A Perfect Square

Chapter 17




CALLIE HELPED LOAD THE CHILDREN into the buggy, then waved as Deborah drove away. They’d decided on a plan of action.

Hopefully it would work.

Hopefully it was legal.

Holding Max’s leash, which was clipped to his collar, she walked him into the shop. Lydia was helping two out-of-towners check out, and they stopped to admire Max.

“How old is he?” The woman waited before petting Max, waited until Callie nodded her assent. The couple appeared to be in their late forties. By the looks of them, they were probably empty nesters, traveling from somewhere to Chicago. They wore designer clothes, and the woman’s auburn hair was cut in the latest fashion. Her nails were also perfectly manicured.

“I’m not completely sure. I inherited him from my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” She straightened and pulled her purse over her shoulder.

“I expect that would be the sweet lady who used to run this shop.” The man had light streaks of gray running through his short-cut hair. He looked as if he ran in marathons and worked out in a gym twice a week. Callie mentally slapped herself for making stereotypes. “I expect her name was Daisy?”

“Correct. The shop’s named after her. Daisy passed on earlier this year. When I inherited the shop, I also inherited Max.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the woman said sincerely, before turning and glancing around. “I noticed changes in the store. You’ve kept the main things the same — still looks vintage and authentic. I don’t like to walk into a quilt shop and feel like I’ve stepped into a chain store. I can do that in Chicago.”

“We’ve been dropping in to Shipshe to shop for years. Every time we cross the state on our way back to the city. I’m Robert Jarrell, by the way, and this is my wife, Nancy.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Callie shook their hands. “I’m Callie Harper, the new owner of Daisy’s Quilt Shop.” Her heart danced a two-step when she spoke the words. She’d accepted for several months that she was staying in Shipshewana, but it wasn’t very often she acknowledged it out loud.

“As I said, you’ve done an excellent job of balancing change and preserving what made this place uniquely Daisy’s.” Nancy turned and walked toward the quilt display.

“Thank you,” Callie murmured.

“My wife works for the Chicago Museum of Arts, the textile collection,” Robert explained. “She’s used to giving her opinion.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing Amish quilts offered via the Internet.” Nancy glanced from the computer terminal to the display of quilts. “These are quite beautiful.”

“Some local women sew them. We auctioned a few on eBay.” Callie laughed at the look of surprise on Nancy’s face. “That was the general reaction. These women have special circumstances though, and I wanted them to fetch as high a price as possible. Their bishop allowed it, on a trial basis, but after the initial three sold we had a meeting. Now we sell exclusively through my shop’s online site.”

“And how are they doing?” Robert asked.

“Well. I drive a hard bargain.” Callie hesitated, then continued. “I’ve only lived in Shipshe since June, but these women have become close friends. I feel like it’s my job to get the best price I can for their work. Of course, they could sell them at the local auction, but we think by offering them on the Internet and showing them in the shop, we can appeal to a wider range of buyers.”

“I’ve looked at a lot of quilts, but their stitching is exquisite, and the way they piece together their patterns … well, let’s say it shows a sophistication and artistry that I don’t see very often.” Nancy smiled and turned toward her, reaching into her handbag as she did. “I’ve been thinking about putting together an Amish quilt exhibit.”

“How would that work?”

“I have benefactors who would pay to have the ladies come to Chicago and place their quilts on exhibit. We have a limited area for displaying textiles, and I run more than one exhibit at a time. I wouldn’t need more than say … a dozen.” Nancy handed Callie a business card.

Callie thought about the stack of quilts — finished and waiting to be sold — at Deborah’s house. “I’m not sure they’d be comfortable traveling to Chicago. And they’d have to speak with their bishop.”

“Of course,” Nancy said. “Talk to them, and I’ll check with my director.”

As they walked toward the door, Nancy added, “They wouldn’t have to travel to Chicago, you know. That’s not a deal breaker. You could travel with the quilts, but it would be nice if the artists could attend the opening night, or if at least one of them could.”

“Nancy’s exhibits do quite well for her artists. They often raise the value of artists’ works significantly, largely because of the publicity they receive.” Robert reached down and gave Max one final pat.

As they drove away in their new, small, hybrid vehicle, Callie stared down at the card in her hand. What was that all about? When she’d walked inside with Max, her mind had been totally focused on Deborah and Reuben and what to do with this unclaimed cell phone in her pocket. And then she’d stumbled on what — a real mother lode for Melinda, Esther, and Deborah. Not to mention the commission she’d make for herself.

“Might be able to buy you that new doghouse after all, Max.” But she wasn’t envisioning a new doghouse as she walked down Main toward Adalyn’s office. Instead she was thinking of Melinda’s middle child, Aaron, and the new wheelchair he’d purchased when school began this year. Aaron suffered from chicken breast disease, an inherited muscular disorder. Among the Amish, it affected the chest, making the breastbone more prominent. The disease also stalls the growth of muscles, making it impossible for him to walk. While he was doing remarkably well at the moment, he would undoubtedly face increasingly high medical bills in the future. It would be nice for Melinda and her husband, Noah, to have a little money put back against those needs.

Then there were Reuben’s legal fees. Adalyn couldn’t work for free all of the time.

Suddenly Callie remembered the pastor of the church she’d been visiting saying that God works in unusual ways. It would seem there was something to that idea. Now if only the cell phone could provide some connection to Reuben and point to his innocence.

Her stop at Adalyn’s office was a waste of time. Adalyn was out, this time with a client over in Nappanee.

“I’ll leave her a message to call you as soon as she has a moment,” Adalyn’s receptionist told Callie.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Callie. Good-bye, Max!”

Since she was already out and Lydia was watching the store, Callie decided to run some errands. She thought about stopping by Mrs. Knepp’s quilt shop. The woman had placed an ad in the Gazette vowing to match any sale in Callie’s store. It was as if Knepp was trying to provoke her.

Callie looked down at Max and changed her mind.

Knepp hated dogs. The old woman had a cat that slept in the window, and this wasn’t your normal sweet tabby. Last time Callie had walked by to check out the window displays at Quilts and Needles, the cat had stood, stretched, then hunched its back like a Halloween cat and hissed. Max had gone berserk and started barking so loudly Callie had needed both arms to drag him away.

Best to walk on over to the Gazette. Maybe Trent would have some idea how she could find information about the phone — or he might report on it in tomorrow’s paper. She’d have to handle this just right.

Unfortunately, Trent wasn’t the first person Callie saw when she walked into the newspaper office. The smell of newsprint hit her as soon as she opened the front door. The paper’s top editions were framed and hanging on the south wall, including the one that featured herself, Deborah, and Max.

Her celebrity status, however, did nothing to soften the attitude of Trent’s receptionist, Mrs. Caldwell. Callie had a sneaking suspicion that Caldwell had harbored a secret love for Stakehorn, the paper’s previous editor, and somehow blamed Callie for his murder.

As if to prove her hunch, Caldwell glanced over and glared at her.

Baron Hearn was handing a check to Caldwell. Hearn was tall and lanky, had black hair cut short, and dark eyes to match. Though he was smiling cordially, Callie had no doubt he was laughing at her, since she and Baron Hearn did not have a good history.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Harper.” Hearn stuck his checkbook in his back pocket. “Girl, you manage to involve yourself with every murder for a hundred miles, not that we had many of those before you showed up.”

“Dogs are not allowed in this establishment. I’ll thank you to take that mutt right back outside.” Mrs. Caldwell pointed to the front door as if Callie were too daft to understand where outside might be.

“Good afternoon to both of you. Actually we’re not staying, Mrs. Caldwell. I was wondering if Trent was in this afternoon.”

“And I’d be happy to answer, once you take that dog outside.”

This time Caldwell stood before jamming her finger in the direction of the front door. Max looked from the door back to the receptionist, as if he were missing something, then let out a small whine.

“But I — “

“Out.”

“Can’t we — “

“I said out!”

Baron was actually holding his side, he was laughing so hard, and Mrs. Caldwell’s face was turning quite red. Callie decided maybe she should step outside and call Trent instead.

“Come, Max.” Turning and starting out of the room, determined to ignore Baron’s laughter and Caldwell’s whispers — “that Callie Harper tries my patience more than flies on a summer day” — she walked to the front door, and even had her hand on the knob, when she heard steps between the press room and the front office.

“Leaving so soon, Callie?” Trent caught up with her in a few long strides. Nodding to Baron and Mrs. Caldwell, he opened the door and followed her out into the October sunshine.

“I was going to call you from outside. Your bodyguard insisted that Max wait here.”

Trent grinned as he walked her over to a bench positioned under the plate glass window. In spite of her irritation with him over his handling of the murder scene, she couldn’t help smiling in return. He had such a boyish way about him.

“You have to admit. She does look out for the place.”

“If you’re trying to scare people away.”

“How are you, Max? Huh, boy?” Trent used both hands to scratch behind Max’s ears and was rewarded with a sloppy kiss.

Callie had the passing thought that dogs get all the fun, then wondered where such an idea came from.

“So, why did you really come by?” Trent returned his attention to Callie.

“I found this.” Callie pulled the cell phone out of the pocket of her jacket. “And I wondered if you could help me with it.”

“Help you?”

“Say I wanted to know something about it. Like who owns it, how to get past the password protection — “

“Okay. I get the idea.” Trent took the phone from her. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to ask where you got this.”

“It could be important, Trent.” Callie tucked her hair behind her ears as she studied the shoppers strolling down Main Street in the brisk fall afternoon and wondered what secrets the small phone might hold. “Is there anything you can tell me about it? Can you get past the password — “

He opened it, turned it on, pushed a few buttons, then smiled. “Personally, I’d start by listening to the message.”