

Death by Chenille

By

Ann Anastasio

and

Lani Longshore

Published by Ann Anastasio and Lani Longshore at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Ann Anastasio and Lani Longshore

Cover image courtesy of © Pearljamfan75 & Dreamstime.com  
Cover by Joleene Naylor

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

An egg-shaped spaceship shot across the sky and hid in the swirling smoke from wildfires around Los Angeles. Its dark gray hull absorbed both starlight and streetlight. It hovered above the flaming landscape, like an interstellar freight truck waiting for a break in traffic. Moving to the edge of a lake of lights, it slid to an industrial park and nestled close to a warehouse wall. It dwarfed the big rig Freightliners and Peterbuilts lined up at the loading dock, but the homeless man who noticed its landing did not remember it when he returned to his camp site.

Dozens of squat beings, the size of kindergartners and the color of sand on an overcast morning, filed out of the ship. Rippling flesh oozed below to act as legs, or out the sides for arms. Their oblong bodies jiggled as they walked. They had no faces, no ears, no noses only a ruffle of skin on the top of their bodies. The leader extruded thin stalk-like appendages from the ruffle, with knobs at the end. The creature gestured toward the building with one stalk, and rotated the other as if scanning the area. They lined up behind the leader, who whistled at the door. The electronic lock released, and the creatures marched in.

Once inside the warehouse, they surrounded an open carton filled with bolts of fabric. The leader cooed to the group. Then its short legs grew, lifting it above the edge of the carton. It pulled a tiny device from the folds of its body and tapped a code on the keypad. The air shimmered, and the fabric disappeared. It tapped another code on the keypad. Now the air sparkled, and four empty cartons appeared next to the original.

A strong scent of lavender wafted around them. The creatures glistened and swayed, chittering like squirrels. Again the air shimmered, but this time the creatures were transformed. The rippled flesh smoothed and tightened. Their oblong bodies developed straight, stiff edges. The creatures now resembled bolts of fabric, all shades of beige with an off-white geometric pattern that appeared to be printed on the surface. They still had legs.

The legs lengthened. One by one, the creatures climbed into the cartons. The flaps closed over them. Shipping labels materialized as the carton was sealed by a beam coming from the creature's device inside the box.

***

"You are so much like your grandmother," Susan said through gritted teeth, "and I don't mean that as a compliment." She pulled her coat from the foyer closet and eyed her oldest daughter. Two weeks ago, she thought, having my family together was the only Christmas present I wanted. Now winter break can't end soon enough.

"Yeah, well, I'm taking it as a compliment anyway," Cecily snapped.

"Fine. Be just like her," Susan said as she grabbed her purse. "But start tomorrow, because your sisters are too sick to go to school and I'm late for work. And that's the end of this discussion."

"Mom, you own the damn shop! Why can't you spare five minutes to hear my plan?"

Susan dropped her purse at her feet. Gold bracelets jingled as she brushed her sage green skirt. "In the first place, you don't have a plan. If you intend to make an independent film, it would help to have a script at the very least. In the second place, you expect me to pay for all of this, and your tuition, and your living expenses."

"No, I don't," Cecily insisted, "I told you, I can get a grant."

Two small, frightened faces appeared at the top of the stairway. "Mommy, Cecily," the smallest girl pleaded, "don't shout. Please."

"You're quite right," Susan said, glaring at Cecily, "we shouldn't shout. Now, back to bed, both of you. And stop staring at Cecily's hair."

"It's really red, like my bedspread. And messy," the little one said. "You can borrow my hairbrush, Cecily, if you forgot yours."

"I believe your sister wants her hair that way, dear," Susan said in a tight voice. "Cecily will be looking after you. I'll be home as soon as I can." She tried to smile at her younger daughters, then picked up her purse, pulling keys out of a zippered pocket. With the barest glance in Cecily's direction, she said, "If you're serious about getting a grant, we can discuss that when I get home."

"Whatever," Cecily said, disdain dripping from each syllable.

Susan took three deep breaths before she got in her car. She buckled her seat belt and put the key in the ignition with calculated calm. She drove by muscle memory, making the turns and stops without paying close attention. She pulled into the strip-mall and parked near her quilt store.

The shop hummed with women examining fabrics, flipping through books and patterns, discussing their newest projects. Susan stood in the doorway for a brief moment, inhaling the sound. She felt her shoulders relaxing, her spine lifting. She thanked the sewing gods for blessing her with her store, Quilting Parade. The light was always perfect, the wood tones cheerful and warm, the walls soft white with a touch of rose glowing underneath. Sprigs of lavender perfumed the shelves. Every display enticed the viewer with a promise that dreams of creativity came true here.

A framed fragment of an antique crazy quilt hung on the wall next to Susan's office. The quilt had survived the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. Even more amazing, the piece had survived a century of family feuds. Susan smiled at seeing the quilt, and thought she might just get through the day.

"Oh, there you are, Susan," Li-Ming said. "You have a couple of calls."

"Who?" Susan asked, fighting an impulse to bolt down the street.

"Not from your mother. Or your daughter."

"I should hope Cecily wouldn't be calling already. We just had a lovely discussion regarding her exact duties as my child care provider."

Li-Ming offered the message slips. "You can't expect her to supervise her sisters the way you would."

"Of course I can," Susan said. "Every mother expects too much of her children. It's part of the job description."

Li-Ming stood between her boss and the office. "Susan, breathe," she ordered. "Cecily is a good kid, and she'll figure out what she wants in life."

"I would be satisfied if she figured out how to dress herself without looking like she mugged a homeless person."

"Breathe," Li-Ming ordered again, a hint of laughter in her voice. "As for your mother, she is a force of nature, but you've managed to get along so far, and you'll get through this latest, well, whatever the argument is about this time."

"It's always the same argument," Susan whispered, stepping around Li-Ming with exaggerated care. "My mother is trying to run my life. And, yes, I am aware of the grand irony of that last statement. The irony gods and I are on a first name basis."

Li-Ming shook her head. "And I thought my family had issues."

"I heard that," Susan said. She put the messages on her desk and logged onto the computer. Scanning the e-mail, she whimpered, "Oh, mercy, not another one from Carolyn."

"Carolyn Jamison? The one who owns Queen of the Needles?"

"Yes, and she never e-mails me except when she has some cause to promote. Why she bought a quilt shop instead of running for mayor, I'll never know."

"I gather from the expression on your face she does indeed have another cause. I'll just go now," Li-Ming said.

A tiny, blonde woman poked her head into the office as soon as Li-Ming left. "Susan," she said in a near whisper, "got a minute?"

Susan looked up. Checking an impulse to reassure the woman with a pat on the head, she said, "Of course, Linda. What's up?"

Linda inched into the room. "Well," she blushed, "it's just that I've been thinking about all that beige fabric we have in stock . . . not that there's too much, you know, just, there's a lot, and . . . " She trailed off, biting her lip.

"It's okay," Susan said. "No one's blaming you for that order. In fact, it's probably the distributor's fault. I just got an e-mail from another shop owner who got some merchandise she didn't order. So, come on, look at me, not the floor, and tell me all about your idea."

"It's, well, you know those blue plaids that just came in? Well, I have an idea for the plaids and the beiges." Her voice faded to silence.

"Great. And if the customers like it, we could even turn it into a project for a new class."

"Oh, thank you!" Linda squeaked, and scampered away to choose her fabrics.

Susan turned back to her computer. "Well, I guess that tells me what I'm going to write." DEAR CAROLYN, she pecked at the keyboard, telling herself for the 457th time that she really needed to learn how to type, LOOKS LIKE WE'LL BE KEEPING AT LEAST PART OF THAT ORDER - ONE OF THE GIRLS HAD AN IDEA FOR A SAMPLE - BUT I'M CERTAINLY WILLING TO BATTLE BIG BUSINESS TO RETURN THE REST. POWER TO THE PEOPLE! "That ought to perk up the old radical," she said, clicking the send button.

The bell over the front door jingled. She hurried to see if it was a customer, preferably one who would spend lots of money with just a little encouraging. Two youngish women, one with a child in tow, scanned the samples hanging on the walls and from the ceiling. Susan picked up a teddy bear from the basket of toys by the counter.

"Hi," she smiled at the women. "We've got a little play area over in the back, or your daughter can drag around good old Sammy the Bear while you're looking." The women thanked her, gave Sammy to the youngster, and resumed their stroll through the store. Susan smiled again and walked over to the cutting table.

"I like the fabrics you've chosen, Linda," she said, then busied herself with the magazine rack, still watching for a chance to nudge the customers from lookers to buyers.

She had rearranged the display for the third time when Linda screamed.

Susan was at the cutting table before she knew she had moved. Linda clutched her hand. Her pale white skin looked ghostly against the blood trickling down her wrist. Susan saw a crimson puddle on beige fabric.

"Let me see," she said, taking Linda's hand. "Ow, that looks bad. Li-Ming, would you please get your car keys. I need you to take her to the emergency room."

"It slashed me," Linda said. Her words stumbled out in a slur. "It grabbed the cutter and slashed me."

"What slashed you, honey?" Susan asked.

"The fabric . . . the fabric grabbed the cutter and slashed me," Linda whispered.

Susan's breath caught in her chest. Her eyes followed Linda's glassy stare at the cutting table, and for a moment she thought she saw a fold of fabric push away the bloody rotary cutter. "It's all right, don't worry about it." She took off her sweater and put it around Linda's shoulders, hugging her gently as she walked her to the front door. Li-Ming snatched up a piece of fabric from the sale bin and wrapped it around Linda's hand. Susan whispered to Li-Ming, "Make sure they know she is really in shock." Aloud, she said, "I'll call Linda's husband."

***

Carolyn stood in the back room of her quilt store Queen of the Needles and called, "Margaret, come over here a minute, will you please?" She pushed a stray lock of brown hair out of her eyes. When Margaret peered around the door frame, she asked, "Did you or Louise move those bolts of the beige tone-on-tone? They were over there in the corner yesterday."

Margaret stepped through the doorway, her plump body seeming to take up more room than it really did. "No, we haven't touched them."

"Shoot. I was all set to return them. I don't even remember ordering them, for pity's sake, and now I can't find them. I know the holidays were hectic, but I didn't think they had taken that much out of me."

"They have to be somewhere," Margaret said. "Sure, this room needs a good cleaning, but there aren't that many places to hide six entire bolts of fabric."

The back room of Queen of the Needles, which was no bigger than a two-car garage, needed more than a good cleaning. It needed someone to tip it on its side, empty everything out and start all over again. Two big desks anchored the room in opposite corners. Bookshelves lined the walls, holding forms, files, and decorations for every conceivable holiday. Piled in front of the shelves was a collection of boxes containing new books, new gadgets, new patterns, and, best of all, new fabric. In the middle of the room stood a large table intended for sorting, sifting, organizing and other business, but which usually did a good imitation of a delicatessen and dessert buffet. Three weeks since the Christmas party, and Margaret could still detect a hint of gingerbread and mulled cider underneath the smell of dust, lint, and the UPS guy's aftershave.

Carolyn shoved her way between two half-empty cartons. Picking through the bolts of fabric left in one of the boxes, she muttered, "Floral, floral, pastel, solid, stripe. Where are those beiges?"

Margaret chose another carton. She emptied it, then noticed something under the table, hidden behind a collection of small boxes.

"Carolyn, here are those bolts, under the sheet we used for the window display at Halloween."

Carolyn looked over her shoulder from where she was squatting, then got down on her hands and knees for a better look. "That is the strangest thing I've seen all month. How could they have gotten down there? Well, at least they're found. I know I didn't order them, and I'm not the only one. I sent an e-mail to Susan over at Quilting Parade, and she got a shipment of beige fabric that she didn't order."

I heard one of the customers today talking about something similar happening in one of the other shops in the area. I can't remember which one it was, but Louise might remember. I'll ask her when she gets back."

"Thanks, Margaret. If other shop owners are having problems with their shipments, it'll make it easier to get our money back. If you don't mind being in front by yourself, I really want to find all the paperwork for this order. I don't even want to answer the phone. Is that okay?"

"No problem," Margaret said. "It's really quiet, and Louise will be back soon."

***

Margaret left Carolyn to paw through papers on her desk and returned to the front of the store. She eyed the sample quilts hanging from the tall ceilings. Their jewel tones glowed on the white-washed walls, even with the spot-lights turned off. She re-checked the poster board by the front door, making sure the class descriptions matched the quilts.

Louise bounded into the store, followed by a brisk wind that swirled around the cutting table. "Mercy, it's cold out there," she said, hugging her patchwork jacket around her slender frame.

"Louise, tell me something I don't know. It's fifty-two degrees outside, and anyway, you're always cold. That's what you get for moving here from Atlanta. By the way, do you remember the woman who was here just after the shop opened this morning? She bought that green fabric, the one we were certain only Carolyn would ever like. And the batik with the purple fish. You know, the woman with the vest with the big cat appliqued on the back."

"Oh, right. What about her?"

"Wasn't she talking about another shop that was having trouble with its fabric orders?"

Louise thought for a moment, and rubbed the tip of her nose with her index finger. Her deep rose nail polish complemented her brown skin. "Yes," she said, exhaling, "yes, she was. And you want me to tell you the name of the shop." She paused, and tapped the end of her nose with her finger. "It was The Cotton Cabinet."

"Let me tell Carolyn. She's in a stew about those bolts of beige fabric. She says she never ordered them."

"Well, that's a relief. I thought there was something wrong with that order, " Louise said. "Oh, and Margaret, next time you listen in on a conversation, try to get in at the beginning!"

"Yeah, yeah," Margaret mumbled as she poked her head into the storeroom and said to Carolyn, "The Cotton Cabinet has the same problem with unwanted fabric."

***

Carolyn said thanks without looking up. She swiveled around to the computer and fired off an e-mail. For good measure, she sent the message to all the shop owners on her list. "It's got to be some sort of plot," Carolyn said to herself. "The manufacturers made way too much of that beige, and now they're trying to make it our problem."

Just before lunch, Carolyn strode out of the back office, holding a notepad in triumph. "We have ourselves a mission, people."

Margaret and Louise looked at each other and sighed. Carolyn's missions usually involved many late nights writing letters.

"What is it this time?" Louise asked. It was her turn to ask; she and Margaret kept track. After years of working for Carolyn, they agreed that the one who asked about the mission first took charge of the letter writing campaign, while the other one filled in with the rest of the tasks around the store.

"I have the names," Carolyn answered, "of not one, not two, but five different shop owners within a sixty-mile radius who have received unordered goods." She waved her notepad at Louise and Margaret. "Once we start comparing invoices, I am certain we will find quite a little conspiracy going on here."

Louise turned her head and stared at the floor. Breathing deeply, Margaret said, "Carolyn, about that invoice."

"Uh, yeah," Louise said, a hint of shame in her voice, "the invoice. You know, Christmas was such a busy time, but I meant to tell you, I never did find the proper paperwork."

"What did you say?" Carolyn asked.

"I'm really sorry, Carolyn," Louise said after she cleared her throat. "I know I should have kept better track of the paperwork for that last order, but I simply can't find it."

Carolyn turned on her heel and strode toward the office. Margaret and Louise followed, and watched Carolyn paw through stacks of paper on the desk.

"It isn't there, Carolyn," Margaret said. "When Louise told me she couldn't find the invoice, I looked, too."

Carolyn dropped into the chair at the desk. She chewed on her lower lip, pushed her hair back with both hands, then tilted her head to look at the ceiling.

"I don't think the invoice is up there, either," Louise said. "I know we've got things jammed in all over this room, but we haven't resorted to stapling stuff on the ceiling. Yet."

"No, it isn't that," Carolyn said, swiveling around to the computer. She pulled up her e-mail records and stared at them. Motioning over her shoulder for the other two to check the screen, she said, "All of these e-mails have the same two complaints – fabric they didn't order and paperwork missing."

Margaret chuckled. "Oh, I'm so glad we're not the only ones."

Carolyn glared at her. "This is serious, Margaret. Something is going on here. We're all stuck with fabric we didn't order, and we don't have the information we need to send it back. The manufacturers – "

"May not be plotting against us," Louise said. She tapped her nose. "Suppose, for the moment, that this isn't a plot by big business. I know it goes against the grain for you, Carolyn, but hear me out. This could just be a big mistake – and I mean a BIG mistake. Like, maybe a computer virus in the shipping department, or some disgruntled employee – "

"Or maybe someone is trying to smuggle in something into the country!" Carolyn said, bouncing in her chair. "And the mistake was they sent it to the wrong place. Where are our bolts? Have we opened any of them?"

"No, not yet," Margaret said.

Carolyn launched herself out of her chair and over to the far corner of the room. She pulled away some bolts of fabric stacked there, then stopped. "Isn't this where we stacked the beiges?" she asked.

The three women spent the better part of the next hour looking for the bolts. Margaret crawled under the table to see if they were there again. Louise opened the boxes stacked against the walls. Carolyn poked and prodded different piles around the room.

Finally, Margaret sat on the edge of the table with a thump. "This is absurd. Those bolts were here just two days ago and we put them . . . somewhere." She scratched her forehead. "What did we do with them, Carolyn?"

"I don't know."

"I keep telling you guys," Louise said, "you need to get more exercise and do crossword puzzles or something to keep the gray matter from turning to mush. These little senior moments are not a good sign, not at all."

With one voice, Margaret and Carolyn said, "Invoices."

"Okay, okay, so maybe I need to do a few memory exercises myself," Louise admitted. "But seriously, how can you lose six bolts of fabric twice?" She leaned against a filing cabinet, then squinted at a mound in the corner. "What's that?"

Margaret and Carolyn turned to follow Louise's pointing finger. The fabric leaned against a wall.

"How could we have missed that?" Margaret asked.

The women each took two bolts and toted them into the main room. They put them on the cutting table, then stepped back. Carolyn tugged on a lock of her hair. Louise rubbed her nose. Margaret stuck her hands in the pockets of her slacks and held her breath.

"Oh, for goodness sake, will you look at us," Louise said. "What do we think they're going to do, sprout legs and run away? Come on, let's unwrap them see if we have any surprises inside."

The plastic wrap did not want to be stripped away. Even Margaret's large, strong hands couldn't rip it apart. Carolyn tried to slip a pair of scissors into the seam, but failed. Finally, she grabbed a rotary cutter and sliced through the top, deeply gouging the cardboard insert. All three women tugged to get the plastic off the fabric.

"This doesn't feel right," Margaret said as she fingered the cloth. She stepped back from the cutting table, tapping her fingers against her thumb as if they were sticky.

Louise took her place, stroking the fabric. "You're right, it doesn't. It's slick, almost oily." She, too, retreated.

Carolyn stepped forward, put the bolt back on the cutting table and unwrapped several yards, letting the fabric fall on the floor. "Well, there doesn't appear to be anything stuck in between the layers, so if someone is using this to smuggle something, I can't see it."

"Don't touch it anymore, Carolyn," Margaret whispered.

"Why not? There's a mystery here, and I'm going to figure out what it is." She scrunched the fabric, then leaped back. She shook her hand. "It bit me."

Louise and Margaret leaned forward to get a better look. Narrow, pink welts rose up on Carolyn's palms.

"That's it," Carolyn snarled, "this stuff is going back right now." She strode to the bathroom.

"Going back where? How?" Louise asked as she and Margaret followed Carolyn. "We don't have the invoice."

"I don't care," Carolyn said, raising her voice over the running water. "I did some checking and our last three shipments came from the same manufacturer, so that's where the beige stuff must have come from. We'll stuff it back in one of those boxes and mark it Return to Sender."

"Question," Margaret said, raising her hand. "How are we going to get it in a box without touching it?"

Louise said, "We have some latex gloves left over from that hand-dying class. That should help."

While Margaret fetched a shipping box, Louise found the gloves. She donned a pair, picked up the bolt and stood it on its end. Margaret and Carolyn, also gloved, wound the loose fabric back. Then, holding their breath, they placed it in the box. They fit the other five bolts around the first one, closed the box, and taped it shut.

***

Gary, the UPS guy, angled into his favorite parking spot near Queen of the Needles. The van could be seen from the display window, but wouldn't block any parking for the paying customers. That his van blocked parking for the paying customers of the shop next door didn't bother him. He didn't make deliveries to that store, and the ladies at Queen of the Needles always gave him cookies when he parked away from their front door.

He checked his paperwork; only two small boxes to be delivered today. Some days, he worked off the calories from those cookies with the Queen of the Needles delivery alone. He counted calories carefully. He didn't plan to be a UPS guy forever.

He was tall and dark, and everyone told him he was handsome. Certainly the ladies on his route always did, one way or another. It wasn't so bad, being the object of adoration, even if many of the women were old enough to be his mother. He thought of it as building up his fan base. Some day, he would be in the movies, and women would buy tickets to see him, and tell the people in line next to them that they knew him when he delivered boxes for UPS.

One face shimmered in his mind, as it had yesterday and the day before. Susan. Beautiful Susan. Her quilt store in the next town had just been added to his route. She was friendly enough, although no cookies. He hadn't paid much attention to her until the day he had delivered six big boxes. Her gold bracelets had jangled as she signed for delivery. Without thinking, he had blurted, "How can you guys stay in business when there are so many fabric stores around here?"

Susan had raised her head, smiled, and talked about quilters, and fabric, and making beautiful things. Gary didn't know much about sewing, and cared less, but he did know about being an artist. He watched Susan's face, her eyes, and knew she felt the same glowing joy in her quilt store that he felt on stage.

His hand reached out, but a sharp honk behind him shattered the vision. "Idiot," he muttered, either to himself or the other driver. Susan is out of your league, he told himself. Still, he had asked other shop owners about her, knew she was widowed, and at least in theory available. He shook his head and gathered the delivery.

The door to Queen of the Needles opened before he had maneuvered the hand truck onto the sidewalk. Louise blocked the doorway, then backed away to let Gary enter. As he pushed his way into the store, he could see Margaret and Carolyn standing near a large box. Margaret bit her lip and looked away.

"Hey there," he said, "how is everyone today? You guys look like there's something bothering you. Is everything okay?"

The women hesitated. Margaret wrung her hands. Her eyes darted between Carolyn and Louise, but Louise only shook her head.

Carolyn looked down at the box. "We've got a problem."

Now Gary looked at the box. "Oh, don't worry about that. I can take it and fill out the paperwork. I'll fax it over and have the charges added to the next billing. You're one of our best accounts. An unscheduled pick up is no problem at all."

Carolyn squeezed her hands to her face. "That's not the problem." Her voice quavered. "The fabric in that box is . . . is . . . ," she paused, beseeching Margaret and Louise. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "It's defective. And possibly dangerous."

Gary resisted an impulse to laugh. Using some of the techniques he had learned in his last acting class, he said, "Really? Dangerous, you say? What was it, fumes from the plastic? No one was hurt, I trust."

"Carolyn's hands were bit . . . I mean, burned," Louise said. Margaret looked as if she wanted to speak, but Louise continued, "We think there's something wrong with the finish."

"That's right." Carolyn took over. "And we hate to ask you to take it away, in case there are some, um, toxic effects, but we have to send it back. We have to get it out of here. Just be careful, okay? Don't put it near the other boxes, and don't keep it in the back of your van too long. In fact, if you could take it back and get it shipped out right now, that would be best."

"Ladies, I appreciate the warning. I'll keep the van well ventilated, just in case the finish emits any fumes, and I won't touch the box with my bare hands if I see something leaking out." He took two small boxes off his hand truck and placed them on the cutting table. Rocking it back and forth, he scooped up the large box. "See, I won't have to get too near it at all. Don't worry," he said, still seeing fear in their eyes. "You wouldn't believe the sort of things people ship all the time, and nothing bad ever happens."

Margaret dashed to the back, returning with a couple of cookies. "I knew you wouldn't forget," Gary smiled at her, and then he was gone.

Margaret whirled to face Carolyn. "You should have told him. He didn't believe that story about the finish."

"Oh, like he would have believed a story about a hunk of cotton growing teeth and biting me!"

"You still should have told him. Something bad is going to happen, and it will be our fault."

***

As he promised, Gary left the windows open in the van. He signaled right and headed for the highway. "Funny," he said aloud, "I never knew it could be this noisy with the windows open."

Traffic moved smoothly on the elevated on-ramp, until a green sports car zipped around him at twenty miles over the speed limit. The car signal at the next exit, but didn't slow down as it rounded the corner.

A faint odor of something burning tickled his nose. "Oh, lord, don't tell me the engine on this thing is going to blow again," he said aloud while scanning the road, hoping for another vehicle that might be burning oil.

The smell grew stronger. He looked for a convenient place to pull over, but the highway was under construction.

The van rocked and the odor intensified. Turning his head over his shoulder, he saw the box from Queen of the Needles moving around in the back . . . on its own.

He shoved his foot down on the accelerator. Acrid smoke now accompanied the burning smell. Gary's eyes watered, then burned. He coughed, struggling to breathe. He pushed the accelerator harder.

A siren screamed over the highway noise. In the rear view mirror, he saw a highway patrol car following him. He aimed for the first bit of open shoulder. The van shuddered, and thumping noises emanated from the back. The steering wheel seemed to come alive, twisting one way, then another. He grabbed the wheel and yanked it as hard as he could to the right, stomping on the brake pedal at the same time. As the wheels left the shoulder, yellow wildflowers rose up in the windshield. The van went nose down into a culvert, rolled on its side, and kept rolling. It landed with a crunch on the passenger side.

"Gotta get out. Gotta get out," Gary mumbled. He pushed at the seat belt buckle three times before it released. He tucked into a ball and fell into the passenger seat, crouched, then launched himself up toward the window.

The smoke thickened. His hands found the window opening, then felt a terrible burning. The door was too hot to touch.

Now Gary heard another noise from the back of the van, a sound of voices. Squinting through watery eyes, he saw the box from Queen of the Needles split open. A scream worked its way up from his toes, but couldn't make it past his throat. He grabbed for the driver's side door again, ignoring the pain. He thrust his head out of the window, gasping in air fresher than inside the van but still swirling with acrid smoke.

Strong hands grabbed his arms and hauled him out of the van. Other hands helped steady him on the ground. He coughed, and opened his eyes. He could see the faces of two police officers, but he couldn't focus on any features. His throat started to close in. "Get me out of here," he wheezed, "we have to get away! They have legs! They have legs!"
Chapter 2

Susan stared at her coffee cup next to the plate with her half-eaten breakfast. She picked up her fork, speared a bit of scrambled egg, put the fork down again. "Well, there's just no way around it," she said to the empty kitchen.

Pushing herself from the table, she grabbed the phone and hit the number for her mother. The red walls swallowed what little sunlight made it through the fog and clouds, turning the kitchen into a cave that even the white cabinets and abundant spotlights couldn't rescue.

She tapped her manicured fingernail against the gray, granite countertop, waiting for her mother to pick up the phone. She noticed a few mustard stains from what must have been the girls' lunch from the previous day. "Cecily," she growled under her breath, "how hard is it to pick up a sponge and use it?"

The phone rang one time too many, and she knew she would get the answering machine. Her mother's familiar gruff voice blared, "I'm not here."

"Great message, Mom," Susan said, "I'm sorry I haven't called. We left things, well, badly, the last time. Cecily is home now, so why don't you come over for dinner sometime this week? I'm certain she would be delighted to see you, if only to enlist your aid in her latest scheme. Call me when you can."

As Susan hung up the phone, she caught a glimpse of Cecily in the hallway. "You might as well come in, I've seen you now."

Cecily edged into the kitchen and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. She pulled at a stray curl, then tucked it under her faux leopard-skin headband. "I heard you inviting Grandma to dinner."

Susan leaned against the counter, careful to keep her sweater away from the mustard stains. "Yes, I did. I imagine that will shock her as much as it does you."

Cecily shrugged. "I just thought that with you two arguing again, the last thing you'd want would be to give her more ammunition."

"Ammunition?" Susan asked.

"Yeah, you tipped her off about my film project."

Susan crossed her arms and stared down at her daughter. "Are you saying you haven't spoken with your grandmother about this already?"

"No, I haven't," Cecily answered. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "You're the first to know."

Now Susan shrugged. "Well, I'm a little surprised myself that I mentioned anything." Her mouth curled into a humorless grin. "I'm also surprised that I invited her to dinner. And that I picked up the phone to call her in the first place." Her eyes softened, and her jaw relaxed.

Cecily's face eased into a smile. "And you're thinking now what a huge mistake you've made, and how the dinner will collapse into an ugly argument you've had too many times before."

Susan shook her finger at Cecily. "I thought you dropped psychology."

"Mom, I don't need to be a psych major to understand that this family can get dramatic at the drop of a hat. So, what are you and Grandma feuding about now?"

"Nothing new," Susan said, turning around to the cupboard behind her. She took out a mug and small plate. "The coffee is still fresh, do you want some?" When Cecily nodded, Susan poured her a cup. She put a small blueberry muffin on the plate, and placed it next to the mug.

"Thanks," Cecily said as she spooned sugar into the coffee.

Susan sat down, pushing her plate of cold eggs aside. "Your grandmother and I haven't argued about anything new in years. It's usually a variation on the theme of how I'm squandering my life. She thinks I need to be more involved with things."

Cecily looked puzzled. "Mom, you're already involved in the store and the quilt guild. And the girls' schools. How much more involved can you be and still have time to eat and sleep?"

"I have no idea," Susan said, picking up her mug. She sipped, then muttered, "Ick, cold." She added some fresh coffee to the tepid liquid. "Your Grandma Edna always wanted me to do more as an artist. She gave me that fragment of her grandmother's quilt to inspire me."

"The one you had framed? The one in the shop?"

"Yes. It survived the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. Edna has always envied her grandmother's talent. And her adventures. She would love nothing more than to be in the middle of some huge, catastrophic event."

"Whereas you," Cecily said with caution, "prefer a quieter, calmer life?"

"I survived disco as a child. Big hair and shoulder pads in high school." She shook her head and grinned.

"Enough said," Cecily laughed.

Susan wrapped her hands around her mug and brought it close to her chest. "And then there was your father's cancer," she whispered. "That was a bigger event than I would have wanted." She put down the mug, reached across the table and patted her daughter's hand. "So," she said, her voice firm again, "tell me about this film project."

A hint of joy flashed across Cecily's face, but disappeared as she bit her lower lip. "Okay, Mom, but first, I need to admit that you were right. I don't really have a plan. And I don't know if I want to go back to school."

"Are you telling me you want to drop out?"

"No." Cecily looked away. "Yes."

Susan sat back in her chair and clasped her hands to her temple. "What do you plan to do then?"

"I was thinking of film school."

"Film school," Susan said without emotion. "Just like that, film school? You haven't done anything that would indicate you could succeed in film school."

"I know, which is why I need to make a movie now. It doesn't have to be very long. You've been to the independent film festival. Some of the entries are barely longer than a commercial. If I got started on it during winter break, I could work on it during spring semester, finish it up for fall, and include it in my applications for film school. For next year."

Susan's entire upper body shuddered, like a puppy shaking water off its fur. "You just said you wanted to drop out."

Cecily rocked her head from side to side, nearly touching her ears to her shoulders. "Yes, but not immediately. I signed up for some classes that I think will really help me make a movie. I met this professor last fall, and she's really cool. She thinks I could have a shot at getting in to a good school. She teaches creative writing, but her brother is a director, so she's learned a little bit about film from him. She knows all these people who are doing really exciting, creative things. She's the one who told me about the grants. She even helped me fill out the applications."

Susan's eyes widened. "So, you've already started down this road?"

"It's not the road to doom, Mom." Cecily pushed herself against the back of the chair. Her shoulders crept up toward her ears as her chin dropped. "Even if I fall flat on my face, what's it going to hurt for me to try?"

"Aside from my bank account?"

Cecily jumped up. "I honestly thought you were going to listen to me this time, Mother." She shoved her chair aside and ran down the hall.

Susan heard footsteps pounding up the staircase. She cradled her head in her hands. "If she weren't so much like my mother, I'd swear she was switched at birth."

***

Carolyn saw the UPS van stop at the door. Gary must be really mad at us, she thought, he doesn't park right in front anymore. The windshield reflected the sun directly into her eyes so she couldn't see his face. Her breath caught in her throat. A strange man exited the cab and took a small box from the back.

Louise, who had been helping a customer find just the right shade of green for her project, smiled and asked, "Did I just see the UPS van? Does Gary look okay?"

"Gary's here?" Margaret asked as she entered the showroom from the back office. "I'll give him extra cookies today."

"It isn't Gary," Carolyn said, her voice flat. "It's a new guy."

They drew together by the front counter, waiting for the door to open. A customer, green fabric in hand, hovered at the cutting table, watching. A thin young man in a brown uniform entered. His eyes were bright blue. The eyebrows over those eyes now arched as he saw four women staring at him, silent, solemn.

"Um, ah, just a small delivery today. Uh, which one of you would like to sign?" he asked.

None of the women spoke. None of them moved. The UPS guy put the box on the cutting table, hesitated, then held out a clipboard. Louise reached out her hand. Carolyn shook her head and demanded, "Where's Gary?" The clipboard fell to the floor.

"He had an accident the other day," the man said as he knelt down to retrieve the papers. "He's really lucky to be alive. He lost control of the van, I guess, and it rolled over in a ditch. Some cops arrived and pulled him out. The craziest thing was, the van blew up."

Louise and Carolyn staggered against the counter. Margaret gasped. "Blew up? How badly were they hurt?"

"Oh, the cops weren't hurt at all," he said, "but Gary is in the hospital. Funny, I never thought he would be the type, but I guess he was using drugs or something. One of the guys who went to see him said Gary was just out of his mind."

"What do you mean, out of his mind?" Carolyn and Louise asked.

He took a step back. "I didn't mean anything by that, ladies. Gary's a great guy, really, but he was talking crazy from what I heard. Talking about something in the van trying to get him, stuff like that."

"Was there?" Margaret asked.

"Was there what?" he asked.

"Something in the van? Did anyone see anything, uh, anyone running away from the van?"

"No, no one else was anywhere near the van, and all they found in the wreckage was the stuff Gary had on his list. Speaking of lists and papers, will one of you sign this for me?"

Louise reached for the clipboard once again. He steadied it until she grasped it. She smiled at him, a weak smile. She scanned the paperwork, and signed on the last page.

Margaret started to speak, but choked. Beginning again, she asked, "Would you like a cookie?" The driver opened his mouth, but no sound came out, so he just shook his head while backing toward the door.

The customer asked, "So, what hospital is Gary in?"

"St. Elizabeth's," he managed to say over his shoulder. The engine roared, and the brown van jumped out of its parking space, spun around and raced off the lot to the blare of angry honks.

Carolyn clasped her hands and said, "Thanks for asking about the hospital. What a shock! And to think, we may have been one of Gary's last stops. Now, Louise, I believe you were helping this lady?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Louise said, leading the woman to a display of fabrics ranging from mint to emerald, "you need two more greens, right?"

"Now what are we going to do?" Margaret whispered to Carolyn. "You know very well it was our creepy fabric that, well, did whatever it did and made the van blow up."

Carolyn grabbed Margaret's arm and pulled her as far from Louise and her customer as she could. "We don't know that. We don't know when the accident happened. Maybe he did stop for a drink, we don't know. Maybe he had an allergic reaction to the cookies we gave him. Maybe he's just crazy!" She rocked from one foot to the other, and avoided looking at Margaret's face.

Margaret crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and drew herself up to her full height, which was still three inches shorter than Carolyn. "I've been working for you for fifteen years. Do you honestly think I don't know what's going through your head? You think I'm any less scared than you are?"

"What can we do? Who's going to believe our crazy story?"

"Gary will," Margaret answered, "and then we can get people to believe Gary. After that, we look for someone who can figure out what the heck is wrong with that fabric."

Carolyn closed her eyes, rubbed her forehead and muttered, "You're right. Of course you're right. Just a little panic attack there." She took a deep breath. "I'm better now. We'll go to the hospital. Oh, wait, that's not going to work. We don't know Gary's last name, and I don't know if the dispatch office will give us that information."

Margaret thought for a moment. "Maybe it will be in the papers. Or the police report. There's got to be some place we can look up information about the accident, and that would have Gary's name."

"Good idea," Carolyn said. "Louise will be finished with that sale in a couple of minutes. We'll figure out a plan then."

When Louise was finally free, the three women settled themselves on the rattan chairs in the alcove where the quilting books were displayed. The alcove had a clear view of the front door, but customers entering the store couldn't easily see inside it. The women often sat there when they were feeling conspiratorial, or needed to share special news, or just wanted to feel like ladies of leisure for a few moments. Usually they had mugs of tea and a plate of cookies. Now, however, each one had a pen and paper.

Carolyn spoke, "All right, let's write down everything we know - when the fabric came, the missing invoice, that the bolts went missing, the accident. What do we really know about this fabric and injuries? Aside from Linda over at Quilting Parade, who else has been hurt?"

"I think I heard about a problem in Amy's shop," Louise said. "Didn't you get an e-mail from her?"

"Yes, but she didn't mention injuries, only that she had fabric she didn't order."

Margaret said, "It wouldn't surprise me if there have been other . . . incidents, but no one is talking. We only found out about Linda because Li-Ming told us. Susan didn't want to admit to anything, remember? Li-Ming waited until the next day and called us from home. She even told us not to tell Susan!"

"Margaret's right," Louise said. "And there's something else. We just started looking at those bolts. They've been here for, what, a week? Longer? I can't even remember when they first came in, but I know we didn't unwrap them right away."

"Which is unusual in itself," Carolyn said.

"Exactly," Louise continued, "it's very unusual for us to have unopened bolts of fabric just lying around. Except that they didn't lie around, they hid."

Margaret and Carolyn sputtered in unison. "Hid?" Carolyn said, eyes wide. "Don't you think that's going a bit too far? We're talking about fabric here, not elves or pixies."

"Look at the evidence," Louise said. "Point one, fabric that we didn't order appeared on our doorstep. Point two, when I was looking for the paperwork to return it, I couldn't find it. Point three, when you were looking for the fabric to send it back, you couldn't find it. Point four, people who handled the bolts on three separate occasions, in three different places, were injured."

"That's the evidence, all right," Carolyn replied, "but I don' t see where it leads us. It's just as likely that we're getting old and forgetful, which is why we couldn't find things right away."

Margaret said, "Let's approach this from another angle. Carolyn, did you e-mail Susan and Amy, or did you fire off a mass mailing when we thought this was the factory getting orders mixed up?"

"The mass mailing thing," Carolyn admitted. "You know how I get."

"We know," Louise and Margaret said simultaneously. Louise lowered her eyes and fiddled with her pen. A smile slid around her face, and she bit her lip. Margaret did not smile, but stared at Carolyn like terrier waiting for a dog treat.

"I got replies from everyone," Carolyn continued. "All of them had unordered bolts of fabric." She glanced at Margaret, then down at her paper.

"Okay," Margaret said, "and did any of them have unopened bolts? More important, do any of them have unopened bolts now?" She paused. "Do we? Are we certain all of that stuff went into the box?"

Louise said, "I checked the back this morning, just in case there were more hiding."

"That doesn't mean we're in the clear," Carolyn said. "As for unopened bolts in other stores, I don't know if there are any, but it would probably be a good idea to find out, wouldn't it?"

"And if some those bolts haven't been opened," Louise said, "we could suggest a little experiment. I don't believe in pixies either, but something odd is going on. Let's get together with some other store owners and see what happens with their fabric, okay?"

Carolyn thought for a moment. "That sounds reasonable. And we should talk to Linda, too. Susan didn't mention if Linda had to take the plastic off. That might be useful information."

"Look, let me talk to her," Margaret said. "I know her better than either of you. She needs a little coaxing sometimes, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," Carolyn laughed. "I'll send off another round of e-mails, and if there's any untouched, unwanted beige tone-on-tone fabric, we'll have a little unwrapping party. What do you think?"

"Sounds good," Louise said, "but what about Gary?"

"Oh, I almost forgot about him," Carolyn said.

Margaret said, "And you forgot we've had this conversation. We don't know his last name."

"I do," Louise said. "It's Dover. Gary Dover. I can go to the hospital and talk with him."

"You know his last name?" Margaret asked.

"Well, yeah. The first time he came in, I introduced myself and asked a little about him. Carolyn, there is a reason you hired me to do the paperwork. I find out things. I get the details. If you will remember, we had a new delivery guy every week for a while, but they all said that soon the routes were going to become more stable. So I kept asking. When Gary told me he was going to be our delivery guy for the foreseeable future, I figured it wouldn't hurt to know a little about him. He told me how long he had been driving for UPS, about his career plans, all sorts of things, including his last name."

Margaret patted Louise's arm. "Honey, you aren't responsible for what happened to Gary. We all just let him walk out of here with that fabric."

"Well, we shouldn't have," Louise said. "We should have known better. We should have been more careful."

"But we weren't," Carolyn snapped, "so now we know something about ourselves that we might not like. Get over it. We have to decide who is going to do what, and when."

They decided that Louise should visit Gary in the hospital, Carolyn would go through the e-mails and collect more information, and Margaret would search the papers for any reports of the accident. They wrote down everything they could remember about the fabric, whether it seemed important or not. They made lists of things to watch for, things to ask. Eventually they were reduced to doodling in silence, moving nothing but the hands holding the pens. Louise drew vines and flowers around her lists, Margaret drew quilt blocks, and Carolyn drew squares that turned into cubes.

Finally, Margaret could not muster the energy to move her pen. She settled back in her chair and stared at her hands, now folded in her lap. Louise put down her own pen. She remained sitting straight and tall. Margaret tilted her head slightly to catch Louise's gaze.

Carolyn continued to sketch little cubes in the margins of her notepad. Each cube was identical. She filled up all the margins and started drawing cubes in between her notes.

"You already have enough boxes to fill a warehouse," Louise said. "Let's face it, we're getting cold feet about the plan. But we have to get up off these chairs and get started." She stopped. "And you two should search the back again for more bolts of fabric."

"Maybe it isn't as bad as we think," Margaret said. "Maybe there really is a simple explanation for what's happened."

"No," Louise said, "no, there isn't a simple explanation. I think - "

Carolyn stood up suddenly. "It doesn't matter what we think, and it doesn't matter that we're afraid of over-reacting. You're absolutely right, Louise, we have to get started, and follow the evidence where it leads. Either we figure this out, or we get far enough along to hand it over to someone else to solve."

Carolyn's confident manner inspired the other two. She shut off the computer while Margaret searched the back for unwanted fabric. Louise cleared the tables. Carolyn looked in the storeroom for stray beige bolts, then they gathered their coats and purses, and locked the door behind them. They waved their good-byes from their cars.

***

Margaret tried not to think about the conversation at the store as she drove home. She suspected she was overreacting. Surely nothing bizarre happened to middle-aged matrons in small suburban towns. Lost in thought, she missed her turn while thinking about what Louise had said. Then she parked crooked and had to pull into the driveway twice. She was half way to the front door before she realized that while her keys were in her hand, her purse was still in the car.

In the living room, Margaret was greeted by teenage voices chanting, "What's for dinner? What's for dinner?" She closed her eyes and sighed.

"I've had a lovely day, thank you so much for asking." She opened her eyes to find three boys lounging on the living room floor. "Only two of you are mine. Who are you?" she asked a red-headed boy sitting next to her youngest son. Thinking she might have sounded a bit harsh, she smiled, softened her voice and said, "I have this thing about liking to know the names of people I feed."

Her sons rolled their eyes and groaned. "Oh, Mom," Allan, her oldest, said, "This is Tim. He was over a couple of weeks ago, remember?"

"I remember half the school was here a couple of weeks ago," Margaret said. "Hello, Tim, nice to see you again."

"So, we're glad you had a nice day, but what is for dinner?" Allan asked.

"I don't know. I just walked in, give me a break. Or better yet, go look in the pantry and tell me what you want." Looking straight at her youngest son, she said, "And it can't be pizza, Matthew."

"Ah, Mom," Matthew said as he pulled himself off the floor, "you're taking all the fun out of it."

She went into her bedroom to change her shoes. She sat down on the bed and picked up the quilt lying at the end. It was the first one she had made for herself after the boys were born. She decided to make a leaf pattern to justify buying something new when she had all those left-over blue and yellow fabrics from the baby quilts. The greens, browns, maroons and oranges still enchanted her.

The front door open, then her husband's voice echoed through the house, "Hi, anybody here?" She heard the boys greet their father.

When she finally made her way to the kitchen, her husband greeted her with a kiss and said, "The boys want macaroni and cheese for dinner."

"That's fine with me, Stan. Is there anything you want?"

"Are you saving that asparagus for something? If not, steamed asparagus would be nice."

"I can do that." She assigned the boys tasks, even Tim. She trimmed and peeled the asparagus stalks, chopped tomatoes and cucumbers for a salad, and inspected the job the boys did on the lettuce. Matthew grated the cheese and Allan measured out milk and butter. The smell of the fresh vegetables and cooking cheese brought Stan in from his study. All five of them stood in the kitchen, nibbling on bits of cheese or cucumber, talking at once, waiting for dinner to be ready. Relaxing into the bustle and chatter, Margaret put the events of the day out of her thoughts.

When dinner was over, the boys cleared the table, then left for an early movie. Stan filled the dishwasher and went to read the newspaper. She filled the sink to wash the pots and pans. She thought of the welts Carolyn developed after handling that odd fabric. She stared at her own hands, now growing pink from the hot, soapy water.

Stan came into the kitchen. "Honey," Margaret said, "we're having some trouble down at the shop."

"What's bothering Carolyn now? "Stan asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Oh, she isn't going on one of her little crusades."

"That's a surprise," he said, turning around and leaning against the counter. "So, what's the problem?"

"Well, it's going to sound silly, but . . . "

He took a sip of coffee. "I'm still listening," he said. As the silence continued, his expression changed from interest to concern. "What's wrong, honey? You weren't robbed or anything?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she assured him. "No, it's a problem with some fabric. Carolyn opened one of the packages and it burned her hands."

"What? How could that happen?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you. I know your work is different, but you are a chemist, after all. Can you think of anything used in the manufacturing process that would cause burns just by touching the cloth? Because that's all she did and boom, these great big welts showed up on her hands."

"That sounds more like an allergic reaction to me, not an error in production. Carolyn might be particularly sensitive to some of the chemicals. She may have always been sensitive, but for some reason it's showing up now. That happens, you know."

She took a mug from a stand, filled it with water and put it in the microwave. While she was fussing with the tea box, she said in a small voice, "I thought about that . . . but . . . "

"But what?" Stan prompted, worry on his face.

"But when we sent the fabric back, it blew up." She exhaled, and swept her hand over her face.

He took a step back and put his cup on the counter. "You want to run that by me again?"

"We put all the fabric that seemed, oh, odd, I guess, back in the box, and sent it away with our UPS guy. His van crashed and burned before he could get to the warehouse."

Stan stared at the floor for a moment, tapping his jaw. "Sounds like simple case of losing control of the vehicle to me."

"No, it wasn't. It was our fabric, I'm sure of it. The question is, what could have caused that to happen."

"I honestly don't know, honey. Could be any number of things. You order this stuff all the time, don't you know someone you could call and find out what went wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Margaret said, "maybe . . . if anyone would be willing to talk. With the accident, there might be liability issues."

"That's true. How is the driver, do you know? Was he the one you girls like?"

"Yes, his name is Gary. Louise went to the hospital to visit him. I guess we'll find out tomorrow how he is."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Look, hon, if this is as big a problem as you think, other shops will be experiencing it. Call around, you'll see. Then you can all return the fabric at once and the manufacturer won't be able to give you any grief."

"That's part of the problem, Stan," Margaret said. "We found another shop that seems to have the same sort of . . . of . . . defective product."

"From the same company?"

"We don't know." The microwave dinged, and Margaret retrieved the tea box. Without looking at her choice, she threw a bag in the cup.

"Would you care to elaborate?" Stan asked after Margaret sat at the table.

"We can't find any paperwork on our order. The other shop can't find its paperwork, either."

Stan gave Margaret a skeptical look. "Are you asking me to believe that something came through your door, and Louise didn't have a dossier on it the size of the New York City phone book? That woman has kept every note she's ever written or received since the third grade."

"Not this time, which makes me all the more worried."

"And all the more unhappy about trying to track down the chemicals that might have been used on this stuff?" he asked. "Okay, there are some people at work I can ask about what's supposed to be used in the manufacturing process, and if it's caustic. I don't suppose you could get a sample from another shop? Something I could test once I get an idea what I'm supposed to be testing for?"

"I can try." She hugged him.

"How about some popcorn and a video?" Stan suggested. He held her for a moment, then said, "You still seem very tense, dear. Is there something else you haven't told me?"

"The other shop," she said. She held her breath, then straightened her shoulders and smoothed her hair.

"Was there an accident there, too?"

"Yes." She turned to the cabinet for the popcorn. "I don't know all the details yet." She took her time opening the box. "I could call to find out, but I'm not sure what the ladies could tell me that would help. We don't really know what we're looking at, you know?"

***

Once at home, Carolyn turned on her computer. She thought better with a world of information at her fingertips. She grabbed a box from the freezer and tossed it in her microwave oven. Dinner tonight was only about getting enough calories to keep her brain working.

While her mystery supper bubbled, she checked her e-mail. The microwave dinged at the empty kitchen. She retrieved her supper, then turned on the miniature TV on the counter, tuning in to the local PBS station for BBC World News. She made herself some Prince of Wales tea, found a fork, and sat down on a stool to eat her supper and watch the news.

The news was awful, but her dinner was tastier than she expected. She discovered she had prepared a chicken rice bowl, with a light sauce that smelled of ginger but tasted more like pineapple. By the end of the news report, the tea had steeped enough. She dunked the bag twice for good measure, then added a little sugar. Thinking about her day, she added more sugar. Thinking about the night ahead, she added yet more sugar. "Yes, it is one of those times," she said as she retrieved a candy bar from the freezer.

She put the tea down on a coaster beside the monitor and peeled her candy bar, tossing the wrapper in the trash basket as she walked to the window. She opened the curtains to look at her garden. Even in January, the garden was pleasant and soothing. In the spring and early summer, when everything was in bloom, the scent of the flowers was enough to wipe away almost any disagreeable thought.

Nothing bloomed in January, however, and her mind turned to very disagreeable thoughts. She finished her candy bar and returned to her computer and waiting messages.

Just as she thought she had finished with the e-mail, another message arrived from Margaret. It detailed the conversation she had with Stan regarding the odd fabric, including his request for a fabric sample. Carolyn made a note to ask Susan and Louise about anything else that could help him – the smell, the oily feeling, anything at all. If Gary could tell Louise what happened in the van, Stan might have enough information to prove a case of manufacturing liability.

With her notes finished, she spent the next two hours working on a quilt she had started over the weekend. A collection of hand-dyed fabrics and sixties-inspired prints had worked its way to the top of her make-something-out-of-this pile. She had gathered those fabrics at least a year ago after attending a concert by one of her favorite bands from younger days. She realized she wasn't the flower child she once was when she found herself paying as much attention to the play of colored lights on the backdrop as she did the band.

She took out some graph paper and a pencil. Starting in the middle, she drew a few triangles. She thought of the Thousand Pyramids quilt hanging in the shop. While drawing the seventh triangle, she stopped herself and said aloud, "Like you're really going to do something this complicated. Get a grip, girl, this design comes straight from the sugar rush."

She started drawing rectangles, then added circles to the bottom and squiggles on the top. She shook her head. "Get a grip, girl," she said again as she realized her doodle was of Gary's van bursting in flame.

***

Louise spent ten minutes navigating the heavy traffic in the last block to the hospital. She contemplated abandoning her car and walking the hundred yards when a small yellow VW in front of her hurled itself into the open lane to its left and she had a clear shot at the hospital entrance. She circled the lot for a few minutes before she settled on a space under a lamp post, but at some distance from the door.

As she locked her car door, she realized she didn't have anything to give Gary. "Oh, wait!" she said aloud, then put her hand to her mouth. She looked around to see if anyone heard her outburst, then opened the trunk. Inside a black tote bag were several bags of cookies she had brought to the shop that morning but forgotten. She tucked one of the bags under her coat and shut the trunk. A whiff of winter wind swirled around her as she walked through the parking lot, causing her to cough and sneeze from the combination of exhaust fumes and leaf dust.

The clerk at the front desk gave her directions to Gary's room on the second floor. She took the stairs rather than the elevator. Once at the landing, she squared her shoulders and tugged on the door. No more delays, she thought.

The door to Gary's room was open a crack. Tucking the cookies in the crook of her arm, Louise peeked inside. He sat in a chair by the window. She could see the bare branches of a young ash tree quivering in the wind outside. Was he was watching the tree, or just staring? She rapped crisply on the door.

"Hi, is this a good time for a visit?" she asked, stepping into the room.

She held her breath until she saw a glimmer of recognition in the dark eyes that fixed on her. His face was terribly bruised, with scrapes along his neck and jaw. His hands were bandaged, as were his feet. His hair looked singed.

Gary turned away. She retreated, startled at how much he reminded her of her son Kyle. She had seen him turn his head in just that way when he was angry or disappointed in her.

"I'm so sorry," Louise said. He made no response. "We didn't know this would happen," she said, kneeling next to the silent young man.

"But you thought something was going to happen?" he murmured, not looking at her.

"We were worried. That fabric was strange. But we never thought this would happen to you."

"If someone else would have been hurt," he whispered, "would you have brought cookies to a stranger? I can see the package."

She rocked on her heels, and the cookies dropped to the floor. "I don't know," she said as she grabbed the package and stood. "But I brought cookies to you. Would you like some?"

He took the bag, opened it, and ate a cookie. He offered her one, then took another. They ate in silence. The tree branches tickled the window, skittering up and down the pane.

"No one believes me, you know," he said. "They think I was drinking, or worse."

"The blood to test will prove otherwise."

"That might not save my job."

"No," she answered, "no, it might not." She knelt down again, bringing her face close to his. "But it might not matter if you've lost your job. Something is very wrong here, and I don't know what it is. I'm going to find out, though, with Carolyn and Margaret. Do you want to join us? It could be big, Gary, big enough to get us some attention, definitely the papers, maybe the TV news. Maybe even national TV news. That's worth something, isn't it? That kind of publicity could help your acting career, couldn't it?"

She let him consider her words. When the look in his eyes softened, she said, "We can't make up for putting you in danger, for what you suffered, but we can give you a chance to make it an opportunity instead of a disaster. Aside from that, we believe you, and we'll tell everyone you aren't making this up."

Gary laughed at that; a small, snorting laugh, but still a laugh. "I guess you're about the only people who do. Okay, I'm in."

Louise smiled. "Good," she said, "have another cookie, and tell me everything that happened, from the time you left the shop until . . . well, until you passed out."
Chapter 3

Quilting Parade was so noisy that if Li-Ming hadn't been standing right outside the office she might not have noticed the phone ringing. She dashed in, only to regret it when she heard the raspy voice on the other end.

"Susan should be there by now. Find her. This is her mother."

"Hi, Edna," Li-Ming said. "Susan is here, but we're kind of busy at the moment. Would it be okay if I just took a message and had her call you back?"

Susan appeared and took the phone, and Li-Ming retreated to the showroom. "Mother, I was five feet away in the hall when you started shouting, and I could hear you clearly all the way from there. I've already spoken with Cecily about film school. There's no need for you to get involved. Wait a minute. Say that again? She wants to study film in Ireland? When did this happen? Well, I don't care that the program sounds interesting, why on earth did you have to show her an article that you knew would make her want to go half-way around the world? Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost me?"

Li-Ming dashed back to the office and gasped, "Your mother is here! She just drove up!"

"Mother," Susan said, ice dripping from each syllable, "I've been informed that you're driving while talking on the cell phone. Again. Wasn't the last accident enough for you? Mother?"

Susan suspected she was speaking to empty air, and waited for Edna to appear in the doorway. When a sudden hush swept the showroom, she counted backward from five. At one, Edna reached the door.

Edna was several inches shorter than Susan, with wavy silver hair streaming to her shoulders. She wore tweed slacks, hiking boots, and a dark cranberry knitted pullover. She carried a patchwork tote bag that Susan made for her.

"That wasn't even a fender-bender," Edna said as she stormed into the office. She pushed aside some papers on the desk and perched on the corner. Leaning forward, she growled, "The only reason a mother needs money is to spend it on her children."

"Good morning to you, too," Susan said. "Of all the parenting advice you have ever given me, that is the most ridiculous. To date. Heaven knows what you'll tell me next week when Cecily decides she wants to go to Mongolia and film yak farmers."

"How could I have given birth to a child with so little sense of adventure?"

"You didn't," Susan said. "I was traded at birth by pixies."

"It's fairies that do that, and if you had been traded for a fairy child you would have already made arrangements to fly to Ireland with Cecily instead of trying to get her to stay home and study bookkeeping." Edna crossed her arms and scowled at her daughter.

"Who said anything about bookkeeping? I've never told Cecily what she should do with her life."

"No, only what she shouldn't do," Edna said.

"On my dime, Mother." Susan shooed her mother to a chair, then sat at her desk. "Cecily can do whatever she likes when she can afford it. And for your information, I enjoyed those accounting classes. And they helped me make this store successful, which keeps your granddaughters fed, clothed and sheltered."

The bell over the front door jingled. Susan realized she could hear it, which either meant the crowd in the show room was starting to thin out, or there were lines at the cutting table and cash register. "Unless there was something else you wanted to tell me, I need to get back to work."

"By all means," Edna said. "There's no use talking with you when you are in one of your moods."

Susan gritted her teeth. She gave her mother a brisk peck on the cheek, then headed into the showroom, counting to ten.

***

The sun filtered into Louise and Vincent's kitchen, but without much spirit. The oak cabinets soaked up the gray light, making the blue walls look dingy. Vincent rinsed the breakfast dishes while Louise put away the juice.

"So," she said, "what do you think about that fabric? Could Gary be right about what he saw? And what should we do about it?"

"What do you really know about Gary? You only see him when he comes to the shop."

"True, I don't know much about him, but I feel he can be trusted."

Vincent raised an eyebrow and asked, "So we're back to your intuition, are we?" He motioned to the table and they both sat.

"I've been right before."

"Yes." He looked out the window, then nodded as he turned to Louise. "Fine. Let's invite him here to recuperate. He might not be able to cope by himself."

"Vince, honey, I know you take being a minister very seriously," Louise said, "but - "

"We've brought people into the house before, some with less of a recommendation than you give this young man. If you want me to accept your trust in him and his story, then I need to see him for myself. Why not here?"

"Well, Kyle is here, for one thing. Remember Kyle, our son, home from college? I know we only see him when he needs gas money, but he might object to having Gary around during his Christmas vacation."

Vincent paused. "Well, he'll just have to get over it. That's the deal, sweetheart. I need to get to know this man. Between my pastoral duties and that publishing deadline, I don't have time to visit him."

"He might not agree to this, you know."

"I'll persuade Kyle, you persuade Gary."

Louise realized he would not be moved. Before she left for work, she heard him talking with Kyle. It sounded like Vincent was winning.

At the store, she completed the start-of-the-day rituals. Only when she had set the water brewing for tea did she realize she was delaying again.

"Best get this over with," she told herself. She poured a cup of hot water, tossed in a tea bag, and dialed Gary's number.

"Hello?" he said with a tired voice.

"Gary? This is Louise. When will you be released from the hospital?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh, sooner than I expected. Where will you go?"

"Home, I guess."

She took a deep breath. "Listen, I know this will sound odd, but hear me out. I think you should come and stay at my house for a while. You'll probably need some looking after, and you could help us figure out what we're going to do about . . . well, what we're going to do." She took another breath. "My husband was the one who suggested it. He's a minister. He does these things."

"Okay."

"Really? I mean, good . . . "

"The doctor says I'm coming along fine, Louise," Gary said, his voice a scratchy whisper, "but I feel terrible. My girlfriend can't even take care of her houseplants, much less me. I don't care why you're offering, I accept. With gratitude."

"Good, that's settled, then. What time will you be released?"

"I guess in the morning."

Louise thought for a moment. "The shop is just a few minutes from the hospital. You can call me here when you know."

She gave him the number, hung up, and made a list of things to be done. Picking up the phone again, she called home. Vincent answered.

"Did you persuade Kyle?" she asked. "Because Gary is grateful for the offer. He's being released tomorrow."

"Kyle isn't pleased," Vincent chuckled, "but he sees the light. He'll be even less pleased when he hears that I expect him to help with the cleaning."

"Call me before 1:30. I'll leave work early to do the shopping and get home to help clean."

Margaret and Carolyn arrived as Louise finished her call. The three women exchanged information and discussed plans as only old friends do: talking over each other, finishing each other's sentences. They came to agreement in stages, then separated to do the work. Each hoped it would be a quiet day at the shop, regardless of what that meant for profits.

Carolyn called Susan at Quilting Parade. She told her about Gary's accident and their suspicions about the fabric. "So, if you could get Li-Ming to run over, oh, maybe a quarter yard of that fabric, we could have Margaret's husband analyze it." She thought for a moment, then added, "By the way, have you tried cutting it after Linda's accident?"

"You know about that?" Susan said with an edge in her voice.

"News travels."

"You heard she cut her hand, right? What else do you know?"

"Just that she needed stitches. There must have been some blood spilled, and if it landed on the fabric you would cut that part off, right?"

"Yes," Susan answered, then paused. "But I can't remember doing that. Isn't that odd? I don't even remember where we put the bolt. I must have been in shock, too."

"How's Linda?"

"Fine. The doctor doesn't want her coming back to work yet. She doesn't want Linda putting too much stress on her hand. You know how Linda is, she just works and works, doesn't matter how she's feeling or what hurts."

"Does she still say the fabric cut her?"

Susan hesitated. "So you heard about that, too."

Carolyn cleared her throat. "I'm not saying I believe her, and I'm not saying I don't believe her. But I should tell you, we shipped our fabric back, or tried to, and the delivery van had an accident. The fabric, well, I think the fabric was seriously messed up in the manufacturing process. It . . . sort of caught fire. Spontaneously." Carolyn heard the high-pitched whine of the phone line, but nothing else. "You still there, Susan?"

"What do Louise and Margaret think?"

"Margaret isn't sure. That's why she asked Stan to help with a chemical analysis."

"And Louise?"

Carolyn hesitated.

"Carolyn? What does Louise think?" Susan demanded.

"She thinks . . . that something is . . . not right."

Susan laughed. "Well, obviously something isn't right! You don't need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out! What is Louise saying that you find so hard to repeat?"

"It isn't what Louise is saying, it's how she's saying it. She's talking about these bolts as if they were alive. We kind of lost them after they arrived, but Louise thinks that we didn't forget where we put them. She thinks the bolts were hiding from us."

"That's not like her," Susan said. "Linda, yes, Linda is always going on about some strange thing or other. She's into angels now. But Louise is as steady as a rock."

"I know! That's what has me worried!" Carolyn checked the hall to make sure no one overheard her.

"Has Louise talked with Linda?"

"No, just with Gary."

"Who?"

"The delivery man, the one who was driving the van that crashed. With our fabric in it."

"Well, what do you think? Should we get Louise and Linda together? That could be an interesting conversation."

"Undoubtedly, but Margaret plans to call Linda. I don't know if she has or not."

"Keep me informed, and I'll see what I can do about getting a fabric sample over to you. Oh, do you need Linda's home number?"

"Might as well take it, just to be safe." Carolyn wrote down the number and said goodbye. She turned to her computer, and read the replies to the messages she had sent to the other shops asking for more information about the fabric.

Margaret passed by the office door. "Margaret!" Carolyn called. "Did you call Linda last night?"

Margaret slapped her forehead. "I completely forgot! Let me do it now."

"Do it from here. I'd like to eavesdrop, if you don't mind."

"No, no, that's fine. Let me just get the number."

"I have it from Susan. She's going to get us a fabric sample that Stan can test."

"Good, good," she mumbled while dialing the number. "Hi, this is Margaret. Is Linda available? No, if she's resting . . . oh, okay, I'll wait." She said to Carolyn, "That was her husband, Fred. Nice guy, but I think he takes Linda's interest in quilting more seriously than she does sometimes."

Margaret turned back to the phone. "Hi, there! Sorry to roust you out of a nap. Oh, you weren't sleeping? You were planning what? I thought you finished with the chenille pillow samples. To be honest, I'm not crazy about chenille. Anyway, are you well enough to sew? Wait a minute, Carolyn just handed me a note."

She read the note and scowled. "She says to cut to the chase, so here goes. Li-Ming told us what you said about how you were injured. Well, Carolyn burned her hands when she opened a bolt of beige fabric . . . yes, a bolt we can't remember ordering. So my question is, did you take the plastic off the bolt? You did. Did you notice anything odd about the finish? Yes, ours was oily, too. Did it burn you?"

Margaret frowned, and stared at the floor. After a moment, she said, "Okay, okay. Yes, I understand. No, I'll tell Carolyn everything. Maybe you should take that nap now. Bye."

She handed the phone back and said, "Linda had a lot of trouble getting the plastic off. She had to peel it back in little sections, like an orange. The finish didn't look right, but she really wanted to use that particular beige."

"If there's a point here, let's get to it, okay?" Carolyn said.

Margaret bit her lip. "I promised to tell you exactly what she told me."

"Fine, I'm sorry, go on."

"Linda has really sensitive skin, so she always wears those little rubber fingertips. You know, finger cots. She only touched the fabric with the cots, but even so, her skin started to tingle. Then she cut the fabric with the rotary cutter, and . . . "

"And something fought back," Carolyn said.

"Yes."

Carolyn leaned back in her chair. She glanced at the computer. Then she noticed the subject lines of the e-mails from the other quilt shops. "I've got an idea."

"Okay, ideas are good," Margaret said warily.

"Go get Louise. I'll tell you both at once." She paused. "Then we'll make a plan."

"Plans are good, too," Margaret said as she went to find Louise. She found her paging through a new quilt book. "Carolyn has an idea. We're going to turn it into a plan."

Louise put the book back on the shelf. "Good."

"We have no idea what we're doing, and this may be nothing at all." Margaret bit her lower lip.

Louise squeezed Margaret's hands. "I agree that we don't know what we're doing, but this isn't nothing. It's very much something. I think we're going to find ourselves with a very important job to do. Don't ask me why, it's just a feeling I have."

Margaret closed her eyes. "We should wait until Stan has analyzed the fabric. We'll know what we're dealing with then."

Louise turned Margaret toward the back office. "No, we won't. Now, let's go hear what Carolyn has to say."

"Read these e-mails first," Carolyn said holding print-outs at them as she crossed the room. "Go, sit, read."

Louise finished first. "I think I've expected this."

Margaret stared at her. "You expected two people to be burned, and one more to be cut? How can you say that?"

"I'd like to know that myself," Louise said. "I don't know why I expected problems, but I did." She turned to Carolyn. "Just like I don't know why we need to do something, and quickly, but I do."

Margaret leaned forward in her chair, arms crossed. "We already decided what to do. We're going to get more information, remember? We haven't even called the manufacturer yet!"

"Some of the shops did," Carolyn said. "Without results. No one had any paperwork on those bolts, so none of the manufacturers could track them. We're the only ones who tried to send it back, and that's only because Louise saved the box that fabric came in . . ."

"We don't even know that much," Louise interrupted. "We returned the fabric in the only box I didn't have a receipt for. That isn't the same as knowing who sent it."

"Nevertheless," Margaret said, desperation creeping into her voice, "we had a plan. I would watch the newspapers, Carolyn would find a shop with unopened bolts, you would talk to Gary. What happened to that plan?"

Louise turned to Margaret. "It was a good plan yesterday. Not today. I talked with Gary. He's going to come live with us while he recovers."

"Well, that's a surprise," Carolyn said, "But it could be useful. We can use all the information we can get before we touch that fabric again."

Margaret looked back and forth between them. "I don't know which of you is the craziest! It's a batch of fabric with a bad finish. That's all!"

"And that's what my new plan will prove," Carolyn said. "Look, even assuming we get a sample from Susan today, how long will an analysis take? Days? Weeks? What if we just go for a quick test?" She sat on the edge of her chair, her hands drawing figures in the air. "One of the shops has some unopened fabric. We'll get a bunch of us there, bring some cameras to document what we do, and see what takes that finish off!"

"You mean wash it?" Louise asked.

"Not quite. I was thinking of dunking it in a tub of water. We'll need to be careful, too. Linda didn't get burned, and it had to be because she wore those little rubber finger cots. We'll go one better. We'll wear latex gloves."

Relief rolled over Margaret's face. "Okay, that makes sense. We should do this at The Cotton Cabinet. It has that big room in the back. Amy had unwanted beige bolts, too, didn't she?"

"Yes," Carolyn said, "and you're right about it being a good place. It's like a warehouse with the door that rolls up in back, and the private parking lot."

"Let's get back to your new plan, Carolyn," Louise said.

"We should soak some of the fabric in plain water, and some in soapy water, but just leave it on the bolt. As long as we don't try cutting it, or touching it with our bare hands, we shouldn't have a problem."

"What about using something stronger than soap?" Louise asked. She rubbed her nose and looked toward the wall. "Why don't we try putting bleach on it?"

Margaret gasped.

"What's wrong with bleach?" Carolyn asked. "We've used it lots of times!"

"Yes," Margaret said, still breathless, "but diluted! To work with the dye, not to destroy the fibers!"

Louise and Carolyn burst out laughing. Louise patted Margaret's hand. "It will be all right. It's in a good cause." Turning to Carolyn, she said, "We might want to bring a blow-torch, too. I've got a small one at home. I use it to melt silk for some of my art quilts."

"Good, then it's settled," Carolyn said. "I'll make the phone calls."

As Carolyn stood, the shop door opened. Two women entered and headed for a cabinet filled with batiks. Within minutes, three more customers arrived. The shop was still busy when Vincent called at 1:30. Louise worked until Carolyn pushed her out the door with the assurance that she or Margaret would call when the arrangements for their experiment were made.

Carolyn phoned Amy, marshaling her list of reasons why her plan was important. Amy agreed to let her shop be used for a laboratory. She even offered to help with the arrangements. "But let's keep it small, okay? Chances are this isn't a big deal, just a weird finish. I have a couple of bolts that haven't been opened, so I'll just take care of things here."

***

When Susan arrived home, Cecily met her at the door. "Mom, I swear, I didn't ask Grandma to step in."

"You should have told her not to call me on her cell phone while she was driving."

"She's still doing that? I thought her insurance agent said he would call the police himself if she ever did that again."

"Well, at least you have more common sense than your grandmother. She doesn't take that particular threat very seriously."

Cecily grinned. "When has Grandma Edna ever taken anything seriously?"

Susan grinned back. "I saw it happen once, in a restaurant. Some poor wine steward recommended a wine that didn't live up to its promise."

"I bet that was ugly."

"Very ugly." Susan put her coat in the closet and headed toward the kitchen.

"Mom," Cecily said in a subdued voice as she followed, "you're right."

Susan's eyes widened. "Right about what?"

"About not footing the bill for every new idea I have." Cecily hung her head.

Susan put her hand under Cecily's chin and lifted it gently. "What changed your mind?"

"Listening to Grandma rant. I mean, at first I agreed with her because I really want to make movies. I know I can tell good stories on film. Then, after Grandma Edna stormed out the door, I realized you've done a really good job providing for us all by yourself all these years. You've worked really, really hard to be successful. And maybe I should, too. Work harder, I mean."

Susan wrapped her daughter in a bear hug. "I'm proud of you, honey. So, what's your plan?"

"Well, first off, I want to give you something." She snatched a small package from the hall table. "Don't ask what it is, just open it."

Susan unwrapped the box. Inside was a fragrant lace sachet in the shape of a purse. "It's lavender."

"Like I don't know that lavender is your favorite?" Cecily teased. "You only have it everywhere. When I was driving around, trying to think of a plan, I saw this new shop downtown."

"Yes, I heard about it, but I didn't know it was open yet."

"Probably a good thing. You're going to drop a bundle in there, I guarantee it. Anyway, what I decided is that although I might get a grant to make a movie, I can't do that and go to Ireland at the same time. So, I'll work on getting the grant, but I'll register for classes, too. Just in case I don't get the money. And Ireland will probably still be there in a couple of years. I can go study then. When I can afford it."

Susan hugged her again. "I can live with that plan. And maybe I can start your Ireland fund. My digital camera might not be the latest in technology, but it works. How would you like to be paid for a little filming tonight?"

***

Later that evening, Carolyn, Margaret and Louise drove to The Cotton Cabinet. A few other cars were already parked in the back. The roll-up door was open, and Amy stood on the loading dock. "Welcome. We're just about ready. Here are your gloves."

"Who's here?" Louise asked as she joined Amy on the dock and donned the gloves.

"Most of my staff, a few from Darla's shop, some friends who thought this was a hoot . . . "

"I thought we were going to keep this quiet," Margaret grumbled. "There must be twenty people here."

Amy led them inside the building. "Yeah, well, Darla sort of blabbed. It'll be fine, don't worry. We've got some good ideas about documenting what we do. Susan's daughter will be in charge of that."

"Cece is here?" Carolyn asked. "Where?" She scanned the room.

"Please, she goes by Cecily now, and you wouldn't recognize her if she were standing on your foot," Amy said. "She's dyed her hair red. And I mean red, not auburn or chestnut or strawberry blonde. Red. Like Bozo's nose."

"Oh," Carolyn said. "How . . . lovely."

"Wait until you see it."

Carolyn frowned. "What did Susan bribe her with? I thought Cece hated everything to do with quilting."

"She needs money."

"You've got that right," Susan said, joining the group. "She wants to go to Ireland, and I told her I'd pay her to help tonight. She's getting in position right now to tape what we do."

"Tell me she isn't planning to use this in her film class," Carolyn begged.

"Right, like anything interesting is going to happen. Oh, hang on, I'm needed over there." Susan waved at young woman trying to get her attention.

Carolyn stepped back to let two women carrying gallon jugs of bleach pass, but a small squeal startled her. Linda stood behind her. "What are you doing here?" Carolyn barked, and immediately regretted it. "You should be home in bed."

Linda shrank. "I had to be here," she whispered. "I just had to. I heard about this from one of the other girls. Susan doesn't understand how dangerous this is. She saw what the fabric did to me, and she still doesn't understand."

"That isn't true," Carolyn said. "But we need to understand what's wrong with the fabric. That's what we're going to discover tonight."

Linda stood silent, eyes wide with fright.

"Okay, everyone," Susan announced, "I think we're ready to start. Since Cecily is filming this, Amy is letting me be in charge. Now, I know we all want to see, but we need a clear space around our experiments." A giggle ran through the room. "No, I'm serious. We're going to be as precise and methodical as we can. We're going to make tests, take pictures and notes, and when we're finished we're going to figure out what it all means and what we're going to do about it."

Susan instructed one woman to peel back the plastic covering from one of two bolts leaning against a table. Another woman stepped forward to take notes. Cecily circled the women, recording every move. Her red hair seemed to glow against the bolt as she brought the camera within inches of it.

"That's close enough, honey," Susan warned. A collective sigh arose when Cecily retreated, the sound of many mothers exhaling in relief. "Okay, now let's turn it to the other side."

The woman who had peeled the plastic slowly turned the bolt around. "This side looks the same as the other," she said.

Susan joined her. "You're right. Go ahead, dunk it in the tub of water."

The woman shoved the bolt in the tub of water and leaped back. She put her hand to her throat, panting. "Well," she said, "it didn't blow up."

Susan peered into the bucket. "It isn't doing anything at all. It doesn't even look wet. I'm going to take this out of the water and get a better look." When the bolt was on the ground, she said, "Look, the water is just beading on the surface. The soapy water probably won't work, either."

"Maybe not," Carolyn said, "but we should go through all the tests anyway."

While the note taker logged the observations about the water bath, and Cecily positioned herself for the soap test, Susan directed two women to remove the tub of plain water and two others to fetch the soapy water.

"This doesn't smell like laundry detergent," Susan said. "What's in here?"

Someone said, "It's just a quilt washing soap, but I added some rose water to it because I like the way it makes my quilts smell."

Cecily knelt by the tub and filmed while Susan settled the bolt in the sudsy water. "Nothing's happening, Mom," she said.

Susan noticed Louise standing near the bleach. "Louise, grab one of those jugs. It's time for the big guns."

Susan hoisted the bolt by the very top and carried it out to the dock. She stood it on its end and grasped a corner of the fabric with her thumb and forefinger. With a flick of her wrist, she unrolled two yards, sending it streaming in front of her.

"Here's the bleach," Louise said. "You want me to pour some on it?"

"Wait for the camera," Susan answered. "Is everyone ready? Okay, Louise, go ahead and pour. If the bleach doesn't do anything, we'll go straight to fire. It won't cause a problem here."

"Nothing," Louise said as the bleach pooled on the fabric. "I'll be right back." She threaded her way through the group. As she reached the table with her blowtorch, she heard a rustle. She lit the torch, then turned around and froze.

An odd shape curled over the heads of the women on the dock. Louise felt as if a cold hand had reached inside her and squeezed her lungs together. Forgetting that the torch was lit, she moved forward. A scream from the women near Susan stopped her.

She saw women gasp, but couldn't hear them. She saw smoke, but didn't smell anything. Then she realized that what she had seen curling over everyone's head was the fabric, arching like a scorpion's stinger.

The fabric wrapped itself around Susan, first her shoulders, then her torso. By the time it reached to her knees, the rest of the bolt was twirling on the dock, releasing more yardage.

Carolyn and Margaret leaped to Susan's side and pulled at the fabric. It made a cracking sound, like a piece of wood splitting in a fire, and green smoke puffed out of the winding, twisting folds.

Susan stood immobile, drained of color, her expression one of stunned incomprehension. When the smoke found its way up her nose, however, she coughed violently, then struggled to free herself.

Appendages grew out of the cloth, gnarled stumps that could be arms or legs. Across the dock, women stumbled backward. Gasps turned into shrieks. The smoke grew thicker, and the women choked.

The second bolt now split its plastic covering with a loud pop. The outer layer of fabric dropped to the ground, bunched together and became two stumpy legs that lifted the bolt up off the floor. It tottered forward, puffing green smoke.

Louise lost her balance and fell against the wall. The blowtorch flew out of her hand and clattered down the hall into the store. Green smoke coiled around her, acrid, biting, tinder dry.

The smell of burning wood wafted through the green smoke. The blowtorch lay against a display case. The small flame at the tip of the nozzle flickered up the edge of the case. The paint glistened, then blistered. The flame spread like ivy climbing a wall. A tendril of fire curled against the merchandise. Tiny flames appeared on each bolt of fabric, one after another. The flames joined together, and reached out to the ceiling.

"Get out, get out!" Louise yelled, pushing everyone away from the fire.

No one bothered with the stairs now. Women jumped off the dock, or lowered themselves to the ground, the more agile helping the others to escape.

"Cecily!" Louise shouted, seeing the legged bolt moving. "Behind you!"

Cecily turned and backed away, still filming. Fabric near the top of the bolt stretched like a branch. It curled at the tip and snapped at her, smashing the camera against the floor.

A grinding, screeching sound emanated from the bolt, and smoke belched in all directions. The bolt wrapping itself around Susan bellowed. Fire from the storeroom spread along the ceiling into the back room. Both bolts howled, then the one wrapped around Susan dropped in folds on the floor and slithered toward the other.

Carolyn and Margaret staggered, coughing, then grabbed Susan. They supported her between them as they moved toward the dock stairs. Louise followed behind them.

Thick gray-green smoke filled every corner of the building, including the showroom. When flames rolled over the top of the cases, the smoke above exploded. Fire blew from shelf to shelf, consuming more and more oxygen. Shelves shuddered as the rising heat split the wooden frames. The whole room flashed, huge and bright, as everything ignited at once.

"Where's Linda?" Carolyn called to Margaret. Margaret scanned the crowd, her eyes blurry with soot and fear. She turned toward the dock, and saw Linda climbing down the steps, cell phone in hand.

Margaret dashed across the parking lot and grabbed Linda's arm. She dragged her down the steps just as the front of the store exploded and flames scoured the loading dock. The blast knocked them to the ground. Seizing Linda's arms, Margaret pulled her to her feet.

Linda found her balance, and Margaret released her grip. The two of them staggered to join the others.

"I called 9-1-1," Linda said, her voice a whisper amidst the roar of fire.

Margaret watched the roof of The Cotton Cabinet buckle. "It doesn't matter," she said. "The store will be gone before they get here."
Chapter 4

Carolyn hadn't realized how different sirens could sound. Fire trucks were still arriving as one ambulance left the parking lot of The Cotton Cabinet. She heard another siren in the distance. Yesterday, I wouldn't have known that siren is a police car, not a fire truck or an ambulance. She pulled the blanket one of the paramedics had given her around her shoulders, struggling to keep focused.

Another woman in a blanket stood in front of her. She recognized the face under the soot, but couldn't put a name to it. She stifled a giggle as she realized she probably couldn't put a name to her own face if she saw it in a mirror.

"I think we're in shock," the other woman said. "No, I know we're in shock. But we still saw what we saw, right? Shock or no, we saw the bolts getting up, and, and . . . "

"And attacking," Carolyn finished. "Yeah, we saw it."

"Yeah, I knew that. But my captain won't believe me."

"Your who?"

"My captain. I'm Valerie. I'm a cop. My captain was out here. I tried to tell him what I saw," Valerie said.

"Well, that was your first mistake," Carolyn said, then realized what had come out of her mouth. "I'm sorry, that was rude."

"No, you're right, I shouldn't have said anything. None of us should. No one is going to believe us. We have no proof."

"Cecily was filming. It's all there."

Valerie shook her head. "No. Her camera was destroyed."

"Damn." Carolyn stopped short. "What about us? Did we all get out?"

"I think so. I did a quick head count."

"How bad were the injuries, could you tell?"

"It's hard to say. I've seen worse. The question is, what are we going to do now?"

The fog that had clouded Carolyn's brain earlier settled in again. "I don't know," she said. "We have to do something, but I honestly don't know what." She looked over at a knot of uniformed police officers comparing notes. "I do know one thing. When we started our experiment tonight, no one was watching us. Now we're going to be noticed."

"Not if we do a little damage control," Valerie said. "Let's find out what the others have said, and see if we can't - "

"Get them to clam up? I don't know why I didn't think of that. Oh, there's Margaret. Excuse me a moment, I need to talk to her. Wait, she's heading in this direction. And she's running. This can't be good."

"Carolyn," Margaret gasped, "where's Cecily?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen her. I mean, I saw her after the explosion, I know she's out and safe. Isn't she with Susan?"

"No, and that's the problem. Susan won't go to the hospital until she sees Cecily."

Valerie cleared her throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Carolyn said, "let me introduce you two."

Margaret held up her hand. "No, I think I know you. I've seen you at the shop. Green checkbook, lemon yellow checks, with butterflies in the corner, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," Valerie said with a smile. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure I saw Susan being loaded in that first ambulance."

"Oh, they tried," Margaret said, throwing up her hands, "but she made a huge fuss about not going without knowing if Cecily was okay, and in the meantime one of the other injured ladies started having trouble breathing. They couldn't tell if she was having a heart attack or what, so the paramedics loaded her in the ambulance instead of Susan. Then Susan talked the paramedics into letting her off the stretcher. She can't find Cecily, and now she's collapsed over there and she won't let anyone take care of her." Margaret pointed toward a crowd of women.

"How could they not take her to the hospital?" Carolyn asked. "She was burned by that fabric."

"She says it's not as bad as all that," Margaret snorted. "If you ask me, she's gone into mother mode. I've done it myself."

"What do you mean, mother mode?" Valerie asked. "I don't have kids."

"It's okay," Carolyn replied, "I do have kids, but I've never experienced mother mode myself. I've seen it, though. I once saw Louise try to ignore her own fever when Kyle was hospitalized with a nasty case of the flu. It took her husband and two hospital orderlies to get her out of that room."

"And a prescription for a very powerful sedative to keep her in bed until her fever broke," Margaret added.

"So, call me a coward," Valerie said, "but Susan is a pretty tough lady from what I hear. Rather than fight her, why don't we find Cecily?"

The three women skirted their way around clusters of quilters, rescue workers, police officers and firefighters, looking for Cecily. They finally caught a glimpse of her near what was left of the building. Her bright red hair, although dusted with soot and ash, shimmered eerily when caught in the flash of the fire trucks' emergency lights. Dark gray streaks marked the track of tears down her face.

Margaret put her arms around the young woman. "Oh, Mrs. Preston," Cecily sobbed as she buried her face in Margaret's shoulder. "Mom is dead, and the camera got ruined, and I can't prove how it happened."

"Your mother isn't dead," Carolyn said. "She's hurt, but she won't go to the hospital until she sees you."

"Mom's alive?"

"Yes, dear, very much so," Margaret cooed, "but she needs to see a doctor, and she won't go anywhere without you."

"Okay," Cecily said, gulping back tears. "Where is she?"

Carolyn intervened. "Hold on," she ordered, "are you hurt? At all? Seriously, if you're hurt in any way, bump, bruise, broken nail, tell us now."

"No, no, I'm fine, but I bet I look awful." She dusted her jeans and pushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

"Kind of," Valerie said, stepping forward and holding out her blanket. "I don't think we've met. I'm Valerie. Here, wipe your face on my blanket."

"Good idea," Carolyn agreed, "and try to smile."

Cecily rubbed her face, and the front of her clothes. "Okay, how do I look?"

Margaret and Carolyn scanned her from head to toe. "She'll pass muster," Margaret said.

Cecily stumbled as Margaret guided her to her mother. Carolyn and Valerie followed behind, eavesdropping on snatches of conversation as they went.

Susan saw her daughter approaching. "Oh, baby, you're safe," she exclaimed, then shuddered in a spasm of coughing.

Cecily froze. The women surrounding Susan backed away, watching Cecily's reaction. Margaret hovered, her arms ready to catch Cecily if the girl showed any signs of fainting.

"Good grief, Mother, why are you still here?" Cecily shouted. "I can see burn marks on your neck, you're sitting on the ground, and your voice sounds like you've got bronchitis or something! Please, would one of you ladies grab a paramedic and get my mother in an ambulance?"

Carolyn stepped up to Cecily, patted her on the arm and said, "I'm so glad to see you've discovered how to tap into your inner Edna."

Susan coughed and laughed at the same time. "That's exactly who she sounds like! Your grandmother would be proud, dear. But no one was going to make me leave before I found out if you were safe."

Cecily knelt by her mother. "Fine, I'm safe, let's get you out of here." She helped her mother to her feet. "Can you walk, Mom?"

"Yes," Susan assured her, "I'm not really hurt."

"Tell that to your burns," Cecily snapped.

"They aren't as bad as all that," Susan said. "Stop glaring at me. I'll go to the hospital."

"I'm coming with you," Cecily said, snapping the syllables.

"I'd like to see someone try to stop her," Carolyn said to Margaret and Valerie.

"Someone might try to stop her riding in the ambulance," Margaret said. "Maybe I should drive Cecily to the hospital."

"Good idea," Carolyn said. "We're going to stick around here and try to find out what the others are telling the police."

Margaret gave Carolyn a hard stare. "You're working on another plan, aren't you? Don't give me that look. And don't think you can come up with some crazy scheme and we'll all fall into place. This is getting out of hand, Carolyn. We are in way over our heads."

Valerie cleared her throat. "You're right, Margaret, but think about it. Who is going to believe us if we just blurt out that the fabric attacked us and burned down the shop? We need a story that the authorities will believe."

Margaret paused. "That makes sense," she said grudgingly. "It won't hurt to find out what the others are saying. But watch out for Carolyn, Valerie. She has a way of getting people all worked up, and I'm not sure that's what we need just now."

"Don't panic," Carolyn grumbled. "The only thing I'm planning to do right now is find out what the other women are saying."

Once Susan was loaded into the ambulance and Margaret left with Cecily, Valerie and Carolyn went back to eavesdropping. Most of the other women weren't saying much. By the time the last squad car left the parking lot it was clear the police considered the explosion an accident. Valerie's captain encouraged her to take a few days off. The newspapers ran a picture the next day of the shop in flames, and a story about the miracle of no one being seriously hurt.

***

"Well, dear," Vincent said, "I was afraid I'd be dropping you off at the hospital when I went to pick up Gary."

Louise sat in bed. Her throat was raw from the green smoke she had inhaled. Her shoulder ached from stumbling into the wall. Her brown eyes looked tired, and lacked their usual sparkle.

Vincent peered into his wife's face. "Believe it or not, you look better now than you did last night." He sat next to her on the bed. "I know you didn't want to talk about the accident last night, honey. Are you ready to talk now?"

"Not yet."

"Okay. I called Gary this morning and told him I would be picking him up."

Louise didn't move her head, but she snapped her eyes in Vincent's direction and clenched her jaw. "Don't worry," he said, caressing her hand, "I didn't tell him about the shop burning down or anything. I just said it was going to work out better for me to pick him up rather than you. He seemed fine with that. To be honest, I'm just as happy to being going by myself. The drive home will give us a chance to get acquainted."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. When are you going?"

"In about an hour. Would you like some breakfast? Tea? Anything?"

"Tea would nice, thank you. I think I'd like that new tea I bought, the one in the red box."

Vincent left, but returned quickly. "I've put a couple of mugs in the microwave."

"You're bound and determined to keep an eye on me, aren't you?" She closed her eyes and settled against the pillow. "Where's Kyle?"

"At the grocery store," he said. When she frowned, he said. "Kyle volunteered. He said he wanted to get some of your favorite foods, to make you feel better. Chocolate pudding cups and maraschino cherries figured prominently in the discussion."

"I haven't thought of that in years."

"About twelve years, I think."

"Uh-huh. His eighth birthday. He put on those new skates and dashed out the door before I could stop him. Fell right on his nose."

"And you let him eat chocolate pudding cups with maraschino cherries for a week."

"Of course I did," Louise said. "I still feel guilty about giving him those in-line skates in the first place."

"Don't think he didn't use that to his advantage."

"And still does." She opened her eyes. "I really do know when he is trying to manipulate me. I just don't think it's as much of a character flaw as you do."

"You may be right."

"You know I am, and I'm getting chocolate pudding cups and maraschino cherries out of it."

When the chime sounded and he went to deal with the tea, she wondered how long she could keep him from seeing how frightened she really was. For the first time in her marriage, Louise decided she would have to let her husband believe a lie.

***

Margaret also decided not to tell her husband the entire truth. She told Stan that some people had gathered at The Cotton Cabinet for a workshop. When he asked if there had been any of the odd beige fabric at this shop, she said yes, but didn't tell him about what the bolts had done.

"I still amazed the police didn't made certain everyone got home safely," he said.

"They were a little busy, honey, and I'm fine. A couple of bruises and scrapes, that's all. I've suffered worse from pruning the roses."

He disagreed with her on that point, and called the clinic to make an appointment for her. To Margaret's relief, there were no appointments available that day and he could not convince the scheduling clerk to cancel someone else's appointment.

"Stan, I'm really, really okay. You should just go to work. I need to get ready to go to the shop anyway."

"Absolutely not! The police may think there was a gas leak, but you and I both know that odd fabric must have been out-gassing some pretty volatile compounds. There's no telling what the toxicity levels are in your shop."

She had always been thrilled that Stan was so protective of her and their children, but today it was inconvenient. After half an hour of creatively not answering his questions about the real cause of the fire, she finally persuaded him to go to work. More important, she persuaded him that she could go to work, too.

She waited five minutes after he pulled out of the driveway, just to make sure he wasn't coming back, then picked up the phone. First she called Carolyn. Margaret was amazed yet worried to hear the defeat in Carolyn's voice.

"But, Carolyn, you were right. The fabric really did attack you. Those bolts are alive, and we have to find a way of stopping them."

"Fine, tell me how," Carolyn shot back. "You wouldn't even tell Stan about the . . . fabric monsters, and he believes everything you tell him. He even believes you bought that Bernina for half price with your employee discount, and we've never carried sewing machines. Face it, Margaret, we're at the end of the line here."

"I've never heard you talk like this. You've always told me there's a solution to every problem, you just have to look hard enough and live long enough to find it."

"There are lots of things I can do by myself, and a lot more I will try, but I don't know how to fight a bolt of fabric that can burn down an entire building in fifteen minutes."

"It took two of them to do that."

"Fine, then. One bolt would take a whopping thirty minutes to kill us all," Carolyn growled. "And even if I had a clue how to fight these things, I'm pretty sure it would take more than the three of us, or even the twenty of us who were at Amy's last night, to stop them."

***

Susan and Amy, however, had other ideas. Later that afternoon, Susan called Carolyn at home and persuaded her to meet in the parking lot at Quilting Parade early the next morning so they could see if the beige bolts there were behaving strangely .Carolyn called Margaret and Louise and invited them to come, too.

When the three arrived at Quilting Parade, they found Amy as well. "This is personal now," she said. "No one – no thing – ruins my shop and gets away with it. I didn't spend four years in the Marine Corps to end up a quitter."

"You were a Marine?" Margaret asked.

"You didn't know? Didn't you ever notice my carved eagle?"

"Sure I did, but I just thought it was part of the country look."

"Shush, you two," Susan said as she turned the key. "We're going in."

Quilting Parade was a shambles. Merchandise littered the floor. The cutting table was on its side. Sammy the Bear lay in a heap, one little paw stretched toward the door.

The women stood in the doorway, barely breathing. Susan took a couple of steps, but Amy grabbed her shoulder and whispered, "Let me go first."

With a minimum of movement, she searched the main room. She turned to the others, still in the doorway, and motioned for them to enter. "And keep your voices down," she warned in a stern whisper.

Carolyn edged around Susan toward the upturned cutting table. "I don't see any beige fabric."

The others scanned the room. Bolts of fabric had toppled from the shelves. They could see polka dot prints, Hawaiian florals, even the left-over Christmas fabric. No one saw the slightest hint of beige.

"What's that?" Louise whispered. "It sounds like squirrels chittering." Carolyn, Margaret and Susan froze, holding their breath. Amy leaned forward, listening.

"It's from the back," she said. "Follow me, but not too close. If something jumps at you, run."

"Maybe we should just run now," Louise suggested.

"Yes, that would be sensible," Susan answered, following Amy toward the chittering noise.

Amy put out her left hand, palm toward the line of women behind her. They stopped. She crept forward another three steps, hand still outstretched. She stopped and listened, then beckoned the others to follow.

They stopped just outside the storage room. It was filled with bolts of beige fabric. Some of them lay on the floor, loose fabric undulating along the carpet. Some were walking around on stumpy beige legs that oozed out of the bolt itself. Some just stood there, vibrating. The chittering sound came from all of them.

A bolt on the floor rolled toward the doorway. Amy retreated, as did the women behind her. An acrid scent wafted toward them as the rolling bolt approached. Amy turned around and put one finger to her lips for silence. Carolyn, Margaret and Louise turned to leave. Susan sneezed.

Humans and fabric alike froze. Then the bolt in the doorway sprang upright, fabric jiggling up and down. The acrid smell intensified, and the chittering modulated to a shriek.

"Run!" Amy yelled, pushing Carolyn and Louise into motion. They stumbled into each other, then righted themselves.

Louise sprinted to the front door, throwing it open. "Come on, come on!" she shouted. Carolyn reached the door, then turned around. Louise grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her outside.

The bolts were also moving, rocking from side to side on their short legs. A wisp of smoke floated above them. Amy saw Susan sneeze again, then cough. She shouted at Margaret to get outside and ran back to help Susan, who was coughing too hard to run, or to notice that the bolts were getting closer.

Margaret turned toward the front door, but stumbled over a pile of chenille pillows. She picked up all of the pillows. Facing the advancing bolts, she threw one over Amy's head.

The pillow landed on a bolt, which screamed and collapsed. Margaret threw another pillow, this time hitting a bolt dead-center. The smoke coming from it turned from green to gray-brown.

Amy grabbed the remaining pillows. "Get Susan out of here," she ordered as she lobbed pillows like hand grenades, aiming for bolts that were clustered together. Then she ran out the front door. She slammed the door shut and barricaded it with an antique park bench that usually held the day's special sale fabric. Through the window she watched the bolts fall over, then she sprinted to join the others.

Susan, Margaret, Carolyn and Louise were huddled in the parking lot. Amy took out her car keys and herded them toward her minivan. "Come on," she ordered, "the other businesses will open soon. We don't want anyone to see us like this, and ask inconvenient questions."

"Where are we going?" Louise asked.

"To Rolls 'N Stuff. It's usually empty this time of the morning. I don't know about the rest of you, but it's too early for hard liquor, so strong coffee and a double-fudge brownie will have to do."

"No," Louise said, "let's go to my house instead. There's someone there who needs to hear what happened."

"What did just happen?" Margaret gasped. "The fabric . . . and it came after us . . . and we got away . . ." She closed her eyes and shuddered. "And the chenille . . . "

"I guess they don't like chenille," Carolyn said.

"Who does?" Susan asked. "But to keel over from it? That is what happened, right? They just fell over and . . . did it kill them?"

"I'm not sure," Amy said. "Look, there are a lot of things we've got to analyze. That's going to take chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate."

"That's why we need to go to my house," Louise said. "Trust me." She gave Amy directions, and assurances that there would be chocolate. She also told Susan and Amy about the incident with the beige fabric at Queen of the Needles. She had reached the part about Gary taking the boxed-up bolts when they arrived at her house.

From the back of the minivan, Susan cleared her throat and said, "It does occur to me that the person who needs to hear about our latest adventure is not your husband."

"No, it's Gary," Louise admitted.

Amy unbuckled her seat belt and turned to face Louise. "And why is Gary at your house?"

Carolyn said, "Because the fabric blew up his delivery truck and he had no place else to go after he was released from the hospital."

Amy leaned forward. "Well, you might have told me before you went and destroyed my shop!"

"Told you what?" Susan asked. "Linda started spurting blood all over my cutting table, swearing the fabric grabbed the cutter and sliced her. I didn't believe it, and I was right there. Even if we had known about Gary's accident, we still would have done the same thing."

She hesitated. The day he rolled his hand truck into her shop, Susan's first thought was whether Cecily would like someone like him. Gary had a lovely smile, fabulous hair, and even better arms. She remembered being surprised he spoke so well. Perhaps there's a brain behind that face, she thought, and wondered if he were working his way through college. He was about the right age for her daughter.

The next time Gary made a delivery, Susan was on her knees shelving fabric. She turned just in time to watch him bend over. Nice butt, she thought. And too young for you, her mother's voice said in her head, but she remembered she had held in her stomach and rolled to her feet as gracefully as her knees would allow.

Then she remembered the day he asked about her business, and the way he paid attention to every word, even her monologue about the sisterhood of quilters. She blushed to think of how she had rambled, but he only smiled. Then he brushed her fingertips when he took the pen, and a tingle she hadn't felt for years raced up her arm.

Susan stroked her hand, and noticed Amy's expression. "We, um, we would have said the fabric caught fire because of fumes in an enclosed space. And, in point of fact, you brought up that very issue when you offered your shop. You said the loading dock would be perfect because of all the natural ventilation." Amy snorted, to which Susan replied, "Now, you know you did, Amy, and that's the end of it."

Susan lowered her eyes, and hoped her expression showed contrition, not confusion. As she brushed her hair in place, her mother's voice rang in her head. Idiot, it said, he doesn't need you.

Louise said, "Let's just go inside. Gary will be happy to tell you his story. Then we'll figure out what to do next."

The women followed Louise up the sidewalk, through the front garden and into the house. Carolyn and Margaret hurried to the kitchen to start tea and collect the chocolate. Louise pointed Susan and Amy toward the living room as she went to find Gary. She returned just as Margaret arrived with a tray of chocolate wafers, chocolate-stuffed sandwich cookies, an open bag of chocolate-covered mint patties and an unopened box of dark chocolate nuts and chews.

"Carolyn's defrosting the bite-sized chocolate cheesecakes in the microwave," Margaret said.

"Gary will be down in a minute," Louise said. She sat down in a blue overstuffed chair by the coffee table, opened the box of chocolates and selected three. "Don't be shy. I have a lot more if we go through this."

By the time Gary entered the living room, the women had eaten all the mint patties. He took a chocolate wafer and noticed two empty places, one next to Susan on the settee, one on the couch. His shoulders swayed toward the settee, but his right foot stepped toward the couch. The cookie split in his hand, his left foot toes bumped into his right heel, and his knees bent perilously close to the buckling stage. He stuffed the cookie into his mouth, using the momentum of his hand to pull himself out of the fall.

Carolyn came in with a tray of tea things and the bite-sized cheesecakes. "I was going to say how nice it is to see you up, Gary, but maybe that's premature. Are you okay?"

He let Amy guide him to the empty place on the couch. "Yes, I'm fine." He swallowed the cookie, then smiled. "Really, I only trip over myself a couple of times a day now. The doctor says I'm making great progress."

The women chuckled, all except Susan. She noticed his ashen skin, and watched the pulsing vein at his throat. Then Gary looked at her, and their eyes met long enough for her to see his cheeks turn rosy. She felt her own face flushing. The heat spread up to her hairline, down along her neck, and across her chest. She tugged at her sweater, then dropped her hands to her lap.

Carolyn settled the tea tray on the coffee table. "We're sorry about the accident, but I think you understand why we couldn't say more, right?"

"There was something wrong with the fabric," he said, voice low. "There were fumes, I remember that."

Carolyn held up her hand. "One of those critters tried to eat Susan a couple of days ago, and just now we fought a whole bunch of them off in my shop."

"You didn't tell me anything about that." He glared at Louise, then focused on Susan. "Did it hurt you?"

Susan shook her head, eyes downcast. She held up her hands, fingers spread. "See? Not a scratch. My clothes protected me from getting burned."

"That, and us pulling it off you," Carolyn said.

"Did you tell him about my shop going up in flames?" Amy asked.

"There hasn't been time," Louise said. "Vincent knows about the shop, of course, but he doesn't know about the fabric attacking Susan. Or Linda. Or Carolyn."

"Or me?" Gary asked. His eyes lingered on Susan.

"Not really. But everyone in this room knows that the fabric doesn't have a defective finish. It's alive, and it isn't friendly. So, tell us what you saw."

He told them about the bolts freeing themselves from the boxes and walking toward him as he drove the van into a culvert. He told them about the smell and the smoke. While he tried to keep his eyes moving over the whole crowd, he kept returning his gaze to Susan.

Then the women told Gary about the experiments they conducted at Amy's shop before it blew up, and about finding Quilting Parade filled with beige fabric bolts.

"Why did you go to Susan's shop?" he asked. "Why would you want to meet up with those things again? And what made you think they would be there?" His voice grew loud and harsh, his eyes fierce.

When Susan heard the anger and fear, her heart raced. Don't be an idiot, she told herself, then she met Gary's gaze, and her heart stopped. Time and sound stopped, too, and all she saw was Gary's face.

Amy said, "We went to face those things because they attacked first. I'm not about to walk away from a fight."

"But why would you think they'd be at Susan's shop?" he asked again.

"I hadn't sent any of the beige bolts away, so where else would they be?" Susan said, clipping her words to keep her voice from trembling.

"I have no idea," Gary said, "but the six in my truck escaped. The police didn't see anything, but I could swear I saw them running away across the field, under cover of that horrible smoke."

The women stared at each other in horror. Louise reached for cheesecake. The others grabbed whatever was closest.

"What are we going to do?" Margaret asked between bites of her cookie. "For all we know, this could be an invasion."

Carolyn nearly choked on her caramel. "An invasion? From where?"

"Outer space," Margaret said. "Or inner space. Or maybe they are like Godzilla and we created them ourselves."

"The last I heard, no one uses nuclear weapons to make fabric," Carolyn said.

"It doesn't matter," Amy said. "We have intruders on our shores, and we're the only ones who know about them. Gary, your questions about the fabric might be more important than you know. How many bolts of beige fabric did you have, Susan?"

"Four, I think. No, five."

"There were a lot more than five bolts in your shop this morning," Amy said.

"More than eleven, too," Louise said. When the others looked puzzled, she explained, "If our six bolts really did escape, they might have joined up with the others at Quilting Parade. So that would have made eleven. And we don't know that the two at Amy's shop were destroyed, so let's say they escaped, too. That would be thirteen. How many bolts did you see?"

"More than thirteen," Carolyn said.

"I hate to sound like an actor, but what's their motivation? Why would they go to one particular shop?" Gary asked. He looked at Susan's smile, blushed, and turned his gaze to the chocolates.

"We don't know for a fact that they did go to one particular shop," Carolyn said. She stood up. "I'm going to call the other shop owners."

As Carolyn left, Amy said, "We've got to think of all the strange things they did."

"Stranger than spouting green smoke and growing legs, you mean," Susan said.

"Yes, stranger than that. For instance, why are they at your shop? Why did they attack you at my shop, and why were they heading after you this morning?"

"I didn't think they were after me in particular," Susan said. "If you'll recall, they chased all of us."

"Yes, they chased all of us, but there were more chasing you."

"Maybe I was closer."

"No, you weren't," Margaret said. "I was just as close."

"Okay," Susan said, twisting her hair. "Okay, maybe they recognized me from the other night. I was the one pouring stuff on that one bolt, remember?"

"They don't have eyes," Amy said.

"I had the chenille," Margaret said almost at the same time.

"The chenille?" Gary asked.

"We'll get to that in a minute," Louise said. "How do you know they don't have eyes, Amy?"

"Have you seen eyes on them? I've seen legs, and other appendages that grabbed stuff, but not eyes."

"Why would they puff out smoke if they don't have eyes to see it?" Louise asked.

"Good question," Amy replied. "I don't know."

"For the smell," Gary said.

"What?" the women exclaimed at once.

"For the smell," he said again. "Remember that horrible smell?"

"We haven't seen noses, either," Amy pointed out.

"Maybe they don't need noses," he suggested. "Maybe they take in smells through their skin. If the fabric is their skin. So the next question is, what smells are there around a fabric shop that would attract them?"

"Lavender," Carolyn said from the doorway. "You've always got that lavender oil burning in your office."

"And you wear lavender perfume," Margaret added. "What did the other shop owners say about the beige fabric, Carolyn?"

"Gone, all of it. So what's this about lavender?"

"We're trying to figure out what attracts them," Amy explained. "Or upsets them, one of the two. We need to get a handle on how they're going to react if we hope to defeat them."

Louise said gently, "Gary, you've gone quiet. What's wrong?"

"My aftershave has lavender in it."

"That's an unusual ingredient for aftershave, isn't it?" Susan asked.

"My girlfriend has it made up for me. She's got a friend who . . . well, never mind."

His girlfriend echoed in Susan's head. I should have known he'd have a girlfriend, she thought. And no wonder I'm attracted to him \- it must have been the aftershave.

After a moment, Margaret said in a strained but cheery voice, "Well, now might be a good time to talk about chenille."

The women told Gary about the confrontation at Quilting Parade, and how chenille pillows affected the bolts. "I threw the first pillow just because it was there," Margaret said, "but you should have seen those bolts fall over when Amy got hold of the pillows. She was in the Marines. She knows how to throw."

Gary chuckled. "I'm sorry, I really wasn't going to make any jokes about throwing like a girl, but I never expected a quilter to have been in the Marines."

Louise sat straight in her chair. She put her hand to her face, then started tapping her nose. "There are other quilters who know how to throw. We put together a softball league a few years ago, remember? The schools had another budget cut, and all the businesses in town sponsored softball teams to raise money for the programs that were going to be cut?"

Carolyn picked up a mini cheesecake. "I'm tempted to show you how well I can throw," she said, waving the cheesecake in Louise's direction.

"No, wait, that's a good idea," Gary said. "Get all the chenille you can find and teach all the women who were at your shop how to fight."

"Teach them how to fight," Amy asked incredulously, "with chenille?"

Margaret and Susan looked at each other. "I don't have any better ideas," Margaret said.

"Neither do I," Susan agreed. "The pillows worked pretty well, and I bet we could get some of the ladies to help sew a lot more. I'd be happy enough to donate all the chenille I've got in my store. I can't stand it myself, but I've got a lot of customers who love it."

Louise grabbed a cookie. "I have another idea. What if we used chenille for coats or capes or something?"

"How about chenille bathrobes?" Margaret suggested. "Maybe the thrift stores in town would have some."

"There's still the matter of training this army of quilters," Amy said.

"Do you know Valerie?" Carolyn asked. "She was at your shop, too. She's a cop. She could help."

"I know a little bit of stage fighting," Gary said. "It isn't great, but our teacher is a martial artist, and he tries to get us to make it look real when we're fighting, even if it is choreographed."

It took another twenty minutes, and several chocolate-stuffed sandwich cookies, but Amy agreed to lead the offensive. They decided to make sure the fabric hadn't left Quilting Parade. They also decided to put more lavender around the shop. Whether they loved it or hated it, the invaders were certainly attracted to lavender, and might be willing to stay put until the quilters were ready to attack.
Chapter 5

Louise suggested that Carolyn call all the shop owners again, this time to ask if they had any chenille on hand. Most of the shops did, and several also had chenille pillows, crib quilts, diaper bags and totes already made up for class samples. Carolyn offered Queen of the Needles for a mass sewing session. "Of course," she told the group at Louise's house, "that means going back to the shop."

Susan snorted. "You sent your fabric away, remember? Your shop should be just the way you left it."

"I know," Carolyn answered, but her face showed doubt and fear.

"Well," Susan said, "if you want to delay the inevitable, we still have to organize the shopping expedition for the chenille housecoats."

"And we'll have to decide who we'll ask to be in our attack group," Amy added.

Susan took her cell phone out of her purse and scrolled through the address list. "I'm going to ask Li-Ming to be part of that group," she said.

"Li-Ming can't throw," Carolyn said. "She wasn't even good enough to be the second outfielder in far left on your softball team."

"True, but she is the only one I know who has any first aid training."

"Why do you need someone with first aid training?" a sleepy voice asked from the doorway. "Hi, Mom."

Louise choked on her cookie. "Kyle, sweetie," she said, "I thought you would be at work by now."

"No, I decided to quit a few days early. I'm going back to school next week. I'd like to feel like I really had a vacation." Kyle noticed the remains of the cookie tray. "Isn't it a little early to be hitting the chocolate, Mom?"

Gary's eyes darted from one woman to another. The women stared at their hands, or the cookie tray, or their feet.

"What's going on?" Kyle asked.

"We're planning to save the world, sweetie," Louise said.

Kyle gave his mother a narrow stare. "You know, Mom, any other day I'd laugh, but not today."

Louise returned his stare. Gary glanced first at Kyle, then at Louise, then back to Kyle. The other women looked intently at the cookie tray. Louise blinked twice. "Kyle - "

"Louise, no," Margaret said, her voice tight and barely audible.

"Honey, he's my kid, and he's as nosy and tenacious as I am. If we don't tell him ourselves, he'll poke around until he figures it out." Louise faced her son. "Sit down, sweetie. Have a cookie."

Kyle edged into the room. He sat down on the floor next to the coffee table and waited.

Gary leaned over, picked up a cookie and handed it to Kyle. "Trust me," he said.

Louise cleared her throat and told their story. Kyle laughed when she told him about the fabric burning Carolyn's hands, but stopped when he saw the women glaring at him. He took another cookie and stuffed it in his mouth.

Gary turned to Louise, "This why you didn't tell me the truth. You thought I would laugh." He held his bandaged hand out to Kyle and said, "And this is what happened. These things are real." Gary related his experience in the truck, with the smoke and the boxes moving by themselves. Kyle didn't even smile.

Now it was Susan's turn. "I guess I'm the only one who's been up close and personal with the creatures and not been seriously hurt."

"That's right," Amy said. "Why didn't we notice that before? Gary, are any of your injuries from anything else but the crash?"

Gary thought for a moment. "Maybe some smoke inhalation."

"What about the burns?" Amy asked.

"I don't know," Gary answered. "The smoke was really burning my throat, but I don't remember if my hands were burned before or after the truck caught on fire." He looked at his hands. "I'm almost certain the doctors thought the injuries on my hands were from touching the hot metal when I was getting out of the van. I don't remember anyone saying anything about chemical burns."

Susan said, "I remember the smoke burning my throat, too. But the fabric didn't touch my skin. Thanks to the gloves, and you guys getting it off me in time, I was okay. My jeans didn't do as well. They've got bleached out streaks where the fabric touched."

"You were wrapped up in that stuff?" Kyle asked. "How did that happen?"

Louise cleared her throat. "Well, dear, you remember I said I was going to a quilting party a couple of nights ago?"

"At the fabric store? The one that burned?" Kyle asked. "Oh. So that wasn't an accident."

"No."

Susan shifted in her seat. "Let me tell this part, Louise. You have to understand, Kyle, at this point we thought something was wrong with the finish on the fabric. We thought if we could figure out what was wrong, well, I'm not sure what we were going to do next. Anyway, we had a good plan, including some pretty good safety measures, right?" The other women nodded as Susan looked at Amy. "I mean, really, who knew?"

"Who knew what?" Kyle demanded. "You're talking about this fabric as if it were alive."

"It is, sweetie," Louise said.

"I'll second that," Susan said. "When that first bolt started wrapping itself around me, I kept thinking it wasn't real. I can't even describe it, except that I have a new appreciation for what the pig feels like when the boa constrictor gets hold of it. And then later, in my shop, when they were running after us, even then I couldn't quite believe what was happening."

Kyle grabbed another cookie. "Does Dad know about this?" he asked.

"I do now," Vincent said. He stood in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back.

"And you believe this?" Kyle asked his father.

Vincent took a couple of steps into the room and stared into Louise's eyes. "Yes," he said. "Your mother has never lied to me. She might not tell me everything at one time, but she always tells the whole truth eventually." He looked at Louise. "This is what you couldn't tell me about when you came back from the fire, isn't it? If you say the fabric is alive, then it's alive. So, what do we do next?"

"We get more chocolate and divide up the work," Louise said, smiling at her husband.

A pot of tea and a bag of chocolate-covered dried blueberries later, the group had a plan. Vincent and Louise would search all the thrift stores in town for chenille robes. Margaret, Carolyn, Susan and Amy left together, first to Susan's house to get more lavender, then back to Susan's shop. Kyle and Gary were in charge of cleaning up the dishes.

***

Susan tried to be quiet as she opened her front door, but the lock was uncooperative. By the time the key worked, she feared she had awakened the entire house. Opening the door, she realized she needn't have worried. She could hear the television from three rooms away. She smelled the remains of microwave popcorn, as well as a whiff of burnt coffee.

"Excuse me," she said, "but I think there's a murder I have to commit." She strode down the hall, leaving Amy, Carolyn and Margaret shuffling their feet in the foyer.

The television went silent. Amy, Carolyn and Margaret strained to hear something from the back of the house, but could only make out a low growl.

"I don't hear any screams. Is that a good sign?" Amy asked.

"I hope so," Carolyn said.

They heard the distinctive click of Susan's heels on the tile floor. She entered the foyer just as Cecily leaned over the upstairs banister and said, "Mom? Are you having a party or something?"

"No, but your sisters are," Susan said. "That burning smell is the coffee you asked them to make you. It overflowed. The coffeemaker is a mess. You'll take care of that. And make sure the girls eat something more nutritious for lunch than they did for breakfast."

"Sure, no problem," Cecily yawned. She focused on Amy. "You're the one whose shop burned down, right?" She noticed Carolyn and Margaret. "Oh, hi. I'm still a little sleepy, I guess. I didn't recognize you at first." Cecily pulled her yellow plaid flannel bathrobe. "I guess I should get dressed. But don't leave before I do. I want to talk to you guys about, um, the other night."

"We'll be in my studio," Susan said as she shepherded the others down the hall.

"Susan, I don't think it's a good idea to tell Cecily about our plans," Margaret said. "I feel bad enough that Kyle is involved. We should keep the kids out of it."

Susan stopped, her hand on the doorknob to her sewing room. "Margaret," she sighed, "your kids may still pay attention to you, but mine don't. As for Kyle, he's practically grown. For that matter, so is Cecily. Their birthdays are only a couple of months apart. Besides, don't you think we need all the help we can get?"

Susan pushed open the door. A wave of lavender fragrance rolled over the women. "Oh," she said as she inhaled, "isn't that beautiful?" She strode into the room.

Carolyn, looking at Amy, motioned at the open door. "After you, my dear. You're the brave one."

"I'd rather face a charging tank than Susan's lavender," Amy groaned.

"We should be so lucky," Carolyn said. As she followed Amy into the sewing room, she noticed Margaret swaying a little. "You okay?"

Margaret, her eyes rolling slightly, smiled weakly. "If I can't face this, how will I ever face the fabric monsters?"

"Come on in," Susan said. "I can hear every word you're saying."

Susan's sewing room was the envy of quilters across the country. It had been featured in three different quilting magazines and a television show. In spite of themselves, Amy, Carolyn and Margaret inhaled in wonder as they entered the room. They started coughing within seconds.

"Very funny," Susan said from across the room. "You still have to haul a couple of crates apiece of this stuff out of here." She pulled boxes off of shelves on the far wall. The shelves, like the walls, were painted a soft white, with a delicate green vine stenciled along the narrow face surfaces of the shelves. A companion vine was stenciled around the room near the ceiling, with lavender wisteria blossoms stenciled along the lower edge.

The center part of the large room contained a combined cutting and sewing table, an oversized ironing board, and a drafting board. Two sewing machines sat in their custom-designed wells at one end of the cutting/sewing table, facing five feet of open space. Three separate quilt projects were stacked at the end, waiting to be cut. Even with all this, the room had an air of grace and spaciousness. It was organized, dusted, vacuumed and thoroughly permeated with the scent of lavender.

"I just got a new shipment of candles. How lucky is that?" Susan said as she filled a small plastic crate with candles and sachets.

"How much lavender do you keep on hand, Susan?" Amy asked.

"Enough to open a new business if I get tired of running a quilt shop," she said. "Here. Bring this out to the front hall. We'll stack the crates up there, then bring them out to the van."

By the time the women carted out eight crates of lavender items, Cecily had pulled on a pair of black jeans, black boots and a brilliant blue cotton tunic. She lingered on the bottom step of the staircase until Susan, Carolyn, Margaret and Amy were all together.

"Okay," Cecily began, hands gripping the banister, "we really saw that beige fabric do what it did, right? The legs, the smoke, the whole scorpion thing?"

"Yes, dear, we did," Susan answered, her voice calm.

"Okay," Cecily asked, "so, what are we going to do about it?"

Susan shot an I told you so look at Margaret. Her voice remained calm, as if she were reporting on plans for dinner. "First, we're going to the shop to put lavender all around. We don't know if they like it or hate it, but it seems to attract them."

"How do you know that, Mom?"

"Because my shop is full of bolts of beige fabric, and it's the only one that is. We think the difference is that my shop smells of lavender. We want them to stay there until we're ready for them, and we think the lavender will help. Then we're going to get some people together to fight them. Amy is a former marine. She's agreed to give us a crash course in military tactics while Carolyn leads the rest of us in creating our ammunition."

Cecily straightened. "You know how to fight them?"

"They're not fond of chenille," Susan said.

Cecily arched one eyebrow. "Chenille," she said in a dead-pan voice.

"Linda's pillows made a particularly effective weapon."

Cecily scanned Carolyn, Margaret and Amy. "You're not disagreeing with my mother."

"No, she's about got the story right," Carolyn said. "The only slight bit of misinformation is about the sewing. I said I'd make my shop available. I didn't say I'd lead it. I'm going to be part of the group with Amy."

"I can organize the sewing group," Cecily volunteered.

"That's a great idea," Margaret said before Susan could open her mouth.

"But you don't sew," Susan said a heartbeat later.

Margaret shook her head. "That doesn't matter. Cecily demonstrated her leadership skills last night when she ordered you to see a doctor. Now, don't say another word, Susan, it's settled. Cecily can take Carolyn's keys and open up the shop right away, can't she? I can go with her, help get things set up, give her a check-list, that sort of thing. We've got enough work to keep her safe, er, busy, all day and most of the night, don't we?"

Margaret scanned her friends' faces. Carolyn and Amy shrugged.

Cecily said, "Sounds good to me."

Susan growled the tiniest of harrumphs and said, "Well, call Grandma Edna and have her come over to watch your sisters."

"Mom, they're old enough to stay by themselves for a day."

"No, they're home from school because they aren't feeling well. They shouldn't be alone."

"They've got colds, Mom, that's all."

"Call your grandmother," Susan ordered as she opened the door, then picked up a plastic crate and marched to the car.

"But what will I tell her?" Cecily asked her mother's retreating back.

Carolyn and Amy snatched crates and avoided eye contact with Cecily as they followed Susan.

"Don't worry, honey," Magaret said, "we'll come up with a story together."

***

Carolyn, Amy and Susan rode in near silence back to Susan's shop. Carolyn sneezed twice, but was ignored. They parked as close to Susan's shop as they could get while still keeping as much out of view as possible.

"Where do you propose we spread this stuff? And how?" Carolyn asked as they carried the crates to the park bench in front of the door of Quilting Parade.

"I've got a back door," Susan said, "and windows on the side. One of the advantages of being on the end at a strip mall."

"So, why are we bringing the crates to the front door?" Carolyn asked.

Susan put her crate on the sidewalk in front of the bench. "Habit?"

"Never mind, this is as good a place as any," Amy said. "Those things in there are probably used to the noise of the shopping center by now. I'll creep around to the back and peek in the windows. If I see any beige bolts moving, or hear something, we'll just open the door and toss the stuff in as far as we can. If it all seems quiet, maybe we can put some of it in the back, too."

"Maybe we should all go," Carolyn suggested.

Susan shook her head as Amy replied, "No, let me do this alone. We don't really know how good their hearing is, and we don't want to alert them to something out of the ordinary."

Amy peered into the room through the window of the front door before she went around the corner toward the back. She walked the same way she always did, but she made no sound. Her running shoes didn't squeak, there was no swish of denim brushing against denim, the zipper pull of her jacket didn't jingle.

"If I wasn't watching her," Susan said, "I wouldn't know she was around. Did you ever notice that about her?"

"No," Carolyn answered, "but you can bet I'll be noticing from now on."

Amy returned as silently as she had left. "I can see the bolts in there, but they aren't moving much. And one of your windows is open. If we cut the screen, we can toss some lavender in that part of the shop without going in."

The women decided to throw the contents of their crates into the shop from the window, the back door and the front door at the same time. Amy took the window, as she was the only one with a pocket knife. Carolyn took the back door, and Susan took the front on the theory that while the owners of the other shops nearby might wonder why she was tossing things into her store they probably wouldn't report such activity to the police.

Susan looked scanned the sidewalk twice before she opened the front door of Quilting Parade. An odd smell greeted her as she pushed open the door. It wasn't the burning smell of the fabric as it prepared to attack, but it wasn't an inviting scent, either. She poked her head into the room, but saw no bolts of beige fabric. She picked up two crates of lavender candles, then took five steps into the show room. She put one crate there. She placed the other five steps to her right. Next she took a crate of loose lavender and tossed a few handfuls toward the back. She threw some lavender oil at the shelves. "This is taking too long," she whispered to herself, and tipped over the rest of the bottles of oil where she had stacked them. She fought the urge to run, and crept out the door.

As she was turning the key in the lock, Amy and Carolyn came around the corner. "How did it go?" Susan asked.

"Fine," Amy said. "I tossed the sachets as far as I could, and dumped the loose lavender down the wall."

"I was a chicken," Carolyn admitted. "I opened all the bags and bottles in my crates, then opened the door, pushed the crates in as far as I could, shut the door and didn't wait to see what happened."

"Were there bolts of fabric back there?" Amy asked.

"Yes," Carolyn answered. "I could see them waving around. I didn't hear anything, so maybe they didn't notice me."

"Could you smell anything?" Susan asked.

"You mean aside from my own fear?" Carolyn replied. "I don't think so. Not over the lavender." She looked behind her through the shop window. "I don't see any movement. Let's not wait around until we do. Let's get to my shop and see who is ready to sew."

***

Gary and Kyle ate a good many of the leftover cookies, but put some back in their boxes. Kyle put the tea bags in the compost bin. "Hey," he asked, "do you know if cookie crumbs should be composted or thrown away?"

"Not a clue, Gary said.

"Then let's eat them."

Gary took one of the platters. "When I was living with my buddies," he said, turning the dish in his hand to catch the light, "we would consider this clean enough." He handed it to Kyle, who rinsed it in the sink and stacked it in the dishwasher.

"I'm looking forward to those days," Kyle said as he washed the tea cups.

"They're not as great as you might imagine," Gary said, "not unless you like making pets out of cockroaches."

"I'm okay with bugs. I saw a lot of interesting ones in Africa."

"You went to Africa?"

"Yeah," Kyle said, drying his hands. "My dad has been doing some research on our family. He found out one of our ancestors was a slave in Virginia, but managed to earn his freedom and went to Liberia. His grandson came to California during the gold rush. I spent last summer in Africa. There were some really cool things to see. I particularly liked the crafts. Big surprise, given my mom's hobbies."

"Did you bring anything back?" Gary asked.

"Uh huh," Kyle answered, pointing to a shelf running just below the ceiling. "That wooden thing up there. That's a hand-carved mortar and pestle from Kenya. I bought some candlesticks from the same guy who made that, and some spoons. Mom brings the candlesticks out for special occasions. One of my third cousins twice removed gave me a family Bible for my dad, and I bought him some carved masks and a cow-hide shield."

"Shield," Gary repeated.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool. It might be Zulu. It's hard to tell what you're really buying," Kyle said. "It's colorful, too. Almost looks like patchwork."

"Exactly," Gary said.

"What?"

"Your mom could make a shield out of chenille, couldn't she?"

Kyle thought a moment. "I guess so. She can pretty much sew anything she wants. She made a jacket once and didn't even use a pattern, just made it up herself. Sure, she could make a shield." He snorted. "For that matter, I could probably make a shield. The one I brought back for my dad isn't that complicated."

"Show me," Gary said, "because if it is really that simple, I could help, too. One thing about community theater, if you even look like you can swing a hammer they'll having you making sets and props in a heartbeat."

Kyle led the way to Vincent's study and took the shield from the wall.

"This is just a wooden frame with hide stretched over it," Gary said. "They used tacks, but I bet a staple gun would work."

"Faster, too." Kyle turned the shield over. "We don't have to make it oval."

"Oh, definitely. I was thinking just a rectangle. Maybe two feet by three. Big enough to provide some protection but still small enough for a woman to carry."

"Don't underestimate them," Kyle said. "You have no idea how heavy fabric can be." He tucked the shield under his arm. "Follow me."

He led Gary to the sewing room and pointed to a bolt of muslin. "Mom would kill me if I used any of the good stuff, so grab that and follow me to the garage. Dad has some scrap wood we can use."

"But we only need a little bit for the prototype. Something about this size," Gary said. He grabbed a blue floral fabric on the cutting table.

"That is a meter of Liberty of London. It cost $30. Mom insisted on carrying it with her on the plane back from London. Put it down carefully and step away from the cutting table."

Gary lowered the fabric, gave it a pat, and hefted the muslin to his shoulder. "You're right, this is heavier than it looks."

"I've seen my mom carry five of them around a store for more than half an hour. Susan can hold seven." He led the way to the garage. "Dad installed some molding in the dining room last month. He bought two extra lengths, just in case, but didn't need them. Yeah, there they are, by the table saw."

Gary put the muslin on the washing machine and inspected the molding. "This ought to work. We're just making a prototype." He glanced around for tools. "Your dad must do a lot of woodworking. The theater shop isn't this well equipped." He put a length of molding on the table saw and made a few adjustments. "So, Susan can carry seven bolts, eh? She must be tough."

"I guess so. I mean, she's a business owner and a single parent."

"Really? Does the ex help?"

"She's a widow."

Gary felt his chest tighten. "I'm sorry. I would have said something if I'd known. She's on my route, you know."

"Don't worry. It happened years ago. We were just kids."

"Who's we?"

"Cecily, Susan's daughter. We're not real close, but I think we've known each other since birth. I remember sitting with her after the funeral, when all the quilt ladies came over to the house. Mom insisted on having the reception here, so Susan didn't have to deal with cleaning up afterwards."

"No wonder they work so well together."

"Yeah, you wouldn't know they're supposed to be competitors. Like I said, I don't know Susan all that well, but I know we can trust her."

Gary cut the molding into four pieces and laid them out on the floor. "That should work. We don't need to miter the corners."

"No," Kyle said, "but we should add some cross-bracing. Let me get another scrap of wood. The staple gun and wood glue are on that shelf."

"So, Susan never remarried," Gary said as he measured the frame for the cross pieces.

Kyle put the wood on the table saw. "No. I don't think she ever dated after her husband died. Too busy with the shop and three daughters. And then there's her mother. If the kids wouldn't scare off a prospective suitor, Edna certainly would." He eyed Gary. "Mom said you were friendly, but - "

"I'm just curious. After all I've been through, I want to know I can depend on my new best friends."

"Uh huh. Well, this group is reliable. And they're interesting, too, in their own way."

"Yes, she is," Gary mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the frame.

***

"The first thing we have to do," Margaret told Cecily, "is make sure your mother and your grandmother are never in the same part of the shop. Ever. For any reason."

"Grandma Edna promised she would behave herself, Mrs. Preston," Cecily said. She had told Margaret the same thing three times before, but Margaret kept coming back to the topic. "Grandma Edna said she would be too busy sewing to bug my mom."

"I still can't believe she took this so calmly," Margaret said.

"You've mentioned that a couple of times."

"But you told her everything!" Margaret said, her voice almost a squeak. "And she didn't even bat an eye. It was as if you were - "

"Telling her what we were having for dinner, yeah, I know," Cecily sighed. "What you don't understand is that Grandma Edna has been waiting for space aliens to come to Earth since she was a kid. She used to read science fiction magazines when she was supposed to be doing her homework."

"Really?" Margaret asked. "Your mother never mentioned that."

"Mom tries to avoid talking about Grandma Edna, or even thinking about her, for that matter. She loves her mother dearly, but they aren't exactly on the same wavelength. Oh, look, here comes Mrs. Marchand."

Margaret hurried to open the door for Louise, who balanced an armload of chenille bathrobes in her arms. "Thanks," Louise said as she lost the belt of a lime green robe. "I've been shedding stuff all over the parking lot."

"I'll go collect it," Cecily offered.

"Thanks, hon," Margaret said. "Where is Vincent? Weren't you shopping together?"

Louise dropped her remaining bathrobes on the cutting table. "Yes," she answered while straightening the tangled clothing, "but he had appointments this afternoon so he dropped me at my car and I drove here myself." Louise looked toward the classroom. "Are people here already?"

"Yes," Margaret said. She took a deep breath. "Mostly women who were invited to, well, the other night, but we also invited Edna."

Louise narrowed her eyes at Margaret. "Edna," she said after a pause. "As in Susan's mother Edna. As in crazy as a loon Edna."

"Also," Margaret said, "Edna as in the fastest person at a sewing machine for a hundred miles around. Even Linda isn't as fast as Edna. And," she whispered, her eyes cast down to her toes, "Edna who will need a keeper, which will be Cecily, so she doesn't come with us tonight or whenever Amy says we're ready to fight the fabric monsters."

Louise nodded her head. "Fair enough."

The bell over the front door jingled as Cecily came in, followed by Susan, Amy and Carolyn.

"Cecily, why don't you put the chenille stuff in the office and see if our crack sewing team needs anything," Margaret said as she motioned the other women toward the rattan chairs. "How about we compare notes before we get started sewing ourselves. Or training. Or whatever it is we're going to do."

"Good idea," Louise seconded. "We need to make a plan."

The women shook off the cold, and sat down. While they talked, Cecily came in a couple of times with a tray of tea and cookies. The faint scent of lavender that accompanied Susan, Amy and Carolyn was soon covered by the aroma of chocolate chip cookies and herb tea.

"It's decided, then," Carolyn said at last. "Most of the people who are sewing will also be fighting, so we'll hold the training session here this evening. We can move the sewing machines into the front room if we have to. And we won't be calling anyone other than the people we've already talked to."

Susan stood and stretched. "Sounds good. Now point me in the direction of a sewing machine. The sooner we get things made, the more time we'll have to train."

Margaret's eyes grew wide. "Oh, before you go in, why don't we see if they need anything? The other shop owners brought their supply of chenille, and Cecily and I went to one of the discount stores to get some more, but you never know, they might need more. And there's lunch to consider."

"I thought that was Cecily's job," Susan yawned. "Excuse me, all of a sudden I'm a little tired."

"All the more reason to think of lunch," Louise said.

"Here, here," Amy agreed. "I'm always in favor of thinking about lunch. What did you have in mind?"

Margaret jumped from her chair. "I'll go get Cecily. We can ask her. Sit, Susan, rest."

Susan settled back in her chair. She watched Margaret trot across the room and down the hall to the classroom. "Is she okay?" Susan asked the others, pointing at Margaret.

"She's just a little nervous," Louise answered.

"Aren't we all," Amy said. "When I get nervous, I eat. That didn't go over too well in the Marine Corps. In the first place, you're not supposed to be nervous, you' re supposed to get the job done. In the second place, the standard Marine Corps response to stress is to go running."

Carolyn squinted at Amy. "You don't run," she said.

"Well, not now," Amy chuckled. "You better believe I did then. I also weighted twenty pounds less then, so maybe the running thing wasn't such a bad idea."

"We all weighed twenty pounds less then, whenever 'then' was," Carolyn said. "For me, 'then' was right after college, when I spent all my money on clothes, rent, and long-distance telephone calls. It's easy to be skinny when you neglect to budget for groceries."

Susan shifted in her chair. "I still think Margaret is acting weird."

A roar of laughter echoed from the classroom. "Sounds like they're having fun," Louise said. "So, what do we want for lunch? There are some great take-out places nearby." Louise's words were drowned by another peal of laughter.

Susan jerked upright. "I'd know that laugh anywhere," she said, pointing an accusing finger in Louise's direction. "You've got my mother back there, don't you?"

"Now, Susan, there's a good reason she's here," Louise said.

"Damn straight there's a good reason I'm here," Edna announced as she marched up to the circle of rattan chairs. "The biggest thing since the atom bomb, and you don't think to call your mother?" Edna pointed an accusing finger of her own in Susan's direction.

Susan leaned her forehead against her palm and said quietly, "Sorry, Mom, but we've been a little busy trying to figure out how to save the world."

"Been there, done that," Edna snorted. "Move over, honey," she said to Carolyn as she squeezed herself onto the edge of the rattan chair. "I spent fifteen years patching up soldiers and sending them back to their units."

"Yes, Mother, I know you were an Army nurse, but we want to kill these things, not save them, okay?" Susan snapped.

"You could have asked my advice," Edna pouted, "that's all I'm saying."

The bell over the front door jingled. Kyle and Gary, each carrying a square of chenille about three feet by three feet, stretched over a wooden frame, strutted into the shop. "Hey, Mom, look what we made!" Kyle crowed.

"Now there's a child who respects his mother," Edna hissed at Susan.

Gary and Kyle stopped in their tracks. Their expressions changed from one of triumph to one of distinct unease. "Have we come at a bad time, ladies?" Gary asked.

"Maybe yes and maybe no," Edna answered. Ignoring Susan's groan, Edna said to Gary, "You're cute. Are you married?"

"Mom!" Susan exclaimed.

"Not for you," Edna said, "you're a rich enough widow, what do you need with another husband taking up space on the couch? I'm thinking of Cecily."

Gary coughed politely. "As it happens," he said, choosing his words with great care, "I am not without entanglements."

Edna scanned Gary from head to toe. "Hmm. That either means you've got a girlfriend but you'd trade up if you could, or you suspect she's trying to trade up on you and you're not sure if that's a bad thing. Still, you might be a bit old for my grand daughter." Edna looked Kyle over. "You're a bit young, but so is Cecily, so it might work out. You got any entanglements worth mentioning?"

A quiet gurgle escaped from Kyle's open mouth.

"Grandma Edna, are you trying to fix me up again?" Cecily asked as she entered the showroom. "How many times do I have to tell you, check the financial records first. I need a man with deep pockets to finance my documentaries. Hey, Kyle, how you doing?"

Kyle closed his mouth and blushed. Louise bent her head, stifling a giggle. Susan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Gary and the other women avoided eye contact.

Edna looked at the chaos around her. "Well, good lord, what's the matter with everyone? Ask a simple question and people act like you've thrown a dead fish in the punch bowl."

Cecily walked behind her mother and patted her on the arm. "Don't mind Grandma Edna," she said, "she doesn't always mean well and we're not really sure where her heart is, but I'm going to turn her into a zombie in my first horror movie, so we'll all get our revenge."

Edna cackled with laughter. "Now that's my girl," she hooted, "and I'm glad to see my grandmother's saucy genes are still going strong in this family. So, what are you boys carrying there?"

Gary recovered first. "Kyle and I had an idea for another piece of equipment. You could use these as shields, or you could whack the bolts of fabric with them. You could even use them as trays, to carry the chenille pillows."

Amy inspected Kyle's shield. "Not bad," she said. "What made you think of it?"

Kyle said, "We were talking about my trip to Africa, and I mentioned bringing back a shield for Dad."

"I think we just got back our investment in that trip," Louise said as she walked over to her son. Leaning toward him, she whispered, "Don't mind Edna. She has the most amazing talent for saying embarrassing things."

Amy asked, "How hard is it to make?"

"Not very hard at all," Gary replied. "Kyle and I made these two in half an hour using scraps of wood we found in the garage. It would take less time if we bought stretcher bars."

"There's a framing shop in the strip mall behind us, and a craft shop at the end of this parking lot," Louise said. "Come on, honey, let's go see what they have."

Susan took the shield from Gary, being careful not to touch his hand. "I see what they've done. We might be able to make a couple of improvements. Amy, let's you and Gary and I consult on this design." She scowled at Edna and said, "Mother, why don't you go get lunch with Margaret. Maybe she can get you to behave yourself." She smiled at Gary, and hoped she wasn't blushing.

"You behave yourself if you want. I'm going to have fun," Edna said as Margaret pulled her out the door. "And I'm going to start by having lots of onions on my sandwich."

Susan watched them leave, shaking her head. "I just know I was switched at birth." She snapped her head over in Cecily's direction. "Speaking of birth, where are my second- and third-born daughters?"

"Oh, Mrs. Preston called one of the quilt ladies to take care of them," Cecily said.

"Not Linda?" Susan gasped.

"No, not her," Cecily assured her mother. "Even I know better than that. The girls would eat her alive. No, she called the woman who orders the patterns."

"Oh, good. She can hold her own against them."

"Susan," Louise admonished, "you've got good kids. Trust me, I could tell you stories about Kyle did that you wouldn't believe." Looking at her son's horrified expression, she said, "Or not. I think he's had enough of the spotlight for today." She took his arm and headed toward the door. "We'll be back with the frames."

While Amy, Susan and Gary examined the shields, Carolyn and Cecily went back to the classroom to check on the progress there. Carolyn paused at the doorway, stunned. "I didn't know there was this much chenille in the whole world, much less in our collective stock."

Chenille pillows were stacked against the far wall, four rows deep and up to Carolyn's knees. Some were bright, some were pastel, some were made from leftover scraps of other pillows, and there were plain cotton pillows with chenille strips appliqued around them.

Carolyn turned her attention to the women manufacturing the pillows. They were divided into three groups, each with a different task. One group cut squares of fabric; large squares from big pieces of chenille, smaller squares and rectangles from the scraps. A second group, at sewing machines, assembled the pillows. When they were finished, they threw the pouches over their shoulders to the third group, which stuffed them with pillow forms of various sizes. Carolyn saw one woman stuffing some smaller pouches with little plastic pellets, then closing up the last open seam on the sewing machine.

"I've kept them busy, that's for sure," Cecily said.

"Where did all the forms come from?" Carolyn asked, "and the bean bag stuffing?"

"The shop owners brought all the pillow forms that they had, then put out a call to their staff and customers. You wouldn't believe how many people drove up with cars stuffed with pillow forms. Most of them made a point of thanking us for taking them off their hands." Cecily leaned toward Carolyn and whispered, "Oh, and I promised I would keep this quiet, but you really ought to know. One of the women has a friend who manages the craft discount store on the other side of town. She told her friend about this, and her friend practically emptied out the store for us. She was the one who donated the bean bag pellets, too. We didn't like spreading the word about, well, about what we were doing, but this woman had a great idea."

"About making bean bags?"

"Yes, exactly. If we have a couple of women who can really throw, maybe they can knock some of the bolts down with a barrage of bean bags. It will make it easier to smother these things with chenille if they aren't moving around as much."

"That is a good idea. Still, why would she give us all this stuff? She could get into a lot of trouble that way," Carolyn whispered. "There's no way we can repay her for anything."

Cecily leaned in closer and said, "The chain got sold to a rival discounter. Just about everyone at this store will be losing her job anyway, so if we win she'll just have to file a big loss report. And if we lose . . . ."

"If we lose," Carolyn finished the sentence, "it won't matter anyway."

Carolyn and Cecily made themselves useful in the classroom. They fetched thread and replacement needles. They cleaned rotary cutter blades when the fuzz from the chenille worked its way inside and made the blades stick. They stacked finished pillows, took new pillow forms out of plastic bags, and made sure the tea and coffee pots were always full.

Susan popped her head into the classroom to check on the supply of chenille. She, too, was impressed with the yardage piled up in one corner of the room. "I was concerned that we might run out of fabric before we had a chance to make some of these shields," she said. "I guess I didn't need to worry."

Kyle and Louise returned from their shopping trip at the same time that Margaret and Edna came in with lunch. While everyone else took a break to eat, Carolyn and Cecily organized the three groups into five, adding a group to cut fabric for the shields and a group to assemble stretcher bars into frames and staple the fabric around it. Amy and Susan made a few changes in Gary and Kyle's original design for the strap on the back, using webbing instead of strips of chenille.

One of the women in the sewing group asked if they could make the shields more decorative by sewing rectangles of different colors together before it was attached to the frame. Amy thought that would put too much of a strain on the seams. "We don't want these thing splitting on us at an inopportune moment," she insisted.

Louise pointed to the mound of chenille and said, "You know, we could double the thickness, so there wouldn't be as much strain on any given seam, and still have yards and yards left over."

Amy agreed that making the shield essentially reversible would solve the strain problem, and offer more protection. "We could make the shield like a pillow case, slip the frame inside, staple everything, then wrap the webbing around the middle on both sides. That way, if one side gets damaged, we could flip it around and use the other side."

Margaret said, "I assume by damaged you mean that the shield will come in contact with the fabric monsters, and maybe the chenille will get burned like Carolyn's hands? In that case, we should all wear latex gloves as well as chenille robes."

"What about something on our heads?" someone asked.

"Like a helmet?" Gary suggested. "I made a head covering to go under a helmet for a play I was in. It was pretty easy, just a little hood. I bet I could sketch out a pattern."

"Let me help," Louise said, and she and Gary went into the office to find paper and pencils.

Edna turned to Cecily. "He sews costumes, honey. That could come in handy for a movie maker. Sure you don't want to reconsider him?"

"Yes, Grandma Edna, I'm sure," Cecily said. She grabbed a bag of extra spicy barbecue flavored potato chips and went to sit next to Kyle. "You look like my roommate's cat," she told him, "trying to hide in thin air whenever he gets spooked."

"I'm not really used to all this," he said, his eyes darting from one group of women to another.

"Oh, come on," she said, poking him in the ribs. "Your mom has been in quilting at least as long as mine. I know you grew up with her friendship group meetings, and quilt shows, and guild meetings when there was no one to leave you with, same as me. You probably even had to work in the shop when you're mom couldn't find a babysitter, right? I know I did."

He took a bite out of his peanut butter cookie. He thought while he chewed. "Yeah, I did, but somehow, this is different. They're really, well, frenetic now."

She raised one eyebrow. "Well, excuse me, but aren't they planning to go fight something that no one can really explain? Give 'em a break."

He stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth. "Yeah, okay," he said, "but still. This isn't what I expected. They're so . . . loud."

"You haven't been to one of their retreats," she said. She scooted closer to Kyle and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "I dropped in to one of Mom's annual retreats during spring break last year. Between her schedule and mine, it was the only way I could see her. You wouldn't believe what goes on at those things. I thought for sure someone had a stash of liquor somewhere, because those women were having way too much fun, but they were absolutely sober."

His eyes grew wide and wary. "I can guarantee you my dad's retreats are nothing like that. People spend the day in prayer and meditation. I always thought the quilt retreats would be the same, only instead of praying they would be sewing."

"Worshiping at the altar of Viking and Pfaff," she chuckled. "Well, maybe in some retreats, but not at the one I saw." She noticed Kyle's gaze settle on his mother. "You're seeing her with new eyes, aren't you?" she asked. "Like for the first time you realize she isn't just your mom."

"I thought I already knew that," he admitted, "but I guess I didn't. Not really. I'll be watching her a little more closely from now on."

"Don't," she advised. "That's a scary road. I tried looking at my mom through a stranger's eyes. I just got weirded out."

He tried to suppress a smile.

"What?"

"Well," he said, "our mothers have their quirks, but they're nothing compared to your Grandma Edna."

She glanced at her mother, then her grandmother, then back to her mother. "You've got that right," she said at last, "The funny thing is, they're both formidable, but in different ways." She paused again. "Now, for the big question, which one of them will I turn into?"

He snorted. "Maybe both."

Cecily giggled. "God help the world."

"Okay, everyone, time to get back to work," Carolyn announced.

After another hour of sewing, the pillow people ran out of forms to stuff. Now the women divided into groups sewing the hoods that Louise and Gary had designed, making shields, and sewing blankets. This group cut six foot lengths of chenille, turned the edges under, and sewed a row of pom pom or tassel trim all around.

Carolyn thought the trim was a waste of time, but Amy made her reconsider. "You never know," she said, "it might make the difference between the throw sliding off that bolt or sticking on something and doing some good."

"Okay, fine, but that does bring up another point," Carolyn said. "What exactly are we going to be doing with this stuff? And how long is it going to take us to learn?"

Amy shrugged. "The answers in order are, I think I've got a plan that will work, and I don't know. Not that it makes much difference. If you think about it, whatever we're going to do, we should do now."

"Now? As in tonight?"

"Or tomorrow. Early. I don't want to rely on those critters staying put just to accommodate our training schedule."

Carolyn frowned. "I see your point. I don't like it, but I agree." She scanned the room and sighed. "They're having a ball sewing all these pillows and throws. For a moment, even I forgot why we're doing it."

A buzzer rang in the classroom, signaling that the front door had opened. Out of habit, Carolyn turned and hurried to the showroom to find Valerie closing the front door.

"Sorry I'm late," Valerie said. "I just got off my shift."

Carolyn patted her hair back in place. "How is the investigation going? Of the fire, I mean. Is anybody asking any questions?"

"Not from me," Valerie replied. "The fire marshal hasn't submitted his final report, but from what I can find out it will be ruled an accident."

"Good," Carolyn said. "We don't want anyone poking around too much. Not for a few days, at least." She thought for a moment, then said, "You know, you actually came at the perfect time. The sewing is almost done, but I've got another job for you. Do you know Amy Jackson?"

"She owned the shop that burned down, right?"

"Yes. She's got some ideas to train us, and I thought you could help."

"Train us for what?"

"Battle."
Chapter 6

"Battle," Valerie said as she ran the fingers of her right hand through her short black curls. "Okay." Her gaze flickered to the ground, then back to Carolyn. "That didn't come out right."

Carolyn chuckled. "Probably not, but I think I know how you feel. Like we're supposed to be more noble, and earnest. Making speeches for posterity."

"Saying grand things about humanity."

Carolyn snorted. "I don't think I've ever said anything grand about humanity in my entire life, and I don't see the need to start now. Come on back, I'll introduce you to Amy."

Amy was inspecting shields when Carolyn and Valerie joined her. Carolyn introduced them. "I thought you two could work together on the training."

"Sounds good to me," Amy said. "How long have you been on the force?"

Valerie's looked down at her police uniform. "Oh, man, I was in such a hurry, I forgot to go home and change."

"Don't apologize," Amy said with a smile, "that uniform tells me you've had training. I was in the Marines, which is why I was volunteered to teach the quilt ladies how to fight."

"Why don't you make yourselves comfortable in the sitting area," Carolyn said as she ushered them to the showroom, "I'll see that the troops finish up everything here while you plan our strategy."

Carolyn turned around and nearly stepped on Edna.

"Who's the cop?" Edna demanded.

Carolyn blocked Edna's path to the showroom before she answered. "Valerie is here to help," she said, crossing her arms and standing tall. "How are you doing on those shields?"

Edna tilted her head and squinted up at Carolyn. "Is that the best you can do, try to distract me? What do you think I'm going to do, bite them? I just want to know why the cops are here."

"It's only one cop, Edna, and she's not here officially. So let's get back to work, okay?"

"Rubbish," Edna said.

"Oh, be a sport," Carolyn pleaded.

"Fine," Edna snapped, "but I'm not making shields. I don't feel like twisting myself around those frames any more."

"You're supposed to twist the fabric around the frames," Carolyn said, "but never mind, never mind. Maybe the group sewing hoods needs more help."

Carolyn settled Edna behind a sewing machine, then grabbed a woman who was cutting pieces for hoods. "Keep them coming to her," she whispered.

"But we don't need many more," the woman said.

"It doesn't matter. Just keep them coming."

Carolyn turned to find herself nose to nose with Margaret. "Oh, goodness," she said as she staggered back a step, "you scared me half to death."

"Good, now you know how I feel," Margaret said. She set her jaw, grabbed Carolyn and dragged her to a secluded corner. "Cecily and Kyle shouldn't be here. Help me persuade Susan and Louise to send them home."

"Margaret, we've already been through this. There's nothing we can do, and besides, we can use their help."

"And Edna's?"

"Edna's we could do without."

"Exactly. So let's send Cecily and Kyle home with her."

Carolyn pressed her hands together. "You've got a very good suggestion there. Susan will certainly go along. Louise, too, if it means getting Edna out of our hair."

Margaret smiled. "Well, that was my original idea, but Cecily and Kyle have been folded into the work like the rest of us. I was afraid . . . "

"You were afraid that they would come along to the battle after all."

"Yes. And I wasn't going to let that happen."

Carolyn gave Margaret a hard, questioning stare. "Margaret," she said, emphasizing each syllable, "what did you tell Stan and the boys about where you were going?"

Margaret sucked in her breath and pursed her lips. Her face turned pink.

"Margaret? What did you tell Stan?"

Margaret's cheeks flushed crimson. She exhaled sharply. "Well, I lied like a rug and told him we were going to a group therapy session. For post-traumatic stress. From the fire."

Carolyn chuckled, then shook with laughter. "Margaret, even Stan isn't going to buy that story. While he may believe we could all use therapy, how could we have arranged a group session on such short notice?"

"He didn't ask. He said it was probably a good thing to do, and that was that."

Amy and Valerie entered the classroom. At the same time, Edna crept up behind Carolyn. Amy was explaining the plan they had devised when Edna pushed her way to the center and confronted Valerie.

"What's your name, little missy?" she demanded, poking Valerie with a gnarled finger.

Valerie stammered her name. Carolyn and Margaret tried to pull Edna away, but she shook them off.

As they backed away, Edna said, "Good thing you think I'm frail. Now, Valerie, is Scott Randolph still a cop?"

Valerie did a double-take. "Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, he is. He did retire, but they called him back. Anyway, he's my captain."

Edna wrinkled her face into a sly smile. "That old dog. Is he still married to that Beatrice woman?"

"Uh, I think Captain Randolph's wife died. We don't really talk. He gives orders, I follow them, that's about the extent of the conversation."

"Sounds like a boring place to work," Edna snapped, "but it's your wasted life, not mine. And I don't intend to waste more of mine at that sewing machine. When are we going to fight?"

"Now, Edna, we've discussed this," Margaret began, but Edna interrupted. "You got that right. You've discussed everything, but you forgot to ask my opinion. So stop your jawing and let's get busy, because I'm staying."

Amy held up her hand. "This time, Edna's right. If we're going to do anything to stop those creatures, we should do it soon. And we have to prepare."

Amy patted Margaret's shoulder as she walked to the center of the classroom and cleared her throat. When she had everyone's attention, she outlined the training program. Some of the women nodded as Amy made each point. She noted the ones whose eyes showed understanding and determination, not fear. Then she focused on Edna's eyes.

"Why don't we just shoot the dang things?" Edna asked. "Or are you figuring because they aren't from around here they're bullet-proof?"

"An excellent question," said a male voice from the back.

"Stan," Margaret said with a start. "What are you doing here?"

Stan approached his wife, shaking his head. "Margaret, honey, I know when you're hiding something. I called Victor and made him confess. Everything." He put his hands on her shoulders and touched his forehead to hers. "I don't mind the little things," he said gently, "like the Bernina, but this is different."

Carolyn said, "We didn't hear the buzzer, Stan."

"I know. I came in during a commotion, and stayed in the background until I could figure out what was going on. So, why don't you just shoot them?" He released Margaret's shoulders and looked around the group. When no one responded, he asked, "Are you certain you can kill them with another fabric?"

Amy said, "Reasonably so, yes. I watched them in Susan's quilt store, through the window. After we threw the chenille pillows, one of the bolts went down. The smoke changed color, and then stopped altogether. Some other bolts gathered around it, and they sure acted like soldiers around a fallen comrade."

"Fallen, yes, but perhaps only wounded. Gravely wounded, maybe," Stan said, "but you don't have definitive proof that chenille kills them."

"We don't have any guns," Margaret objected.

"Even if we did," Louise said from the side of the classroom, "how could we explain the shooting? Someone would report any gunfire, I'm sure."

"So we let the cops in on it," Edna said. "Cecily, give me your cell phone. You, missy, in the uniform, dial up your captain."

She took the phone and thrust it at Valerie, who did as she was ordered. "Tell me when it starts ringing."

Valerie nodded, diald, then handed the phone back.

"Scott, on the off chance you've forgotten my voice, this is Edna McMadden. Well, of course you're surprised to hear from me, it's been an age and a half." She turned her head and noticed the room was focused on her. She frowned at the crowd. "Carolyn, where's your office? I'm not going to have you all listen to every word I say."

Carolyn pointed. When Edna left, she said, "Susan, is there something you've been keeping from us about your mother?"

"Just about everything," Susan replied, "but this is a surprise even to me."

A few minutes later, and still talking, Edna returned. Her last words into the phone were, "Oh, and bring a real cop car, not one of those unmarked things." She handed the phone to Valerie and said, "Give him directions."

Valerie moved to a quieter part of the room. Edna turned her attention to Carolyn and Margaret. "There, that's one gun and another police officer. Anyone hanging around will see the car and wait for the morning news to find out what the fuss was all about."

Valerie closed the cell phone and handed it back to Cecily. Facing Edna, her expression one of wariness and surprise, she said, "He'll be here in fifteen minutes. How did you do that?"

Edna cackled. "I don't tell my secrets to anyone, missy. Now, who else has a gun and knows how to use it?"

While the quilters discussed the hidden firepower in their midst, Cecily drew Kyle into the showroom. "Did you think about using a gun?"

"No, not all," he admitted. "I'd like to think that's because I was raised by a minister, but Edna is right. I never even thought about using the normal weapons."

"This is when I really miss my video camera. Can you imagine getting this on film?"

Gary approached them. "I figured I should follow you for safety. It's getting a little scary in there. You wouldn't believe how many of them own guns. Anyway, I have a video camera. My apartment isn't far from here. I could get it and be back before anyone notices."

Kyle and Cecily nodded. Kyle gave him the car keys.

"Think we should go back in there?" Cecily asked when Gary left.

"Not yet," he said, "I think my dad just pulled in." He squinted through the window. "Yes, that's him. I hope our moms didn't want to keep this a secret. With all the coming and going here, someone is bound to notice."

"Quilt stores have a lot of coming and going, Kyle. Trust me, you can get away with anything if people think you're a harmless quilt lady. I've seen it happen."

The front door opened and Victor walked into the store. He smiled at his son, and looked toward the classroom with a questioning expression.

"Yeah, Dad, she's back there. There are lots of them back there. Well, thirty or so."

Victor smiled again and strode into the classroom.

"How did you know what he wanted?" Cecily asked.

"It's a game we've played since I was eight," Kyle said. "Whenever Dad came home, he would try to guess where Mom was. If he knew she was home, that is. I could only answer yes or no, I couldn't give him clues. Anyway, Mom got tired of hearing this twenty questions thing. She'd come out and say, 'why don't you just say you're home and I'll come greet you.' So then Dad came up with the idea of not asking out loud which room Mom was in. He'd just look in the direction of the kitchen or the sewing room or the garden, and I'd let him know if he was right."

She narrowed her eyes, and tilted her chin down. "So," she said, "it isn't only the mothers in this group who are eccentric. The fathers have their quirks, too."

He chuckled. "Okay, tell me about your dad. What odd things did he do?"

"I don't know." Cecily looked away. "Didn't know him that well."

He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I'm an idiot. And I was just telling Gary about the funeral."

"It's okay. He traveled a lot for a lawyer. His plane went down on one of his business trips."

"I had forgotten that's how he died. I'm sorry."

She turned back to face him. "I remember some things. He brought me souvenirs from every airport he was in, even if it was just to catch a connecting flight. There was one airport in some little bitty town that didn't have a gift shop, or it was closed, I forget, but Dad had to get something. So, he went to the ticket counter, and had everyone working that shift autograph one of those luggage tags. Then he wrote the name of the city, and the airport, and dated it. I framed that tag last summer."

Once again, the door opened. Gary entered, with a gray camera case in his hand. "Here it is," he said, "with extra batteries."

Susan appeared in the doorway between the showroom and the classroom. "Come on in," she said, "we're on to Plan B now."

Gary, Kyle and Cecily walked into the classroom and found a place to stand along one wall. Cecily nudged Kyle. "There are your parents," she whispered, "and your mom doesn't look happy."

"I'm pretty sure she wants Dad and me out of here."

"Yeah, well, Margaret wants us both out of here. And Grandma Edna. Just tell your mom you're not leaving without me. Then I'll say I'm not leaving without Grandma Edna. And Grandma Edna," she said in triumph, "isn't going to miss a chance to kick some butt, even if it is beige alien fabric butt."

"Shush," Gary whispered, "I think we're starting." He searched for Susan, who had disappeared in the crowd.

Amy stood alone at the front, waiting. When the room grew silent, she said, "Well, once again, I find myself surprised by the quilt ladies. Who knew we have a target shooting champion, two skeet shooting enthusiasts, and the best shot in the police department, all in our little group."

One of the women started to clap. The applause threatened to die out until Edna joined in with a hearty cackle.

Amy raised her hands to quiet the group. "Here's what we're going to do. Those with guns are Group A. Group B will be the ones throwing pillows. You folks will go to Susan's shop first, stun the creatures with a barrage of pillows, then retreat, allowing the Group A to get inside."

One woman asked, "Where do we shoot them? Is there an obvious head?"

"We've seen appendages, like arms and legs. I think we should aim for the center and blast it to pieces," Amy said.

"And if that doesn't work?" another woman asked.

"Then Group B comes back on the double. They hit them with another pillow barrage. Group C, meanwhile, will assemble outside the doors and prepare to enter as soon as Group B retreats. Group C will have the chenille shields and throws. Their job is to force the creatures back, then cover them with as much chenille as possible. If we can't shoot them, we'll smother them. Any more questions?"

Margaret kept her eyes on her shoes, but a small sigh escaped her lips, and she raised her hand. "Amy, what do we do if the bolts don't like being covered with chenille? What if they start coming at us?" She looked around at the women surrounding her. "Do any of you really think you could hit something? Even a bolt of fabric?"

Amy tried to hide a smile. "I've seen customers nearly come to blows over the last fat quarter of a popular fabric, so, yes, I do think you could hit something. Especially to defend yourselves. At the very least, you can kick the things. Here, let me show you. Carolyn, would you mind getting us a bolt of fabric that we can pummel?"

Carolyn went to her office and brought out a fabric that featured bright red lobsters on a navy blue background. "This one deserves all the punishment you can give it," she said, handing the bolt to Amy. "No one bought any of it, not any of it at all."

Amy motioned Valerie to come up and steady the bolt upright, one end on the floor. "Okay, now let's say one of those beige critters is advancing on you," she said. "You don't want to hit it with your fists, because it's too low to the ground."

"They can grow legs," Gary reminded Amy.

"That's right, they can," Valerie said. She picked up the bolt by its sides and held it a foot off the ground.

"That's perfect," Amy said. She raised her right knee and extended her foot until it touched the bolt near the middle. "Ready?" When Valerie nodded, she touched her right foot to the floor then quickly brought her knee to her chest and kicked the bolt with a loud smack. Valerie staggered, almost dropping the lobster fabric. "Any of you can do that," she said to the group. "Just remember to kick with the ball of your foot, not your toes. Now, let me show you a few more kicks."

She demonstrated how to kick with the side of the feet, and how to use the knees to knock over the bolts.

"What if they grow longer legs?" someone asked.

"Use your hip," Amy replied, "just like you do to shut a car door when your arms are full, only with more force."

Other questions rang out from the group – what if you fall, what if they corner you. Amy and Valerie ran through example after example of how to use knees, hips, and elbows to knock the bolts out of the way.

When they had demonstrated a strategy for coping with every contingency the group could imagine, Amy said, "Now remember, we're going to be wearing gloves, we're going to be wearing the hoods, and we're going to be wearing sturdy shoes and clothes. We've got shields and throws and pillows, and we've got guns. We're as protected as we can be."

"We're not protected from the smoke," Gary said.

Amid whispers of "what smoke?", Amy held up her hands. "No," she agreed, "no, we're not. But I haven't forgotten about it, either."

Louise raised her hand. "I assume your talking about that green smoke we saw at your shop."

"Yes," Amy said, "and remember, that the green smoke turned brown when we hit that bolt in Susan's shop with the chenille pillow." She looked at the back of the room. "Ladies, some of you may not know Gary Dover, standing against the wall there. He was attacked by the fabric monsters, too, that's why he's here to help us. Gary was nearly overcome by the smoke those critters make, but he was driving a delivery van when they attacked. We'll be in a larger space."

"There will be more than the six bolts that were in my van," he said.

"Yes, but there are more of us, too, and we've got some weapons. You were alone. You were also driving at the time, and you didn't know what was happening. We have a much better idea of what to expect. I think we've got a good chance of overcoming those things before the smoke can overcome us. And if it gets bad, we retreat to the parking lot, regroup, and attack again. Any other questions? Okay, well, let's get ready to roll. Any of you not wearing sturdy pants, like jeans, go home and change. Same for shoes. Running shoes are okay, but no cute little canvas slip-ons."

Only two women got up to leave. "We don't live far away," one said, "do you want us to bring anything back?"

Amy looked around. Susan and Carolyn both shook their heads. "No, I think we're fine. Just hurry."

The women dashed out of the classroom. Just as quickly, one returned. "Say," she said with a worried expression, "there's a police car outside, and the man looks like he's coming here."

"That's my doing," Edna said at the same time that Amy said, "Oh, yes, we've been expecting him."

Carolyn took the woman by the elbow and, as the buzzer for the front door sounded, guided her out of the classroom, saying, "Let's go meet him, shall we?"

Edna hustled after them. Cecily and Kyle glanced at each other, then scurried after Edna. Susan rolled her eyes, shook her head, and joined the parade into the showroom.

Carolyn was shaking hands with a tall, white-haired man, and welcoming him to the store. Edna said, "Thanks for coming, Scott. Let's go."

"If you don't mind, Edna," Scott said, "I'd like an explanation first." He looked around, then noticed Valerie hovering in the doorway to the classroom. "Valerie," he asked, suspicion in his voice, "why are you here?"

Valerie took a hesitant step forward. "Well, sir," she began, "you may remember the night of the explosion at The Cotton Cabinet, and I mentioned seeing something unusual. I wasn't hallucinating, sir."

One of Scott's silvery eyebrows arched as his lips tightened.

Edna grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. "Scott, just come with me." Looking over her shoulder as she pulled Scott out the open door, she said, "Susan, I'm taking the youngsters. I'm betting that's a camera in Cecily's hands. We're only going to look through the windows. I promise we won't start anything without you." Turning her attention back to Scott, she said, "Why aren't you in uniform? Did you bring a gun?" Her questions disappeared under the rustling of the wind.

Susan rolled her eyes, then said to Cecily, "Better get going. You know she won't wait forever."

Cecily and Kyle looked at each other. Excited smiles spread over their faces, and they dashed after Edna and Scott.

"Try to keep her out of trouble," Susan called. She turned to Carolyn, who was having difficulty suppressing a chuckle. "I know what you're thinking. Let's not tell Margaret what we've done."

"Captain Randolph has a gun," Carolyn said, "that should at least slow Edna down a little."

Valerie gaped. "How does Edna do that?"

"Years of practice," Susan said, "and a stubborn streak as wide as the ocean. Come on, let's get back to the group."

When they returned to the classroom, Amy beckoned them. She said, "Gary has an interesting idea. Tell them, Gary."

"As an actor," he said, "I discovered that getting into costume helps me find the character. Maybe we could get the women to dress up. Somehow."

"You mean with the hoods?" Carolyn asked.

"No," Susan said, looking around at the women in the room. "With makeup."

"Exactly," Gary said. "War paint. It might help them to feel more aggressive, and that could help them act more aggressive."

Susan's heart raced as she heard aggressive roll off Gary's tongue. She visualized Gary outlining her mouth with the lip liner she kept in her purse, and brushing her cheeks with blush. She felt her skin grow hot from her hairline to her neckline.

Carolyn snorted. "Good grief, what are we coming to? Take a look at these gals. Do you honestly think a little lipstick and blush will change who they are? Look, I've had the same tube of lipstick in my purse for ten years. Smearing some of it on my face now won't make any difference when I get to Susan's shop. When those monsters start to attack, I'll fight back. We all will."

Amy shrugged. "Okay, if you think it's silly."

Carolyn said, "No, not silly. I'm sorry I snapped. But we've got to get to Susan's shop soon. Putting on war paint will just give us one more excuse to avoid the inevitable."

Gary said, "You have a point there. I'm not exactly looking forward to facing those things again." He turned to Susan. "Are you okay? You're looking a little flushed."

"No, I'm fine," Susan said. "I was just imaging us getting painted up." She glanced away, and saw Margaret arguing with Stan, Louise and Victor. "Oh, that doesn't look good," she said. "If she's trying to get Louise to send Kyle home, we're in trouble. Carolyn, do you want to handle this or should I?"

Carolyn craned her neck in Margaret's direction. "I can't hear what she's saying, but I'm going to be a chicken and let you calm her down. I have enough stamina to fight the fabric monsters or Margaret when she's in her over-protective mood, but not both of them in one night."

Susan edged around the room until she was within earshot. Hovering at the edge of the foursome, she heard Margaret say, "This has gone far enough. You guys shouldn't be here. Louise, tell them, they shouldn't be here."

"I tried to tell Victor that, but he wouldn't listen," Louise said.

"I always listen to you," Victor protested, "but in this case I disagree. Look, you're not a bunch of Amazons."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Margaret said. "Do you think we can't do this without your help?"

Stan, Louise and Victor looked stunned.

Margaret put her hands to her reddening cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry," she mumbled, "but this is getting out of hand."

Louise put her hand on Margaret's arm and smiled gently. "Well, what else would you expect?" she asked. "We are fighting space aliens." She stopped. "Oh, we don't actually know that, do we?"

Stan and Victor burst into laughter. "I think it goes without saying that these are space aliens," Victor said. "I know you talk about your fabric as if it were alive, particularly when you're making a quilt and it isn't going well, but I don't imagine there is any other explanation for what you've seen. Margaret, you are a kind and generous woman. I know you only want the best for everyone. What I'd like you to consider is that maybe the best for me and for Stan is to be here, with the women we love."

Margaret pondered, her head bobbing, as if she were arguing with herself. "The boys are safe?" she asked.

"They're with my sister. As it happened, she called and offered to take them out to dinner, and then to that new horror movie that neither you nor I have any intention of seeing. I sent them over as soon as they returned from school. They were happy, my sister was happy, and I didn't have to devise an excuse to leave without them, so I'm happy, too."

Margaret sighed. "Then it's settled. Oh, wait," Margaret said, turning to Louise, "what about Kyle?"

Susan stepped forward and said, "Kyle went with Cecily, Captain Randolph, and my mother."

"Yes, but where?" Margaret asked.

"To my shop. My mother is going to show Captain Randolph the fabric monsters. I assume she wants Cecily to film it, because Edna specifically asked her to go."

"Do you think that's wise?" Margaret asked.

"Wise?" Susan said. "I think it's an answer to prayer. If Captain Randolph has any sense at all, he'll try to get Edna and the kids out of there, then call in the Marines. Edna, being Edna, will stand her ground. Cecily, being Cecily, will film every excruciating minute of Edna's harangue. Kyle will probably be in shock, as will Captain Randolph. If I know my mother, and I do, she'll have them in such a state that we'll be able to go in, fight the aliens, and get out without them noticing."

***

Scott parked the police cruiser in front of Quilting Parade. He turned off the ignition, but sat in silence, his hand on the key. "Well, Edna," he said, "we're here. What is it I'm supposed to see?"

Edna smiled, cat-like, opened the door, and as she was exiting said, "Follow me and keep quiet. You, too, kids."

Scott, Cecily and Kyle followed Edna, who marched to the front of the store. She stopped at the window and peered in, making no effort to conceal herself. Cecily motioned to Kyle to keep off to the side. She positioned herself where she could see in the window without being seen. Kyle moved in behind her, peering into the store over Cecily's shoulder. Scott stood on the sidewalk, watching Edna.

"They're not out," she said in disgust. "We're going to have to traipse all around the shop, and look in every last dang window, I just know it."

"There are people in there? Why didn't you call 911?" Scott said as he strode to the door.

"Keep your shirt on," she said, moving to the side of the store, "they're not here to steal the merchandise. They're after something bigger."

Edna's shoes slapped along the sidewalk.

"She could sound like a jack-booted horde all by herself, even in sneakers," Kyle whispered to Cecily. They followed Edna, but in a wide arc.

"You should hear what she sounds like in heels," Cecily said.

"I heard that," Edna shouted.

They turned the corner in time to see Edna leaping up to peek in the side windows.

"Grandma Edna, just stand on your tiptoes," Cecily pleaded, "there's no need to draw attention to yourself."

"I prefer to jump," Edna said, but stood on her tiptoes all the same. "Oh, good, you can see a bunch of them from here. Come on, Scott, come watch them wiggle."

Scott joined her, cupping his hand over his eye to keep out the setting sun and looked into the building from the side of the window. His expression alternated between puzzlement and exasperation. "I don't see anything except shelves and bolts of fabric. Why is there so much fabric on the floor?"

He leaned closer to the window. Edna watched his face as he moved slowly to the center of the window. Back on the sidewalk, Kyle nudged Cecily whispering, "Camera." Cecily snapped the camera up and started recording. She, too, moved toward the center of the window, keeping Scott and Edna in the frame.

Scott pressed his whole face against the window. "What is that moving in there? Is there a fan on? It looks like all the fabric on the floor is just . . . oh my god." He stepped back and stared at Edna. "What is in there?"

Edna clapped her hands, a huge grin on her face. "Aliens," she said gleefully, "isn't it great?"

Cecily changed the angle of her camera to catch more of Scott's reaction. When she saw he wasn't even aware of her presence anymore, she brought her camera in for a tight close-up, then panned over to Edna and said, "Grandma Edna, tell us about these aliens."

"Well, this is the first time I've actually seen them. Your mother didn't see fit to tell me about them right away. Had to worm it out of you, didn't I?"

Scott said, "Edna, we have to call the government. We have no idea what we're dealing with here."

"Keep your voice down, Scott, and think about what you just said, because your people already have reports of these aliens. I know one of your squad was at the quilt shop that burned down, and she tried to tell you what she saw. You didn't believe her. Then there's that young man back at the shop. He had some of those things in his truck. They nearly killed him, and no one believed him, either." Edna pointed at Cecily. "That's my source, right there. She's seen the aliens in action, too, as did twenty others. We've got a plan to fight them, and a back-up plan to boot."

Scott held up his hands.

Cecily said, "Would you mind moving two feet to the left? I want to get a shot of the aliens."

Scott nodded, grabbed Edna's shoulders, guided her backwards and said, "Tell me everything you know."

Cecily shifted her camera. "Kyle, can you smell that? The window is still open a crack, and I can see where they pushed the screen out of the way to throw the lavender inside. I can really smell it, even from here. You know, I think it's kind of drugged them."

Kyle peered inside. "Oh, yeah, you really can smell the lavender. But I can hardly see a thing. Oh, wait."

He pressed in closer. Beyond the shelves with normal fabric, he saw movement in the hall. Thick streamers of beige fabric whirled in the doorway. Bolts on the floor moved. Some seemed to be rolling themselves up, others to be unrolling. He noticed a rhythm to the rolling, as if the bolts were moving to music only they could hear.

"I don't understand," he said. "I thought the lavender made them more aggressive, but they're just in there, rippling. Or dancing."

"I think they're dancing," Cecily said. "And have you noticed, when one of them unrolls, there's a little flourish at the end, and the lavender smell gets stronger. I think they're high on lavender."

Kyle said, "So is your mom, from what I understand, but she doesn't go around attacking people."

"You haven't seen her at the annual herb sale."

Scott said, "I have no idea why I'm doing this, but I'm in. Cecily, I need to know how many rooms there are, how many doors and windows, the layout of the halls, everything. Then I need to know what weapons we have, and if there's anything in your mother's shop the . . . whatever they are can use against us. Oh, and I'm adding another plan."

He pulled a green enameled case and a pen from his pocket. Removing a business card, he scribbled on the back and handed it to Cecily. With authority returning to his voice, he said, "If this doesn't work, go to the police station on Oak Street. Ask for Captain Donaldson. Give her this card, and tell her your story."

Cecily read the back of the card: BELIEVE HER – SCOTT.
Chapter 7

As dusk approached, women armed with chenille pillows and blankets marched out of Queen of the Needles. They packed their creations into their cars, then marched back into the shop. The elderly owner of the bookstore next to Queen of the Needles grabbed Margaret's arm.

"So, what are you girls up to now?" Charlie asked. "Have you found another good cause? And when will you be asking me for a contribution, as you always do?"

"Um, not quite," Margaret stammered. "We're, uh, we're – oh, Louise, could you tell Charlie what we're up to?"

Louise stumbled, and her pile of pillows wobbled. Charlie reached out to steady the stack. "Say, is that chenille?" he asked. "My late wife used to love chenille. Of course, she mainly loved it in pink or pale green. Can't say as I've ever seen bright purple chenille before."

"That's just what I thought," Louise said, "just exactly what I thought. We saw the new colors at one of the trade shows, didn't we, Margaret? We weren't sure we should get any of it, but, as you can see . . . "

"Yes, I guess you did," Charlie said. "Still, seems like an awful lot of pillows. You girls don't usually make pillows."

"Oh, they're for me," Vincent said, smiling at his wife's confused look. "I'm Louise's husband, Vincent. I'd shake your hand, sir, but as you can see I've got an armful of pillows. For the youth room. At my church."

"What a good woman you are," Charlie said. "And you got all these people to help you, too. Oh, that is wonderful." He smiled and walked back to his shop, mumbling about there still being kindness in the world.

Margaret whipped around to face Vincent. Louise was already staring at him. He looked down at the sidewalk. "It was the first thing that popped in my head."

Louise exhaled. "You have never, ever told such a whopping lie."

"I'll be asking forgiveness for it later."

"Forgiveness?" Margaret asked. "You should be offering thanks for the inspiration. Charlie's a nice man, but he loves to gossip. Can you imagine what would happen if he found out what we're really doing?"

When the cars were packed, and the two women who had gone off to change returned, Susan gathered everyone for one last bit of instruction. "Cecily says the critters are still in the store. They're are moving, but they don't seem to be in any hurry to leave."

"Tell them the whole story," Carolyn admonished.

Susan shot her a stern look. "Fine. The fabric is dancing." She raised her hands to stop the giggles. "Yes, Cecily said they're dancing. For all we know, that's a war dance, so be on your guard. Now, do we all know who's riding with whom? Yes? Good. Let's get going."

The windows of Quilting Parade were glowing a soft, unearthly beige, the only light in the entire strip mall. Since Susan had warned them before they left, each driver shut off the lights of her car as she turned into the parking lot.

Cecily and Kyle waited in the shadows of the bakery three doors down from Quilting Parade. Cecily called to her mother, who motioned everyone to stay where they were, then led Carolyn, Louise, Margaret, Amy and Valerie over to the bakery.

Vincent, Gary and Stan hesitated, then quickly followed. They arrived in time to hear Susan ask, "Where's your grandmother?"

"She's at the shop, in the back," Cecily answered. "She's having the time of her life. And she's flirting with that cop. My grandmother . . . is flirting . . . with a cop."

Susan closed her eyes and sighed. "Well, at least she has good taste." Opening her eyes again, she said, "Well, Amy, I guess it's your show from here on."

Valerie said, "Wait a minute, Susan. Let's get Captain Scott's opinion of the situation. He has a lot of experience. We should take advantage of it."

"Experience?" Carolyn asked. "No one's had experience with these things."

"No, Valerie's right," Amy said. "No one has had experience fighting aliens taking the shape of bolts of fabric, but if Captain Randolph has burst in on a group of armed criminals, his advice will be useful."

"We can use all the help we can get, Susan," Margaret said.

"I'll go get them, Mom," Cecily said, "I can tell her to behave. She won't listen to me, but at least she won't get ticked off with me." She took Kyle by the arm. "Come on, Grandma Edna likes you. If she brushes me off, you can reason with her. If that doesn't work, distract her."

Vincent stifled a laugh. For the first time, the women noticed them. Vincent said, "Perhaps we should go and gather the others. They'll want to hear the plans."

"Don't bring them over yet," Carolyn said, "have them unpack first. They don't need to carry it over here, just stack it all on the sidewalk."

Stan and Gary accompanied Vincent to organize the ammunition. Cecily and Kyle came around the corner with Edna and Scott.

"Didn't I tell you," Edna said to Scott, "we've got everything under control. I called you to square the paperwork, in case anyone reports gun shots. Not that I expect it. A place like this rolls up the sidewalks and packs them in mothballs after dark."

"Mom's over here, Captain Randolph," Cecily said, "and if she can't answer your questions, one of the other women can."

"Don't give the man false hope," Susan said, "I don't think anyone on earth can answer all his questions. But we can tell you what we plan to do next."

"You mean Edna has been telling me the truth?" Scott asked.

"Oh, probably not the whole truth," Susan replied, "but if she said we're going to fight these things, then, yes."

He shook his head. "If I hadn't seen them with my own eyes, I'd be giving you all field sobriety tests. As it is . . . as it is, tell me your plan."

Carolyn pointed to Amy and said, "She's the one with the answers."

Amy said, "We'll attack from the front and the back. If we have to, we'll fall back and regroup."

"If you intend to use the guns, you should attack from the front only. The group in back can push the aliens to the front. The others can position themselves where they want, instead of being trapped in the narrow hall, and you won't be shooting at each other."

"Then let's make sure the back door group has most of the bean bags, if not all of them," Louise suggested.

"Good idea," Amy and Scott said together.

Gary cleared his throat in the shadows. "I don't mean to interrupt," he said, "but we've unpacked everything."

"Then we've mimicked military conditions perfectly," Scott said with a chuckle, "or at least the military I remember from my service days. Hurry up and wait, then rush headlong into the unknown."

"So why are we waiting?" Edna asked. "Sounds like fun to me."

Louise patted Gary on the arm. "We'll be over in a minute," she said, "just try to keep them from making too much noise. Have them divide the pillows half for the back door, and half at the front. The ones at the back should keep most of the bean bags."

Amy said, "Scott, would you be willing to lead the ladies with guns in the front?"

"Of course," Scott said, "but can I make a request? I'd like Valerie to lead the women ahead of me. I want someone out there I can trust."

"That sounds great," Amy said, "let's go tell the others."

"Wait," Margaret said, "what about the shields? Shouldn't we divide them in two, for the back and front? And who will lead the ladies holding the shields?"

Slapping her forehead, Amy said, "I knew I would forget something. Carolyn, take the shields. Send two or three to the back, but keep most in front with you."

Amy motioned everyone to move away from the front door. When they had gathered around her, she cleared her throat. "We're as ready as we're going to be. We can kill these things, but don't get careless. Be as quiet as possible. I will unlock the front door, Susan will open the back. Ladies with pillows go in first. I'll signal when the people with the guns are going in, then those in back will throw their bean bags en masse. We want to herd them to the center of the showroom. If that's not enough, the shield group will go in and smother the aliens with as much chenille as we've got. Keep alert, and if we call retreat, run like crazy."

The women heading to the rear of the store lined up behind Susan, who handed a set of keys to Amy before she started toward the back door. Cecily, Kyle and Edna walked beside the line. Louise, Vincent and Gary followed a few paces behind.

Edna poked Cecily in the ribs and hissed, "Did we ever figure out how many of those critters we're up against?"

"I don't think so, Grandma Edna, but it doesn't much matter, does it?"

"Sure it does. We're going to have bragging rights about this for years to come."

"Gary said they couldn't tell. As far as anyone knows, there are at least thirteen."

"Thirteen, my Great-aunt Fanny," Edna crooned, "I bet there's close to a hundred in there."

"Mother," Susan whispered, "be quiet." She inserted the key in the lock. As she and Amy had agreed, she whistled the opening notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.

"That's surprisingly accurate," Kyle whispered to Cecily, "the notes, I mean. And surprisingly loud."

"Years of experience getting the attention of three girls, without alerting the whole neighborhood," Cecily said.

Susan opened the door. As she crept into the hallway, the bell attached to the front door jingled. Susan took two pillows from the woman behind her and led her team into the storage area.

The room reeked of lavender. The soft, unearthly light they had seen from outside was very faint in the hall. Susan couldn't see any aliens. She moved forward to the store room, then motioned for the women behind her to stop. She heard feet shuffling ahead, but not the sound of a pillow thudding against fabric.

"I'm afraid they might all be in the storeroom up here," she said. "Pass the word to Cecily to start filming from the window. We need to know how the aliens react."

Susan inched toward the storeroom. Several bolts of glowing beige fabric lounged about, tipped against the walls and boxes at angles like high school students at a convenience store. She moved a little further inside the door, followed by two of the women in her group. She whispered, "One, two, three." They threw their pillows.

The aliens snapped out of their languorous attitude as soon as they were hit. Two pillows bounced and fell on an alien stretched out on the floor. The beige fabric rippled and crinkled, as if writhing in pain. Green smoke puffed from its ends in wispy balls. It coughed, the smoke turned brown, and the creature was still. The other bolts that had been hit wobbled. One of Susan's team dropped to her knees, scooted a foot into the storeroom and snatched up four chenille pillows that had bounced near the doorway. She rocked back on her feet, flinging the pillows at the wobbling bolts. They fell, fabric pulsing.

"Shut the door," Susan ordered, then dashed to the classroom. No aliens were there, so she shut the door.

A burning smell wafted from the show room, and the sound of high-pitched, angry chittering. Gary threaded his way down the hall to Susan's side, followed by Louise and Vincent. "I remember that smell from the truck," he said, "just before the bolts attacked."

"Where are Kyle and Edna?" she whispered, leaning close.

"Outside, with Cecily." He touched her arm. "They're safe."

She smiled at him, then turned to her team. "We're going to split. You three, guard this door. Louise, Vincent, follow us."

The chittering sound grew louder, more grating. Gary ran the length of the hall, then stopped, Susan close behind. Louise and Vincent followed, arms full of chenille.

Dozens of aliens rose from the showroom floor, grew legs, and marched toward the front door. Waves of smoke rolled out from them, and acrid smell tinged with lavender wafting before them. Their soft glow grew brighter and harsher.

A group of women stood just inside the open door at the front, motionless "They're in trouble," Gary said, "but they don't know it yet." He motioned for a pillow.

Susan took three from Louise, and handed one to Gary. She let him throw his first, then pitched hers at the nearest bolts, as did Vincent.

Louise took Vincent's pillows and bean bags. "Let me feed you the ammo. You guys throw better than I do."

The aliens that Gary and Vincent hit stumbled and fell. Their legs disappeared as they rolled on the floor, then new legs grew underneath, turning them into headless, tailless salamanders.

"What are they doing?" Vincent asked.

"I don't know" Susan said. She took Gary's hand. "Did they do this in your truck?"

"I don't know," Gary said, backing up, "but I bet any second they'll come after us. You got any more bean bags?"

One after another, the bolts sprang upright, balancing on edge, their outer layers rippling. New legs grew underneath them. They lined up in a row, chittering and puffing smoke.

Amy's rebel yell pierced through the chittering. "That's the signal to retreat," Susan said, pushing the others down the hall. Gary glanced back, but the fabric monsters turned toward the gunfire.

***

In the show room, Amy's team peppered the bolts nearest them with pillows and bean bags. If the pillow or bag bounced back close enough, someone would retrieve it and throw it again. Then the aliens surged forward, and the women retreated.

Scott positioned his people behind shelving, chairs, and counters. He ordered them to fire together, aiming at the largest groupings. The first volley pierced the bolts, which tottered and crashed over those on the floor, writhing and rippling from the chenille fusillade. The noise and the smoke distracted some of the shooters, and the second volley faltered.

Then the bullets from this volley, which pierced the fabric, popped out and fell on the floor. The first bolts that had been hit by the gunfire righted themselves, shedding their bullets, too. The bullet holes closed, and long ribbons of beige unwound.

Scott ordered a third volley. This time, the aliens whipped the ribbons of fabric about, scooping the bullets out of the air and flinging them back, and advancing on the shooters.

As they reached the bolts that had been ravaged by chenille, two of them would wind ribbon extensions around a wounded comrade like a sling and carry it off to the side. Scott fired at the wounded bolts, but new ribbons whipped out from the top of the rescuing bolts, sweeping aside the bullets.

"Retreat!" he ordered, firing all the while. As the team withdrew, they kicked any chenille at the advancing bolts, and knocked over chairs and tables. Carolyn and Amy slammed the door shut and pushed the bench against it when everyone was out.

"Get behind the cars," Amy ordered, then said to Scott, "Looks like we're on to the back-up plan."

"I don't know," Scott said, "the pillows slowed the enemy down, but I didn't see that they actually killed them."

"We killed one before," Amy insisted. "Maybe it just takes more chenille. Do you hear that?"

She poked her head above the trunk of the car. Susan and Cecily spotted her, and rushed over.

"Look what we saw!" Cecily gasped. She shoved the camera into Amy's hands. "Here's an alien getting hit. Look, it falls, then some other pillows land on it. The other bolts couldn't get the chenille off it quick enough. Now here's another attack, when we threw all the chenille we had. Watch!"

The bolts that had been hit were rippling and twisting. The brown smoke grew fainter, then stopped. Some bolts tried to grow legs, but after a few inches appeared underneath them, the legs snapped off. The severed leg did not collapse into a rumpled scrap of fabric, but stayed broken, edges sharp, and the glow dimmed. Pieces of the leg began to fall away, as if the fabric had become brittle. Finally, as the fabric lost its glow completely, it crumbled into dust.

At that point, Cecily pulled back the zoom to take in the whole room. All the aliens lost their unearthly light, and all looked brittle. Cracks appeared across the bolts, and flakes of fabric fell off. Like the little broken legs, as the last bit of light faded away, the fabric shattered and turned to dust.

"Our first idea was right after all," Carolyn said. "We need to get back in there with more chenille, hit them with the pillows and bean bags, whack them with the shields, then smother them with the throws."

"Well, when you do," Edna's crackly voice sounded behind Cecily, "make sure you take down my quilt before those critters start smoking again."

Susan whirled around as Edna stepped out from behind Cecily. "Your quilt?" Susan sputtered, "what quilt? You've never made a quilt for the shop." She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Mother, I completely forgot."

"Yeah, well, so did I," Edna growled, "so don't get weepy on me."

"What quilt?" Carolyn asked just as Scott said, "Excuse me, ladies, but I think we have more important things to deal with than one little quilt."

Edna marched over to Scott. The top of her head barely cleared his clavicle. She leaned back and poked him in the chest. "That little quilt is what started the whole family on our quilting odyssey. It's what made Susan start her shop, and without my Susan and her friends these aliens would have had you for lunch by now."

Cecily linked her arm through her grandmother's and gently pulled her back. "Do you mean Agnes the Great's quilt? The one behind the cash register?" Cecily asked.

"Agnes the Great?" Amy whispered to Susan.

"My grandmother," Edna answered, "I can hear just fine, you know. She made an amazing crazy quilt in 1895. It's been a good luck charm for the family ever since."

"You have an antique quilt just hanging on the wall?" Margaret gasped.

"No, no, nothing like that," Susan assured her. "The quilt was damaged by fires after the 1906 earthquake. The ruined parts were trimmed away. During the Depression, Agnes cut it up and gave a section to each of her daughters on their wedding day."

"I inherited my mother's section on my wedding day, Susan got it on her wedding day, and Cecily," Edna said, "will get it on her wedding day."

"You have a fragment of an antique quilt just hanging on your wall?" Margaret gasped, louder this time.

"No," Susan said, "I had it framed when I opened the shop. I told you, the quilt is like a good luck charm for the family. It should be perfectly safe, even in all that smoke."

"Well, it won't be safe if the place burns down, so just get it off the wall," Edna said. "And you're going to help make sure it gets out safely, Scott."

"Captain," Valerie murmured, "I'll handle it. What's our next move?"

Scott turned to Cecily. "Replay that video." He watched, then said, "Susan, how large is that hall? If we put five women with shields back there, could they form a barrier? When your people attacked, the bolts at the very back started toward the hall, the ones at the very front were busy with us, but the ones in the middle didn't quite know what to do. Do we know if they have a leader?"

After an awkward pause, Carolyn said, "I can't say as I've noticed a real leader. I can't tell them apart."

"That's right," Amy said, "They don't seem to be coordinating their movements as I would expect a real army to do."

"Maybe this is a group of spies," Edna said, "and they didn't expect anyone to figure out what they were up to. Didn't you say we killed one? That could have been their leader. Or maybe they're just not the brightest little aliens in the galaxy, and they're screwing up big time."

Scott cleared his throat. "Thank you, Edna, but if they are underestimating us, let's use that to our advantage and not repeat their mistake. Now about that hall, Susan, would five women with shields make a good barrier, or would they just be in each other's way?"

"I think five would work, but no more."

"Let me head that part up," Margaret said. "I may not be much of a soldier, but I bet I can make a good wall." She stood up straight, planted her feet and crossed her arms. "And I think I know the four that I want with me."

"That's fine," Scott said. "It's Margaret, right? Go get your team, then come back here for instructions."

Margaret hurried to the women with shields, who were behind a car next to a travel agency. When she returned with three women, Stan appeared and said, "I'm coming with you."

Scott appraised the group. "Good choices," he said.

"Good?" Edna said. "They look like linebackers, and he says they're good. I think they're great."

"Mom," Susan said with an edge to her voice, "please let Scott tell us what we're going to do. Those aliens aren't going to wait forever."

As Cecily pulled Edna away, Scott outlined his plan, "Margaret, take your people to the back hall. You should each have a shield and a chenille throw. Wait there while the rest of us regroup. We'll attack and herd them together with the shields, then smother them with the chenille throws. Your job is to keep any from escaping by pushing them back to the show room."

"Hey," Edna said, "what about those hoods I made? If we're going to use them, this would be the time."

"They might come in handy at that," Amy said, "both for our protection and as one more bit of chenille that we can use. If we can keep them stunned, and push them into a pile, the chenille throws will be even more effective."

"I agree," Scott said, "so where are these hoods?"

"I think Gary knows," Louise said. She ran off, returning with a handful of hoods. "Vincent and Gary are distributing the rest of them," she said.

"Good," Scott said, "now let's gather the troops."

He arranged them in ranks as Margaret led her group to the back. When he gave the signal, Carolyn and Amy pulled the bench out of the way. Susan led the first assault.

Three bolts leaped up, chittering and waving ribbons. As Susan and her team pelted them with pillows, Scott ordered three of the shield bearers into the store. "Pick a bolt and push it back," he shouted.

One of the women yelled and ran into the store, the other two close behind. They whacked their targets dead center, ignoring the menacing ribbons overhead.

The bolts fought back, but the ribbons recoiled with a snap upon touching the chenille hoods. With each whack of the shield, the bolts retreated. Their angry chittering turned to yelps.

Now the women with pillows and bean bags threw their weapons at anything that moved. Sometimes a bolt would bat back a pillow or a bean bag, but the women fell into a rhythm of throwing, catching, and scooping up ammunition to throw again.

The bolts in the back edged toward the hall, only to meet with Margaret's resolute shield wall. Chittering turned into shrieking, and green smoke spewed from their tops. When the smoke swirled around them, Stan lifted his shield and waved it like a fan, sending the smoke right back. The women in the line followed Stan's example.

At the front of the show room, aliens fell to the floor, their fabric writhing and rippling. Others retreated, leaving the wounded where they lay. Susan and two others gathered up pillows and bean bags, jumped over the writhing bolts and pelted the fleeing enemy.

A wounded alien unrolled a ribbon of beige. It crackled, but it did not shatter. It grabbed Susan's ankle, then whipped her into the air.

The aliens pressed their attack. More green smoke spurted from the tops of the bolts, and the chittering which had become a shriek turned into an exultant crescendo of noise.

Amy looked around and saw the women with chenille throws advancing. She bounded toward them and grabbed two throws. Thrusting one into Louise's arms, she said, "Follow me!" She rushed toward Susan, slapping chenille at the ribbons wrapping themselves around Susan's body. Louise slapped at the bolts which were attacking one of the other two women.

Scott grabbed Carolyn's arm and shouted, "Take six women with ammo and outflank the bolts on the right. I'll take the rest to the left, and we'll send the shields in to the center."

Carolyn led her group along the right wall, then ordered them to attack. She crept around a bookshelf that had been knocked over to make sure there were no aliens hiding there. When she looked back, she saw one of her team venture too far to retrieve chenille pillows. An alien cowering under the onslaught suddenly leaped up, its top layer of fabric quivering. It shot a long ribbon around the woman's arm, jerking her up and down, then back and forth, then up and down again. The woman dropped to her knees, screaming.

Another alien marched forward. "I'll help Pam," Carolyn shouted. "Bunch up! Don't let them grab you. And keeping throwing those pillows!"

Carolyn threw her last two pillows at the alien shaking Pam's arm like a puppy with a chew toy. The green smoke coming from the bolt had a faint brown tinge to it, but the ribbon of beige was still tightly wound around Pam's arm. The other bolt was menaced Carolyn, and she could see the outer layer moving.

She picked up a bolt of normal fabric. "Oh, I hate to abuse such a beautiful floral print," Carolyn moaned as she swung this bolt at the advancing alien. She hit it hard across the middle. It tottered backwards. She swung again, and knocked the alien over.

Not waiting to see if it recovered, Carolyn rushed at the alien attacking Pam. The green smoke became more intense, as did the acrid smell. She could feel a burning sensation through her latex gloves and heavy clothing.

She grabbed the hood off her head and slapped it against the alien. Flecks of chenille fuzz fluttered off the hood as she bashed away. The top layer on the bolt tightened wherever the fuzz landed. She stopped slapping and started grinding the chenille hood into the fabric monster.

"Give me your hood," Carolyn croaked, as the acrid smoke made her cough.

Pam pulled the hood off her head. Carolyn grabbed it, then slid both hoods over her hands like oven mitts. She grabbed the ribbon at its base and twisted as if wringing out a wet towel. Within seconds, the ribbon snapped and crumbled in her hands. Pam rolled over and pushed herself to her knees with her good arm. Carolyn helped her to her feet.

"Behind you!" Pam yelled.

The alien that Carolyn had knocked down was on its feet again, and advancing toward them.

"Duck!" someone shouted. Carolyn and Pam fell to the floor. A barrage of chenille pillows arched over their heads, hitting the fabric monster dead center.

Carolyn saw Kyle and Gary dash forward, snatch up pillows, and throw them at the alien again. "Get her outside," Gary said, "we'll cover you."

Carolyn helped Pam to her feet again, and they headed to the door. Li-Ming met them at the front door. "Oh, thank goodness," Carolyn said, "you finally got here."

"Yes, sorry I'm late," Li-Ming said, "but I've got a first aid station set up."

"Do you need help?" Carolyn asked.

"No, I've got it covered."

Outside, Susan and a few others sat on the ground by Li-Ming's car. Louise rummaged in the back of the van for medical supplies, while Vincent dressed wounds with Li-Ming.

Scott arranged his group in two lines staggered front to back and side to side. Each woman had a clear throwing lane but was close enough to the woman next to her that she could help if a fabric monster tried to grab her neighbor. Aliens unrolled ribbons, but each time a length of fabric tried to curl out, a pillow flew into it.

Kyle and Gary pulled Carolyn's team into staggered lines. They helped Scott's group push the aliens to the middle of the room. The shield group, like Margaret's line at the back of the room, simply stood their ground to keep any bolts from escaping.

Edna pushed her way past Carolyn into the shop. "Good work, Scott!" Edna shouted as she dashed toward the cash register, "you cleared a path to my quilt!"

Carolyn stumbled into one of the women holding a shield, grabbed it, then broke through the line. "Watch this," Carolyn bellowed, her voice rough with coughing. She pressed the shield against the nearest alien, and rubbed it vigorously back and forth.

A keening wail erupted from the creature, and the green smoke coming from its top turned a poisonous brown. The creature shattered with a crackle, like dry tinder igniting, and disintegrated.

All movement stopped. The aliens stopped spewing any smoke at all. The humans held their breath.

Then one fabric monster grew thick, strong legs. It rose up taller than the rest. Like a bagpipe beginning a drone, its chittering increased in volume and deepened in tone, until it became a roar.

Scott yelled, "Forward!" The two groups, human and alien, threw themselves at each other. Ribbons of beige lashed out as everyone with chenille ground it into the bolts.

Margaret knocked one bolt over as she charged. Raising her shield, she slammed it on the prone alien. Then she jumped on the shield, and kept jumping until the creature crumbled underneath her. The others followed her example.

Carolyn grabbed an armful of throws and tossed them over the aliens at the center. Kyle and Gary each leaped on a throw-covered bolt and stomped it into dust.

The tall bolt that had initiated the attack sprouted multiple arms of ribbon. They braided themselves into a club and batted chenille throws out of the air.

Near the cash register, Edna shouted, "Knock its legs out!"

Margaret swung her shield like a scythe at the monster's legs. Her first swing missed. As she swung again, the braided club knocked the shield from her hands.

Stan pushed Margaret away as the club slammed down on his shield. The monster screamed when it touched the chenille and snapped back, but the force of its blow shattered the wooden frame all the same. Stan wrapped the chenille around him and rolled out of the way.

Carolyn, Kyle and Gary bashed the roaring monster with shields. Gary shouted, "Kyle, aim for the club! Carolyn, get underneath it!"

She dropped to her knees and scuttled around the creature. Gary swung sideways, knocking the club in Kyle's direction. Kyle swung upwards, knocking the club sharply back. As the club reached its highest point, Carolyn twisted her entire body and swung her shield at its stocky legs.

The frame was too light to make the legs buckle. Gary took his shield, tipped it on its side and swung at the middle of the creature, trying to press as much chenille as possible against it.

The creature staggered backwards, but still did not fall. Kyle readied his shield to rush the bolt, but Margaret dashed in, clutching her shield to her chest, and launched herself against the bolt.

"What a tackle!" Edna shouted.
Chapter 8

"From this day forward, if someone says 'when the dust settled,' I'll have an actual image of what that looks like," Cecily said.

Kyle surveyed the store. Beige dust coated the floor. The breeze from the open front door swirled piles of dust onto the bottom shelves of the show room. Puffs of dust bounced like popcorn as people picked up merchandise and cleaned display stands.

Susan approached, carrying two brooms. "If you two are quite chatting, we could use some help."

From all appearances, Quilting Parade was under attack for the second time in one night. The army of quilters that had fought the aliens now battled their remains. They shoveled dust into piles, then spread chenille over it, just to be safe. They washed down walls, wiped off books and patterns, and vacuumed cabinets.

"So, how bad is it?" Edna asked Susan.

"Could have been worse. We're all alive, and no one seriously hurt."

"I meant the merchandise, child." She patted Susan's arm.

Susan shook her head. "Like I said, could have been worse. I think I can salvage enough to keep my head above water."

"You were born under a lucky star," Edna said, smiling as she shook her head. "And that probably comes from your father."

Susan hugged her mother. "Who can tell, Mom? At least our lives aren't boring."

Scott approached and said, "Ladies, we need decide how we're going to explain the events of this evening." He crossed his arms. "I could use your assistance, Edna. Your creative input, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," Edna cackled, "you want me to tell you what to lie about. Piece of cake."

"Mother, be serious," Susan said.

"I am. Look around you. The building is intact. You said yourself that the merchandise is in relatively good shape. No one needs a hospital visit."

"So?" Susan asked.

"So, no insurance reports," Cecily said. She shook her broom at her mother. "See, I'm sweeping. Grandma's right, Mom. We'll get this place cleaned up soon. Li-Ming is certain Pam's arm isn't broken, so there won't be any medical reports. I don't think anyone heard the gunshots, so you don't have to file anything, do you, Captain Randolph?"

"I should," Scott said "but I won't."

"Captain, you realize that all the women here were also at the Cotton Cabinet?" Susan asked. "We came up with a story for that disaster, and kept to it. We can do it again."

Scott surveyed the room. "All of them?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Almost all," Susan admitted.

"Which means that the truth about the store that burned down is circulating," Scott said, "and the truth about tonight will circulate soon enough."

"Oh, for goodness sake," Edna exclaimed, "you of all people should know that the truth is a moving target." She clapped her hands twice. "Listen up. Better yet, stop what you're doing and come over here. Cecily, Kyle, go get any stragglers."

When everyone was assembled, Edna said, "Now, I know we can come up with a reasonable story. The problem is, can we all keep to it? No e-mailing the real story to your cousin in Missoula or your sister in Fargo?" She searched their faces for signs of weakness. "Ah hah!" she said, pointing at a woman with downcast eyes. "You've already done that, haven't you? And I bet you're not the only one. Well, cut it out, all of you."

"What's the big deal?" someone asked. "Haven't we been filming everything anyway? What's that for if we can't tell the story?"

"My granddaughter is . . . she's going to . . . that is," Edna stammered. She glared at Cecily. "What do you plan to do with that video?"

Cecily shrank behind her mother, who pushed her in front of the crowd. "Tell them," Susan said.

"Okay, here's the thing," Cecily said, "I wouldn't think of using your faces without getting permission, and putting you all in the credits." She paused and scuffed her toe against the floor. "But, yeah, I was going make a movie. A short one. For an independent film festival."

For a moment there was silence, then squeals of delight and excited questions as to who might get speaking parts. Scott closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Edna shouted, "Go, girl, go!"

Susan put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. "Excuse me, but has everyone gone completely mad? How are we going to explain the special effects? And won't the investigators get a little suspicious when they see Cotton Cabinet explode because of monsters instead of a gas leak?"

"Mom," Cecily said, "I won't use the footage the way it is. I might use a little bit here and there, but mostly this will be inspiration." When Susan responded with a blank stare, Cecily sputtered, "Have you forgotten that award I won last term for my computer graphics? Just because I don't sew doesn't mean I'm not artistic! I'm going to use what I've shot here as a basis for my own computer-generated special effects."

"You can do that?" Susan asked.

"Yes, Mother, I can do that."

"Then that's the story we'll tell," Louise said. "Scott doesn't have to say a word." She leaned her broom against the wall. "Listen, we can make this work. What if we said that we spent all day working under Cecily's direction?"

Cecily stammered, "I don't mean to be rude, but are you setting me up?"

"Yes, dear, for a film project," Louise said. "We'll say that you planned to make a documentary about us. And that we all felt just terrible when you camera was destroyed, and decided to make it up to you."

"Right," Carolyn added. "And we talked about the horrible string of accidents, and the idea of a work of fiction instead of a documentary came to us."

Cecily said, "But you guys don't read science fiction. You read mysteries."

A murmur ran through the group. Carolyn clapped her hands. "Quiet down, everyone. Let's have a show of hands. How many of you read mysteries, and only mysteries. Never anything else." Two hands went up.

Carolyn nodded and said, "That's about what I thought. Okay, how many have ever read science fiction?"

Now four hands went up.

"I figured on that, too. Just for the record, I do read science fiction. More than mysteries. Okay, last question. How many have been dragged kicking and screaming to a sci fi movie because a husband or child wanted to see it?"

Almost every hand went up. A giggle skipped through the room.

"So there we have it," Carolyn said. "Cecily is making a science fiction movie, starring quilters, to make up for all the other movies we've had to endure. We spent yesterday making props for the climactic scene, then filming it. And the idea for the plot came to her after Linda got hurt and the Cotton Cabinet burned down."

"Don't forget Gary's accident," Margaret said.

"Even better," Louise replied. "He wants to be an actor. This will be the role of a lifetime."

"A bit part in a no-budget student film?" Cecily asked.

"No," Louise said, "the part of point man, keeping the real story secret."

"Now wait a minute," Edna objected, "why should we bother keeping this a secret? I've had more fun in the last couple of days than I've had in years. Aside from that, some people have already fast-fingered the e-mail. I say, let's just see what happens. There's a difference between trying to keep something secret and letting the truth hide in plain sight."

Susan noticed Gary in the hallway. Edna's comment about truth in plain sight echoed in her mind, and she left the circle of women arguing about the cover story. Gary's eyes never left her face as she crossed the show room to his side.

"So, do you think it would work?" she asked.

Gary blushed, then stammered, "Yeah, I could do that."

"It might be a big adjustment," Susan said, leaning against the wall close to him. "You're life could change overnight. Are you up for that?"

"Are we still talking about the movie?" Gary asked. He dropped his gaze, then raised his eyes to hers. He leaned into her, inhaling the scent of smoke and lavender from her hair.

Now Susan blushed. "I'm not sure. You've been marvelous these last few days."

"You've been marvelous from the moment I saw you." He brushed her cheek with his finger.

"I'm a lot older than you."

"Not a day over twenty."

Susan lifted her face. A smile spread on her parted lips. "I'm older than I look."

"So am I," Gary said. He put his arms around her waist. "I doubt there's more than nine years between us. And after today, what's an extra birthday or two?"

"Or nine," Susan said, resting her hands on his chest. "I have kids, a store, history. You have a career ahead of you, a future."

He kissed her forehead. "A few hours ago, we didn't know if anyone on the planet would have a future. Your history and my future could be the stuff of legends."

"Or another of Cecily's movies." She moved her hands to his face and drew him down to her. "I have no idea what I'm doing," she said, and kissed him.

"Neither do I," he said, holding her close and nuzzling her. "Exciting, isn't it?"

***

Women clustered in front of Quilting Parade, waiting for the door to open. The morning breeze, comfortably cool, promised a lovely fall day.

Margaret scanned the crowd. "I can't believe this is really happening," she said, shaking her head.

Louise never raised her eyes from the stack of fabrics she was cutting into ten-inch squares. "Margaret, you've been saying that for over a year now. Stop."

Carolyn called from the hall, "Margaret, get a grip!" She trotted into the showroom two steps after Susan.

"Now it's your turn to get a grip," Susan growled. "My scarf is fine, let it alone." She batted Carolyn's hand.

"No, it's your jacket," Carolyn said, snatching threads off the back of Susan's silk blazer. "There are schnibbles."

"Leave them," Susan demanded. "I own a quilt store. Being covered in thread and fabric snippets comes with the territory."

"Where are the kids?" Louise asked, still cutting ten-inch squares.

"Cecily is trying to decide between the orange ribbon and the yellow ribbon for her hair, Kyle is telling her she doesn't need a ribbon since her hair is now bright blue, and that's all anyone will notice," Susan said.

"What about Gary?" Margaret asked, her expression holding more curiosity than the question might deserve.

"Gary is trying not to fall over laughing," Susan said. She wagged her finger at Margaret. "And don't think I don't know you're just trying to get some juicy details out of me."

"The squares are ready," Louise said. "Where are the plastic bags?"

"In the middle drawer, right in front of you," Susan said. "Don't worry about getting more kits made up. I'm sure we have plenty."

"And I'm sure you don't," Carolyn said. "Those crazy quilt kits have been flying out of my store. Now that Cecily's movie won first prize at the independent film festival, I'll bet you dollars to donuts you won't be able to keep up with demand for weeks."

"I still can't believe this is happening," Margaret repeated. She winced as everyone shot her a stern look. "Fine, I've said that once too often, but think about it. Who would have guessed last year, when we were cleaning up after the fabric monsters, that we would be famous."

"Gary is famous," Louise corrected, "and Cecily and Kyle will be famous soon. We are not famous."

"Well, maybe we're not famous, but we're well-known in select circles," Margaret said. She turned to Susan. "And you are by association. What was it like, going to the opening of the play he was in last month?"

"Wonderful, actually." Susan's eyes glowed. "The whole year has been wonderful. I never thought a romance with a younger man could be so - "

"Never mind," Carolyn said. "That's bordering on too much information. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for you, but there's only so much I really want to know."

Susan caught the glance between Margaret and Louise. She smoothed her jacket. "Louise and Margaret might not mind."

"Gossip on your own time," Carolyn said, pointing to her watch. "We have to open the doors now."

"Time is something I don't have," Susan said. "Ever plan a wedding for your own mother? I don't what was more surreal, fighting the aliens or walking Edna down the aisle."

Margaret and Louise said in unison, "But what about your wedding?"

Susan gathered the quilt kits from the cutting table. "Let's get Scott and my mother settled, then Gary and I will think about our own future."

Carolyn said, "If you want to have a future, you need to open that door before they break it down."

"Yes," Susan said, waving at the crowd. "In case I haven't said it recently, thanks for helping me out like this."

"Like I would miss a chance to see Cecily, Kyle and Gary autograph flyers from the film festival with their pictures on them," Margaret said.

"Oh, don't forget to get the DVDs out," Carolyn said as she threw open the door and swept her arm in a grand arc, ushering the throng into the store.

Susan smiled, welcomed them all, and pointed out the basket filled with kits for the crazy quilt. She also indicated the table where Margaret was standing with fabric pens for customers to sign muslin squares for Edna and Scott's wedding quilt.

Louise led Cecily and Kyle into the show room. Cecily blushed to see all the women with mementos of the film festival. Kyle smiled, took Cecily by the arm and brought her to the cutting table. A line formed for Cecily and Kyle's autograph.

Gary stood beside Louise. "Shouldn't you get over there, too?" she asked. "They'll want your autograph as well."

"In a moment." He watched the flow of people. "I want to savor the noise. I always dreamed that one day I'd be part of something like this."

"Like what?" Louise asked.

"Being in a movie that people like, and everyone loves your character, and it's all fun."

"Is that your way of saying you've forgiven us for not telling you the whole truth about that box?"

He laughed. "I forgave you that day in the hospital."

"And Carolyn and Margaret?"

"Them, too." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Besides, even if I were the kind to hold grudges, look at how my life turned out. I'm an actor. I'm in love with a beautiful woman who adores me. None of that would have happened if you hadn't sent me off with the fabric monsters."

Cecily called to Gary and waved him over to the cutting table. "Time to go to work," he chuckled, taking a ball-point pen from his pocket.

"You were right," Carolyn said as Louise approached her.

"Yes, I know, that silk jacket looks fabulous on Susan. The tweed just made her look dowdy."

"No, I mean about closing our shop for the day to help out over here. This is great. I'm actually enjoying myself, even if I am helping to sell someone else's merchandise."

"We'll make it up next week."

"Of course we will," Margaret said.

Carolyn whirled around. "Weren't you helping Cecily?" she asked.

"Susan is doing that now. Sorry to sneak up on you. Oh, and remember that Stan volunteered to help."

"Yes, he did," Carolyn admitted, "but let's keep him on the cash register. If we have him cutting fabric, he'll want to measure it in meters."

"Very true," Margaret said. "Oh, look, here comes Linda."

Clutching a large tote bag to her chest, Linda dashed over and said, "Look at what I just finished." She pulled a folded, bound quilt from the tote bag. The backing fabric had stars and planets on it. A six-inch flying saucer was appliqued in the corner.

"Oh, no," Margaret laughed. "Not another quilt about the aliens. And using a flying saucer for your label!"

"You never used to document your work," Louise said. "I remember Susan used to put a label on for you, because you were too modest to do it yourself."

Linda gave them a sly grin. "Yes, I am a changed woman. This proves it." She shook open the quilt, revealing a large star in glittering gold, beige and cream silk appliqued on black cotton. The star tips featured a small diamond-shaped patch of bright red fabric. Couched down around the edge of the star, and meandering across some of the background, was a narrow, sheer ribbon embellished with beads.

Margaret stared. "Honey, it's beautiful, but I don't get it."

Linda folded her treasure. "The most frightening experience of my life wasn't getting slashed by that alien, it was getting up every morning and going out my front door. You know the first thing that came to my mind when I saw my own blood all over that beige fabric? I was worried that Susan would be angry with me! So, this star, with the blood at the tips, is to remind me that nothing the world holds can scare me any more."

"Well, good for you, but never challenge worst," Carolyn said. "Look over there. I think Susan needs to be rescued from that gaggle of fans."

While Louise and Linda rescued Susan, Amy and Valerie arrived. They waved at Gary and Kyle, gave Cecily a hug, and came over to Margaret and Carolyn.

"Was that Linda I saw holding another space invader quilt?" Valerie asked. "You heard that the first one she made won judges choice at the Houston show, didn't you?"

"I heard you have some exciting news of your own," Carolyn said. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thanks," Valerie said. "After everything that happened, I was afraid my career was over. Too many unanswered questions about the fire in The Cotton Cabinet, and too many rumors about what really happened here at Quilting Parade. Luckily, some of the brass started taking an interest in me when my name kept popping up with Captain Randolph. There are a lot of people who think he's the best cop this town ever saw."

"That's wonderful," Margaret said, "but I hope it doesn't mean we won't be seeing as much of you at the quilt shops."

"Oh, I'll always make time for quilting. I couldn't have gone this far without all of you, after all."

"Amy, what's the news on your store?" Margaret asked.

"Good, for once. In fact, I just had a meeting with the insurance guys and the city redevelopment guys and everyone else with a finger in that pie. Construction should begin in a few weeks on a new retail center, and my shop will be part of it."

Susan, Linda and Louise joined the group. "Did I hear you say you'll be open for business soon?" Susan asked.

"Sometime in the spring, I hope," Amy said. "It will be nice to get back to the quilt business. I'm grateful to Gary for getting me that job at the martial arts studio, but I'm a little too old to be throwing people around. Or, more to the point, to get myself thrown around by my students."

"You have lost fifteen pounds," Louise reminded Amy.

"Which is why I'm going to continue teaching," she laughed, "but I'm thinking of sticking with the little kids."

A cool breeze swirled around the women. More customers arrived, greeting Cecily and the other quilters. The noise level rose and fell as groups formed around one display of fabric or another. Susan noted that the stack of crazy quilt kits was half the size it had been when the doors first opened.

"You were right, I should have made more kits," Susan said to Carolyn.

"We've got more fabric already cut," Linda said, "and the instructions are folded in zippered plastic bags. Everything is in a box in the storage room."

"When did this happen?" Susan asked.

"A couple of days ago," Linda said. "I knew you wouldn't make up enough, so Li-Ming and I made some extras."

"What are we waiting for?" Louise said. "Come on, Margaret, you and I can fill those bags in no time. Linda, why don't you show Cecily, Kyle and Gary your new quilt? It looks like there's a lull over there, and I know they'd like to see it."

"Wait for me," Amy said. "I haven't had a chance to congratulate them."

When they left, Carolyn smiled at Susan. "I hate to sound like Margaret, but who would have thought we would be in the movies?"

"We had pretty small parts."

"Even so."

"And she changed a lot of the actual events."

"Would you really have wanted the whole truth out there for everyone to see?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "That's what Edna says." She thought of Gary, and blushed to imagine her own daughter directing her in a love scene, no matter how chaste. "You're right, of course. We're quilters, not actresses." Susan took Carolyn's arm and led her away from the crowd. "But there is one thing. What do you think about that title she chose?"

"The title?" Carolyn asked. "What's wrong with the title?"

Susan glanced at the knot of people around Cecily. "It's the only thing I don't like."

"Susan," Carolyn said, shaking her head, "keep in mind this is an independent film. Everything about it is supposed to be cutting edge. Or weird."

Susan wrinkled her nose. "I suppose so, but Fibers From the Edge of Space just sounds silly."

"So, what would you have called it?"

"Death by Chenille, of course."

###

About the authors

Ann Anastasio and Lani Longshore entertain as Broken Dishes Repertory Theatre. They have written more than a dozen one-act musical comedies about quilts and the women who make them. Ann is a member of SAQA, Studio Art Quilt Associates. Lani is a founding member of the California Writers Club Tri-Valley Branch.

Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BrokenDishes

Broken Dishes - http://www.brokendishesrepertorytheatre.com/

Lani Longshore's blog - http://lanilongshore.wordpress.com/

