Disappearing Nine Patch (A Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 9) (26 page)

“Could she have been given a psychedelic drug like LSD or something?” Harriet asked.

“Possibly. That might explain her fragmented memories.”

Harriet thought for a minute.

“Did she remember any of this?”

“Not while she was here. And believe me, she tried.”

Carla leaned forward and made eye contact with Martha.

“Do you know who killed her?”

Martha smiled.

“I wish it were that simple. My impression is, Molly was walking, and she felt as though she was being followed. She started to turn her head to look…” Here Martha put her hand to the base of her neck. “But she felt a terrible pain in the back of her head, and then she crossed over. She was in a forest, but I think you know that, since that’s where she was found.”

“Can’t you just ask her what happened, like that guy on TV?” Carla pressed.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. There are many types of psychics, and then there are mediums. Mediums are the people who say they communicate with the dead. I can’t tell you if they do or they don’t. All I can speak to is my own impressions about people.

“Some psychics are able to jump from the victim to the perpetrator of a crime at will. That’s not me, either. I’m just a plain vanilla psychic. I can only tell you what the person I’m connected with was seeing or feeling.”

Harriet chewed on her bottom lip.

“I have a question that may or may not be related to Molly. If you want to charge me a session fee, I understand.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. What’s your question?”

“My aunt’s car was tampered with a few days ago, and she was injured as a result. My quilting studio was broken into, and my machine was damaged. Was this just our bad luck, or are our incidents related to Molly’s murder?”

“I can’t tell you who the person is who is causing these events, but I have no doubt the events you’ve described are related. And make no mistake
—
you have a very powerful and dangerous enemy. Be careful.” Martha got up and turned her recorder off. She removed the tape and handed it to Harriet. “I hope you have a cassette player. I haven’t upgraded my technology in a while.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. And yes, we can come up with a cassette player.”

“I wish I could have been more helpful. Let me know if you have any more questions after you’ve reviewed the session tape with your friends. I’ll try to answer anything I can. I can’t emphasize enough, you’re dealing with someone very dangerous.”

Harriet stashed the cassette tape in her purse.

“Do you see something else happening?”

Martha thought a moment before answering.

“I do. I don’t think it happens directly to either one of you, but someone close to you. I wish I could tell you more. Right now, all I have is a feeling. If it becomes clearer, I’ll call you immediately.”

Carla’s face lost all its color.

“Wendy,” she said softly.

“We will not let anything happen to Wendy. Rod and Connie won’t let anyone near her.”

Harriet turned back to Martha and reached her hand out.

“Thank you for your time. We’ve certainly got a lot to think about.”

The psychic took the hand in both of hers.

“Be careful.”

“That was spooky,” Carla said when they’d returned to the car.

“I was hoping she could tell us a little more.”

“She told us we’re in danger.”

“Carla, we knew that already. I did, anyway. My aunt got hurt, and my house got violated. I was pretty sure whoever is doing this is dangerous.”

Carla shrank back in her seat.

Harriet sighed, realizing she’d spoken more sharply than she’d intended.

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. I’m not sure I even believe in psychic powers, but at the same time, I was hoping she was going to be able to tell us who killed Molly.”

“So did I.”

“What she said about the difficulty in reading children makes sense, though.”

Carla stared out her window.

“I guess,” she finally said.

Harriet carried a large thermal bag full of the lunch she’d picked up at Jorge’s restaurant in one hand. In the other hand, she held a gallon jug of iced tea. Carla followed with a shopping bag filled with paper plates, cups, plastic utensils wrapped in napkins, and containers of salsa, guacamole and sour cream, along with a big bag of tortilla chips.

Harriet set her bag down on one of the eight-foot cafeteria tables in the food service area of the church basement.

“Jorge said to tell you he made quesadillas for us.” She opened the bag and began unloading as the group around the quilt frame stabbed their needles into the fabric and joined her. Robin wasn’t stitching today, so Jorge hadn’t had to include her usual “healthy” meal, which was usually some sort of salad. Jenny had once again taken her place at the quilt.

“We have fajita beef, chicken or plain cheese,” Harriet continued. “Jorge said to tell everyone he pre-cut them so we can mix and match if we want, and he included three more quesadillas then we have people to allow for meat preferences.”

Connie took the plates and started setting them out on the table.

“He does think of everything.”

Harriet looked over Connie’s head to her aunt.

“Do you need help?”

Beth was gliding along the cement floor on her knee scooter.

“No, I’m good. I’m getting pretty handy with this thing.”

Mavis sat down at the table and began unwrapping her eating utensils.

“Are you going to keep us in suspense while you talk about food? Or are you going to give us a report?”

“I’ll do better than a report. The psychic tapes everyone’s session and gives them the tape when they leave. Even though we weren’t clients, she taped our talk and gave it to us. Carla and I stopped by the church office and borrowed their cassette player, so as soon as everyone gets their food and is settled, we’ll play it for you.”

Carla brought the player around to where Harriet was sitting and put it on the table. Harriet popped the compartment open and inserted the tape. When everyone had their food and was settled, she pushed the on button.

Mavis wiped her mouth on her napkin as the tape finished.

“Well, that’s as clear as mud. She has no idea who did anything?”

Harriet grimaced.

“Apparently, if we believe any of this at all, psychics are not all-seeing and all-knowing. And it sort of made sense, if she can only know what the victim knows. The hard part is figuring what, if anything, of what she got from Molly was real and what was fantasy.”

Lauren slid her tablet computer from her messenger bag and woke it up.

“Let’s think a minute. What are all the possible underground options? She could have been in a sewer pipe, or a basement.”

Carla’s face brightened, and she started to raise her hand, but dropped it back into her lap and spoke instead.

“She could have been buried in a box underground with an air pipe. My mom lived with a man from Mexico who was laying low here after he’d kidnapped some bigwig from a company down there and kept him in a box until his insurance paid the ransom.”

Her face turned pink as the quilters seated around the table fell silent and stared at her.

“I was in the closet and was supposed to be asleep when he was telling her about it one night.”

Lauren started tapping notes into her tablet.

“Okay, we’ll add coffin-like box to the list. What else?”

“Does anyone around here have bomb shelters?” Harriet asked.

Aunt Beth pressed her lips together.

“I’d say yes…probably. I’m not sure how you can find that out.”

“Lots of people built them in the fifties,” Mavis added. “People were very paranoid during the Cold War.”

Lauren looked down at her tablet screen.

“So far, I’m not finding any sort of listing of privately-owned bomb shelters. If a home was sold and listed that as a feature, I might be able to find it but it will take a while.”

“I’m not sure I’d spend a lot of time on that,” Harriet said. “Suppose they
were
held in a bomb shelter. It could have belonged to any random stranger. I’m not sure we can even establish if that serial killer guy had access to a bomb shelter. If a lot of them are abandoned, Amber’s killer might have been using one anywhere, and it could have no relationship to him.”

Lauren clicked her tablet off and leaned back.

“You’re right, but at least it’s something. I’m pretty sure the serial killer didn’t come back from the dead and kill Molly. We haven’t been able to rule the boyfriend in or out yet, so I think we should keep an open mind about all possibilities.”

Harriet picked up a tortilla chip and scooped it into the guacamole before popping it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully then wiped her mouth with her napkin.

“Maybe we should hang up our detective creds. We haven’t figured out anything about this situation; and if the psychic is right, and my studio and Aunt Beth’s troubles are all connected, we’re going in the wrong direction, big time.”

“Morse has been telling us we shouldn’t stick our noses in police business,” Connie pointed out.

Lauren twirled her plastic fork in her fingers.

“Can you sit back and wait to see what’s going to happen next?”

Harriet tried to keep her face serious but finally gave up and smiled.

“No, I can’t. Now that we’ve poked the hornet’s nest, I don’t think we can un-poke it.”

Beth got up and mounted her knee scooter.

“I think we can and should let Morse do her job. We’ve got enough on our plate with this quilt to stitch.”

She wheeled over to the frame and sat down at her position, ending any further discussion.

It was two o’clock on Sunday afternoon before the quilters were able to remove the protective bed sheet they’d stretched over their quilt frame. The church served a meal after the main Sunday service, and it took a while for the last stragglers to leave.

Mavis put her pillow onto the seat of her chair and sat down.

“I’m glad we went to the early service.”

Harriet sat down beside her and arranged her purse and quilt bag underneath out of the way of her feet.

“I am, too. It gave me time to do my laundry. I was going to be out of clean socks.”

“Heaven forbid. We can’t have you sockless,” Mavis said and laughed.

“Glad you have time to do laundry,” Lauren said as she came over to the quilt frame. “I got up at six and worked all morning.”

Mavis raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

“Hey, some of us have to work for a living, and if I’ve got to be here for the rest of the day quilting, I have to get stuff done at non-standard times.”

Harriet located the spot she’d stopped at the day before and began stitching.

“I had another thought.”

Lauren looked at her, grateful for the change of topic.

“What if the underground location is a cave?” Harriet continued. “Aren’t there some caves on the hill below Sarah’s cabin?”

Mavis began stitching.

“My boys used to play in some caves that were in the public land off Hewitt Road.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “Let me call Peter.”

“If there are caves, it wouldn’t hurt to go have a quick look,” Harriet said in a low voice.

“Works for me,” Lauren whispered.

Mavis ended her call and turned back to the quilt frame.

“Pete says there are two caves. He said to park by the sign to the hiking trail—it’s just past the three-mile marker on Hewitt Road. Go down the trail for half a mile and then take a smaller path to the left, behind a large oak tree. He said you’ll see a large rock formation. The entrance is to the right side of the rocks.”

Lauren tapped notes into her phone as Harriet kept stitching.

“We need to wait and see how many people show up to quilt before we go anywhere,” Harriet said. “If we don’t get at least six, we need to stay and stitch.”

“You’re the boss,” Lauren told her.

Mavis bent down and rummaged in her bag. She raised her hand triumphantly, an automatic needle threader clutched in her fingers.

“I know Carla isn’t coming—she said she needs to spend time with Wendy. Robin has to be home with her kids, too.”