Free 1 Forget Me Knot by Mary Marks

“I’m not seeing anything new.”
    Birdie shook her head. “Me neither.”
    I took several photos of each quilt with my digital camera and then folded them back up. “We need more data. I’m going back to Claire’s house and search for the list of quilts Siobhan mentioned.”
    “We’d offer to go, but both Birdie and I need to get back home.”
    “Tomorrow’s Quilty Tuesday anyway. Let’s meet here at the usual time, if that’s okay with you. I should have the list by then.”
    Birdie picked up the empty pink bakery box and put it in the recycle bin next to my sink. “Don’t worry about getting goodies. I’ll bake something tonight.”
    “Great. Thanks.” I hoped Birdie would either make her coconut ginger cookies or my very favorite, her applesauce cake. She was very liberal with the sugar and the butter, just the way I liked it. I hugged each one before they walked out the door. “See you mañana at the usual time.”
    After they left, I put the quilts back in the pillowcases. I was afraid if the thief ever figured out the quilts were in my house, he wouldn’t hesitate to come after them, so I put them at the bottom of the laundry hamper under some dirty clothes. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t go through my dirty laundry. Another chess move. What I didn’t realize at the time was although thieves can come when you’re not at home, they can also come when you’re there.
    I arrived at Claire’s around two and let myself in with the key. The cat ran up to greet me. “Come on, kitty. Let’s check on your food.” I entered Claire’s sewing room five minutes later and immediately saw something was very wrong. The quilt cupboard I emptied yesterday and relocked had been jimmied open. Siobhan was right about the thief coming back for Claire’s quilts. I looked inside the empty cupboard but didn’t touch anything. If my plan worked, the thief’s prints would be all over it.
    If I got the heck out of the house and called Detective Beavers about the open cupboard, he’d make this a crime scene again, and I’d never get to finish my search. The quilts were due to go back to the Terrys in two days, but first I wanted to make sure I was alone. I picked up a pair of eight-inch sewing shears to defend myself and tiptoed through the house, my heart pounding in my throat. The cat padded right beside me. “Why couldn’t you be a Rottweiler?” I whispered.
    There was a broken window in the guest room, with glass all over the floor. The window faced the front of the house and was hidden behind a tall, dense hibiscus—the perfect secluded entry point. The thief broke the stationary side of the window in order to reach in and unlock it. Then he removed the screen and slid aside the moving half of the window, creating a smooth entryway. A five-minute search of the house confirmed the thief was long gone. I definitely ought to call Beavers. Just not yet.
    I headed back to the sewing room to look for a quilter’s diary. Many quilters kept a sort of journal with photos and histories of each of their quilts—like when it was made and who it was made for.
    A journal might also contain small samples of the fabrics used or anecdotal comments such as This quilt took me three years to complete , or The floral fabrics came from my daughter’s little dresses and my grandmother’s feed sacks . I kept thick loose leaf binders with separate pages of photos and text about every quilt I made. I was on my fifth binder.
    I searched the wall of books first but didn’t find anything. I opened the drawers and cupboards one by one. Nothing. Where could Claire’s journals be?
    The cat and I walked back through the bedroom to Claire’s office, passing again the luxurious silks and Mary Cassatt painting. Funny the thief didn’t take the painting. Maybe he didn’t know what it was worth . A four-drawer metal file cabinet stood against the office wall.
    I hesitated to touch Claire’s personal files. I reminded myself I was only