Weave of Absence by Carol Ann Martin Page B

years ago she had come back to Briar Hollow, bought the local bed-and-breakfast, the Longview,and with her impeccable taste in decor had soon turned it into a profitable business. Then, last fall, she had poured a ton of money into the place, giving it a new identity as an elegant boutique hotel with an adjoining dining room and hiring a top-notch chef. Just a few weeks ago, she’d proudly told me about her latest purchase, an original Grandma Moses that she planned to display in the hotel lobby.
    â€œI think what this town needs is a touch of glamour,” she’d said casually when I’d questioned the wisdom of such an extravagance. “Don’t worry. You know Grandma Moses’s style. Nothing of hers is sophisticated. Her work is charming in a quaint country way—perfect for Briar Hollow.”
    She had misunderstood my concern. I was worried about the expense, not the style. Still, she was right. Briar Hollow was not Manhattan. And Main Street was not Fifth Avenue. Before the Longview’s renovations, our best local restaurant had been the Bottoms Up, a combination eatery and bar complete with pool table.
    Bunny’s acquiring the painting for the Longview had created a lot of local buzz. So much so that half the people in town made a special outing just to dine at the restaurant and look at the painting. And the Longview’s new restaurant became an instant success.
    All I could say was that I hoped she had insurance. At that moment I noticed some movement at the front door. It flew open and Jenny strode in.
    â€œDid you hear the news?” she said. “Bunny’s been robbed. They took her Grandma Moses.”
    â€œI was just reading about that this very minute. Poor Bunny. She must be so upset.”
    â€œI swear, Briar Hollow is becoming as dangerous as any big city—murders, robberies . . .”
    â€œI’d hardly compare our crime rate to that of Charlotte,” I said. “That’s one of the reasons I moved here.”
    She paused, resting her elbows on the counter. “I know. It’s just unnerving is all. I feel so awful for her. I know she loved that painting.”
    â€œHave you spoken to her?”
    â€œNo, not yet. I tried calling her, but her phone is busy.”
    I snatched my cell from my bag and punched in her number. “Still busy,” I said.
    â€œShe’s probably getting calls from everybody in town.”
    â€œHow much was that painting worth? Do you have any idea?” I asked.
    â€œAt least a few hundred thousand dollars, I’d say. I Googled Grandma Moses when she first bought it, and let me tell you, her paintings are not cheap.” She straightened. “I have to make the coffee. This robbery means another marathon day of gossiping. I’d better get ready for the crowds.”
    â€œSome people’s bad luck,” I said. “As if she didn’t already have enough with what happened last year.” The previous fall, Bunny had been engaged to the local multimillionaire. But instead ofbecoming her husband, the man was now serving a life sentence.
    â€œI know. Crazy, isn’t it?” She headed toward the back, shaking her head.
    Soon the aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. The bell above the door tinkled again and Marnie came in, carrying her daily delivery of fresh pastries.
    â€œMorning, sunshine,” she said, sounding surprisingly upbeat. And then, winking, she added, “I have something I know you love in here. Apple turnovers. I had a bag of apples that were getting a bit wrinkled. Not good enough to eat raw but perfect for baking.”
    â€œThanks. That’s really sweet of you, but I’d better not. I had dinner with Matthew last night—fried chicken and pecan pie from the Longview.” I patted my stomach. “I’m going to have to let out a few seams.”
    She harrumphed as she walked by on her way to the back. “Right. You are so