“Oh, for crying out loud,” Lauren said. “I think we need to go check on her. I want to see with my own eyes that cat is the only reason she’s not coming to quilting anymore.”
“Would anyone care to give us a ride?” Ronald asked hopefully.
“You’re going to have to get used to taking the bus,” Joyce scolded him. “That’s why the church gave us these passes.”
“Of course you can ride with us,” Aunt Beth said. “I’ve got room for two people if one doesn’t mind crawling into the back seat of my Beetle.”
“I’ve got room,” Harriet said, and with the transportation settled, the group drove to Pins and Needles.
“How about Lauren and I go up to the attic and see what’s already up there,” Harriet suggested. “Duane and Rodney could go to the basement and see what’s down there. If there are folding tables, they might be useful for stacking bolts of fabric, and at the very least, we could bring them up out of the flood zone.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Mavis said. “Come on, gentlemen, I’ll show you where the basement door is.”
“Where is the attic access, anyway?” Lauren asked.
“I’ll show you,” Carla volunteered, and led them to the hallway outside the kitchen at the back of the store. She picked up a broom handle that had a large metal hook in place of the bristles and with a practiced move used it to grab the latch to a set of accordion stairs that folded down from the ceiling.
“I’m not seeing Mavis or Beth going up and down these babies,” Lauren said as she stepped onto the first of the steep, narrow steps and began to climb.
Harriet followed and was soon standing in the large attic that covered the entire square footage of the store below. Three eight-foot tables were lined up against the front wall of the building, bolts of fabric wrapped in plastic stacked six bolts high on each table. Plastic storage bins were neatly stowed under each table.
“Here’s a bin marked ‘tablecloths,’” Harriet said as she opened the container and verified that it was, indeed, full of tablecloths.
“Are we having a party?” Lauren asked as she took the two cloths Harriet handed her and spread them on the floor. Harriet took two more and laid them next to Lauren’s.
“Let’s stack the tables as high as we can, and then we can start putting bolts on the cloths on the floor.”
“Beth told us to bring these tables up to you ladies,” Duane said as he fell through the stair opening along with the table he was dragging up the stairs. Ronald followed, dragging another table that was obviously being pushed from below. The two men were red-faced from the effort.
“Thanks, guys. I’m not sure how many more you have, but I think with what’s here it’ll be enough for now.”
Lauren looked at Harriet as she spoke. Harriet was pretty sure they were thinking the same thing she was—the two men looked like heart attacks waiting to happen. Whatever they had been doing before they became homeless it clearly hadn’t involved manual labor.
“I think we should do some sort of bucket brigade-style line,” Tom was saying when Harriet and Lauren returned to the fabric sales room where the others were milling about.
“Tom’s right,” Beth agreed. “We need an organized plan. Otherwise, we’re going to be getting in each other’s way.”
“Marjory has some wheeled carts we use for stocking,” Carla offered. She went to the small room where Marjory unpacked new fabric as it arrived. She came back wheeling a flat-topped cart that could accommodate two stacks of fabric bolts side-by-side lengthwise and fit easily in even the narrowest aisles in the store.
“There are two more of these in the packing room,” she said.
Connie quickly organized the volunteer team into four groups. Ronald, Duane, and Beth loaded fabric onto the carts. Joyce and Mavis pushed the carts to the stairs and back. Carla handed bolts to Lauren, Tom and Harriet to carry up the steep stairs.
When Robin arrived, she went into the attic and received the fabric from the person climbing the stairs then put it onto a table or cloth. To the degree possible, everyone was trying to keep groupings of fabric together the same way they were displayed on the sales floor, in the hope that it would make setting up downstairs easier when the flood was over.
“Sounds like it’s still raining out there,” Harriet said when she reached the bottom of the stairs for what felt like the millionth time.
Tom came up behind her and pointed toward the kitchen window.
“It’s getting worse,” he said as rain sheeted against the glass.
Before Harriet could look, she heard the jingle of the front door bells and turned to see who’d come into the store. A gust of wind tore the door from the hand of the visitor, slamming it hard against the wall. A large form covered from head to toe in wet yellow oilcloth lurched through the opening, a dark blue plastic bin held with two hands.
Whoever it was set the box down and scraped the hood from their head. Jorge’s black hair was plastered against his forehead and his face was wet, but his smile warmed the room.
“I heard you all were rescuing Marjory’s inventory from the coming flood, and I thought you could use some sustenance.”
“You are a godsend, my man,” Duane boomed as he edged closer to the food box.
“Where do you want to eat?” Jorge asked.
“Let’s go to the bigger classroom,” Robin suggested.
Carla brought paper cups from the kitchen then a pitcher she’d filled from the tap. Jorge unloaded pork tacos, beef taquitos, chicken and cheese quesadillas and a big container of guacamole.
“This is a real nice thing you’re doing for Marjory,” he said when he’d finished laying out the food. “That river looks real angry. There’s a group of people at the Sandwich Board moving stuff. They’re hauling tables and chairs away in a truck.”
“We appreciate the food,” Aunt Beth said.
“It was the least I could do. Robin stopped in to order take-out for her husband to pick up later, and she told me what you were doing. If the power goes out, I’ll lose all the fresh stuff anyway, so I might as well let you folks get some good from it.”
As the group continued thanking Jorge for the food, Carla tugged on Harriet’s arm and glanced toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to make some tea,” Harriet said and stood up. “Would anyone like some?”
Several hands went up.
“I’ll help you,” Carla said.
“Come to tia,” Connie said to Wendy and pulled the toddler into her lap.
“Me, too.” Lauren got up before Harriet could protest. “Okay, spill,” she said to Carla when the trio was safely out of earshot in the kitchen.
Harriet filled the electric water kettle and pushed the on button. Carla looked at her, and when she received an affirmative nod, she spoke.
“I came into the front room to get some paper and a pen for Wendy to play with. Miss Beth was in the bathroom, and everyone else was in the hallway or on the stairs or something.”
“And?” Lauren prompted.
“And I saw that guy in the purple sweatshirt trying to get into the cash register.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t just looking for a pen or something?” Harriet asked.
“He was definitely trying to get into the register,” Carla insisted, her cheeks turning red as she said it. “He was turning the key and pulling on the drawer.”
“Marjory leaves the key in the register?” Lauren said.
“Yeah,” Carla replied. “You have to hit a number code to be able to turn the key from locked to unlock.”
“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised,” Harriet said. “He is homeless. He’s probably desperate.”
“It was weird, though. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I watched him for a minute, and the other guy saw what he was doing and came over and made him stop. Course, that guy seems like he has better clothes and stuff. Maybe he can still afford a moral compass.”
Harriet looked at Carla for a moment without sp
eaking. Her young friend’s insights surprised her sometimes.
“When we get back to work, I’ll tell my aunt to keep and eye on him,” she said. “Thanks for telling me.”
Carla looked at her feet.
“It was weird, so I thought you should know.”
“You did the right thing,” Lauren said and patted her on the back in a rare show of support. “So, who wanted what tea,” she asked as the water started boiling.
“What did you find out about Marjory?” Jorge was asking Robin when Harriet, Lauren and Carla returned to the classroom carrying two mugs of steaming tea each.
“Nothing new,” Robin said. “I have a call into her assigned social worker, but when you’re on a seventy-two-hour hold they cut you off from the outside world. I called a colleague in Seattle, and if we’re still stuck in seventy-two hours, he can go to her hearing with her.”
“What a nightmare,” Tom said. “And you have no idea what happened?”
Robin recounted what they knew, which was not much beyond the fact that Marjory had been stopped for driving a stolen car and had then been taken away on a seventy-two-hour mental health hold.
“Mavis and I are going to stay at Harriet’s house tonight for the duration,” Aunt Beth announced when everyone had finished eating. “Does anyone else need a more secure place to stay?”
Ronald looked like he was going to speak, but a glare from Joyce silenced him.
“Believe it or not,” Joyce said. “Our camp is well-placed. We’re sheltered from most of the wind, and thanks to you people, we have tarps to keep us dry and quilts to keep us warm.”
“I’m bunking in the restroom when the wind picks up,” Duane said. “Didn’t the three little pigs find that brick was best in the face of wind?”
Harriet laughed.
“I think you’re right.”
“Carter is freaking out as the wind picks up, so we’ll be joining the party, if the offer is still on the table,” Lauren said.
“Of course,” Harriet told her. “Connie?”
“Rod has our house sealed up tighter than a drum,” Connie replied. “And we have a generator in the garden shed.”
“Same here,” Robin said. “My kids are ready for a grand adventure. I heard from DeAnn this morning, and we’ll check on her house while they’re gone.”
“Let’s get back to work so we can get to those cozy homes,” Aunt Beth said.
More than half the fabric in the store had been moved upstairs when the bells on the front door of Pins and Needles jingled again.
“The store is closed,” Aunt Beth said without turning to see who’d come in.
“We’re not here to shop,” said a large woman with short curly gray hair covered with a plastic rain bonnet. She was accompanied by an equally portly man and a sullen-looking younger woman.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, then.” Aunt Beth turned to face the visitors. “Oh,” she said when she recognized the woman and her companions. “It’s you.”
“Are you twins?” Lauren asked. “Believe me, I know twins, and you’ve got to be Marjory’s twin.” In fact, Lauren was a twin—Harriet had met her brother Les in Angel Harbor when she and the Loose Threads attended the folk art school.
“No, we aren’t twins,” Pat said, spitting the last word out as if it were a piece of spoiled food she’d eaten by mistake.
“She is your sister, though.” Aunt Beth said. “And I’m guessing you know where she is better than we do.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Pat said, her spine stiffening and her cheeks coloring.
“You did report your mother’s car as stolen, didn’t you?”
“I did notice it was missing from the driveway. What was I to think, her living near that park and all? The car was missing, I assumed it had been stolen.” She stared rather pointedly at the homeless trio.
The looks that passed among the homeless group and the new arrivals were dangerous. Even the usually mild-mannered Joyce was glaring. Carla’s eyes widened, and Lauren’s jaw tightened. Harriet gently tugged on both their sleeves.
“Let’s let Robin handle this,” she said in a stage whisper.
“Harriet’s right,” Connie said. “We’ll let Marjory’s attorney take care of this.”
“Let’s get back to work,” Harriet said, but she hung back as the others went past her and back to their jobs.
“Why are you here?” Robin asked Pat.
“I tried to call Marjory, and she didn’t answer. We heard it might flood downtown and thought we should come by and check on her store.”
“How did you propose to get in? Did she give you a key?”
“What are you people doing here if she’s not?”
“Looking out for her interests,” Robin said. “Now, what are you here for?”
She let the silence stretch to the breaking point.
“We need the key to her house,” the bald man said finally.
“And who are you?” Robin asked.
“I’m Richard Reigert, Pat’s husband. This is our daughter Lisa. Marjory invited us to come stay with her, and now she’s gone, and well, we need to get into her house. She was to have been there when we arrived, but now it looks like she isn’t going to be and here we are.”
“Marjory’s an early-morning person,” Robin said. “Everyone knew she was going to Seattle today. You probably thought you’d be here before she drove off into your stolen-car trap.”
“If you could just give us the key to her house, we’ll get out of your way,” Pat said in a conciliatory tone.
Robin put her hands on her hips, a grim smile on her lips.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that. I don’t have a key.”
Harriet noticed that the lawyer in Robin worded her denial carefully, in case Carla or one of the other Threads had one.
“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Pat demanded.
“I suppose you’ll have to stay in a motel until the slide is cleared.”
“But we didn’t bring the sufficient funds with us for a prolonged stay in a hotel,” Richard protested.
“The Methodist Church has beds available for people left homeless by the storm,” Robin said as she ushered them toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got work to do.”
“I’ll bet they reported the car stolen before they got to Marjory’s and realized she’d left already,” Harriet said when they were gone.
“Yeah, and I hope Marjory deliberately didn’t leave them a key. She probably thought they were only going to be left cooling their heels for the day while she was gone.” Robin said.
“Sticking them in the church shelter is perfect,” Lauren said, joining them. “Not that it isn’t nice for people who need it,” she added.
A blast of wind grabbed the door from Robin’s hand and slammed it open against the side of the wall. She wrenched it shut and turned the deadbolt for good measure.
“We better get finished and get out of here before it gets any worse,” she said.
“We can’t just let Marjory sit there in the hospital,” Carla said.
“I’m afraid we have no choice,” Robin told her softly. “We really can’t do anything else for her right now. Anyway, with relatives like hers, she’s probably better off riding the storm out where she is.”
“Come on, people, enough with the chitchat,” Lauren said. “I need to get home and pack for Harriet’s.”
A plastic child’s wading pool sailed past the window on a heavy gust.
“Lauren’s right,” Harriet said and headed to the attic stairs.
The group worked for another two hours, carrying bolts of fabric three and four at a time. Carla went into the kitchen and emptied the cabinets below counter level, placing the coffee filters and other supplies into black plastic garbage bags and carrying them upstairs. When she’d delivered the coffee and teapots to Lauren’s waiting arms, Mavis stopped her from returning for more.
“Honey, I think you�
�ve done enough,” she said. “You better get Wendy home.”
They both looked at the toddler, asleep in a nest of blankets under the small kitchen table.
“Are you okay to drive?” Tom asked Carla, joining the group in the kitchen and rinsing his coffee cup at the sink. “I could drive you, if you want.” He turned to look at Harriet, who was standing in the doorway. “Would you be willing to follow and bring me back to get my car?”
Harriet was going to protest but then noticed the look of relief on Carla’s face.
“I’d be happy to, and I agree—it’s probably time to call it a day, not only for Wendy but for everyone. The attic is full in any case.”
“Where’s Terry?” Lauren asked, referring to Carla’s boyfriend.
“He was called in to help secure the base.”
Terry was a Navy SEAL who worked in some sort of special investigative unit he never quite explained, in spite of Harriet’s numerous questions about it. The naval base he worked from was also home to several nuclear-powered submarines. She knew the navy preferred its ships ride out storms in open ocean so he was very likely out to sea, but she wasn’t going to mention that to Carla.
“I’ll grab my bags then go pick up Mavis,” Beth announced and looked pointedly at Lauren.
“I guess I’ll be going by the homeless camp before I go get Carter,” Lauren said. “Unless you all want to go to the church, which is what I’d do.”
“Our camp will be fine,” Joyce said firmly.
“I’m going to stop by the vet clinic after I drop Tom back here,” Harriet announced to no one in particular.
“It’s kind of spooky in here without all the fabric,” Carla said and shivered, pulling her sleeping child closer to her chest.
The group filed out in silence, Robin locking the door and returning the key to Carla when the last person was out.
“Take care, everyone,” Harriet said as they parted.
Chapter 8
“I couldn’t help but notice that Aiden hasn’t checked in all day,” Tom said when he and Harriet were driving back to the fabric store. “I know it’s none of my business, but—”
The Quilt Before the Storm Page 7
