"Misty, this is important,” she continued. “Can you tell me who shot Mrs. Jalbert?"
Misty's eyes got real big. She started humming the Van Morrison song again.
"Misty? Did a brown-eyed woman shoot Avanell?"
With the woman rocking and picking and humming, Harriet couldn't be sure if she'd seen her shake her head or not.
"Misty, do you know who shot her?"
"Man oh man oh man oh man oh man.” Misty's rocking kept time with her chant.
"Misty, what are you telling me?” Harriet asked, but it was no use. Misty was in her own world. “Carla, do you know what she was trying to tell me?"
"Sorry,” Carla said. “She don't make much sense most of the time. Every once in a while she'll come out with somethin’ and sound just like she used to, but now I'm not sure them spells is any more real than when she's singin’ and rockin'."
"Can I do anything to help?"
"No, I think she'll stay put here. She seems to do okay when she's hidin'—I think she feels safe out here. The counselor at the church shelter gave me some vouchers to use at the Foggy Point Market. I'll get her some food and water. If you could go to Myca's House Counseling Center tomorrow and pick up her perscription, it would help. I can call and tell ‘em you'll come by."
"Yeah, sure. I can do that. Is there anything else? Do you want a ride to the market or anything?"
"Seems to me you got your own troubles to worry about, but thanks for offerin'. If you get the medicine and give her a dose as soon as you can, that should do it."
"I better go back to the house. Mavis might come looking if I don't come in soon."
It turned out she needn't have worried—Mavis was stretched out in the recliner sound asleep when she came in the door. She woke up when Harriet touched the remote control dangling from her hand, and pulled the lever that brought the chair jolting upright.
"I was about to call the emergency room again,” she said.
"I can see that.” Harriet smiled.
"That must have been some walk."
Harriet explained the events of the afternoon over a cup of fragrant orange-spice tea.
"I can't believe Michelle was trying to steal her brother's inheritance,” Mavis said when she had finished. “Avanell had been worried about her. She told me Michelle and her husband were living way beyond their means. She tried to work with them, but she said she was tired of throwing good money after bad. I'm not surprised she changed her will."
"Unfortunately, her new will only confuses things. On the one hand, if Michelle didn't know it had been changed, she would have a motive to kill her mother, but it sounds like she did know. On the other, if Aiden knew about the change, it would give him one."
"I just have a hard time believing he could do something like that. And besides, that doesn't explain your part of all this. If it was simply the family trying to get Avanell out of the way, why would they be coming after you?"
"The killer must think I pose some kind of threat to them."
"What possible threat could you pose to anyone in Foggy Point? You've hardly been back a month."
"If we could figure that out, I think we'd know who killed Avanell."
Mavis got up, poured more water into their cups and pulled a box of mixed teabags from the cupboard over the stove. She held the box out; Harriet chose green tea this time, and Mavis put the box back. They were staring into their cups when the phone rang.
Mavis got up and answered it and had a short conversation that consisted of uh-hm's and yeses, and finished with “I think that's a fine idea. I expect we'll pick it up when the show closes on Saturday."
She came back to the table and sat down.
"That was Bertrand. He said he'd like to hang Avanell's last show quilt in the lobby of the Vitamin Factory. He says it will be a permanent tribute to Avanell's two loves."
"I'm guessing he either doesn't know about the new will or he thinks no one else does."
"There is another possibility. He's either already talked to Aiden, or it hasn't occurred to him that he needs to."
"I suppose. And it would be a nice tribute."
"Since you're the quilt depot, I thought maybe we could go to Tacoma on Saturday morning, have a good look at the exhibits and see who won, then have lunch and check out All About Quilting over on Thirty-first Street, then come back and pick up the quilts when the show closes at four. What do you think?"
"As long as you let me do the driving, I think that would be fine. I'm worried that you're getting worn out being my bodyguard and waiting on me hand and foot."
"Your aunt Beth would do the very same thing if one of my boys were in trouble. And just because I'm not as young as I once was doesn't mean I'm weak."
"I know. This is just so hard. I know Aunt Beth is trying to give me a kick-start in getting on with my life. I was mad at first, but maybe she's right. Maybe I do need to make some changes. And I was, for a couple of days. And I liked it. Now things are even worse than they were before I left Oakland. There, at least, my limits were of my own making. I'm very comfortable here, and I truly appreciate how much you're putting yourself out to protect me; but I'm not free to come and go, much less work, and the worst part is, I don't even know why or, more important, when this will all be over?"
"How about I make us ham and cheese omelets and toast and then we put aside our troubles, just for the night. I rented a couple of movies from DeAnn the other day and they're due tomorrow. Maybe we could watch one of them before they go back."
"That sounds so good. I could use a break. And I'm starving."
Chapter Thirty-one
Harriet woke early the next morning; between her walk with Aiden and watching the romantic comedy with Mavis, she'd gotten a good night's sleep.
Mavis was already in the kitchen and had the kettle on when she came out of the bathroom.
"How are you feeling this morning?” Mavis asked.
"I slept really well. I'm getting a little tired of pink and purple, though.” She held out the hem of her pink shirt. “Is there any chance we could go by my house and pick up some clothes?"
"Oh, honey, I don't think that's a very good idea. You've only been out of the hospital for two days. Until the police have some idea what's going on, I think you need to stay away from there. We could ask Darcy if that skinny blond woman who drives the patrol at night could go over and pick up some clothes for you."
"I don't want some stranger going through my clothes. I don't care if it is a woman."
"We could go by the thrift store on Second Street if you want, or if you feel up for a drive, we could go to the Wal-Mart."
"The thrift store is fine. Surely, they'll have something I can wear—I really only need a couple of shirts and maybe another pair of jeans."
"I usually go to my hand-piecing group on Friday mornings at Pins and Needles,” Mavis offered hopefully.
"That sounds like fun,” Harriet said without much enthusiasm.
"We can stay here if you're not up to it."
She needed to go into town. She had to get Misty's medicine and give it to her. The girl might not have seen Avanell's murder, but Harriet was sure she knew something.
"I think a trip to town would be great. I can stop by the thrift store and then maybe I can find a hand project I can do at Pins and Needles."
"Do you do hand piecing or do you prefer redwork?” Mavis asked and started a conversation that lasted through breakfast.
Harriet was surprised at Mavis's defense of the controversial trend of painting on art quilts. There were a few artists painting images on fabric then stitching around the image and entering them in competition. Harriet understood that the predecessors of pieced quilts were bedcovers made by doing intricate stitching on a single large piece of fabric, but in that case the stitches were the art. She definitely was on the side that felt sewing a backing onto a painting didn't make a quilt.
In the end, though, she had to concede that images painted in dye and combi
ned with art stitching were, in fact, art quilts.
They moved on to discuss various hand-piecing styles, and by the time they got into the car, Harriet was pretty sure she was going to try doing some Grandmother's Flower Garden blocks using English paper piecing style, where hexagonal images were cut out of paper, a circle of fabric hand-stitched around the paper piece and then the edges of the hexagons whip-stitched together, removing the paper from the back when all the stitching was done.
Mavis had shown her a picture of a Civil War-era quilt using the technique that was made in navy blue and tan with just a touch of red. Harriet decided if she could find the right fabric she'd give it a try.
Wisps of fog swirled close to the pavement as Mavis parked at the curb across the street and halfway between Pins and Needles and the thrift store.
"I really think I could go to the bank and the thrift store without an escort,” Harriet said. “I promise I'll come right back to Pins and Needles when I'm done."
She could tell Mavis was having a debate with herself. Harold emerged from the bank before she'd decided.
"Good morning, ladies,” he said. “What brings you to this fair city?"
"Mavis has a stitching group this morning, and I was just trying to convince her I could go to the bank and the thrift store without her. She doesn't need to babysit me in downtown Foggy Point in the middle of the morning."
"I'm sure she's trying to look out for your best interests, but might I suggest an alternative?"
They both looked expectantly at him.
"What if I follow along while you do your errands and then we go to Annie's Coffee Shop for some hot cocoa?"
"Okay,” Harriet said immediately.
Mavis looked skeptical but agreed. Harold held the door for Harriet.
He was gracious enough to stay outside the thrift store and make phone calls he probably hadn't needed to make so she could shop in peace. She found a serviceable pair of flannel pajamas, three long-sleeved T-shirts in neutral colors, a black long-sleeved Flax shirt-jacket, a pair of Calvin Klein khaki pants and a dark-green lightweight jacket. She got the whole collection for twenty-five dollars, which seemed like a pretty good deal. She came out of the store in just over fifteen minutes.
"That was quick,” Harold said. He put his hand on her elbow and guided her to the left. “Annie's is around the corner on Ship Street."
They discussed the fog and whether it was expected to lift later or not until they were seated at a dark wooden table with matching chairs that had calico fabric seat cushions. A young woman with a blond braid that brushed her waist brought them steaming cups of cocoa.
"I don't remember this place,” Harriet said and looked around the small book-lined room.
"I think it's been here about three years or so.” He nodded toward a middle-aged woman on the other side of an antique library table that served as a counter in the small shop, “According to Bertie, Annie used to be the head librarian at the Foggy Point branch of the Calallam County Library. He says she got tired of busting people for sneaking food and drink into the library. She decided folks wanted a place to do both, so here we are.” He spread his arms to indicate their surroundings. “She has a swap party a couple of times a year, so her stock of books gets freshened."
"It seems like a good idea.” Harriet looked around at the half-filled space. “It looks like she does okay."
"We're between crowds right now. The working crowd has left and the stay-at-home moms and senior citizens haven't arrived yet."
"Speaking of Bertie, what's he like?” she asked. “I knew Avanell when I was young, since she and my aunt were friends, but I didn't know the rest of her family."
"What do you want to know?” Harold countered.
"I don't know. It seems like Avanell was such a big part of this community, I guess I wonder if Bertie will be able to fill that role."
Aiden clearly didn't think so, but she wondered how much of that opinion had to do with his father's death and the aftermath.
"It's true Bertie prefers to stay in the background. I'm sure he'll do whatever's necessary."
Clearly, he wasn't going to give up any information. She wondered if he didn't like to gossip or if his evasion was more purposeful. What would he have to hide?
"Would you mind walking over to Myca's House on our way back? One of the young women in the Thursday night group needs me to pick something up for her."
Harold agreed, and they sipped their cocoa.
"I assume the fact you're still living with Mavis and she's not letting you out of her sight means the police haven't caught whoever attacked you."
"They haven't said a word, so I interpret their silence as meaning they aren't getting anywhere."
"You can't keep living with Mavis forever, can you? I mean, if it were me, I'd be going crazy living with anyone else under those conditions. And what about your business?"
"You've pretty well summarized my life. I have to go back to work. Mavis is nice, but I'm not used to living with anyone, and Aunt Beth isn't due home for two more weeks. And that's no guarantee of my continued safety. The whole thing makes no sense. I haven't done anything to anyone, I don't have anything anyone would want, I don't know any big secrets. There is absolutely no reason for someone to break into my house, destroy my clients’ work or hit me in the head."
"Maybe you know something but don't know that you know it."
"This just goes in a big circle, Harold. If I know something, then whoever it is didn't need to trash my aunt's place. If they're looking for something, they didn't need to hit me on the head down by the docks.” She covered her face in her hands. “Could we just not talk about this for a while?"
"Of course. How did the show go? Did Foggy Point represent itself well?"
"Actually, with all that's been going on, I don't know who won what. Everyone's assuming Avanell won the best of show, but other than that it's anyone's guess. I suppose Lauren's quilt wasn't up long enough to have been judged. But I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few prize winners in the group."
"When is it over?"
"Tomorrow's the last day. Mavis and I are going to Tacoma to bring them all home."
"What happens to the quilts after that? Do they go on to other shows or do they retire to the linen closet and a life of service?"
She smiled. “Some of both, I suppose. A few people enter their work in other shows, but I think most of the women in our group will just take them home and either put them on a bed or give them to the grandson, niece, sister or friend they were intended for.
"That brings up a good point. They're supposed to collect them from my house on Monday. The people in the group I go to know about my relocation, but some of the ones I took were from other people. I need to call them so they don't show up at my aunt's house. I hate to ask Mavis to let me have people collect them at her house. I feel like I've been such an intrusion on her life as it is."
"Could you deliver them to people? If there aren't that many and since Foggy Point isn't that big?” Harold suggested. “At least, I assume there aren't that many,” he corrected. “I could help you on Sunday if you want. You will be home Saturday night with them, won't you?"
"Hmmm.” You know, I think that could work. But you don't need to spend your Sunday driving around with me."
"I hate to point out an unpleasant reality of your life, but in fact, no one is going to let you go anywhere by yourself. And I don't mind—really."
Harriet was silent. She tried to think of an alternative but nothing came to mind. She sighed.
"You're right. I just hate this."
Harold picked up his cup as if to drink but found only thick chocolate sludge in the bottom. He set it back down. “If you're ready, maybe we should go pick up your package at Myca's House and get you back to Mavis before she sends out a search party."
He pulled two dollars out of his thin lizard-skin wallet and laid them on the table. He picked up Harriet's bags from the thrift store and helped
slide her chair out.
"Follow me,” he said as they reached the sidewalk. “I know a shortcut."
He led her to a narrow cement-paved alley between two buildings. It widened into an asphalt courtyard of sorts. He crossed the open area diagonally and entered another dark alley between buildings that faced on the next block. Once they reached the sidewalk there, Myca's House was two doors down.
"I'm impressed,” Harriet said. She wondered how a guy who wore pressed slacks and a bow tie everywhere he went learned about back-alley shortcuts.
"Would you like me to wait out here?” he asked.
"No, it's fine. I'm just picking up something for a friend."
She opened the door and stepped into a tired-looking lobby. Three scratched plastic chairs sat against the wall. Two six-foot-long folding tables topped with peeling plastic laminate separated the sitting area from the rest of the office. Cardboard boxes overflowed with papers. A grey-haired man with a short curled ponytail and sparse salt-and-pepper beard came into the office and asked if he could help her.
She explained why she was there. He asked to see her driver's license, but then looked up at Harold.
"I'll vouch for her identity,” Harold said. “Harriet, this is Joseph. He's the office manager here at Myca's House. Joseph, meet Harriet Truman. She's Beth's niece. Harriet here has just taken over Beth's business. Maybe once she gets settled, she'll join us at Rotary."
Harriet was a little annoyed with two men discussing her as if she were a small child incapable of speaking for herself.
"Oh, yeah, I heard you've had a little trouble up at your aunt's place."
She wondered if there was anyone in Foggy Point who didn't know her business. She didn't say anything, and the silence became awkward. Joseph picked up a white paper bag and handed it to her.
"Dr. Mason said to tell you there are three doses. He said that should be enough to get the patient stable enough to come in by herself. He said to make sure she gets in before the third dose wears off."
Quilt As Desired Page 22
