The rest of the afternoon went by uneventfully. A steady stream of customers, including a mom of a young boy who wanted books that taught him to be compassionate. I could have spent all afternoon recommending titles to her, but when she settled on The Quiltmaker’s Gift, one of my favorites, I was delighted. The illustrations alone made that book worth owning. But the story was sweet and generous, too. I thought her son would love it.
The Quiltmaker’s GiftAt exactly seven, Rocky and I turned off the lights and headed out the door. In the past few days, I’d developed the habit of double-checking the alarmed bar I’d had installed on the back door after Stevensmith’s murder, and tonight, I triple-checked it. I didn’t want anything – especially a break-in – to interrupt our dinner tonight. I t
