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

  Sabrina looked down the hallway behind Hannah.

  “Maybe you can spend an hour with each group today, since you weren’t expecting to have two. Then we can plan a longer time for your next visit.”

  “That will work fine. As I was saying, we need to assess things and see what materials they have and what they need,” Harriet said. “We can do that today and then get serious about sewing next time.”

  “Just let me know if you need anything else from us,” Sabrina said. Then to Hannah: “If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be going between here and the memory unit for the next hour or so while we get these two sessions going.”

  “I’ll make a note,” Hannah said then followed her out of the independent living wing.

  Lauren was waiting by the car when Carla and Harriet returned to the parking lot.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  Carla quickly explained while Harriet opened the hatch and began pulling folding tables and chairs out.

  “Even though we aren’t going to be sewing today, I’m going to go ahead and set up a couple of tables and chairs. I’ll leave them here until they get their own. I have a loaner sewing machine Marjory donated to the cause. We can leave that set up so the people can sew when we aren’t here if they want to.”

  “Good idea,” Lauren said. “On the spy front, I rigged two supply bags up with lipstick cameras that look out from the end of each one. If we set them at either end of the room, we should be able to catch all of the action.” She handed Harriet a necklace. “This has an embedded microphone. If you want to record someone, just fiddle with the pendant. It has a small contact switch on the back. It looks flat, but if you squeeze it, it will engage.”

  Harriet took the gold, rhinestone-encrusted heart.

  “Kind of gaudy, isn’t it?”

  “But totally you,” Lauren shot back with an evil grin. “I wanted something big enough that you would naturally need to fiddle with it.”

  Carla started loading tables onto the fold-up flatbed hand truck Harriet had pulled out after the tables were unloaded.

  “Let’s give a warm senior center welcome to the Loose Threads quilting group,” Sabrina said when the room was set up and all the participants in place. One small white-haired woman clapped vigorously, but the rest of the group either patted their hands together politely or ignored Sabrina completely.

  “That’s not necessary,” Aunt Beth said. “I think I can speak for our whole group in saying we’re happy to come spend some time with you all.”

  “Not likely,” a skinny bald man said in a stage whisper everyone could hear.

  “We really are,” Harriet said. “I’m guessing you all have plenty of quilting experience to share with us. We may be good with the new techniques and machines, but I, for one, could use help with the basics. I’m an absolute disaster at hand quilting.”

  “And I’m just learning to quilt on a sewing machine,” Mavis said. “I’ve always hand-pieced, so I need help with how to do more efficient machine work.”

  “I won the blue ribbon in the hand quilting division of the Jefferson County fair a few years ago,” a plump woman in a flowered cotton dress volunteered. She had on a name tag that said Violet.

  Harriet pulled out a fabric sandwich made of two layers of plain muslin with a piece of wool batting in between that she’d prepared for hand quilting practice. She crossed the room and sat beside the blue ribbon winner. Carla picked up her bag and moved to the seat on the opposite side of the woman. She pulled a similar blank quilt piece from her bag.

  “I’m Harriet, and this is Carla.” She held her hand out.

  “We all know who you are,” the woman whispered.

  Sabrina surveyed the room.

  “If you’re all squared away, I’ll just go make sure the dining area is ready for the next group.” She turned and left without waiting for agreement from anyone.

  Violet followed Sabrina with her eyes until the activities director had turned the corner and disappeared. She turned to Harriet.

  “Okay, tell us why you’re really here. It’s to investigate the murder, isn’t it?”

  “Umm,” Harriet stammered.

  The small white-haired woman held her hand up, shushing Harriet before she spoke.

  “Mickey?” She pointed toward a boom box sitting on a built-in bookshelf beside the sofa.

  The bald man got up, shuffled over to the player, and turned it on then adjusted the volume to a level loud enough to make conversation difficult, although not impossible. He pointed toward the side of his head.

  “The walls have ears,” he said before returning to his seat.

  “We all know who you are,” the small white-haired woman said. “I’m Josephine, by the way, but you can call me Jo. That tall drink-of-water over there is Mickey.” She pointed at the man. “Don’t let him fool you—he’s very handy with a needle.”

  “And that’s not all,” said a woman in a wheelchair. Her hair was black with a few wisps of gray, and she appeared a decade or two younger than the rest of the residents. “I’m Janice.”

  Harriet looked at her aunt and then Lauren. Beth’s eyes got wide, but she remained silent. Lauren shrugged.

  Violet followed Harriet’s gaze then looked back at her.

  “Am I being too forward? I suppose you didn’t think we’d figure out why you’re really here.”

  “We don’t mind,” Jo said. “When we saw you at the open house, and you came into our wing and talked to some of us, we were hoping that meant you were going to investigate.”

  “We’ve all heard about your involvement in the murders that happened this past year. Sarah is part of your group, after all, isn’t she?” Janice asked.

  Harriet stood up.

  “Okay, you got us. This is our fumble-fingered attempt to get inside the center and find out what’s going on. I’m sorry we were going to use you. We can pack up and be out of your way in a few minutes. I’ll think of something to tell Sabrina.”

  “Hold your horses, dearie,” Mickey said. “We can work something out here. We want to know who killed Seth ourselves. We know Sarah didn’t do it, but we’re fairly sure Howard is going to set her up to take the fall.”

  “We really could use someone to help us get fabric and thread for our quilting projects,” Jo said. “Buying fabric off the Internet isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Aunt Beth looked at Mickey.

  “How do you know Sarah didn’t do it?”

  “Come on,” he said. “You do know Sarah, don’t you? If she were capable of killing him, she wouldn’t have waited until he’d beaten her within an inch of her life. She was convinced till his dying breath that he was going to change. She was sure he was going to take her away from all this, too.”

  “Maybe she snapped,” DeAnn suggested. “Everyone has a breaking point.”

  “And who are you, dear?” Mickey asked.

  DeAnn told him her and her husband’s names.

  “Your family has the video store?” he asked.

  “Yes, do you know my parents?”

  “Your grandpa—we were business associates, of a sort.”

  “Mickey was a bookie in his younger years.” Violet beamed like the proud mother of a precocious first grader.

  “Back to Sarah,” DeAnn said. Her face had turned scarlet. “Why couldn’t she have just snapped?”

  “These things are familial, if you know what I mean,” Mickey said. “Have you met the mother?”

  “We have,” Harriet interrupted. “But we do need to talk quilting before we move on to the other group. Also, you need to know, the police have specifically warned us not to interfere with their investigation.”

  “Come on, that’s exactly why you’re here,” Mickey countered. “Don’t try to kid a kidder, Miss. We both want the same thing. Plus, we know you have at least thirty more minutes with us before Sabrina will have the memory people ready. The point is, we want to know who really killed Seth and so, it app
ears, do you.”

  “And we want to make sure Howard doesn’t convince the police it was Sarah,” Violet added.

  “Why would Howard want to do that?” Harriet asked them.

  “So the police won’t know what’s going on here,” Janice told her.

  “Which is?”

  “That’s what we need you to help us find out,” Janice said.

  “I’ll also note that if those cameras in the corners of your quilting bags are the best you’ve got, you’re going to need our help, too,” Jo added sweetly.

  “Jo used to be in the CIA,” Violet told them. “And Mickey—”

  “Mickey has prior experience with the Foggy Point police,” he interrupted her.

  “This is a bad idea,” Lauren said and shook her head.

  “I agree,” Mickey said. “But, as you can surely see, our options are a bit limited.”

  “I think our group needs to talk this over among ourselves,” Mavis said. “We need to let whoever wants to opt out do so before we go any further.”

  Mickey shook his head.

  “Yeah, sure. Go talk. I told the girls you were lightweights. It’s been nice knowing you.”

  “You stop that,” Violet scolded. “We’ve taken them by surprise, and now we need to let them process what we’ve told them. I’m sure they’ll do the right thing.”

  “Maybe you can pick me up a package of crib-size wool batting at Marjory’s store and bring it by tomorrow,” Janice suggested. “Will that give you enough time to decide what you’re going to do?”

  “Sure,” Harriet said.

  “I see you’ve gotten to know each other a little better,” Sabrina said brightly as she reentered the room a short while later.

  “Indeed, we have,” Harriet agreed. “Indeed, we have.”

  Thankfully, the people from the memory care wing were exactly as promised. All of them were in the early stages of dementia, and none appeared to have an agenda other than quilting.

  “These ladies need to go back to their rooms and begin getting ready for dinner,” Sabrina said when an hour had passed. “Thank you so much for spending some time with us.”

  Aunt Beth turned off the sewing machine she’d been using to repair the binding on a tattered quilt one of the women had brought with her from her room.

  “Thank you for letting us spend an enjoyable afternoon at your lovely facility and allowing us to meet these wonderful women,” she said.

  “I hope you’ll be able to come back again next week.” Sabrina’s barely disguised look bordered on desperation.

  Harriet stood up and went to her side.

  “You can count on it. Lauren and I are going to come by tomorrow with some supplies for the other group, if that’s okay with you.”

  “You don’t need my permission,” Sabrina assured her. “The independent living seniors are free to come and go as they please and to entertain whenever and whomever they choose.”

  “Good to know,” Lauren said.

  “We’ll see you next week, then,” Mavis said as the residents filed out of the room, led by an aide who had materialized outside the door to the small dining room. She picked up the foot pedal to the machine Beth had been using and wound its cord around it before setting it on the base of the machine. Beth removed the power cord and tucked it into the pocket on the machine cover then snapped the cover onto the base.

  “I need something to eat,” Beth said. “Let’s grab a bite and mull this over.”

  “Should we go to Tico’s?” Harriet asked. Tico’s Tacos was centrally located in downtown Foggy Point, making it a little closer than her house for the people who lived on either of the coves.

  “I’ll call and give Jorge a heads-up,” Beth said.

  Carla put her coat on.

  “Is it okay if Wendy comes?”

  “I’m sure she’s welcome,” Connie said. “But let me call Grandpa Rod. I’ll bet he’d love to pick her up from play group and bring her to our house until we’re done. We made tamales this morning; you can pick up Wendy and take some home for dinner. Then you won’t have to cook for Aiden.”

  “That would be great,” Carla said. “Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

  “I wouldn’t offer if it was, chiquita.”

  “Everybody else good?” Harriet asked.

  “I’ll call Robin and see if she can join us,” DeAnn offered.

  “See you at the car,” Harriet said to Carla and left, followed by Lauren. “I want to swing by the lobby a minute.”

  Hannah was back on duty at the reception desk, if you can call polishing your nails while listening to your music player “on duty.” Harriet had to stand directly in front of her before Hannah noticed her and pulled an earbud out.

  “Do you need something?” Hannah asked without taking her gaze off the pinkie finger on her left hand. She stroked bright pink polish neatly on its surface then held her hand out to inspect the result.

  “I was just wondering if you could tell me something about the residents in the independent living wing.”

  “You want to know if Mickey really is a prize-winning boxer and if Jo won the gardening prize at the state fair three years running?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s probably confidential, but I say ‘Who cares?’ I have no idea if their stories are true, but they have so many, it isn’t likely anyone could do that much in a lifetime.”

  “How long have they lived here?” Harriet asked.

  “I don’t know. I only work here summers, usually.” Hannah began painting the next nail on her hand.

  “Can you look it up?”

  “No, my nails are wet.”

  “Really?”

  Hannah sighed. “Mickey’s been here since his daughter got tired of him drinking whiskey on Friday nights. That was while I was still in high school. Jo’s been here since the doors opened, and Janice moved in after all the rehabs got done with her after her accident.

  “Those are the ones I remember, and that’s only because Dad talked about them at dinner. And I’m really not allowed to give out information from the computer. Dad has strict rules about stuff like that.”

  “Thank you, you’ve been so helpful,” Harriet said.

  Lauren took her by the arm and turned her away from the desk.

  “Don’t bother, it goes right over her head. Besides, you should have asked. I can get you the information. If you weren’t afraid Blondie is trying to move in on your man, you’d have realized that.”

  “He is not my man,” Harriet sputtered. “Not right now, anyway.”

  “Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Lauren said and guided her out the door.

  “Thoughts anyone?” Harriet asked when she was seated at the large table in the back room at Tico’s Tacos. Jorge had placed several baskets of warm tortilla chips on the table, along with queso dip, guacamole and several styles of salsa. She dipped a chip into the queso and waited for someone to speak.

  “Let me see if I understand,” Robin began. “The independent living group at the senior center is asking us to investigate the killing of Seth Pratt and have offered their help. Their special skills include being a former bookie and a retired CIA employee of some sort as well as at least one prize-winning quilter.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Lauren confirmed.

  “We’re not seriously considering taking them up on it, are we?” Robin asked, looking around the table at her friends.

  Jorge came in with a pitcher of lemonade in one hand and a pot of hot coffee in the other.

  “I wouldn’t reject them out of hand just because they are old and live in a center,” he said and set the drinks on a side table next to an assembly of glasses and mugs. “You ladies can help yourselves to drinks, here. I can tell you Mickey used to be a real player in this town, according to some of my customers. I got a group of old guys who play poker here on Wednesday nights. They still talk about him.”

  “What about Josephine?” Ha
rriet asked.

  Jorge shook his head. “Her, I don’t know.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Robin cautioned. “Most of the people the CIA employs are accountants and lawyers.”

  “What about Janice?” Mavis asked. “She’s younger than the other two and wheelchair-bound. Do you know her?”

  Jorge looked at the ceiling in thought for a moment.

  “I think I remember something about that. If I’m thinking of the right person, it was very hush-hush, something about a scorned lover seeking revenge. There was a suggestion her car had been rigged to crash; then, all of a sudden, someone squashed the story. No one talked about it, nothing. Months later, she showed up in the Foggy Point Senior Center.” He shook his head. “It was all very mysterious.”

  “They seem to want to help Sarah,” Carla suggested in a quiet voice.

  “Carla’s right,” Harriet said. “They mentioned that they thought Howard would try to make Sarah a scapegoat. They didn’t really say why they thought that, though.”

  Mavis got up and went to the drinks table.

  “I can see why they wouldn’t think Sarah was a killer.” She poured coffee into two cups and set them on the table in front of Connie and Beth. “Anyone else?” Robin raised her hand, and Mavis poured another cup. “The real question is why they think Howard would want to frame his own daughter for murder.”

  Harriet joined her and started pouring and handing out glasses of lemonade.

  “The obvious reason would be to avoid any negative publicity for the senior center and its new, probably expensive, memory care unit. Is that enough of a reason to sacrifice your own daughter?”

  Lauren twirled a chip into the guacamole and paused before popping it into her mouth.

  “Let’s keep in mind that Howard isn’t Sarah’s dad. He’s her stepdad—big difference.”

  “True,” Harriet said. “She referred to him as her father, but when she told us about Seth, she made it clear they weren’t blood relatives.”

  “The residents probably know the most about what goes on at that place, next to the family,” Aunt Beth said.

  “And they can move around more easily,” Mavis added. “If they get found where they shouldn’t be, they can always blame it on confusion.”