Wild Goose Chase

by Terri Thayer

  “Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe she wasn’t happy about winning.

  “We only won because they felt sorry for us.”

  “Kym, the judges voted Thursday morning, before Claire and Justine …” I stumbled over my words. “Before any of the drama took place. We won fair and square.”

  “Wake up, Dewey. They gave us the prize because of your mother’s death. We would have won this year even if you’d decorated the booth.”

  “Hey!” There was no need to insult me.

  “Sorry, but it’s true.”

  I sighed. Kym and I would not turn into best friends overnight.

  “No big deal,” she said. “It just means I have to get started really early to win next year. I’m thinking a circus theme.”

  “Huh?” I stuttered.

  “Think of it. Clowns, bareback riders. I’ll be the ringleader. Oh wait, unless you want to. I could be a high-wire act.”

  Vangie came around the corner, dressed in sweats. Her hair was pulled into two thick braids with a Raiders cap perched on top. “I’m here to haul. What can I do?”

  “Do you have a lion tamer on speed dial?” I asked.

  Kym stopped her wild gesturing, her enthusiasm dying as I burst her bubble. I reminded myself that she acted a little nuts because she loved Quilter Paradiso.

  “We can talk about it,” I said.

  She shifted her attention to Vangie. “Get over here and help me take down the QP banner,” she demanded.

  I gave Vangie a quick squeeze on her upper arm as she passed me, and she smiled.

  Lark’s head appeared over a stack of boxes. “Anyone want to be on TV?”

  Kym looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Lark stepped around the half-filled hand truck and the large plastic bins of unsold fat quarters, trying to get closer to where I was putting the cash drawer and scanner away. I looked for the cameraman, but to my relief, Lark was alone.

  “I sure don’t,” I said. “Besides, no one wants to hear about murder on the home-decorating channel.”

  “Not about this weekend. I want to do a show on your shop,” she said.

  Kym’s eyes widened in surprise. I saw her start to say something, then bite back her jealousy. She was really trying. I took a deep breath. I had to start giving Kym more of what she needed from me.

  I stepped over to Kym, flinging an arm around her shoulder. She started, unable to keep the surprise off her face.

  “A show on Quilter Paradiso would be brilliant. I don’t want to be on camera, but I know someone who would be great,” I said, pointing at my sister-in-law.

  Lark looked from me to Kym. She shrugged. “You call the shots, girl. Just let me know when. Call me.”

  She walked away, making a phone sign, holding her thumb and pinky to her ear.

  “Does this mean you’re not selling Quilter Paradiso?” Kym asked warily, picking a piece of lint off my sweatshirt. I managed not to flinch this time.

  I didn’t answer right away, taking the Quilter Paradiso banner that my mother had sewn so long ago from Kym and folding it gently.

  On the way to the show this morning, I’d stopped at the store. Since today was Sunday, the shop didn’t open until eleven, so I was alone. I stood in the middle of the display floor, turning around, feeling the history—the exposed brick wall, the rows of wooden drawers left over from the hardware business, the loft that the first Dewey had stored grain in. But it was the more recent history that captured me. The bolts of colorful fabric. A hand-lettered sign pointing the way to the bathroom. A half-filled notebook in my mother’s handwriting with ideas for new classes. The quilts.

  Like a snake shedding its skin, there would soon be nothing left here that had my mother’s stamp on it. The fabric she’d ordered would all be gone. The Blocks of the Month finished. Her favorite patterns replaced with new ones.

  I’d been trying to hold on to my mother so tightly that I’d nearly lost her. I’d been willing to sell the shop, rather than be the catalyst, the one to move things forward. I couldn’t keep the store stagnant and still stay in business.

  Soon enough her presence would no longer be visible in the store; I would stick around at least until that happened.

  I rubbed my hand along the wooden countertop. Generations of Deweys had worked here and, for a moment, I felt their warm spirit in the wood. I wouldn’t be alone. I’d have help.

  Myra had been wrong. My mother loved her family, and she loved quilts. I needed to do whatever I could to stay connected to both.

  “So?” Kym insisted.

  Vangie watched our faces closely. This was her family, too, and a divorce would be too much for her to take.

  I looked into Kym’s eyes and nodded. “I’m not looking for a buyer anymore.”

  Kym’s face split in a wide grin. She grabbed my hand and let out a squeal. She didn’t care why I was keeping the shop. The only thing that mattered to her was that it stay in the family.

  “You’ll need to take some basic computer classes,” I said.

  Kym’s expression was agonized. Vangie stifled a chuckle. I gave her a look. With a wisdom beyond her years, she pulled Kym aside to pile more bolts on the hand truck, chattering about creating a QP line of original quilt patterns. I smiled at Vangie gratefully and was rewarded with a sweet smile from her.

  “You people got everything you need?” Eve was standing in the aisle.

  It was the same question Justine had asked four days ago. So much had changed since then. I couldn’t speak. My eyes filled with tears. All the loss.

  “Guess I’m not the only one who was up all night,” I said finally, looking at the bruised bags under her eyes.

  “Thanks to you. That alcove was a mess.” Her smile took the sting out of her words. “Not to worry, we got most of the quilts rehung by the time we opened this morning. Two or three had too much damage.”

  “Ouch. I didn’t mean to ruin your exhibit.”

  Eve held up a hand. “Hey, don’t apologize. You put an end to the killing, that’s what counts. Believe it or not, this was the biggest Sunday crowd we’ve had in years.”

  “So does that mean there will be an Eighteenth Annual Northern California Quilter’s Extravaganza? Same time, next year?” I suggested.

  Eve shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve worked out an installment plan to pay off the convention center, and if I finish as promised in six months, they might be willing to allow us back again next year. Don’t know why, now that they’ve seen how much trouble quilters can really be.”

  “That’s the truth,” I agreed.

  “I don’t know if I want to, without Justine.” Eve brushed a tear from her eye roughly. She clasped my hand with both of hers and looked into my eyes. She was wan, but I could see a spark of life returning to her.

  “Thank you, Dewey, for stopping Myra. It may be silly, but I feel like Justine will rest easier now.”

  I nodded and squeezed her hand.

  “Come to Reno and visit me sometime,” she said.

  “I’d like that.”

  “You hate Reno,” Kym put in, unable to resist correcting me.

  I shrugged. Maybe it was time I learned to gamble.

  Kym rolled her eyes. She took the family photos from Vangie and lovingly wrapped them in batting. Eve said her goodbyes and continued toward the exit.

  Freddy came by next, surprisingly with Chester and Noni in tow.

  “Got time for a drink? I’m buying,” he said.

  “Oh, now, Freddy, this is our treat,” Noni said.

  I laughed. “Start without me. I’m going to spend tonight with my family.”

  I hugged each of them in turn, savoring Noni’s caring presence, Chester’s heartiness, and Freddy’s sense of humor. I looked forward to seeing them next year at the
show.

  Kevin returned with the dolly. He smiled at me shyly. All he wanted was for Kym and I to get along. I saw the hope in his eyes. We had some long talks ahead of us, but we were family. I smiled back, letting him know we were okay.

  Kevin and Kym took another load out to the van. Vangie followed them with a hand truck full of books. I stayed behind, guarding the computer equipment. My eyes burned with fatigue, and I rubbed at them viciously. When I took my hands away, Buster was standing in front of me. He was off-duty, by the look of him. He was wearing a purple shirt with black jeans. The deep plum color of his shirt complemented his eyes, making them look bluer and deeper. His sleeves were rolled up, and he had that leather thong on his left wrist. He looked great.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey, yourself. You doing all right?”

  I nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. What was it about Buster that made me vulnerable? He put his thumb in the cleft of my chin and raised my face so I had to meet his gaze.

  I didn’t know if we had a future together. I only knew that I couldn’t stay closed up. The good stuff was only there if I was open to it.

  Buster’s smile was gentle, softened by a sadness in his eyes. “You’re amazing.”

  I tried to turn away from the compliment, but he held me firm. I had no choice but to watch his face. His mouth softened and he put the back of his hand on my cheek and stroked. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. I felt like every nerve of my body was exposed, and only his fingertips could restore me.

  “I wish I could have been there for you,” he said quietly.

  I opened my eyes and grinned at him. “You were, in a way.”

  His head tilt reminded me of a dog whose supper is cold kibble instead of the steak off the grill. I laughed.

  “I conjured you up, just when I needed the most strength. I pictured that old goal we had in the side yard. All those years practicing my corner kicks paid off. Those quilt stands didn’t stand a chance.”

  Buster’s smile faded and he hooked a hair behind my ear.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said. “Not with me.”

  “Do what?”

  “Act tough.”

  “I’m not,” I protested.

  “I’ve been down a dark alley with a suspect. It’s a very scary place to be. You can either stand up to the evil or run away. You stood up to Myra. It takes a certain kind of person to do that. You …”

  He caught his breath and tried to turn away. I reached up and held his face toward me. The sight of his eyes filling up with tears was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I felt my knees weaken and stiffened them in defense. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Sex with Buster was great. That I knew. It was the out-of-bed time we had to figure out.

  “I wanted to protect you, Dewey.”

  I flicked his tears away. He grabbed my hand and kissed my palm. I felt the tingle all the way down to my toes.

  “You don’t need to protect me,” I said.

  “That’s a hard pill to swallow.”

  “It’s true, though, and you know it.”

  He was quiet for a moment, just holding my hand.

  “I never said thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For being with Mom when she passed.”

  “But I let that bastard …”

  I held my finger to his mouth. “You’ll find him.”

  He turned and looked at the quilt show beyond the booth. Volunteers were gently lifting the quilts from their stands, folding them onto waiting sheets. It was hard to imagine last night’s chaos.

  “I never did get to see the quilts,” Buster said.

  “You missed your chance.”

  “I understand there were some works of art.”

  “There were some real beauties,” I agreed.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t know a good quilt from a bad one. Maybe you could teach me.”

  “Sure, I could show you the difference between a Baltimore Album quilt and a free-motion embroidery collage.”

  “Liar,” he said. “Did you understand anything you just said?

  “Not a word,” I admitted. “But I’m going to have to learn.”

  “You’re going to keep the shop, Dewey?”

  “Yeah, Kym needs a job, and Vangie.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  I could tell him. “My mother’s life was tied up in the shop. I have to find out if mine is, too.”

  “She thought you were the best thing on earth.”

  “I know.” And that knowledge was enough. It would have to be enough for the rest of my life.

  “I hope we can remain friends,” Buster said tentatively, eyes straight ahead, staring at the quilt show. He rubbed my knuckles.

  Friends? I wasn’t sure that was enough. “I need some wooing, you know.”

  “Wooing?” His tongue tripped over the unfamiliar word. His eyes slid to mine. I struggled to keep a straight face. “What does that mean?”

  “That means I’d like to go on a real date. With you picking me up at my door, and me—”

  “Wearing a dress?”

  “A dress?” A guy could dream. “I’m not even sure I own one.”

  “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Too soon. If you want that dress, I’ll need time to shop.”

  “Let’s not wait too long,” he said with a rasp in his voice that sent heat flowing through my body.

  “Be warned—I never sleep with a guy on a first date.”

  “Lucky for me, we never dated.”

  Lucky for me, too.

  “We could continue our guitar lessons,” he said, eyes dancing with mischief.

  I looked into his big blue eyes, wondering what the future was. Guitar wasn’t the only thing we needed to learn. “Okay, but we’re going to have start over.”

  The disappointment registered on Buster’s face for a split second, and I choked back a laugh. Was he remembering the note he’d left on the pillow, thanks for Lesson One?

  “Come on,” Buster said. “We’ve …” he stumbled, searching for a word. “You’ve progressed farther than that.”

  I shook my head. “I need to start at the beginning. Like, before the first lesson.”

  “Before Lesson One?” he said, his voice cracking.

  I nodded. “Let’s pretend I know nothing.”

  Vangie and Kym approached, the dolly now empty. I dropped Buster’s hand. Kevin was right behind them. His face lit up in a big smile at the sight of his friend. He grabbed Buster. They man-hugged, bumping chests and patting backs.

  “We should change the window display every month, Vangie,” Kym was saying.

  “We? When was the last time you climbed the ladder?” Vangie answered.

  I watched as Vangie and Kym argued. Kevin and Buster had their heads together, their low voices a counterpoint to the female bickering. I couldn’t contain the grin that seemed to start deep in my belly.

  This was what my mother loved. Friends, family, quilts. I was right where I belonged.

  THE END