A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Read Online Free

and Old Spice only made him more agitated. He glanced over at his grandfather. “Why’d you do it, Gramps?”
    The older man fiddled with the heater vent. “Do what?”
    “Why did you take her the quilt? You know full well Mrs. Randolph promised it to me.”
    “I know nothing of the sort. I know you and Isabella talked about it, how it was a historical piece as well as a family heirloom.”
    “Which is why she promised it to me.”
    “No. She didn’t promise you anything.”
    “She gave me a letter.”
    “A letter, not a contract. She considered donating it to your museum. But in the end, she wanted her granddaughter to have it.” Virgil shifted in his seat, angling himself toward Max. “If anyone should understand the importance of family and remembering those who came before us, it’s you.”
    Max let out a sigh. “Of course I do. But that girl—”
    “Woman. Izzy is a woman.”
    With her hair pulled back into a silky blond ponytail, her makeup-free face, and wide, innocent blue eyes, she had looked young, but Gramps was right. She was all woman. Still, it was hard to take her seriously. “What kind of a name is Izzy, anyway?”
    “I think it’s nice. Playful.” Virgil’s hands danced in front of him as if he conducted an orchestra. “I imagine more than one person called her grandmother by that name when she was young.”
    “I’m sure you’re right. I stand corrected.” Max agreed, but only to get off this rabbit trail and bring the conversation back to a more important topic. “What’s eating at me is that Izzy doesn’t even know what she has. It’s an important piece of American history but she probably just sees it as an old bedspread.”
    “You don’t know that.” Virgil’s hands dropped into his lap and he made a tsk-tsk sound. “You don’t know anything about her.”
    They fell silent, but Max’s brain never shut off. Gramps was right. He knew nothing about Izzy. He didn’t even know herlast name. If the study of history had taught him anything, it was the importance of getting to know your enemy. Not that he considered Izzy an enemy. But they were two people who both wanted the same thing and only one could come out the winner. It would be smart to learn as much about her as he could.
    “So, Gramps,” he said casually, “what did Mrs. Randolph tell you about Izzy?”
    Max could hear the smile in his grandfather’s voice when he answered.
    “Everything.”

3
    I zzy was having a hard time concentrating on cubism, especially since her mind kept going back to triangles.
    “This is Pablo Picasso, arguably one of the best-known cubist artists. But does he look anything like this man?” She clicked a button on the projector’s wireless remote, changing the image on the screen at the front of the room. Several of the students laughed; a few made noises that loudly communicated their negative feelings toward the piece.
    “No way that’s the same guy,” one of the boys said.
    “It’s supposed to be.” Izzy walked up the aisle until she stood beside her desk and faced the class. “This is a portrait of Picasso done by Juan Gris, another popular cubist of the time. I want you to take a moment to study it.”
    Arms crossed, she looked at the picture with her students, trying to imagine what a bunch of teenagers would think about such an unusual piece of art. But she kept zeroing in on the many triangles present in the painting. The background in particular was a series of triangles pointing in the same direction, giving it a feeling of movement.
    Very much like her Wild Goose Chase quilt. The quilt that Max wanted. What was she going to do about Max? Did he really have a letter from Gran? And even if he did, was it binding? Would it give him any claim over the quilt?
    The students started to whisper and fidget in their seats, signaling that the moment of silence had gone on long enough. She clapped her hands and looked back at the class. “What emotions do you feel when you