by Terri Thayer
“Hey,” I said, punching his arm. “You don’t have to agree with me.”
“What did you think was going to happen? A flash mob? A couple of hundred quilters rocking out to Bon Jovi’s ‘You Can’t Go Home’?”
I could hear the song in my head. Now it would be stuck there all night.
Freddy liked the idea. His smile grew. “I can see it. We could film it in Cesar de Chavez Park next to the dog poop statue. Tons of middle-aged white women doing the Hustle, fist pumping.”
He sang a few notes.
I said, “Hey now, I’m not middle-aged, nor are my quilters. My customers are not all white, either. And you need to respect the Quetzalcoatl statue.”
Freddy wasn’t listening. “We should totally plan one of those. I’ve got a customer who’s a choreographer. She would help. I bet it would be great.”
Freddy drained the bottle of wine. I was surprised to see that it was empty. I hadn’t noticed him refilling my glass. I’d thought I was still nursing my first.
I didn’t care. The wine was relaxing. I felt the concerns of the day fade away.
“So my brother called,” Freddy said.
I sat up straight and felt the tightness return to my shoulders. I nearly got whiplash from the jolt. Has Zorn caught up with Vangie?
“And?”
“The police are looking for Vangie. She’s not at the hospital anymore, but she’s not at home either.”
At least she wasn’t in police custody. I relaxed a little, and shrugged my shoulders at him innocently.
“Larry’s concerned. He hasn’t heard from her.”
“Are you asking me if I know where she is?” I asked. I picked at the label on the bottle. It was an estate Cab from Duckhorn Vineyard in Napa. Freddy didn’t mind spending sixty bucks for a few drinks.
Freddy frowned. “Larry wanted me to tell you to tell her it would be better for her if she returned his calls. He can’t protect her otherwise.”
I shrugged. “If I see her—which I’m not saying I will—I will pass on the message. I think Vangie should be talking to her lawyer, too. That would be the smart thing to do.”
Buster’s ring sounded on my phone, playing “Hammerhead Stew.” The Delbert McClinton song was the tale of a guy who protected his girl to the extreme of making mincemeat out of Jaws. Truthfully, it made me a little nervous that he’d picked that song as his ring tone.
Freddy reached for the phone. He’d had enough wine to make him think it would be a good idea to answer and say inappropriate things. I snatched it away from him, letting the call go to voice mail. I texted Buster instead, telling him that I was on my way home.
I stood. “Time to go,” I said.
I rinsed our mugs and the plate in the sink, and we walked outside together. Freddy waited as I locked the door from the outside, jiggling the handle to be sure.
“Here’s to a Twitterific day tomorrow,” he said with a jaunty wave. “If you hear from Vangie, tell her to call her lawyer.”
“Got it,” I said.
_____
“Dewey!” Kym yelled from the back of the store. She really had to holler to be heard. I took a breath. Kym was here because I didn’t have anyone else to work the table, I reminded myself. If we were going to be busy today, I needed her.
It was the morning of the second day of the Crawl. After yesterday, my expectations had definitely come down a notch. So far though, attendance had been steady and there were at least a dozen people in the store.
I walked back to where Kym sat at the greeting table. “Please lower your voice,” I said. “Don’t shout for me. It’s not cool.”
“You told me to stay put. How was I supposed to let you know you had a phone call? You can’t have it both ways, you know.”
“You can use the intercom feature …”
She thrust the portable store phone at me. “Did you find a purse?” she asked. “This lady lost her pocketbook.”
“What?” I said, looking at the phone in my hand.
“I don’t know. Talk to her.”
Kym worked a nail file over her thumbnail, her business with me complete. I walked a few steps away, into my office. “This is Dewey,” I said.
“Dewey, thank goodness. Kym said you found my purse.”
I glared at Kym, but she had picked up a Fabric Trends. The latest edition, of course. I had plenty of older magazines on the sale rack, but she had to have a new one. I cringed as she licked her figure to turn the page. After she got done with it, I wouldn’t be able to sell it.
The woman was speaking rapidly “I was so afraid I’d lost my wallet. My credit cards are in there, my license. I don’t want to go to the DMV…”
“Hold on, I didn’t find anything. Start at the beginning. Who is this?”
“This is Lois Lane. I’ve called every other shop I went to yesterday. I should have started with you.”
Looking for lost items was a hobby of many of my post-menopausal customers. We kept a big box of stray eyeglasses, keys, and even a sex toy under the cutting table. No one had ever claimed the toy. Ursula had thrown it out.
“None of my employees have told me about finding a purse. Sorry.”
Lois said, “You don’t have it? You remember what it looks like? Remember that fabric I bought last week?”
“Of course,” I said, picturing the purse she’d brought in earlier in the week. “Lois, don’t worry. I’ll go look for it right now.”
I handed the phone back to Kym. I smiled at the five women who had just had their passports stamped. They were moving into the store. Yippee. I could see more people parking their cars out back. One was a large minivan. This morning was much busier than yesterday, thank goodness.
“Someone’s purse was stolen?” Kym said, her voice carrying. Panic colored her tone.
“Please lower your voice,” I said, whispering. The stamped Crawlers went into the classroom for a snack, but they were still within earshot.
Kym flipped a page of the magazine so hard it ripped. I bit my lip. Money down the drain. The cost of doing Kym business.
“I bet someone walked off with it,” she said.
“Kym, please.”
She looked up, eyes wide. “What? Think about it. The Crawl is purse-snatcher’s paradise. Distracted shoppers with cash. Crowded spaces, plenty of jostling.”
She was getting louder, not quieter. The back door was opening. I couldn’t have her scaring my customers. Even the rumor of a thief working the Quilters Crawl could affect business. No one was going to have fun if they were worried about their belongings.
I wanted quilters with their purse strings loosened, not tucked under their arms.
I leaned on the table, hoping to shut her up. “Lois probably laid her purse down somewhere and wandered off. Most likely, I’ll find it in a jiffy.”
Kym nodded her head knowingly. She couldn’t stop herself. “I’d look in the dumpster if I were you. Her purse is probably there. Of course, without her cash or her credit cards.”
I walked to the back of the table, and pulled on her chair, unseating her. “Kym, take a break,” I said.
“I don’t need …”
The minivan had disgorged seven women. Each was carrying a large tote bag. These women meant to shop.
“Seriously, Kym. Take five. Now.”
She huffed up from the table and stomped to the bathroom. I prayed that five minutes repairing her eyelashes would put her in a better frame of mind.
“Welcome to QP,” I said, smiling brightly. “Everyone having a good day?”
I let Kym stew until a text came from the burrito shop next door, telling me lunch was ready. She wouldn’t look at me, but sat down when I asked.
“You need to use the bathroom?” Mrs. Unites called out when I walked in. She knew the work had finally been finished, but she loved to tease me.
I shook my head. “Maybe. For old times’ sake.”
She cackled and reached for the bag that held my order. I gave her t
he store credit card.
“How’s Mr. Handsome these days? You hiding him from me? You afraid he will like me better than you?”
She guffawed and ran my card through her reader. For someone who had been standing on her feet ten hours a day for the past thirty years, Mrs. U was cheerful.
“He’s been working a lot. He’ll be in for lunch next week, I promise.”
“Good. I feed him and make him so happy. What about Miss Vangie? You didn’t order her enchilada? Is she not working today?”
I shook my head. “School,” I lied. I didn’t have time to explain that Vangie was hiding out at Pearl’s.
Mrs. Unites beamed proudly. “She is a good student.”
“Yes, she is.”
Vangie had texted me several times. She was bored silly. I could have used her help today but Zorn was likely to find her here.
I checked my phone as I walked back. Vangie had stopped flooding my phone. Maybe she was napping.
Freddy’s tweets had started to go out. Special prizes. Don’t miss the excitement at Roman’s Sewing Machines. Fun starts at three sharp. Must be present to win.
He followed that up with Come one, come all. If you’re short or if you’re tall. Roman’s Sewing Machines is the place to crawl.
I retweeted his exhortations to my followers and to the Crawl followers. I hoped he’d have a better day than mine had been yesterday.
Thirteen
At the back door, I shifted my bag of burritos and held the door open as a pair of women approached the shop. “Come on in,” I said.
“Having a fun day?” I asked. These two weren’t familiar to me and I wanted to make sure they felt welcome. The one in the red sweater pulled her passport out of her homemade holder looped around her neck.
“Is this the line for stamps?” she said warily. “Where do I go?” She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the hall.
“Go on in …” I pointed to the front of the hall where the greeting table was. I let my hand drop. I looked around her. The stamping station was invisible, even to me and I knew where to look. My skin tightened.
I saw nothing but a crowd of women.
Giggling women. The same women who’d been there ten minutes ago.
“Hold on,” I said to my new customers.
I marched to where the bottleneck was. Just as I expected. Four of Kym’s cronies from the appliqué club were gathered around. Kym had been their leader when she worked at my shop two years ago. They were having a grand time.
Meanwhile, hoppers weren’t getting their books stamped or if they were, they were being greeted perfunctorily at best. No one liked to walk into a gaggle of women with their heads together. I had to break this up, pronto.
I reached past the duo wearing denim vests decorated with crocheted doilies, trying to grab the stamp and pad. I couldn’t reach.
The blonde to my left wore a button that read, “Hand is not a four-letter word.” Their manifesto to the joys of sewing without a machine.
“Hi, Dewey,” she said.
I said a cool hello. None of these women had shopped in QP after I’d fired Kym. They were only here today because the Crawl required it. Running into Kym was an added bonus.
I leaned in, putting myself between them and Kym. “You gals having a good Crawl?” I asked. “On your way out?”
Kym’s eyes flashed.
“We haven’t seen Kym in a dog’s age,” the button-wearer said. She must be their designated spokesperson. “We were discussing all the changes you’ve made here in the store.” It was clear from her tone she disapproved.
“Lots of changes,” I agreed. “Kym’s got work to do, so if you don’t mind …” I looked significantly at the back door.
Two took the hint and moved off, but button-wearer and her buddy did not. They must have mistaken their denim vests for body armor.
I motioned for the red-sweatered woman and her friend to move forward. They looked tentative but wanted their passports stamped.
Kym did a quick swipe at their passports and the duo hurried off. It would be a long time before they returned to QP.
Kym’s friends were still here. I moved so they would have to take a step back.
I smiled the fakest smile I could muster. “SO nice to see you again. Don’t be strangers.”
I waved, a soft beauty-queen wave I knew they could relate to. Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist.
The button-wearer snarled but she backed off. “Bitch,” I heard her mutter as she hooked arms with her friend and sidled away.
I turned back to Kym. “You’re not here to socialize. Either do the work, or go away.”
“I’ll stay,” she said, not looking me in the eye. It probably had more to do with not wanting to invoke my father’s ire than mine, but I’d take it.
The smells coming from the bag of burritos were overpowering and starting to sicken me. I went into the kitchen. Jenn followed me.
“Houston, we have a problem,” she said. She was carrying a fresh stack of fat quarters from the supply in the classroom.
I pointed my chin at her burden. “Fabric’s flying out the door? That’s the kind of problem I like. I’ll be out there as soon as I put these in the frig.”
“That’s not it. We’re busy, but we’re handling it. No, the problem is people are arriving for Pearl’s Advanced Color class,” Jenn said. She nodded her head toward the classroom across the hall.
“Pearl doesn’t have any classes scheduled,” I said. The smell of cilantro was overwhelming. My throat got dry.
Jenn said, “Yes, she does. I checked.”
She pointed at the class calendar on the bulletin board. There it was. Pearl’s Colorings from 1–5 PM today. The class, like many of our classes, had been scheduled months ago. Before Hiro died. Before Pearl went a little nuts. Even before I’d signed up for the Crawl.
I dropped the bag of burritos on the counter. Jenn began to unpack them, righting them so that the label showed. Two bean and cheese, three chicken. I’d split a vegetable with Ursula.
“I canceled it. I know I did,” I said. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I had given the task to Vangie to do. I had assigned her the job of removing the class from the website and notifying those who’d already signed up.
I asked, “How many students are here?”
“At least twelve.”
“Yikes.” Pearl’s classes were always popular.
What was I going to do with a dozen students expecting to take a class from Pearl this afternoon? I could refund their class fee, but some would still be unhappy. It was not just that they’d been looking forward to the day but they’d already spent additional money on their supplies.
It was like buying a fancy dress for a wedding, having already spent a hundred dollars on some casserole dish from the Macy’s wish list, and then having the bride and groom break up two days before the ceremony.
Miserable quilters were often vocal ones. I could guarantee there would be at least one quilter who’d insist on trashing QP’s reputation. Loudly.
Not today. Not in front of total strangers.
I needed to isolate the group to contain the damage.
“Jenn, send them up to the loft classroom. I’ll get the checkbook and come up and tell them the class has been canceled.”
This was going to hurt.
By the time I went upstairs, twelve women were seated at the six tables. Pearl’s students were our art quilters, and their creativity showed up in their clothes and accessories. Homemade totes of varying hues were scattered on the tabletop. Many wore jackets or vests that they’d made.
They were settling in, unpacking supplies and laying out notebooks and the special colored pencils that Pearl required. A brunette with a huge smile was showing off the pencil holder she’d made. The fabric looked hand-dyed and was stamped with a turtle motif.
They looked up expectantly, smiling.
“I’m afraid I have to tell you that the class has been canceled,” I
began.
A disappointed sigh rippled through the room. I smiled in empathy.
“I know, I’m truly sorry,” I said.
“The class was on the website,” a woman with a Heidi braid on the top of her head said. Heads nodded in agreement. “I checked this morning.” She folded her hands on the table, as if the class would begin if she waited long enough.
Murmurs of discontent begin.
I looked at Heidi directly. The only way to do this was to let them all in on the troubles QP was facing. No Vangie. No Pearl. And hope for some understanding and sympathy.
“I do apologize. We’re having a little trouble staffing. Vangie, my assistant, is carrying a heavy school load as well as working here. She made a mistake. As some of you know, Pearl’s …”
The brunette interrupted. She wasn’t smiling now. Instead her large mouth was twisted in anger. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what I had to do to get this day away from my family? The kids had a minimum day. My husband wanted to play golf today and I told him he couldn’t. He’s going to be pissed.”
The murmurs grew louder. I glanced over the railing to the store floor below. It was crowded with people. People I didn’t want to hear about QP’s screw-ups.
I held up a hand, hoping to stem the tide of anger.
“Pearl isn’t feeling well …” I started again.
“This is b.s.,” Smiley said, picking up her pencil holder and slamming it into her purse. “Total disorganization.”
I raised my voice and held up the checkbook. “I will refund your class fees,” I said. “Right now. As soon as Pearl returns, I’m sure she will schedule more classes …”
Smiley wasn’t finished. “I’ve driven for forty-five minutes. Are you going to pay me for my time? Do you know how much gas costs these days?”
I didn’t have an answer. “It was my understanding that the class had been canceled over a month ago and that you’d all been notified. We dropped the ball. All I can do is apologize.”
Heidi raised her hand, peering around the unsmiling brunette. “What about the email?”
I shook my head, not understanding.
“I got an email from Pearl last night.”
“Me, too.”
