Frayed Edges

by Carol Dean Jones

  “I’d like that, and I’d get to see everyone,” Sophie responded eagerly. “What are you going to do?”

  “I thought I’d manage our white-glove crew. Quilters know all about white-glove ladies, but there will be non-quilters there who will have to be taught not to touch the quilts, and if they want to see the back, a lady in white gloves can carefully lift it for them.”

  “Should we make Do not touch signs?”

  “Ruth has some already, which we’ll post, but she told me that the signs tend to make people want to touch.”

  “So you don’t think I’ve created a monster?” Sophie asked, still sounding worried.

  “I think you created a great activity for our club. In fact, I’ve been thinking about making up a flyer about our Tuesday Night Quilters.”

  “That’s a great idea, Sarah. I’ll hand them out and talk about the group to any quilters who come.”

  “And point them to Ruth’s stand. She’ll be selling fabric and patterns, and she’s doing up a flyer about her classes. We just might recruit a few new quilters as well!”

  “If I have created a monster,” Sophie responded thoughtfully, “perhaps it will turn out to be a good monster.”

  Chapter 12

  The day finally came. Sarah and Sophie arrived at the Community Center at 8:00, and the custodian was waiting for them as planned. He let them into the auditorium, which had been enlarged to include the multipurpose room next door.

  Sophie gasped when she stepped into the room. “This is outstanding! I had no idea. …” She rested her right hand on her heart as her eyes traveled across the room, taking in the rows of quilts neatly hanging from wooden frames. “This looks just like a real quilt show,” she added.

  “It is a real quilt show,” Sarah responded with a chuckle as she put her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “And you did it!”

  “I had no idea. …” Sophie repeated, still mesmerized by the view.

  Pulling her friend out of her trance, Sarah said, “Okay, here is your place over here.” She led Sophie to a six-foot table already arranged with five chairs, pads of paper, a cup of pens, and several stacks of handouts that Ruth and her sister Anna had prepared in advance.

  “Why so many chairs? I thought this was just my job.”

  “Some of our club members will want to sit with you, and you might need help at some point. If the visitors come in droves, you’ll need help collecting their money and making change.”

  “Oh, I forgot about change,” Sophie exclaimed anxiously.

  “No problem,” Ruth responded, walking in the door at that moment. “I brought a few things from the shop, and here’s my cashbox loaded with small bills.” She placed the box on the table in front of Sophie, who was now sitting. “And here’s my hand calculator. You might not need this, but I can’t make change without it. I haven’t been able to subtract accurately since grade school.”

  “We’re all technology dependent these days,” Andy announced as he sauntered into the hall. He immediately turned his attention to the arrangement of the frames and said, “The boys did a nice job.” He and Charles had met the Hamilton crew the evening before and supervised the installation of the frames. Ruth and Sarah, along with a few of the club members, joined them later in the evening to oversee the hanging of the quilts. “Looks pretty good,” Andy added as he examined the first few frames in each row.

  Nathan, Ruth’s husband, entered pushing a large cart loaded with boxes and bolts of fabric. “Did they get your booth set up?” he asked his wife as he headed toward the area they had saved for her shop display.

  “I didn’t realize you were selling fabric by the yard,” Sarah commented. “Will you need help?”

  “Anna will be here before we open, and Nathan is great at cutting fabric. As for the bolts, I realized that we’ll have quilters here who will get inspired by the show and might want to buy fabric and patterns right away.”

  “That was a great idea, Ruth,” Sarah responded, following the Weavers back to their vendor booth.

  “I mostly brought reproduction fabrics from the 1800s and early 1900s, along with a large assortment of pre-cuts. Sophie,” she suddenly called out, “be sure to give everyone my flyer and tell them about the 20% coupon. It’s only good this weekend.”

  “Will do,” Sophie responded as she got organized at the welcome table. She had brought handwork but realized she probably wouldn’t have time to work on it. She remembered watching quilters at previous quilt shows working on their projects. “We should have had a raffle quilt,” she abruptly announced, remembering that most of the quilters she had seen at shows had been sitting by raffle quilts and sewing between customers. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

  “Next time,” Sarah called out from one of the aisles.

  “Where are you?”

  “Over here, looking at Mabel’s quilts. She sent two we didn’t see before. I think they are probably the oldest ones here. She said this one was made by her great-great-grandmother.”

  “Isn’t Mabel in her eighties?” Sophie hollered, wishing her friend would move closer. Sophie hadn’t admitted to anyone that she had been fitted for a hearing aid the previous week and was still learning how to use it. “That one must be at least 150 years old!”

  “At least,” Sarah responded.

  “A feast?” Sophie asked excitedly. “When?”

  “What are you asking about?” Charles inquired as he sat down by Sophie.

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were here.”

  “I just got here,” he responded. “Sarah sent me home to pick up some things she intended to bring.”

  “For the feast?” Sophie asked eagerly.

  “What feast?” Sarah asked as she approached the welcome table and gave her husband a brief hug. “What’s this about a feast?”

  “These darn hearing aids need an adjustment,” Sophie muttered under her breath.

  Two hours later, people began to arrive, and by 11:00 the parking lot was filled and a tour bus had just pulled up in front of the Center.

  “We should have arranged for a food vendor,” Sophie announced to anyone who would listen.

  “I’m sending people over to the café,” Sarah responded as she walked by the welcome table, “but they can only accommodate a few at a time. Tell people where the local restaurants are,” she added. We should have made a restaurant handout as well, Sarah realized. There’s more to throwing a quilt show than we thought.

  At the end of the day, as the last of the visitors were leaving, the group let out a collective sigh. “Well, that’s day one. Can we take another day like this?” Sarah asked rhetorically.

  “Tomorrow won’t be this busy since we’re only open from 1:00 to 5:00.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” Sophie responded. “We might have just as many people but scrunched into less time.”

  As Ruth walked up, Charles stood to give her his chair. “Such a gentleman you married,” she said to Sarah as she sat down with a deep exhalation. “What a day!”

  “Sales were good, I take it,” Sarah commented.

  “Phenomenal!” Ruth replied. “I’ll need to bring more bolts tomorrow. I sold most of the Civil War collection in the first few hours. Our customers loved the old quilts. You know, most quilt shows these days feature modern designs and bright, flashy fabrics, but I think the old-fashioned quilts still touch our souls like no others can.”

  “I agree,” Sophie responded. “They bring up buried memories for me. I don’t remember the specific quilts from my childhood, but I can feel the emotions as I look at these quilts. They take me back in time.”

  “To a simpler time?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, to a simpler time,” Sophie agreed.

  “I don’t know if it was actually any simpler,” Charles speculated. “Every generation of old folks talks about the ‘good old days,’ and I’ll admit that it sure seems simpler in retrospect, but if we were back there now, struggling financially and living w
ithout modern conveniences, we probably wouldn’t say it was simple.”

  The exhausted group sat quietly for a few minutes, contemplating what had been said when Charles suddenly announced, “Time for pizza. Let’s go, gang.”

  * * * * *

  Sarah and Charles got up late the next morning and prepared a pancake and bacon breakfast to build up their strength for another day of being on their feet. “I’m going to suggest that the club develop a list of things to do ahead of time in preparation for a quilt show.”

  “You’re going to do this again?” Charles asked doubtfully.

  “Not necessarily, but while the show is fresh on our minds, it would be a good chance to brainstorm and get it all down on paper, particularly the things we didn’t do but should have.”

  “Good idea, but I hope that next show doesn’t come along any time soon.”

  “Oh, it won’t,” Sarah responded as she put her hands on her lower back and stretched. “That was too much standing for all of us. And adding available resting places will be on the top of my list.”

  “How late do you think we’ll be staying tonight?” Charles asked.

  “The Hamilton crew will be coming immediately after we close the doors,” Sarah responded. “Ruth said it will probably take them an hour to get all the quilts down and another hour to dismantle the frames.”

  “What time are the quilters coming to pick up their quilts?”

  “Ruth and her husband had a splendid idea. They are taking the quilts home with them in their van. That will save lots of time this evening, and we won’t have the distraction of quilt owners coming and going. More coffee?”

  As Sarah was pouring their coffee, the phone rang. “Andy, good morning. I hope you are rested and ready for another day of …” She stopped talking abruptly and looked aghast.

  “What’s going on?” Charles asked when he saw the look on his wife’s face.

  Sarah hit the speaker button. “… gone,” Andy was saying.

  “Your quilt is gone?” Charles called out from across the room.

  “My quilt. All the quilts! They’re gone,” Andy responded in a shattered voice. “Every last quilt is gone.”

  Chapter 13

  Charles hurried across the kitchen, and Sarah handed him the phone. “What’s going on, Andy? It sounded like you said the quilts are gone. What are you talking about?”

  “I got here early to help Ruth restock her booth, and when we stepped into the auditorium, it was empty. Completely empty! Well, the frames are still here, but some of them are broken, and the quilts are gone. It looks like someone just yanked them off the frames and took off.”

  “How can that be?” Charles responded as he looked at his wife. Her palms were pressed against her cheeks, and her eyes were wide open in shock. She looked pale. He reached over and gently pulled her to his side and wrapped his arm around her.

  “What are we going to do, Charles?” Andy asked, sounding desperate. “I should have been here. I said I’d provide security, and I didn’t even stay, but I figured it was locked up …” Andy was blubbering at this point. “… and what are we going to tell these women, and, oh my, I just remembered Aunt Maddie. What will I tell her? I promised to take care of her quilt. …”

  “Andy,” Charles said sharply. “Breathe. I’m on my way over. Just sit tight. We’ll get to the bottom of this. He couldn’t have gotten far with them. He may have stashed them somewhere and was planning to come back for them. Have you notified Security?”

  “You know we don’t have a security force anymore,” Andy replied with obvious anger.

  “Right,” Charles responded, muttering a few unintelligible words. “The cost-saving initiative! Well, how about the custodian?”

  “Lonnie Dunkin is here. He’s the maintenance supervisor, but he doesn’t work nights.”

  “I know Lonnie,” Charles responded.

  Charles knew Lonnie Dunkin well. Charles had met him when Lonnie’s brother, Larry, was being tried and ultimately incarcerated for the murder of the foreman who built Charles and Sarah’s current home. Lonnie’s brother had sat by silently as Charles himself was arrested for the crime. Charles never blamed Larry for the death, believing that he was basically a good man and had only been acting in self-defense. Charles was instrumental in getting Lonnie the job as the maintenance supervisor for the Community Center and nursing home in Cunningham Village, and they developed a lasting friendship.

  “Tell Lonnie I want to speak with him. Has anyone called the police?”

  “I called over to the administrator’s office. Holbrooke said he’d take care of that. He’s on his way here now.”

  “Holbrooke,” Charles repeated. “That name sounds familiar.”

  “Jeff Holbrooke. You know him from the case this past summer,” Sarah whispered. “He’s the administrator of the nursing home and the Community Center.”

  “Right,” Charles said, returning his attention to Andy on the phone. “I’m on my way, buddy. Just sit tight.”

  “I’m going with you,” Sarah announced emphatically as Charles was hanging up.

  “Of course,” he responded, kissing her forehead.

  As they were heading toward the car, Sarah stopped suddenly. “I should call Sophie.”

  “We’ll call her from the Center. I want to see this for myself before we start telling people about it. There might be an easy explanation.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “No,” her husband admitted despondently. “I’m afraid not.”

  * * * * *

  Two police cars were pulling up as Sarah and Charles arrived. Detective Halifax looked at the approaching couple as he stepped out of the car. “I figured you’d be mixed up in this somehow,” he said gruffly but extended his hand to greet Charles. The two had a history together, primarily through their old lieutenant, Matt Stokely, who had died the previous year.

  “Hal,” Charles said as they shook hands. “You know my wife, Sarah.”

  “Sure do,” the detective said with a frown. “Where’s your sidekick today?” The detective was accustomed to seeing Sarah and Sophie together, usually at the police station being reprimanded for interfering in police business.

  Sarah simply smiled and said, “It’s good to see you, Detective Halifax. I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Halifax grunted and turned to a young cop standing nearby. “Is Holbrooke here yet?”

  “He’s over there.”

  “Excuse me, folks. I have work to do,” Halifax grumbled. He started to walk away, but stopped and turned toward the couple. “Stay put. I want to talk to you both.”

  “Is that his polite way of saying, ‘Don’t leave town’?” Sarah whispered. “Does he think we had something to do with this?”

  “Of course not, hon. That’s just his way. Let’s see if they’ll let us go inside. I want to get a look at the crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?” Sarah exclaimed. “Our nice quilt show has become a ‘crime scene’?”

  “It’s just police talk. A crime happened here, so it’s a crime scene. It doesn’t mean anything beyond that.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” Sarah declared adamantly.

  “What’s going on?” The voice was shrill and coming at them at a frightening speed.

  “Sophie! Slow that thing down before you kill yourself or somebody else. What are you doing on a mobility scooter anyway?”

  “Norman bought it for me. Isn’t it great? Now I can go all over the community without my car. Do you want to take a ride?”

  Before Sarah could find the words to respond to her outrageous friend, Sophie noticed the police cars. “Hey,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “You take your friend aside,” Charles said, “and catch her up while I see if I can get past the yellow tape. Maybe Hal can get me in.”

  “What’s going on?” Sophie repeated, beginning to realize it was something big.

  “Drive over her
e by the benches where we can talk,” Sarah responded as she led the way, hoping not to get run over. Once they were settled, Sarah told Sophie what little she knew, and, as expected, her friend was horrified.

  “Our quilts? All our quilts? This can’t be. I have to get home and get my card file. We have work to do!” As a self-proclaimed amateur sleuth, Sophie had developed a card file method for recording clues, which she believed had been instrumental in solving several crimes in the community.

  “Calm down, Sophie, and stay right here. We’re waiting to see what happened. Charles is inside now, and I saw Detective Halifax go in right after him. Charles will get the facts. All I know is what Andy told me this morning. All the quilts were missing from the auditorium when he went in.”

  Sometime later, Sarah saw Charles and Detective Halifax, followed by Jeffery Holbrooke, heading toward them. The detective looked angry. “What do you mean you had no control over who came in?” he was saying, obviously to the administrator. “This is a gated community. How did all those people get through the gate without signing in?”

  “We don’t sign people in anymore. We have a keypad, and you just punch in your code, or, if you’re a visitor, you call in, and the resident can buzz you in.”

  “That’s not what I asked. How did the visitors to the quilt show get in?”

  “Well, at first they called into the Community Center, and we buzzed them in, but …”

  “Yes?” the detective was attempting to remain calm but looked exasperated.

  “Well, there were just too many, and it was continuous, so we opened the gate.”

  “And just let everyone in?” the detective asked.

  “Yes, but …”

  “So much for security,” the detective grumbled. “Did you folks know about this?” he asked, turning to Charles and Sarah.

  “Security isn’t our responsibility,” Andy said in an angry voice as he joined the group. “That’s management’s job,” he added, giving Holbrooke an intense look. Andy had played a key role in the fight against management’s desire to save money by eliminating the security guard at the front gate. His side lost, and guards were replaced by keypads the previous year.