Leann Sweeney by the Quilt The Cat, the Corpse Page B

your loss. I’ve been a widow for five years now.” She took my left hand and squeezed. Her fingers may have been cold, but hers was a warm touch in a more important way.
    Why hadn’t I done this before—put myself out to make new friends? Is that what grief did, froze you up until you were ready to move on? Had Syrah’s disappearance released my emergency brake?
    The woman said, “I hear you make cat quilts—which had me thinking you must be an old woman like myself. But here you are, looking like a freckled teenager.” She reached up and touched a loose strand of my hair. “Is this your natural color? Such a lovely shade, sort of like mulling spices.”
    “It needs a little help from a bottle these days,” I said with a laugh. “That seems to happen once you pass the big four-oh.”
    “Oh, don’t I know, honey. I must say, I have never seen you in this establishment before. I am so glad to meet you.”
    “I didn’t get your name,” I said.
    “I’m Belle Lowry, the owner.” She smiled widely and I couldn’t help but stare at her lips. Guess she didn’t use a mirror when she put on that color.
    I glanced back at the counter. “But—”
    “Oh, they all have the same name tag. Little trick of mine. Didn’t you feel pleased as punch when you thought the owner was taking care of your coffee needs?”
    I laughed again. “I did.”
    “ Course that only works with the tourists and the new customers like you. Everyone in town knows me and my tricks. I do like a joke. I say if you can’t laugh, don’t come around here.”
    “I intend to come around here more often, that’s for sure. I’m on my way to the Cotton Company, but they don’t open until eleven on Sunday. Do you know Martha, the lady who works there?”
    “We play bridge together, as a matter of fact. Are you picking out material for your cat quilts? Good idea, by the way—those quilts for cats.”
    “I love fabric hunting, and Martha is so helpful.” I liked this lady and could only hope she knew something about my situation, but I felt so awkward bringing up my problems. This wasn’t as easy as I’d thought it would be.
    Belle closed her newspaper. “I have never been inclined to sit in front of a sewing machine. I like to talk too much, and machines simply won’t talk back.” She laughed and I so wanted to mention the lipstick problem, but she went on, saying, “I must tell you, I was ready to purchase one of your cat quilts when Martha told me about what you do, but then poor Java disappeared. Broke my heart, too. So you see, we have something in common. I understand you’ve recently lost a cat, too.”
    So she already knew. “Yes. His name is Syrah. Tell me about Java,” I said.
    “Cute thing. How I do miss that cat.”
    “What happened?” I asked.
    “Foolish Belle left the back door open. And you know what amazed me? That cat had never in her young life been outdoors before. Guess her feline nature took control. She had to explore. I was sure she’d come back, but she never did.”
    “When was this?” I said.
    “Few months ago. I’ve been thinking about adopting another kitten from the Sanctuary. Have you been there to see if your cat’s been turned in?”
    “I was there yesterday.”
    “Those are some mighty fine people, the Cuddahees. Shawn made me a dining room table and chairs that will last for centuries. Making a perfect piece of furniture or even a perfect cup of coffee is a lost art. You think Starbucks is good? You taste from that cup you’ve been clinging to for dear life, Miss Jillian. Then tell me what you think.”
    I sipped and discovered she was right. “This is fabulous. No wonder I see everyone carting your cups around town.”
    “Thank you, ma’am,” she said with a smile.
    “I know you didn’t get your cat back, but maybe you could give me some hints to help me find mine. Tell me what steps you took.”
    “First off, I went to that silly town council and asked them to change their