Table of Contents
Excerpt
ALSO BY ARLENE SACHITANO
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
About the Author
About the Artist
Copyright Information
“Dr. Jalbert isn’t going anywhere,” said a deep voice from behind them.
Harriet started, dropping her purse. She looked over Aiden’s shoulder as he clutched her tighter. A bright light was shining in her face. She could see several dark forms beyond the light but couldn’t tell who or what they were.
“Ma’am, I need you to slowly move away from Dr. Jalbert. And both of you keep your hands where we can see them.”
She did as she was told, and as she moved out of the glare, she could see the man was a uniformed police officer, and he was holding a large gun pointed in her direction.
“There must be some mistake,” she protested, unable to stop herself from spouting the clché that most people in this situation said.
“No mistake, ma’am. You aren’t in any trouble. Move over to Officer Nguyen.” He pointed with his free hand.
Why is it always Officer Nguyen? she wondered. There must be two dozen officers on the Foggy Point Police department, but any time she crossed paths with the police it was Officer Nguyen.
She looked at Aiden.
“Do what he says,” he told her as he held his hands away from his sides and in the air where everyone could see them.
When Harriet reached Nguyen, the guy with the gun rushed up to Aiden and grabbed his right wrist, snapping a handcuff onto it in one smooth motion, quickly pulling his left hand down and back and cuffing it, too.
“What’s going on?” Harriet asked Nguyen.
He didn’t answer.
ALSO BY ARLENE SACHITANO
The Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mysteries
Quilt As Desired
Quilter’s Knot
Quilt As You Go
Quilt by Association
The Quilt Before the Storm
Make Quilts Not War
A Quilt in Time
Crazy as a Quilt
The Harley Spring Mysteries
Chip and Die
Widowmaker
To my favorite knitter
Chapter 1
Spring had arrived in Foggy Point, Washington, and nowhere was it more apparent than at Pins and Needles, the town’s best and only quilt fabric store. Gone were the snowflake prints and snowman figurines. Easter bunnies, fuzzy chick candles, stuffed animals and ceramic figurines adorned the shelves. Pastel florals were on display in the front window in coordinated groupings with prints, stripes and solids.
The Loose Threads quilt group, in the larger of the two classrooms at the back of the store, sat around a table stacked with plastic-wrapped bolts of fabric.
“Does anyone need anything?” Harriet Truman called from the small kitchen next to the room. When no one answered, she joined her friends in their examination of the fabrics.
Lauren Sawyer stood and leaned to the center of the table, picking at the edge of the plastic on the nearest fabric bolt. The bundle appeared to be some sort of muslin backing fabric.
“This must be for the crazy quilt workshop.”
“That’s correct,” Marjory Swain, the store’s owner, said from the doorway. “They asked me to bring in backing fabric and some basic moiré colors.”
Carla Salter, the group’s youngest member, pulled the plastic off another bolt.
“What’s mwa-ray?”
“That’s the watery-looking pattern on the colored fabric,” Harriet’s aunt Beth explained. “When they were first invented, moirés were all silk, but now they’re made from cotton and even synthetic blends.”
“Thank heaven,” Connie Escorcia added. “Cotton is a little more affordable and also much easier to work with.”
“Did they give you a supply list?” Marjory asked. “The organizers asked me to bring in the moiré and backing, but they didn’t tell me anything else about what you all might need. I assumed they’re supplying some of the fabrics.”
Harriet pulled a folded paper from her canvas project bag and handed it to Marjory.
“‘Assorted pieces of ten different fabrics—velvet, satin, silk, rayon, etc.—in a variety of colors and prints. One or more ten-inch squares of each fiber,’” she read, scanning the list. “‘Pieces of silk or satin ribbon and a variety of laces.’ Wow, they expect a lot.”
“I called the number at the bottom of the page to ask,” Robin McLeod, the group’s resident yoga teacher and a semi-retired lawyer told them. “The person who answered said some of the teachers will have kits available, and one of the ladies is bringing a lot of hand-dyed lace and ribbon for us to buy.”
Harriet took a sip of her tea.
“That’s good, but it sounds like a field trip to Seattle is in order.”
Marjory handed the paper back to her.
“I don’t know if it will help, but some of you may remember that this shop was geared toward dressmaking when I bought it. I sold off as much of the old inventory as possible, but I had a fair bit of bridal and prom dress fabric left. It’s such nice material I couldn’t bear to get rid of it, so I stuck it up in the attic. You all must have seen it when you were up there during the storm. In any case, I could give you a real good deal on that if you think it would work.”
Harriet looked around the table at her fellow workshop-goers.
“That sounds good to me. Can we go up and look when we finish our meeting?”
“Sure. Carla, if you can watch the register a few minutes before everyone’s finished, I can go up and pull the bolts out onto the table up there.”
Lauren pulled a stack of fabric strips, a portable cutting mat, ruler and roller cutter from her bag and set them on the table.
“I’m a lot less worried about the crazy quilt supplies than I am about the out-of-town quilters we’re supposed to be hosting. Whose idea was that, anyway?”
Mavis Willis, the Loose Threads’ oldest member, got her hand-piecing project from her bag. She was stitching diamonds of Civil War fabric into Lemoyne Stars for an opportunity quilt at the Methodist church.
“I think the Small Stitches came up with that one.”
“I told them we didn’t have room,” DeAnn Gault said. “I gave up my sewing room when we adopted Kissa. I can’t imagine anyone would want to stay with a house full of kids, anyway.”
Lauren sighed. “I didn’t have a good excuse, so I’m going to have to put up with some stranger invading my space for a week.”
“You could have said no,” Aunt Beth pointed out.
“My landlord’s mother-in-law is a Small Stitch, so, no, I couldn’t. Edna is well aware th
at I have a three-bedroom apartment.”
Harriet pulled her own project from her bag. She was embroidering a Christmas wreath on a square of off-white flannel.
“It could be worse. I know the person who’s coming to stay with me.”
“How did you pull that off?” Lauren asked.
Harriet put her hands to her face then swept her short dark hair back.
“This is not a good thing. I’m telling you. My past is coming back to haunt me. The wife of my husband Steve’s best friend called and asked to stay with me.”
Carla looked up from the binding she was sewing onto a baby quilt.
“Does it make you sad to see people from before he died?” Her face turned pink as she finished speaking.
“No, no, it’s not that at all. It’s complicated.”
Carla looked down at her hands.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, sweetie, it’s okay. When my husband died, it turned out he’d been keeping a big secret about his health from me. The sad part is, he didn’t have to die. His condition was treatable. Since he chose to never tell me about it, I have no idea why he didn’t seek treatment or if I could have changed his mind about that decision.
“Since I’m not from California, and Steve was, most of our friends were his friends, and it turned out they all knew about his condition.”
DeAnn stirred a packet of sweetener into her coffee.
“Wow, that must have made you mad.”
“It did. Over time, I’ve accepted it was his decision, not his friends’. They were just respecting that decision.”
“Yeah, but still...” Lauren said.
“Exactly. Which is why I’m not looking forward to having Sharon in my house for a whole week. For a few days, I can avoid having to talk about ‘the subject,’ but a week? I think not.”
Lauren started measuring and cutting small squares.
“Hard to believe she’d want to stay with you. I mean, for that reason.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, but it is what it is.”
Aunt Beth uncovered a plate she’d pulled from a paper bag sitting on the table.
“This coffee cake is an experiment, so don’t be afraid to speak up if you don’t like it.” She pushed the plate to the middle of her end of the table. “All I know about my roommate is she’ll be able to climb stairs.”
“And mine won’t,” Mavis said. “I told them my place would be good for someone less mobile. My son even made a ramp I can put over the front porch step if I need to.”
Carla glanced up again from her binding.
“Aiden said we could host someone, but I don’t know who we’re getting.”
“Oh, honey, that’s nice,” Mavis said and patted Carla’s knee.
Connie went to the kitchen and came back with the hot water carafe.
“Anyone need a warm-up?”
Robin raised her hand, and Connie went around the table to pour.
“Rod and I will have a pair of sisters—I told them we could take two people. They said they were coming in from Colorado and Texas and were hoping to be near each other.”
“Well, you can’t get much closer than that,” Beth commented.
“On a slightly other subject,” Lauren said with a smile. “I ran into Tom Bainbridge in Angel Harbor last week. Guess who’s bringing a collection of crazy quilts to display at the workshop?”
Harriet lowered her forehead to the table.
“Oh, great,” she said without looking up.
Lauren’s smile broadened.
“Think of it this way. With all the romantic tension between your two men, you won’t have time to worry about your house guest.”
“You’re not helping,” Aunt Beth scolded.
Lauren shrugged.
Harriet sat up and sighed.
“Can this week get any worse?”
Harriet straightened and rubbed her low back.
“This is a real treasure trove.” She held up a strand of velvet ribbon from a bag on the attic floor. “This whole bag is velvet and satin ribbons, and the one beside it is cotton lace. Most of it is white or off-white, but we can dye it.”
“You should look at these satins,” Aunt Beth said from a table on the other side of the attic. “There are some pretty beiges and pinks.”
Lauren looked up from the bolt of wine-colored velvet she was unfolding.
“You aren’t going to go the traditional route?” she asked Harriet. “I figured your quilt would be all black and navy and wine.”
“I’m going to wait to make a decision until I see all the materials we have available.” Harriet rerolled the ribbon she was holding onto its spool. “I was telling Aunt Beth that if it’s possible, I’d like to try making a lighter-colored quilt.”
Carla unfolded a section of bright pink velour from a bolt she was holding in her arms.
“Are there any rules about color?”
Aunt Beth looked up from her satins.
“Honey, if you like that pink, I’m sure there will be a place for it in your quilt. I think the only rule is that there are no rules.”
Lauren set her bolt on the pile the women had selected.
“Keep telling yourself that. If there weren’t rules, we wouldn’t need to take a week-long workshop on how to make these things.”
Harriet picked up an armload of bolts and headed for the stairs. She paused and looked back at the group.
“I’ve got to go home and take Scooter out before Aiden brings his niece Lainie by.” She and veterinarian Aiden Jalbert had been dating off and on since they’d both returned to Foggy Point the previous year.
“So, are you the new nanny or something?” Lauren asked.
“No, their mother is visiting. Again. I’m not sure what kind of custody arrangement Michelle has with her ex, but she and her kids are here along with a tutor and a real nanny. Lainie asked Carla to teach her to quilt, and Carla passed her off to me.”
Carla pulled the bolt of pink fabric to her chest and cleared her throat.
“I could have showed her what I do, but I think she needs to get away from her mother sometimes. Did I do something wrong?” She dipped her chin to her chest so her hair fell across her eyes.
“No, honey,” Aunt Beth said, “you did the right thing. Being the housekeeper, you see what goes on every day in that house. If you think the girl needs a breather, I’m sure you’re right.”
Carla set the fabric on the table and came over to Harriet.
“Michelle is saying all the right things, and she’s being her version of nice to me, but she’s not good with the kids.”
Harriet shifted her armload of fabric and put her hand on the younger woman’s arm.
“Aunt Beth’s right—you did the right thing. I’m happy to help Lainie learn to quilt and to give her a break from her mother.”
Carla’s shoulders relaxed. Lauren stepped over and patted her on the back.
“You did good. We’ll make a full-fledged Loose Thread out of you yet.”
“She’s kidding,” Harriet said before Carla could react. “You are a full-fledged Thread. I better go. If you guys decide to go to Seattle to buy more supplies, let me know.”
With that, she eased her way down the staircase with her fabric.
Chapter 2
Aiden’s niece and nephew were playing with his dog Randy on the front lawn of the large Victorian home he’d inherited when his mother had passed away a year earlier.
“Harriet,” they both called as she got out of her car. Randy beat them to the driveway and started bouncing on her back legs, her front feet grazing Harriet’s thigh. She reached down to stroke the dog’s head, but the kids took it as an invitation to a group hug and almost knocked her over in their enthusiasm.
“Slow down, everyone,” she said as she regained her balance, hugging both kids as she did so.
“Controlez-vous,” said a voice in French from the porch. A gray-haired woman stood ramrod st
raight, her arms folded across her navy blue-cardigan-clad chest. Her thin lips were pressed together, and she shook her head. “Mademoiselle Avalaine, go get your coat and bag, don’t keep Ms. Truman waiting,” she continued in accented English. She turned to Etienne. “Go inside and wash your hands.”
She gave Randy a disgusted look, turned and went back into the house. Harriet looked down at the dog.
“What did you do to her?” she asked.
Carla came out the back door before the dog could answer. She stood at the top of the stairs.
“I guess you met the nanny.”
“She’s a real delight. Is she always that friendly, or is it me she doesn’t like?”
Carla swept a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear and looked down at Harriet.
“She’s like that all the time. Except when the kids step out of line, that is. Then she’s worse.”
“That’s awful.”
Carla came down the back porch steps and joined Harriet.
“Tell me about it. I feel sorry for the kids. At least Wendy and I can escape to our rooms. They’re stuck with Madame all the time except for her half-day off on Sunday.”
“Do you think they’d let Etienne come quilt?”
“Oh, no, it’s not manly enough. She’s real old school, and Michelle lets her do whatever she wants.”
“I’ll see if I can figure out something for him.”
“Do you want to come inside and wait?” Carla asked.
“Not really, but I guess I should.” Harriet locked her car and followed Carla into the house.
“Harriet, thank you so much for agreeing to teach Avalaine to quilt,” Michelle said. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pencil in the other. She set the pencil down on a folded segment of newspaper. “I was just trying to finish the Sunday Times crossword puzzle.”
Who cares? Harriet thought, but she didn’t say anything.
Michelle took a long sip from her cup.
“Did Carla tell you that one of my friends is going to be staying with us while she goes to the workshop you all are going to?”
“She mentioned that Aiden had agreed to host someone.”
“It was amazing.” Michelle set her cup down on her newspaper, leaving a wet ring on her crossword puzzle. “It could have been anyone, and it turns out it’s an old friend of ours.”
Crazy as a Quilt (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 8) Page 1
