He pushed the door open with one hand, the other cradling her close to him; his lips maintained contact with hers as he pulled her through, shutting it with his foot. He guided her onto the chintz-covered sofa in Mavis's living room.
"I can't do this,” she said and pushed her hands against his chest.
He held her in place.
"Do what?” he asked and kissed her again. “I'm just what the doctor ordered. He said rest. I'm helping you relax so you can rest."
"It's more complicated than that, and you know it. I'm practically old enough to be your mother for starters."
"It's simple, and you're only a year older than my brother. Why don't you quit fighting for a little while? Lay your head down and sleep. If you want me to leave when Mavis gets back, I'll go."
He stroked his hand over her close-cropped hair. She laid her head on his chest and breathed in his masculine scent that was a unique blend of soap and fresh air. She supposed if he really wanted to do harm to her he wouldn't choose Mavis's living room; and besides, he felt so warm and strong it was as if invisible weights held her down, preventing her from moving or even...
She was asleep before she completed the thought.
* * * *
Harriet was alone on the sofa when she woke up; the Kansas Troubles lap quilt was once again keeping her warm. Pioneer women believed that if you slept under a quilt with the word troubles in its name, you would surely experience them. She flipped the hazardous cover off. She didn't need any more of those, thank you.
She looked to the window, and the grey late-afternoon light seeping in around the closed curtains indicated the clock had advanced a few hours while she'd slept. She sat up and ran her fingers through her flattened hair. She could see Aiden sitting at the kitchen table, his book open in front of him, a mug gripped in his left hand. Mavis sat opposite him blowing across the surface of the steaming cup of tea she was holding.
"I had to clean out Mom's office at the factory this morning. It doesn't seem right, getting it ready for some hired stranger to take over her job. She was the heart and soul of the company. If it were up to me, I'd close the place down."
"What would your uncle Bertie do then?” Mavis asked. “He still has a family to feed."
"Maybe he could go get a real job. Mom has been carrying him for years. He huffs and puffs around the factory workers, trying to impress them with how important he is, but Mom made all the decisions. He was little more than a glorified clerk. And he's already hired someone to replace her. I don't see how he could find someone qualified under any circumstances, and yet he's got a replacement coming Monday, not even a week after we buried her."
"Maybe your mom had someone lined up already. I'm not saying she knew she would be killed, or even was planning on retiring, but she always interviewed qualified candidates if they approached her. She called it succession planning."
"Yeah, well, I don't like it. It's like he can hardly wait to remove every trace of her from the factory—and the town for that matter. And Michelle is just as bad. She's having an estate sale tomorrow. Did you know that?"
"I did see a notice at the market,” Mavis said.
"In another week, it'll be just like my mom never lived. I don't see why Michelle's in such a rush. I don't understand why she has to sell the house in the first place. I told her I would pay for things."
"You know your sister. Once she gets something in her head she can't stop until it's done. She's always been like that. But this community will never forget your mother. There's a plaque in the high school thanking her for her scholarship program. The Community Church dedicated a whole pew to your parents when your mom paid for the children's nursery. Most importantly, there's your sister, your brother and yourself. You are her most important legacy."
Harriet was moved by Mavis's speech. Maybe Aiden and his sister were just worried about money in the aftermath of their mother's death. But if not them, then who?
"Welcome back,” Aiden said, noticing she was awake. “I thought you were turning into Rip Van Winkle on us."
"She needs her rest,” Mavis said. “How are you feeling, honey?"
"My headache is better. It's weird—even though I've just slept for hours, I feel like I could lie down and sleep for hours more."
"Too much sleep isn't good when you've had a bump on the head,” Mavis said. She looked at Aiden. “I read that somewhere."
"That's true when someone has just been hit in the head and you're waiting for help. You don't want them to go to sleep. But after someone is released from the hospital, rest is the best thing you can do. In this case, though, I think if Harriet's up for it, a walk outside might be just what the doctor ordered."
"Would you two please stop talking about me as if I weren't in the room?"
"We're just trying to take care of you, honey,” Mavis said.
"Come on, let's give Mavis some peace and quiet. Randy's out in the car. I picked her up while you were sleeping, and by now, I'm sure she's ready to get out and run."
Harriet didn't want to spend time alone with Aiden. She hadn't had time to sort out her feelings about him. And besides, her life was complicated enough without him in it. Mavis's steadfast belief in him was hard to resist, but there was still the age problem. Here in Foggy Point, women young and old alike seemed to worship the ground he walked on, but life existed beyond the confines of this peninsula. Was she ready to introduce a man almost eleven years her junior to Steve's friends in California, or her college roommate?
She felt guilty just thinking about her embarrassment, and realized the age issue was her hang-up, not his. Still, it wouldn't be fair to him to enter into a relationship she was only willing to acknowledge within the confines of Foggy Point.
She also wondered if Aiden's easy acceptance of their age difference would stand the test of time. Sure, he might find her attractive while she was not yet forty, but would he feel the same when she was fifty or sixty? Not that he had suggested a long-term relationship, but she'd already loved one man who'd promised her a future he didn't provide. She wasn't anxious to set herself up only to end up alone again. Her heart couldn't take it.
She looked back at Mavis. She did look like she could use a little rest. Harriet had brought a lot of excitement into her life in the last few days.
"Okay, I guess a little fresh air wouldn't hurt,” she said.
"Randy will be happy to hear that. Do you have a coat?"
Harriet picked up her purple sweatshirt and put it back on.
"Let's go then."
He led the way to his rental car. Randy was curled up on the backseat next to the box of personal items Aiden had removed from Avanell's office at the Vitamin Factory. The dog bounded out of the car when he opened the door and ran into the bushes to take care of personal business.
"Kind of sad when your whole career at a place can be reduced to two cardboard boxes,” he said, indicating them.
"Have you gone through the stuff to see if there's anything that could shed light on what happened to your mother?"
He looked at her long and hard. “I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday, you know."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be presumptuous.” She was silent for a moment. “Did you find anything?"
"My mother had very few personal items at the factory. She kept her awards and business gifts at her home office."
"So, what did you find?” Harriet asked. She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear what he said anyway.
He unfolded the flap on the first box. “We have a tissue box cover decorated with seashells.” He held it up then put it back. “Some sort of voodoo hat.” He displayed the small stuffed pincushion, glass-headed straight pins stabbed in its crown.
"It's her pincushion,” she explained.
He set it back in the box.
"Here we have a broken hand mirror and a hairbrush with glass fragments stuck in the rubber handle. I'm not sure why she kept a broken mirror, but it must have som
e significance."
"Wait,” Harriet said. “Maybe she kept it because it wasn't broken. Maybe it only broke when whatever happened to her happened."
Aiden turned the mirror and looked at it from all angles. “If it means something, I'm not sure what it would be.” He set it back in the box and picked up the brush. “I can't imagine this brush being involved in anything sinister. I think it had the misfortune of being in close proximity to the mirror after it broke.” He replaced the brush and retrieved the mug with the faded casino logo on its side. “This is a mug Uncle Bertie and Aunt Sheryl brought Mom the first time they went to Las Vegas.” He returned it to the box. “There's not much else here. A bunch of pictures of us kids, some red fabric scraps, not much else. I left the bathroom supplies. Whoever Bertie hired to replace Mom..."
His voice trailed off, and his eyes filled with tears. Harriet took the framed picture he had been holding from his hand, put it in the box and shut the car door.
"I think Randy's ready now,” she said and took his hand.
She led him away from the car toward the edge of the woods. Randy was sniffing and pawing at the ground. When she saw Aiden moving toward her, she ran to him and danced around his feet, wagging her curved tail. He bent down, and she rapidly licked his face, wiping away the tears that had threatened to spill down his cheeks. He smiled and ruffled the hair on the dog's head.
"Let's follow this path down to the water. The founding fathers decided Foggy Point's beaches should have a buffer from civilization, so they created a long narrow green space that runs from Smugglers Cove all the way to the Point. We can connect up to a trail that goes to my mom's house."
"How do you know so much about the secret paths around here?” Harriet asked, hoping to distract him.
"Four years of running cross-country at Foggy Point High School. I think we ran every road, trail or animal path on this peninsula. It comes in handy now. There are short cuts through almost every neighborhood if you just know where to look."
Given recent events, she didn't find that fact very comforting.
"Follow me,” Aiden said and headed down the path, Randy hot on his heels.
They'd gone less than a thousand feet when the woods thinned out and the path joined the trail that circled the end of the peninsula. Harriet could now see the water. Randy ran through the remaining brush to the water's edge. In this area, there wasn't anything you could call a beach. A weedy area led to a strip of round rock that led directly into the saltwater of the lagoon.
They stood and watched Randy as she dashed into the water and out again, barking and biting mouthfuls of the salty liquid.
"Has anyone asked you about your mom's show quilt?” Harriet asked.
"Wanting to buy it, maybe? Not a one. Why?” he asked.
"Just a theory the group came up with.” She explained about the duplicate backing fabric. “So, it's possible that even though it was Lauren's that got destroyed, someone who wasn't familiar with the front image on your mother's could have confused the two."
He looked at her, his nearly white eyes wide. “That's it? That's the big revelation? Whether it's my mom's or Lauren's, what's so important about any quilt that someone would repeatedly break into your house to get at it and destroy it?"
"We haven't figured out that part yet, but I think it's significant that it could have been your mother's someone was after, given what happened."
"Is it worth a lot of money or something? I hate to admit it, but I'm totally clueless when it comes to quilts. I know Mom always won prizes, and a couple of hers appeared in people's books as examples of their style after she took classes or workshops."
"Her work is valuable, but if that were the reason someone was after it, it seems like they would have taken the ones out of your house. Aunt Beth said a couple of her quilts won awards at the International Quilt Festival in Houston. Those would be worth more than the one that's being shown now, just because they've already got a history."
"You know, now that you mention it, I can't say if Mom's other quilts are still at the house or not. Each of us kids has the ones she gave us, but the rest are in one of the bedrooms. She has them in these glass cabinet things that have little wooden closet poles to hang them on. Maybe we should go have a look. If we follow this trail for another mile, it will go right by the yard."
"I wonder if she's ever had them appraised,” Harriet said and fell in step behind him as the gravel path narrowed.
"Do people do that? I mean, when they're alive? Are they worth that much?"
"Quilts can vary, but I wouldn't be surprised if your mom's were valued in the fifteen hundred to two thousand dollar range. The ones that won national awards could be higher than that. It's none of my business, but you should check about the appraisals before your sister sells any of them at the estate sale. I'd hate to see her give them away."
Aiden was silent. The trail turned away from the shore and wound back into the woods as it climbed. She had to concentrate on the path in front of her to avoid slipping on the damp rocks. There was a brief break in the trees, and she could see the water well below them now.
"Are you doing okay?” Aiden asked as he stopped, causing her to bump into his back.
"I was until you stopped without warning,” she said. “My head is pounding a little as we're climbing, but I think that has more to do with my lack of conditioning than the bump."
"We're almost to the path that leads into my mom's property,” he said and pulled her into his arms. Randy pushed between their legs. He reached down and rubbed the dog's furry head.
"You're still my favorite girl,” he said to the dog and then straightened. “I want to apologize in advance for my sister."
"She does seem to dislike me."
"It's not you,” he said, but Harriet was pretty sure it was a lie. “She doesn't really like anyone but herself and her demon offspring. But what she thinks doesn't matter. I like you, and that's what counts. Remember that, okay? No matter what she says."
Harriet had a feeling Michelle disliked any female Aiden showed the slightest interest in, including Randy. Anyone or anything that took his attention away from her was the enemy.
"Okay,” she agreed.
They continued on the peninsula trail for another ten minutes then followed a path deeper into the woods. In another few minutes, the trees thinned and the underbrush began to look more purposeful. They passed a wooden bench hidden in a leafy glen.
"We're almost to the house,” Aiden said just before they came out of the woods onto a broad grassy slope. They ascended the slope and then followed a stone walkway through a grove of mature rhododendrons. Another grassy area led up to the back of the garage.
He led her around the former stables and to the back door of the house.
Avanell's kitchen looked very different from the last time Harriet had passed through it. The contents of cabinets and drawers were on the countertops, orange tags attached to every item. The table in the breakfast room was covered in lead crystal glasses, pitchers and serving bowls. Bundles of silverware were tied with string in what looked like sets of six place settings. A grey-haired woman in a long-sleeved floral dress came into the kitchen.
"The pre-sale viewing doesn't start until tomorrow morning at seven,” she said.
"Who are you?” Aiden asked.
"I'm the estate sale manager,” the woman said. Her spine visibly stiffened.
"I'm Aiden Jalbert. This is my mother's house."
"I see,” the woman said. “I understood your sister was the sole family member involved in the sale. She's upstairs, on the third floor. Will you be staying?"
"Only long enough to speak to my sister.” He picked up a mug with the Seattle Mariners logo on its side. He peeled the orange sticker off and stuck it to the tabletop.
"I would encourage you not to move things. I've already arranged them for the liquidation."
"My Mariners mug is not for sale,” Aiden said, and strode from the room.
&
nbsp; Harriet had to hurry to follow as he stormed to the servant's staircase. He took the steps two at a time until he reached the third floor.
"Michelle!” he yelled.
"Stop shouting,” she answered. “I'm in here."
He went through the open door of his mother's tower office. He held out his mug.
"You were going to sell my Mariners mug?” he said in a cold voice.
"This house doesn't run itself. It takes money—lots of it. We need to get as much money as we can as quickly as we can. And if that means selling your Mariners cup, so be it. It would take someone months to sort through every little thing just to find a few sentimental trinkets. Who's going to pay for that?"
"We could get a loan to pay a few months’ expenses. I don't understand why you're in such a rush."
"That's because you're an idiot,” Michelle said. “I've told you every way I know how. I have no money. My credit is maxed. I can't get a loan. Uncle Bertie isn't in any better shape, and whatever resources he has he's using to keep the business going. Marcel doesn't want to be involved. You aren't working yet. Someone has to take charge. Why should we pay who knows how many months’ worth of utilities if we're just going to sell it anyway? It'll be better this way. We'll just get it over with then we can all move on."
"What about Mom's quilts?” Aiden asked.
"What about them?"
Aiden looked at Harriet as he spoke to Michelle. “Have you had them appraised? Do you even know how much they're worth?"
"I know how much bedding costs. The estate sale woman asked me to price them and I did."
"Did your mother specify any special bequests regarding the quilts in her will?” Harriet asked.
Michelle whirled around to face her. “That's really none of your business. What are you doing here, anyway? The sale isn't until tomorrow."
"She's with me,” Aiden said and stepped closer to her.
Quilt As Desired Page 20
