Like Dulcie’s parents, Jolene’s were also gone. She’d lost her father first four years ago, then her mother passed away while she was still in college. There would be no answers coming from them.

Someone in this community knew though and as her gaze took in the vehicles parked outside the community center, Jolene told herself that this time someone in the Whitehorse Sewing Circle was going to tell her.

When Russell arrived in town, he’d made the acquaintance of Bridger and Laci Duvall. The two owned the Northern Lights restaurant and had recently had a baby boy.

Laci had been born and raised here so it was her Russell hoped to talk to when he pulled up in front of the restaurant.

He knew one of the Duvalls would be there cooking something for the supper crowd that evening and lucked out when he found Laci sliding a batch of her flourless chocolate cake into the oven.

“Russell,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I see you survived the wedding.”

“Barely,” he admitted. Three of his brothers had recently wed in a triple ceremony that wouldn’t soon be forgotten in Whitehorse. Laci and her husband had catered it.

“Only two Corbett bachelors left,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.

“Don’t start,” he warned playfully, then introduced her to Dulcie and told her what they needed.

“I know how people here are about their secrets, especially in Old Town Whitehorse.” Laci thought for a moment then smiled broadly. “I know just the person. Her name is Nina Mae Cross and you can find her at the rest home. I should warn you. She’s a little irascible.”

Jolene pushed open the door to the Whitehorse Community Center and stepped inside. It felt cooler in here in the large, dim, shadowy room. At the back, all of the quilters turned to see who had come in—just as they had last time.

Only this time, no one looked pleased to see her.

She walked to the back where they were gathered over the same small quilt they’d been working on the other day. She hadn’t paid much attention then, but she did remember the small squares of bright colors. Today the women seemed to be embroidering tiny flowers along the edge of the baby quilt.

“Did you change your mind about learning to quilt?” Pearl Cavanaugh asked, looking hopeful.

“No,” Jolene said. “I changed my mind about letting you get away without telling me about Laura Beaumont. I want to know what really happened to her daughter.”

The room was instantly, deathly quiet.

Pearl put down her needle and thread. There was a trembling in her hands as she reached for her cane. “I don’t believe you’ve ever seen our kitchen,” she said, pushing herself up.

Jolene stepped back to let her lead the way and followed, afraid at how unsteady Pearl seemed on her feet.