Make Quilts Not War (33 page)

“No one will believe you,” Aiden said and stood up.

“Don’t do anything foolish, hero,” Colm said. He slid the top of the gun back, chambering a round.

The door from the studio slammed open.

“Drop the gun and put your hands in the air,” Detective Morse said. “It’s over.”

Colm not only didn’t drop his gun, he grabbed Harriet by the arm and whirled her around so her back was pressed to his chest, his gun jammed into her neck.

“It’s over, Mr. Byrne,” Morse repeated. “This place is surrounded. Put your gun down and your hands in the air.” She slowly edged along the length of the kitchen bar, causing Colm to retreat, turning his back to the windows that flanked the kitchen table on two sides.

No one spoke for a moment.

“Remember what Robin is always trying to get us to do?” Morse commented.

Harriet stared at her. When Robin wasn’t driving her children all over Foggy Point, or using her skills as a lawyer to rescue her quilting friends from trouble, she taught yoga, something she was always trying to get the Threads to participate in, with varying degrees of success.

“Now!” Morse barked.

Everything happened at once. Harriet bent forward as if to touch her toes, her kitchen window shattered, and Colm Byrne fell forward onto her.

Aiden apparently had taken a step toward her because she heard Morse say “Stop.” She couldn’t see what was going on from the floor. She heard a metallic scrape, which must have been the gun being kicked away from Colm’s hand. He was so still, lying on top of her back, that she was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be grabbing it—or anything else, for that matter.

Her arm was screaming in pain—it was pinned under her with Colm Byrne’s weight pressing down on her.

“Clear,” she heard Morse yell, followed by the sound of feet shuffling into the kitchen.

Finally, Colm’s body was lifted off her, and Aiden gently took her by her good arm and pulled her to her feet.

The kitchen filled with crime scene-related personnel, and Harriet, Aiden and Detective Morse went into the dining room to regroup. Harriet’s bottom lip was quivering from the pain in her arm.

“Where are your pain meds?” Aiden asked.

“Upstairs in my bathroom,” she told him in a tight voice.

He looked at Morse.

“Okay if I go get her pain meds?”

Morse nodded.

“I need to ask you some questions,” she said, “but I can wait until your meds kick in, if you want.”

“I’m okay,” Harriet choked out, and then recounted Jenny’s
story one more time while Morse scratched notes as quickly as she could write.

“Here,” Aiden interrupted when he brought Harriet’s medication and a small glass of water. He had a bed pillow clenched under his arm, and he placed it gently under her damaged arm.

“Did you suspect Byrne was our killer when you invited him here?” Morse asked.

“Not even a little,” Harriet said in a shocked tone. “I was starting to wonder why he was so interested in me, though. He brought me CDs and T-shirts, and then he kept wanting to come for dinner. But he was a rock star, so who was I to question him?”

Aiden looked at her.

“You let your head be turned by the glitz and glamour of a rock star?”

“Better that than a crazy sister,” Harriet shot back.

“Children, please. You can fight all you want later. Let’s go back
to this,” Morse glanced at her notes. “Paisley. You said he found
her some years ago and just in time. Did he say what he did about it?”

“No, he didn’t. The implication was clear, though.”

“Any idea who Paisley was?”

“You need to talk to Jenny, not me. She knows all the players. I’m sure she’ll know who Colm Byrne really is when she finds out he’s had plastic surgery.” She yawned.

“She needs to lie down,” Aiden advised. “The pain meds make you sleepy.”

“I need to go get my bandage changed first,” Harriet held her arm up, displaying her blood-soaked sling. “Colm bled on me.”

Aiden jumped up.

“Come on, we have to get you to the emergency room.” He looked at Morse. “You can come with us if you want, but she needs this cleaned right away. We need to see if his blood got into her raw wound.”

Morse declined, and Aiden took Harriet to the hospital alone.

“Tom’s coming by after our Loose Threads meeting,” Harriet told her aunt Beth the following day. They were sitting in Harriet’s kitchen watching a workman spread caulking around the edges of the newly replaced window. “He’s heading back to Angel Harbor.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I don’t know,” Harriet sighed. “If Aiden weren’t in the picture, it would be an unqualified good thing, but even though I’m really unhappy with Aiden at the moment, I feel like we have unfinished business to deal with. But things with Tom are so easy.”

“Oh, honey, you know the easy way isn’t always the best way.”

“Not to change the subject, but you and Jorge seem to be spending a lot of time together these days.” Harriet’s eyes sparkled.

“He’s a lot of fun, and I think he enjoys my company, too, but there’s no reason for us to push to make it anything else at this point.” Beth picked up the candle that sat on the table, sniffed it and set it back down again.

“You wouldn’t let me get away with an answer like that,” Harriet said with a laugh.

“Oh, you hush, now.”

“Hello?” someone called from Harriet’s studio. Robin came through the connecting door, followed by DeAnn, Kissa on her hip.

“My, you’re getting big,” Beth said and took the baby from DeAnn. “You want some juice?” she asked her.

“No,” said Kissa.

“She says that to everything,” DeAnn explained. “She never turns down juice.”

Harriet stood up.

“There’s coffee in the pot and hot water in the kettle. Fix your drinks and meet me in the studio,” she said, still too uncomfortable to be more gracious.

Beth had set up the studio with chairs in a loose circle and the tables strategically placed to hold teacups and coffee mugs. Carla arrived, followed by Mavis then Connie and Lauren and, finally, Jenny.

“I’m really sorry,” Jenny began.

“You don’t have to apologize to any of us,” Connie said. “Everyone has a past and is entitled to keep it just that—in the past.”

“We’re sorry you had to have yours drug out for everyone to see and have an opinion about. None of us can say what we would do if we’d been in the same situation,” Mavis agreed.

“We care about the Jenny we know now,” said Aunt Beth, Kissa firmly planted on her hip with a sippy cup of juice clutched in her chubby hands.

“I appreciate your support, and I’m sure you all have questions. If I can answer anything, please ask me,” Jenny said. “It’s the least I can do after lying to you all these years.”

“Since we never asked you,” Lauren said, “it can’t even be considered a sin of omission. It’s more of a ‘we didn’t ask so you didn’t tell.’”

“I’d like to know who Colm Byrne is,” Harriet said. “I mean, we know who the invention is, but who is the man?”

“His name was Dennis. Dennis Smith.”

“Boy, it doesn’t get much more ordinary than that,” Lauren said.

“Dennis was anything but ordinary,” Jenny said. “He was the one who thought up the whole break-in scheme. He always had grand plans. And he always said he was going to be a rock star.” She gave a little laugh. “At least he achieved that goal—for a little while.”

“Are you in any trouble?” Carla asked.

“No. At least, not so far. When I disappeared, I mainly did it because I assumed that, with James dead, no one would know I was there as his informant. I was only fifteen when this happened, so my knowledge of the world and of how the police worked was limited. It turns out he’d documented everything. All that time, I was never a suspect. They wanted me to be a witness. On the other hand, I was in danger from my friends, so go figure—hiding from my perceived enemy saved me from my perceived friends.”

“I’m sure there’s a moral in there somewhere,” Lauren said.

“I’m just glad it’s all out,” Jenny said.

“Me, too,” Mavis said. “Now that we’re done with the sixties festival, we’ve got to get busy on our quilts for the women’s shelter.”

“No rest for the weary,” Connie said.

“Before we move on,” Beth said. “Anyone interested in how the festival did? We’re talking rough figures right now. It will take weeks to get all the secondary numbers in.”

Everyone nodded or murmured agreement.

“I went to a meeting with the main committee. Jorge was included, since he was a major part of the profits.”

A knock sounded on the door, interrupting Beth’s report before it got started. Harriet looked out the bow window and saw it was Aiden. She got up, grabbing her fleece jacket from a coat tree by the door.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, swirling the coat over her bound arm then putting her good arm in the sleeve.

“Can we talk?” Aiden said when she was outside.

“Sure, let’s walk down the driveway so we’re not in view of the Threads.”

“I wanted to see how your arm is doing,” he said. “It can’t feel great after all the cleaning they did last night.”

“No, it doesn’t feel great, but I’ll live. My temperature is almost back to normal, so the infection is better, but that’s not what you really wanted to talk about, is it?”

“I guess not. I mean, I do want to know how you’re doing, but I guess what I really want to know is has my sister ruined everything? Or do we have a chance?”

Harriet took a deep breath.

“Before we get started, I need to let you know that Tom is coming by any time now.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, of course not. I just don’t want you going nuts when he drives up.”

“Is that how you see me? Someone who’s ‘going nuts’ all the
time.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harriet said.

“But it’s clear that’s what you’re thinking.”

She grabbed his arm with her good hand and turned him toward her.

“We had a good thing going for a while—” Aiden started.

“Let me speak, please. I think you’ll agree, we had a great start to our relationship, but it seems like the first time things got rough, we couldn’t deal with it. It’s possible we could make things work again, but not if we try to pretend everything’s okay and try to just pick up where we left off. We need help, but if you’re not willing to change anything, we’re going to be spinning our wheels.”

“So that’s it? An ultimatum? Get help or else?”

“I didn’t say that. You know I don’t come from a traditional
family. My boarding school headmistresses didn’t teach me much about personal relationships with the opposite sex, and we both know how well my first husband and I communicated. My problem is—I can’t figure out how couples counseling will help if I don’t have the other half of a couple with me.”

He was silent for so long she thought their discussion was over. She’d started to turn back to the house when he spoke.

“Let me think about it.” The muscle in his jaw tightened. “Will you give me some time to do that?”

“Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll come by in a day or two to check Scooter’s back again where I had to scratch him,” he said.

“I guess I’ll see you then.”

She watched him walk back to his car, get in and drive down the driveway. She was still standing there when Tom’s truck pulled in. He rolled down his window, took one look at her face and stopped where he was. Without saying anything, he got out and carefully pulled her into a silent embrace.

END

Arlene Sachitano
was born at Camp Pendleton while her father was serving in the US Navy. Her family lived in Newport, RI, before settling in Oregon, where Arlene still resides.

Arlene worked in the electronics industry for almost thirty years, including stints in solid state research as well as production supervision. Arlene is handy, being both a knitter and a quilter. She puts her quilting knowledge to work writing the Harriet Truman/Loose Threads mystery series, which features a long-arm quilter as the amateur sleuth.

April Martinez
was born in the Philippines and raised in San Diego, California, daughter to a US Navy chef and a US postal worker, sibling to one younger sister. For years, she went from job to job, dissatisfied that she couldn’t make use of her creative tendencies, until she started working as an imaging specialist for a big book and magazine publishing house in Irvine and began learning the trade of graphic design. From that point on, she worked as a graphic designer and webmaster at subsequent day jobs while doing freelance art and illustration at night. April lives with her cat in Orange County, California, as a full-time freelance artist/illustrator and graphic designer.

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.

MAKE QUILTS NOT WAR

© 2013 by Arlene Sachitano

ISBN 978-1-61271-140-9 multiple format; 978-1-61271-141-6 EPUB

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 logo are trademarks of Zumaya Publications LLC, Austin TX. Look for us online at http://www.zumayapublications.com/enigma.php

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sachitano, Arlene, 1951-

Make quilts not war : a Harriet Truman/Loose Threads mystery / Arlene Sachitano.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-61271-139-3 (print/pbk. : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-61271-140-9 (electronic/multiple format : alk. paper) (print) — ISBN 978-1-61271-141-6 (electronic/epub : alk. paper) (print)

1. Quiltmakers—Fiction. 2. Mystery fiction. I. Title.