“Honey, are you sure this is the place?” Beth Carlson’s brow furrowed as she looked at the wreckage in front of her.
“This is the address she gave me and look,” long arm quilter Harriet Truman pointed to the broken glass of the store front window. “It says ‘stones’. This has to be the place.”
“Why would Sarah’s cousin arrange to meet us in a bar, for heaven sake? We’re here to talk about the raffle quilt for an animal shelter benefit aren’t we?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time Sarah had things wrong,” Harriet said and pulled her aunt off the sidewalk and behind a large potted spruce tree just in time to avoid a large man in a black mackintosh as he pushed out the door and staggered across the street. She could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance.
Harriet stepped to the door. “Wait here,” she said and went in. She followed the sound of a moan to an overturned table. A slender young woman lay on the floor at her feet, her eyes closed. Harriet kneeled and gently shook her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” she said.
Aunt Beth lowered herself on the opposite side of the girl and gently eased a black stiletto heeled shoe from the young woman’s clenched left fist, causing the girls eyes to fly open.
“Where am I?” she whispered.
A tall man with sand colored hair watched the trio from across the room, and when Aunt Beth had helped the injured woman to a seated position, he eased out the back door.
“What’s this” the young woman asked and dropped a folded piece of cloth from her right hand. Smaller sewn pieces formed a purposeful pattern.
“Where did it come from? It’s not mine.”
Harriet smoothed the square of multicolored cloth. “Looks like a quilt block,” she said.
“Let me see,” Aunt Beth said and held out her hand. She studied the pattern.
Go on to Episode 6
Arlene Sachitano writes The Harriet Truman/Loose Threads quilting mystery novels as well as The Harley Spring Mysteries. You can find her at