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didn’t seem odd to her that Brenda had attended work dressed as an elf, a Mrs. Claus and possibly the Easter Bunny.
    Today, Barb was decked out in happy homemaker attire, including a cute red-checked apron and a blouse with big puffy white sleeves. She also had a chef’s hat, albeit a short one, perched atop her straight gray hair.
    “I’m hoping to learn to sew a...” I stuttered to a halt.  I couldn’t think of a blessed item anyone would want to sew.
    “Of course! You’ll need to make baby outfits! And that baby will outgrow things as fast as you can sew them. Here, let me show you what I have in stock for beginners.”
    She was half right.  The baby would outgrow things.  She’d likely outgrow them before I could finish sewing the first item.
    Barb made certain to sell us some “easy” fabric to sew, matching thread, needles, pin cushions, pins, scissors, a cutting board, a baby bib pattern and, of course, a sewing machine.  Just before she rang it all up, I mentioned the serger.  This led to scrap fabric and huge spools that contained enough thread to sew right across the state of Colorado.  I hoped my mom could use some of this when the case was over.
    Mark carried the various items to the SUV and loaded each parcel carefully. As he slammed the door shut, he said, “This case might be too much of a challenge for you.  Every time she said the word ‘sew’ you looked ready to throw up.”
    “Nonsense.” I sniffed.  “This will be no more difficult than any of the others.”  They’d all been damned hard.  In fact, previous cases had nearly gotten me killed.  Surely, sewing couldn’t kill anyone.  Right???

Chapter 8
     
    Mark and I skipped the packed sandwiches I had prepared and shared an early dinner at Italy’s Canal before he dropped me off with all the new purchases.
    I sighed with longing as he pulled away.  My parents hadn’t returned from grandparenting yet, but they would soon enough.  Meanwhile, I had chores to do. Two of them, in the form of sewing machines.
    Huntington, along with his other sins, had given Brenda the idea that I intended to make a bumpo or something or other for the new baby. What the hell was a bumpo?  Or had he said bumper? Samantha couldn’t even crawl yet so bumping into things wasn’t a problem. Then again, by the time I learned to sew, she might be driving a car.  Maybe Huntington had been getting in an early dig about my lack of sewing ability.
    “Hmph. I know how to thread the regular machine at least.” Well, not without double-checking the instructions and piercing my thumb with the sharp needle, but success was still success. “You probably couldn’t have managed even that,” I said to the not-present Huntington while sucking on my thumb.
    Once the beginner machine was ready for actual sewing, I stared at the serger, the one Mom called a finishing machine.  “Start small. One thread at a time,” I muttered.
    Machines don’t scare me. I worked with them all day. I opened the panels and peered within the bowels of the great device that, according to the booklet, would make my creations “masterpieces” and “professionally finished.”
    There were more levers and notches than the inside of a computer. There were hooks and random color splotches and eyelets and sharp protrusions and tiny little numbers.  “Unbelievable.”  The only thing missing was a keyboard.  “How do you talk to this thing without a keyboard?”
    The booklet was a sales tool, not instructions, so I turned to the internet.
    Studying online manuals only made things worse. “Are you kidding me?” Threading the thing required all four spools of the thread Barb had sold me and quite possibly a PhD. “Why doesn’t the thing thread itself? It has a computer chip installed, right?”
    A little research revealed that Huntington had not purchased the very top-of-the-line equipment. No, this was a mid-range item that would not only not thread itself, it wouldn’t