Where Secrets Sleep. Marta Perry

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      BY MIDMORNING THE next day Allison had met, as if by accident, with McKinley Whiting, Laurel Ridge’s police chief. Mac, as Nick had referred to him, was a slightly younger, slightly darker version of Nick, with the same straight nose and regular features but dark brown hair and dark eyes.

      He’d been polite, he’d looked around, and he’d left Allison with the impression that he didn’t take the situation seriously, despite his assurance that he’d keep an eye on the building.

      Following his visit she’d made the rounds of the upstairs offices, meeting in turn a Realtor, an investment adviser and an attorney. By the time they’d all exchanged pleasantries and each one had asked about her plans for the building, Allison had felt the need for escape, so she’d slipped downstairs to the quilt shop.

      Once again, the warmth and color of the place enveloped her, and Sarah’s smile was the friendliest thing she’d seen yet today.

      “Allison, wilkom. I’m glad you stopped in.” Sarah was sorting a stack of quilted place mats, apparently rearranging her display.

      “Those are lovely.” Allison touched the tiny, intricate blocks that made up the pattern, each of them not more than an inch square.

      “That’s postage-stamp quilting, worked in a Sunlight and Shadows pattern.” Sarah moved her hand over the design, which almost seemed to ripple. “My mother made these.”

      “She must be a very accomplished quilter to do such fine work.” Each tiny piece was joined to the next by stitches so small and even that they were almost invisible.

      “Denke. Thank you, I mean.” Sarah’s fair skin seemed sun-kissed today, as if she’d been doing something in the spring sunshine that had brought out a faint dusting of freckles. “Mamm will be in one day this week to set up a quilting frame in the corner. Once the weather is fine, we start getting more visitors from out of town, and they like to see a quilt in progress.”

      “And it encourages them to buy,” Allison said, appreciating the marketing angle.

      “Ja, that, too.” Sarah smiled on the words, her eyes sparkling. “Never underestimate the craftiness of a Pennsylvania Dutchman in making money, that’s what folks say.”

      “I guess it applies to the Pennsylvania Dutch woman, as well.” Allison, feeling relaxed for the first time that day, picked up one of the place mats. “Let me help you arrange these.”

      “Denke,” Sarah said again, and Allison stored the word away, realizing it meant thanks.

      They worked in silence for a few minutes. Allison glanced at the other woman’s face. Sarah had an air of calm and stillness about her that seemed to say she could be relied upon, and Allison longed to talk to someone about what had happened the previous night. But she didn’t know how Sarah might react. Would she be frightened at the thought that someone had been in the building? Or disapproving of the action Allison had taken?

      “Are you feeling as if you know your grandmother any better now?” Sarah shot her a questioning glance. “I thought her office might answer some of your questions.”

      “Well, it cast a new light on her in some ways,” Allison admitted. “I hadn’t realized she was such a businesswoman, for one thing.”

      Sarah nodded. “She was, that’s so. After her husband passed and your...your father left, I suppose she didn’t have much else to occupy her. Evelyn never was one to be idle. She just dug in and started handling the business herself.”

      Allison eyed her. “You wouldn’t remember my father, I suppose.” Sarah probably hadn’t been born when Hugh Standish had said goodbye to Laurel Ridge.

      “No, but you know how folks talk.” There was something a little apologetic in her tone.

      “I don’t imagine they had anything good to say about him,” Allison said.

      “Ach, I didn’t mean—”

      “It’s all right. I know better than most people how unreliable he was.”

      Sarah nodded, blue eyes softening. “I’m sorry.”

      She shrugged. “It’s been a long time. I don’t think about him much anymore.” Except for the occasional bad dream. “I’m glad to get a better picture of what his mother was like.” At least, she thought she was.

      “I wish...” Sarah began and stopped abruptly at the sound of someone entering the shop. She looked up, a welcoming smile on her face that seemed to stiffen.

      “I see you’re making yourself right at home.” The voice belonged to a fortyish woman who stared at Allison as if memorizing every detail of her appearance. “That is...well, I suppose half of the shop does belong to you and...” She seemed to lose herself in a welter of words, the challenge that had sounded in her first statement sagging under the weight of her qualifications.

      Sarah came to the rescue. “Allison, this is Brenda Conner, your cousin.”