Monica Ferris_Needlecraft Mysteries_02 by Framed in Lace

began Malloy, thinking his way slowly through the question, “so that you can tell who did it? I mean, could you identify a person just by looking at the lace they make?”
    Alice nodded. “Sometimes. There are different skill levels, so if someone showed me a sample and said did this person or that person make this, and one was a beginner and the other one was experienced, that would be easy.”
    Patricia nodded. “Yes, that’s true of all needlework.”
    Malloy said, “What if they were both experienced?”
    â€œThen it would be impossible,” said Patricia.
    But Alice said, “Maybe not. Some people make up a pattern, or have a signature way of doing it, and if you’ve seen it, you can recognize it if you see it again. And some people just have a way with lace, so if you see something really well done, you might think she did it.”
    Malloy said, “Do you think this is a signature pattern?”
    Alice frowned massively at him and said, “It was all I could do to say it was bobbin lace. I can’t even tell what the pattern is, much less who might have done it.”
    Patricia added, “And even if she could figure out the pattern, what would that do? This skeleton you’re investigating isn’t a local person, so what good would it do to identify the pattern?”
    Malloy said, “Because there may be a husband or a daughter somewhere who still wonders what happened to their wife or mother. We’ve already gotten inquiries from other law enforcement agencies about the find. We’ll pass along any clues we get to the identity.”
    There was a little silence as this sank in, that there were people who had wondered sadly for fifty years what had become of their sister or mother.
    â€œHold on a minute,” Alice said in a much kinder voice. “It may be possible to recreate the pattern of this lace. It will take time, but I think I can do it.”
    Patricia said, “Anything I can do to help, Alice, just ask.”
    â€œThank you,” said Alice, and Betsy knew suddenly how rarely Alice had felt important in this group.
    Betsy asked, “Are you making any progress in identifying the skeleton?”
    â€œNot much. The problem is, there weren’t many clues aboard the boat, no shoes or clothing or a purse with a wallet, any of which would have been helpful. All we have are the bones and that piece of fabric—which might not even belong to the bones.”
    Betsy said, “There’s a police artist in California who can put a face back on a skull. Perhaps you should contact him.”
    Malloy smiled. “Minnesota has an artist who can do that, too. Kerrie is, in fact, working on that task already.”
    Alice said, “What do you mean, put a face back on?”
    Malloy said, “It’s something that’s been around for awhile now. She takes measurements and covers the bones with clay according to the numbers, and there’s the dead person looking back at you. We’ve broken more than one case by showing a photograph of Kerrie’s work around. It’s a science, the way these artists go about this.”
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    Kerrie held a skull between her hands and stared at the face. Although it had been cleaned, it was still faintly green. It had belonged to a woman, one who had been badly used. Pieces of bone had been glued back in place, gaps here and there filled with clay.
    Who are you? Kerrie thought, directing it as a gentle question. Sometimes she got a strong feeling about the victim, once even a name, which turned out to be right. But nothing came this time.
    She went to a big wooden cabinet against the wall and got a clear plastic box—the one with the red rubber stubs in it. They looked like pencil erasers cut into various small lengths, which is what they were. She also took out a fresh box of Sculpey modeling clay, and a bottle of glue.
    As Malloy had said, there was a science to