Left Holding the Bag

by Carol Dean Jones

  “We do,” Sarah responded. “Now, tell me about your date with Andy.”

  Bernice smiled. “We had a really nice time. We went to that new southwestern restaurant, La Bonita Café.”

  “And was it?”

  “Was it what?” Bernice responded, looking confused.

  “Cute. Doesn’t bonita mean cute?”

  Bernice chuckled. “Well, it was small and had intimate seating and flowers on the tables and curtains on the windows. Yes, I’d say it was cute,” she added with a faint giggle which made Sarah smile.

  “You had fun, I take it.”

  “I did. You are right about Andy. He’s fun to be with and ever so kind and thoughtful.”

  “Did you ask about his wife?”

  “No, in fact, I suggested we both leave our pasts for later. Actually, I didn’t want to explain about Darius just yet. We just relaxed and had a good time.”

  Smiling, Sarah said, “I’m glad you decided to give it a try.”

  “Me too.”

  The two women drove in silence for a while when Bernice suddenly said she was desperate for a cup of coffee. “Do we have time to stop?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Sarah responded. “I’d like a bite to eat as well. I didn’t have time to grab anything this morning.” She pulled into a truck stop where she and Charles often stopped for coffee and the best pie in town. They took a table near the front and they both ordered coffee and a light breakfast.

  “We haven’t talked much about our elicit investigation,” Bernice said after they had been served. “When do you think we’ll get started?”

  “I was hoping Charles would bring good news home from his contacts in the police department, but so far there’s been no progress. Charles has been balking about us getting involved at all, but I figured we’d talk about it once the quilt show presentation was behind us.”

  Bernice responded excitedly. “I’m eager to get together to discuss a few ideas I’ve had.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, I think we’ve all agreed that the best way to clear Darius’ name is to find out who killed the Waterford girl, right?”

  “Right,” Sarah agreed.

  “So I’ve been wondering if the girl might have said something to her friends that could help us. She might have confided something that could turn out to be a lead of some sort,” she added hesitantly. “I’ve never done anything like this before, but I was just thinking…or do you suppose the police have already checked that out?”

  “Hmm. Interesting thought. I’ll ask Charles if that’s already been done. If not, maybe we could find out who they are and talk to them ourselves. That’s a good idea, Bernice.”

  “But I don’t know how we’d find out who her friends were…”

  “She was a senior in high school. Caitlyn might be able to help us,” Sarah suggested. “They didn’t go to the same school, but I know the schools get together for games and dances. They could have some mutual friends.”

  “Good idea,” Bernice beamed.

  For the next half hour, the two women sipped coffee and tossed around ideas about how they might learn more about the young girl’s life. Suddenly Bernice jumped up and cried, “The quilt show! We’re late!” Both women left money on the table without waiting for the check and hurried out to the car.

  Sarah headed up the road several miles an hour over the speed limit. “I think we’re okay,” she said as she pulled into the fast lane. “I don’t believe that it’ll take us long to set up the booth,” and as it turned out, they had nothing to worry about.

  The security guard who checked their passes directed them to Bernice’s booth near the front door, and as they approached, they both stopped and gasped. “Delores!” Bernice cried. “It’s fantastic!”

  Delores, with a Cheshire cat grin on her face, was standing next to the booth which she had decorated with a feedsack quilt spread across the table and another displayed in the middle of the large corkboard that provided a backdrop for the entire booth. Delores had then used corkboard hooks to hang items her grandmother had made using feedsacks: aprons, dishtowels, a petticoat, a child’s bloomers, an adult’s dress, and a pieced tablecloth. In the center of the table sat a large rabbit made from feedsack fabrics in the design of a crazy quilt.

  Delores had brought a dozen or so flat baskets for the table and had 3x5” note cards for labeling the sizes and prices. “You will have to fill out the cards,” Delores called to the speechless Bernice. “And then you can slide them into these holders.” She pointed to a pile of small plastic stands for the cards.

  “Delores, I’m speechless,” Bernice exclaimed. “This is fantastic. I never pictured it looking this professional.”

  “Let’s take lots of pictures,” Sarah said, pulling out her smartphone.

  “Get some with customers too,” Bernice added. She wasn’t sure how she would do it, but she’d had so much fun with this project that she was hoping to find a way to continue it. It had brought excitement and creativity to her life.

  Not long after the show opened, her booth was surrounded by customers asking questions about the feedsacks. The older women were reminiscing about the memories the fabrics were triggering. Instead of answering questions in detail, Sarah passed out flyers for the presentation and directed people to the sign-up table, encouraging everyone to come hear about them.

  When Sophie and Norman arrived just before the presentation, Sarah sent Norman back out to the car to bring in the boxes of extra packets. “They’re going pretty fast, and we haven’t even had the presentation yet,” she said.

  It was nearly time for them to head over to the classroom when Bernice suddenly gasped. “We forgot something,” she announced.

  “What?” Sarah asked.

  “We need someone to stay here at the booth during the presentation.”

  “But we’re all on the stage.”

  “We could just close the booth I suppose,” Bernice suggested, but Delores frowned.

  “Security can be a problem at quilt shows,” she said. “Not everyone here is a quilter, and our items are valuable, especially these vintage quilts and clothing. I’ll stay behind.”

  “But we need you at the presentation,” Bernice responded, “so you can explain how these fabrics were used.”

  “We’ve talked about this enough, Bernice. You and Sarah know all there is to know, and my sister will be in the front row. I’ll tell her to take over for me.”

  Sarah and Bernice sighed almost in unison. “I guess that’s what we’ll have to do.” Delores reached under the table skirt and pulled out the box of clothing she’d set aside for the presentation. Bernice carried the box, and the two women hurried to the classroom, both disappointed that Delores wouldn’t be with them.

  A few minutes later, Delores saw Norman heading toward the table. “Get over to the presentation,” he announced as he reached the table somewhat breathlessly. “They’re saving you a seat on the stage.”

  “I don’t understand,” she replied.

  “I’m taking over here,” he said. “Get moving. They need you.”

  Delores laughed and replied, “Well, I doubt that they really need me, but I’m glad I can be there. Thanks for doing this, Norman.” She spent a few seconds emphasizing the importance of keeping the booth secure, but he had apparently been briefed already.

  “I’ve heard some of the horror stories about quilts being lifted from shows, and I’ve seen the same thing in my business. Rest assured that I’ll guard the booth well. Now get over there. They’ve already started the presentation.”

  “…and that’s the history,” Bernice was saying about a half hour later. “And now I’d like to introduce Delores. She has provided all of these examples of items made in the early 20th century using feedsacks.”

  Delores stood and spent another twenty minutes showing completed feedsack articles and referring participants to Bernice’s booth to see more. “Feel free to come up and look more closely. Touching is okay
here, but, as you know, not out in the quilt show.”

  Some of the women came up to get a closer look, while others chose the time to ask questions of Bernice. Several people had stories to tell about their own experience with feedsacks and were encouraged to share their stories with the group.

  The presentation was such a success that the participants had to be rushed out to allow the next class to come in. “If anyone is interested,” Bernice called out above the noise, “just follow us back to my booth. There’s more clothing and quilts there to see and plenty of feedsack fabric in case you’re interested in making something.”

  To their surprise, at least half the room followed them to the booth. Norman’s eyes grew as large as saucers when he realized the approaching crowd was headed straight for him.

  Chapter 12

  “So the show is behind you,” Charles was saying at breakfast. “What next?”

  “I’m going to work on the feedsack quilt today. I have most of my four-patches done, and I’m going to try to get it put together before our next quilt club meeting. Christina and Kimberly are holding a space for me.”

  “Holding a space?” Charles repeated, not sure what that meant.

  “In their long-arm quilting schedule,” she clarified. “They are going to take my quilt next if I can get it to them by Tuesday.” Sarah still hadn’t told Charles about her conversation with Bernice, but she intended to talk with him later that day.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said in an intriguing tone.

  “You have?”

  “Didn’t you notice the guest room door was closed when you came in last night?”

  She had noticed, and she had smelled the wallpaper paste, but she had chosen to let Charles have the joy of presenting his surprise. “The guest room?” she responded innocently. “As tired as I was when I got home last night, I just had my mind on sleep.”

  “Come on back,” he said. Once they were in the hall that accessed the bedrooms, he opened the door with a flair and a broad grin.

  “Oh Charles, you got the wallpaper up. It looks fantastic. Even better than I had imagined.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy with it,” her husband replied looking quite satisfied with himself.

  “How did you get all this done in one day? I thought it would take much longer.” She gave him a hug and was glad she hadn’t mentioned the paste smell the night before.

  “I had lots of help.”

  “Lots of help?” She knew Jason had offered, but she couldn’t imagine that his help would ever be described as ‘lots of help.’ Her son tended to prefer supervisory roles.

  “Well, you knew Jason was helping, right?”

  “Yes, and I’m glad he did.”

  “Andy heard about it from someone, maybe Caitlyn.” He went on to explain that Caitlyn had stopped by to pick up Barney. She was meeting Penny, Sophie’s granddaughter, at the dog park. “I told her it was a secret, but I guess she thought it was okay to tell her dad. Anyway, Andy showed up in the early afternoon and was a great help. That man’s a real dynamo.”

  “Well, you had quite a crew in here, and it looks fantastic. How about a celebratory dinner at the steak house tonight, my treat?”

  “It would be my pleasure to accept your kind invitation, my dear lady,” he responded with a deep bow. “Now I have a question for you.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, still walking around admiring the room.

  “What’s going on with your new friend and Andy?”

  * * *

  When Bernice answered the phone, she was surprised to hear Charles’ voice. Having seen the name ‘Parker’ on the display, she assumed it was Sarah.

  “Charles,” she responded with surprise. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been wondering about something,” he began. “Why didn’t your credit card companies contact you when these unusual charges started appearing on your bill? I was under the impression they keep an eye out for things like that.”

  “That’s my fault, Charles,” she responded. “I asked the investigator that very question, and he told me that they tried, but my telephone had been disconnected. I had neglected to notify them that I had moved. It just wasn’t high on my priorities because I knew I didn’t owe anything. I intended to let them know once I got settled, but it slipped my mind.”

  “They should have mailed something then.”

  “They said they did, but it never got forwarded here.”

  “Well, I guess that explains it,” Charles responded reluctantly. “I’d like to think they try harder than that.”

  “One other thing,” Bernice said. “The investigator told me that when they saw that a ticket to Central America had been charged to the card, they figured I was traveling, and that explained the charges being made down there.”

  “Someone charged a ticket to your card?” Charles responded with surprise. “I wonder if Detective Halifax knows that.”

  “He must. They’ve been working with the credit card companies,” Bernice replied, “but should I call him about this?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Charles responded. “They probably have a different department investigating the credit card problem, and it’s just possible that the right hand hasn’t talked to the left one. I’ll straighten it out. This just might be very useful information.”

  They hung up, and Charles immediately dialed Matt’s private number. “I think I know where Darius is,” he said when the lieutenant answered.

  “Where?”

  Charles told Matt about his phone call to Bernice and the fact that there was an airline ticket that had been charged to her account. “That’s where you can find Darius Mitchell.”

  “Yeah, we know about that Charlie. We’ve been looking at the credit card charges. I’ve been in touch with Guatemala, but they were no help. We’ve confirmed that no one flew on that plane by the name of Darius Mitchell or even fitting his description. The ticket was purchased with fake ID and a fake passport in the name of Ralph Turner who turned out to be a ninety-eight-year-old man in a nursing home who can’t prove who he is because someone has stolen his social security card and his benefits are being paid to a phantom person in Jamaica. It’s a mess Charlie, but it doesn’t get us any closer to the Waterford girl’s killer.”

  “Have you given any thought to my suggestion about someone on the Capello campaign?” Charles asked.

  “Have you given any thought to my suggestion that you stay out of this investigation?” Matt retorted angrily.

  Charles frowned as he attempted to formulate a response that wasn’t too disrespectful when abruptly Matt apologized. “Sorry, Charlie. I’m just a little on edge. The captain has been on me about this case because of the politics and all. But to answer your question, we’ve bounced the idea around, and we feel it’s pretty unlikely. Waterford is a popular politician, but he’s local. This is small time politics – nothing that would justify murder for hire or the mob.”

  “But,” Charles began but was interrupted before he could finish.

  “Come on, Charlie. You know it was the kid. Just leave the investigating to Halifax. Hal’s a good man. He can handle it.”

  Charles hung up feeling discouraged and thinking that Matt just might be right about him staying out of the investigation. Why is it I can’t seem to act retired like everyone else? As he thought back over the times he’d become involved, he realized in just about every case he was trying to help his wife who was looking out for a friend. And that’s exactly what’s happening this time.

  * * *

  By the time he got home, Charles had resolved to leave the Courtney Waterford-Darius Mitchell issue to the police department and young Detective Halifax.

  As he walked into the house, he was surprised by the delicious aroma of one of his favorite meals, roast leg of lamb. “What’s the occasion?” he asked Sarah as he kissed her cheek.

  “Dinner guests,” she responded with a warm smile.

  “Oh yes, I gues
s it slipped my mind,” Charles replied with frown lines indicating he was struggling to remember.

  Sarah laughed, “You didn’t know about this,” she responded. “It was very last minute.”

  Relieved that he wasn’t losing it, he asked, “Who's coming?”

  “Two couples,” she answered with a mischievous grin. “Sophie with Norman and Bernice with Andy.”

  “Bernice and Andy! Ah, I finally get confirmation of my suspicions. What brought this on?”

  Sarah told her about how Bernice and Andy had met and about Bernice’s reluctance to go out with him. “They’ve had a couple of dates, and they’ve gone well. Sophie and I just thought it would be good for them to spend an evening with other couples, just to see how nice it can be.”

  “Matchmaking!” Charles responded. “Never a good idea.”

  “We didn’t do the matching, Charles. They found each other. We’re just facilitating.”

  “Match-facilitating,” he responded. “Just as bad.”

  “There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” Sarah said as she dried her hands and slipped the rice pilaf into the warming oven with the roasted vegetables.

  “And what would that be?” he asked, opening a bottle of Bordeaux and setting it aside to breathe.

  “What would you think of me doing a little volunteer work?”

  “I think that would be just fine. Whatever you want to do is always fine with me. What are you thinking of?”

  “Oh, I’ve been thinking about taking a look at Joe Capello’s campaign. I understand they’re looking for volunteers.”

  “Capello?” Charles exclaimed. “That guy doesn’t espouse anything you believe in, Sarah. Why would you want to do this?”

  “Because I’m a good listener.”

  Charles thought about that for a minute and suddenly realized what she was saying. “You’re thinking of spying on the guy? Sarah, I can’t let you do that.”

  “Excuse me?” she bristled.

  “Okay, sorry,” he quickly responded, realizing what he had said. “Of course you’re free to do whatever you want, but this could be very dangerous. What if you discover he’s guilty? That would place you in harm’s way.”