floor with a dull thud.
    The green light came on, and I pushed the door open without waiting to see if Myra followed. Immediately on the left was a bathroom. I set the soda can on the counter, eager to let go of the cold sliminess.
    I shifted my gaze toward the bedroom that opened up off the short hall. The room was very large, dwarfing the king-size bed and round table beyond. The table had been pulled up close to the bed. On the table was a green rotary-cutting mat. A clear acrylic ruler lay across the mat with a piece of fabric underneath, as though Claire had been cutting. Looking up, I saw a quilt pinned to the curtains. It