"That's not some creepy small-town tradition, is it?"

Amanda was anxious to meet my grandmother and the women I'd been talking-and complaining-about since I arrived in Archers Rest, so I led her into the dining room.

There the group was huddled over piles of fabric in every shade of the rainbow. They all seemed like solid colors until I got close and realized they were mottled, with variations of the same color in a cloudlike effect. Others seemed to have been tie-dyed in different shades. It seemed to me they didn't need to be cut up and made into a quilt. They were beautiful just as they were. But the rest of the room's occupants didn't seem to share my view. They were already debating how to cut the fabric, in what order and by whom. And it was a lively debate. My grandmother sat in a chair leaning over so far to examine the fabrics that I thought she would fall out. Maggie and Natalie, the oddest of friends, yet always joining forces, grabbed fabrics and threw them on the floor to where Nancy sat with Bernie and Carrie. The three women would put each one next to fabrics that had already been chosen, while the others shouted out "yeahs" and "nays" to each new selection. Only Susanne didn't seem to be interested in the free-for-all. She sat quietly next to Eleanor, staring into the pile of fabrics, a million miles away from the rest.

"Who's this?" Eleanor suddenly noticed that Amanda and I were in the room.

"This is Amanda, my friend from New York," I said. "This is my grandmother and her Friday Night Quilt Club."

"And Ryan," said Bernie.

Ryan was busy moving coffee cups out of the way of flying fabric and didn't even look up.

"Amanda and Ryan and I work together," I said.

"Well, Amanda," Nancy held up a bolt of mottled light green fabric, "what do you think of this?"

"I think it's lovely," she said, clearly unsure of what answer she was supposed to give.

"I agree." Nancy added it to the quickly growing pile of chosen fabrics.

"Don't you have enough?" I asked as the bolts of fabric teetered over.

All the women laughed. Not just laughed, but laughed as if I had uttered truly the stupidest thing ever said.

"You can't have too many fabrics, dear," Maggie admonished sternly.

"Why not?" Amanda asked with just the right amount of naivete and interest. They had her.

"This," Nancy explained, pointing to the fabric, "this is our paint box. I use one green for, say, a leaf. But I shade it with a slightly darker green from a different fabric."

"So the more fabric, the more depth," I jumped in.

"Exactly." My grandmother's eyes lit up. "The more fabrics you use, the more you can say in your quilt. You can draw someone in, make it so their eyes move across it. Two fabrics in a quilt is fine, but it has to be a deliberate choice. And it can be tricky to create emotion in a quilt with two fabrics. But you can make even the simplest patterns seem complicated by using lots of different fabrics."

"Oh, cut out the baloney," Bernie interrupted. "I use a lot of fabrics for one reason. Because I love to buy fabric and I need an excuse to buy a lot, and I'm not alone."

"That's okay too," Eleanor laughed. "That's what keeps me in business."

"Well, I guess we should leave you to it, then," I said. I nodded toward Amanda and we made a quick exit before we were drafted to help.

Amanda and I grabbed our coats and were heading out the front door when Ryan caught up with us. "Let's all go out for coffee," he suggested.

"Can Amanda and I have some time alone?" I asked. He looked toward Amanda. "Why are you looking to her for permission?" I demanded.

Amanda smiled. "Don't worry, Ryan. I won't give her any more ammunition to throw you out on your ass."

I laughed, but Ryan looked back at me worried. "What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

"You're the one who wanted to be here," I reminded him as I got in the car.

Ryan stepped back, but I could tell he was not pleased, and- this surprised me-I really didn't care.

We parked in front of the bakery, but I'd run out of interest in coffee and pastries, so we walked down the block to Moran's Pub. Inside it was dark and a little run-down. The sort of place where three or four rumpled old men sit continuously at the bar from opening to closing, drinking without getting drunk. But there were no such men sitting at Moran's, just a cooing young couple at the bar and two college-age kids playing pool.

We ordered two beers and sat at a corner booth. I hadn't even had a chance to take a sip before Amanda started.

"Ryan is trying to win you back," she said.

"That's the only thing that makes sense, except he isn't exactly doing anything to get me back."

"Like what?"

"Like telling me that postponing the wedding was a big mistake. Or telling me that he never wants to be with anyone else." I took a breath. "And that's just for starters. Where are the flowers, the candy, you know… the stuff?"

"Would that make a difference?"

That stopped me. I didn't know. "It might," I said. "But it doesn't look like I'm going to find out."

Amanda sat back and took a sip of her beer. Behind her the door opened, and Jesse walked in. He waved. I waved back, and Amanda turned around to see who had caught my attention.

"Who's that?" she asked with an exaggerated smile.

"The local police chief."

"He's cute." I could tell she was heading into flirtation mode.

"He's not cute," I protested.

He'd ditched his overcoat and was wearing jeans and a sport coat layered over a navy blue V-neck sweater and T-shirt. Between the clothes, the glasses, and the low light of the pub, he looked like he belonged with the college students playing pool. When he glanced up and saw me watching, I turned back to Amanda, but he was already walking over.

"Hey there," he said and grabbed a nearby chair. "I thought you were all going back to Eleanor's for the great quilt extravaganza."

"We ran from that," Amanda said, smiling. "I'm Nell's friend Amanda. I'm up for the day from New York."

"I'm Jesse."

"Like Jesse James. Are you an outlaw, Jesse?"

It looked like he blushed a little.

"What are you doing in a bar in the middle of the day?" I changed the subject.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said.

"Drinking." I held up the beer bottle as evidence. "But you don't strike me as the kind of man who drinks in daylight or on duty."

He shrugged. "It's a nonalcohol brew."

Amanda lifted her glass. "Well, here's to hanging out in bars in the daytime, whatever you drink." Jesse and I joined her toast, sipped our beers and stared at our glasses.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Jesse cleared his throat and asked. "He hasn't decided to go back to the city, has he?"

"No. We ditched him at the house," Amanda volunteered.

Jesse shot me a surprised look. "I thought you two were back together. Judging by the looks of things in your room the other day."

I was embarrassed that Jesse knew Ryan had spent the night in my room. I was also aware of Amanda's curious eyes boring into me.

"Amanda and I wanted to talk, so we left him at the house where he is probably being fussed over by half a dozen women as we speak," I said quickly, and once again looked for a new topic. "How's the investigation going?"

"We've sorted through the fingerprints on the scissors," he said.

"So do you know who killed Marc?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"No. Unless you, Eleanor, Nancy, Carrie and the others all killed Marc together. There are at least half a dozen partial prints on that thing."

"What about Ryan?" I asked and held my breath.

"Nothing on the scissors, but there were a few prints too smudged to identify."