The meeting went on for another thirty minutes as the women exchanged the details that would insure each quilter would produce blocks that were all the same size and shape.
"We should get going,” Aunt Beth said when the discussion finally ebbed. “I'd like to stop at the police station on our way home."
"Something I should know about?” Harriet asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Detective Morse called and asked me if I had the pattern for a slash-and-stitch baby quilt I showed her the other day. I told her I could drop it by today. Is that okay with you?"
"In principle, its fine, I just don't like the idea of you cozying up to a police detective, given what's going on."
"She's a quilter,” Aunt Beth said, as if that fact over rode everything else.
"Fine,” Harriet said. “Let's not linger, though. I don't want them thinking they get to question us again just because we're in the building."
"You worry too much,” Beth said and picked up her purse and bag.
Harriet put on her gray hoodie and picked up her stitching bag. Connie walked them to the door and was about to open it when it swung wide and Rodrigo burst in waving a piece of paper.
"We're legal,” he shouted. He handed Kissa to Connie. “You are legal, my little one,” he said and kissed the baby on her fuzzy head.
"What happened?” Robin asked as she came into the entryway, followed by Carla and Jenny.
"I didn't want to say anything until I checked it out, but years ago, when I first started working for the county, I used to go on domestic abuse calls with the police, to translate. Since there were often kids involved, and it sometimes took hours and sometimes a couple of days to sort things out, Connie and I got certified for short-term foster care.
"It was mainly to give me official standing so I could remove the kids from the scene as quickly as possible. We had a list of Spanish-speaking foster care homes, and if the children had to be removed, I would arrange for them to stay there, but once or twice we kept kids overnight at the office."
"I didn't realize we were officially certified,” Connie said.
"It was a special circumstance,” Rodrigo said. “They didn't expect us to take the children home, so they didn't do all of the home inspections that typical foster parents go through."
"So, what does this mean for Kissa?” Robin asked.
"It means she has been temporarily declared a ward of the county and released to our care until they can investigate her circumstances,” Rodrigo said.
"Why didn't you say anything?” Connie asked and batted her husband's arm in mock annoyance.
"I didn't want you ladies getting into any more trouble than normal. Besides, I know people—I knew I could ask a few pointed questions, and if I didn't like the answers, they wouldn't press the matter. As it turns out, it was easy. Kissa and I picked up the papers while you all were meeting."
"I'm glad someone was sensible about this,” Robin said. “Now we just need to figure out who she really is."
"And more to the point, who her mother was,” Harriet said.
"Or is,” Lauren said, joining the group in the entry at last. “We don't know that Kissa isn't a kidnap victim."
A collective groan came from the assembled group.
"Didn't think of that, did you?” With that, Lauren brushed past Jenny, Carla and Mavis. “Ciao,” she said, and went out the door.
"Do you really think she was kidnapped?” Carla asked Harriet.
"I hope not, but I guess anything's possible."
"Let's go,” Aunt Beth said. “We've got work to do."
Harriet and Beth said their goodbyes and followed Lauren out the door.
"Lauren's right, you know,” Harriet said when they were settled in her car. “Kissa could be a kidnap victim.” She headed toward downtown Foggy Point and the police station.
"Let's not borrow trouble. She's in legal foster care for the moment. She could as easily be Neelie's or her sister's baby. We don't know. I'm sure the county will explore all those possibilities. You need to concentrate on fixing Iloai's quilt and making up your patterns for the dog quilt."
Harriet hated it when her aunt treated her like she was still a child dropped unexpectedly into her kitchen by her globetrotting parents, but she was right.
"Okay, a quick stop at the police station, and if it's okay with you, I'd like to stop in Pins and Needles and see if she's got flannel backing that's a better match for Iloai's quilt than the off-white I have."
"That sounds good. I need to get more fabric to make borders for the rest of Joseph's quilts, and this will save me a trip."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 25
Harriet parked on a side street half a block from the police station. You could no longer park directly in front of the station, as those spots had been turned into an elaborate planter system that was in reality a concrete buffer to protect the station in the event terrorists arrived in Foggy Point and decided to storm the FPPD.
Aunt Beth just shook her head as they threaded past the floral displays.
"You never know,” Harriet told her. “Foggy Point could become a target."
"I'm sure you're right,” Aunt Beth said with just a touch of sarcasm. “There's a real possibility terrorists would bypass the Trident nuclear submarine base in Bremerton and come on into Foggy Point."
"It could happen,” Harriet said and laughed.
They reached the door, and Harriet held it for her aunt. The room they entered was beige, from the worn linoleum underfoot to the plastic ceiling tiles. The chairs had to have been there since the nineteen-fifties and belonged in a museum, not a working police station, but things were slow to change in Foggy Point.
Harriet heard him before she saw him.
"You tell the de—tec—tive I want to know what he's doing about my wife,” Rodney Miller said, emphasizing each syllable of the word. “Someone killed her, and she needs justice. No one cares, but she needs justice.” He banged his fist on the bulletproof glass that separated him from the receptionist. “She was my wife,” he said and started crying.
"Can I help you?” the receptionist called to Aunt Beth.
"I need help,” Rodney shouted. “Why ain't you helping me?"
"I came to see Detective Morse,” Aunt Beth said in a firm voice.
"What do you need a detective for?” Rodney said to her. “She supposed to be finding out who killed Neelie."
Detective Morse started to come through a door into the waiting area, but Rodney lunged for her, and she quickly closed the door and went back into the part of the reception area behind the glass. A moment later, two patrol officers came in the front doors. Harriet recognized Officer Jason Nguyen from previous encounters, but she'd never seen the second officer, a muscular young man with a military-style crewcut.
The two men flanked Rodney, grasping his arms. Rodney countered by slithering out of his leather jacket in an attempt to escape. The two officers were ready for the move and grasped his now-bare wrists, quickly pulling them behind him and applying handcuffs.
"Calm down, Mr. Miller,” Officer Nguyen said in a firm voice. “I know you're upset about your wife, but this isn't helping."
"No one will tell me anything. An’ they ain't doing anything. Neelie's dead. Dead!"
"That's not true,” Nguyen assured him. “The detectives are following several leads, and the lab is processing evidence, but until they get some results, there's nothing to tell. That doesn't mean they aren't doing anything."
Harriet wanted to know what they were doing, too, but it didn't seem like the time to ask.
"If you don't stop coming in here and screaming at our receptionist, we're going to have to put you in a cell and charge you with disorderly conduct. I don't want to do that, but if you can't control yourself, I will."
The second officer had remained silent till now.
"Take a deep breath,” he said softly, and Rodney did.
He relaxed, and they sat h
im in one of the chairs in the waiting area.
"You okay now?” Officer Nguyen asked after Rodney had been quiet for a few minutes.
Rodney nodded.
"Okay,” said the other officer. “We're going to walk you outside and undo the cuffs. I promise, as soon as we know anything about what happened to your wife, we'll give you a call. We've got your cell phone number."
Rodney looked at him intently then said “Okay,” and let them lead him out of the station.
After another minute had passed, Detective Morse came through the side door again.
"Sorry about that,” she said. “I feel sorry for that poor man, I really do."
"So, are you still working on the case?” Harriet asked. Aunt Beth nudged her, but it was too late—her question was out there.
"I wish what the officer said was true, but the fact is, we don't have any leads. The lab is processing what little forensic evidence we have, but we don't have much to go on. Ms. Obote isn't from around here, so we don't have any known associates to question. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but we don't even know for sure where the actual crime scene is. If you ladies can add any more to your statements, that would be helpful, but even if you'd seen her collapse in Dr. Jalbert's yard that wouldn't help much."
"It seems like she came to town to con Aiden,” Harriet said. “She was waiting for him to return from eastern Washington. I don't understand why someone would kill her. She hadn't even made her play yet."
"Why do you think Ms. Obote was going to con Dr. Jalbert?"
"She had a baby she claimed was her sister's, and that her sister had died and asked her to deliver the baby to Aiden. I told this all to Detective Sanders."
Detective Morse raised her left eyebrow.
"Did you, now?” she said, more to herself than to Beth and Harriet. “I take it the baby is not Dr. Jalbert's."
"No,” Harriet said in a firm voice. “He knew nothing about it, and in fact says he'll be very surprised if it's Nabirye Obote's baby."
"Where's the baby now?” Detective Morse asked.
"She's in foster care,” Aunt Beth answered quickly.
"Well, this is something, anyway. Tell me the name of the baby's alleged mother again."
Harriet told her. “Aiden has a call in to her. He did work with her in Africa before he came back to Foggy Point,” she added.
"It's strange Mr. Miller didn't mention a baby."
"He claims he knew nothing about the baby or the sister in Africa,” Harriet said.
"You've spoken to him?” Morse asked.
Harriet ducked her head. “I did run into him at dinner one night,” she said sheepishly.
"I'm pretty sure you've heard this before, but you need to let the police do the detecting. People who commit crimes are dangerous. Officer Nguyen told me you've had some experience with that. He said you got a nasty bump on the head. Next time, you might not be so lucky. If you hear anything, see anything or, heck, even think anything related to this case, you call me immediately.” She pulled a business card from her shirt pocket and wrote a number on the back. “That's my cell number. Call me."
Harriet felt like a little girl in the principal's office.
Detective Morse turned to Aunt Beth, who handed her a thin pattern book.
"Here's that pattern you asked about."
"Thanks,” she said and leafed through the booklet. “This looks perfect for my sister's baby. And by that, I mean it looks like I could finish it in time."
"If you need any help, give me a call,” Aunt Beth said. “I'm in the phone book."
"Thanks for taking the time to drop it by. And please, keep your niece out of the detecting business, for her own sake."
"Will do,” Beth said and nudged Harriet toward the door.
"Will do?” Harriet repeated when they were back at the car.
"What did you want me to say? I wasn't about to tell her I was your accomplice. Then she'd never tell us anything."
"If I'm not mistaken, she didn't tell us anything. We told her stuff."
"She will,” Aunt Beth said. “Once she trusts us. You saw how she acted when you talked about the baby. That Detective Sanders is keeping things from her. She'll talk to us because he's trying to make her look incompetent, or at least less competent."
"Typical male ego,” Harriet mused.
"She's going to need allies, and we could use her insider knowledge."
"She could just be playing us."
"I don't think so,” Beth said. “It's only a couple of blocks to the quilt store. You want to walk?"
Harriet looked up at the cloudy sky. “Sure, why not."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 26
"Do you want to work on your baby quilt in the studio while I fix Iloai's?” Harriet asked when they had made their purchases and were returning to the car, bags in hand.
"I'd love to, but I left that stuff at my house. You'd have to drive me back by there first."
"It's not like you live in Seattle,” Harriet said with a smile. “Let me throw my flannel in the washer at my house before we leave.” She'd purchased two and a half yards of a pale-gold flannel so she'd have plenty of extra fabric to account for the shrinkage flannel is so notorious for.
The town of Foggy Point strictly enforced its twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit everywhere within the city limits. Deer wandered freely in the residential neighborhoods, and the city council had enacted the low speed limit law not long after cars edged out horses and buggies as the favored mode of transportation. The law had withstood the passage of time without a single challenge. Even so, Harriet had Aunt Beth home and back and installed at a work table with her fabric, ruler and rotary cutter in less than an hour.
Harriet spread Iloai's quilt on her big cutting table. She carefully examined the embroidered areas at the top of the quilt and then the blank fabric at the bottom. She picked loose a couple of stitches along a seam that joined two imaged areas. As she'd suspected, pre-sewn blocks had been appliquéd to a background fabric. She brought a bright, natural-light floor lamp to the table and shone it on the quilt. A magnifying glass was attached to the stem of the lamp by means of a flexible arm. She swung the lens over the quilt and took a close look at the background fabric.
"This is kind of interesting."
"What do you see?"
"It looks like whoever made this turned a piece of fabric inside out to make the background."
"Haven't you ever done that to get a color you wanted? I have."
"I've done it when I was piecing something and needed a small amount of an odd color or in appliqué, but never for a whole top or backing. This looks almost textured."
"Well, don't just pick at it, undo a whole section and look."
"What if it falls apart?"
"You're fixing it anyway. I wouldn't take it apart up where the embroidery work is—do a bottom corner."
Harriet turned the quilt around and then carefully, starting in the lower left corner, picked the stitches apart for six inches in each direction. When she had the top fabric loosened from the backing, she folded it back, revealing the reverse side of the fabric.
"Whoa!"
"What?” Aunt Beth got up from her work table and joined Harriet.
"Wow,” she said. “Mavis and Gerald had matching shirts made from fabric very similar to that."
"Really?” Harriet looked at the navy blue-on-off-white Hawaiian print.
"Yeah. His sister went on a cruise of the South Pacific and brought them back shirts."
"When was that?"
"Oh, gosh.” Beth looked at the ceiling while she thought. “It must have been in the late sixties. Maybe the early seventies."
"This isn't real bark cloth."
"Of course not,” Beth said. “I don't think real bark cloth is produced in that kind of quantity. Back in the fifties, a cotton imitation bark cloth became popular for interior decorating...and Hawaiian shirts."
"Do you know
where in the South Pacific the shirts came from?"
Beth stared at her.
"Don't look at me like I've grown a horn in the middle of my forehead,” Harriet said with a laugh. “You know all kinds of bizarre stuff."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult. I'll call Mavis and see if she remembers."
She went to her purse and extracted her cell phone. She spoke for a few minutes then dropped the phone back into her purse.
"She said she could drive the shirts over,” she announced.
"Why am I not surprised she still has them?"
"I'll have you know they've come in very handy as a last-minute costume more than once through the years."
"What's Mavis up to?"
"Can't be much if she's coming here. I better go put the tea water on."
"I'll go throw my flannel in the dryer."
Mavis arrived fifteen minutes later with the shirts draped over one arm and her quilting bag and purse on the opposite shoulder. Harriet greeted her and then led her to the kitchen, where Beth had tea and snickerdoodles ready.
"Where did the cookies come from?” Harriet asked. The smell of sugar and cinnamon was almost unbearable. She wanted to eat them all herself.
"They're in the freezer in the garage—I thawed them in the oven. I didn't think you'd mind if I left some there when I moved. I labeled them ‘green peas.’ You never know when you'll need a cookie, although now that you know they're there, I suppose I should move them to protect you from yourself."
"I'm not twelve, you know.” Harriet said and glared at her.
"These are delicious,” Mavis said around a bite of cookie. “Nothing better than a warm cookie."
"Shall we go look at the shirts?” Harriet suggested when they had finished their tea.
The three women clustered around the end of the cutting table as Mavis flattened one of the shirts next to the small quilt.
"Boy, they do look very similar, don't they?” Harriet said after she'd examined both carefully.
"That's what I was saying,” Aunt Beth said.
"Do you know where, exactly, your sister-in-law bought these shirts?” Harriet asked Mavis.
"Let me think. Her cruise originated in Sydney, Australia. I know she went to Fiji and Vanuatu and then Samoa, I think. It could have been any of those places. Or knowing her, it could have been at the airport in Sydney, although they seem a little nicer than what they sold in airports in those days."
Quilt by Association Page 14
