Threads of Deceit (Vineyard Quilt Mysteries Book 1) (22 page)

Daniel woke Julie several hours later and announced he was feeling considerably better. He asked if there was any chance he could get something to eat. Considering that Daniel was the one who’d had the worse night, Julie didn’t have the heart to beg for another hour to sleep. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and see what I can find.”

She was shocked to find the kitchen bustling. Mrs. Parson and Millie sat at the antique trestle table next to the windows that looked out across the backyard. The senator’s wife greeted Julie with a warm smile. “I’m glad to see you again. I was just telling Millie that you were a wonderful representative of the inn on my last visit.”

“Does your return mean we’ll be hosting the fundraiser?” Julie asked.

The stylish woman’s smile turned rueful. “I’m sorry to say that Walter’s campaign manager felt the inn wasn’t upscale enough.” She turned to look at Millie. “That man wouldn’t know a charming venue if it bit him on the nose. I reminded Walter that this place was perfect, cozy, and warm, but I was outvoted.”

“I suppose that’s the American way,” Millie said.

“True.” Mrs. Parson sighed. “I do miss the days when we didn’t put so much time into campaigning and fundraising, when we were more of a couple and less of a political machine.”

“It was awfully nice of you to drive all the way to the inn to say we weren’t getting the job,” Julie said.

Mrs. Parson looked at Julie and chuckled. “I’m not that nice. I had to be in the area anyway on campaign business, and I couldn’t resist. I have so many fond memories of the inn. Plus, my visit before inspired me to get back into quilting. I can’t let my whole life be defined by politics. Millie is helping me choose a project that will be portable and simple enough for someone like me who’s very rusty.”

It was only then that Julie noticed the handful of patterns on the table, scattered among the tea things.

“I know you’ll find something perfect,” Julie said. “If you won’t think me terribly rude, I was going to fix myself something to eat.”

“Please,” Mrs. Parson said. “You certainly won’t bother us.”

Julie walked back to the counter beside Hannah, who opened the fridge and pulled out a lunch bag. “I fixed sandwiches for you and Daniel,” she whispered. “Millie told me about last night since
you
didn’t.”

“Thanks,” Julie said. “You’re a saint.” She took one more look over at the senator’s wife and Millie, sitting with their heads together and chatting like old friends.

Following her gaze, Hannah whispered, “I know what you’re thinking. But Mrs. Parson doesn’t exactly ooze criminal mastermind.”

Julie sighed. That was true. But what about her husband?

D
aniel was back at the excavation and staying at the Winklers’ bunkhouse again within two days. His team immediately began unearthing cargo. With Millie at the inn, Julie didn’t dare sneak out to the excavation site, but she could practically feel a magnetic pull in that direction every day. Finally, by the third day, Millie snagged her by the arm and drew her into the library.

“I’ve decided to stick around for the next few weeks,” Millie announced. “I have to admit, I’m eager to see what Daniel finds. That said, I’ve decided you should be our eyes and ears in the field.”

“Which means?” Julie asked.

“You can go to the excavation site every morning after breakfast is squared away and any planned guest outings have begun. I always appreciate your help for those. After that, I can handle things here, and you can drive out to the site.”

Julie practically danced in place, finally giving in to the urge to hug Millie. “Thank you! After everything that’s happened, it’s hard to wait around for reports that don’t come until late in the day.”

“I do have one stipulation.”

“Yes?”

“When you get back here—at a reasonable hour each evening—you must have a little impromptu ‘treasure hunt tales’ session in the dining room for our guests. They’re so fired up about all this, and I know they’d find it exciting.”

“Oh, I’m not much of a storyteller,” Julie said. “That’s really Shirley’s gift.”

A cheerful voice practically shouted from the doorway. “Maybe she could write up notes, and I could tell the story for her!”

Millie turned to the doorway and crossed her arms. “Didn’t your mama ever tell you not to eavesdrop, Shirley Estelle Ott?”

Shirley’s voice was completely unrepentant as she stepped into the room. “But I would miss out on so much!”

“Storytelling
is
Shirley’s thing,” Julie said.

“But you’re the one going out to the site,” Millie said. “Unless you think I should send Shirley out there while you watch the tea-and-quilt shop …?”

“Sure!” Shirley chirped.

“Nope,” Julie said. “I’ll be happy to do the talks.”

“Oh, fine,” Shirley said, obviously disappointed. “I should go find Inga and see if you’ve given away any of her jobs lately!” She sashayed out, making the silky strips of her gypsy-inspired skirt swish.

Julie turned back to Millie. “I hate that she’s miffed at me.”

“She’ll get over it. Now, you had a list of possible repairs and replacements you wanted to go over? We should do that before you dash off to hunt for treasure.”

Later, at the excavation site, Julie was amazed at all the activity. Daniel had added a swarm of new people. He introduced her around quickly, but she doubted she could remember half the names and almost none of their various specialties. Clearly Daniel had a lot of friends in academia.

While she watched, the team pulled a metal-bound trunk from the mud and opened it. Julie was astounded by the contents: wool jackets and pants that looked nearly ready to put on.

She reached out and touched one of the jackets. Though it was worn, she marveled at how perfectly intact it looked and felt. The wool was a lovely shade of smoky blue. All the
edges were trimmed in a neat braid of the same color, and the large buttons were covered in the same blue wool. The hand-stitched buttonholes were flawless. The garment had turned-back cuffs and looked as if it were tailor-made for a specific person with the many gussets shaping the jacket. She wished she could take it to show the quilters. She knew they would appreciate the workmanship on the piece.

“Leave it to a quilter to appreciate the clothes,” Daniel said, watching her with a smile.

Julie smiled back, though she wasn’t sure she deserved to be called a quilter. She made a promise to herself to start a project the second all the treasure hunting and mystery was over.

After the trunk, they hauled up a barrel. When they broke the seal, Julie peeked inside, her head right beside Daniel’s. The barrel was full of white china dishes adorned with a delicate blue edge trim. Even the excelsior packing material was still preserved.

At the end of the day, Julie found her “treasure hunt” talk at the inn was easy. She simply described what she’d seen and touched. The quilters listened avidly as they stitched away on their projects, and all of them had questions, especially about the clothing pieces. They talked about trims and designs.

“One of the last things Daniel unearthed today was a trunk full of roughly made red shirts with crude hearts stitched on them,” Julie said. “These shirts were lighter fabric and not as well preserved, but it was interesting to see these hearts with braid trim around them.”

“Those designs were political,” Shirley interjected from her spot in the doorway. All eyes turned to her. “Men in the border territories wore designs that showed how they felt about slavery before the war.”

“What did the heart signify?” one of the quilters asked.

Shirley lit up like a firefly. She breezed into the room and took her place beside Julie. “It was a pro-slavery symbol.”

The woman who’d asked the question wrinkled her nose, and Shirley went on, her voice taking on a storyteller tone. “Just imagine the sort of man those shirts were heading for. He’d wear a pair of long boots with a rifle swung over his shoulder and a sword by his side. Maybe a wicked Bowie knife sticking out of one of the boots, and a pair of revolvers thrust into a leather belt.”

“That’s a lot of weapons,” a wide-eyed young woman said as she held her needle frozen over her quilting hoop.

“Those were rough times. And a man had to know where another man stood on the issue of slavery. So they’d wear a mark right on their shirts, and braid was almost always used in the design. A heart, an anchor, an eagle—they all meant something.”

Julie looked at Shirley in admiration. “You’ve done a lot of research.”

“That’s how I make
my
Stories and Stitches so memorable,” Shirley said proudly. She took over for the rest of the talk, and the quilters around the table seemed to like that just fine.

Shirley joined in on the treasure hunt stories every night after that. Julie would describe what she’d seen, and Shirley would interpret it. They made a good team. The room was always packed. Julie noticed that Inga made an appearance every night as well, though she usually lurked in the doorway with her face tightly pinched in disapproval.

Everything seemed to be going well, which made Julie nervous. In her experience, life was never calm for long. Plus, anyone willing to set fires and even kill would hardly give up without a fight. If the attacks really were linked to the
shipwreck, she couldn’t imagine that the killer would lose interest now that Daniel was bringing up the ship’s contents.

At the end of the week, Julie got an extra surprise when she drove out to the site. Daniel stood talking to the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Like Julie, the woman was tall and slender with long dark hair. But where Julie’s hair was a mass of curls that always seemed on the edge of springing out of control, the woman beside Daniel looked sleek and flawless.

Julie fought the urge to hate her on sight. She walked up to them with a painful smile.

Daniel spotted her and waved. “Julie, my friend Louisa has found some fascinating information.”

“Louisa?”

The woman offered Julie a cool hand. “Louisa Sharp. I’ve been doing genealogical research for Danny.”

Julie turned and mouthed, “Danny?”

Daniel’s face reddened. “Louisa discovered a family name tied to the ship: Meyhew.”

The revelation pulled Julie’s attention away from the other woman’s clothes and poise. “Meyhew … like ‘Mey apples’?”

“Just the same,” Daniel said. “But I should let Louisa tell it.”

The smile Louisa gave Daniel looked anything but professional, distracting Julie again. Then the woman spoke in her light Southern drawl. “The Meyhew family owned a very successful plantation in Mississippi. Unfortunately, Elizabeth Meyhew, the wife, ran off with a mysterious stranger and took along most of the Meyhews’ portable wealth. Gold, small sculptures, and an extensive collection of extremely valuable jewelry went missing along with the wife. The only unexpected thing she left behind was a young son, Nathaniel.”

Daniel cut in then, his voice excited. “Louisa told me that some people didn’t believe Meyhews’ tale. They thought Elizabeth was carrying the valuables North to one of the unaligned territories so they wouldn’t have to contribute to the Confederate cause, and that the story was simply a front for that.”

“In that case, wouldn’t the wife have returned eventually?” Julie asked.

“If she did, there is no record of it,” Louisa said. “She vanished completely. Much like
The Grand Adventure
.”

“So are either of our senators or the lawyer related to the Meyhews?” Julie asked.

Louisa shook her head. “Not that I can find. Laurence Meyhew never remarried after his wife left. I did find a fairly lurid book that contains some information that may interest you about the Meyhews.” She opened the leather tote she carried and pulled out an old book, handing it over to Julie. “I imagine you have more time to read it, puttering around an inn as you do.”

Julie ignored the dig and turned the book over in her hand. The cloth covering of the binding was worn. She flipped it open and saw it had been published in 1925. The title,
Southern Secrets
, was not encouraging about its authenticity.

“I looked into some information on that author,” Louisa said. “In case your connection might be along that genealogical line. This man is virtually the only one to have written extensively about the Meyhew scandal. Apparently the author was a bit unstable. He killed himself when he finished writing it. The manuscript was published five years later by his only son. Not long after that, the son died as well, from a heart attack. Since he was unmarried, the line stopped with him. So I suppose you might say the book is cursed.”

Julie thought Shirley would probably say exactly that about it. She leafed through the pages.

“Only a few copies of that exist,” Louisa added. “It was tricky to find.”

“I appreciate your effort on this,” Daniel said. “I owe you one.”

The smile Louisa gave him in return was more than friendly. Julie was surprised at the pang of jealousy she felt. It’s wasn’t like she and Daniel were involved. They were just … good friends.

Even so, she sort of hoped the perfect Louisa fell into the Missouri mud before the end of the day.