She folded the quilt up and quickly put it back, latching the cupboard securely. When Jil came out, she found Pix sitting in a low rocker by the window reading this week's Island Crier.
“The parade pictures are wonderful. Sonny is going to love the shot of him as Burt Dow" she said brightly—too brightly.
Driving across the bridge to the mainland with Jil at her side, Pix was in a quandary. Should she come right out and ask Jil about the quilt and the other antiques? She probably should have done so immediately, but she wanted to take time to reflect. What could it possibly mean? That Jil had unwittingly bought a fake quilt—or wittingly? It was the latter possibility that was keeping Pix's tongue securely tied. Was Jil somehow connected to an antiques scam? At this point, Pix was certain it had been one of Mitchel Pierce's activities. Had they been in it together? She had certainly gotten antiques from him. This would explain Jil 's recent attitude toward Earl, and perhaps her new al iance with Seth. Supposedly, Seth had learned everything he knew from Mitch. Did that include how to construct old from new?
The blue crosses were no laundry mark, as she'd speculated to Earl. They must be an indication to those who knew that these quilts were not the real McCoy. Had Jil seen the mark on Pix's quilt when it was spread out on the ground and later come into the house and removed it?
Jil was talking and Pix realized with a start that she hadn't heard a word the woman had been saying. She forced herself to concentrate. Jil was suggesting where they might go.
“There's that barn right outside Blue Hil as you head up the hil toward the fairgrounds. I found a wonderful bamboo easel at a very reasonable price last spring. Why don't we stop there first, then go farther up the coast?"
“Sounds fine to me," Pix answered. Anything was fine at this point, when her main worry was how she was going to get through this trip without coming unglued.
The barn door was firmly shut and they didn't have much luck in El sworth, either: no quilts to examine and nothing else tempting. Pix knew why nothing appealed to her, but Jil seemed just as restless and disinterested.
Maybe she had simply needed to get away because of Addie's death and the antiquing was an excuse. Whatever it was, neither had bought anything by eleven and Pix suggested they drive straight to Beal's in Southwest Harbor for an early lunch. A big bowl of their chowder consumed at the pier while looking across the water at Acadia's Mount Cadil ac was exactly what she needed to soothe her troubled mind, and perhaps it would do something for Jil 's too. Pix had noticed that whenever Jil wasn't speaking, her fingers were finding their way to her mouth and her cuticles looked red and sore.
Many of the tables at Beal's were already ful . In tacit assent, they took their food to the one farthest away from the groups noisily cracking open the lobsters they had picked out of the tank.
A cool breeze was coming off the harbor and for a while they sat in silence consuming the delicious chowder thick with clams. Pix was in no hurry to get back into the car. Eating gave her something to do and think about other than what was pressing most on her mind.
“Coffee and pie?" Jil asked. Beal's was known for their blueberry pie.
“Sure, we came al this way. We can't leave without pie.”
More silent enjoyment fol owed, or rather, Pix thought, more silence. The pie was as good as ever, yet it was beginning to turn to ashes in her mouth. She had to say something to Jil —Jil , who had been a friend for years.
“Maybe—no, probably—it's none of my business, but you know how much we care about you, both of you. Do you want to talk about what's gone wrong with Earl?" Pix decided to start with this trial bal oon to gauge Jil 's reaction before attempting to discuss such matters as antiques fraud and breaking and entering, although Jil had always been free to walk into the Mil ers' unlocked house whenever she pleased.
Jil frowned. "I don't know why everyone thinks something's wrong between us. Goodness, if you don't happen to be climbing al over someone every minute of the day, the whole island assumes you've broken up, and of course it's not true. No one's bothered to remember we both have jobs. I've been busy and Earl's been even busier with al that's happened. We haven't had time to see each other.”
She jammed a large forkful of pie into her mouth.
Some of the juice dripped onto the front of her gauzy white blouse.
“Damn," she said, rubbing at it with a paper napkin, which only made it worse. She seemed close to tears. It didn't seem the moment to mention Earl's remarks or the fact that Pix had been there herself when Jil had turned her swain down the day after she was spotted dining with another. Nor was Pix inclined to raise anything else. They finished eating quickly, paid, and got into the car.
“Are you game for some more or do you want to head back?" Pix asked, hoping Jil , like she, had had enough.
“Let's keep going. Doris can stay until she has to go to work at the inn." Jil 's chin jutted out. "Besides, I haven't had any luck yet”
Nor have I, Pix thought dismal y.
They retraced their steps and went into a large antiques shop in Trenton. It was one Pix had frequented before, but Jil said she had never been there. They walked in and the owner greeted Pix warmly. The shop was free of cobwebs and dust. Everything was shown to its best advantage. It was quite a contrast and at the moment a welcome one. When Pix asked about night-stands, he said he thought he had the very thing and led them into another room. There were several customers browsing and one turned at the sound of their voices to greet them. "Pix, Jil ! I never expected to see you two playing hooky again so soon." It was Valerie, and contrary to her earlier impulses, Pix was delighted to have a third wheel. This day out with Jil had begun to seem like a week.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I'm stil looking for a table for my guest room and Jil was able to come along.”
Not wanting to keep the owner waiting, Pix fol owed him to what was in fact "the very thing," except not the very price. Even with some friendly dickering, she knew it would be way out of her range. Valerie and Jil joined them. Pix said she liked it but would have to wait for something less expensive.
“It is a lovely piece," Valerie commented. "Are you sure you're not going to take it?"
“Yes. Saying no to this price tag, besides saving my marriage, gives me something to keep looking for this summer.”
Valerie was on her hands and knees, examining the chest from al angles.
“Take your time, ladies," the owner said. "I'l be in the front of the store"
“Do you have any quilts?" Pix asked before he left.
“I have a crib quilt and a nice quilt top from the thirties but nothing else at the moment. Good ones are getting harder and harder to come by. The market in general has been hurt by the foreign imports that look old—and also by the fakes.”
Was it her imagination or did Jil give a sudden start?
“I'm a quilter and very interested in al this," Pix told him. "How do you spot the fakes?" It was too much to hope that he would say they were marked with a little blue cross, but she might learn something.
“It's very difficult, especial y now that the fabric companies make so many reproduction fabrics. I look at the stitching, examine the material, and mostly consider the source. I get pretty suspicious when someone comes in with an armload of quilts they just happened to find in an old trunk that hasn't been opened since goodness knows when in Grandmother's attic."
“They aren't marked in any way, then?" Pix felt her investigation was going nowhere and she had to ask.
He laughed. "That would make it easy, now wouldn't it?
No, they aren't marked. Do you want to see what little I have?”