The 12 Quilts of Christmas

by Arlene Sachitano

  “Does anyone else find it interesting that Smokey Joe is avoiding people and is an arsonist?” she asked when the rest of the group was seated with their drinks and snacks.

  “You mean, since we had an arson fire last night?” Mavis asked.

  Beth stirred a packet of sweetener into her tea and took a sip to test it for sweetness.

  “It’s hard not to make the connection. I mean, we haven’t had an arson fire in this town in I don’t know how many years.”

  Connie broke her molasses cookie in half and dunked a corner into her tea before biting it.

  “Do you think he could be our killer?”

  Harriet leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath.

  “Anything’s possible, I guess. You have to wonder what his motive would be.”

  Lauren arrived, and after getting her drink and a scone came over to the Loose Threads table.

  “Did you guys just get back from the homeless camp?”

  Harriet nodded.

  “I thought you had to work.”

  “I had a client call, but it finished sooner than I thought it might. I’ve got a little time before my next client, so I snuck out for a snack.”

  “Do you know Smokey Joe’s real name?” Harriet asked her.

  “Smokey who?”

  Beth laughed. “I guess not.”

  Harriet put her hands around her mug to warm them.

  “He’s that guy Joyce asked Luke and I about the other day. He was planning on wintering over in the camp, and now he seems to be absent.”

  “But,” Connie added. “They think he might be staying there, but keeping out of sight.”

  “And,” Mavis finished, “he has arson is his past.”

  Lauren took a bite of her scone and thought.

  “Do you know his real name?” She looked at Harriet. “Of course you don’t. That’s what you want me to do. Have you asked Morse? They have databases of street names.”

  Connie sipped her tea. “We just found out about the arson.”

  Lauren took in a big breath and let it out slowly.

  “I need to go out to the camp anyway—I bought them a solar-powered stove for Christmas, and I need to deliver it. If they know his real name, I have a chance of finding out who he is and maybe if he might have an axe to grind with our dead people.”

  “That would help us confirm whether he might be involved,” Mavis said.

  Harriet chewed on a bite of her tree.

  “At this point, all we have is a bunch of theories and no way to confirm or eliminate any of them.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Harriet needed to finish stitching a table runner for James’s mother, and Connie and Beth both had holiday projects that needed to be done; so they all decided to stay at Harriet’s to work on them. Mavis didn’t have a critical project, but she decided to stay. too, and work on her wool appliqué.

  Beth filled and plugged in the electric kettle, and Mavis dug around in Harriet’s kitchen cupboard, finally coming out with a box of gingersnaps.

  “I know none of us need any more cookies, but we should have a few available in case of emergency.”

  “Good idea,” Beth agreed.

  Connie brought a floor-stand Ott light to her chair and settled in to stitch.

  “I appreciate that we’re having winter weather at Christmas time, but I hate these days where it never really gets light all day.”

  “I hear you,” Beth said as she threaded her needle.

  Harriet focused on the table runner in her lap, and the next time she looked up, an hour had passed. She stood up to stretch and saw Robin’s car pulling into the driveway.

  Moments later, Robin came in and immediately made herself a cup of tea.

  “I know it’s supposed to be warmer today, but with the drizzle it feels so cold.”

  Harriet slid another chair over to the table.

  “What brings you our way?”

  “I had an errand out this direction and thought I’d take a chance at finding someone home. I had to file some papers at the courthouse this morning, so I stopped by the planning department and then the building permits desk. None of them know about any active plans to redevelop the downtown area.”

  “What does that mean—active plans?” Mavis asked.

  “According to them, at any given time there are entities scheming on redeveloping downtown. They said most of the time nothing comes of it. Either their financing falls through, they require variances the city won’t give them, or they can’t get key building owners to sell.”

  Harriet set her table runner down.

  “So they might not know if someone was trying to drive the current business owners out.”

  Robin set her mug down.

  “That’s what I got out of the discussion. So, we still don’t know if that’s the motive for the murders or the blackmail or both.”

  Beth handed her the box of gingersnaps. “Thanks for checking.”

  While Robin fished out a cookie, Harriet explained what they’d learned at the homeless camp. Beth and Connie had texted the Threads who hadn’t been in town the night before, letting them know about the fire.

  “That’s an interesting development,” Robin said. “Do we know if Smokey Joe’s conviction was in Washington?”

  Beth frowned. “No, we don’t. I didn’t think to ask.”

  Harriet’s phone rang, and she stepped away from the table to answer.

  “That was James,” she said when she came back. “He needs me to go pick up some dill for his tea sandwiches. He said his small private dining room is available if we want to come have tea sandwiches and soup for lunch.”

  Beth stuffed her stitching back into her bag. “I’m in.”

  “Me, too,” Connie quickly added.

  Mavis put her stitching away. “I’ll take your dogs out while you unplug the kettle.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Harriet drove, and her aunt rode in the passenger seat. Harriet smiled to herself as Beth leaned forward to check for traffic, completely blocking her own view of the street to her right.

  “Is it clear?” she asked.

  Beth continued looking a moment longer before answering.

  “Have you noticed that gray car before,” she asked, gesturing at a sedan that was pulled off the road halfway into Harriet’s neighbor’s hedge.

  Harriet turned onto the street and drove past the car in question.

  “Now that you mention it, I saw a car that looked like that one yesterday when I went for my morning run. It wasn’t parked there, though. It was on the other side of the road down the hill a little way.”

  “Does it belong to one of your neighbors?” Beth asked.

  “As I’m sure you know, Detective Morse’s grandmother owns the house next to mine through the hedge. She’s a snowbird, so nobody is there this time of year. Jane comes about once a month to check things over, but she’s the only one. The people on the other side of me have already left to visit relatives in the Midwest for the holidays, so I doubt they’re having many visitors.”

  Beth adjusted the heater.

  “Given what’s been going on, you might mention it to Detective Morse.”

  “I’ll mention it to James and Luke so they can keep an eye out, too, but Morse has bigger fish to fry right now.”

  Beth turned in her seat and shared an exasperated look with Connie and Mavis. Harriet ignored her and drove on to the grocery store to pick up the dill.

  James met them at the door and gave Harriet a quick kiss and a smile before taking the bundle of dill and whisking it away to the kitchen. Connie stopped in the foyer to speak to a group of retired teacher friends who were waiting to be seated while Harriet, Beth, Robin, and Mavis went on to the small dining room. A waiter dressed in a festive holiday-patterned vest over his usual white shirt and black pants came in immediately and took their orders, returning with a stack of small plates and a tray of tea sandwiches.

  “Where did James l
earn to make these delicious little sausage rolls?” Mavis asked.

  Harriet finished eating her own roll before answering.

  “Who knows? He’s always getting cookbooks and then experimenting. He found an old British cookbook at the thrift store, and it had a lot of re-cipes for tea treats, so it probably came from there.”

  “As a matter of fact, it did,” James said as he came in carrying another tray of savory treats. “I hope you don’t mind not having the usual selection of tea sandwiches. I mix them up a little from one sitting to the next, since some people come here with more than one group, and I don’t want them to have to eat the exact same thing. You’re getting some from the earlier batch and the rest from the upcoming selections.”

  Beth squeezed his hand when he set the tray down.

  “Honey, anything you make is wonderful. We don’t care what sitting they come from.”

  He stood aside as his waiter brought a tray laden with small soup bowls.

  “Before I forget,” he said to Harriet, “I’ll be home a little late tonight. Valery Melnyk’s family is having a service for him tomorrow, and of course, they want food.”

  “I guess that means they confirmed his identity,” Harriet said. “The last we heard, his face was so battered they weren’t sure.”

  James took a crustless smoked cheese sandwich from her plate and popped it into his mouth.

  “The guy that came by here, his great-uncle, I think, said the police tried to put him off, but he told them the family came from Ukraine, and they have to go back Friday. He identified the body. I guess Valery had a distinctive tattoo on his shoulder, and that was good enough for the police.”

  “Can I do anything to help?” Harriet asked.

  “No, he doesn’t want anything too complicated. He did ask me to spread the word about the service, since they don’t know anyone locally, and they don’t really have time to put it in the paper.”

  Harriet looked from her aunt to Mavis and Connie. “Shall we go?”

  Robin had an appointment, but the rest agreed.

  “I’d hate to have his family hold the service in an empty church,” Mavis said. “Especially when they’ve come this far.”

  “And he was an important part of our downtown business association,” Beth added.

  “That’s settled, then,” Connie said. “I’ll find out what time it is. I know Valery attended the Catholic Church; I’ll call when we’re done here.”

  Harriet sat at the kitchen table opposite Luke, a notepad and pencil in front of her. James had come home from the restaurant late and exhausted and had gone upstairs to shower and go to bed.

  “Okay, who do you still need to shop for?”

  “I still need to get something for my half-brother.” Luke ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what kids that age like.”

  “Music? Video games? Clothes?” Harriet suggested.

  “But how do I know which one of those things?”

  “You never know for sure what a person wants unless they tell you, so you just make your best guess. And we can look on the computer for the most popular gifts for boys that age.”

  “He has two younger half-sisters he lives with.”

  “It might be nice to get them something, too. I can help you with that.”

  “I’d like to get something for Aunt Beth, too. She’s always doing nice stuff for me, like the flannel pajama pants she made and the hat she knitted for me.”

  “That’s very sweet of you. She’s easy—she likes fabric and yarn and pretty much anything crafty.”

  Luke took the pad and started a list.

  “Who else?” Harriet asked.

  The house phone ringing interrupted them; he got up and answered. He listened a moment and then held the receiver out to Harriet, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

  “It’s for you. It’s Marcia from the horse barn. Something happened, but she’s talking so fast I can’t tell what she’s saying.”

  Harriet took the phone from him and listened.

  “Marcia, slow down…Okay, we’ll be right there.” She hung up and turned to Luke. “I’m still not sure what she was saying. Apparently, the horses are okay. It sounds like someone broke in and something happened involving Becky and Major.” She tore Luke’s list off the pad and quickly wrote a note to James. “I doubt he’ll wake up while we’re gone, but we’ll leave a note just in case.”

  Luke already had their coats out of the closet. He handed Harriet hers and got into his, pulling his hat from one pocket and gloves from the other. Harriet followed suit and grabbed her purse and keys on the way to the garage.

  “I wonder what happened that would involve Becky and Major and not any other horses?” she said.

  Luke slid into the passenger seat and fastened his seatbelt.

  “Major’s stall is next to Becky’s,” he said.

  Harriet backed out of the garage and pointed the car toward the street.

  “Whatever it is may have to do with those specific horses, or they may just be located in part of the barn that someone needed access to. Have you noticed anything they keep in the barn that would be worth stealing?”

  Luke thought for a moment.

  “The tack room, I guess. Emily told me some of the saddles are pretty pricey.”

  “Seems like a weird thing to steal. I mean, where would you fence them?”

  “People who steal stuff to fund their drug habits aren’t mental giants. They don’t think very many steps ahead when they’re doing this stuff. This guy, if it was a robbery, probably planned on showing up at his usual pawn shop with a bunch of silver-trimmed bridles and saddles.”

  “Maybe. I don’t remember where the tack room is, but I don’t think it’s close to Becky, is it?”

  “No, you’re right, it’s at the front of the barn where you cross-tie the horses. Becky and Major are in the middle of the row of stalls.”

  The equestrian center was lit up brighter than downtown Foggy Point when Harriet pulled into the driveway. Several police cruisers were parked outside the barn, and an SUV with K9 printed on both sides was parked farther away. Its back door was open, an officer holding a Belgian Malinois search dog straining at its leash, nose to the ground, anxious to start tracking.

  Harriet zipped her coat and tugged her gloves on.

  “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

  Marcia Hamilton was just inside the barn door, holding Becky’s lead rope. Emily held Major farther back in the aisle. The big horse whinnied when he caught sight of Luke. Luke strode over, and Major began rubbing his large head on Luke’s chest. Emily handed Luke the lead rope and joined Marcia and Harriet.

  “Should Luke and I take these two for a walk in the arena?”

  “Is that okay with you?” Marcia asked Harriet and, when she nodded, handed the lead rope to Emily. Emily motioned for Luke to join her.

  “So, what’s going on?” Harriet asked as they watched Emily and Luke lead the horses away.

  “We’re not quite sure at this point. The police are in the office reviewing the security camera footage. Someone was familiar enough with this place to black out the camera in this main aisle. You can see a dark figure drive up, and when they got to the barn, they pulled out a stepladder we keep over there…” She pointed to the front corner of the barn. “…for some of the kids who have tall horses. Anyway, they got on the ladder and spray-painted the camera lens.”

  “What are the police looking at?”

  “There’s a camera at the other end of the aisle. It doesn’t have a clear view to this end, but you can see a little. Plus, there’s another camera in the cross aisle midway down. You can’t see much on that one, either. And they’re looking at all the outside cameras and the arena cameras, just in case.”

  “What happened after the camera got painted?”

  “That’s where it gets fuzzy. What we know for sure is the dogs started barking, and I came out to see what was going on. I live in a cottage behind the aren
a.

  “Becky and Major were in the aisle. He was sort of herding her, keeping her in the barn. He was all wound up, snorting and prancing.”

  “Why Becky and why Major?”

  “Someone had put Becky’s halter and lead on, but Major had no halter or lead or anything.”

  Marcia led the way down the aisle toward Becky’s stall. Two police officers were taking pictures, and a small blonde woman with a pixie haircut was dusting the stall door for fingerprints. She looked up.

  “Hi, Harriet.” Darcy Lewis said. She was a criminalist for the Tri-county Forensic Task Force but, more important, when her schedule permitted a Loose Threads quilter.

  “What’s going on?” Harriet asked.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” she said without looking up. “This is off the record, but if I had to guess, I’d say someone let this horse out, then the other horse kicked its way out. I guess it didn’t like its friend leaving without him or her.”

  Harriet chuckled.

  “He’s a retired police horse. I guess he still thinks he’s on the job.”

  Marcia was pacing the aisle behind Harriet.

  “Do these type of horses get stolen?” Harriet asked her.

  “They do. All horses can be subject to theft. I read in an industry magazine that forty thousand horses a year get stolen in America. Of course, most of those are not expensive show horses. It seems like most of the show horses you hear about are taken from more populated areas and usually from pasture situations, not from a barn. All the horses here are microchipped. And both Becky and Major have tattoos inside their lips.”

  Darcy stood up and picked up her box of tools. “Do they take a horse like this and hold it for ransom?”

  Marcia though for a moment.

  “Yes, it seems like I’ve read about something like that. That was a couple of years ago, though.”

  They all turned and looked as another car drove up and parked by the barn. Harriet recognized Detective Morse’s sedan.

  “What brings you here?” she asked when the detective had joined them.

  “Darcy called me. And she was right to do so, with what’s been going on downtown, and especially with Jade’s shop being burned last night. Now someone attempts to steal Jade’s horse.” Morse held her hand up before Harriet could speak. “I know she says she’s giving you the horse, but not many people know that, and you don’t have the paperwork yet, in any case, do you?”