Four-Patch of Trouble Read Online Free Page A

hard to look away from, even for me, and I'd never been impressed by good looks. He didn't seem to care about his appearance either. I had no aspirations whatsoever to becoming a fashionista, but even I knew his sport shirt's shade of yellow was not a flattering color for anyone, and there were about twice the usual number of pockets on his cargo pants, almost as if in parody of the style, and both pieces had been worn dozens if not hundreds of times. And yet, despite everything wrong with the outfit, he looked surprisingly good in it. Some people really could wear anything and make it look like high fashion. I could wear high fashion, but despite my long legs, I made it look like the cheapest rags.
    Dee said, "This is Matt Viera," as if she were introducing a major celebrity whose name I should have recognized immediately.
    "A friend of yours?"
    "Freelance reporter," Emma explained. "Mostly writes about the arts scene."
    I resisted the "no comment" that was my automatic response to meeting a reporter. Things were different now. I didn't have clients' secrets to protect, and I needed the publicity for my new business.
    "You're going to love Matt."
    There was no chance of that. I didn't trust reporters, so the best I could ever feel for him was a bit of tolerance and maybe respect for his journalistic skills.
    Dee turned to him and said, "This is our new friend Keely Fairchild."
    "Trying to set me up with a quilter again?" he said.
    "You're too finicky," Dee said. "I've given up on finding you a girlfriend. Although you wouldn't have to worry about Keely scattering pins and needles around your home. She's not a quilter."
    I knew what was going to come next, and I preferred not to advertise my legal degree now. It tended to elicit bad lawyer jokes, requests for free legal advice, or uncomfortable silence. "I'm a quilt appraiser, and I used to work with Dee's granddaughter Lindsay."
    Matt said, "I met her once, I think. She works at a law firm, right?"
    "Keely's a lawyer," Emma explained, clearly trying to be helpful. "She's going to get Monograms shut down for us."
    "Really?" Matt patted the various pockets in his pants, every single one of which did, in fact, contain at least some little thing, until he found what he was looking for: a notepad and the stub of a pencil, rather than the smartphone every other reporter I'd dealt with carried. "I'd like to help, but so far I haven't been able to interest anyone in the story. Maybe if they knew there was a lawyer involved, it would be different."
    "I'm just here as an appraiser. Nothing official."
    "Too bad." Matt searched his pockets again until he found a crumpled business card. He scribbled a phone number on it and handed it to me. "I'm still interested in the story if you uncover anything I can use."
    The only printed text on the card was an e-mail address. No name, no address, no job title. Just "matteo" at a popular online mail service address. Not that it mattered. I wasn't going to be contacting him. Reporters and lawyers, even retired lawyers, didn't mix.
    "If I find out anything, I'll pass it along to the local prosecutor. This is really more his expertise than mine."
    "You mean Frank Wolfe?" Matt returned his pad and pencil to separate pockets. "I've already talked to him. He won't do anything unless it'll get his name in the Cove Chronicles or, even better, a major news outlet. He's planning to launch a political career from the platform of his criminal prosecution victories."
    "I know the type, and I'd rather not give him a chance to use the quilters as a stepping stone in his career." I might not trust any reporter, but some were better than others. It sounded like Matt was at least competent at his job. For the moment, we could be allies. With clear boundaries between us. I turned to Dee to say, "We need to disband the protest, at least until after we've asked Tremain nicely if he'll withdraw from the quilt show."
    Dee shook her head. "Emma has the protestors