Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,33
get out the bright lights and rubber hose.”
Lauren sighed.
“Do I have to do everything?” She pulled a handful of papers from the messenger bag she took nearly everywhere and slipped them into the book she’d taken from the shelf.
“What are you going to do?”
“Hide and watch, grasshopper, hide and watch.”
She got up and made her way to the bookshelf beside Bobby’s table. She browsed the books, reading the authors’ names on the spines. She used her fingers to make a space between two of them and turned her book around in her hand as if she were going to put it back on the shelf. At the last moment, she fumbled the book, dropping it on Bobby’s table, knocking his coffee into his lap and sending the papers from her book flying.
“I’m so sorry,” she said and pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser on his table. She handed them to Bobby, who immediately began dabbing at his lap. She set her book back on the table at the same time.
“Let me buy you another coffee,” she offered and took her book back. Without waiting for a reply, she bent and started gathering her papers. “What would you like?”
“One of those fancy drinks,” he growled at her. “I don’t care what kind.”
Lauren dropped her papers in front of Harriet and continued on to the table to order Bobby’s drink. Harriet picked up the stack and began straightening them. Neatly hidden between the third and fourth pages was an identification card, the sort that fit in the clear plastic sleeve on suitcases and backpacks. It belonged to one Robert Cosgrove, who lived at 1561 Alaskan Way S, Seattle, Washington, zip code 98134, and listed a phone number with a Seattle area code.
“I’m impressed,” Harriet said when Lauren returned from ordering and paying for Bobby’s drink.
“That’s how it’s done. Does it look useful?”
“Assuming it’s his, it’s a start,” Harriet said in a quiet voice, watching Bobby the whole time to see if he was paying attention to them or his backpack. He wasn’t
“Assuming it’s his?” Lauren whispered in a tone that was more like a hiss than a whisper. “Are you crazy? This is a major clue. Why would he have someone else’s name and address on what is probably his only possession? Of course it’s him. Besides the fact that he told you his name is Bobby and this ID card belongs to a Robert.”
“Let’s wait until we get back to the show, and then we can look up his address and phone,” Harriet said. “We need to look casual and finish our coffee so he doesn’t get suspicious.”
“I know how to research a person, and it’s more than looking up his address and phone number. Those are just starting points. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but the man is barely conscious.”
“Even so, we need to be careful.”
“Whatever,” Lauren said and picked up her now-tepid mocha. “I suppose I have to drink this.”
Harriet rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.
Chapter 14
“I thought I’d come keep Connie company while you two were out sleuthing,” Mavis said. “Did you find the guy you were looking for?”
“We not only found him, but Lauren was able to get his name and address.”
“So, who is he?” Connie asked.
“We have a name and address,” Lauren reiterated. “We won’t know who he really is until I can do some research.”
“He’s a lot older than he seems at first glance—mid-fifties, at least. Maybe even in his sixties,” Harriet said.
“Course he looks like he’s led a hard life. He’s a druggie,” Lauren said with conviction. “That could add a decade to his looks.”
“I wonder what he wants with Jenny,” Connie said, more to herself than the others.
“Money, if what Harriet saw is any indication,” Lauren said.
“But why would he think Jenny would give it to him?” Mavis said.
“Hopefully, that will become obvious when Lauren checks him out,” Harriet stated.
“Is anyone going to the dance party tonight?” Connie asked.
“Not me,” Lauren said. “I saw the list of dances from the sixties and, except for the twist, and maybe the monster mash, I didn’t recognize any of them.”
“You mean you never learned the Watusi or the Hully Gully?” Mavis asked with a smile.
Lauren turned to Harriet.
“Don’t look at me,” Harriet told her. “I learned ballroom dancing at boarding school and a little salsa. Miss Nancy would have had a stroke at the thought of those pagan dance steps being done at her school.”