inn. Almost on a whim, it seems to me.”
“She inherited it from her father?” Bernie looked at Eleanor. “I know I haven’t seen her in years, but she didn’t have this place when we were growing up. Her father was unemployed half the time. The kind of guy who would work a job for three weeks and then stop showing up. He was always getting fired, and they would end up with their electricity shut off or their car repossessed. It really embarrassed Rita as a teenager. I can’t imagine he ever put together enough money to buy a meal, let alone this place.”
“Isn’t that interesting,” Eleanor said. “She painted an entirely different picture of her life. She did tell me that she and George had been working hard for so many years, dreaming of this place . . .”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“She was a little vague about exactly what they did. She did tell me that a year ago they decided to retire and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast and live out the rest of their lives . . . How did she put it? To get out of the chaos and instead be surrounded by beauty and peace.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“It’s nonsense,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been helping people open shops for years. I’ve seen plenty of weekend quilters get romantic dreams about opening a little business because they imagine they’ll spend all day making quilts and playing with fabric. And a few times I’ve been approached by nonquilters who want to know if there’s a lot of money in opening a shop.”
“And you explain that there isn’t,” Bernie cut in.
“Exactly. But I’ve never had someone like Rita want to have her own quilt shop. She doesn’t give a hoot about business or about quilts. So why this shop? Why now? To my mind, there’s something else going on.”
“Especially with how run down this place is,” I agreed. “You would think they’d put their money into fixing it up rather than buying inventory for a store. They seem like pretty reasonable people, so I can’t figure out why they were in such a hurry to get this place open.”
“They were both dreamers when I knew them,” Bernie said. “Rita was always coming up with money-making schemes. Maybe she still is.”
Eleanor sighed. “I wish we had Internet access up here. I’d Google the two of them and see if I could find out the real story.”
“We should call Natalie and see what she can find out,” Susanne suggested.
“And have Carrie check their financials,” Bernie added. Carrie still had connections with bankers from her days in finance. She could get a complete financial history.
“We can’t dig into these people’s lives just because we’re curious,” I pointed out. “Maybe all they’re doing is padding their life story a bit to impress Bernie. George said they went to a quilt show and couldn’t believe that there are millions of quilters out there. Maybe they saw this place as a way to cash in on that, and now they’re running out of money and a bit desperate.”
It was rare that I was the voice of restraint in the group, but there was no good reason to invade their privacy. In a week we would be back to our lives, and this mess would be a distant memory.
“She wants the names of my distributors, my favorite fabric designers, teachers, and book publishers,” Eleanor said. “She’s going to be spreading my name at every wholesale market and quilt show. I’ve spent years building a good reputation and I want to keep it.”
I gave in. I grabbed my cell phone to call Carrie’s coffee shop, more anxious to hear how things were in Archers Rest than to investigate the Olnhausens. Maybe see if anyone missed me. But I couldn’t get a connection.
“No service,” I said. “I think it’s pretty hit or miss in the mountains.”
“And there are no phones in the rooms.” Eleanor looked around.
“The only one I saw is in the front hallway,” I told her. “I’ll run down and give Natalie a call.”
I left the women
“She inherited it from her father?” Bernie looked at Eleanor. “I know I haven’t seen her in years, but she didn’t have this place when we were growing up. Her father was unemployed half the time. The kind of guy who would work a job for three weeks and then stop showing up. He was always getting fired, and they would end up with their electricity shut off or their car repossessed. It really embarrassed Rita as a teenager. I can’t imagine he ever put together enough money to buy a meal, let alone this place.”
“Isn’t that interesting,” Eleanor said. “She painted an entirely different picture of her life. She did tell me that she and George had been working hard for so many years, dreaming of this place . . .”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“She was a little vague about exactly what they did. She did tell me that a year ago they decided to retire and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast and live out the rest of their lives . . . How did she put it? To get out of the chaos and instead be surrounded by beauty and peace.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“It’s nonsense,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been helping people open shops for years. I’ve seen plenty of weekend quilters get romantic dreams about opening a little business because they imagine they’ll spend all day making quilts and playing with fabric. And a few times I’ve been approached by nonquilters who want to know if there’s a lot of money in opening a shop.”
“And you explain that there isn’t,” Bernie cut in.
“Exactly. But I’ve never had someone like Rita want to have her own quilt shop. She doesn’t give a hoot about business or about quilts. So why this shop? Why now? To my mind, there’s something else going on.”
“Especially with how run down this place is,” I agreed. “You would think they’d put their money into fixing it up rather than buying inventory for a store. They seem like pretty reasonable people, so I can’t figure out why they were in such a hurry to get this place open.”
“They were both dreamers when I knew them,” Bernie said. “Rita was always coming up with money-making schemes. Maybe she still is.”
Eleanor sighed. “I wish we had Internet access up here. I’d Google the two of them and see if I could find out the real story.”
“We should call Natalie and see what she can find out,” Susanne suggested.
“And have Carrie check their financials,” Bernie added. Carrie still had connections with bankers from her days in finance. She could get a complete financial history.
“We can’t dig into these people’s lives just because we’re curious,” I pointed out. “Maybe all they’re doing is padding their life story a bit to impress Bernie. George said they went to a quilt show and couldn’t believe that there are millions of quilters out there. Maybe they saw this place as a way to cash in on that, and now they’re running out of money and a bit desperate.”
It was rare that I was the voice of restraint in the group, but there was no good reason to invade their privacy. In a week we would be back to our lives, and this mess would be a distant memory.
“She wants the names of my distributors, my favorite fabric designers, teachers, and book publishers,” Eleanor said. “She’s going to be spreading my name at every wholesale market and quilt show. I’ve spent years building a good reputation and I want to keep it.”
I gave in. I grabbed my cell phone to call Carrie’s coffee shop, more anxious to hear how things were in Archers Rest than to investigate the Olnhausens. Maybe see if anyone missed me. But I couldn’t get a connection.
“No service,” I said. “I think it’s pretty hit or miss in the mountains.”
“And there are no phones in the rooms.” Eleanor looked around.
“The only one I saw is in the front hallway,” I told her. “I’ll run down and give Natalie a call.”
I left the women
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