"I'm just trying to see if it spills. If it could have been accidentally spilled on the steps."

"Doesn't budge."

"No, Grandma, it doesn't."

"Well, it's a lovely science experiment, dear, but I should be going." Bernie patted Eleanor's arm. "Good work today, I think."

"It was."

Bernie walked over to me. "I almost forgot. I wrote down my fudge recipe for you." She pulled out a piece of pink paper from her purse and handed it to me, smiling. "Maybe you'll make it for a future meeting."

I looked at the pink paper for a long second. That didn't make sense. But when I looked up, Bernie was gone and Nancy had entered the kitchen to say good night.

CHAPTER 52

"Please don't say it." Jesse was laughing the next morning when I called him about the pink paper and the hand wax.

"It's not impossible. Bernie told me herself that she had more lovers than she can remember."

"Stop. Now."

"She could have been having an affair with Marc."

"Mrs. Avallone is a friend of my mother's."

"Then explain the pink paper. Explain the hand wax."

"Okay," Jesse said. "The stationery store said that at least a dozen pads of the same paper have been sold in the last six months. And the wax comes from the quilt shop. All of those women probably have some."

"I don't think the paper is a coincidence."

"I tell you what-you follow up on that lead and I'll work on figuring out where Marc could have gotten the money. Last night I was thinking that maybe he was blackmailing someone and when the person came to pay, he or she instead decided to kill him."

"You think he was blackmailing Bernie about their secret affair? " I said, only half kidding.

"I don't want to have that image in my head. Mrs. Avallone plays cards with my mother every Tuesday." I could hear the smile in his voice, and it felt nice. "But the wax is another story. Who went up and down those stairs?"

"Everyone. The bathroom was downstairs and all the regulars at the shop had access to it."

"So it could have been meant for someone else. Someone like you."

"Why would anyone want to hurt me?"

"Why would anyone want to hurt Eleanor?"

I didn't know the answer, but I promised to be careful as we hung up. My cell phone rang again and I was sure it was Jesse calling back, but when I looked at the caller ID, I saw it was Ryan. I just kept looking at the number as the phone rang until it went silent.

I went downstairs where Nancy and Eleanor were already set up for another day of quilting. Nancy was positioning and repositioning the flowers I had so carefully cut out. She tried them on the long plain strips of purple fabric that made up the borders of the quilt, but they didn't work. Then she tried to place them in the blocks.

"No," I said. "That's too busy."

"Any suggestions?" She turned to me.

"The whole quilt feels like a painting, and then when you put the flowers on it, it sort of takes away from it." I touched the soft fabric of the quilt. "I wish you could paint flowers on the borders. That would be cool."

"You can," Eleanor said. "They make paints that you can put on fabric."

"Well, I can't," Nancy protested. "I'm not much of a painter."

"Nell can." Eleanor sat up in her chair. "She used to paint all the time."

"I don't know if I was any good," I protested.

Eleanor dismissed me with a wave. "Nancy, we have some fabric paints, don't we?"

Nancy sorted through several boxes until she found what she was looking for. "I don't know how to paint on fabric," I said. "And I'm certainly not going to ruin this."

"Paint flowers on the borders. That's just plain fabric," Nancy said. "If we hate it, we'll just cut more fabric."

I laid some paper on the ironing board, then put a long strip of the purple border fabric on the board and pinned it down. I was nervous enough without having the fabric move around as I painted. I ordered Nancy and Eleanor out of the room and arranged the paints. Then I stared at the fabric. I had an image in my head of how it should look, but I couldn't figure out where to start.

"Nature isn't perfect, you know," Nancy said from the hallway.

"Better than me," I sighed.

"The Amish have a tradition. They make a deliberate mistake in every quilt as a way of acknowledging that only God makes things perfect." Nancy walked in and pushed me slightly toward the strip of fabric.

"So I'm the deliberate mistake."

Nancy laughed. "I think it's kind of nice. Every time I screw up, I say I did it for God. Makes me feel better."

"Fair enough. But you have to leave the room and stay out until I'm ready." Nancy did as she was told and I turned back to the border.

Using Nancy's flower template as a guide, I lightly painted flowers on one of the border sides. I made dark purple, pink, and yellow flowers, with light and dark green leaves and stems, holding my breath the entire time. When I was done, I called Nancy and Eleanor back into the room. Together we put the painted border next to the quilt.

"That was it," Nancy said. "That was exactly what it needed."

So I painted the other three sides while Nancy and Eleanor cleared back out of the room so, as they put it, they wouldn't disturb an artist at work. As I finished each side of the border, I put it back on the flannel wall next to the interior of the quilt. Stepping back, I had to admit it was beautiful. The painting echoed the garden feel of the blocks without taking away from their impact.

"I'm done," I called out.

Nancy and Eleanor came back in. Nancy praised me repeatedly, but Eleanor just leaned on her crutch and stared.

"What do you think, Grandma?"

She shook her head. "It works."

The doorbell rang, and I knew it was time to open the makeshift quilt shop for the day. Eleanor sat in her chair and rested her leg on a small footstool while Nancy went out to great the customers.

"I should check on the shop," I said.

Eleanor nodded; she was still staring at the quilt. "You'll have to do something like that for the shop wall."

"One of these days," I said, and headed for the hallway before I got too caught up in the moment. Nancy headed me off as I reached for my coat near the front door. "I'm going to check on the shop," I told her.

"I'm sure you like your job in the city, Nell," Nancy said, suddenly serious. "But you have real talent. I know your grandmother said that you dabble in painting, but you should really think about getting some training. I wanted to when I was your age, but… well, I got a little caught up in getting married, having kids. I just didn't get around to it. I always thought there would be time."

I nodded. "Thanks. It's really sweet, especially from you, with all your quilts and everything." I hesitated because I knew it wasn't really my business, but she had sort of opened the subject matter. "I was in New York the other day, at a gallery, and I saw your quilts."

Nancy took my arm and led me outside. It was a cold morning and she was shivering in her turtleneck sweater. "I haven't told Eleanor yet," she said quietly. "I haven't told anyone."

"Maggie knows."

Nancy nodded. "It's her daughter's shop. It doesn't matter that you know. Everybody's been telling me to sell my quilts, so I thought I'd give it a go."

"I'll bet you're doing well."

Nancy took a deep breath. "I haven't sold any yet, so who knows if anything will come of it."

"Are you kidding? Those quilts were amazing."

She blushed. "Please don't say anything. I want to keep it to myself for now, in case nothing happens with them. I don't want people being disappointed for me."

I hugged her. "Not a word."

"Art school." She wagged her finger at me. "There's one in Nyack and one in Peekskill. I'll get you brochures."