Stitches in Time by Barbara Michaels

table. “You can’t be certain it’s the bag he’s after. Maybe it’s you.”
    â€œDon’t frighten her,” Ruth exclaimed.
    â€œIf I have to frighten her to convince her to act sensibly, I will,” Kara said. “I can think of several theories that might explain this character’s behavior, and all of them involve a potential threat to Rachel. I’m going to drive her back to her house so she can pack her things, and then I’lltake her to Leesburg.” Rachel started to protest. Again Kara cut her off. “Rachel, don’t be stupid. You can stay here for a few days, if that’s what you prefer. So long as you’re not alone.”
    It wasn’t the most gracious invitation Rachel had ever received. Though Kara’s voice was neutral and her expression bland, Rachel felt sure the other woman knew her secret. Otherwise she wouldn’t have suggested the alternative. Obviously it made better sense for Rachel to stay with the Cardozas, where there was ample room and she could be of help to Cheryl.
    â€œShe could come to us,” Ruth said, innocently aware of undercurrents. “Pat and I rattle around in that big old house and it’s not far from the shop.”
    That idea appealed even less than the prospect of moving in with Kara. Rachel could imagine what Ruth’s house was like—a Virginia manor house, decorated with dainty chintzes and antique furniture. They probably had live-in servants. I’d be as out of place as Alexander the dog, Rachel thought; the only difference being that I know I’m a slob and Alexander doesn’t know. Or care.
    Before she could comment, Kara said impatiently, “We’ll settle that later. Ruth, will you call Cheryl and explain the situation? Tell her we’re on the way. Come on, Rachel, we’ve got a lot to do.”
    Â 
    It was after noon by the time they left College Park. Arguing with Kara was a waste of breath; she had ignored or countered every protest Rachel had made, helped her pack, hauled suitcases and boxes to the car. As they headed for the Beltway along the eccentric traffic of Route 1, Rachel tried one more time to talk Kara into taking her back to Georgetown and her car, but her heart wasn’t in it. In the gray winter light the house had looked like a set fora horror movie, its paint peeling, its windows dark, the untrimmed shrubbery a wild tangle that provided concealment for an infinity of imaginary enemies. Rachel hadn’t expected that the sight of her room would make her break into a cold sweat of remembered terror and morbid “what-ifs.” What if he had had a gun? What if he had attacked instead of running away?
    So when Kara told her not to be silly she settled back and relaxed. Kara was a good driver, and the car was warm and comfortable—quite a contrast to Rachel’s drafty, springless wonder—and she had had only three hours’ sleep. She dozed off and didn’t wake up till they reached Leesburg.
    Kara brushed her apologies aside. “I expect you were exhausted. I was watching; I’m almost certain no one was following us. Let’s go in before Cheryl—Too late, there she comes. Just look at her—no coat, no sweater, dashing out in the cold as if you were an abandoned baby. That woman needs to have her maternal instinct amputated.”
    Not until she had supplied them with hot coffee and hot soup, and Rachel had assured her no less than four times that she was fine, did Cheryl consent to sit down and stop talking. Tony hadn’t spoken except to greet them; he was sitting in a rocking chair with one cushion behind his head and another one under his thigh. Several others had been inserted around him, more or less at random, and he looked horribly uncomfortable.
    The room had been the kitchen of the house, and Cheryl had left the appliances in place when she turned it into a downstairs sitting or family room. The stove