A Quilt in Time (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery) (35 page)

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.

“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.”