A Quilt in Time (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery) (4 page)

Connie looked around at her friends.

“What could I do? Would you want your loved one to be sitting there with a stained rag around their neck when the whole community troops past their room during the open house?”

“Still.” DeAnn joined the discussion. “That’s a lot of work to take on at such short notice.”

“Isn’t the senior center where Rod’s aunt lived before she died?” Robin asked. “I thought Rod said you were unhappy with how they handled things.”

“Is that why you volunteered?” Lauren asked, her eyes bright with excitement. “Are you going undercover?”

“That’s not a good idea,” Robin cautioned. “If you have some reason to believe there was anything suspicious about the way Rod’s aunt was treated, you need to hire an attorney or go to the authorities, depending on what you’re thinking happened.”

“I like it,” Lauren said. “Count me in. Harriet?” She looked at her friend.

“I’m not playing private eye, but I’d be happy to make some bibs.”

“Me, too,” DeAnn offered.

“If they’re not too hard to make, I can try,” Carla said.

“You can work with me,” Connie told her. “I’m sure you’d be fine on your own. They’re pretty simple. But it will go faster if we work together, and Rod can keep Wendy busy.”

In the end, everyone took a bib pattern and committed to making a few.

“Now that the bibs are taken care of, let’s get back to the shelter quilts,” Harriet said. “Carla is going to make baby quilts, Aunt Beth and Mavis are going to make the pet covers and lap quilts for the new room. Connie will make a bed-sized quilt. I can make another bed quilt. Anyone else?”

“I’ll do a bed quilt, too,” Robin volunteered.

Lauren raised her hand without saying anything.

“I’ll make one, too,” Marjory said from the doorway, where she was sweeping threads from the floor. “If that’s okay with you all.”

“Of course,” Harriet said.

“Put me down for one,” said DeAnn.

“Maybe we can get Detective Morse and some of our other friends who sew to make pillow cases to coordinate with the quilts,” Beth suggested.

“We better get busy,” Harriet stood up. “Did you get any information about what sort of fabric we should use for the bibs?” she asked Connie.

“Let me show you.”

Connie pulled Harriet’s copy of the pattern out of its plastic sleeve. The rest of the quilters gathered around.

Harriet stopped the long-arm quilting machine when she heard a knock on her studio door. Aiden came in as she grabbed the knob to open it. He brushed past her and stormed into her work space.

“Come on in.”

“Something’s wrong,” he blurted. He spun around to face her.

“You want to tell me about it? Sit down.” She pointed to one of the wing back chairs and then went to sit in the other one.

“It’s Rachel,” he said, crossing his legs and bouncing his foot then uncrossing them again.

“Rachel?”

“Sarah’s cat.”

Harriet let her breath out, having briefly feared he was about to confess some previously unknown transgression that had come out in his weekly therapy session.

“What about her cat?” She got up and poured a cup of coffee from the thermal carafe on the library table then pressed it into his hands.

“Drink this,” she said.

He sipped it and began again.

“I think Rachel is being abused.”

“Oh, Aiden, I can’t believe that. Sarah may be many things, but she loves that cat.”

“I know that. I don’t think it’s her. That’s why I’m here. I think Sarah herself is a victim of violence.”

Harriet leaned toward him.

“What makes you think that?”

“She brought Rachel in this morning with a broken leg and a story about the cat trying to jump on the counter and slipping. She said she fell wrong when she hit the floor.”

“Cats don’t fall wrong, do they?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but a young healthy cat like Rachel? Not likely. And falling from the height of a kitchen counter it’s
really
not likely. Fortunately, it was a clean break and should heal without complication. When I told Sarah that, she asked if Rachel could stay at the clinic until her leg healed. I told her it wasn’t necessary and that I couldn’t just keep her there. Then she started crying and asked if I knew of anyone who could take her into foster care.”

“Wow.”

“Her tears washed some of her makeup off, and she was covering up a black eye. I took a good look at her then and realized she didn’t look like herself. She was wearing baggy clothes—she’s lost a lot of weight. I asked about it, but she denied it.”

“What did she say?”

“That everything was fine. I asked if I could help her, suggested she call the domestic violence hotline. I asked if I could call anyone for her. I told her I could get your aunt or Mavis to come pick her up.”

“She wouldn’t go for any of it?”

“Nope. She said she was fine, that she just needed a place for Rachel. I agreed to keep the cat for a couple of days to see if we can find someone, but Rachel is clearly the least of her problems.”

“She has been pretty withdrawn from the group lately. And now that you mention it, Lauren thought she saw bruises on Sarah’s neck a few months back. We’ve all tried to reach out to her, but she’s not having it.”

“Do you know her boyfriend?” Aiden set his cup down on the pie-crust table.

“She’s been very secretive about him. She lives at his cabin most of the time, but several of the Threads have dropped in unannounced and no one has ever caught him there. She’s always alone.”

“Are you sure he exists?”

“Jorge has seen him. He says he’s a good-looking smooth talker. Sarah hasn’t talked much about him with any of us, as far as I know. She says general stuff—how smart he is, and how successful—but nothing specific. And it’s been a while since she’s even done that.”

“I don’t want to be overly dramatic, but I think your friend is in trouble. As part of our continuing education program at the clinic, we’ve had two training sessions put on by the Humane Society on the topic of domestic violence toward pets, and that’s just since I’ve been here.

“They told us that people who abuse and/or kill people often hone their craft on neighborhood pets. It was kind of creepy. The speaker said the police figure if they vigorously pursue these people while they’re in the animal phase, they may be able to prevent them from escalating. We vets are supposed to be the front-line offense.”

“I tried to tell Sarah once things wouldn’t get better without her getting help, but I could tell I wasn’t getting through. She would only talk about the cat. Listen, let me talk to my aunt and Mavis and maybe Robin. They’ll have ideas about what we can do.”

“Thanks.” Aiden set his barely touched cup on the table and stood up. “That’s all I can ask.”

“How are
you
doing?” Harriet asked. Before she thought about what she was doing, she stood, too, and slipped her arms around his waist. He put his around her shoulders.

“No one said therapy would be easy, and it isn’t.” He sighed. “My therapist tells me things will get better. And he keeps telling me to eat, rest and exercise a little.”

“Sounds like good advice. I’m glad you’re doing it.”

“If this is what it takes for us to be us, it will be worth it. I never said I was going to enjoy the process. Especially the part where we can’t really be together.”

Harriet was silent.

“I know, we can’t talk about it. I better go. I’ve got appointments. I just wanted to get you and the Threads on the job with Sarah.”

She laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

“Let me know what you find out and what you decide to do.”

Robin shook the rain from her jacket and put it on the back of her chair before she sat down at the big table in the back room at Tico’s Tacos.

“DeAnn said to tell you she got your message and she’ll be late because she’s got playground duty this week at lunch time.”

“I know it was short notice for everyone,” Harriet said from the doorway, “but Aiden stopped by my place on his way to work this morning, and I didn’t think this could wait.”

Aunt Beth and Mavis arrived a few minutes later, followed by Connie and then Carla. Jorge brought baskets of warm tortilla chips and bowls of red and green salsa.

“Are you going to let us in on the mystery?” Aunt Beth asked.

Harriet pulled the door shut and joined them at the table.

“Sorry, but this isn’t the sort of problem that can be discussed over the phone. Lauren said she’s coming. I was hoping to wait until everyone got here before I go into it.”

“Lauren’s present. Are we taking roll call?” She came in and shut the door behind her before sitting down across from Harriet. “I take it from the locked door that we’re telling secrets on someone.”

Harriet stood up.

“Aiden stopped by this morning with some disturbing information,” she began. “Sarah brought her cat into the clinic with a broken leg she said was from a fall. Aiden doesn’t believe it—he thinks the cat is a victim of domestic violence.”

Connie sat straighter in her chair.

“Sarah would never hurt that cat,” she said.

“Hold on,” Harriet told her. “He didn’t say he thought Sarah hurt the cat. He thinks Sarah is also a victim. She was trying to get someone to foster Rachel, and when Aiden said he couldn’t take her, she started crying and when her makeup ran, he could see she had a black eye.”

“Diós mio.”

“She
has
been acting weirder than usual for months,” Lauren said and popped a chip into her mouth.

“And you said you saw bruises on her neck that one time, too,” Harriet reminded her.

“I did. It looked like someone had choked her. She tried to cover it but her scarf slipped.”

“How could we have missed this?” Aunt Beth leaned back and massaged her temple with her fingertips.

“She hasn’t been around for us to miss anything,” Robin reminded everyone. “Pulling away from friends is typical of women who are experiencing domestic violence.”