Stitches In Time Read Online Free Page B

raised by inserting cord or bits of cotton under the fabric of the top—the process called trapunto—so that it resembled low bas-relief. It was an astonishing piece of work and ordinarily Rachel would have been as rapt with admiration as Cheryl. But her irrational sense of something wrong had not diminished. If anything, it had grown stronger.
    "Who brought this?" Cheryl demanded.
    "Somebody you wouldn't want to meet," Tony said. His hands were clenched on the arms of the chair and Rachel sensed the frustration that filled him. If he had been able to move easily he'd have pushed his wife away and investigated the bag himself. "Hold it a minute, Cheryl," he continued. "It's probably all right. But Rachel just had a nasty encounter with the guy who left this—at least I assume it was he who left it—and I'd just as soon make sure there's nothing but old clothes inside."
    He described the incident, making light of it and without mentioning his disastrous attempt at pursuit.
    Cheryl jumped up, her eyes fixed on Jerry. "Oh, my God. A bomb?"
    Tony laughed. "Nothing like that, honey. I was thinking more along the lines of something harmless but unpleasant, like the donor. I wonder ... Is that old quilt worth money?"
    "Once it's been cleaned, several thousand dollars."
    "That much?"
    "Maybe more." Torn between caution and fascination, Cheryl leaned closer to the quilt. "It's over a hundred years old and in excellent condition. The fabric is cotton and I don't see any bad stains. With careful cleaning it will be as good as new. Actually, I couldn't begin to put a price on it. We've only had one other of this type and it wasn't nearly as fine. Mid-nineteenth century at a guess."
    "Hmmm." Tony stroked the piratical mustache framing his mouth.
    "You think he stole it?" Rachel asked.
    "The circumstances are suspicious, wouldn't you say? Trash bags have been a blessing to modern thieves. They're strong, you can cram a lot of stuff into them, and they are a lot less conspicuous than boxes or cartons. He had something on his shabby little conscience or he wouldn't have bolted when he recognized a cop. Let's see what else is in there. Carefully, babe; take hold of the bottom and spill it out."
    Rachel's skin prickled as she watched Cheryl move slowly backward, tipping the contents of the bag out onto the floor. When it was empty she tossed it aside and straightened with a long breath of relief.
    "No bomb. That was silly of me, wasn't it?"
    "Not these days," Tony said. "You never know what people will think up next. So what have you got?"
    There were two more bundles. At first glance they appeared to be the same white on white, but when Cheryl unfolded one of them a pattern of colored shapes was visible on the inner surface.
    "Carolina Rose." Now relieved of her apprehension, Cheryl knelt to squint at the quilt. "At least I think that's what it is; I've never seen this particular variation. Patchwork, with some applique and the same exquisite quilting. Look at the way she uses color! Every flower is a different shade, but they blend perfectly."
    Jerry came over to see what was going on and Rachel picked him up in time to keep him from walking across the quilt. He wriggled, trying to free himself.
    "He's too heavy for you," Tony said. "Put him down before he kicks you—quite unintentionally. Jerry, how about another cookie?"
    Cheryl was too preoccupied to comment on this flagrant violation of her rules. "Gosh, this is gorgeous. I'll bet it was made by the same woman. The pattern was popular during the mid-nineteenth century and the workmanship is almost as fine as the white quilt."
    She went on crooning and commenting, but Rachel had stopped listening. There was one more bundle on the floor. The thief—the alleged thief—had crammed the quilts roughly into the bag. The third, on the bottom, had suffered most from careless handling and the weight of others on top of it. The fabric was filthy, covered with a peculiarly uniform grayish