The Lover's Knot: A Someday Quilts Mystery by Clare O'Donohue

By Clare O'Donohue

Book number 1 of the sometime Quilts secret series

In the culture of Jennifer Chiaverini and Emilie Richards, a debut quilting mystery

Nell Fitzgerald is overjoyed while she gets a beautiful hand-crafted duvet in a lover?s knot trend from her grandmother Eleanor as an engagement reward. Her pleasure is short-lived, besides the fact that, while her fiancé publicizes he?s calling off the marriage. Heartbroken, 25-year-old Nell flees big apple urban for her grandmother?s domestic in old fashioned Archers leisure. during this small city Eleanor?s existence revolves round her cover store, sometime Quilts, and the participants of the shop?s quilting circle.

When the physique of a neighborhood handyman recognized for his flirting is located within the duvet store, murdered with a couple of quilting scissors, Nell unearths herself drawn into the case? and attracted to the good-looking police leader. As a development of clues starts off to emerge, one of many top suspects is Nell?s ex-fiancé, whose arrival in Archers relaxation turns out suspicious. the women of the quilting circle proceed to piece jointly their quilts as Nell unravels the secret. For quilters and secret fanatics alike, The Lover?s Knot is a pleasant and promising debut.

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And I guessed that was true, except . . it kept nagging at me. Something was different, more polite, more formal. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him, and he didn’t seem willing to tell me. So I ignored it the best I could and kept talking. “I was thinking that if we did invite Carla and James from work, we really don’t have to invite Diane. I know they work in the same department but . ” I knew I was rambling, but a part of me was afraid to stop talking. He was staring at the quilt. Sitting on my bed, he had looked down and noticed that the still-draped quilt was covering the bed and half the floor.

My long hair, which yesterday had been neatly pulled back, was now ratty. I hadn’t showered, washed my face or brushed my teeth. I looked like the sort of woman that any man with the slightest amount of common sense would leave. And yet, even looking the way I did, I knew I had to get on the train and go to the prickly comfort of my straight-talking grandmother. As the train moved north, I tried to hide by slouching down in my seat and staring out the window, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t see the streets of Harlem passing by outside my window.

I chose deliberate stupidity, the only defense I could muster. ” He made a face. I was making this hard for him. Good, I thought. I’ll keep making it hard. ” I knew he meant marriage. He knew I knew, but I couldn’t let him off the hook without saying it. ” And now he had said it. I had made him say it, and now I wished more than anything I hadn’t. We both stared in silence. To an outside observer it might look as if our eyes were locked. But we were looking just past each other. I guess I was supposed to talk next, so I asked the question.

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