Free Make Quilts Not War by Arlene Sachitano Page A

was her quilt, after all, so most people who had seen the advertising would expect that she’d be the one talking about it, especially on the first night.”
    “She’s been acting weird ever since the committee first asked if they could feature her quilt,” Lauren pointed out.
    “I agree,” Robin said. “Her reaction to being asked was way off. Think about it. What would you say if they had asked you for one of your first quilts? It might not be comparable to something you’d make now, but would it freak you out?”
    “Good point,” Harriet said. “But who knows what memories that particular quilt might hold for her. Maybe her dead mother helped her make it.”
    “Or she cried on it when her first boyfriend dumped her,” Lauren added with enthusiasm. Or—”
    “We get the idea,” DeAnn said, cutting Lauren off. “But even if that was the case, it’s been—what?—forty, forty-five years since that quilt was made? How upset can you still be over a lost boyfriend?”
    “We aren’t going to get any answers standing here,” Robin said. “I’m going to swing by home and make sure things are under control. I’ll come by after that.”
    “Me, too,” DeAnn said. “David is with the kids, but I should check in if I’m going to be gone longer than I told him.”
    “I’ve got to wait until they close the vendor hall so my stuff will be secure,” Harriet said. “Let yourself in if you get there before me.” She had changed the locks on her house after it became apparent that Aunt Beth and her friends had given keys to half of Foggy Point when Beth had owned the house. Several of the Loose Threads had keys to the new locks; the rest used a key hidden under the planter box next to the door.
    “So, what do you really think is going on?” Lauren asked Harriet when DeAnn and Robin had left.
    “I don’t know.”
    “But if you had to guess…”
    “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say Jenny knows something she’s not telling the rest of us.”
    “That’s what I’m thinking. I have no idea what that could be, but there’s something there.”
    “Do you know how long she’s lived in Foggy Point?”
    “Now that you mention it, I don’t. I just assumed she was descended from a serving wench on Cornelius Fogg’s pirate ship, like almost everyone else in town.”
    “She talks about her son and daughter-in-law a lot, and I know her son went to school with Aiden.” Harriet’s stomach spasmed at the mention of Aiden’s name, and she tried to block the flood of emotion that came with it.
    “You’re pathetic,” Lauren said and shook her head.
    “What?” Harriet felt her face coloring as she said it.
    “It’s like junior high with you and He Who Shall Apparently Not Be Named Without You Getting All Weepy. You need to work on shielding your emotions a little better if you don’t want to share all with the Threads.”
    “Thanks for the advice. I suppose you’re an expert?”
    “The fact that you don’t know tells you that I am. At least as far as blocking emotions goes.”
    She had a point, Harriet thought. She had no clue about Lau ren’s love life.
    “Back to the topic at hand,” Lauren continued. “I can do some digging on the computer after our meeting. Maybe I can find some-thing.”
    A woman wearing a pink T-shirt with she who dies with the most fabric wins emblazoned across the chest in purple came up and asked about Harriet’s long-arm quilting service, ending the discussion.

Chapter 11
    T here were several cars parked at Harriet’s house when she pulled into her garage, but her aunt’s silver Beetle was not among them.
    “Beth decided to stop by Jenny’s house and try to get her to come here with her,” Mavis explained when Harriet came into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind I’m making coffee and tea.”
    “Of course not, you know you don’t need to ask.”
    “Do you have anything we could put out for people to nibble on?”
    “I have hummus and could cut up some