"Can you sit with her while I go pack a bag?” Aunt Beth asked Mavis.
"Sure,” Mavis said. “Let me put the kettle on, we've some detecting to do."
Beth raised an eyebrow.
"I'll fill you in later,” Mavis said in response to the unspoken inquiry.
A few minutes later, Mavis had Harriet settled on the velvet chaise lounge in the sitting room. She had propped Harriet's arm on down pillows from the upstairs guestroom and had pulled a dark cherry side table closer so Harriet could reach it with her good arm.
"Are you comfortable?” she asked, and when Harriet nodded she disappeared briefly, returning with a canvas bag containing the plaid flannel quilt.
"I brought Gerald's quilt,” she said and unfurled it. “This has to be a clue."
"I suppose it would be too much of a coincidence for it to have been returned by one of your kids only a few days before your...” Harriet caught herself before she said husband. “Gerald died,” she finished. “But what on earth does it mean?"
"That's why I brought it.” She laid the quilt in Harriet's lap. “I've tried to look at it, but all I see is memories.” She sighed.
"Let me give it a try.” Harriet ran her left hand over the surface of the quilt. It was amazing how different things could feel when you were forced to use your off hand, she mused. She felt with her left hand all the time when she was holding the quilting machine control in place—which hand she used depended on which edge of the quilt the machine head was close to. Somehow, though, it was different when you didn't have a choice.
Gerald's quilt had narrow sashing—the strips of fabric that framed the sections of the quilt. Sashing could form a grid or lattice, depending on the size and placement of the strips and was often a solid color, enabling a quilter to correct for any variations in the size of the blocks that occurred. A sashing strip that was an eighth or even a quarter-inch wider or narrower than its fellow strips was not noticeable in most cases.
When the sashing was narrow, it was often an indication the quilt had been produced using the quilt-as-you-go method. Individual blocks were completed through the quilting step then connected using the narrow strips.
Harriet fingered the sashing in several places. Knowledgeable fingers could detect the break in the batting that occurred between the quilt-as-you-go blocks.
"So, this was a quilt-as-you-go project?” she asked to be sure, and Mavis nodded. “And I'm guessing you hand-pieced and hand-quilted the blocks."
Mavis again agreed. “That didn't exactly stress your detection skills,” she said and smiled. Mavis rarely did anything but hand assembly. She knew how to machine-piece and quilt—she just didn't prefer the method.
Harriet continued feeling the individual blocks. “Have you thought about what you're going to do about a funeral?"
Mavis was silent.
"I hadn't thought about it, to tell you the truth,” she admitted finally. “I've wondered where he's been, and I've wondered why the elaborate disappearance charade, but I guess in my mind I've already had his funeral. The one we did twenty years ago."
"I just thought that, since you're his next of kin, his body would be released to you."
"I suppose you're right. I'll have to talk to the boys about it. Ben and Harry are pretty angry, as you might expect, them being the youngest. Pete and James were more indifferent than mad, and Gerry was upset—but then, he and his daddy worked together, so they had a more adult relationship. None of them said anything about doing a memorial, but of course they were in shock when they found out, as we all were."
"If you need any help, I'd be happy to do whatever you want."
"Oh, honey,” Mavis said, then stopped as she noticed Harriet pressing one of the quilt blocks between the palms of her hands. “Did you find something?"
"I'm not sure.” Harriet continued to manipulate the section of quilt. “Did you use fusible material in any of the quilt blocks?” Heat-activated adhesives were used in a variety of ways by quilters. The most common use was to attach cut-out pieces of fabric to background material with fusible fiber using an iron. The completed image could then have a line of machine stitching placed around its perimeter, creating the appearance of appliqué without all the fine hand-stitching.
"No, why would I? The whole quilt is nothing but various plaid flannel blocks."
"That's what I thought. This one block feels a little stiff, though, like it has fusible on the back of the flannel. Here, feel it.” She held the quilt out.
Mavis folded the quilt section back and forth in several directions.
"You're right,” she said, and set the quilt on the sofa beside her. “It feels like something's in there."
"Let me look again,” Harriet said. She held the quilt closer to her face, looking carefully around the seams that joined that block to the rest. “The stitching looks different on this one edge. Look."
"There's one way to find out,” Mavis said. “I'll be right back.” She got up and went to the kitchen. Harriet heard the door to the studio open and close again. When Mavis returned, she had a pair of sewing scissors in her hand. She took the quilt and sat down on the sofa again.
"Are you cutting into the quilt?” Harriet asked, her voice rising slightly.
"Well, Gerald isn't going to have any use for it, and we need to know what's going on."
She carefully cut the stitches holding the sashing to the square of flannel that was the top layer of the suspect block. She worked carefully, and in a few minutes had an opening about four inches long. Harriet moved closer to watch.
"Oh, honey, you shouldn't be up.” Mavis said as she clipped stitches.
"Let's look,” Harriet said.
Mavis bent the top edge of the fabric back, exposing dense, dark-gray fiber where they should have seen soft off-white quilt batting.
"Whoa,” she said. “What's that?” She grabbed the strange material by its corner and tugged gently. When it didn't move, she pulled harder. A dark square slid free of the quilt.
"What on earth is that?” Harriet asked, and tilted her head to examine it from all angles.
"If I had to guess, I'd say it's a sample of Gerald's work. When he was alive—” She stopped then started again. “When he still lived at home, he was forever bringing pieces of test fabric home from the factory. I've still got some of the oven gloves we field-tested. And one time I had to sew pieces onto the knees and rear ends of the boy's jeans. He glued some onto the bottom of Pete's tennis shoes another time, and Pete had to wear those shoes every day until the stuff wore through. He got real tired of those shoes, and ended up growing out of them before they wore out."
"That must have kept life interesting,” Harriet said.
"I suppose. I never gave it much thought. With a houseful of boys, I was too busy to think about much besides filling the refrigerator, doing laundry and running the home taxi service."
"I wonder what he was testing,” Harriet mused aloud, and felt the other squares that made up the quilt. “I don't feel any other squares like that one."
"I didn't feel any, either,” Mavis said as she folded the quilt and stuffed it back into the carrier bag. “As sample pieces go, it seems kind of small. He usually brought much bigger pieces home, but who knows what he was doing."
Harriet worried the fabric between her fingers. It had a woven appearance but didn't ravel at the edges, as if it had been woven and then pressure- or heat-treated.
"Not to change the subject, but I met Carla's friend earlier,” Harriet said. “It wasn't under ideal circumstances, since I was on the ground writhing in pain when he found me, but he seemed okay in a military sort of way."
"So, you approve?"
"I wouldn't go that far, but compared to whoever hit me, he was a real gem.” Harriet paused. “Actually, now that I think about it, maybe he was the one who clubbed me."
"Beth told me he was walking with Carla in the woods when he found you."
"It isn't a perfect theory. I suppose she'l
l claim he was with her until they heard me scream."
"I suppose she will,” Mavis said with a smile. “Well, I'm glad she's met someone nice."
"The jury's still out as far as I'm concerned. He's passed the forest rescue test, but he's still not proven his worth as a boyfriend for Carla. I'll need to see more to make that call."
"Carla's lucky to have such a caring friend, as long as you don't run him off in the protection process. I don't think she'd appreciate that."
* * * *
"Are you still downstairs?” Aunt Beth said a few minutes later when she came into the living room with her overnight bag over her shoulder and carrying a small white bag. “I picked up your prescriptions,” she said as she rattled the bag. “Let me put my stuff down, and we can get you started on the anti-inflammatory medication. It wouldn't hurt if you took a pain pill either."
"I'll help you upstairs,” Mavis said. “You should lie down and try to rest."
Harriet thought briefly of protesting, but her shoulder did hurt and a few hours of sleep would be a blissful relief.
* * * *
Mavis and Connie sat on stools at one side of the kitchen island as Aunt Beth spooned scrambled eggs onto their plates from the opposite side; she was also making toast and frying potatoes when Harriet came downstairs several hours later.
"Oh, honey, are you sure you should be up?” Mavis asked.
"Dios mio,” Connie said and rose. She hurried to Harriet's side. “You must be in terrible pain. Here sit down, and we'll fix you a plate."
"Connie, you're smothering the girl,” Mavis scolded. “Give her some room. Here, honey.” She pulled out a stool and patted the seat. “Sit down."
"I'm fine,” Harriet said.
"Honey, you have a broken collar bone—that's not ‘fine,'” Aunt Beth said.
"It's not that bad.” She looked at each of the worried faces in turn. “Really, it isn't. As long as I don't move it, it doesn't even hurt.” She sat down between Connie and Mavis. “So, what are you guys up to? And don't try to tell me you're all here because of my shoulder."
"Of course we're here because of your injury,” Mavis said. “Not the injury itself, mind you. Ben and Harry each broke his collar bone, and they heal quite nicely. No, we're talking about why someone would attack you just for looking at the place where Gerald was found."
"We all agree Gerald wasn't accidentally bumped into a stump or log or whatever nonsense the police are saying,” Aunt Beth said, and set a plate of eggs, potatoes and toast in front of Harriet. “Do you want the catsup?"
Harriet nodded, and Connie passed it to her.
"So, we agree it wasn't an accident, but we don't know where that leaves us,” Mavis said.
"It leaves us with murder, that's where it leaves us,” Connie said.
"Why would someone kill a man everyone already believed to be dead?” Aunt Beth asked.
"Because they benefited from his absence?” Harriet suggested, and then realized what she'd said.
"I guess that puts me at the top of the list,” Mavis said before Harriet could take it back.
"Not necessarily,” Harriet said. “Weren't you better off financially when Gerald was alive?"
No one spoke for a moment.
"What?"
"Gerald had a large life insurance policy through his work. The company paid for part of it, but then he added the maximum amount they allowed the employee to contribute. The result, along with our own personal savings, provided me and the boys with more income than Gerald made when he was alive. Remember, the company hadn't invented the firemen's turnouts back then, so Gerald got paid with a lot of promises of future riches. Deferred compensation, I think they call it."
"That alone doesn't make you a suspect,” Harriet protested, but they all knew, as she said it, that it was exactly what it made their friend.
"Robin called while you were napping,” Aunt Beth said, ending the discussion of Gerald. Mavis visibly relaxed. “She totaled up the quilt sales, and we did very well. Even after you pay the expenses, she thinks we'll clear at least five thousand dollars."
"We'll only have to donate four quilts that didn't sell,” Connie said. “And before you ask, no, they weren't all Sarah's."
"Aiden came by, and we told him you were resting, and he said to tell you he'd call you later,” Aunt Beth reported.
Harriet yawned. “I don't see how I can be tired after that long nap."
"Your body has had a shock,” Connie said.
"And you're taking pain medication.” Mavis added.
"I think I'll go lie down again,” Harriet said, and headed for the stairs.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 12
Fred was sitting on Harriet's pillow, inches from her face, when she awoke the next morning. She started to reach for him with her right hand and moaned with pain. In her early morning stupor, she'd forgotten her arm was strapped to her side.
He pawed her nose, making her sneeze.
"Fred, you're killing me here,” she said and sat up, dislodging him in the process.
She looked toward the alarm clock on the nightstand beside her bed. It began buzzing, and she twisted to reach it with her left hand. Aunt Beth came in and hit the switch for her.
"I can't seem to make Fred understand how annoying it is when he wakes me up moments before my alarm goes off."
"Don't blame him,” Beth said. “I changed your alarm after you fell asleep last night. He actually let you sleep in."
Harriet moaned and leaned back on her pillow.
"How are you feeling?"
"Actually, I'm feeling better. All this sleeping has done me good."
"I think it has as much to do with the re-enactment being over as it does with your shoulder healing."
"You're probably right."
"Do you feel up to going out?"
"Sure,” Harriet said. “Where are we going?” She pushed her tangled covers aside and got out of bed.
"I told Mavis I would go by the Methodist church and see the pastor about funeral arrangements for Gerald. Connie is going to talk to the women's auxiliary and see if they can put together some food, and Robin is tracking down Sarah to sing. DeAnn says she and Jenny can get enough flowers from their yards and that Jenny knows how to arrange them."
"Does Mavis—or better yet, her sons—have anything to say about the funeral?” Harriet asked.
"Let's just say Mavis isn't in the mood to give Gerald anything, much less a funeral. None of the boys stepped up and volunteered, so she didn't want to push it. We all thought it would look better for her if he had a nice funeral, though."
"So, has anyone questioned Mavis yet?” Harriet asked.
"You mean besides the Threads?"
"Yeah, besides them. Have the police questioned her, or her sons?"
"Not yet. I saw Darcy at the coffee shop this morning and asked if she's heard anything, and after giving her usual criminalist disclaimers she said Gerald's cause of death is still listed as unknown. She says they won't come after Mavis until there's an official declaration of homicide, but she said everyone's working on the assumption that the status will be changed at any moment."
"It's unfortunate Mavis had to go babysit. Otherwise, she would have been in the booth before the final battle and there wouldn't be any question."
"It's more than unfortunate. After Mavis left last night, Connie pointed out that her sudden absence just makes her look even guiltier."
"The killer couldn't have planned it better,” Harriet said.
"Do you need help getting ready?"
"No, I'm allowed to take this contraption off to shower.” They agreed to meet in the kitchen in thirty minutes.
"Come on, Fred,” Beth said. “She's not going to do you much good when it comes to opening your food can."
Aunt Beth had made Harriet a breakfast burrito using some leftover eggs from the previous night by the time she came downstairs and into the kitchen. “Here, you can eat this o
n the way,” she said and handed it to her.
Beth picked up both of their purses and led the way to her car, holding Harriet's and then putting it by her niece's feet, once she was seated, before taking the driver's seat herself.
"We're hoping to keep this event low-key,” she said.
"Have the police said when they're releasing Gerald's body?"
"They were expecting to release him today, and I've got Lyon's Funeral Home on standby to pick him up."
"Sounds like you've got things under control,” Harriet said and busied herself adjusting the straps on her sling.
Aunt Beth drove down the hill and through the downtown area, and then turned toward the strait. The majority of Foggy Point churches were within a one-mile stretch along the top arch of the Foggy Point peninsula. When pirate Cornelius Fogg founded the town, he had decided that, in order to attract respectable people, he needed churches. He gave free land and the money to build a church on it to the first five people who agreed to establish a congregation in Foggy Point. In later years, as the peninsula became more settled, it had become tradition for new churches to build along the arch.
Aunt Beth drove past the Unitarian church and pulled into the Methodist parking lot. The building had a single spire that rose two stories above the roof and terminated in a large cross. A black Volvo station wagon was in the spot closest to the church office, located in a wing that had been added in recent years as Foggy Point's Methodist population had grown.
Aunt Beth parked one space over and helped Harriet out. The door into the reception area was propped open to let the cool breeze in.
Harriet entered and heard the muffled sound of voices coming from an inner office. She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet, making just enough noise to let the speakers know someone was within earshot of their conversation.
A door squeaked open, and Pastor Mike Hafer came out, closing his office door behind him.
"Beth,” he said, and clasped Aunt Beth's hand. “And Harriet.” With a nod in her direction. “We're glad you've come back to us.” He gestured toward a small conference room that opened off the reception area. “We have a bit of a situation. Here, come sit down so we can figure this out."
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