Frayed Edges

by Carol Dean Jones

  “Hi, Myra. This is Charlie, and I’m very glad you called. I think this will be very helpful information.”

  “Really?” Myra asked. “I thought it sounded a little crazy.”

  “Not at all. I think it could be very valuable to the police. Would you consider going in to talk to a friend of mine at the station?”

  “Oh no,” Myra responded. “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Please consider it, Myra. I think it would be especially helpful if you could describe this woman to a sketch artist so he could draw a picture of her. Sarah and I would go with you.”

  “You really think that would help?”

  “I really do, Myra. I’m so glad you called. Will you let us take you?”

  Well, I guess I could do it, but this woman was old and frail-looking. I don’t think she could steal all those quilts.”

  “That’s very true, Myra, but she might know something, or she might have seen something important. Let’s see if we can help the police find her, okay?”

  “Okay,” Myra responded reluctantly. Charles handed the phone back to Sarah with a smile, and she got Myra’s address and agreed to pick her up in fifteen minutes.

  “I figured we’d better get Myra into our car before she changes her mind,” Sarah said as she hung up. “By the way, what are you hoping to learn? I agree with Myra that a frail elderly woman would have a hard time getting one quilt off its frame, much less escaping with them all.”

  “One elderly woman? That’s true. But who says she was really an elderly woman? Who says she was a woman at all?”

  * * * * *

  “Where are you?” Sophie demanded when Sarah picked up her cell phone.

  “Oh, Sophie, I forgot to call you. I’m so sorry.” She went on to explain about the call from Myra and what they were doing at the police station.

  “Well, I’ve been sitting out here in front of your house with my scooter running, but you have a good excuse. I’ll forgive you, but only if you two will go out with Norman and me tonight. We’re going to that Mexican restaurant over on Nicholson Lane.”

  “The new one? We’d love to. I’ll call you when we get home. Who knows, we might even have good news by then.”

  But after observing Myra and the sketch artist for only a few minutes, it became clear that they weren’t going to have any good news to report to Sophie. Myra could describe the woman’s numerous outfits in minute detail, but height, weight, facial features, identifying marks—none of these details were stored in Myra’s rather sketchy memory. “Don’t forget the hat,” she kept saying even though the artist told her he would like to fill in some of the woman’s facial features rather than cover them with a veil.

  “Well, that was wasted time,” Sarah announced after she and Charles took Myra to her door.

  “Not necessarily,” Charles remarked.

  “What do you mean? All we know is what she was wearing. How does that help?”

  “We’ll see. Hal seemed interested. He wouldn’t tell me why, but he was smiling when he joined us after looking at the sketches. I had the feeling he knows something he’s not ready to share.”

  “I can’t imagine what, but if so, I hope it leads to the quilts. Ruth said she’s talked to the quilters and they are devastated by the loss, despite the brave faces they wore Sunday afternoon at our house.”

  “I’m sure they are,” Charles remarked, becoming more serious. “We’ll find those quilts. I have a feeling the answer is right under our nose.”

  Sarah giggled. “Remember the time Andy’s missing quilt turned up right under our nose? My nose, at least.”

  “Barney had dragged it under your bed!” Charles chuckled as he reflected on those early days of their courtship. He was never sure he would win this lovely lady’s hand.

  He reached over and gently took her hand in his.

  Chapter 17

  Sarah had just arrived at Running Stitches, where she was going to be teaching a beginning quilt class to a group of homeschooled youngsters. Ruth met her at the door looking worried.

  “Sarah, don’t you think we should cancel the quilt club meeting tomorrow night?” Ruth was concerned about how upset the group was about the loss of the quilts and the lack of progress the police were making. “No one will want to sew,” she added.

  “That’s true, Ruth. Everyone is experiencing a wide range of emotions, but it might be good to offer a place where our friends can talk about it. Almost everyone in the club has suffered a significant loss this week, and who could be more understanding than their fellow quilters?”

  “You’re right. We need each other right now.”

  “Not everyone will want to talk about their feelings, and some people even prefer to be alone at times like this, but I think we should offer the meeting, so everyone has the opportunity if they want.”

  “You’re a smart lady, my friend,” Ruth said as she put an arm around Sarah’s shoulder and led her into the classroom.

  “I’m excited about this class,” Sarah said as she began setting up the classroom. “I love seeing young people taking an interest in quilting.”

  “What will you be doing today?”

  “I want these kids to walk away from the last class with a completely finished product. They are each going to make a placemat that they can use at home. We’ll talk about choosing fabric, and I’ll bring your box of fat quarters into the room so they can each choose three. After they make their choices, we’ll read the pattern together and then use the rotary cutter to cut two of their fat quarters into two-and-a-half-inch strips.

  “In the next class, they’ll sew their strips together after they get familiar with the machine and the quarter-inch seam. The young students should have a completed top by the end of the second class.

  “In the last class, we’ll stack their tops with batting and backing and do some simple straight-line quilting. I haven’t decided what to do about the binding yet. I need to see what these kids are capable of first.”

  “I like your plan,” Ruth said. “The kids will leave here understanding the parts of a quilt and how it goes together, and they’ll have a finished product to show off. Perhaps they’ll come back for more advanced classes.”

  “That’s what I hope. I’m designing a follow-up class to offer in case they’re interested.”

  “Has there been any progress in the investigation?” Ruth asked. “I get at least one call a day from our quilters, asking what the police are doing.”

  “According to Charles, they seem to be at an impasse. These guys left no clues at all, but I know they’re doing background checks on the custodial staff and even the guys who installed the frames and helped with hanging the quilts.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Ruth said. “I need to get checks in the mail to those young men. I promised to pay them for their work, and it isn’t their fault they didn’t get to finish the job.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Sarah commented. She had been suspicious of the crew from the beginning. “I keep wondering why they were so eager to do the job, and that was before you offered to pay them. And did you notice how that one guy kept walking around like he was casing the joint the day he came to check out the room?”

  “Casing the joint? You read too many mysteries, Sarah!” Ruth chuckled. “I think he was taking measurements and planning the placement of the frames.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one suspicious of them. Charles is looking into their backgrounds and doing some interviews over in Hamilton. It would have been very easy for them to plan the heist during their visits here.”

  “Plan the heist?” Ruth hooted. “You’re really on a roll!”

  “Well, what would you call it?” Sophie inquired as she walked into the room. She was there to help Sarah with the class. “You’ve heard of a diamond heist,” she added. “This was a quilt heist, pure and simple.”

  “Enough of this,” Ruth said, throwing up her arms in defeat. “It’s time to open the shop, and your kids will be here
in fifteen minutes. I’ll get the coffeepot going.”

  “And cookies,” Sophie called out. “Don’t forget milk and cookies.”

  The class was a great success. At the end of the session, everyone wrote their name on a paper bag and filled it with their six carefully cut strips, the uncut fat quarter they had chosen for the back of their placemat, and a spool of coordinating thread.

  “Just set them in this box,” Sarah instructed, “and I’ll keep them in the supply room until next week.” The children were giggling and teasing each other as they left to meet their parents in the main shop.

  “Mom, guess what we did,” Sarah heard more than one child saying excitedly.

  “Are you sure you charged enough for this class?” Sarah asked once the last student had left. “You’re paying me and providing all these fat quarters and thread.”

  “It’s not that much, and if it results in a few more quilters in the world, it’s worth every penny.”

  “We’ll see you tomorrow night,” Sarah said as she pulled on her coat and turned to hurry Sophie along.

  “I’m glad she didn’t cancel the meeting,” Sophie said as they approached their cars. “Let’s tell the group about today’s class. It’s an uplifting topic, and quilters always love it when they hear about children learning to quilt.”

  “You’re right about that! See you tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come tonight,” Kimberly was saying when Sarah and Sophie arrived at Running Stitches the next evening. “But Christina insisted.”

  Kimberly and Christina were sisters who did most of the long-arm quilting for the group. Their rates were reasonable. “Too reasonable,” Sarah frequently told them. Between the two sisters, they had five quilts in the show, all made by their grandmother while her husband was away in the Second World War. “Lots of tears were shed over those quilts,” Christina said, still remembering the stories her mother told about sitting under the frame while her mother quilted. “Granddad died over there, and I think that quilting frame kept Nana going.”

  “I don’t know who made mine,” Mabel said. In her late eighties, she was their oldest member and probably the most productive. She brought a large tote bag to every meeting filled with her latest accomplishments, all intended for her dozens of great-grandchildren. Her latest quilts were made for the new twin boys who were her great-great-grandchildren. “I got an early start,” she had said jokingly when the group expressed astonishment that she had great-great-grandchildren.

  Sarah and Sophie were the only ones without quilts in the show, but their hearts ached for the losses their friends had suffered, particularly Andy.

  “Sarah,” Ruth began. “Would you like to tell the group what you were doing yesterday?”

  Sarah launched into a lively description of the fun she had had with the young quilters-to-be, and, as always, Sophie was able to interject just the right comments to get the group shedding tears of laughter.

  By the time they broke for coffee and dessert, spirits were high, and they were beginning to talk about their next projects.

  “It was a good meeting,” Sarah said as she and Sophie drove home together.

  “It was,” Sophie agreed. “And an important meeting to have. Our friends needed a place to share their pain. But I think soon they are going to need reassurance that something is being done to locate the quilts. Do you think Detective Halifax or even Charles would be willing to come to the next meeting and talk about their progress?”

  “That’s an excellent idea. We don’t meet for another two weeks, and that might be enough time for something positive to have come up in the investigation.”

  Chapter 18

  “You volunteered me to do what?”

  “All you have to do is go to the ladies’ quilt club meeting, Hal. I know it’s not your usual thing, but these nice people need to hear that something is being done.”

  “And why can’t you do it, Charlie?” Hal asked. “You’re the one who wants to be involved.”

  “Because I’m not official. You are the only one who can speak for the department. They want to know that you and your people are taking this as seriously as any other crime.”

  “As serious as a murder?” Hal retorted. “Or a hit-and-run? As serious as I took that guy who broke into the nursing home and wiped out their supply of drugs?”

  Charles sighed. “Yes, I guess I am asking you to go talk to the women and explain that you’re taking their loss just as seriously as everyone else’s loss. It’s only right, Hal. The quilts that these women lost were made by their mothers and grandmothers. Even their great-grandmothers. Didn’t you have a grandmother, Hal?”

  “Actually,” Hal responded, “I have no idea.”

  Charles was immediately sorry he had let his impatience take over. His friend Hal had grown up in the foster care system and hadn’t known his parents. “Sorry, Hal. I didn’t mean …”

  “It’s okay. And I’ll go speak to them next week. I don’t know what I can say, but perhaps something will come up in the next few days.”

  “Actually, Sarah might have something for you by then. It’s a long shot, but she saw an ad in a quilters’ newsletter about antique quilts being sold at a quilt shop in Hamilton.”

  “That’s not so unusual, is it?”

  “Actually, it is. This particular shop doesn’t carry antique quilts, just fabric, so this is something new. Sarah knows the shop owner, and she and Sophie are going over this week to look at the quilts on the unlikely chance that some of them are from the show.”

  “That’s more than unlikely, Charlie. No one in their right mind would advertise the sale of stolen merchandise a few weeks after it was pinched and so close to where it was stolen.”

  * * * * *

  “Come on, Sophie. We need to get on the road.”

  Sarah had read about the shop in Hamilton that was selling antique quilts, but she had been reluctant to check it out. Sarah had met the owner at a quilt show and had liked her. It was hard to imagine that she could be dealing in stolen merchandise.

  A few days later, something happened to change Sarah’s mind. A neighbor called and told Sarah that she had gone to the sale at the Hamilton shop, and she thought she saw some of the same quilts that had been on display at the show in the Village.

  “We have to check this out,” Sarah had announced, and Sophie, never one to miss an adventure, agreed to go with her.

  “I’m getting worried,” Sophie said as she climbed into Sarah’s car. “This could be dangerous, and Charles should be with us.”

  “I didn’t want Charles with us until we had a chance to look for ourselves, Sophie. Ruth is a good friend of the shop owner, and I don’t want Charles causing the police to burst in on her. We’ll just take a look and leave, okay? The woman who told us about the quilts isn’t a quilter herself, and I’m sure similar quilts can look alike if you aren’t familiar with all the varieties of patterns.”

  “I get it, I suppose,” Sophie responded. “But I wish I had my gun with me.”

  “Sophie, you don’t have a gun.”

  “I could have a gun,” Sophie announced defiantly.

  “I know, but you don’t, and even if you did, we wouldn’t be using it. You don’t shoot people for possibly having stolen quilts.”

  “I would.”

  Sarah decided to drop the subject. Her friend was in a prickly mood and would best be left alone.

  The two women were quiet for a few miles until Sophie called out suddenly, “There’s that diner we like so much. Can we stop? I haven’t had breakfast.”

  Ah, so that’s the problem, Sarah thought with relief. Her friend could become exasperating when she was hungry.

  “Great idea,” Sarah responded as she pulled into the far left lane and sped across the oncoming lanes the moment there was a lull in the traffic.

  They both relaxed once the waitress brought their coffee and pumpkin pancakes, a specialty at that time of
the year. While they were eating, Sarah brought up the topic of the stolen quilts again, saying, “We need to plan what we’ll do if we do see one of our quilts at the shop.”

  “True,” Sophie responded, adding syrup to her tall stack.

  “I think we should try to get a picture of it and just leave.”

  “I agree,” Sophie said, wiping syrup from her chin with a napkin she had dampened in her water glass. Since there didn’t seem to be disagreement any longer, Sarah relaxed and enjoyed her short stack.

  An hour later, as they were walking toward the shop, Sarah stopped short and exclaimed, “Tessa! Tessa Livingstone! Thank goodness, I just remembered her name.”

  “And who is Tessa Livingstone?” Sophie asked with her eyebrows creeping up her forehead.

  “The owner of the shop and Ruth’s friend. I met her at the quilt show in Chicago a couple of years ago.”

  “Oh my,” Sophie responded. “That’s when Ruth was kidnapped. I’m sure glad I missed that show.”

  “Does Tessa sell fabric or just quilts?” Sophie asked as they approached the door.

  “Oh, it’s mainly a fabric shop, but she carries a few new quilts and vintage machines, I think.”

  “Like my little Featherweight?” Sophie asked excitedly.

  “I think so, but very few quilts. This was the first time I’ve noticed antique quilts specifically mentioned in her ad.”

  “And that’s what made you want to check it out?”

  “Just a whim, Sophie. I thought it was strange that she suddenly had antique quilts, and it can’t hurt to check it out. It gets us into a new quilt shop, and that’s always a good thing.”

  They stopped at the window for a few moments to admire the attractive display of new batik fabrics. As they entered the store, the woman standing behind the cutting table looked up and cried, “Sarah? Sarah Parker?”

  “I’m surprised you remember me,” Sarah responded as she walked over to the woman. They exchanged a friendly hug, and Sarah said, “It’s good to see you, Tessa!”