Disappearing Nine Patch (A Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 9) (8 page)

Sunday morning was blue-sky beautiful in Foggy Point. The temperature was mild enough the Loose Threads had left their customary fleece and rain jackets at home and were able to gather outside the main doors to the church.

Mavis opened a large flowered bag and started pulling gallon plastic zipper bags from its interior and handing them to each of her group members.

“I divided the fabric evenly so each of us will be making four parent nine-patch blocks. I’ll make the extra one. I was thinking, if everyone agrees, we can cut them and then sew the daughter blocks in the same setting we used on the other quilts. That way we’ll only need to do a couple more seams when we get them back together.”

Carla looked at her bag and then back up at Mavis.

“Are we going to put a border on any of them?”

“Good question,” Lauren said, causing Carla’s cheeks to redden. “I looked on the Internet and there’s no clear precedent. Some people do, some don’t.”

“Maybe we should wait until we have the tops together,” Harriet suggested. “Do we have enough of any of the fabrics we’re already using for the blocks?”

“We have plenty of the green left on this last one,” Mavis said.

“I think that’s true for all three of them, but I agree, we need to see how they look when the tops are together,” Beth suggested. “Green may not look best. Unless there was a run on our lavender or creme choices, we should be in good shape. The bolts were new or nearly so when we bought the fabric.”

Robin tucked her fabric into her shoulder bag.

“If that’s settled, I’ve given some thought to Beth’s predicament.”

The Threads who knew about the tire slashing interrupted her for a moment to explain the situation to those who didn’t.

“Okay to continue?” she asked finally, and everyone stopped talking. “I think I’d like to talk to Juana’s social worker tomorrow. First of all, she needs to attempt to counsel the woman about her behavior. But second, I’d like to suggest that they find her something to do at the shelter workshop as an alternative to us pressing criminal charges against her. I know they lost a contract, but I think they’ll make an exception.”

Aunt Beth sighed.

“Oh, honey, that’s a brilliant solution. I don’t want them to take her to jail, but she can’t be left to do who-knows-what else if they don’t do
something
.”

“While I’m talking to the social worker, I’ll ask if they can put any sort of tracker on Juana. I know that sort of device is available for dementia patients. Maybe they could put something in her purse so they can tell if she’s headed out your way.”

Harriet nudged her aunt.

“I’d still park in the garage,” she said in a quiet tone.

“I would, but my door clicker doesn’t work anymore,” Beth replied.

Lauren leaned in from Beth’s other side.

“I’ll come over and check it out. You might just need a new battery. Will you be home later?”

Beth agreed she would as the rest of the group went back to debating the border vs. no border issue then eventually left to begin the rest of their Sunday.

Harriet was feeling pleased with herself. The Honda dealership had called to see if she was going to need a ride in the courtesy shuttle they provided. She was able to leave her car and get a ride to Aunt Beth’s early enough to try out the new coffee cake recipe that had just come out of her oven.

“What are you doing here so early?” Beth asked.

She explained the change in plans and settled at her aunt’s kitchen table.

“I’m guessing Lauren got your garage door fixed, since I don’t see your car.”

“It was crazy. She brought a can of lubricant and sprayed it on those rail things the door rolls into. All of a sudden, my door opener worked.”

Harriet smiled.

“She’s a technical wizard, that one. I’m assuming Jorge put your spare tire on last night. If not I better go out and do that.”

“Of course he did. And you shouldn’t make fun of Lauren,” Beth scolded. “She’s very handy, and you know I like to keep things in working order.”

“She can take it. And since when did you start closing your garage door?” Harriet took a forkfull of coffee cake. “This is really good.”

“I’m learning from Jorge. Everything’s better with butter, according to him.”

“He may be on to something.”

“Speaking of being on to something, do you have any ideas about Molly’s problem?”

“Not really. It’s on my list today to check in with Lauren and see if she’s been able to find anything out about Leo Tabor. He’s that guy that was run out of town for being a sex predator right after Amber disappeared.”

“I think that would be barking up the wrong tree.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He worked at The Vitamin Factory for Avanell. Well, not directly for Avanell, but she knew him.”

Avanell was Aiden’s mom and Aunt Beth’s best friend next to Mavis. She’d died the previous year.

“So, what did she say about him?”

Aunt Beth rubbed her finger up and down over the curve of her teacup handle.

“She couldn’t exactly say anything, being that he worked at her company and anything he might have revealed to her would have been confidential.”

“Okaaay.” Harriet drew the word out. “What did she say to make you think he didn’t have anything to do with Amber?”

“She said she couldn’t tell me what had really gone on with him, but things were not what they seemed regarding his sexual predator conviction. He told her how it came about, and she believed him. She said there was evidence to support what he’d told her, but again, it was all confidential.”

“That’s all very mysterious.”

“I know she felt strongly enough about it that she told me she gave him a good severance check and a glowing recommendation when she couldn’t talk him into to staying.”

Harriet tilted her chair back.

“Well, heck. He was my only line of inquiry so far.”

Beth pursed her lips.

“Don’t get all riled up. He might still be a source of information if you handle it just right.”

“I’ll be the soul of discretion.” The front chair legs thumped as she leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

“One of the reasons the police questioned him in the first place is because he’d taken Amber to the station before. He lived one street over on the corner where the neighborhood street crossed a much busier Stephens Street. Apparently, Amber was always wandering around, and he’d brought her back to her house more than once.

“Finally, one day he drove her to the police station and told them maybe they could convince her mother to keep her home before she got run over.”

“Do you think this could be as simple as she got run over, and someone panicked and hid the body? I mean, we know the girls were playing together. Maybe they were both hit, Amber was killed, and Molly was unconscious. Whoever did it could have buried Amber and left Molly near the homeless camp where she would be sure to be found.”

Beth toyed with the edge of her napkin.

“I suppose anything’s possible. Without anyone finding Amber’s body in all these years, though, I’m not sure how you’d prove it. Beyond that, I don’t know how you’d figure out who did it. It’s been something like twenty years.”

Harriet rested her chin in her hand and stared out the window.

“I assume Molly was in the hospital after they found her. Did she have a head injury?”

Aunt Beth looked up at the ceiling as she thought. Finally, she shook her head.

“I just don’t remember. It’s been so long. I would have thought DeAnn would say something if her sister’d had any permanent damage from a head injury.”

“I think I’ll check with Detective Morse and see if they considered the accident possibility.”

“If that girl got hit in the head, it might explain a lot.”

Harriet took her plate and cup to the sink and rinsed them off.

“We better get moving. You’ve got clothes sorting, and I’ve got chores, and we need a new tire before we can do either one.”

“What are you doing here at this time of day?” Harriet asked Lauren as she sat down opposite her at the computer table in the Steaming Cup.

“I’m trying to work.”

Harriet picked up her frappuccino.

“I can move.”

“Sit down. It’s not you. I’m done doing anything productive anyway. For reasons unknown, the boat sales people below my apartment are working on a motor in the parking lot. They have a repair shop out on Miller Hill so why they’re working in the parking lot today I’ll never know. It involves a lot of motor revving, which makes it impossible for me to work. I put my earphones on, but I could feel the vibration, and I swear I could hear it a little bit, too.”

“Hopefully, it’ll only be for today.”

“They better be done when I get home. Enough about me, what are
you
doing out and about?”

“Catching up on everything I put off while I was doing those quilts. My car’s in the shop, my dining room drapes are at the cleaners, I picked up Scooter’s prescription dog food, took my cans to the recycling depot…need I go on?”

“Sounds awful.”

“It felt good to get some things done. I started the day at my aunt’s. I’ve got her car while my brakes are being fixed. Anyway, she told me a little more about Leo Tabor.”

“The pedophile who was run out of town on a rail?”

“Yeah, only Aunt Beth says that Avanell told her things were not as they seemed. She didn’t tell her what, but she was on Leo’s side. Then she said apparently, Leo had found Amber wandering the neighborhood on numerous occasions and finally took her to the police when she was out on the main road by herself.”

Lauren picked up her coffee and took a sip.

“So, maybe she was run over?”

“Yeah, that was my thought. Amber is killed, Molly gets knocked out, someone gets scared and covers it up.”

“It’s still bad, but not nearly the sort of bad Molly is thinking.”

Lauren tapped a few keys on her laptop.

“I did a little digging on him after we talked last time.”

She turned the computer around so Harriet could see her notes on the screen.

“He came back to Foggy Point. He and his wife worked overseas for six years—she’s a teacher, and they both taught English in Thailand. Looks like they rented their house out and then moved back in when they came back. It appears they’re retired now.”

“Aunt Beth thought he might be willing to talk to us if we approached it right.”

Lauren smiled.

“You know I’m the soul of tact. As my mother always said, ‘a closed mouth gathers no foot.’ Speaking of which, don’t turn around, but the happy couple just walked in and headed to a corner table.”

“Which happy couple?”

“Molly and her published poet.”

Harriet rolled her eyes to the ceiling and blew out a breath.

“Are you free now? If you are, maybe we can swing by Leo’s and see what he thinks about the accident theory.”

“I’m done here.”

“Let’s get out of here before Molly notices us. I don’t think I can do another ‘No, I haven’t found out anything yet’ conversation.”

Leo Tabor lived in an older, well-kept yellow house with a small front yard bordered by landscaped flowerbeds. A white picket fence extended on either side of an arched, gated entry. Harriet lifted the latch and led the way to the covered porch.

A chubby balding man dressed in khaki work clothes opened the door when she knocked.

“Can I help you?”

“My name is Harriet Truman, and this is my friend Lauren Sawyer. We’re friends of a woman named Molly Baker, and she’s asked us to look into an incident that happened when she was a small child.”

Leo—Harriet assumed that’s who he was—stiffened, and his jaw muscles tightened. He slid his hand to the doorknob.

“My aunt, Beth Carlson, suggested we talk to you. She is…was a friend of Avanell Jalbert,” she said in a rush.

At the mention of Avanell’s name, Leo relaxed slightly but kept his hand on the doorknob.

“What is it you want from me?”

Harriet took a deep breath. She knew if she didn’t word things just right, he would slam the door in her face, and that would be the end of any cooperation from him.

“Aunt Beth told us that Amber was in the habit of wandering the neighborhood unaccompanied. She said you’d even called the police about it.”

Leo’s shoulders sagged.

“Would you like to come in?” he asked and held the door open.

Harriet looked at Lauren and, seeing no objection, went inside.

“Wow,” she said as her eyes adjusted to the light. Quilts were draped over the backs of the sofa, the side chairs, and hung on a multi-quilt display rack. Most were Baltimore Album style and appeared to have been hand-quilted. On one wall, there were Mola-style reverse-appliqué pieces.

“My wife Janet is a quilter.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t seen any of her work at the local shows.”

“Would you like some iced tea or lemonade?” He looked at them and they both nodded.

“Lemonade would be nice,” Lauren said and Harriet nodded her agreement.

“Janet is working in the back garden. I’ll go get her.”

Lauren stepped closer to the display rack.