Price nodded politely. "Yes, ma'am. Looks like it."

Hardisty said, "Well, I think we're done here. Tell maintenance to trim those bushes. They're growing too close to the path."

"Yes, ma'am."

They turned and walked ahead of me back to their cars.

Price snarled, "Don't underestimate me, Barbara."

"I'll talk to them."

Price jumped into the jeep and drove away.

Barbara Hardisty pulled out her cell phone and climbed into her black Jaguar XJ. What was a civilian employee of the Army Corps of Engineers doing with an expensive luxury car? The jaguar would have cost her more than a year's salary.

Hardisty was getting money from somewhere and, apparently, Price wanted a piece of the action. Hardisty had pointed to Ed's house and warned something about "Anyone who gets in their way." So, who were "they," and who is it that she just called?

The sun was straight up overhead and the spindly buckwheat-a plant acclimated to drought conditions-gasped, nonetheless, for water in the merciless sun. Still mulling over what I'd just overheard, I headed back home toward the air-conditioning.

I poured myself a gla.s.s of ice water and called Simon Aiken. The phone went to voice mail. "Simon, this is Martha. Please call me as soon as you can. I just stumbled on some important information that'll help Ed's case."

Then I called Lucy's cell phone. I knew she'd be at St. Winifred's with Birdie, tying quilts for tomorrow. "How's it going today?"

"Coming right along. Word got out and fifteen women showed up today. Many of them brought packages of socks and other toiletries. We even got four more quilt tops to tie."

"Do you need more help?"

"Yeah. Could you bring Birdie and me some lunch? We both got so busy putting things together this morning, we forgot about food."

"Sure. I'll bring sandwiches and iced tea. Anyone else need to eat?"

Lucy turned away from the phone and yelled, "Anyone here want a sandwich?" Then she said, "Two more hands raised. Bring enough for four. No, make that five, just in case." I drove to the sub shop and got six foot-longs cut in half and three six-packs of bottled iced tea. As an afterthought, I threw in a dozen individual bags of chips. G.o.d forbid there shouldn't be enough food.

St. Winifred's was located on Ventura, not too far from my house in Encino. The architecture was conceived in the 1950s, with its roof thrusting out at sharp angles and lots of clerestory windows with orange-colored gla.s.s. Broad, no-nonsense steps led straight up to a wide set of gla.s.s front doors. A steel cross with pointed ends stood on the pinnacle of the roof.

The church let our guild use the parish hall for meetings and special activities, such as the project today. I drove to the parking lot in back, near the entrance. Even with arms full of plastic sacks, I managed to push the lock b.u.t.ton on my remote as I walked toward the building. The car gave a little chirp behind me. Luckily, someone inside saw me coming and opened the door.

Several folding banquet tables were set up around the room. At five of the tables, quilts were smoothed out and clipped to the edges to keep them from shifting. Teams of two or three women were st.i.tching ties into the quilts. The needles they used were long and heavy-duty, with large eyes to accommodate the heavier perle cotton thread. Perle cotton was a versatile thread used for many kinds of needlework, including decorative st.i.tching, like embroidery, or a special kind of large-st.i.tch quilting, sashiko. The heavier-weight single-ply yarn was a perfect choice for tying quilts.

Once the quilts were tied, the raw edges needed to be covered. Three sewing machines sat on three other tables. Women were attaching long strips of previously folded binding to the quilts to finish them off. A special attachment on the machine allowed the sewers to fold the binding over the edge and st.i.tch through both sides at once. It was a slow, stop-and-go process because the binding strips constantly needed to be adjusted around the edges of the quilt.

The room pulsed with animation as the women gossiped and laughed. A frustrated "Darn it!" came from one table as a quilter struggled with a stubborn sewing machine.

Someone hurried over to see what the problem was. "I think you've just got lint gumming up the works. Let's take the throat plate off, clean it with a brush, and put in a drop of oil. Then your machine should run more smoothly." Quilters not only engineered the design of their quilt tops, they were also required to be mechanics for their sewing machines.

At one end of the parish hall stood a raised stage, with navy blue velvet curtains. Birdie and Lucy spread out the food and drinks, using the edge of the proscenium as an improvised buffet. "Food's here!" shouted Lucy.

Several women broke away and made a beeline toward us. I was glad I brought the extra sandwiches and drinks.

After a quick bite, I washed the grease off my hands and joined my friends at a table with another Windmill quilt done in greens and unbleached muslin. Birdie had used low-loft polyester batting, so the ties could be five inches apart. We used green perle cotton thread and relied on the pattern of the block as a guide for the placement of the ties.

"I uncovered something really important this morning." I told them about sneaking up on Lawanda Price and listening to their conversation. "Someone is covering up something illegal between the Beaumont School and the Army Corps of Engineers. I think payoffs are involved. The thing is, if we can figure out what they're hiding, we might divert suspicion from Ed."

Birdie cut the ends of a tie. "How's that, dear?" "According to his attorney, Ed is close to being arrested and charged with murder. If we want to point the police and the DA in another direction, we need to make the case that someone else has a strong reason to kill Dax Martin."

"Well, what would the reason be?"

"Bribes. Barbara Hardisty may have been paid off for something, probably for approving the stadium in the first place, and Lawanda Price wants part of the action. What if Dax Martin was also receiving hush money to keep his mouth shut about illegal deals? What if he got too greedy and was killed?"

Lucy threaded another needle. "Who exactly would be making those payoffs?"

I told them about SFV a.s.sociates being awarded the contract to build the baseball stadium. "Jefferson Davis could be making payoffs to hide the fact he committed fraud to obtain and profit from the contract to develop the stadium. Or maybe someone else connected to the school wasn't about to let anything stand in the way of developing the fanciest, most expensive high-school baseball field in the nation. When it comes to prestige, some parents will do anything to make their kids look good."

Birdie finished tying a st.i.tch. "Can you prove any of this?"

"Not yet. We need to convince the DA to look at other suspects besides Ed. We're trying to keep him from being arrested. If Ed is charged with murder, then we've got to establish reasonable doubt. Remember the glove and the O.J. trial?"

By the end of the day, nine more quilts were finished. I cleaned up the remnants of the food as women folded up the banquet tables and metal chairs and placed them in the storage closet next to the stage. Someone found a push broom and swept all the cuttings and pins from the floor.

A man walked into the room, wearing eyegla.s.ses and a short-sleeved black cotton shirt with a clerical collar. He came over to where the three of us were gathering our things and smiled. "Nice job of cleaning up, Lucy. Thank you."

St. Winifred's was Lucy's home church, and she was quite friendly with the priest. "We're grateful to be able to use the hall, Father Joe."

"What are you going to do with all these quilts?"

"We're taking them tomorrow morning to the homeless people who live in the wildlife reserve, next to the 405 Freeway."

"Come to early ma.s.s. We'll say a special prayer for you and for the homeless."

Lucy smiled. "Thank you, Father. Ray and I'll be there."

Lucy's husband, Ray Mondello, was a man of deep faith. The two of them raised five sons in St. Winifred's. Ray always gave credit to the church for keeping the boys on the straight and narrow. I gave major credit to the couple for creating a strong circle of love and discipline, which guided their boys into manhood.

Father Joe helped us carry the nine finished quilts and donated toiletries to my car. I pressed the remote and the priest opened the door to the backseat. He turned to me with concern when he saw the dried blood smeared on the leather seat and on the carpet. "Should I ask?"

My eyes filled with tears as I remembered Arthur whining in pain. "I transported an injured dog to the vet a few days ago. I just haven't gotten around to having the blood cleaned properly."

Birdie came over and put an arm around my shoulder. "Why don't we put everything in the trunk, dear."

I thanked my friends profusely for all their help. "Tomorrow morning at my house, around ten?"

Lucy hugged me. "We'll be there."

Back at home, I made four trips to bring all nine quilts and the other donations into my sewing room for sorting later in the evening. As soon as I put the last armload down, my phone rang.

"So, faigele, tell me what's going on," said Uncle Isaac.

"I just got home with the last of the quilts to give away tomorrow. Sonia should be coming over soon to help me put everything together."

"I'm talking about you and Arlo. What's going on?"

"What makes you think anything's going on?"

"Vey iz mir! I always know when you're hiding something. Out with it. You'll feel better."

My uncle Isaac might have been in his eighties, but he was the sharpest pencil in the box. I couldn't hide anything from him, so I took a deep breath and plunged in, editing as I went along. I talked about discovering Dax Martin's body and looking for evidence to exonerate my neighbor Ed Pappas. I left out the part about Switch attacking me and injuring Beavers's dog.

"Arlo doesn't like you being such a kuchleffel?" My uncle used the Yiddish expression meaning "cooking spoon." It applies to a spoon stirring a pot-a meddler.

"Yeah, Uncle Isaac. Something like that."

"Why don't you stop, already?"

"Because an innocent man may go to jail."

"You don't trust Arlo to do his job right?"

How does he do it? How can my uncle zero in on the heart of my deepest issues in so few words?

"It's complicated."

"It doesn't have to be, faigele. Love and trust. They should be simple."

CHAPTER 23.

At six, Sonia arrived with several blankets in her arms. "I've got lots more where these came from, and I could use some help. Has Yossi called yet? Is he going to come over?"

Poor Sonia was besotted with Crusher. What if the two of them actually did get together? Wouldn't my Crusher problem be solved? I just hoped she didn't come on so strong that she drove him away. Judging from his reactions this morning, he already seemed uneasy with her keen attention.

"I haven't heard from him yet. I just got home. Why don't I help you carry everything over?"

"There's too much. I'll call The Eyes."

Sonia, referring to the neighborhood watch patrol, pulled out her cell phone. Ten minutes later, Ron Wilson, with his large belly and white crew cut, knocked on my door, followed by Tony DiArco, riding his scooter with the oxygen tank.

The four of us managed to carry thirty blankets and several large cartons of toiletries to my house. Tony made several trips with supplies in the basket of his scooter, using driveways as ramps to cross the street from Sonia's house to mine. His last load consisted of a giant pack of forty-eight rolls of toilet paper that was so large he had to lean over the side of his scooter to see where he was going. When the last package was transferred, I offered the guys each a gla.s.s of wine.

"Can't," Ron answered, shaking his head. "The wife's expecting me home for dinner. Thanks, anyway."

"My doc would kill me," Tony wheezed.

After they left, I poured Sonia and myself each a gla.s.s of Santa Margherita Chianti and ordered a delivery pizza. A long evening lay ahead of us: sorting and packing personal hygiene products into extra-extra-large zippered plastic bags.

We set up the toiletries in an a.s.sembly line on the kitchen counters and filled over fifty sacks. Then we added rolls of toilet paper and a pack of white athletic socks to each one. Finally we piled them in my living room, covering the furniture and the floor with packages for the homeless.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Sonia and I finished off the pizza at around eight-thirty. I hoped the activity over the last few hours had burned off enough calories for one last slice. She removed the clip from the back of her neck and let her hair flow in a brown cascade over her shoulders. (So what if she touched up the gray? I would, too, if I possessed hair like that.) The loose hair relaxed her features, and I once again saw what I briefly glimpsed a few months ago-a soft and attractive woman. I just wished she'd lose the green eye shadow.

"Thank you so much for all your help and hard work, Sonia. I really have to give you credit. You did a fabulous job of collecting all these donations in just two days."

She washed down the last bite of pizza with a sip of wine. "It's because of the Internet and social networking. I just went to our Yahoo group and posted an urgent message to all the neighbors. I also posted on Facebook and tweeted. People were incredibly generous."

Yes. And they can also be incredibly greedy. Greedy enough to blackmail and commit murder.

Sonia looked at the clock, disappointment tugging at her face. "I thought Yossi said he'd call tonight. I hope he remembers about tomorrow morning."

"You really seem to like him."

As long as Sonia had lived across the street from me, I'd never seen her with a man.

She smiled shyly. "Is it so obvious?"

Well, she couldn't be more obvious if she spray-painted red hearts on his white truck.

"I think he's got a clue."

"Do you think he likes me back? What should I do?"

What were we-in seventh grade?

"I think you should take it slow. Don't push too hard. When he realizes how great you are, he'll come around." I really hoped I sounded sincere. In truth, I had no idea what Crusher liked in a woman or why he'd fixated on me.

She headed home.

At around nine-thirty, the phone rang.

"Is she still there?" Crusher asked.

Oh, for the love of G.o.d.

"No."

"Good. She scares me."

"Why? Sonia's an attractive, single Jewish woman who cares about others and has a big heart."

"Yeah, but she's so intense."

"Intense is a good thing. I think you're man enough to handle intense."

Silence.

I'd struck a chord, so I went in for the kill. "Intense women make intense lovers."