Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_04 by Unraveled Sleeve Read Free Book Online Page A

wondered if you’d come down to eat without finding me. You weren’t in the dining room, so I went up to our room. Only when I opened the door there she was, that same thin woman, dead.”
    â€œAre you sure it wasn’t me you saw? It was dark after all,” said Jill.
    â€œOh, yes. I turned the light on, and I touched her. Her lips were blue, and she wasn’t breathing at all, and I couldn’t find a pulse. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t think what she was doing in our room, or where you’d gotten to. I came right down and got you”—Betsy nodded toward James—“and you brought me up, only it was Jill asleep on the bed.”
    Betsy looked as if she didn’t expect to be believed, as if she wasn’t sure of her story herself.
    â€œSo this woman appeared to you between naps,” said Jill.
    â€œYes,” agreed Betsy reluctantly. “But it wasn’t a dream, Jill. I mean, dreams are kind of vague, and this woman wasn’t vague, not the first time. The pattern of that sweater, one of those starburst kind, I could draw it for you, you know how I’m getting about knitting patterns. And the sweater had fancy pewter fasteners, not buttons. You don’t dream details like that.”
    â€œNo, I guess not.” Jill scooted to the edge of the bed and hung her legs over. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, trying to pull her thoughts together. She said, “You’re sure you didn’t go to some other room by mistake?”
    â€œNo—well, there’s only one room right at the top of the stairs, at an angle, not flat along the wall, right? With a fireplace?”
    â€œThat’s right,” said James. “But here we are, in your room, and there’s no dead body in here, thank God. I don’t know what else to say. Except that I’ve got to getback. You’d better come down soon, if you want to eat.”
    â€œWe’ll be right down,” said Jill. “Just let me wash my face.”
    A dash of cold water helped. Jill came out of the bathroom to find Betsy, looking half ashamed, waiting by the window.
    â€œLighten up on yourself, Betsy,” Jill said. “Everyone has dreams that seem real. I’ve done it myself. And this is just another one of the kind of dreams you’ve been telling me about. More realistic than the others, but your unconscious had to get it right at least once, right? Come on, let’s see if a hot meal makes you feel better.”
    Betsy said, as they went out the door, “Is James related to the check-in clerk? They look a lot alike.”
    Jill laughed. “They are the same person. He’s James Ramsey. He and his wife Ramona own this place. Very fine people.”
    Most of the other guests had either finished or were eating dessert by the time they got down, so they sat alone at one of the small tables along the outside wall. Heavy sheets of clear plastic were hung on the French doors to keep out the cold.
    â€œThe idea was,” said Jill, “to open these doors and set up tables under an awning along this wall and serve food and drinks out there—in the summer, of course.”
    â€œBut they never did that?” asked Betsy.
    â€œI don’t think so. Well, maybe the original owners did. This place began life as a very large and exclusive private club. People like Ring Lardner and Babe Ruth signed up as members. It opened in July, 1929.” Jill paused, one pale eyebrow raised just a bit.
    Betsy frowned at her, then said, “Oh! Of course, October 1929, the Crash, followed by the Depression.”
    Jill nodded. “Naniboujou never really got off the ground as a private club. This building was supposed to be bigger, there were supposed to be tennis courts onthat lawn between here and the lake, all sorts of things never happened. Most of the land was sold—some of it became the state park across the road—and the lodge kept