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quilt.”
    “And Opal is—” Naomi began.
    Edna interrupted her. “We’re going there, next. Bring your grid and come along, Naomi.”
    All three of us charged out of Batty About Quilts, past Buttons and Bows, and into Tell a Yarn. The walls of Opal’s shop were lined with diamond-shaped niches that Clay had constructed from light pine, the perfect background for Opal’s yarns.
    Lucy, Opal’s gray tabby with the Siamese voice, met us near the door. The cat’s welcoming speech outdid Opal’s. I picked Lucy up and cuddled her. The yowling stopped and the purring began.
    Edna’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Opal, show Willow the afghan you’re making!”
    Opal brought out the beginnings of a perfectly crocheted afghan in the same shades and grid that Naomi was using.
    Edna nearly danced in her excitement. “Opal’s afghan and Naomi’s quilt will match! They’re going to hang them in our booth at the Harvest Festival and raffle them for charity. Aren’t they wonderful?”
    I agreed that they were. “And you’re doing something similar in ribbons, buttons, and beads, Edna?”
    “Just ribbons and beads. A sofa pillow.”
    With a devilish grin, Opal teased her. “No one would rest on it. All those beads—ouch.”
    Edna looked shocked. “Of course not. It will be a work of art.” She winked. “But isn’t it an odd coincidence that Willow is working on candlewicking? Flames, candles…”
    “What’s Haylee making?” I asked. “A banner for our Harvest Festival booth that says ‘Fanning the Flames of Needlecraft’?”
    Lucy’s fur was softer against my cheek than Edna’s proposed pillow would be.
    Opal reached out and scratched Lucy’s chin. “There’s an idea.”
    Wrinkles appeared between Naomi’s eyebrows. “Flames and candles. Why does the fire siren go off every night?”
    “We’ve had such a dry summer,” Edna said. “It’s no wonder.”
    “But it’s very worrisome,” Naomi persisted. “Think of those wildfires in Texas last summer.”
    We tried to convince ourselves that it couldn’t happen in this part of Pennsylvania.
    Guessing that Opal, Edna, and Naomi would soon be having supper, I gave Lucy back to Opal, who cuddled and murmured to her. I ran back to my apartment.
    The dogs and I ate outside, then I played with embroidery software—there were always new things to learn—until nearly bedtime. I took the pups outside for their last exercise, which involved a lot of charging up and down the hill, ears and tails up, mouths open in tongue-lolling grins. Sally acted like she might grab my hand, but, in her gentle way, she didn’t let her teeth touch me. When I figured the dogs were tired enough to sleep, we all went inside to bed.
    My bedroom was tucked mostly into the hillside. I seldom heard street noises at night.
    But I couldn’t sleep through the sounds of tires squealing and people yelling.
    Sally-Forth and Tally-Ho set up a frenzy of barking.
    With that frightened, muzzy, heart-racing alert of being awakened from a deep sleep, I sat up, pushed my embroidered summer-weight duvet off, fiddled my feet into my slippers, threw on a robe, and rushed to the steps leadingup to the shop, the only part of my building that looked out on Lake Street. The dogs went with me. None of us made it upstairs quickly or efficiently.
    Without turning on lights, I ran to the big shop windows. No one was out there.
    Tires screeched again. A pickup truck roared up Lake Street from the beach. I couldn’t be certain of the truck’s main color because the streetlights weren’t bright enough, but the wide band around it was white, and I was fairly certain the rest of it was maroon. Russ Coddlefield’s truck? Barking, Sally and Tally stood up with their front paws on the glass door.
    I caught only a glance of the driver. Russ, I thought. He let out a yell. Passengers shouted with laughter. The truck bounced away.
    With any luck, those kids were on their way home and wouldn’t harm themselves