To his relief, when he reached the building and entered, bell on the door jangling, he spotted George at the counter talking to a customer. Ian lifted a hand and George greeted him briefly. While he was busy, Ian figured he’d go on up and have a look at the needlepoint. After all, maybe it was gone, or he’d misremembered. He wove his way through the main floor, containing more locally made candles and jewelry and pottery than he remembered, and climbed the creaky stairs in the back.
He picked the wrong side at first. At the end of this balcony was a framed watercolor of sunflowers. Definitely not what he was looking for. He glanced across the way to see if he could tell the other piece was the needlepoint, surprised to see a customer standing there, back to him. Well, sometimes people had
