Quilt As You Go Read online

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  Zumaya Publications

  www.zumayapublications.com

  Copyright ©2009 by Arlene Sachitano

  First published in 2009, 2009

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  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

  About the Author

  ABOUT THE ARTIST

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  QUILT AS YOU GO

  A Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mystery

  BY

  ARLENE SACHITANO

  ZUMAYA ENIGMA

  AUSTIN TX

  2009

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  QUILT AS YOU GO

  © 2009 by Arlene Sachitano

  ISBN 978-1-934841-59-4

  Cover art and design © April Martinez

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is prohibited without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  "Zumaya Enigma” and the raven colophon are trademarks of Zumaya Publications LLC, Austin TX. Look for us online at www.zumayapublications.com/enigma.php

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Sachitano, Arlene, 1951—

  Quilt as you go : a Harriet Truman—loose threads mystery / Arlene Sachitano.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-934841-58-7 (trade paper : alk. paper)—ISBN 978-1-934841-59-4 (electronic)

  1. Quiltmakers—Fiction. 2. Widows—Fiction. 3. Washington (State)—Fiction. 4. Historical reenactments—Fiction. 5. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.A277Q853 2010

  813'.6—dc22

  2009048445

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many people support my writing efforts both directly and indirectly. My thanks go out to all of them. I particularly would like to thank my immediate family, Jack, Karen, Malakai, Annie, Alex, Amelia, David, Tanya, Ken, Nikki and Kellen. Thanks also to my sister Donna, who helped develop my creativity by drawing an endless herd of paper-doll horses on our many cross-country jaunts in the back of our parent's station wagon.

  I would also like to thank my in-laws, Beth and Hank, not only for their support but also for their medical input as I try to figure out how to slay my characters. Nor can I forget Scott Ryon and Ed May, retired police people and active Ducks Unlimited members who are always willing to talk about the how-to of crime.

  Supportive friends and relatives are also an indispensable part of writing my book. Brenda and Bob are unflagging supporters and promoters of my writing. Brett, Nathan, Jason and Chad provide support and let me use their names, so thanks, guys.

  I'd also like to thank my knitting students for their patience and flexibility, especially when I leave them for promotional activities.

  My critique group Katy and Luanne are always available to read pages and provide sympathy when rewrites are necessary—a thankless task, but thank you, ladies.

  I'd like to express my appreciation to the many quilt store owners who allow me to do book signings at their stores and events. Their support is invaluable. Special thanks to Betty and Vern at Storyquilts.com—they started me on the path to quilt mystery novels with their Seams Like Murder Block of the Month series. They also generously share a corner of their booth at Quilt Market as well as a wealth of information about the quilt business.

  Thanks, as always, to Liz and Tina at Zumaya for making all this work.

  Last but not least, I'd like to thank my two Susans—friends, gym partners and willing listeners (no matter how many times I tell them slight variations of the same story).

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 1

  "Could everyone who will have a quilt for sale in our sutler's booth please put your name and a brief description of your quilt or quilts on this form?"

  Harriet Truman held up the aforementioned piece of paper before handing it to her friend Jenny Logan. Harriet was a member of the Foggy Point Business Association, organizers of an upcoming Civil War re-enactment. In Civil War days, the sutlers were the mobile merchants. The Loose Threads quilt group had been meeting every day for the past week in order to finish their quilts before the opening skirmish in the re-enactment.

  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't the Civil War take place before Washington achieved statehood?” Lauren Sawyer asked. She gathered her straight blonde hair in both hands and raised it off her neck, letting the air from the open window cool her skin. “And why do we have to make quilts for people who relish violence so much they have to keep replaying it over and over again?” She loosened her grip and let her hair cascade onto her back again.

  "Don't be so contrary,” Marjory Swain scolded. She owned Pins and Needles, Foggy Point's only fabric store and the site of the Loose Threads’ weekly meetings. Lauren couldn't afford to offend the older woman, so she held her tongue for once. “Here, tie your hair up and get back to your quilting.” Marjory handed Lauren a lime-green fabric-covered elastic hair tie.

  "I'm passing around another form,” Harriet continued and held up a yellow piece of paper. “This one is to sign up for times to work in the booth. I do appreciate everyone's hard work. If we sell all the quilts we've collected so far, we'll have enough money to repair all of last year's storm damage in Fogg Park.

  "I suppose you voted for that when I was in Angel Harbor last month,” Lauren said.

  "I'm sure even you can't have forgotten we were all in Angel Harbor, and no, we didn't vote then, it was after we got home, and yes, you weren't here for that meeting,” Harriet challenged.

  By the time she'd graduated from high school, she'd dealt with bullying schoolmates on three continents, thanks to her parent's international lifestyle and penchant for yo-yoing her in and out of boarding schools. At thirty-eight, she thought she'd learned to let go of the need to engage in schoolgirl trash talk, but when Lauren was involved, it all went out the window and she was back in the schoolyard.

  "Ladies,” Mavis Willis said in a no-nonsense voice, “this isn't getting us anywhere.” Mavis was not only the oldest member of the Loose Threads but had also raised five sons whose antics were legend in Foggy Point Public School District lore. When she spoke, everyone listened. “What matters today is that we get as many quilts finished as possible before people start arriving on Thursday."

  "If you have at least one quilt finished and ready to hang, raise your ha
nd,” Harriet said.

  Everyone raised their hand.

  "Robin and DeAnn have volunteered to gather what we have ready, put price tags on them and hang them in the booth. Anything we finish between now and Thursday can go on shelves at the back of the booth. The whole sutler's area will be covered with a canopy, so we don't have to worry about sun damage from hanging quilts early."

  "I'll have seven quilts finished by Thursday,” Sarah Ness announced.

  "Here we go,” Mavis said, covering her mouth and coughing to conceal her comment.

  Sarah held up a simple quilt made from one of the pre-cut five-inch-square fabric packages known as charm packs. The colors were pastel pinks and blues and yellows. The prints were reproductions from an earlier age—the nineteen thirties.

  "Okay, who's going to say it?” DeAnn Gault asked in a low voice, giving the rest of the assembled Loose Threads a sidelong glance.

  Harriet shrugged, not up to that challenge. Mavis shook her head and smiled in anticipation of the coming argument. Lauren rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and went back to stitching the binding onto a quilt made with the Kansas Troubles block, done in shades of butternut and blue set alternately with unpieced blocks of the same size. She'd chosen small-print fabrics that were faithful reproductions of those used in the years leading up to the Civil War.

  DeAnn gave the group one last pleading look before turning back to Sarah.

  "While very lovely, your fabric is not a Civil War reproduction,” she stated.

  "It's a reproduction, that's all people care about,” Sarah fired back. She folded the quilt and stuffed it in her large canvas carry bag, pulling another one out in the same motion.

  Lauren groaned and looked away as Sarah unfolded her second quilt.

  "I can't stand it,” she moaned.

  The quilt was made with the same Kansas Troubles block pattern Lauren had used, only Sarah had used yellow fabrics against a black background with pale blue and acid green accents. Technically, she'd selected fabrics from Civil War reproduction collections, but Harriet was pretty sure this particular combination had never been assembled before—not in Civil War times and not since.

  DeAnn started to speak, stopping before recognizable words formed. Finally, she gave up, shaking her head and laughing.

  "What?” Sarah asked, truly bewildered.

  "Nothing,” Harriet said, regaining her own composure, as long as she didn't make eye contact with DeAnn. “Thank you for your efforts. Give your quilts to DeAnn or Robin, and they'll record them and get them hung up at the booth."

  She had been warned by the re-enactment consultant the Foggy Point Business Association had hired that some of their guests would be what were referred to as “thread counters"—people who obsessed over the authenticity of everything to the point of counting the threads per inch in all the fabrics used for uniforms, civilian clothing, bedding and supplies, checking to be sure they were true to the time period. The consultant recommended clearly labeling any items already known to be less-accurate copies from the period. He suggested phrases like “in the style of the Civil War period."

  He had assured them that all types of history buffs showed up, and there would inevitably be family members of the hardcore re-enactors who would welcome the chance to shop for more contemporary items. As long as the majority of what was offered in the sutler's area were sincere reproductions, he was sure they would have a successful event.

  "Does anyone have any questions?” Harriet asked before returning to her place at the big table the Loose Threads were clustered around. Normally, meetings were informal gatherings, with people drifting in and out as their schedule allowed or their project required. They met in the larger of two classrooms in Pins and Needles.

  "Are we interrupting anything?” a stout, slightly balding man said from the doorway. He didn't wait to for an answer but came through the door and took the position Harriet had just vacated at the head of the table. A young, heavily made-up woman in a short pink skirt, silver tank top and pink alligator boots followed and stood by his side, a bored look on her face. Her long bleached hair was held up on her small head with a large silver plastic clam shell clip.

  "We wanted to check and see how you gals were doing with the quilts for your booth. You know the quilt store is one of the most important booths in our whole vendor area.” He made a grimace that was his version of smiling and directed his attention to Harriet, walking to her side of the table and sitting in the chair next to her. “Did you find vendors for the last three booths?"

  He leaned eagerly toward her; the heavy gold chain he was wearing looped out through the open neck of his pink shirt. Harriet sat as far back in her chair as she could without being obvious.

  As president of the Foggy Point Business Association, it was Carlton Brewster's job to organize the re-enactment. Since the association had agreed to hire a consultant, there weren't many jobs left for him to personally carry out, filling the sutler's area being his major one.

  "Yes, they're filled. I got a candlemaker from Port Townsend who will do wax dipping demonstrations four times a day and will have candles for sale also. The knitting group that meets at the Lutheran church will sell handmade shawls as well as socks, hats and scarves. Luckily, they all had items they'd already made for a church sale that are historically acceptable, and they'll each turn out a few more items before the event. And for the last booth, the folk art school in Angel Harbor will set up a mini-bazaar like the women's aid societies ran to raise money for the war. They'll sell a variety of things—tobacco pouches, pin cushions, little sewing kits, children's toys, stuff like that."

  "Well, good,” he said. He clapped her on the back, causing the tea in the cup she'd just picked up to spill onto the table. “Seems like you have the sutler's area taken care of.” He turned to his wife. “Bebe and I were just heading over to the country club. We figured people in Civil War times probably spent more time outdoors then we do. After spending all that money to make sure we have realistic costumes, we figured we better make sure our tans are up to snuff."

  Harriet looked at Bebe, whose given name was actually Barbara. If she got any more tan her well-oiled skin was going to look like a piece of burnt toast.

  "We wouldn't want that,” she said.

  His job for the day done, Carlton took Bebe by the arm and left.

  Connie Escorcia got up and went to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a handful of paper towels. She glanced toward the door to make sure Carlton and Bebe were gone.

  "Dios mio!” she exclaimed. “How dare he come in here with that ... that...” She broke into rapid-fire Spanish even Harriet couldn't follow, but which apparently referred to Bebe, and not in a good way, either. Connie was a retired teacher and, at five foot even, made up for her diminutive size with her larger-than-life Latina personality. “He dumped all his jobs on you so he can go sit at the pool with her?"

  Harriet picked up her quilt, a scrappy design made up of eight-pointed stars and rail-fence blocks, which were squares made from three equal-sized fabric strips of different colors or patterns. Like Lauren, she was hand-stitching the binding onto the edge.

  "Somehow, when I agreed to take over Aunt Beth's quilting business, I didn't realize I was also agreeing to this whole business association hoo-ha."

  "You're really good at it, though,” Jenny offered. She was a slender, fiftyish woman whose sleek, shoulder-length hair was never out of place. Her taste in quilting normally ran to large pastel floral designs with a blended, low-contrast look. To her credit, for the re-enactment she was making a coverlet with roses and plumes cut from red, pink, yellow and green solids and appliquéd onto an off-white background. A ribbon of green stems with stylized rosebuds circled the rose blocks, forming a border. Jenny was still appliquéing the rosebuds and had arranged with Harriet to machine-quilt it as soon as it was done.

  "You're definitely more competent than Carlton,” DeAnn said. “If he was actually doing the job, he'd be making
a mess of it, so we're better off with him sitting by the pool with the bimbo."

  "DeAnn's right,” Robin added. “The extra work he would have created would have been much worse to deal with.” Robin taught yoga, and believed most problems could be solved with a few cleansing breaths and a stretch. If she condemned Carlton's management skill, Harriet had to believe it was bad.

  One by one, the women around the table pulled their finished quilts from bags, or fetched them from their cars and stacked them in front of Robin and DeAnn for pricing and labeling. For their part, the two women had made three quilts together, sharing cut strips in shades of blue to make several variations of the Irish Chain Pattern.

  Harriet was pleased to see the growing stack of quilts. Going into this event, she'd been concerned about asking the group for such a large commitment of time and resources. She was once again impressed by the willingness of the people in her new home town to pull together no matter what the cause. It didn't seem to matter that the current economy was tough—everyone in the group had donated at least one quilt, and most of them had contributed more than one.

  "Honey, could you give me a ride home?” Mavis asked Harriet as she snapped her cell phone closed. “I dropped my car off for an oil change, but of course, Henry found a cracked hose and that worried him, so he wants to change all the hoses and he doesn't have time to finish it tonight."

  "Sure, no problem,” Harriet said. “I'll be done in a minute. I want to total up the asking prices DeAnn and Robin came up with for what we have here. We need to earn back five hundred dollars to pay for our share of the tent rentals for the sutler's area."

  "That should be easy,” Robin said. “All of the full-sized quilts are priced at least that high."

  "You aren't serious, are you?” Lauren asked. “We'll have five hundred after the first hour."

  "Of course, I'm not serious,” Harriet said. She nervously tapped her pen on the page she was holding. “I just want to know what to expect profit-wise."