Arlene Sachitano - Quilter's Knot

Aunt Beth had included another picture of the quilt, but it didn't reveal anything they didn't already know. It was a really good copy.

"The second round of lectures should be getting out in a few minutes. I think I'll go see if I can borrow a copy of the quilt block encyclopedia from one of the teachers,” she decided. “We can look and see if there are any traditional pieced blocks that have the word mother in them. And I'll have a chance to ask about Patsy Jackson."

Carla gave her a questioning look.

"Carla, if you want to come with me, while I'm talking to the teachers, you can hang out with the students in the lobby and see if you hear any interesting gossip."

"If you aren't back in a half-hour, we're coming to look for you,” Connie warned.

"Let's go,” Harriet said.

Students were trickling out of the building when she and Carla arrived. A larger group was clustered around the table in the lobby that had the quilt information on it; Carla sidled up to them. Harriet continued on to the classrooms without saying anything. She found Ray Louise Hanson still in the room she lectured in.

She quickly determined that the school did have several quilt block books that could be loaned to students.

"Come with me back to the teachers’ room and you can decide which one you want,” Ray Louise said. She gathered her notes and put them in a pink rip-stop nylon bag.

"Do you know a teacher or artist named Patsy Jackson?” Harriet asked as she followed the teacher through the series of doors and short halls. “My aunt is thinking of having her make a wall hanging."

"I don't know anyone by that name.” Ray Louise stopped abruptly and turned around. Harriet barely avoided running into her. “I do know your aunt Beth, though, and she could easily make any kind of quilt she could ever want. Whatever you're up to, you need to come up with a better cover story. Too many of us know Beth, and don't try to say it's not Beth. She's been very worried about you the last couple of years."

"Great,” Harriet said with a fake smile.

"So, what are you up to?"

She explained about Lauren's missing work, Aunt Beth's discovery of the copy and Lauren's comments to anyone who would listen that resulted in her becoming suspect number one in Selestina's death. She finished up with Lauren's disappearance.

"Aunt Beth just faxed us a copy of the label, and it said the quilt was made by Patsy Jackson of Angel Harbor, Washington."

"That has to be an alias,” Ray Louise said. “This community is too small for an art quilter of that level to exist here without some of us knowing her.” She silently studied her shoe for a moment. “Tell you what,” she said when she looked up again. “I'll ask all the teachers at lunch. Inessa Follansbee has been doing a workshop on stash management. She owns Angel Harbor Quilts, the local quilt store. If this Patsy exists, she has to buy fabric. Even if she's one of those people who buy their fabric online she would have to go in there sometime. I'll check with Inessa and let you know. Which residence are you staying in?"

Harriet gave her the particulars and thanked her for her help. Once more, Aunt Beth's big mouth had paid off.

"I have one more question,” she said. “Is there a lot of pressure on the staff of the school to keep producing new work?"

"If you're asking if Selestina copied Lauren's work, she wouldn't need to do that as head of the school. Her teachers are a different story. Once most of the students have taken a class on a particular technique, the instructors can't fill a class anymore-there aren't enough new bodies coming in for that. Teachers have to continually come up with new and different projects and techniques to keep our base of repeat students coming back. And I'll tell you, it's hard.

"So, yes, I could see a teacher getting desperate and maybe copying a student's work, but they would have to teach it at a different school. Here people might recognize it. Then again, most teachers teach at multiple locations. Someone could copy work here and teach a class on the technique in a quilt store in Kansas and no one would ever know."

"Thanks,” Harriet said.

"Good luck finding your friend's work."

Harriet came back out to the lobby and found a group of women still clustered near the table of instructions. Someone was speaking loudly, and as she got closer she recognized Sarah's voice.

"I don't see why we have to use the theme of motherhood . There aren't any good blocks with motherhood in the name. If it's a gift from us to whoever, why can't we make what we think is meaningful? I'd like to make a block that represents the school. I've had such a great time here, I think an applique of the fiber arts building would be a better memorial. This is his mother's school, after all."

"It is hard to think of a motherhood block,” a skinny blonde with thin lips said.

"And I don't think we should be limited to techniques we learned here for the other one, either,” Sarah continued. “I took a class in Seattle and we made a paste out of flour and cornmeal and ginger ale and spread it on muslin and when it dried we shook it off and then we sprayed dye over the top and when it dries you wash it and the results are very cool."

The blonde asked a question about what, if any, fabric prep Sarah had done. Harriet looked around the entrance hall for Carla, and finally spotted her on a small hand-carved bench near the door to the outside. She crossed the space, and Carla stood up.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't take any more of Sarah. She isn't really letting other people talk anyway."

"Well, it was worth a try."

"It was kinda interesting before she showed up. That blonde in the tight jeans was riling people up about leaving. She said she never liked Selestina and… let me think… she said, ‘I merely tolerated her so I could take classes from her teachers.’ And then she said she would feel like a hypocrite going to her memorial service on Sunday."

"So, what did the other people say?” Harriet pulled the door open and ushered her out.

"They didn't get a chance to say anything. Patience came up and basically calmed everyone down. She told them that, in spite of Selestina's public persona, she was a real nice lady and only wanted what was best for the students, and after all was said and done, didn't they all have great memories of their time here? And then she said that although the school would continue and they would make many more memories, change was inevitable, and Selestina's passage marked the end of the era and surely that was worth celebrating."

"Did they buy it?"

"Everyone was kind of whispering among themselves, and I couldn't exactly hear what they were saying. I tried to get closer.” Her face started to turn pink.

"Hey, you did great."

"I started to go up to the table, but then Sarah showed up and I didn't want her to figure out what I was up to.” She held up a handful of paper and fabric. “I had to grab another set of stuff so I'd have a reason to be there. Then I made like I was leaving and found that bench."

Sarah caught up with them as they headed back toward the Tree House.

"I'm going to lunch with a friend,” she said, emphasizing the word friend . Harriet presumed she was talking about whoever it was keeping her out late the last few nights. She couldn't help but notice that Sarah had abandoned her usual khaki twill pants and blazer for low-rise black slacks with a wide belt and a silky pink T-shirt that hugged her curves and revealed more cleavage than usual for a student at a quilt school.

She brushed past them and hurried on to the Tree House. Carla looked at Harriet and laughed. Harriet just shook her head.

Mavis and Connie were sitting on the sofa in the great room. Mavis had a sketchpad in her lap. Connie was cutting out images she'd drawn on a piece of freezer paper. She had obviously figured out a design, and it was going to involve applique. The waxy side of the freezer paper could be attached to fabric simply by ironing it on. It stuck well enough that you could cut out images drawn on the paper and then sew them to another piece of fabric; and when you were finished, it peeled off without leaving a residue.