Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_03 Read Online Free Page B

wouldn’t need ropes and pitons to get to her shop.
    A few minutes later, a shadow passed the front window. Betsy looked to see a woman in a wine-colored, fur-trimmed coat holding her gloved hand to her face—the wind was cutting sharply this morning. She ducked into the slightly recessed door of the shop, the hand came down, and it was Martha Winters.
    â€œHello, Betsy, Godwin,” she said as she entered. “I’ve come to pick up that bellpull. Is it back yet?”
    â€œI believe so,” said Betsy. “The finisher brought a whole box of things in just before closing yesterday.”
    She stooped behind the big desk that served as her checkout counter and brought up a large cardboard box with a sheet of paper attached to it. She looked down the list and drew a line through a name. “It says something of yours is in here.”
    Inside the box, rolled up like a fire hose, was a long, narrow piece of canvas covered with eggshell stitching. The finisher had sewn on a back of eggshell linen. Betsy unrolled the piece to reveal a scattering of chickadees and cardinals sitting on branches of holly and evergreen. “Very pretty,” said Betsy.
    â€œYou think so?” said Martha with a little sniff. “My daughter-in-law hinted and hinted that this was what she wanted for her dining room.”
    â€œDon’t you like it?” asked Godwin, coming for a look.
    â€œOh, it’s all right,” grudged Martha. “But no beads, no fancy stitches, no zing.”
    â€œWell, right now we’re in an era of rococo needlework,” said Godwin. “Someday people will find this very restrained and therefore particularly lovely.”
    Martha smiled. “So says the maker of the Christmas Stocking That Clatters When Touched.”
    Godwin laughed. “The pot pleads guilty, Mrs. Kettle! Still, I can’t see a false stitch in this piece. Even the tassel at the bottom is perfect.”
    Martha had opted for that authentic finishing touch and had made it herself from red velveteen yarn. “How much?” she asked Betsy.
    Betsy consulted the order sheet in a file folder. “Sixtyfive dollars, including hardware.” Which meant the stiffening dowel and string, and the hook and screws so it could be fastened to a wall.
    Martha got out her checkbook. Signing with a flourish, she handed a check to Betsy and at the same moment her eye was caught by a sampling of tan, buff, neutral, and cream wools. “Are these for the Trinity project?” she asked.
    â€œYes,” nodded Betsy.
    â€œI’ve told some other Monday Bunch members, and they’re thrilled at a chance to do something in honor of Father Keane. Even nonmembers.”
    Betsy said, “I thought I’d go over on Monday and see if any of these matched.”
    Martha said, “I’m glad you want to get right to it. There are volunteers in the church hall today, you know.”
    â€œThere are? Doing what?”
    â€œTaking down the old kitchen and making sure nothing’s left behind in the rest of the downstairs. The contractor finished another job early and will be starting our renovation on Tuesday.”
    â€œThanks for telling me. I’ll go over on my lunch break today.”
    Mrs. Winters left, and the one other customer said she wanted to browse, so Betsy joined Godwin at the library table in the middle of the room. He had a project of his own back from the finisher, a magnificent Christmas stocking. It was the one Martha Winters had teased him about, stiff with beading and tiny bangles, ornate with fancy stitching. The design was of two children coming down a stairway to see Santa hiding behind a Christmas tree. Santa’s beard was curled into French knots, the children’s pajamas were of brushed satin stitching, the wallpaper was two-color gingham stitch, and the tinsel on the tree was made of microscopic glass beads. Across the top of the stocking JOHN was worked