A Single Thread (Cobbled Court) by Marie Bostwick Page A

put the money in his pocket and then folded up his paper.
    “How can you possibly be late? You only live half a block and one flight of stairs from here. Looking at the state of your hair, I know it wasn’t because you were up there primping in front of your mirror.”
    “Thanks very much. It’s not like you’re so much to look at in the morning yourself.”
    “True, but Irishmen are known more for wit and our words than looks. Rakish and frumpy—it’s part of my charm.”
    “Seems to me that you rack up a lot of things to your Irish charm.”
    “Well, I’m a charming man.” He shrugged.
    “So you are. At times.” I took a first sip of coffee, closing my eyes and savoring the moment.
    “Mmmm! I needed that. I didn’t get to bed until two.”
    “Out salsa dancing, were you? Having yourself a little TGIF party?”
    “Not quite. More like trying to balance my books and then doing it again, hoping to come up with some different figures.” I yawned.
    “And did you?” Charlie asked.
    I shook my head. “Sadly, no. If something doesn’t change, drastically, and soon, the naysayers of New Bern might turn out to be right in their predictions; Cobbled Court may not live to celebrate its six-month anniversary.”
    Charlie looked at me, his blue eyes concerned. “Oh, come now. It can’t be as bad as all that. The grand opening was just two months ago. You started out so well.”
    He was right. I had.
    In spite of the flood caused by the broken pipe and some delay in receiving my first shipments of fabric, Cobbled Court Quilts opened its doors for business right after Memorial Day, just in time for the tourist season. It was a huge relief. A good summer season was crucial to my survival; I could expect to make as much as sixty percent of my annual income between Memorial and Labor days.
    To attract customers on my first day of business, a beautiful Saturday, I took out an ad in the local newspaper and hung banners saying Grand Opening at both entrances to Cobbled Court. I even hired one of Charlie’s off-duty dishwashers to hand out flyers to people on Commerce Street advertising the grand-opening sale offering ten fat quarters for the price of seven and fifteen percent off all bolt fabrics and classes, plus refreshments and a drawing for a mariner’s compass quilt I’d made as a class sample. That was Mary Dell’s idea. When I’d phoned with the big news that, at long last, I was ready for business, she suggested the raffle as a good way to build a customer mailing list.
    “Plus, if folks come in and take a look at the quilt, they’ll be more likely to sign up for the class,” she said.
    “Great idea! And even if they aren’t interested in that particular pattern, I’ll have their names and addresses so I can send them a flyer whenever I have a sale or a new class brochure. Thanks for the idea, Mary Dell. After all this time, I almost can’t believe that this is actually happening—I’m about to open my own quilt shop! It’s just so exciting!”
    “Well, I’m excited for you, darlin’,” Mary Dell drawled. “And I’ve got some news myself. I hadn’t wanted to tell you before ’cause I wasn’t sure it was really going to happen, but I got the call yesterday…” She paused just long enough to give me a chance to guess her news.
    “Don’t tell me!” I squealed. “Your book! They’re going to publish it!”
    When we’d met, Mary Dell told me she’d written a quilting book that she’d titled Family Ties . It gave advice on quilting with children and featured a variety of unique patterns, from the simple to the complex, that families could do together. She’d written it when Howard was little and sent it out to publishers, but none of them had been interested. Recently, noting the increased interest in all kinds of crafts, she’d decided to try again, obviously with more success than she’d had on the first go-round. “Oh, Mary Dell, that is amazing news! I’m just so happy for