“Where were you last night?”

Cali chose her answer carefully, slowly voicing the chosen line. “Well . . .” she began, pausing again to find the right wording. “Well, I was doing my sewing.” She looked across to the policemen who were clearly not pleased.

“What where you sewing?” asked the one with the twitching mustache.

That was easy. She could name ten kinds of sewing off the tip of her tongue. “My daughter’s quilt,” she replied calmly. The policemen looked at one another.

“Can we see it?” Mustache asked suspiciously.

It just so happened that Cali did have a quilt at home. She hesitated before speaking. “Would you like to see it . . . now?” The policemen obviously did not expect this answer, and they hastily answered, “No, no, you can keep it.” They turned around to the desk, tapping their pencils on their papers, mumbling to each other.

Cali was satisfied that the two wouldn’t ask her anymore questions. She pushed her chair back, squeaking it across the floor, and stood up. “Do you need me any longer?”

They both looked up at her. Whispers passed between them. “No,” said Mustache grudgingly. “You can go. Nice meeting you.”

Cali smiled back at them. She walked from the office, heels clicking. With her hand hidden from their view, she finally uncrossed her fingers.