Disappearing Nine Patch (A Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 9)

by Arlene Sachitano

  Nancy looked at her but didn’t say anything.

  “Any help you can give us would be great“ Patrice said. “Even if you can just clear one or two names, that would allow us to return to work. As you might guess, we’ve told the police all this information, and they’ve been less than willing to share anything they know with us.”

  “As I said, I’ll see what I can do. We have a little experience with the Foggy Point PD and their level of cooperation with interested lay people.”

  Harriet started for the door, and then turned back.

  “Speaking of the Foggy Point PD and their communication skills, did Molly have anything in her Amber file about the serial killer theory?”

  Nancy gave her a blank look.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We heard a man was arrested in Longview, Washington, in nineteen ninety-nine and successfully prosecuted for two child murders. One of them took place in ’eighty-five and the second one ten or twelve years later. It was commonly believed he’d killed more—those were just the ones they had enough evidence to prosecute. Amber Price fit his victim profile and the time frame.”

  “Did Molly know that?” Nancy asked.

  “Maybe, maybe not. You knew Molly. Would she have failed to make a record of information that didn’t fit her theory of what happened to Amber?”

  “Never,” Patrice snapped. “Molly always encouraged us to follow the facts wherever they took us. One of our missing-child cases turned out to be a case of filicide. The grieving parents had killed their own child. We were giving the parents a lot of latitude, but Molly said to leave no stone unturned. She would never leave out that sort of information.”

  “It’s possible Molly didn’t know,” Harriet said. “Amber was the victim, so it makes sense that her mother was told. The police might not have seen a reason to tell Molly’s family, and the family did leave town for a while. By the time Molly was doing her own investigation, things were tense with Amber’s parents. They felt Molly was harassing them, so they may not have told her anything.”

  “We better get going,” Lauren said. “We’re going in circles and we’ve got a quilt waiting to be stitched.

  Harriet reached out and shook hands with Nancy and then Patrice and Lauren did the same.

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Lauren told Nancy.

  She guided her car out of the parking lot and was on the road back to the Methodist church before either of them spoke. Then, Harriet looked out the side window and sighed.

  “I guess we’re not getting out of finishing Josh’s quilt.”

  “Nancy is nothing, if not thorough,” Lauren agreed.

  “If she’s right about Molly not knowing about the serial killer possibility, and if he really did kill Amber, we’re back to Molly being killed because of something she was currently working on.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s not something we’re going to be able to figure out. I mean, if she connected our local missing children group with a dozen or so out-of-area cases, and she was working with who knows how many other groups like this one, there could be a lot of people who wanted to put her out of business, especially if she was starting to have some success. I could research on the computer full time and never get through all of them. And we both know I don’t have time to do this full time.”

  “Some nebulous child-smuggling ring coming after Molly because she’s had a small amount of success in recovering missing children just doesn’t feel right to me. If it was a professional hit, why do it in Foggy Point? She would have been returning to Seattle in a few weeks, and there would be many more anonymous places to kill her and leave her body.”

  “Good point.”

  “Besides, I can’t imagine any professional criminal enterprise breaking into my house or messing with Aunt Beth’s car.”

  “We still don’t know if those two—or three, really—crimes are connected.”

  “Oh, come on, Lauren. You think someone randomly burgled my house and business and some unrelated person messed with my aunt?”

  It was Lauren’s turn to sigh.

  “You’re right. If I had to bet money, I’d go with they’re connected.”

  “So, that leaves us with—what, now?”

  “Now, we go stitch and put it in front of the group. Maybe one of the Threads will have an idea.”

  Harriet and Lauren returned to their spots around the quilt frame and explained what they’d learned at the Center. Connie stopped stitching and stretched.

  “So, what you’re telling us is we don’t have enough information to solve this one.”

  Harriet looked at Lauren before answering.

  “I got nothing,” Lauren told her.

  “All we’ve established about Molly’s death is we have no idea. We’re not even very clear on what the motive is. Could be her work, could be her investigation of Amber’s death, including whatever it is she remembered. It would help if we knew whether she told anyone about remembering something.”

  Mavis set her needle down and looked across the quilt at Harriet.

  “Yet, here Beth sits with her wrapped-up foot and bum wrist, and you’re camping out at my house. I’d say we’ve whacked a hornet’s nest somewhere. We need to figure out which of the people you’ve talked to and eliminated should be put back on the list.”

  Robin sighed.

  “Good point. I just can’t see what we’ve missed.”

  “Maybe we should give it a rest for a while,” Beth suggested. “We’re chasing our tails.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Detective Morse said as she came into the room. “I came by to let Harriet know she can have her house back, and to see if I could help stitch for an hour or so.”

  “We can use any help we can get,” Connie told her.

  Robin stood up.

  “Here, you can have my spot, I’ve got to go pick kids up.”

  Morse came around the frame to Robin’s place.

  “Will my stab-stitching mess anyone up?” Most quilters make their quilt stitches by rocking the needle in and out of the fabric at an angle, loading several stitches on the needle before pulling it through the quilt sandwich. Stab stitchers make their stitches one at a time, putting the needle straight down into the fabric and then coming straight up a short distance away.

  “As long as your stitches are uniform, we don’t care what technique you use,” Mavis answered her. “I brought several types of needles, if you want to use something different than what Robin left there.”

  Morse got up and went to Mavis, selecting a shorter needle before returning to her place and starting to quilt.

  “Before anyone asks, I haven’t heard anything about what happened at Harriet’s. The criminalists didn’t find anything immediately remarkable, but they have fingerprints to process and with that other shooting I told you about, it may be a few days.”

  Mavis caught Harriet’s attention.

  “I think you should continue staying at my house until this is sorted out.”

  “I’ll have to think about that. What if they never catch anyone? Do I abandon my house?”

  “You should reprogram your alarm when you get home and maybe upgrade the locks on all your doors,” Morse suggested. “It looks like your door lock was picked.”

  Lauren paused her needle mid-stitch.

  “One of my clients is working on a flexible key lock. They claim it’s unpickable. I can probably get you a couple of prototypes.”

  “Thanks.”

  Harriet looked down at her hands as she stitched.

  “It occurs to me that California might be a safer option for me right now.”

  Beth dropped her needle.

  “Oh, honey, you can’t be serious.”

  Harriet felt her cheeks turn red.

  “I’m just tired of all this.”

  “This isn’t the time to make that sort of decision,” Mavis said and gave her a stern look.

  Harr
iet didn’t say anything else.

  “I’d like to see all of you be a little more careful until our current situation is resolved,” Morse said.

  Connie paused her rhythmic stitching and glanced over at Morse.

  “Rod and I have invited Carla and Wendy to stay with us for a few days.”

  “That’s a good idea. I don’t think Lauren has to worry because of her apartment’s location. Between the bars and restaurants being open till all hours, and the store under her opening early, I think she’s good.

  “Jorge is at Beth’s so much I think she’ll be okay, and, Harriet, if you’ll stay with Mavis that should cover everyone who lives alone. We’re probably being overly cautious, but I’d rather that than someone running into whoever these yahoos are.”

  Harriet sighed.

  “I’d like to at least go clean up my place and get the insurance adjuster out to look at my machine.”

  “Just don’t go alone,” Morse cautioned. “Also, I need all of you to stop by the department and have your fingerprints taken for elimination purposes. And before you ask, we won’t have the results for a while; all that stuff you see on TV is not real. We’ll have technicians with a magnifying glass looking at all of them.”

  “Okay, got it,” Harriet agreed.

  Beth and Mavis exchanged a look with Connie and turned the conversation to the results of the quilt show they’d gone to in Bothell the previous week.

  Chapter 22

  Harriet felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out and saw it was a text from James. Aunt Beth had just invited her and Mavis to dinner at Jorge’s, but she tapped her phone open and read the message.

  Emergency race meet. Can U come?

  Harriet looked up.

  “James just texted that there’s an emergency dog-race meeting. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll have him drop me off at Mavis’s when it’s over.”

  She texted James, asking him to pick her up at the church.

  “Around the corner, come out when ready,” he texted back.

  “He’ll pick me up here,” she told the group.

  “Should I come get you tomorrow morning?” Carla asked.

  “Sure. If you can pick me up at nine-thirty that will give us plenty of time to get to the psychic’s by ten.”

  She stuck her needle into the border of the quilt near where she’d been working, picked up her purse and looked at Mavis.

  “I’ll be back whenever the meeting is done.”

  Aunt Beth straightened in her chair.

  “I hope your chef will take you to dinner after dragging you away with no notice.”

  Harriet laughed.

  “I have no doubt he has enough food to feed the whole town in the back of his van, if nothing else.” She checked the time on her phone. “I better get going—he should be getting here soon.”

  “I’m free for dinner,” Lauren said to the group in general.

  “Oh, honey, you don’t need an invitation to join us at Jorge’s,” Beth said with a smile.

  “What happened?” Harriet asked James as she slid into the passenger seat of his brown BMW SUV. “I thought everything was set for the next race at the last meeting.”

  James tilted his head down and gave her a sheepish grin, looking up at her through his impossibly long lashes.

  “I might have fibbed a little.”

  Harriet turned in her seat.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t be mad, but I was thinking about what you said last night about leaving the area. I figured it must be hard, sitting with your aunt and your good friends all day, trying to think about your options but not able to. At least, I think you weren’t able to discuss options with them.”

  “I did tell them I was thinking I should leave.”

  “Yeah, but did they believe it?”

  Harriet smiled. He was right. Nobody sitting around the quilt would think she was seriously thinking about leaving.

  “So, what is this?” She gestured.

  James pulled away from the curb.

  “This is me taking you out to dinner. Anywhere you want. Not my place, of course, since the chef is out on a date.”

  Harriet laughed.

  “What would you have done if I’d said no?”

  “I didn’t start the car rolling until I was sure you weren’t going to jump out.” He watched for her reaction. When she didn’t show signs of physical violence, he continued. “Seriously, I would have taken you to Mavis’s or wherever you wanted to be.”

  “As it happens, you were right.” She watched as a broad smile creased his face. “I’m still not sure what I’m going to do, but tonight, I can use a break.”

  James visibly relaxed.

  “Whew!” He mimed wiping his brow. “I took the liberty of making us reservations at Cafe Garden in Port Angeles.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “They’ve been around for about twenty-five years. They were actually one of the reasons I became a chef. I went there with my parents when I was in grade school, and I immediately thought, I want to do this.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Seriously, if I’m being too pushy, say the word, and I’ll turn the car around.”

  She reached over and put her hand on his arm.

  “This is exactly what I need. I’m sick of talking about Molly and Amber and all the people who might or might not be involved in their murder and disappearance. I know it’s selfish and insensitive of me, but I just want my machine to be fixed and my life to return to normal.”

  “That’s not selfish. We all agree Molly’s death is tragic, but it’s not your job to solve every crime that happens in Foggy Point.”

  “If I don’t do anything, I feel like I’m letting DeAnn down. Molly was her half-sister.”

  James didn’t say anything.

  “You’re right. You’re offering me a night off, and I need it. I’m not going to spoil it by talking about Molly anymore.”

  He smiled.

  “Let me tell you about the menu at Cafe Garden.”

  He proceeded to talk about food for the duration of the twenty-minute drive to Port Angeles.

  Harriet slid a forkful of warm blackberry cobbler into her mouth and closed her eyes.

  “Mmmmm, this is so delicious.” She slowly opened her eyes. “Not as good as yours, I’m sure, but delicious, nonetheless.”

  James took a bite from their shared dish. He chewed slowly and swallowed.

  “I have to admit, I can’t think of anything I’d do differently.”

  “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s just what I needed. And the seafood was fabulous.”

  James reached across the table and twined his fingers in hers.

  “I have ulterior motives—I like your smile.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “You mock me,” he said with feigned injury.

  “Seriously, thank you.”

  “Judging from your tone, I’m guessing it’s time to return to the real world.”

  “Sadly, it is. And if you wouldn’t mind, could you take me to my house so I can get my car? Detective Morse said the police are done with my house, so I can get in the garage now.”

  “You’re not planning on staying there, are you?”

  “No, Detective Morse doesn’t want any of us to stay alone until they sort this out. If I go home, it leaves Mavis alone, and after what happened to my aunt, none of us want that.”

  “Would you mind if I come in the house with you? I don’t like the idea of leaving you there by yourself.”

  “Sure. I’d like to think I’m not afraid of my own house, but I think I’d like some company tonight.”

  “Really?” he said and raised his eyebrows.

  She laughed.

  “Since I’m sleeping at Mavis’s, I think she might take issue with that sort of company.”

  “A boy can dream.”

  James was making hot cocoa in the kitchen when
Harriet came in to get a broom and dustpan.

  “Okay, I think we’ve got the bulk of the mess cleaned up. I found my customer order book, and thankfully it appears to be undamaged. I’m just going to sweep the floor and call it good for now. I can call my current customers tomorrow after I talk to the insurance people and then the machine people.”

  James stirred the warming milk with a whisk.

  “Do you have a sense of how long the repair might take?”

  “Not really. If they have parts on the shelf or a loaner system, I might be up and running within the week. If they have to order parts, it’s anyone’s guess.”

  He stirred cocoa powder into the milk as he spoke.

  “Do you have any heavy cream I could whip?”

  Harriet laughed.

  “My whipped cream’s in the fridge.”

  James opened her refrigerator and pulled out a can of Reddi-Wip.

  “Surely, you jest,” he said in a stricken voice.

  “It’s that or nothing.”

  He gasped.

  “I guess it’ll have to do. The cocoa’s almost ready; if you sweep fast, it’ll still be hot when you finish.”

  She returned to the studio and began sweeping, starting at the wastebasket where the fire had been set. Flakes of paper ash had settled around the area. From the partially burned papers, it looked like whoever had broken in had grabbed a handful of pages from the paper recycling bin and held a lighter or match to the corner of them before tossing them into the wastebasket. There were footprints in the ash, but it was impossible to tell if they were from James, the police, or whoever had set the fire.

  She stooped to take a closer look and noticed white powder in one of the footprint ridges. It was thicker than the ash, and she poked her finger in the small pile then put her finger to her nose. The predominant odor was ash, but with a slight trace of mint. She supposed it was some sort of forensic material and made a mental note to ask Detective Morse if the criminalists had taken shoe prints from the fire debris and if anything had come from it.