A Quilt in Time (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery)

by Arlene Sachitano

  “They like to poke their noses in other people’s business. And they get the other residents riled up. They put the other people up to things. I’d rather not talk about it. Thank you again for bringing the bibs, but I’d better go take care of the front desk. Feel free to stay a while longer if you wish.” She dropped her napkin on the table, stood up and walked out, the door swinging shut behind her.

  Harriet and Beth looked at each other.

  “I think I just lost my appetite.”

  “You and me both.” Beth stood up and gathered her purse and coat from a chair by the door where she’d left them. There was a knock on the door followed by Violet entering the room.

  “Hello, am I interrupting anything?” She held two hexagons of a grandmother’s flower garden quilt block.

  “Not at all,” Harriet told her, coming over to join them. “We were having tea with Elaine, but she had to go back to work.”

  Violet’s shoulders sagged with relief.

  “Oh, good, then I don’t have to pretend I have a quilting question. We saw you come in. Jo and Mickey wanted to know what was going on, but they thought it would be more believable if I said I had a question about our quilt project.”

  “I’m sorry you wasted a perfectly good pretense,” Harriet said. “Elaine isn’t here, and we didn’t really learn anything from her before she left.”

  “She seems very meek, but I don’t think she really is,” Violet said sweetly.

  “What do you mean?”

  Violet wrung her hands.

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. She kowtows to Howard, but she rides roughshod over those two girls.”

  “They have a very strange family dynamic, it would seem,” Harriet said.

  “We’d better get moving,” Beth said. “Tell Jo and Mickey we said hi and we’re sorry, we don’t know anything new.”

  “Is it just me, or was that weird?” Harriet asked when they were back in Beth’s new Beetle.

  “She certainly doesn’t seem supportive of the girls in the family.”

  “If she’s also abused, maybe she doesn’t have anything left for the girls.”

  Aunt Beth turned to look at her for an instant.

  “Not that your uncle Henry would ever have done anything like that, but if he had, I would have protected you with my dying breath.”

  “And I love you for that,” Harriet said with a smile. “But not everyone has a mother or aunt like you. Case in point, my own mother. She’d throw me under the bus at the first hint of trouble—and don’t try to deny it.”

  “You’re right. I can’t explain your mother. And I feel sorry for Sarah. Her road to recovery will be that much harder without family to support her.”

  “Speaking of Sarah, I think I’ll call Georgia and see if it’s possible for me to pay her a visit at the shelter. I’d like to ask her a few more questions about her family.”

  “Mavis and I are working on our pet quilts this afternoon. She found a British TV mystery series we haven’t seen yet and bought the first two seasons. We’re going to have a marathon and try to finish as many small pet quilts as we can while we’re watching.”

  “Sounds fun. I’ll see if Lauren can come with me to the shelter. I’ll let you know if we learn anything.”

  “We were thinking about making some animal blankets using a solid piece of flannel backed with fleece. What do you think?”

  The debate occupied their conversation for the rest of the drive home.

  Chapter 22

  Lauren climbed into Harriet’s car.

  “Don’t we need to take some quilts or pillowcases or something?”

  Harriet, as was now her habit, looked underneath before sliding into the driver’s seat.

  “Logically, I know that no one sneaked into my garage and put a bomb under my car,” she said in response to Lauren’s raised eyebrow, “but I can’t seem to stop myself from checking before I get in.”

  “I hear you. I do the same thing. It’s just a little weirder in your case, since your car didn’t get bombed.”

  “To answer your question,” Harriet said after a long moment. “I decided to be straight with Georgia, and she was okay with us coming to see Sarah. She said Sarah is making a little progress, and she thought it would be good for her to have visitors.

  “If you have time, I thought I’d swing by Walmart and pick up a new coffee maker for the shelter. I was thinking about it while I was stitching and decided it was ridiculous for Sarah to have to go without good coffee until they finish a quilt and then sell it to raise funds for the purchase. I mean, it’s maybe a hundred dollars.”

  Lauren pressed her lips together and was quiet for a moment.

  “I’ll pay for half,” she said finally. “You’re right. I thought about that myself. Not buying her a coffeemaker, but I did think she might feel a little like she was in prison without a good cup of coffee. You’re thinking one like yours with the pods, right?”

  Harriet turned toward the highway.

  “That’s the plan. And if you’re paying for half the coffeemaker, maybe I’ll get them an electric teapot, too.”

  Lauren looked out her window at the light rain that was starting to fall.

  “Have you ever been with anyone who got physical with you?”

  “No. My husband was a liar, as it turned out, but he never tried to hit me. Given his health, he might have hurt himself if he had—but he wouldn’t have. It wasn’t in his makeup. We had a really good relationship, right up until he died and it turned out he’d been conspiring with all our friends to keep me in the dark about his medical problems.”

  “That must have been weird. Was he afraid you wouldn’t marry him if you knew or something?”

  “Yeah, something like that. What I realized was that, the whole time we were married, it was all about Steve’s friends and Steve’s activities and what Steve wanted. I guess I wanted the relationship to work so bad I was willing to set aside my own needs. The sick part is, I probably would have married him anyway.”

  “That so doesn’t sound like you.”

  “We were young when we married, and he was very charismatic. People were drawn to him without him even trying. He had the perfect parents—dad was middle management, mom a homemaker. They’d lived in the same house his whole life.

  “After spending most of my life at boarding schools, I guess I bought into the whole white picket fence thing. I wanted a normal home and family. When we were first married, we were both busy starting our careers, so I guess I was too busy to notice if things were less than perfect.”

  She shook her head and glanced at Lauren.

  “What about you?”

  “I dated a guy in college who punched me and everyone else in the shoulder when he was joking around.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I didn’t have to do anything. One of his buddies had his fill and beat him to a pulp after he’d punched him in the bicep one too many times. He never did it again. Said he didn’t realize how annoying it was.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  Lauren laughed. “That’s college.”

  Georgia filled the water chamber of the new coffee pot and plugged it in.

  “Who wants the first cup?”

  Harriet passed a large sampler box of coffee pods to the shelter residents, who were standing in the kitchen, their coffee mugs in their hands.

  Sarah stepped forward and set her cup under the spout.

  “I want the plain coffee. Can someone get it out for me?” The fingers of her right hand were swollen, and she still had the cast with its accompanying hardware covering most of her right forearm.

  Harriet popped a Starbucks coffee pod from the box and snapped it into place. She aligned Sarah’s cup under the spout and pushed the brew button.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Sarah said quietly.

  Lauren and Harriet looked at each other.

  “We figured your arm would heal faster if you had good coffee
,” Harriet told her.

  Georgia filled the new electric tea kettle.

  “And the tea drinkers here thank you for their pot, too.”

  Harriet’s cheeks turned pink.

  “It’s the least we could do.”

  “I’m sure you want some time to talk to your friend,” Georgia said when Harriet, Lauren and Sarah all had steaming mugs in their hands. “Sarah can show you to the library.”

  She nodded to Sarah, encouraging her to lead the way. Sarah opened a door at the back of the kitchen, revealing a set of stairs that led to the basement. They passed a laundry room then Sarah stopped and opened a plywood door, flicking on the light as she entered. The floor was concrete. Brick and board shelving held a row of tattered paperback books. Webbed lawn chairs provided the seating.

  Lauren sat carefully in one of the insubstantial chairs.

  “‘Library’ is a bit of a stretch,” she said as she looked around.

  Sarah followed her gaze.

  “It grows on you,” she said in a flat tone. “Don’t get me wrong, these people are doing a good thing here, but let’s be real. I’m a prisoner.”

  Harriet started to protest, but Sarah held up her left hand to silence her.

  “I know I agreed to be here. I don’t like it, but I get it—out of sight, out of mind and all that.” She sighed. “Anyway,” she said in a softer tone. “Sometimes it’s good to get away from everyone and just think.” She looked around the room. “This room is good for that.”

  Harriet pulled chairs closer for herself and Sarah. Lauren squirmed in her seat.

  “Besides the prisoner part, how are you doing?”

  Sarah hung her head.

  “I don’t know. We have a lot of group therapy here. And they have a counselor who meets with each of us one-on-one. They’re trying to tell me that Seth couldn’t love me and hit me at the same time.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” Lauren observed.

  “I know Seth loved me. We were going to be married.”

  “Yet, he did that.” Harriet pointed to Sarah’s arm.

  “He said he was sorry.” Sarah sighed. “It’s all so confusing. Seth and I had plans. How could he make plans with me if he didn’t love me?”

  Because he was a sociopath, Harriet thought, but she kept that opinion to herself.

  “After my birthday, he said I could quit my job,” Sarah added. “He said he’d build me a studio, and I could quilt full-time if I want.”

  “What happens after your birthday?” Lauren asked.

  Sarah picked at the padding of her cast with her good hand.

  “It’s a few months after we were supposed to be married.”

  “Why wouldn’t you quit when you got married,” Harriet asked. “I assume you were going to go on a honeymoon. The senior center would have to get a substitute while you were gone. Why go back for those few months?”

  A tear slid down Sarah’s right cheek.

  “Oh, what difference does it make. It’s how Seth wanted it, and I didn’t care. Besides, we weren’t going on a honeymoon. We both had to work, and we didn’t have any money anyway.”

  Harriet reached over and patted Sarah’s knee.

  “I’m sorry we’re asking you all these questions. I’m trying to find out what happened to Seth.”

  “Do you know any reason anyone would want Seth dead?” Lauren asked. “Like Howard, maybe?”

  Sarah sniffed. “I know you’re trying to help, but you didn’t know Seth. Everyone loved Seth, especially his dad.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Harriet said. “Do you know anything about Howard’s first two wives?”

  Sarah stared at her.

  “You mean did he kill them? I know that’s what people think.”

  “Yes. Do you know anything about their deaths?”

  “The only thing I know is Joshua believes Howard killed his moth-er.”

  Harriet and Lauren exchanged a glance.

  “Are you and Joshua close?” Harriet asked.

  “I don’t think you’d call it close, but I let him stay at the cabin with me when Seth was sleeping at the center. That shed he lives in at Howard and my mom’s is pretty awful. He doesn’t even have a color TV.”

  “Did Joshua ever hurt you?” Lauren asked.

  Sarah jerked her head toward Lauren.

  “Are you kidding? He said he used to be Howard’s punching bag before Howard married my mom. He couldn’t hurt a flea.”

  “So Howard started hitting her?” Lauren asked.

  “Not important right now,” Harriet said quietly to her.

  “Sarah, I heard from one of the Threads that your mom is the one who actually owns the senior center, that Howard just manages it. Is that true?”

  “You want to hear something funny?” Sarah said, not waiting for an answer. “Technically, I own the place. It’s been in a trust for me since my grandma died.”

  “Let me guess,” Lauren said. “You take possession on your next birthday.”

  Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “I guess that’s right. I get it when I turn thirty-five. My grandma wanted me to get my degree and work before I had to worry about it.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Harriet said.

  “What?” Sarah asked.

  Harriet sat back in her chair.

  “This certainly changes the picture.” She could see that Lauren was about to speak. She shook her head slightly and glanced toward the door.

  Lauren stood up.

  “We should probably get going.”

  Harriet joined her, and Sarah looked up at them.

  “Do you have any ideas about who killed Seth?” Sarah asked as she stood up.

  “No,” Harriet told her. “Not yet. But we’re getting closer.”

  They followed Sarah upstairs to the large living room, where she pointed at a cardboard box that sat against the wall behind a worn upholstered rocking chair. Harriet slid it toward her then picked it up and set it on a coffee table that had been made from an old door. Sarah opened the box flaps with her good hand.

  “Here are the blocks we’ve made so far,” she said.

  Lauren reached in and picked out a handful of the grandmother’s flower garden blocks. She laid them out on the table. Harriet examined one of the blocks and then flipped it over to check the back side.

  “These look really good.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” Sarah told her. “None of the group were quilters before they came here, but a couple of them do beading, and one woman knits.”

  Lauren rifled through the remaining blocks and pieces of blocks.

  “I think you guys have more done than the people at the senior center.”

  Sarah put the blocks back in the box.

  “Yeah, well, there’s not much else going on here. We clean house, we go to therapy, and now we quilt. The people who have never worked have a job-training tutor, but the rest of us don’t have much to do.”

  “Hopefully, you won’t have to be here much longer,” Harriet said.

  Sarah looked around then lifted her wounded arm.

  “I can’t really do anything anyway, so I guess I might as well be here.” Her shoulders drooped.

  Lauren patted her awkwardly on her good shoulder.

  “Well, hang in there.”

  Harriet looked at her.

  “We better get going.” She started for the door, and Lauren followed.

  Chapter 23

  “Hey,” Harriet said when Aiden phoned two hours later.

  “Want to come to my house for pizza tonight? Actually, in an hour?”

  “That’s a bit early. Is something going on?”

  “Why would you ask that?” he asked in a voice that was so innocent, she knew he was hiding something.

  “Come on, spill. What’s really going on?”

  Aiden sighed. “Okay, you got me. Michelle’s kids are coming over. They’re doing a school project on our family history—I have a bunch
of Jalbert family records in the attic. Michelle dropped them off a couple of hours ago. She’s staying with one of my mom’s French friends from the old country. I told her I’d feed them before she comes to get them.”

  “Please tell me you don’t expect me to be there when she is.”

  “It’ll be okay. She’s really trying to make amends. I think her therapy or meds or whatever they did for her at the hospital is working. And I told you she’s been talking to Pastor Hafer.”

  Harriet studied the ceiling, hoping for advice from on high to descend on her. Finally, she sighed.

  “Okay, fine.”

  “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Harriet said. “See you in an hour.”

  “We go to a boarding school in Seattle,” a dark-haired girl of about ten was explaining to Carla in a serious voice.

  She was wearing an expensive-looking navy blue pleated skirt and matching cardigan. Harriet wasn’t good with children’s ages, but she could recognize a private school uniform at twenty paces.

  “They have tutors so if we miss school when we visit Mother they can catch us up.”

  Harriet had another brief flash of déjà vu.

  It was clear from the expression on Carla’s face she didn’t know what to say to that. Harriet stepped from the back porch into the kitchen.

  “Knock-knock.”

  “Oh, hi, Harriet,” Carla said with relief. “Have you met Aiden’s niece Avelaine?”

  Harriet extended her hand to the girl.

  “We met at my house a few months ago. I’m Harriet.”

  The girl shook the hand and looked up at her.

  “I’m Avelaine, but people call me Lanie.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lanie,” Harriet let go of the girl’s small hand and slipped out of her jacket, setting it and her purse on a kitchen chair. “I hear you and your brother are working on a family genealogy project.”

  Lanie smiled. “We’re tracing my mother’s family. My grandmother came from France.”

  “Yes, I know,” Harriet told her. “My aunt and your grandmother were very good friends. When I was just a little older than you are right now, I went to a boarding school in Bordeaux, which is where your grandmother lived before she moved here.”