Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,20

of people pushed out into the courtyard. Another loud shriek followed, then a man’s voice shouting for someone to call 911.

“What’s going on?” Lauren pushed past Harriet, heading for the open doors.

Harriet grabbed her arm.

“Don’t go back inside until we know what’s going on,” she cautioned.

“Jenny’s in there,” Lauren said, dragging Harriet with her as she continued toward the door. “You’re the one who always wants to stick her nose into everything. Don’t you think we should see if she’s okay?”

“I’m trying to mend my ways, since jumping into the middle of things hasn’t worked out so well.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren stopped suddenly, her progress blocked by a crush of people filling the doorway. “The bad people we’ve encountered have ended up in jail—that’s a pretty good result, if you ask me.”

“Easy for you to say—I’m the one who’s been bashed in the head, had a shoulder injured and had to hobble around on crutches for weeks.”

“Oh, wah-wah-wah. Always thinking of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Since when have you wanted to risk anything to help anyone in trouble?”

Lauren turned and stared at her.

“I’ve done more than my share in your little adventures, if that’s what you want to call them.”

“I didn’t say you haven’t been helpful. It’s just that you’re usually the one trying to talk me out of getting involved in other people’s business.”

If Lauren made a biting retort, it was lost when Jenny was forced out the door by a large woman who was determined to leave and was willing to shove anyone who got in her way. She bumped into Lauren, almost knocking them both to the ground; only Harriet’s proximity to a support post prevented them all from falling over. The cement column slammed into her spine with bruising force.

“What’s going on in there?” she asked Jenny when they had all taken a step apart and regained their balance.

“I don’t know. I was in the restroom, and when I came out everyone was screaming and heading for the door. There was nothing to do but go along with the flow.”

“Did you hear anything else, or smell smoke or anything?” Lauren asked.

“No, the restrooms are so close to the front, I couldn’t see anything but the backs of the people surrounding me. And the only noise in there was screaming, and someone calling for anyone with a phone to dial nine-one-one.”

“Maybe someone had a heart attack or something,” Lauren said and turned toward the food booths. The sound of sirens approaching became louder.

“I want to go check on my quilt,” Jenny said.

“I’ll come with you,” Harriet said, “but I think we’re going to have to wait a minute until the crowd clears.”

Lauren gave Harriet a questioning look. Harriet shrugged. Jenny’s behavior seemed a bit insensitive to her, but then, everyone reacts to shock in their own way. Who were they to judge?

“I don’t know if you noticed, but there are life-sized statues of historic figures every so many feet around the outside walls of the main room. There are exit doors between each pair of statues. The one nearest my quilt was propped open to let some air in.”

“Okay,” Harriet said and turned. “Let’s go see if it’s still open.”

It took a few minutes, and they had to scale a thigh-high cement support wall, but the trio found the door Jenny had described, and it was still partially open. Jenny pulled it wider and stepped inside.

“No!” she screamed, over and over again.

Harriet and Lauren hurried through the door, pushing her aside so they could see. Someone was lying on the platform in front of Jenny’s quilt.

Jenny made her way to the small stage, and as a few people recognized her, they stepped aside. Harriet followed and could see Pamela flat on her back, a paramedic kneeling beside her, lifting first one eyelid then the other, shining a pocket penlight in each eye in turn. He pulled away from the body and shook his head from side to side, once.

Pamela was gone.

Chapter 10

It was never a good thing when the first responders stopped moving quickly and started picking up their refuse. That was what was happening as Harriet watched Jenny run her hand over her quilt.

Pamela had been standing beside it when she was shot, but now, as she lay on the stage surrounded by torn packages and discarded tubing, there was at first little evidence that anything out of the ordinary had happened. She could have decided to take a nap, aside from the small dark hole in