Stitches in Time by Barbara Michaels

Author:Barbara Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins

When Rachel opened her door the next morning, Adam was gone, but she did not doubt he had spent the night outside her room, wrapped in a blanket or in some equally romantic and uncomfortable position. Knowing he was there had enabled her to sleep soundly, but she doubted he had. The cats would have been fascinated by this radical departure from human custom. If the hard floor had not kept Adam awake, their prowling must have.

He had fed the animals and let the dogs out. When Rachel entered the room, he was watching television, his eyes wide and staring. The face on the screen, in dreadful close-up, was that of a woman, her eyes wide and staring. “…there was this white light, and this voice, and it was, like, Welcome, and people were, like, singing.”

The picture changed to show the audience—eyes wide and staring.

“You’ll watch anything, won’t you?” Rachel inquired.

“Talk shows are almost as good as pseudo-science. A lot of them are about pseudo-science. Like,” he added with a grin, “these people all died and came back to life.”

“Anything to get on TV, I suppose.”

“They’re dead—you should excuse the pun—serious.” Adam sobered. “I shouldn’t make fun of them.”

“Especially in view of the fact that you—” The dogs began to bark. “Damn, is that Kara already?”

“Uh—I’m afraid it’s Pat. He said he’d be here at nine.”

She should have expected it, Rachel realized. He’d be on fire to see those snapshots. “Let him in,” she said shortly. “And don’t look so sheepish and apologetic!”

Pat didn’t bother with polite greetings. “Where are they?” he demanded, tossing his coat onto the sofa.

Adam indicated the table. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Hours ago. I’ll take some coffee, though.” Pat seated himself and grabbed the pile of photographs. As he sorted through them he let out exclamations of pleasure. “Great. Oh, yes. Perfect. Nice and clear. Now where…Aha! Come here, you two. Have a look at this.”

Adam took the photograph. “It’s a guy on a horse. A hunter? There’s a dog—”

Pat snatched it from him and passed it to Rachel. “It’s not a guy, you ignoramus. Unless he’s wearing very baggy pants. What do you say, Rachel?”

“I thought it was a man too,” Rachel admitted. “I didn’t examine the details closely. But I think you’re right, Pat. That’s a long skirt—a riding habit. The hat is a woman’s too. They wore those jaunty top hats at one period. Yes, of course it’s a woman. The sewer has even created the impression of a veil. What incredible workmanship! The thread is as fine as a single hair. The features are…”

Her voice caught. Pat said sharply, “What?”

“She’s blind,” Rachel whispered. “Look. Mouth, nose…and the crossed threads of the veil, with not even a French knot to indicate an eye.”

Pat snatched the photo from her. “Damned if you aren’t right.”

Adam shifted protestingly. “I don’t know anything about sewing, but it must be hard to show details as small as that. The whole face isn’t as big as my fingernail.”

“A valid point,” Pat muttered, squinting closely at the tiny face.

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