The Quilt - Leann Sweeney

“That’s why I go to Ed’s Swap Shop, secure it and call Baca.”

“Did you think I planned to take it home?” I said with a laugh. “If I bought it, I thought I could hand it over to Chief Baca, no warrant attached.”

“Oh. Sorry I misunderstood,” she said. “But you don’t have to buy the thing. Ed knows all about stolen goods. I’m surprised they haven’t checked with him about the computer already. Maybe they have by now.”

“And you guys will have people who could make sense of damaged computer guts? Because Ed said it wasn’t in good shape.”

“The county has forensic computer experts. No one in Mercy PD could begin to tackle that job,” she said.

Even though it was after six and I’d had nothing to eat all day, Candace insisted we head straight for Ed’s store. In what seemed like only seconds, we pulled into the tiny parking area, courtesy of Candace trying to set a world record for getting from the Pink House to the other side of town. She told me to stay in the car and she’d deal with Ed. I didn’t mind. Thanks to her driving, my personal fear factor was about a ten on a scale of one to five, and I needed time to calm down.

I watched as Candace navigated through the junk in front of the building and then saw her pounding on the door. No one answered, and when she tried the latch, it was locked. Frustration was evident in every step as she stomped back to the car.

Sliding behind the wheel, she said, “The one time I need Ed to be there, he’s gone. We could probably go to the dump and find him, I suppose.”

“What about Karen? Remember she said they take their meals at her place?” I said.

Candace smiled. “Duh. Good thinking.” She took out her phone, scrolled down in the address book, then pressed the CALL button.

But she didn’t call Karen as I expected. “Tom? This is Candace. Can I have your mother’s phone number?”

Wide-eyed, I said, “Tom Stewart? Are you kidding?”

Candace held up a finger to silence me. She listened intently, repeated the number he gave her and made the second call. When someone answered, she said, “Hi, this is Candace. Is Ed there?”

She listened, then politely said, “I know he’s eating his supper, but this is important. I need him to meet me at the shop.”

More silence as Karen spoke.

Candace said, “Yes, but—”

I could hear Karen’s voice but couldn’t make out the words.

Candace’s shoulders slumped and she rolled her eyes. “Why, yes. We’d be delighted to join you. Be there in a few minutes.” She closed the phone and slapped it down between us.

“Karen is Tom’s mother?” I said.

“Thought you knew. Anyhow, the only way we’re getting inside that shop without having to get a warrant—which in Mercy would be considered a rude and unfortunate course of action—is to have supper with them. Let’s get this over with.”

She reversed the Toyota and peeled out of the driveway. All I could think about on this leg of our journey was that I had to get the name of a good chiropractor.

In comparison to Ed’s shop, Karen’s cottage ranked up there with the Taj Mahal. I swear there wasn’t a blade of grass out of place in her front yard. Two white rockers sat on the latticed porch, and a wind chime played its delicate tune as it swung in the evening breeze.

“How did these two ever end up together?” I whispered as Candace rang the doorbell.

“Met at church is what I heard.” She lowered her voice. “She used to drink. Preferred vodka, which is kinda expensive when you’re downing fifths.”

Before I could respond—and God knew what I’d say, anyway—Karen answered the door. Soon we were sitting at a dining room table that looked old enough to have been handed down from her grandparents. Everything was caramel-colored wood: the chairs, the sideboard, the china hutch and the oval table.

Ed’s hair was now combed and he wore a clean striped shirt buttoned up to his neck. Karen had on a peach sweater with a rabbit fur collar and pearl buttons.

When she caught me gaping, she said, “Fake fur. No animals were harmed in the making of this sweater.”

I smiled. “I didn’t mean to stare, but—”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. Now eat, ladies. Both of you could use some fat on your bones. Women are supposed to have fat to store their estrogen. Did you know that?”

And that was how it went. Ed concentrated on his pot roast, carrots and potatoes, while Karen talked nonstop, mostly offering up her fun facts. She was a wealth of information. But the last one made me set down my fork.

She said, “Did you know they kill cats in Europe for their fur? Make scarves and collars and such. Tabbies are quite popular for that, but I think that’s despicable. I surely do hope that’s not what Flake Wilkerson was up to in the Pink House.”

“We were—I mean Jillian was there all day.” Candace looked at me. “You found no sign of a cat massacre, did you?”

I felt sick at the thought.

Ed must have noticed, because he jumped in with, “Hush, Candace. And you, too, Karen. Can’t you see you’re upsetting Miss Jillian? She has a love of animals and you need to respect that.”

I exhaled the air I’d been holding and offered Ed a grateful smile.

Karen said, “I suppose that wasn’t proper talk at the supper table. Please forgive me, Jillian. The last thing I want to do is upset you. Tom has said such nice things about you. Now, time for that icebox pie I made this morning.”

Candace started to clear the table, but Ed held up a hand. “Our job. Just sit.”

After they took the dishes to the kitchen and we were alone, Candace said, “This is driving me crazy. There’s evidence to be collected and we have to waste time being polite.”

“I don’t think that computer is going anywhere,” I said.

“You’re probably right, but I am as edgy as a terrier watching a rat hole.” To prove this, she started gnawing on her pinkie finger.

I was in no hurry. The food was down-home delicious. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had mashed potatoes and gravy. I felt soothed in the presence of this odd couple, whose hospitality and concern were so genuine. I only wished it hadn’t taken a murder to get me out of my house and meeting people in Mercy.

The icebox pie was like nothing I’d ever tasted, rich with lemon cookie pieces, almonds and whipped cream. I was in heaven and, to Candace’s chagrin, I took my time with each bite. She’d eaten hers exactly like she drove her car: way too fast. She refused coffee, and in fear of my life I did, too, though I imagined Karen could make an awesome cup of coffee if the meal we’d had was any indication.

When Ed started to clear the pie plates, Karen waved him off. “Candace is chomping at the bit about something you’ve got in your shop that she sorely wants. You all go on now and I’ll clean up.”

We all stood and I said, “Are you sure? I’d be glad to help.”

Candace’s foot squeezed down on my toes, and it was all I could do not to punch her in the arm in response. But I didn’t. I was forty-one years old, not twelve.

The ride back to the shop was blessedly unhurried since we were following Ed’s truck. The battered, ancient vehicle probably couldn’t do more than forty and, coupled with the leisurely dinner, Ed’s pace was tranquil. I thought Candace might grip the steering wheel so hard her knuckles would snap.

After Ed unlocked the shop and let us in, he said, “Is this about that computer?”

“Yes,” Candace said. “I may be on a day off, but a police officer is always on duty. When Jillian mentioned your find, I thought it best I have a look since the computer could be useful in our investigation.”