Quilt Trip: A Southern Quilting Mystery by Elizabeth Craig Page B

butter,” Beatrice said. “What’s done is done, anyway.”
    Miss Sissy wasn’t about to let it go, either, though. “Wickedness!” she hissed at Dot.
    Dot gave them all a good-natured grin. “It was only wickedness if it was premeditated. It was pure instinct that drove me to that peanut butter, y’all. Hunger. I like to think y’all would have done the same thing.” She winked at Miss Sissy, who scowled back at her.
    Peacemaking Posy had already moved over to the pantry and peered in. “There are plenty of other things for us to eat in here. If we got particularly creative, we might be able to warm things up over one of the fires we’ve made. I do see canned soups in here.”
    “That sounds like a lot of trouble,” grouched Winnie. “It sure would have been a lot easier to put peanut butter on bread or crackers.”
    “We would’ve had to break into the soup and other foods after lunch anyway.” Meadow shrugged. “That peanut butter wouldn’t have lasted more than one meal. Besides, this will give Posy and me a challenge. We’ll find a pot to put the soup in and stick it over the library fire since Beatrice is busy in the study. It’s not a big deal, Winnie.”
    Winnie didn’t seem convinced.
    Beatrice said, “Dot, since you’ve already had lunch, would you like to come talk with me next?”
    Relief passed across Dot’s broad features. “That sounds like a good plan,” she said quickly.
    Once in the study Dot sat down in the chair next to the fire and pulled it away from the fireplace a little. “Kind of warm in here, isn’t it?” She mopped her face with a tissue she pulled out of her jeans pocket.
    It wasn’t really, not with that miniature fire. But Dot was in the hot seat, after all. “I guess the room is small enough to get stuffy,” Beatrice said noncommittally.
    Dot shifted uneasily in the chair, drumming her fingers on the arm. “So what do you need to ask me?” she said, looking Beatrice steadily in the eyes.
    “How well did you know Muriel Starnes?” asked Beatrice. “It seems like most of the quilters that Muriel had specifically invited here were people she’d known for years.”
    Dot held her gaze. “I did know Muriel. Have done for years. She and I were in the same quilting guild for ages.”
    “Did you get along?”
    Dot snorted. “Did anybody get along with Muriel? Not really. Only if Muriel was in the mood to get along.”
    “Muriel said she had a couple of different reasons for bringing this group here. We all knew about the quilting foundation and scholarship program. But there was another reason she’d gathered everyone—to make amends.”
    Dot grinned. “That’s right. Muriel also said that she knew that the people she wanted to make amends with wouldn’t come simply because she asked them here—that she’d had to
lure
them with quilting.”
    “Were you one of the ones she was trying to lure?” Beatrice asked.
    “Absolutely,” said Dot, stoutly.
    “What was it that Muriel was trying to make amends with you for?”
    “Oh, just general nastiness,” said Dot in her cheery voice. “Nothing specific.”
    Beatrice somehow thought that wasn’t the case. “You can’t think of a particular instance that she might have been trying to apologize for?” she pressed.
    Dot shrugged and stared down at her American flag T-shirt, which now had a small peanut butter smear on it. “Not particularly,” she said. “Although I still think it’s hilarious how Muriel thought that an impersonal, general apology was going to make everything better. It doesn’t usually work that way in life, does it? People hold grudges. More than just
hold
the grudges, they cherish and nourish them! They don’t want to give them up . . . They’re almost like pets. Muriel, though, was the last person to understand human nature.”
    Beatrice thought about pushing Dot more on the reasons that she and Muriel had fallen out, but decided not to . . . yet. She had a feeling that