The 12 Quilts of Christmas

by Arlene Sachitano

  Harriet could tell Mavis wanted to argue some more about not taking up Lauren’s valuable time, but she didn’t say anything.

  “As for the arson at Jade’s shop, he was afraid she’d left incriminating evidence behind when she ‘disappeared’. He was searching for emails and letters they’d exchanged about him demanding ‘his’ horse back.”

  “What will happen to Jade and Sunny?” Harriet asked.

  Morse sat back and rubbed her stomach.

  “Oh, I think they’ll be okay. I wish Jade hadn’t hidden from us, but that’s not a crime. And I suspect Sunny’s brother may have an outstanding warrant or two, but I also suspect he’s already left town. There’s no reason for us to pursue him. He didn’t do anything here we know of.”

  Jorge started stacking empty plates and napkins.

  “So, Foggy Point can go back to being a sleepy little town?”

  Morse laughed. “Foggy Point hasn’t been that for quite a while.”

  Harriet passed her plate to Jorge.

  “I have one more question. What about the body Valery used to fool everyone?”

  “Right now, we don’t have any idea. He doesn’t match any of our open missing-persons files. We’ll do DNA, of course.”

  “I might be able to help,” Harriet said. “Joyce at the homeless camp has been looking for a guy they call Smokey Joe. He doesn’t usually leave without telling anyone, but he went missing right before this all started.”

  Morse pulled her notebook from her pocket and made a note.

  “I’ll go out tomorrow and get a description and see if they can tell us anything concrete that will help verify his identity. As you know, the body was cremated, so it will be hard. It makes sense, though.”

  Harriet stood and picked up the plates Jorge had stacked.

  “Thanks for coming and telling us what you did.”

  “Thank you for the great pizza.”

  Luke brought the teakettle full of hot water to the table and set it on a hot pad before returning with the basket of tea Harriet kept in the cupboard. Harriet smiled at him.

  “What?” he asked. “Isn’t this what you guys do when you get together?”

  “Yes, sweetie, it is. I’m just amazed you noticed. Not a lot of guys your age would.”

  Luke’s face turned red, and he retreated to the kitchen.

  “He’s such a good boy,” Beth said. “It’s amazing, really, given his early life.”

  “He is a good boy,” Harriet agreed.

  CHAPTER 41

  Harriet woke early the next morning; the sky was clear, and the air was cold. James and Luke were still sound asleep when she took thez dogs out, so she decided to go for a long run. She had a lot to think about.

  She didn’t agree with her aunt about it being safer for her to live somewhere else, but if she was being honest she had to admit she’d faced more than a normal amount of dangerous situations since she’d come to Foggy Point. She was going to have to reflect on what about her own behavior was drawing these situations to her.

  She had pounded out six miles by the time she arrived back home, but she still didn’t have any answers. James and Luke were in Foggy Point; and as long as that was true, that’s where she was staying, so she was going to have to figure something out.

  That could wait, though, she told herself. Today, she and James had decided they’d go watch Luke ride in the morning, and then take the ferry ride to Victoria they’d missed the day before.

  James was up and in the kitchen cooking when she came into the house.

  “I made steel-cut oats for breakfast. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Luke said as he appeared. He took a bowl of oatmeal from James and sat down at the table.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind watching me ride again?”

  Harriet sat down opposite him, and James set a bowl in front of her.

  “I love hanging out at the barn. Riding was one of the best parts of going to boarding school.”

  “I told Emily we’d probably be there around nine-thirty.” Luke said between bites.

  Harriet sprinkled brown sugar on her oatmeal.

  “I need a quick shower, but I think that will work.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” James agreed as he joined them.

  Harriet and James sat on the first level of the bleachers watching Luke guide Major through a series of spirals at a walk as Emily circled the perimeter at a canter on Fable.

  “Fable looks like a pony compared to Major,” James commented as the two horses passed each other going in opposite directions.

  “Too bad we can’t keep him,” Marcia said, sitting down beside Harriet.

  Harriet tensed. “What do you mean?”

  “The people who own the stable are very conservative. Even though Major broke out of his stall to protect Becky, they think it’s too risky to include him in the therapy-horse program.

  “So, what’s going to happen to him?” James asked.

  “He’ll be returned to the mounted police unit, and they will undoubtedly attempt to sell him. Failing that, he will, sadly, probably become dog food.”

  Harriet and James looked at each other.

  “We can’t let that happen,” he said.

  “Agreed,” she said.

  Marcia smiled.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” She handed Harriet a folded piece of paper. “Here’s the person you need to call if you’re interested in buying Major.”

  Harriet slipped it into her purse.

  “Assuming you’re successful, I took the liberty of drawing up a boarding contract—to hold his stall space. You just need to sign it and bring it back to the office.”

  Harriet pulled a pen from her purse and handed it and the contract it to James. He laid the contract on the bleacher and signed it.

  “You can go ahead and file that. We will acquire Major, whatever it takes.”

  Marcia didn’t take the contract from him She looked away.

  “What’s wrong?” Harriet asked.

  She sighed.

  “I can’t file anything here anymore. The owners decided my decision to let Jade stay in the dorm when she was hiding from the killer was not the sort of behavior they expected from their now former stable manager.”

  “They fired you for helping Jade stay alive?” Harriet said, incredulous.

  “They said I should have taken her to the police. In any case, it’s done. The new manager will be here this afternoon, and I will be gone tomorrow.”

  Harriet put a hand on Marcia’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  Marcia gave her a half-smile. “I should have known better. I knew what sort of people they were when I went to work for them.”

  “Well, we’ll be sorry to see you go. Will you be okay?”

  Marcia grinned. “I’ve had a former client from here who opened their own stable in Ridgefield. They’ve asked me several times to come work for them. I called them this morning, and they said their offer is still good.” She stood up. “I better go, I’ve got a lot to do. Good luck with Major.”

  James gestured for Harriet to give him the piece of paper she had put in her purse. He left the arena pulling his phone from his pocket. Harriet was watching Luke working to master his trotting when he came back in.

  “What would you think about putting off that trip to Victoria and instead going to Seattle to pay for our horse?”

  “Our horse?” she said with delight, and wrapped her arms around him as he sat down beside her. “Do you want to tell him, or shall I?”

  “Tell me what?” Luke said as he pulled to a stop in front of them.

  James and Harriet both grinned broadly at him

  END

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my family and friends who support my writing efforts and understand my crazy schedule. And thanks to all the Susans who make my life easier by all sharing the same name. Thank you to the real Aunt Beth who puts up with me and supports my effort
s.

  I would also like to acknowledge the people who make it possible for you to hear about and buy my books—Deon and Rich Stonehouse at Sunriver Books and Music, who have the best bookstore ever. Linne and Jack Lindquist of The Craftsman’s Touch Books, who tirelessly drive all over the US to quilt shows and allow myself and other authors to sign in their booth, are fantastic.

  Many thanks to my fellow road warriors and roommates, Marie Bostwick and Patience Griffin.

  I’d also like to acknowledge my granddaughter Amelia, who has already declared that she’s going to be a writer when she grows up just like Grammy. I must also mention her sister Claire, who will be unhappy if I don’t. She is a very good reader.

  As always, none of this would happen without my publisher Liz. Many thanks.

  About the Author

  After working nearly 30 years in the high-tech industry, where her writing consisted of performance reviews, process specs, and a scintillating proprietary tome on electronics assembly, ARLENE SACHITANO wrote her first mystery novel, Chip and Die.

  Quilt As Desired, the first Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mystery, was published in the fall of 2003 and has been followed by eleven more adventures; The 12 Quilts of Christmas brings the popular series to an even dozen.

  Arlene is aided in her writing endeavors by her canine companion Navarre. When not writing, she is on the board of directors of the Harriet Vane Chapter of Sisters In Crime as well as Latimer Quilt and Textile Center in Tillamook, Oregon. She teaches knitting at Latimer and, of course, is a quilter.

  She’s been married to Jack for forty years; they split their time between Tillamook and Multnomah Village in Portland. Arlene and Jack have three lovely children and three brilliant grandchildren. She also has two wonderful friends, one named Susan and the other named Margi.

  About the Artist

  APRIL MARTINEZ was born in the Philippines and raised in San Diego, CA, daughter of a US Navy chef and a US postal worker. Dissatisfied that she couldn’t make use of her creative tendencies, she started working as an imaging specialist for a big book and magazine publishing house in Irvine and learned the trade of graphic design. From that point on, she worked as a graphic designer and webmaster while doing freelance art and illustration at night. April lives with her cat in Orange County, California.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any apparent resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  THE 12 QUILTS OF CHRISTMAS

  © 2019 by Arlene Sachitano

  ISBN 978-1-61271-406-6 (Kindle) 978-1-61271-407-3 (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, http://www.zumayapublications.com/enigma.php

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Sachitano, Arlene, 1951- author.

  Title: The 12 quilts of Christmas / Arlene Sachitano.

  Other titles: Twelve quilts of Christmas

  Description: Austin, TX : Zumaya Enigma, 2019. | Series: A Harriet Truman

  loose threads mystery

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019008582| ISBN 9781612714059 (trade paperback : alk.

  paper) | ISBN 9781612714066 (Kindle) | ISBN 9781612714073 (epub)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3619.A277 A617 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019008582

  Gillian Grey knows all about men and their desire for money. Aidan Baird is just a rougher version of all her other suitors—a man willing to put up with her dubious ancestry for a share of her money.

  Aidan's dream of obtaining a ranch requires a down payment in gold—gold he's willing to earn escorting his boss's daughter around the desert on a “botanical expedition.”

  But Gilly isn't looking for flowers. She's hot on the trail of Jack the Ripper. As the body count mounts, Aidan may have to sacrifice more than money to keep her safe.

  CHAPTER 1

  Yuma, Arizona Territory

  April 1891

  “You expecting a shipment, Baird?” The wrinkled stationmaster shuffled closer to Aidan, shoving sand and broken bristles ahead of his broom. With a flourish, he swept the pile off the landing, where a gust caught the debris midair and sprinkled it back across the platform surrounding the Southern Pacific Hotel and Depot.

  “Hurry!” A man’s shout drifted down from the balcony, while in the dining room behind Aidan plates scraped and glasses chinked. Workers and passengers trickled onto the platform. The Arizona sun and building heat distorted the images unprotected by shade.

  “You could say that.” Aidan jerked a pouch from his vest and inhaled the pungent scent of a fresh plug of black tobacco. The cured leaves crunched under his fingers as he added several pinches to the paper. With economical movements, he finished rolling his cigarette, stuck it in his mouth and returned the paraphernalia to his pocket. He struck a match against the sole of his boot; his cupped hand protected the tiny flame against the wind teasing dust devils from the sandy desert floor across the river. Bitterness exploded on his tongue, and the smoky heat filled his lungs.

  Yes, sir, Aidan Baird was expecting a shipment. A shipment of money, class and stubbornness, all bearing the sobriquet of Miss Gillian Grey. Paper crackled under his knuckles as he flicked ash from his vest.

  Gillian Grey.

  After escorting her on this little jaunt, he would be a man of property, a success, and he owed it all to Miss Grey’s father. In this land of the free, when most employers posted “No Irish Need Apply” signs, Everett Grey had given Aidan a job peddling the wares of G&G Enterprises. While hawking the merchandise in the hottest corner of Hell, he’d managed to put aside some money toward buying his own spread. The gold he’d earn escorting the boss’s daughter around the desert would cover the land, house and a little extra. Aidan spat sand and flakes of tobacco out of his mouth and ground the stub of his cigarette under his heel, ignoring the scorpion near his boot. Tugging his bowler lower, he strode to the corner of the platform away from the mushrooming crowd.

  Several yards from the railroad depot lay the roiling Colorado River. Its red water sucked at the arrow weed clinging to the banks. Laughter floated off the deck of the steamboat moored near the station. Soldiers ambled aboard the boat, awaiting transport to forts and outposts upriver.

  A column of soot belched from the stack as the approaching train reached the incline. When the giant black engine clattered onto the bridge, the crowd behind him stirred. Aidan tilted his head back and returned his thoughts to the impending task.

  At first, he’d been confused why an heiress would want to search for wildflowers in the desert. The notion didn’t agree with his firsthand knowledge of the Greys’ position in society. Those women couldn’t dress themselves, think for themselves or go anywhere without servants to fetch and carry. Then he’d found the article.

  The paper crinkled under his fingertips when he reached inside his jacket. Not the soft whisper of rolling paper but the stiffness of newsprint. Aidan tugged the creased clipping from his pocket and unfolded it.

  Wedding Postponed

  The upcoming nuptials of heiress Gillian Grey to William Shelby III were postponed after the bride-to-be christened her affianced groom with the champagne punch served during Mr. and Mrs. Thorndike’s annual spring ball. Miss Amelia S., the prospective groom’s sister, said the baptism was completely unprovoked, and that Miss G. was simply showing her true colors. Colonel Upton, late of Her Majesty’s Service, witnessed the debacle and said it was a sad waste of fine champagne.

>   Miss Grey, accompanied by her two sisters, was spotted fleeing the scene while guests attempted to revive the prostrate hostess.

  Aidan refolded the clipping and returned it to his pocket. Miss Money had argued with her intended. Their discord must have driven her desire to sketch wildflowers in the desert.

  Remembering Everett Grey’s grilling about his proficiency with firearms, disquiet itched the skin between Aidan’s shoulder blades. He shrugged off his unease. Gillian Grey was the man’s oldest daughter—naturally, he’d want to make sure she’d be safe. Aidan owed the man that much. He’d also do his duty and see she was as comfortable as possible. Of course, where they were going, the comforts she’d consider commonplace would not available.

  He removed his watch from his vest pocket and cleaned it with a worn cotton handkerchief. Not that she’d have to suffer such privations for long. According to Mr. Grey’s telegram, this little expedition would end before the real heat set in.

  The stationmaster waddled up behind Aidan and fingered the brass buttons of his navy-colored vest. Gray sprinkled the bushy muttonchops protruding from his sagging jowls.

  “You expecting any more of them fancy bits my wife’s partial to?”

  “There’s always some fancy bits.” And this time the fancy bit was a lady, the daughter of G&G Enterprises herself. Not that he’d tell the stationmaster—the old man gossiped more than a bitter spinster. Aidan cracked the knuckles on his right hand then his left. And what kind of man purchased harmony in his own house with pricey frippery? I’ll never be such a man.

  The stationmaster rubbed his hands together. “Come by the house, first thing, let Eunice have a look at ‘em.”

  “That’ll keep her happy for a bit.” Aidan stepped back as the train chugged across the bridge spanning the Colorado River.

  “Yep. And everyone knows a happy wife means a sober husband.” By way of thanks, the stationmaster thumped Aidan on the back.