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

by Arlene Sachitano

  “Is anyone going to go talk to Sandra Price? She must have a theory about what happened to her daughter.”

  “Hmmm, we didn’t talk about that. We were more focused on Molly and who would have wanted her dead.”

  “If it was related to what happened before, she might have some ideas.” Aunt Beth squirmed in her chair and repositioned her foot.

  “Is your foot hurting? Is it time for a pain pill?”

  Aunt Beth gave her a weak smile.

  “I haven’t been taking them. I hate how that stuff makes me feel.”

  “You mean free of pain?”

  “You stop your sassing and get me a glass of water to take it with.”

  Harriet laughed as she went into the kitchen to do as she was told.

  “Do any of the Threads have a relationship with Sandra Price?” she asked when she’d returned and handed her aunt the water.

  Aunt Beth took her pill then rubbed her chin with her hand.

  “I think Connie had her son in school. She’s probably your best bet. Of course, DeAnn’s family knows her—they had a lot of contact when the little girl disappeared. But they’ve got enough on their plate right now. I’m going to snooze a while, and then I’ll call Connie and see if she can talk to Sandra. You need to go get stitching on those quilts.”

  “Let me know what she says, and you call me if you need anything.”

  Beth closed her eyes.

  “A little peace and quiet might be nice,” Harriet heard her murmur as she made her way out.

  Harriet was doing the yoga stretches Robin had taught her when Carla knocked on her studio door several hours later.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said and hesitated on the porch when Harriet opened the door wide.

  “Come on in. I’ve been working on this quilt for hours. I was just stretching before I take Scooter out and fix something to drink. Can you stay and have a snack?”

  Carla looked at her shoes.

  “I don’t have to pick Wendy up from playgroup for…” She looked at her phone. “…forty-five minutes.

  “Can you go in and pour us some lemonade while I take the little prince out?” Harriet’s dog was lying in his bed, his snout over the edge, looking from Harriet to Carla and back to see if anyone was really going to make him get up.

  “So, did you find the psychic?” Harriet asked a few minutes later when the two were seated at the kitchen table, lemonade and chocolate chip cookies in front of them.

  Carla shredded the edge of her napkin.

  “I met her at her…I don’t know what you call her place. It was all draped with silk scarves, and there were real crystal balls on metal stands and other kinds of crystals. And there was a lot of incense burning. There weren’t any real chairs, just big pillows all over the place.”

  “You’re sure this is the one Molly met with?”

  Carla didn’t answer the question. “She said she’d asked Molly for an object of hers to hold on to, and Molly gave her a keychain. She showed it to me—it was from her missing-person place.”

  “Did she offer to read your palm?”

  Carla blushed.

  “She did. And I couldn’t stop her. She grabbed my hand and started apologizing for what a bad upbringing I’d had. She was just like a carnival palm reader. I don’t think she was a real psychic. Anyone could look at me and guess I’d not had a normal childhood.”

  “I don’t think that’s true, but I think you’re right—she sounds like a fake. Are you sure this is the person Molly visited? I know she had the keychain, but half of Foggy Point has those.”

  “I called Molly’s office and asked the secretary to look at her calendar. There was an appointment with Madame Lenormand last Friday, so that’s who I went to see.”

  “Wait, did you say Lenormand? That’s the name of a famous Parisian fortune teller in the late eighteenth, early nineteenth century. She supposedly was a confidant of the Empress Josephine as well as others.” Harriet stopped talking for a moment. “Sorry. I did a boarding school stint in a French convent, and she had lived there. I don’t know much about psychics, but when you combine the theatrical setting with the name, I’m even more sure Madame isn’t genuine.” She looked at Carla. “Whatever that is. Besides, I think Molly would have called me sooner if she’d gotten anything on Friday.

  “Let’s check with the secretary and see who Molly met with in the last few days then look each of the names up and see if any are psychics.”

  “I should have thought of that,” Carla said and sipped her lemonade. “Molly’s secretary is one of the moms from the single-parents group at church. They’re all upset about her being killed, so I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me.”

  Harriet chewed a bite of cookie.

  “I’d have gone to that lady first, too, if I didn’t recognize the name. How were you to know? In the meantime, when we’re finished, would you take a look at the first of our quilts and tell me if you think I’ve done enough quilting on it?”

  Carla smiled and nodded.

  Scooter ran into Harriet’s studio barking, followed closely by Fred. They jumped into the wing-back chair closest to the bay window and did their own special harmony that consisted of barking and yowling. She looked up to see James’s van parked in her driveway and the chef himself walking Cyrano on a leash in her yard.

  “You two hush,” she scolded as she opened the door. The sun had gone down while she was stitching, and she hadn’t noticed she’d been so intent on watching the quilt under her needle. The ceiling lights in her studio were the natural-sunlight variety, and she kept them on all the time when she was working so the thread color would be true.

  “Hey,” she called.

  “Hi, I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I’ll just put Cyrano back in the van and get the snack I made.”

  “He can come in with you and your snack. These two are all bark and no bite, and they’re used to being around my aunt’s dog so I don’t think they’ll be a problem.”

  James grinned, and Harriet smiled back, considering not for the first time that he really was a good-looking guy. She’d always chalked it up to the fact that he usually was handing her chocolate or some other amazing treat when he smiled at her, but tonight she realized it was more than that.

  He reached into his van and pulled out an insulated carrier and a plastic container.

  “I figured you would be working day and night on those quilts you have to make for that benefit, and I was hungry, so I decided to take a chance. I threw together a pizza. I hope you like artichokes.”

  Harriet took the carrier from him.

  “I could eat cardboard I’m so hungry.”

  “You’re easy,” he said. His face turned red. “I didn’t mean…I’m glad you like…”

  Harriet put her hand on his arm.

  “James, stop. I know what you meant, and anyway, sometimes I am easy,” she said and, with a wicked grin, led the way back into the house.

  He followed her into the kitchen and busied himself removing the pizza from its container. Harriet prepared bowls of food for Scooter and Fred on the other side of the kitchen bar.

  “Can Cyrano have a little snack?”

  “I’d like that…I mean, he’d like that…I mean, he hasn’t eaten yet, and now I won’t have to rush off to feed him. I’m not inviting myself to dinner, I really did bring this just for you.”

  Harriet laughed.

  “James. Stop. Of course you’re staying for dinner and after, too, if you want.”

  “I’d like that. I mean, I’d like to stay if you’d like me to stay. I’m sorry, you must think I’m an idiot.”

  Harriet walked around the bar, took the pizza from him, and set it on the counter. She pulled him into her arms and planted a kiss on him before he could react. He put his arms around her and leaned into the kiss, prolonging it, his hands sliding down her back and grasping her bottom.

  She opened her eyes and gazed into his, which were dreamy and half-closed. T
he thought that she might be ruining a great friendship flashed through her mind as she parted her lips slightly, and he kissed her again. His teeth toyed with her lower lip, and he gave her a quick last kiss and stepped back.

  Her face was warm as she smiled at him; he seemed to be shocked speechless. She set the animal food dishes on the floor and stood back up to face him.

  “I thought we should get that out of the way so we could enjoy our pizza. I know you said you aren’t looking for a relationship because of the restaurant, and I’ve been in a very messy relationship. I’m not trying to compete with the restaurant, but…”

  He put his finger on her lips.

  “Stop. I’m committed to my restaurant, but I’m not dead. I know you’re in a bad situation, and I’ve been trying to respect that, but I think we can agree, I wouldn’t be coming around if I wasn’t interested in you. I’d like to think you keep letting me in for more than my food, fantastic though it is. What if we agree that for now we’ll be friends with just a few benefits and see what happens? I don’t know about you, but I get tired of spending my evenings talking to a dog.”

  Harriet kissed his finger, and he pulled her into another brief kiss then leaned back to look at her.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “I think an uncomplicated relationship sounds great. And you’re right—I’m getting tired of spending every night alone with these two.”

  “Okay, then, let’s eat—I’m starving.”

  Harriet felt warm all over as she reached into the cupboard and got two plates out. She wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing, but for the first time in months, she felt good.

  Chapter 16

  Foggy Point was thick with its namesake weather the next morning, and Harriet was thoroughly chilled even after her post-run shower. She fed her pets and grabbed a thermal mug from her cupboard, intending to get a mocha to go.

  Her plans changed when she noticed Lauren’s, Connie’s and Mavis’s cars in the Steaming Cup parking lot.

  “Am I crashing a party?” she asked when she’d gotten her drink and come over to the large rectangular table in the middle of the room.

  Connie looked up at her.

  “Mavis and I went over to keep your aunt company, but we drove by and her lights weren’t on, so we figured we’d let her sleep a while longer.”

  Lauren keyed her laptop computer off and closed the top.

  “I’m just here working.”

  “Have you learned anything useful about Molly’s work background?” Harriet asked her.

  “I might be on to something. Molly testified against a guy named DeShaun Smith. He apparently had a big-time prostitution ring going and beat one of his girls to within an inch of her life. He was sentenced to twenty-five years, but he was released last year on a technicality. I found an address in Seattle.”

  Harriet sipped her mocha then set her cup on the table and sat down.

  “Sounds like a road trip is in order.”

  “After the quilts are finished,” Connie reminded her.

  “I know. I’m coming right along. The first one is off the machine, and I’ve got a couple of hours into the second one.”

  Lauren leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee.

  “Have you had a chance to check with Detective Morse yet?”

  Harriet took a deep breath and blew it out.

  “I did. We talked to the technician who is monitoring Juana’s tracking chip, and it doesn’t look like she could have sabotaged Aunt Beth’s car.”

  Connie visibly relaxed.

  “I’m so relieved. I’ve been so angry about someone hurting Beth that I could strangle them with my bare hands, but at the same time, I’ve felt terrible guilt for wanting to harm a developmentally challenged person.”

  Lauren patted her on the back and laughed.

  “I’m so glad you’re going to be able to strangle a fully able person.”

  The thought of Connie, all four-foot-eleven and ninety pounds of her, strangling anyone made Harriet laugh out loud.

  Connie blushed.

  “I’m not going to hurt anyone, but it makes me so mad. Beth never hurt anyone, and in fact, she does more good in this community than any of us.”

  “And now we’re back to square one,” Harriet said. “I haven’t checked on Josh Phillips yet. I figured I’d better work on the quilts.”

  “Good decision,” Mavis told her.

  “Carla came by yesterday. She’d checked out the psychic who was listed in Molly’s calendar, but she turned out to be a fake.”

  “Aren’t they all?” Lauren said.

  Connie reached out and patted her on the arm.

  “You hush now and let Harriet speak.”

  Harriet nodded at Connie and smirked at Lauren.

  “Thank you. As I was saying, Carla didn’t get anywhere on the first go-round, but she has a friend in Molly’s office. She’s going to get the names of the people Molly had appointments with for the last few days…”

  “You’re assuming she had an appointment with this person,” Lauren interrupted. “What if she saw a sign from the road and pulled in for a five-dollar palm reading?”

  Mavis set her hand-piecing block on the table in front of her.

  “Whoever Molly saw was credible enough that it jogged her mind into remembering everything. That’s what she said, right?”

  Harriet nodded and picked up her drink.

  “That doesn’t sound like a five-dollar palm reader. A credible psychic would have a more businesslike arrangement. I think Carla will find the name on Molly’s schedule.”

  Connie sipped her tea.

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  Harriet gathered her purse and cup and stood up.

  “When you go see Aunt Beth, would you please encourage her to take her pain medication? When I saw her yesterday, she was obviously uncomfortable and confessed she hadn’t taken any of her pain pills. I got her to take one, and she was asleep before I left her driveway. She needs to rest if she’s going to get better.”

  Lauren made a mock salute.

  “I’m going to go talk to Sandra Price later this afternoon,” Connie said and looked at Harriet. “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Sure. If I stitch on the quilt from now until then I should be in good shape. Call me when you’re on your way over so I can get to a good stopping place.”

  Mavis packed her sewing project and drained her coffee cup.

  “Connie and I better get going, too. We need to pick up sandwiches to take to the homeless camp.”

  Lauren turned her computer off.

  “I feel like a slacker. I’ve just got to work all day for paying customers.”

  Harriet laughed.

  “I can almost remember what that’s like.”

  The group broke up after Harriet promised to fill Lauren in on whatever was learned from the day’s activities.

  “Come on, Scooter,” Harriet called.”Aunt Connie is coming, and you need to walk before that.”

  Scooter stretched as he crawled out of his bed. Harriet had been stitching for four hours straight, and neither of her pets was amused. Fred had woven through her legs and meowed, but when the only action he could get was an ear scratch, he went off in a huff and flopped down in the wing-back chair closest to the window. She’d finally put a dog DVD on her computer for Scooter to distract him from taking up Fred’s post at her feet. After thirty minutes of whining and barking along to his show, he retreated to his bed under her desk.

  They’d just returned to the house when Connie pulled into the circular driveway.

  “How was the trip to the homeless camp?” she asked when Connie was out of her car.

  “It’s always nice to visit with Joyce, but that’s about as far as it went. They didn’t really know anything. It seems the newspapers made more of their involvement than was actually supported by facts. Molly was dropped in the woods near one of the main trails. Max was the one who found her, but any
one could have been the one. Joyce said she and Max had just come back from a walk into town, so she’d been with him for the three or four hours before he found Molly, and he was only out of her sight for a few minutes before he came back to get her help. They said she was right in plain sight, so the park security guard would have found her at closing time if one of them hadn’t come across her earlier.”

  Harriet led the way back inside to get Scooter settled. She refreshed his water and fluffed his bed.

  “You behave while I’m gone,” she said and turned to Connie. “Does Sandra know we’re coming?”

  “I called and asked her if we could come by. She agreed, but she didn’t seem very enthused.”

  “I’ll be curious to hear what the police told her back then. They must have had some idea as to what happened, even if they couldn’t prove it.”

  Connie pulled her keys from her purse.

  “I’ll drive,” she volunteered.

  A laurel hedge partially blocked the view of the Price house from the street. It was untrimmed and had big sections missing, probably from past storm damage. Moss crusted the roof of the house, and a large tree leaned ominously in the direction of the second-story gable. Someone had made a half-hearted attempt at painting the house but had failed to sand the peeling previous coating.

  Connie parked on the street.

  “Are you sure this is it?” Harriet asked her.

  She looked at the address she’d written on a piece of paper.

  “This is the address she gave me when I called.” She looped her purse strap over her arm. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Sandra Price met them at the door and ushered them into the kitchen eating area. She was a small, thin woman with blond hair and the kind of tan that made you think tanning bed, not sunny beaches.

  “I’m Sandra,” she said to Harriet. “Connie tells me you’re Beth Carlson’s niece. Would you like some coffee?” She pulled out a chair for Connie.

  “No, thank you,” Connie said as she sat down in the offered chair.