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

by Arlene Sachitano

  Just in case, she pulled her phone from her pocket and took several pictures of the partial footprint before sweeping it into the dustpan and dumping it into the scorched wastebasket. The paint was blistered on its metal surface. She was sure Aunt Beth would expect her to sand and repaint it, but she made a mental note to buy a new one when she had a chance.

  She stood up as James pushed the door open.

  “Cocoa’s ready.”

  She abandoned her broom and joined him in the kitchen.

  “I’m going to have to up the mileage on my morning run if I keep hanging out with you.” She sipped from the mug he handed her. “This is so much better than what I make.”

  “Thank you, I think. It’s not too hard to beat powder-in-a-bag.”

  “So we’re not all gourmet chefs like you are.” She smiled as she reached across the kitchen table and took his hand.

  They sat like that for a few minutes, enjoying their chocolate and each other’s company.

  “What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” he finally asked her.

  “Quilting, quilting, and more quilting. Oh, and Carla and I are going to go talk to the psychic Molly visited not long before she died. Remember the messages she left on my voicemail? The ones I listened to at the hospital? She said she’d talked to a psychic, and something that they talked about caused her to remember what had happened twenty years ago.

  “What we don’t know is if the memory came back while she was still with the psychic, in which case the woman might know what she remembered. If it happened after she left, the psychic might be able to tell us what triggered the memory. If we know that, it might give us a direction to explore. Right now, we’ve got nothing.”

  “First, are you sure you want a direction? I thought you were done with detecting. Second, if the person Molly went to is a real psychic, won’t she know everything? I mean, can’t you just ask her what happened to Amber and Molly?”

  “I’m not sure how it works. To be truthful, I’m not sure it works at all.”

  “You’re a skeptic?”

  Harriet put her head in her hands, then ran her fingers through her hair.

  “I don’t know what I think. I do know there are a lot of charlatans out there.”

  James scooted his chair around to her side of the table and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I asked. Let’s not think about tomorrow until tomorrow. Are you ready to go back to Mavis’s place?”

  Harriet leaned into his embrace.

  “That would be great,” she finally said.

  “Let me clean up my mess, and we’ll get going.”

  Harriet went upstairs and packed some clean clothes and some toiletries into a blue duffel bag.

  “I took the liberty of grabbing your box of test truffles,” he told her when she’d returned. “You can share them with Mavis. Just be sure to note her impressions on the paper I gave you.”

  She smiled at him.

  “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”

  “Hey, I’m serious about my truffles.”

  She laughed and took the box from him.

  “I can see that.”

  She and Mavis pulled up in front of the cottage at the same time.

  “Did James let you drive home all by yourself?” Mavis asked as Harriet got out of her car.

  “I told him he didn’t need to follow me all the way out here. I locked my door and promised I’d call as soon as I arrived.” She held her cell phone up. “I’m texting him now.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about him letting you drive home alone.”

  “Mavis, it isn’t even all the way dark yet.”

  “Well, you can’t be too careful.”

  Carla and Harriet met at the Methodist Church the following morning since they were going to be stitching after their appointment. Aunt Beth was sitting in her own chair, one Jorge had brought from her house after he deemed the church’s folding chairs not stable enough. Her foot was propped on a pillow on an ottoman he’d brought from his own living room.

  “You’re looking very queenly,” Harriet told her when she entered the basement.

  “Jorge is a very attentive nurse. And speaking of him, he’s preparing lunch for us so we can get more done. Will you and Carla stop by his place to pick it up on your way here from your meeting?”

  “We’d be happy to. I could eat his cooking every day and never get tired of it.”

  “Me, too.” Aunt Beth blushed. “He does have a way with a tortilla.”

  “Or something,” Harriet teased.

  Carla came in and set her quilting bag next to the chair she’d been using the day before.

  “Is it okay if I leave my bag here while we’re gone?”

  Beth smiled at her.

  “Of course it is, honey.”

  “We better get going if we’re going to be there by ten,” Harriet said.

  “Do you have a paper and a pen with you?” Beth asked. “You probably should write down everything she says so you’ll have it straight; it might be important.”

  Harriet laughed.

  “Have I ever given you bad info?”

  “This is different. This is a psychic. Exactly what she said to Molly might be critical.”

  “Assuming she remembers ‘exactly what she said to Molly.’ Besides, just because she’s a psychic doesn’t make her words magic. She’s no different than any other suspect we’ve talked to.”

  Carla quietly headed to the stairs.

  “We’ll see you at lunchtime.” Harriet said and followed her out.

  The first surprising thing about the psychic—that is, the first surprising thing besides her name, which was Martha Gray—was the absolutely ordinary home office she ushered them into. The room was divided into two spaces. Half was devoted to a desk and file cabinets with the other half containing a beige overstuffed sofa with two matching side chairs organized around a gas fireplace set into the end wall of the room. Two large plants flanked the window on the front wall. It could have been the office of an accountant or an architect. Harriet wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this light and airy room.

  “I’m Martha,” said the attractive middle-aged woman who had answered the door and ushered them into the sitting area. She was wearing a rose-colored plaid wool skirt and pale pink silk blouse.

  “Before you tell me anything, I’d like to tell you a few things. I find people sometimes come in and tell me the answer they’re seeking and then suggest that I’m not actually reading for them. I find if we start with me talking and you listening, we save a little time.

  “If I’m tuning in to you, I should be able to tell you ten things and have eight of them be correct. If I can’t do that, I’m not connecting, and you can leave. I realize you didn’t come for a reading, and to be clear, there is no charge for me answering a few questions about Molly Baker. I’d just like to get past the whole skeptic thing before we talk.

  “And if you’re agreeable, I’ll record our talk and give you the recording to take home with you. I find people often have questions after they go home and think about what we’ve discussed. If you have the recording you can replay it as many times as you want.”

  Harriet looked at Carla, who nodded slightly.

  “That sounds reasonable to us.”

  “First of all, you’re both skeptics. That fact doesn’t require my abilities. Most people are skeptics. You…” She looked at Harriet. “…have an interesting background. You didn’t go to school in the United States, you are fluent in a lot of languages, and you developed a love of horses and riding at your boarding school.”

  Carla looked at Harriet with a raised eyebrow. Harriet smiled. Not many people knew about her equestrian background.

  “You…” Martha turned to Carla. “…are the opposite of your friend. You grew up in the Northwest, but not always Washington. You moved with your mother frequently and spent more time taking care of her than she did caring for you.” She pa
used for a moment. “You also love horses, but your riding was on a ranch.”

  “Okay, you got me,” Harriet told her and looked to Carla.

  “Me, too,” Carla agreed.

  “Now, let me just say. I can tune into some things and some people, but I don’t know everything about everybody at all times. No one can hold that much information in their head. I also can only know what’s true at the time I talk to you. The future is not fixed. I can tell you some of the pitfalls on the path ahead of you and you can choose to take it or not. There are many variables and if any one of them changes, it can change the future.

  “And you may know this already, but psychic ability is not a circus trick. I can’t tell you how many fingers you’re holding behind your back or what your mother’s birthday is. I can sometimes tap into a person’s energy and emotion. No guarantees. If, knowing all that, you still want me to give you a reading, we can proceed.”

  Harriet looked at Carla.

  “Are you good with going ahead?”

  “I think we have to.”

  They both looked at Martha.

  “Okay, what is it that’s troubling you.”

  “Our friend’s half-sister, Molly Baker, was murdered earlier this week. She has been investigating a missing-persons case she was a part of when she was five years old. Some would say she was obsessed with it. My friends and I believe she was killed because of something she learned or remembered.

  “The thing is, she called me not long after she visited you. Something you told her caused her to, in her words, ‘remember everything’. What we’d like to know is if you’re able to tell us what you told her that triggered her memory. If she remembered everything while she was here, did she tell you what it was she remembered?”

  Martha clasped her hands and sat silently for a moment.

  “If she were alive, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything that happened during her session. Likewise, if she’d signed a confidentiality agreement it would still be binding. In this case, she didn’t. I wouldn’t tell you anything that was harmful to her surviving relatives, but I don’t think that will be an issue.

  “Regarding what she asked me about. As I’m sure you already know, she asked me about the incident that happened to Amber Price and her when they were children and resulted in Amber’s disappearance.”

  She stood up and went to a side table that held a pitcher of water and glasses.

  “Water?” she asked and held up a glass.

  Harriet and Carla shook their heads. She poured herself a glass and returned to the chair opposite the other two, who were sitting on the sofa.

  “I can tell you the first thing I told Molly, and that is that I believe Amber is no longer living. I feel sure of that, but doing a reading when children are involved is always difficult. Time also presents issues. Do you have anything that Amber had contact with? Touching something the person has had contact with helps focus my search.”

  “I don’t,” Harriet answered.

  “Molly didn’t, either. Given the amount of time that’s passed, I’m not surprised.”

  Martha sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and thought for a few moments. She finally shook her head and opened them again.

  “The trouble with young children is that their thought processes are immature. At five years old, we don’t have a clear sense of what is fact and what is fantasy. Monsters seem as real as does Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, and they all bring out strong emotion.

  “Amber was taken from behind. The ‘monster’ grabbed her from behind and covered her face. She woke up in a dark place but then everything went dark again. From there, it gets confusing. She definitely believes she’s underground, but then I get a strong impression that she’s in water. Deep water. And they aren’t the same place. Like she was somewhere, and then was moved, possibly. But it could be that her understanding of where she was is what changed.”

  Harriet leaned forward.

  “And that’s what you told Molly?”

  “That’s what I told her about Amber. As for her, I also feel like she was grabbed from behind. I get the feeling something was put over her mouth. Maybe someone had a cloth with chloroform or something like that. She was in a dark space. And I mean physically, not just emotionally.”

  Martha hunched her shoulders.

  “She was also in a tight place. Something was pressing on her shoulders; something cold. Metal, maybe? In her mind, she went into a rabbit hole and became small. Her impressions start to track Alice in Wonderland, so it’s hard to make sense of it. I don’t know where the truth ends, and her imagination took over.”

  “Could she have been given a psychedelic drug like LSD or something?” Harriet asked.

  “Possibly. That might explain her fragmented memories.”

  Harriet thought for a minute.

  “Did she remember any of this?”

  “Not while she was here. And believe me, she tried.”

  Carla leaned forward and made eye contact with Martha.

  “Do you know who killed her?”

  Martha smiled.

  “I wish it were that simple. My impression is, Molly was walking, and she felt as though she was being followed. She started to turn her head to look…” Here Martha put her hand to the base of her neck. “But she felt a terrible pain in the back of her head, and then she crossed over. She was in a forest, but I think you know that, since that’s where she was found.”

  “Can’t you just ask her what happened, like that guy on TV?” Carla pressed.

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. There are many types of psychics, and then there are mediums. Mediums are the people who say they communicate with the dead. I can’t tell you if they do or they don’t. All I can speak to is my own impressions about people.

  “Some psychics are able to jump from the victim to the perpetrator of a crime at will. That’s not me, either. I’m just a plain vanilla psychic. I can only tell you what the person I’m connected with was seeing or feeling.”

  Harriet chewed on her bottom lip.

  “I have a question that may or may not be related to Molly. If you want to charge me a session fee, I understand.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. What’s your question?”

  “My aunt’s car was tampered with a few days ago, and she was injured as a result. My quilting studio was broken into, and my machine was damaged. Was this just our bad luck, or are our incidents related to Molly’s murder?”

  “I can’t tell you who the person is who is causing these events, but I have no doubt the events you’ve described are related. And make no mistake—you have a very powerful and dangerous enemy. Be careful.” Martha got up and turned her recorder off. She removed the tape and handed it to Harriet. “I hope you have a cassette player. I haven’t upgraded my technology in a while.”

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. And yes, we can come up with a cassette player.”

  “I wish I could have been more helpful. Let me know if you have any more questions after you’ve reviewed the session tape with your friends. I’ll try to answer anything I can. I can’t emphasize enough, you’re dealing with someone very dangerous.”

  Harriet stashed the cassette tape in her purse.

  “Do you see something else happening?”

  Martha thought a moment before answering.

  “I do. I don’t think it happens directly to either one of you, but someone close to you. I wish I could tell you more. Right now, all I have is a feeling. If it becomes clearer, I’ll call you immediately.”

  Carla’s face lost all its color.

  “Wendy,” she said softly.

  “We will not let anything happen to Wendy. Rod and Connie won’t let anyone near her.”

  Harriet turned back to Martha and reached her hand out.

  “Thank you for your time. We’ve certainly got a lot to think about.”

  The psychic took the hand in both of hers.

  “Be c
areful.”

  “That was spooky,” Carla said when they’d returned to the car.

  “I was hoping she could tell us a little more.”

  “She told us we’re in danger.”

  “Carla, we knew that already. I did, anyway. My aunt got hurt, and my house got violated. I was pretty sure whoever is doing this is dangerous.”

  Carla shrank back in her seat.

  Harriet sighed, realizing she’d spoken more sharply than she’d intended.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. I’m not sure I even believe in psychic powers, but at the same time, I was hoping she was going to be able to tell us who killed Molly.”

  “So did I.”

  “What she said about the difficulty in reading children makes sense, though.”

  Carla stared out her window.

  “I guess,” she finally said.

  Chapter 23

  Harriet carried a large thermal bag full of the lunch she’d picked up at Jorge’s restaurant in one hand. In the other hand, she held a gallon jug of iced tea. Carla followed with a shopping bag filled with paper plates, cups, plastic utensils wrapped in napkins, and containers of salsa, guacamole and sour cream, along with a big bag of tortilla chips.

  Harriet set her bag down on one of the eight-foot cafeteria tables in the food service area of the church basement.

  “Jorge said to tell you he made quesadillas for us.” She opened the bag and began unloading as the group around the quilt frame stabbed their needles into the fabric and joined her. Robin wasn’t stitching today, so Jorge hadn’t had to include her usual “healthy” meal, which was usually some sort of salad. Jenny had once again taken her place at the quilt.

  “We have fajita beef, chicken or plain cheese,” Harriet continued. “Jorge said to tell everyone he pre-cut them so we can mix and match if we want, and he included three more quesadillas then we have people to allow for meat preferences.”

  Connie took the plates and started setting them out on the table.

  “He does think of everything.”

  Harriet looked over Connie’s head to her aunt.

  “Do you need help?”

  Beth was gliding along the cement floor on her knee scooter.