Quilter's Knot

She's an in-your-face kind of gal. If she thought you had something of hers, she'd demand you give it back.” She sat back.

'I hate to say it, but I have to agree,” Harriet conceded.

'So, that leaves us back at the beginning,” Connie said.

Patience stashed her tissue in her sleeve and drank her tea. She asked polite questions about Connie's applique and Mavis's hand piecing.

'Would you like a refill?” Connie asked and pointed at the green mug.

'No, I need to go back to my cottage and review my class notes. I'll be teaching in Selestina's place. Not that anyone can really take her place, but the students have paid and the material must be presented.” She looked like she had the weight of the world on her thin shoulders. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything.'

'Thank you,” Harriet said. “As you can see, I'm fine.'

Patience set her hand on the door latch, and then stopped and looked back at the three women. “I did call the handyman and asked if he could drive around the grounds and watch for any suspicious activity.” She left without waiting for any comment.

'So, what's that supposed to do?” Harriet asked. “No one needs to break in around here-nothing's locked. And we know the handyman doesn't live on the property. And everyone knows who he is. It would be pretty easy to avoid detection.'

'What'd I miss?” Darcy asked before anyone could respond. She'd come in the door as Patience went out. She looked around. “What did Patience want?'

'She was just checking on us,” Mavis said. “We were just about to look at Beth's pictures when she arrived.'

Connie and Harriet picked up their copies and resumed their study of the images.

'It's hard to come to any conclusion without having pictures of both, side by side.'

'Let me see,” Darcy said, and took Mavis's copy. She turned it sideways and then upside down. She held it at arm's length and then propped it on the twig rocker and stepped back to look at it.

'What do you see?” Mavis asked.

'See the curved lines of stitching?'

'The ones that look sort of like topographical lines on a map,” Connie asked.

'Yeah, only they're not topo lines. They're the ridge lines of a fingerprint. A thumbprint, to be exact.'

'I could have told you that,” Lauren said. Everyone turned as she joined the group. Robin and Carla went upstairs without saying anything. Harriet didn't blame them; they'd probably had their fill of Lauren.

'Why didn't you tell us that to begin with?” Harriet demanded.

'What difference would it make? I told you I made my quilt from scratch. What else do you need to know?'

'Now, honey,” Mavis said. “If you want Harriet here to restore your reputation and help you find your lost quilt, you're going to need to cooperate just a little.'

'What else does she need to know?” Lauren asked. Harriet could see she was truly perplexed. She really did live in another world.

'I'm not sure what else you can tell us, but let me take your fingerprint, and we can get the lady in the office to make an enlargement of it. Then we'll sort-of have proof that your quilt is the original. I mean, if this were a real criminal case, they would say Lauren's fingerprint could have been captured off any number of public surfaces and then used. But that would be bizarre.'

'So, let's assume you take the print, we make a copy, we all swear that Lauren's print matches the shape on her quilt, and it's more detailed than what could be accounted for by random chance.” Harriet paced as she spoke then turned to face the group. “What difference does it make?'

The cords in Lauren's neck tightened, and Harriet could see her chest rise in preparation for an outburst. She held her hand up, and Mavis put a hand on Lauren's arm.

'Let her finish,” she urged in a hushed tone.

'What I'm saying is, as a student of Selestina's it wouldn't be unheard-of for Lauren's work to look like her teacher's. The real question is why Selestina would copy Lauren's work. Think about it. She's an acknowledged expert in her field. She's been making art quilts for years. She makes class samples; she's won awards.” She looked at Lauren. “I'm not saying your quilt isn't great. It is. But why would an established artist copy the work of a second-year student?'

Lauren's mouth moved, but no words came out. Her anger deflated like a balloon.

'Come on, let's sit and have another cup of tea and think about that,” Connie suggested.

'If I drink anymore tea I'm going to be up all night,” Mavis announced. “But we do need to talk about this.'

Lauren sat down on the couch. She opened her quilted shoulder bag and pulled out a foil-wrapped package.

'Here,” she said, and began opening the foil. “My brother made us some brownies.'

'Now you're talking,” Mavis said. “Bring that pot back, Connie. Maybe I could choke down another dribble of tea with my brownie.'

The women sat in near-silence, the only sound the munching of possibly the best brownies ever created.

'These are incredible,” Harriet said, and reached for another one. “He's hit just the right balance of chewiness and cakeness.'

'Yeah, well, he fancies himself a chef,” Lauren said. “I keep telling him he's never going to get anywhere if he won't leave this backwater place. But he says he's learning a lot from that witch in the dining hall.'

Carla and Robin rejoined the group, and the quilters brought them up to date on their discovery about Lauren's fingerprint. They all discussed the situation, but no matter how they looked at it, it just didn't make sense. Lauren's piece was nice, but her work still lacked the maturity of a trained artist, so why would a woman whose work sold for thousands of dollars copy it?

Eventually, one by one, they drifted upstairs to their rooms, the problem unsolved.

Chapter Seventeen

'Is Lauren Sawyer here?” asked the police officer Mavis found on the front step of the Tree House when she answered the door the next morning. He was a stout, dark-haired man with florid cheeks and a yellow-plastic- handled gun.

Mavis glanced at her watch. “It's a quarter before seven, young man. She's either in bed or taking her shower.'

'I need to speak to her. May I come in?'

Connie came up behind Mavis.

'Is there a problem?'

'This officer wants to speak to Lauren.'

'Dios mio!” Connie put her left hand to her mouth. The officer looked exasperated.

'I guess you better come in, then,” Mavis said and stepped back.

'I'll go get Lauren.” Connie headed up the staircase.

'I don't care who it is,” Lauren could be heard saying from the second-floor landing a moment later. “I'm drying my hair.'

Connie returned. “Lauren will be down when she finishes drying her hair.'

'Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Mavis offered.

The officer accepted, and was sitting at the dining table with the two older women when Lauren finally came downstairs almost twenty minutes later.

'Lauren Sawyer? I'm Officer Weber. I need to ask you some questions, and I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me to the police station.'

'Are you arresting me?” she demanded.