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at his mouth with her little fist and babbled. Gabe caught the hand, kissed it, then said, “Nic and the others are all set up in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” Sage hung her coat on the hall tree, then followed the sound of laughter to Nic Callahan’s kitchen, where she found her hostess, Sarah Reese, Ali Timberlake, quilt shop owner LaNelle Harrison, and Celeste Blessing huddled over a cutting mat discussing the proposed arrangement of blocks. As Sage stepped into the room, Ali glanced up and said, “Hello.”
“Well, I don’t believe it.” Sarah reached into the back pocket of her jeans, withdrew a five-dollar bill, and handed it to Ali. “You win.”
Sage followed the exchange and scowled. “You bet on me?”
“Technically, I bet against you,” Sarah replied. “I didn’t think you’d show.”
“That’s mean.” Sage folded her arms. “I said last week that I’d come tonight, and I always keep my word.”
“You said you’d come to the band concert at school last night and you didn’t.”
“No, I said I’d buy a ticket, and I did. I never said I’d attend.”
Celeste interrupted the exchange by saying, “What matters is that you’re here now. We need your artistic eye, Sage. Help us decide how best to arrange our squares.”
Sage glanced at LaNelle. “You’re not doing it this time?”
The master quilter smiled. “No, not this time.”
“She’s not reading the Patchwork Angels email newsletter, either,” Sarah observed.
Ali explained, “We decided to enter this particular project in the art show this summer. LaNelle is usually a judge, so she’s recused herself from all efforts with this quilt.”
“I’m only here to drop off the supplies,” LaNelle said.
“And because your curiosity about our project got the best of you,” Celeste suggested.
Amusement gleamed in LaNelle’s eyes. “Caught me. Now I’d better leave before I get into any more trouble. Since Sage is here to oversee things, I know you’ll do just fine with your design.”
“Gee, thanks,” Sarah said. “Glad to know you have so much confidence in the rest of us. Bye, LaNelle.”
As Nic escorted LaNelle from the house, Sage turned to Ali and said, “I’m surprised but happy to see you back in town so soon this time of year. Any reason in particular for the trip?”
Ali’s face brightened. “After reading the journals you guys uncovered written by my great-great-grandmother, I’ve caught the genealogy bug. I’m spending a few days here poring through the local history section of the library, and today I found something interesting. Shall I share?”
“Absolutely,” Nic said, returning to the room.
“Well, this goes back to the second generation of settlers in Eternity Springs. We know that Winifred Smith, who was Daniel Murphy’s fiancée—the woman who he called his angel—disappeared on their wedding day and ended up a skeleton dressed in a bridal gown in Celeste’s root cellar.”
“Did you learn who her killer was?” Sarah asked. “I’m going to be jealous if you did. I’ve been looking into that mystery some myself when I have extra time.”
“You don’t have any extra time,” Nic said.
“That’s why I haven’t discovered the killer.” Sarah repeated her question to Ali. “Did you?”
“Nope. I found out something about Daniel Murphy’s son Brendan and my great-great uncle Harry Cavanaugh Jr. They fought a duel over a woman. With rapiers.”
“A sword duel?” Nic asked. “In the late 1800s?”
“Actually, the early 1900s. The woman was Caroline Hart. Brendan won the duel and the woman, but made a lifelong enemy of Harry in the process.”
“Not good for Brendan Murphy,” Sarah said. “The Cavanaughs had money, but the Murphys didn’t. One of the best-known pieces of Eternity Springs history is that Daniel lost everything but his bad reputation.”
Celeste spoke up. “The poor man was heartsick. His first wife had died, leaving him with young Brendan to care for, then he lost his angel, and the people in town turned on him. He had such a big, tender Irish heart, and it broke.”
The women all looked at Celeste in surprise. She hastened to say, “I’ve been researching, too. Sorry to interrupt, Ali. Please go on.”
Ali said, “Well, piecing together the information I found in the library and what I learned in the journals you guys found, I’m almost certain that the trunk of family heirlooms my dad inherited is really Murphy family heirlooms. I thought maybe …” She looked at Sarah. “Maybe Lori should have them.”
Sarah sat up straight. Sarah’s deepest, darkest secret, known only to a very few, was that Lori’s father was not a summer tourist, as Sarah had claimed, but the infamous Cameron Murphy. “I