The Quilt Before the Storm by Arlene Sachitano Page B

who’s supposed to be so worldly,” Lauren said. “The good detective is here for the same reason I am. You’re like a walking teen-age slasher movie.”
    “What are you talking about?” Harriet demanded.
    “You mean, apart from the fact you invited a pair of serial killers to your house where, if it wasn’t for us, you’d be home alone?”
    “Is that true?” Harriet looked at Jane.
    The detective started to say something then stopped, paused and started again.
    “Okay, so I was a little concerned. You invited two total strangers to your home, at night.”
    “I’ll be handing them a quilt, not inviting them in.”
    “I hate to say it, but I agree with Lauren. I know this place must seem pretty tame compared to Oakland. Isn’t that where you lived before you came here?”
    “Yes, there, and a lot of other places, and Foggy Point isn’t what I’d call tame. We’ve certainly seen our share of crimes in the nine-plus months I’ve been here, but I’m telling you, that couple just wasn’t giving off a danger vibe to me.”
    “Unfortunately, not all criminals are snarling pit bulls. They come in all sizes, shapes and colors,” Jane said.
    “I can’t believe you invited a truck driver to your house when it’s all over the news there’s a serial killer operating along the interstate who is probably a truck driver,” Lauren said.
    “Okay, you’re both right. It wasn’t a smart move. They just didn’t look like criminals to me. I saw her French manicure, diamond earrings and Seven for Mankind jeans and thought ‘suburban mom.’”
    “What are Seven for Mankind jeans?” Jane asked.
    “They’re a designer brand that run two hundred a pop,” Harriet explained.
    “Of course you’d know that,” Lauren said. She got up from the sewing machine and crossed to the door.
    “That’s very observant of you,” Jane said. “It raises some questions, but in the future, don’t ask anyone you don’t know well to come to your house when you’re alone. Serial killers or even plain murderers are relatively rare, but robbers aren’t. Someone might come back and break in when you aren’t here.”
    A knock on the door saved Harriet from having to make a response. Lauren opened it and let the truck-driving pair into the quilt studio.
    “I hope this helps,” Harriet said and handed one of the flannel quilts to Kate.
    “Thank you, this is great,” she said. “The camper part of the truck is pretty well insulated, so usually, we run the heater in there until we turn the lights off and it keeps us warm all night with just a comforter.”
    “We really appreciate this,” Owen said to Lauren. “We were going to try to find a motel, but I hate to do that when we’re coming home without a load. We had something lined up, but it fell through, and now we’re going to have to pay for a repair, too.”
    “I’m sure it’s tough,” Lauren said and eased him toward the door.
    “Thank you again,” he said to Harriet. “We better get moving and let you ladies get back to your quilting.”
    “There’s something strange going on there, if you ask me,” Lauren pronounced when Owen and Kate were gone.
    “Since they’re not known and loved in Foggy Point, we’re probably safe,” Harriet said and laughed, thinking of the murders that had happened since she’d returned, all committed by well-known members of the Foggy Point community. “They’re gone now, so you two can be on your way.”
    Detective Morse said her goodbyes and left, but Lauren went back to her sewing machine.
    “I hate to admit it, but my social life really is so pathetic I have nothing better to do tonight but help you finish quilts,” she said.
    Harriet tried not to smile at the admission, but her enjoyment of the moment was interrupted by a loud whoosh. A sustained gust of wind first sucked at the windows until she thought they would come out of their frames then hammered them back into place, pelting them with leaves and tree debris in