Lauren burst through the door of Harriet’s studio, dropped her messenger bag then bent to pull a bottle of champagne from its interior. She joined the group standing around the brand-new long-arm quilting machine that had just been delivered and set up.
“Am I late?” She held up the bottle. “I wasn’t sure if this was like a ship christening or not, so I brought a bottle to break on its…whatever the long-arm equivalent of a ship’s bow is.”
Harriet looked at her.
“You’re not breaking that on any part of this machine. I haven’t decided if I’m keeping it or not.”
Aunt Beth’s face turned red.
“What? Of course you’ll keep it. You’re being childish. This is a much better machine than the one that was damaged. The fact that your parents had a hand in it being here doesn’t change that fact.”
“They wouldn’t even have known I needed a machine if you hadn’t told them,” Harriet countered.
“That’s where you’re wrong. They called me. You may not talk to them very often—and that is as much them as it is you—but they do care about you, and they keep track of you much more than you believe. They called me when they found out something had happened here, and asked what they could do. Their first instinct was to write you a check, but I told them they needed to put a little more effort into it. To their credit, buying you a top-of-the-line quilting machine was their idea.”
“You’d be foolish to return such a nice machine just because you have unresolved issues with your parents,” Connie told her.
The Loose Threads were standing around the machine, all eyes on Harriet.
“Okay, fine. It can stay.”
The group collectively let out its breath.
The outside studio door opened again, this time letting James in. He carried a foil-wrapped pan.
“Anyone hungry?”
Harriet went over to him.
“I thought you were supposed to be resting this week.”
“I’ve passed all my concussion milestones so far so they let me resume a little of my normal activity. They said no restaurant yet—I’m still banned from doing anything that requires too much thinking or too much energy. Lucky for you, I can make brownies in my sleep.”
“Let’s put on the tea kettle and coffeepot,” Mavis said and led the way to the kitchen.
Jenny wiped her mouth and set her napkin beside her tea mug on Harriet’s dining room table.
“Those brownies were incredible.”
Mavis sipped her tea.
“I’m glad James is still around to bake them.”
“James is glad, too,” he said. “I wasn’t sure I would be for a while there.”
A tap sounded on the studio door, and shortly thereafter, Detective Morse entered the dining room. Harriet stood up and went into the kitchen to get another plate and mug.
“I’m glad you could make it.” she said.
Mavis stood up and picked up the coffee carafe with a questioning expression. Morse nodded, and Mavis filled her mug.
“I’m sure you all would like some answers. I can’t tell you everything, and in fact, since the FBI took over, I’m not sure I even know everything that’s happened.”
Harriet sat back down.
“I’m still in shock about Sandra Price.”
Morse set her cup down after taking a long drink of coffee.
“Everyone’s in shock about that. The FBI and pretty much all the local jurisdictions up and down the I-Five corridor have known for a long time that the freeway was a major human trafficking route. It goes from Mexico to Canada, with major ports all along the way. They also know that it takes a lot of support to move that many people. There are lots of regional and national task forces working on breaking it.
“The existence of the trafficking is no surprise. It’s the idea that a middle-class mother living in a nice, small-town neighborhood is a major link in the chain that’s got everyone rethinking what they’re doing.”
Mavis leaned forward in her chair.
“How long do they think this has been going on?”
“No one knows for sure,” Morse answered her. “From records they found in an office in the underground bunker, it’s been decades.”
Harriet thought for a moment.
“So, is Amber’s disappearance related to this?”
“That seems likely, now. The investigation into her disappearance has been reopened. The working theory is that Amber and Molly stumbled on to the bunker. Maybe they followed Sandra, or maybe they just were playing and found it. If the hatch was open, they probably climbed down the ladder and surprised either Sandra or one of her employees.
“As you’ve probably guessed, Molly got free and climbed out through the vent. Amber wasn’t so lucky and was either killed or sent off to who knows where to become part of the trade. I’m sure they kept an eye on Molly, and when it turned out she didn’t remember what had happened to her, they forgot about her…or tried to.”
Robin tapped her pen on the table. She wasn’t taking notes this time, but the pen had found its way to her hand anyway.
“It must have really bothered them when Molly grew up and came back to town trying to figure out what had happened.”
“Before her attorney arrived, Sandra was in a holding cell, and she had a little fit. She was ranting and raving and apparently unaware that everything said in those cells is recorded. She was mad at herself for going so easy on ‘those idiotic quilters and their amateur detecting.’ She outlined in great detail what she should have done to Beth’s car—which, by the way, she thought was Harriet’s. And she cursed her inept minions over the fact that they didn’t trash your place worse or even burn it to the ground.”
“That snake,” Aunt Beth hissed.
“Will she ever get out of jail?” Harriet asked.
“No. It’s clear from her meticulous record-keeping she was a major player. The poet might be able to strike a deal—he grew up the foster child of traffickers, and as near as they can tell so far, he made some effort to distance himself from them.” Morse looked down, studying a coffee spill on the tablecloth.
“It’s hard to tell how they’ll treat him. After he reached adulthood, he could have left, but if he has a good lawyer, they could bring in psychologists to argue how much damage was done to him, and they’ll undoubtedly argue Stockholm syndrome.”
“Do they know who killed Molly?” Harriet asked.
“I don’t think that’s sorted out yet. It probably wasn’t Sandra herself. They’ve arrested at least half a dozen of her associates, and it could have been any of them. One will eventually take a deal and turn on the rest. The first one to talk gets the best deal, and they all know that.”
Beth stood up and stretched her healing arm.
“I’m just glad it’s all over. Things could have been worse.”
James had been quietly listening to Morse’s information.
“I’m glad it’s over, too. I’ll be happier when they let me back in the restaurant, but in the meantime, I have a surprise that I think will put a smile on all your faces. Harriet, will you help me?”
“I’ve got to see this,” Lauren said. “It will take a lot to top those brownies.”
James led Harriet out of the dining room, through the kitchen and studio and out the door.
“Are we running away?” she asked him.
“No, but it’s a good idea.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “I really do have a surprise.” He led her to his van. “Open the door and pull out that cooler.”
She did as told and set the cooler on the ground.
“Okay, don’t say anything in case anyone can hear us, but look inside.”
Harriet again did as instructed. She found a large white laundry bag, opened the drawstring and looked inside.
“Oh, my gosh. Where did you get this?”
“One of my mom’s friends was volunteering at Goodwill, and it came in from a donation box. She checked to be sure it was a documented donation, then talked to the manager. Under the circumstances, they were able to work out a deal.”
“We have to show the others.”
Harriet took the bundle from the cooler and carried it back inside. People had gotten up from the table and were clearing dishes and making more coffee.
“Come on back in here, everyone, you have to see this.” She waited until they were all seated around the table again. “Lauren, can you help me here?”
She loosened the strings on the bag and put a handful of fabric in her friend’s hand then, taking a handful herself, pulled the bag away with her free hand. The hand-quilted disappearing nine-patch quilt unfolded as they stepped apart and held it up for all to see.
“Where did that come from?” Aunt Beth asked.
James repeated his story.
“Apparently, Josh was so mad after he was marched out of the presentation ceremony that, when his quilt was delivered, he took it to the nearest Goodwill donation box. Fortunately, one of my mom’s friends was volunteering when it came through and was able to negotiate for it. She thought you all might want to re-gift it or use it as a raffle quilt or something, so here it is.”
Connie stood up.
“I for one am glad that jerk doesn’t have our nice quilt.”
“Well,” Mavis said, “we’ll have to decide what a proper disposition is for it. For now, I think getting it back is a fitting end to this unfortunate adventure.”
END