"Honey, life is never predictable. You can lock yourself away in an apartment in California with only a cat to talk to, but that's not living. I'm not saying getting hit on the head is normal, either, but that could have happened just as easy in California as here. In fact, it's probably less uncommon there.” Mavis came over to her chair and rubbed her back like she would a child. “The police are going to get this sorted out and you'll be back at your aunt Beth's in no time. You've lived in Foggy Point before. You know it's a good place."
Yeah, she knew what a great place it was. That's why she had so many friends from her previous time here. Still, a small part of Harriet wanted to believe her, but it was hard to see how it was going to happen. As near as she could tell, whoever had trashed her studio, hit her on the head, drugged her and ruined Lauren's quilt was getting away scot-free, and neither she nor the police had any idea what was going on or why. And she didn't even want to think about Avanell's death. She was trying to convince herself her troubles were unrelated to that; but deep down, she didn't really believe it.
"It might be good for you to talk to the Loose Threads. Maybe they can see a connection with the quilt and your studio and Avanell's death that we don't."
"I suppose,” Harriet conceded. “You're right about one thing."
"What's that?"
"We aren't getting it. Whatever it is."
* * * *
Harriet hadn't believed the doctor when he predicted how much better she would feel by the next morning, but she had to admit he'd been right. She wasn't ready to run a marathon, but the world no longer spun with her every movement, and her stomach had stabilized.
She opened her bedroom door to the smell of eggs cooking. Mavis had prepared scrambled eggs with Laughing Cow cheese and chopped chives. It was accompanied by toasted English muffins dripping with butter and homemade blackberry jam. The two women washed it down with steaming mugs of English Breakfast tea.
"You're looking better this morning, honey,” Mavis said when they were finished.
"I do feel as though I might live, which is a definite improvement over yesterday."
"If you want to change your mind about facing the Loose Threads, you say the word and I'll call in our regrets and we can spend the day here."
"No, I need to face Lauren, and I do think you're right about talking to the group and seeing if they have any fresh ideas. And, as much as I like you, I think we'll drive each other nuts if we just sit here all day and night."
Fred jumped into her lap and gave her a friendly head butt.
"He seems to have adjusted just fine,” she said.
"I expect he's happy anywhere as long as he's with you."
"He's going to have to get along without me for a few hours. I need to see Lauren and get it over with."
"You go take your shower and I'll rinse off these dishes, then we'll hit the road."
* * * *
"Mavis,” Harriet said when she came out of the bathroom a half-hour later dressed in the pink T-shirt and jeans from the day before. “Did you wash these while I was sleeping?"
"I always wake up with the birds, and you needed your sleep. I was washing a load of towels so I tossed your stuff in. It wasn't any extra effort. We'll have to figure out something about getting the rest of your clothes. I was thinking we could ask Aiden Jalbert to go pick up a few things for you."
"I'm not sure I want his help at this point. I can't get past the fact he's the one person who seems to have a convenient reason to be close by whenever something happens to me."
"I've known that boy his whole life. He could never harm anyone. He's a vet, for pity's sake. When he was a boy, he'd cry when he saw a dead squirrel in the road. And I've raised enough boys to be able to tell when one is sweet on a girl, and you mark my words—that boy is smitten with you."
"It's highly likely you're going to know whoever attacked me, and probably whoever killed Avanell, too. I don't want it to be Aiden, either, but until I figure it out, I can't take any chances."
Mavis didn't say anything. She picked up a plaid wool shirt jacket that had been her husband's and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
"Let's get this over with, then."
Harriet grabbed the purple sweatshirt and her purse and followed Mavis to the car. The silence during the ride was a bit strained. Mavis finally spoke as she pulled up to the curb a block away from Pins and Needles.
"You tell the group everything that's happened, and I'll bet they'll have some ideas about what's going on around here, and it won't be Aiden."
She got out of the car, locked it and headed up the block to the fabric store. Harriet had to hustle to keep up.
"Good morning, ladies,” Marjory said as they came through the front door. “Connie's in the breakroom making coffee, but no one else is here. How are you doing, Harriet? I heard you spent the night in the hospital again."
"I'm fine. I've got a little bit of a headache, but I'm much better than I was. I just wish I knew what was going on."
"It does seem like someone's got it in for you, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, that's the easy part. The why is what I don't get.” Maybe Jeanne still lives here, she thought.
"That's what we're going to try to figure out,” Mavis said. “As soon as everyone gets here."
Right on cue, the door opened and Robin McLeod and DeAnn Gault entered, each with a colored canvas totebag bearing a faded logo commemorating a quilt show many years past hooked over her arm. They dropped their bags and coats in the big classroom and went into the breakroom for coffee. Jenny Logan arrived carrying a wicker basket in one hand and a travel mug with a teabag string pinched between the lid and the rim in the other. She dropped her black leather coat on a chair, put her basket on the table and set about extracting the teabag from her mug.
Harriet's neck muscles tightened a little more with each arrival. Sarah Ness arrived in a cloud of complaints, and Darcy called to say she would be joining the group a little later and to save her some cookies. That left only Lauren. Hollywood couldn't have scripted it better.
She and the other quilters moved the worktables around to form one big rectangle then sat down with their stitching projects and hot drinks. Harriet picked a green-and-yellow baby quilt from Marjory's charity shelf then found a pastel rainbow-stripe fabric to bind it with. She cut binding strips then picked up one of the two sewing machines Marjory kept in the store for students who weren't able to bring one when they took a class. Connie gave her a spool of thread, and Mavis provided scissors. She had machine-stitched the binding about halfway around when Lauren entered carrying a red totebag with a stylized cat appliqued on its side.
"Oh, Harriet, I'm glad you're here. I can reapply the binding to my quilt and then take it back to Tacoma this afternoon. That way, it can at least be on display for the weekend. They expect the largest crowd on Saturday."
The room had gone silent.
"What?” she said. She looked around the table. “Where's my quilt?"
Mavis looked at Harriet and then pulled a large Ziploc bag from her tote. She set the bag of scraps she'd scooped from Harriet's floor the night before onto the table.
Lauren looked around for an explanation. Mavis opened the bag and dumped the contents on the table in front of her. The younger woman picked a handful of the fluff up with stiff fingers. The color drained from her face.
"Lauren,” Harriet began, “I'm really sorry."
Lauren dropped straight down, her tailbone hitting with a jarring thud on the edge of her chair. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"After the memorial service, I took your quilt to my studio,” Harriet continued. She didn't think the other quilters needed to know about her date with Harold. “I had Sarah's on the machine, but it was finished. I took it off and laid it on the big cutting table and was trimming threads when someone knocked me out. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital. Mavis picked me up the next morning, and when we went back to the studio to finish you
r quilt...” She looked at Mavis, hoping she wouldn't expose the small lie. “All we found was this.” She pointed to the pile of quilting debris.
"How could you?” Lauren finally choked out. “I can understand you wanted Avanell's quilt to win the competition, especially with her being dead and all, but why did you have to destroy mine?” She looked at Harriet and burst into tears.
"Get her a cup of tea,” Mavis ordered Connie.
The small woman got up and hurried to the breakroom. DeAnn pulled a handful of tissues from her purse and handed them to Mavis. Mavis dabbed at Lauren's face then pressed the tissues into her hand. She patted it.
"It's going to be okay, you'll see."
Lauren looked up, her face red in uneven patches and wet with tears.
"It won't be okay, ever. This was my chance. I used my credit card to pay for advertising, and to have patterns printed up and I needed the win. Avanell didn't care if she won or not. Couldn't she have just stepped aside this once and let me have my chance? Was that so much to ask?"
"Diós mio,” Connie said as she came back and set a cup of steaming tea beside Lauren. “You can make another one. And if you were silly enough to spend money you didn't have, well, that's your mistake. Avanell is dead. She didn't do anything to you."
Lauren turned back to Harriet. “I trusted you with my quilt,” she accused.
Harriet stood up.
"I'm sorry about your quilt, but I can't do this right now.” She turned off the sewing machine and left the room. She saw Connie start to follow, but Mavis stopped her.
"Just give her a few minutes,” she heard her say.
She went into the retail area of the store and was looking at a row of new arrivals without really seeing the fabric when she glimpsed Misty outside the store window.
"Misty, wait,” she called as she hurried to the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Misty turned the corner and disappeared. Harriet broke into a run and rounded the same corner. She stopped and didn't see anyone. She was about to turn back when she heard a soft voice.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,” the voice sang tunelessly.
Harriet continued slowly up the block. Misty was huddled on the stoop of an abandoned office suite. A faint odor of rotting food permeated the area. Misty pressed her body against the doorjamb.
"It's okay,” Harriet said softly. “I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk."
"Mama's gonna buy you a mockin'bird..."
"Will you let me help you?"
She didn't answer. She stopped singing and started picking at a patch of raw skin on her elbow. A trickle of blood snaked down her forearm. Harriet took a step toward her, but Misty cringed away, so she crouched down in front of her.
"Misty, can you tell me what happened to Avanell at the factory a few nights ago? Were you there?” She felt a brief stab of guilt—Misty had enough problems of her own. But this couldn't wait.
Misty started humming, occasionally breaking into song for a few phrases. Harriet listened.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
Misty continued her humming.
"Hmmmm, my brown-eyed girl, hmm hmmm hmmm hmm,” she sang.
Harriet thought she was hearing a rendition of Van Morrison's song “Brown-eyed Girl."
"Misty, did a brown-eyed woman hurt Avanell?"
"Bang-bang."
"Did you see who shot Avanell?"
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word...” she sang again, and started rocking back and forth.
"Harriet,” called DeAnn from the corner. “Is that you?"
Harriet turned to look, and Misty jumped up and ran down the block.
Harriet stood and walked back to DeAnn.
"Mavis got worried when she couldn't find you in the store. I told her I'd come out and see if you'd gone around the corner for a soda.” She pointed toward a mini-mart across the street.
Harriet fished in her pocket for coins.
"That's what I was doing, but I ran out without my purse,” She held up her hand with thirty cents in her palm.
"Here.” DeAnn handed her two crumpled bills from her jeans pocket. “I'll tell Mavis you'll be right back."
Harriet thanked her and crossed the street. If DeAnn wondered what she was doing talking to the straggly-looking waif in a doorway, she didn't say.
* * * *
Harriet returned to the group and sat back down at the sewing machine, her untouched can of cola on display to the right of her half-filled teacup and her scissors. Lauren's place at the table was now vacant. Mavis caught her glancing at the empty spot.
"She decided she'd rather lick her wounds alone,” she explained.
"That's a diplomatic way to put it,” Connie said. “She had a tantrum, and Marjory offered her sympathies and ushered her out the door."
Harriet finished the machine-stitching part of the binding and moved the sewing machine back to the storage shelf. Mavis handed her a threaded needle.
"Why don't you sit down and tell everyone what's been going on, and let's see if we can make any sense out of it."
Harriet wasn't sure this was the route to go, but as she was living with Mavis, she knew word was going to get out anyway. At least this way, they would all hear the same story at the same time.
"Start with the day you moved here,” Jenny suggested.
Harriet explained how she had come from Oakland believing she was going to operate Aunt Beth's business for the month her aunt was away on her cruise. She'd spent a little more than three uneventful weeks working alongside Aunt Beth, reacquainting herself with the quilting machine and learning Aunt Beth's recordkeeping system. There had been no indication of trouble in those first weeks.
She told them how Aunt Beth had given her the business. The group's lack of reaction confirmed they had known the plan before she had.
After a brief internal debate, she told them about the scene in the Sandwich Board the day she'd gone to lunch with Avanell. She reviewed the perils afflicting Avanell's quilt from the time she'd given it back to her through the injured-dog fiasco and ending with the quilt being delivered to the show on the morning of Avanell's death. She skimmed over the part where she found Avanell's body; and as far as she was concerned, no one needed to know she'd been through Avanell's and Bertrand's offices. She hadn't found anything, so it couldn't possibly matter.
"Don't forget what happened after we left the quilt,” Mavis reminded her.
"I think most of you know I got a phone call from the quilt show committee telling me they had to meet to decide if Avanell's entry could remain on display with the group exhibit. Mavis and I got worried about what they would do with the quilt while they were deciding. We drove back to Tacoma, but Lauren had already talked to them and had instructed them to put her Kitties in the center spot of the group entry and to take Avanell's trapunto off display.
"As we were walking into the exhibit hall, someone was trying to yank Lauren's quilt down from the back. We yelled, and they abandoned their effort and took off; but they damaged the quilt in the process. We re-hung Avanell's and brought Lauren's home for repair."
"Why on earth would anyone damage Lauren's quilt?” Jenny said. “Avanell knew Lauren wasn't a threat to her entry, and besides, Avanell was dead before you delivered the quilts."
"You tell me,” Harriet said. “You know all the people involved. Who would be threatened by Lauren's success?"
"Maybe it wasn't Lauren they were targeting,” Sarah suggested as she stood and picked her coffee cup up. “Maybe whoever it was wanted to discredit all of us. You know my quilt was displaying all the new fabrics Marjory got in this spring. Maybe one of the other stores would be threatened if quilts made from Marjory's fabrics win all the prizes.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
The group went silent.
"I'm sure that's it,” Robin muttered low enough that Sarah couldn't hear.
Connie stood up. “Anyone else want a refill of coffee or tea?"
When everyone was back, Harriet picked up her story. DeAnn had refilled her cup, so she stalled a minute while she added sugar and stirred.
"I didn't mention the break-in at Aunt Beth's studio because most of you were there. For those who weren't, I went to a Chamber of Commerce dinner Avanell asked me to attend, and when I got home someone had broken in and damaged some of the quilts and generally messed things up."
She edited out the part where she hit Aiden in the head with a sprinkler. She felt a slight twist in her stomach at the thought of him but ignored it and continued her story.
"My part of the story picks up again Monday. Mavis and I returned from Tacoma with Lauren's quilt. I gave it to Lauren here and then went to look for one of the young women from the Thursday night group. I got to her apartment, and the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and that's the last thing I remember clearly until I woke in the hospital. I'm not even sure how I drove my car home."
"She's not mentioning that the girl's apartment was down in the dock area."
Jenny and Connie rolled their eyes.
"I know your aunt taught you better than that,” Connie said.
"The girl lives there,” Harriet countered.
"That doesn't make it a safe place,” Jenny told her.
"Continue,” Sarah interrupted. She was clearly bored with the conversation.
"I went to stay with Mavis when I got out of the hospital. We went to the memorial service and saw all of you. Then I went to my studio to take Sarah's quilt off my machine and re-stitch Lauren's."
"And I found her on the floor, passed out,” Sarah interjected. “If I hadn't come along she'd probably be dead. Not that she thanked me or anything."
Harriet looked at her but couldn't think of an appropriate response.
"I took Harriet back by Beth's place so she could get her cat, and we found Lauren's quilt, or what was left of it, in a pile on the floor,” Mavis said.
Quilt As Desired Page 18
