Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,24
with the most fabric wins emblazoned across the chest in purple came up and asked about Harriet’s long-arm quilting service, ending the discussion.
Chapter 11
There were several cars parked at Harriet’s house when she pulled into her garage, but her aunt’s silver Beetle was not among them.
“Beth decided to stop by Jenny’s house and try to get her to come here with her,” Mavis explained when Harriet came into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind I’m making coffee and tea.”
“Of course not, you know you don’t need to ask.”
“Do you have anything we could put out for people to nibble on?”
“I have hummus and could cut up some veggies.”
Mavis looked at her over the top of the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Or I have some brownies in the freezer. It would only take a minute to thaw them in the microwave.”
“That would do nicely,” Mavis said and continued putting coffee into the filter basket on the coffee machine.
“Does anyone know the woman who was shot?” Robin was asking when Harriet entered her studio carrying a plate of warm brownies and a stack of paper napkins.
Carla and Connie shook their heads no.
“She used to come in the video store,” DeAnn said, referring to her family’s business. “I haven’t seen her lately, but then again, I haven’t been working much since we got Kissa.”
DeAnn and her husband had adopted a baby girl the previous fall and that, along with her two sons’ activities, meant she was too busy to help out at the store on a regular basis.
“I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary. She generally rented from the new-arrivals shelf,” She shrugged. “Not that movie habits tell you anything.”
No one else knew Pamela, and the group sat, each one lost in her own thoughts, as Harriet carried the brownie plate to each one in turn, handing out a napkin as she went.
Mavis came in with the coffee carafe a moment later.
“This is decaf, and there’s hot water in the teapot if anyone prefers that,” Mavis said as she filled cups and handed them around.
The outside studio door opened, and Aunt Beth came in followed by Jenny. Harriet got up and took their coats, while Mavis handed them cups of hot coffee. Connie pulled two more chairs into the loose circle they had formed in the middle of the studio space.
“Did Jorge sell a lot of food?” Mavis asked.
“He did okay,” Beth answered. “Most people left early.”
The group fell silent again.
“Jenny,” Aunt Beth began, “can you tell us what’s got you so rattled?”
“A woman was killed tonight,” Jenny said, her voice tight.
“Everyone knows how upsetting that is,” Harriet said. “But if I understood you right, you didn’t even know her.”
“If you had come five minutes later, that could have been me.”
“Or the killer could have had to wait five more minutes,” Harriet said gently. “If you didn’t know Pamela, how do you know she wasn’t the intended target?”
“I don’t, I suppose.”
“Would you like us to contact your husband?” Mavis asked.
“He and Mark are on a hunting trip in Africa. They’ve been planning it for two years. I’m not going to interrupt them for this. I’m just a little shaken. I’ll be fine after I’ve had time to process this and rest a little.”
Robin had been silently studying Jenny, Harriet noticed. As a lawyer, she had probably had more experience deciphering whether people were being truthful or not.
“When I was in law school,” Robin finally said, “we had a class on body language. You know, to help us tell if a witness was being truthful or not.”
“I am not some kind of criminal,” Jenny snapped and started to rise.
Mavis stilled her with her hand.
“I’m sure that’s not what Robin is saying,” she said.
“Actually, I’m not saying you’re a criminal,” Robin said to Jenny, “But I am saying you’re not being truthful. We’re not the police, and I’m not your attorney—we’re your friends. If you’re in some kind of trouble, maybe we can help you. We can’t do anything if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jenny said.
“That I believe,” Robin said.
“There must be something that’s got you spooked,” Harriet said.
“It’s the clothes,” Jenny finally said, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
“The clothes?” Harriet echoed.
Aunt Beth got up and crossed to Harriet’s desk, where she picked up a box of tissues and brought it back, plucking out two and pressing them into Jenny’s hand.