Make Quilts Not War

by Arlene Sachitano

  Harriet could feel her face burning. She clutched the edge of the table, speechless.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Lauren said and put her arms loosely around Tom’s neck. Tom stood and swept Lauren into his arms, dipping her slightly and kissing her.

  “No problem,” he said when he’d finished. He kept his arm around Lauren’s shoulders. “You want your usual?” He headed for the coffee bar.

  “Have you been struck dumb?” Michelle asked Aiden as she joined the group. He’d frozen when Lauren came in and hadn’t moved or spoken since. No one had noticed his sister come up beside him.

  Michelle grabbed his arm and half-dragged him to the upholstered chairs.

  “I need to know…” She continued talking at Aiden until they were out of earshot.

  “I hate that woman,” Lauren said and sat down in the chair next to Tom’s.

  “I hope your regular is a vanilla latte with two shots,” Tom said when he came back to the table, a coffee cup in one hand and a bag with an orange-cranberry muffin in the other.

  “Thanks, that works. Can I pay you for it?”

  Tom waved her off.

  “That was well worth the price,” he said.

  “You two are good,” Harriet said. “Or maybe I should say bad.”

  “I can sympathize with a guy being mixed-up about how he feels,” Tom continued. “And I can even understand having a difficult family, but there is no excuse for bad behavior. He’s lucky all I did was help Lauren scam him. Next time, I might have to give him an attitude adjustment.”

  “I appreciate your help, but I can deal with Aiden,” Harriet said.

  “Come on, admit it,” Lauren said with a wicked smile. “Didn’t you enjoy that just a little?”

  She smiled. “I did.”

  “My report is going to be anticlimactic after all this,” Lauren went on. She pulled her laptop from her canvas messenger bag and plugged its power cord in. “Jenny is the invisible woman. She has nothing on the Internet, and I mean nothing. You have to work really hard to have that low of a profile.

  “Of course, ‘Jenny’ might not be her legal name. Her husband’s name is on everything I can find—tax rolls, car registration, address and phones. She must have a driver’s license with her legal name on it, but unless we can figure out what that is, it’s a dead end. And before you ask, I checked the obvious possibilities—Jennifer, Jeanette, Janelle, everything I could think of, but no dice.”

  “Thanks for trying,” Harriet said.

  “I’m not through here.”

  “Sorry. Continue, please.”

  “I also checked out that commune. As she reported, it was founded in the late nineteen-sixties by a couple of liberal ex-university professors. I can’t find anything to indicate it has any cult ties, so at least that’s good. They were more successful at truck farming than the local community expected—nothing too exciting. An exhibit has been created around them and is traveling to several museums around the country. That’s new. Even if someone saw her picture in the exhibit, I can’t imagine why that would be a problem, I mean, they would have to have been there themselves to know her from the commune, so what would the big deal be?”

  “There’s something wrong about Jenny’s whole story,” Harriet said. “I’m not sure the commune explains why she was so antsy about doing this event, but it definitely doesn’t explain why she’s so sure she was the real target of the shooting or why she was so frantic to check out her quilt afterward.”

  Her cell phone rang, and from the ringtone, she knew it was her aunt.

  “I’m at the coffee shop with Lauren and Tom,” she said after they had exchanged greetings. “I’d be happy to pick up more tortillas at Jorge’s on my way to the festival.”

  She listened to her aunt’s instructions about where to find the tortillas Jorge needed and told her to give Jorge’s cook fifteen or twenty minutes to get them packed before she went to Tico’s Tacos.

  “Did Lauren have any news?” Aunt Beth asked.

  Harriet relayed what Lauren had reported and rang off.

  “I’m going to have a cup of tea,” she announced. “I have to wait on a box at Jorge’s.”

  She got up and went to the coffee bar to place her order. She could feel Aiden staring at her as she crossed the room. She glanced his way, and he quickly averted his gaze.

  “Just who I wanted to talk to,” Detective Jane Morse said from behind her in line; Harriet hadn’t seen her come in. “Officer Nguyen mentioned you were hanging around the crime scene when he arrived. Please tell me that was a coincidence.

  “You were involved,” she continued when Harriet didn’t speak. She looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t need any complications, please.”

  “Lauren and I were there,” Harriet explained, “but not when the shooting happened. Our friend Jenny made the quilt that was hanging on the stage where the woman was killed. I know it sounds shallow, but I think our friend wanted to see if her quilt had been damaged.”

  “Jenny Logan,” Morse said, looking at the small notebook she’d pulled from her pocket. “She’s your Jenny? Jenny from the Loose Threads?”

  “Yes, our Jenny.”

  “I need to talk to her, too. Do you know where she is?”

  “Probably at home. She’ll be back at the festival today. Assuming your guys are letting people go back in.”

  “We had people working all night to clear the scene so we wouldn’t interfere with the festival. It’s our community, too, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” Harriet said.

  “I know,” Morse said and rubbed her hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

  “Can you join us for a few minutes,” Harriet asked her when she’d ordered her tea.

  “Sure, let me get my coffee.”

  “You know I can’t tell you anything,” Morse said when she’d taken a seat at the computer table. “But if you guys have any ideas, I’m all ears, particularly if you know anything about the victim.”

  “So far, none of the Threads knows her except in passing,” Harriet said.

  “I did a little checking on the Internet,” Lauren volunteered. “I was curious,” she added.

  “And?” Morse prompted.

  “It appears Pamela Gilbert was going through a contentious divorce,” Lauren said. “You probably already know she had a restraining order against her husband and some woman.”

  “I didn’t know that yet, and I’m wondering how you do.”

  “Some of my clients deal with security issues—criminal background checks, workplace security and monitoring—so I have to be current on what information can be accessed and how to do that,” Lauren replied. “It’s all legal.”

  “If you say so,” Morse said.

  “Don’t you guy always look at the family first?” Harriet asked.

  “We do. Unfortunately, most murder victims are done in by someone they know, usually a loved one. People are tracking down the husband as we speak.”

  “Are you going to increase security?” Lauren asked.

  “We will have an increased presence, but the victim doesn’t appear to be random, at this point, so it isn’t likely anyone else is at risk.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Tom said.

  “I better go get Jorge’s tortillas.” Harriet stood up.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Tom said with a glance across the room at Aiden and Michelle.

  Aiden glared at him, but Michelle was talking, and he didn’t get up.

  “Are you okay?” Tom asked when they were outside. “I don’t know what’s happening with you and Aiden, but clearly, his sister is making trouble again.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Harriet said as tears filled her eyes.

  “Come on, now.” He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “You didn’t,” she snuffled against his shoulder.

  “Okay,” he said. “Can I
do anything to make it better?”

  Harriet swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands and shook her head. Tom gently kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Will you call me if you need anything? Even if it’s just a shoulder to cry on?”

  Harriet nodded, part of her wishing it was Aiden kissing her, in spite of everything.

  Tom put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face toward his.

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “Okay, let me walk you to your car.” He turned her around, keeping his arm across her shoulders. “I’ll come by your booth at lunchtime, if that’s okay with you. Just to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’d like that.”

  When they reached her car, he pulled her into his arms for a hug and then turned and went back to his own car. Harriet watched until he’d gotten in and driven away.

  Chapter 13

  The stop at Tico’s Tacos, Jorge’s Mexican restaurant in downtown Foggy Point, had been uneventful. It had, however, meant that Harriet had to park farther back in the exhibition hall’s parking lot. She spotted Jenny when she got out of her car and had her hand half-raised to wave when she realized Jenny wasn’t alone. A man with matted hair and a tribal tattoo across half of his face was arguing with her.

  Harriet continued around to the back of her car, where she could hear Jenny and the man without being seen, and slowly began loading the box of tortillas onto her fold-up handcart.

  “Take it,” Jenny shouted and pushed a handful of what had to be money at him.

  “Don’t think you can just shove a few bills at me and send me on my way,” he yelled back.

  “Scream all you want, but this is all I have,” Jenny said and turned her back on him before striding to the entrance of the exhibit hall.

  The man picked up a camouflage backpack and swung it onto his thin shoulders then limped off in the opposite direction.

  Harriet locked her car and wheeled her box up to Jenny’s car. An assortment of bills littered the pavement on the driver’s side. She picked them up and stuffed them in her sweatshirt pocket.

  “Thank you, honey,” Aunt Beth said when Harriet arrived at the food court with the box of tortillas. “Are you okay?”

  “I could have done without running into Aiden this morning, but besides that, I just saw something weird in the parking lot.” She told her aunt what she’d witnessed.

  “Are you going to say anything to her?” Beth asked.

  “I picked up the money.” She reached into her pocket and pulled the money out, counting it as she straightened the bills and aligned them into a stack. “Geez, there’s two hundred-forty dollars here.” She folded the bills and put them back in her pocket. “I’m going to give the money back to her and see what, if anything, she says about it. I’ll let you know if I learn anything interesting.”

  Aunt Beth glanced at her watch.

  “You better get moving if you’re going to talk to her and get to your booth on time,”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Harriet said and strode off toward the exhibit hall.

  “Hey, Jenny,” she said a few minutes later when she found her friend, fully decked out in her afro wig and sunglasses, standing beside her quilt.

  “Oh, hi, Harriet, how are you doing this morning?”

  “Wow, it’s like nothing ever happened here,” Harriet said, looking around.

  “The show must go on, I guess,” Jenny said with a half-smile.

  “Hey, when I was walking past your car, I found this money on the pavement beside the driver’s side door.” Harriet pulled the folded bills out of her pocket and tried to hand them to Jenny.

  “That’s not mine,” She stepped back and held her hands up. “Someone else must have dropped it.” When she realized she was still holding her hands up she dropped them abruptly and then nervously smoothed the sides of her tunic.

  “No problem,” Harriet said. “They must have a lost-and-found here. Maybe they can take care of it.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Jenny said and turned away.

  Harriet talked to a steady stream of potential customers during the morning, two or three of whom she thought might actually follow through. The rest loved her work but wanted to pay a fraction of her lowest rate. Most of them were new enough to quilting to not realize how much work it was to quilt a bed-sized quilt, no matter what sort of machine you used.

  “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Lauren asked when she arrived just as the last customer of the morning was leaving the booth. She had on hip-hugger denim bell bottoms with a white patent-leather belt and a red-and-white-striped long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “Nice get-up,” Harriet said.

  “I’m still going for the folksinger look. Did I make it?”

  “Your long bangs and pageboy are right there, but I’m not sure about the shirt.”

  “The bangs are driving me nuts, but they did sort of define that era, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” Harriet said and laughed.

  A series of half-hour talks about the culture and history of the nineteen-sixties would be starting in the auditorium in a few minutes and continue until just after lunch. Traffic would be light in the vendor area for the duration.

  “I need a distraction after the morning I’ve had,” Lauren said, changing the subject. “I swear some people should have their license to operate a computer revoked.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really. You’re probably one of them.”

  “I saw an interesting encounter this morning on my way in,” Harriet said, ignoring the dig.

  “Do tell.”

  Harriet related the scene she’d witnessed between Jenny and the tattooed man.

  “Well, that is interesting. Any clue as to who he is?”

  “None at all, and Jenny was no help. I tried to give her the mon-ey—like I’d just found it by her car when I went by. She shied away from it like it was poison. After my ruse, I couldn’t easily go back and tell her I’d seen her arguing with tattoo guy and had seen her drop the money.”

  “Well, that wasn’t very clever of you,” Lauren said.

  “I know that now, but thanks for pointing it out. I suppose you could have handled it smoother.”

  “I was just saying—”

  “I wish we could find tattoo guy,” Harriet said.

  “Why can’t we?”

  “Time, space, too many people. Stop me if any of this resonates.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” Lauren said. “Think about it. He’s not here—we don’t have a big enough crowd yet to conceal someone so unique. If he was trying to get money from Jenny and wasn’t successful, he’s probably still around.”

  “You’re right,” Harriet said. “If he’s sticking around, he’ll either end up at the youth hostel downtown or the homeless camp at Fogg Park.”

  “Or he could be hanging out around Jenny’s place waiting for her to show.”

  “If he knows where she lives, wouldn’t he have gone there this morning instead of looking for her here?”

  “I have an idea,” Lauren said and pulled out her smartphone. She tapped a message into the device and sent it.

  “Who were you contacting?”

  “I teach classes to a group of computer geeks who hang out at the internet cafe downtown. I asked if anyone has seen our tattoo guy and, if yes, to text me. They’ll go out and look. It’s just the sort of mission that appeals to their inner nerd.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we go talk to him, of course.” Lauren said and smiled at Harriet.

  “Can you watch the booth a minute so I can see if Connie can come babysit when the call comes?”

  “Yeah, but let’s not count our chickens and all that.”

  “Don’t you have faith in your nerds?”

  “Yeah, but still…”

  “You’re right. Someone l
ike that will be obvious, and your guys are perfect. He’ll never suspect them of spying on him. Everyone always ignores geeks.”

  “I think I resent that remark. Technically, I’m one of them,” Lauren said.

  “You are not a geek, Lauren. I don’t care how much you know about computers.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Harriet was halfway across the exhibit hall when she saw Connie approaching from the north vendor area.

  “We closed down the raffle station, since everyone’s gone to the lectures or lunch,” she said when they reached each other.

  “I was just was coming to see if you could watch my booth in a little while.” Harriet explained the scene she had observed with Jenny and about the plan Lauren had set in motion.

  “I feel bad that Jenny doesn’t feel like she can talk to any of us about whatever it is she’s dealing with,” Connie said.

  “And she’s clearly dealing with something,” Harriet noted.

  “Maybe you should go get a snack for yourself and Lauren so you’ll be ready when the call comes,” Connie suggested.

  “Only if you’ll let me get you something, too.”

  “I never turn down food,” Connie said with a smile. “You can surprise me.”

  “Let Lauren know, will you?”

  “Sure.” Connie continued on toward the south vendor area.

  “I need food for Lauren, Connie and I,” Harriet said when she reached the head of the line at Jorge’s taco stand.

  “You ladies need something healthy,” Jorge said. “No more chocolate Twinkies.”

  “That’s not very fun,” Harriet said and smiled. “I think you’ve spent too much time with my aunt. Her food police ways are rubbing off on you.”

  “It will be a long week, and there will be many opportunities for treats,” he said and smiled back at her. “And I do have to keep the Señora happy, too. I brought some chicken burritos from the restaurant for you and your friends.” He lifted a paper bag from an insulated box. “Let me get you some guacamole from the cooler.” He put a white container in a smaller paper bag of chips and handed her both bags.