Free Stitches in Time by Barbara Michaels Page A

brusquely, “It was a great party, but I still think it was a stupid idea. Cheryl has that long drive ahead of her tomorrow, and I’ll bet she hasn’t finished packing yet.”
    â€œIt’s only a five—” An ear-splitting yawn interrupted Cheryl. “Hour drive. And I have too finished packing. Almost.”
    â€œAnd that’s another thing,” Kara said. “Where’s that no-good friend of yours, Pat? If he doesn’t show up, Rachel will be alone here.”
    The reminder was like a dash of cold water, spoiling the warm relaxed mood. The only calm face was that of Pat MacDougal. “He’ll be here.”
    â€œIf he isn’t, Rachel can come to us,” Mark said, frowning.
    â€œAnd leave the animals alone?” Kara demanded.
    â€œHe’ll be here, dammit!” Pat shouted. “But while we’re on the subject, maybe one of you will explain to me precisely what has been going on. All I’ve heard so far is a lot of garbled gossip from various emotional females.” He pointed a long finger, quelling the babble of indignant voices. “Tony.”
    Tony obliged, as methodically as if he were giving an official report. “So far nothing has turned up,” he finished. “There have been the usual number of burglaries, but nobody’s reported losing a bunch of old quilts.”
    â€œI can see,” said Pat, “that it is high time someone of intelligence considered this business. Your Alleged must be a local boy—”
    â€œNot necessarily,” Tony began.
    â€œOtherwise,” Pat went on, raising his voice, “he wouldn’t know about the shop. I assume you haven’t had any parallel cases—burglars specializing in antique fabrics? I thought not. Nor, from your description of him, is he the sort of aesthete who would appreciate antiques of that esoteric variety. So the logical conclusion is that he knew in advance the stuff was worth stealing because he had a personal connection with the owner. Either he worked at a shop where such things are sold, or he swiped them from a friend or relative who had told him of their value.”
    â€œEven so,” Tony argued, “the, theft would have been reported.”
    â€œNot if the owner doesn’t know the stuff is missing.” Pat’s teeth gleamed weirdly in the firelight. “Let’s have a look at it.”
    He jumped briskly to his feet. The others stared at him with a conspicuous absence of enthusiasm.
    â€œNot now,” Mark said, with a groan. “Dammit, Pat, I want to sit and relax. Why’d you have to bring up the subject?”
    â€œPat’s right,” Tony said. “Much as I hate to inflate his ego by admitting it. Where’d you stow the loot, babe?”
    â€œOne of the cupboards in the shop.” Cheryl rose stiffly. “I’ve been feeling bad about leaving Rachel here; if we can find out something that might help locate the man…”
    The others followed her and she switched on the overhead lights before dragging the box out of the cupboard.Rachel helped her spread the contents over chairs and tables. Pat didn’t even wait to see the collection before commenting, “As I thought. Five will get you ten that lot has been packed in a trunk or box for years. Smell the mothballs.”
    â€œOf course,” Cheryl said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘of course?’” Tony demanded. “You never bothered to mention—”
    â€œA perfect example of the fact that men and women don’t share the same cultural traditions,” Pat said, grinning. “She didn’t mention it because to her—and to you other ladies—the fact was self-evident.”
    â€œThese things certainly didn’t come from a commercial establishment,” Kara agreed. “Nobody would put them out for sale in this condition.” She leaned over to examine the white quilt more closely.