can’t find anything to indicate it has any cult ties, so at least that’s good. They were more successful at truck farming than the local community expected—nothing too exciting. An exhibit has been created around them and is traveling to several museums around the country. That’s new. Even if someone saw her picture in the exhibit, I can’t imagine why that would be a problem, I mean, they would have to have been there themselves to know her from the commune, so what would the big deal be?”
“There’s something wrong about Jenny’s whole story,” Harriet said. “I’m not sure the commune explains why she was so antsy about doing this event, but it definitely doesn’t explain why she’s so sure she was the real target of the shooting or why she was so frantic to check out her quilt afterward.”
Her cell phone rang, and from the ringtone, she knew it was her aunt.
“I’m at the coffee shop with Lauren and Tom,” she said after they had exchanged greetings. “I’d be happy to pick up more tortillas at Jorge’s on my way to the festival.”
She listened to her aunt’s instructions about where to find the tortillas Jorge needed and told her to give Jorge’s cook fifteen or twenty minutes to get them packed before she went to Tico’s Tacos.
“Did Lauren have any news?” Aunt Beth asked.
Harriet relayed what Lauren had reported and rang off.
“I’m going to have a cup of tea,” she announced. “I have to wait on a box at Jorge’s.”
She got up and went to the coffee bar to place her order. She could feel Aiden staring at her as she crossed the room. She glanced his way, and he quickly averted his gaze.
“Just who I wanted to talk to,” Detective Jane Morse said from behind her in line; Harriet hadn’t seen her come in. “Officer Nguyen mentioned you were hanging around the crime scene when he arrived. Please tell me that was a coincidence.
“You were involved,” she continued when Harriet didn’t speak. She looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t need any complications, please.”
“Lauren and I were there,” Harriet explained, “but not when the shooting happened. Our friend Jenny made the quilt that was hanging on the stage where the woman was killed. I know it sounds shallow, but I think our friend wanted to see if her quilt had been damaged.”
“Jenny Logan,” Morse said, looking at the small notebook she’d pulled from her pocket. “She’s your Jenny? Jenny from the Loose Threads?”
“Yes, our Jenny.”
“I need to talk to her, too. Do you know where she is?”
“Probably at home. She’ll be back at the festival today. Assuming your guys are letting people go back in.”
“We had people working all night to clear the scene so we wouldn’t interfere with the festival. It’s our community, too, you know.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Harriet said.
“I know,” Morse said and rubbed her hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”
“Can you join us for a few minutes,” Harriet asked her when she’d ordered her tea.
“Sure, let me get my coffee.”
“You know I can’t tell you anything,” Morse said when she’d taken a seat at the computer table. “But if you guys have any ideas, I’m all ears, particularly if you know anything about the victim.”
“So far, none of the Threads knows her except in passing,” Harriet said.
“I did a little checking on the Internet,” Lauren volunteered. “I was curious,” she added.
“And?” Morse prompted.
“It appears Pamela Gilbert was going through a contentious divorce,” Lauren said. “You probably already know she had a restraining order against her husband and some woman.”
“I didn’t know that yet, and I’m wondering how you do.”
“Some of my clients deal with security issues—criminal background checks, workplace security and monitoring—so I have to be current on what information can be accessed and how to do that,” Lauren replied. “It’s all legal.”
“If you say so,” Morse said.
“Don’t you guy always look at the family first?” Harriet asked.
“We do. Unfortunately, most murder victims are done in by someone they know, usually a loved one. People are tracking down the husband as we speak.”
“Are you going to increase security?” Lauren asked.
“We will have an increased presence, but the victim doesn’t appear to be random, at this point, so it isn’t likely anyone else is at risk.”
“Let’s hope not,” Tom said.
“I better go get Jorge’s tortillas.” Harriet stood up.
“I’ll walk you out,” Tom said with a glance across the room at Aiden and Michelle.
Aiden glared at him, but Michelle was talking,