Quilt As You Go

by Arlene Sachitano

  Harriet and Aunt Beth looked at each other then went into the room he indicated.

  "Can I get you some water? Or lemonade?"

  "What's going on, Mike?” Aunt Beth asked.

  Mike Hafer stroked his dark, neatly trimmed beard. “As you know, this is a rather strange situation, what with Mr. Willis having apparently died nearly twenty years ago, only to return and die again two days ago."

  So what? Is there a double jeopardy rule regarding funerals? Harriet wondered. Didn't presidents have multiple events?

  Pastor Hafer picked up a pitcher of water from a credenza at the back of the room and poured water into three glasses. He set a glass in front of Harriet and Aunt Beth then took a long drink from his. It was pretty clear he was preparing them for something.

  "There is a woman sitting in my office right now who says she is Gerald's wife. She came to me to make arrangements for a memorial service."

  "How do you know she's his wife?” Harriet asked.

  "I didn't ask to see her marriage certificate, if that's what you're asking,” Mike said. “But why would a stranger walk in off the street and want to put on a funeral for someone they weren't related to in some way? Think about it."

  "I hadn't even thought about this possibility,” Aunt Beth said. “When I saw him lying there on the ground, I just assumed that since Mavis hadn't remarried Gerald hadn't either, but twenty years is a long time."

  "We need to talk to her,” Harriet said.

  "Do you want to think about it first?” Mike looked from her to Aunt Beth and back. “I think she's going to be surprised to learn Gerald had a family in Foggy Point."

  "Not that her,” Harriet said. “Mavis. She needs to be here for this."

  "Oh, honey, do you think?” Aunt Beth said.

  "She's right,” Mike said. “She needs to hear this first hand, and it might help both parties to meet here.” He went into his office to sell the plan to Gerald's alleged wife while Beth went back to her car to get her cell phone and call Mavis.

  "She'll be here in a few minutes,” she said when she rang off. “I didn't want her stressed out while she was driving, so I didn't tell her what was going on, just that a complication had developed and we needed her here."

  "Should we call Connie?” Harriet asked.

  "Not yet. Let's wait and see if we need her."

  Aunt Beth took the opportunity to use the restroom, and Harriet went outside and paced in the parking lot. Mavis arrived in less than ten minutes.

  "What's going on, honey?” she asked as she got out of her car, dropping her keys into her purse and hoisting the strap onto her shoulder in one fluid move.

  "We've had a curious development, but Pastor Mike needs to tell you about it,” Harriet said, feeling guilty for not telling her friend the news before she walked in on the other woman.

  "Mavis,” Mike said as he came out to meet her. “How are you doing?"

  "I'd be better if you-all would tell me what's going on."

  "Come in, I'd like to talk to you.” He opened the door and ushered her into the reception area. Harriet followed.

  "Hi, Beth,” Mavis said. “I don't suppose you can tell me anything either."

  Beth gave her friend a weak smile. She started to follow when Mike let Mavis into his assistant's office.

  "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Mavis alone,” Mike said.

  Harriet and Beth went back into their conference room but left the door open.

  Aunt Beth only lasted five minutes before she got up again and went outside. Harriet looked out the open door and could see her aunt was talking on her cell phone. Probably updating the other Threads, she mused.

  She was tearing small pieces off a napkin with her left hand and rolling them into tubes then attempting to make them into knots one-handed. She hadn't been successful yet when a slender blond woman who looked to be only slightly older than she was walked into the reception area.

  "Excuse me,” the blonde said, and leaned into Harriet's room. “Do you know where the restrooms are?"

  "Sure,” Harriet said. “I'll show you.” She led the woman down the short hallway that divided the office area. “I'm sorry for your loss,” she said.

  "Thank you,” the woman said as tears welled in her eyes. She was older than Harriet had thought at first glance. She adjusted her guess upward to mid-fifties. “This is just such a shock."

  Harriet kept silent and tried to give what she hoped was an encouraging look.

  "I felt terrible following Gerard,” the woman continued. “I mean, I trust him. I really do."

  Harriet listened intently. The woman had a slight accent she couldn't quite place. Scandinavian, maybe?

  "It's just that this trip came up so suddenly. Right after he got a series of late-night phone calls. He had told me years ago about his estranged son, and I heard him call the person he was talking to ‘son,’ so I thought they were reconciling.” She looked at Harriet, who was working hard to keep her face neutral. “I'm sorry to dump this on you. I'm not usually like this.” She gestured toward her puffy, tearstained face.

  "Oh, no problem,” Harriet said. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things."

  "I shouldn't have followed him. I knew it was wrong when I booked my tickets. But if he was coming to meet his son, why didn't he say so?"

  "Where did he say he was going?” Harriet prompted.

  "He said he was meeting an old college friend to go fly fishing. But I knew that wasn't the truth. He didn't take his flies or his travel rod—he had a special rod he took on trips. It fit in a custom tube he could carry on the airplane. And he left his vest home. I mean, what kind of a fishing trip was this?"

  Tears well up again, and Harriet handed her what was left of the napkin. She hadn't realized until then she still had it in her hand.

  "I should have never come here,” the woman said again, and dabbed at her eyes.

  They had arrived at the restroom, so Harriet had no choice but to leave her and return to the conference room.

  "Where'd you go?” Aunt Beth asked when she returned.

  Harriet explained her mission of mercy and the information she'd gathered.

  "So, it sounds like maybe she didn't know anything about Foggy Point and Gerald's life here."

  "That would be my guess,” Harriet said. “She seems way too shaken up, and she's feeling guilty about coming here to boot."

  They heard a door open, followed by Mavis and Mike entering the reception area.

  "I think we'll all be more comfortable in the conference room,” Mike said and ushered Mavis in. “I'll go get Mrs. VanAuken."

  The blonde returned from the restroom, and Mike brought her into the room.

  "Mrs. Willis would like to have her friends here with her for support,” he said, turned to Mrs. VanAuken. “Is that okay with you?"

  "That's fine,” she said.

  "A man has died, and each of you...” He looked first at Mavis then at Mrs. Van Auken. “...has expressed a desire to provide a celebration of his life and to give him a proper burial. I'd like you each to hold on to that fact as we try to understand how you both came to be in this unusual situation."

  He proceeded with introductions, and they learned the blonde's name was Ilsa Van Auken, and she had been married to Gerard Van Auken, an American ex-patriot living in the Netherlands, for fifteen years.

  Ilsa learned that her husband had not lost his wife of ten years and that their only son, being raised by his wife's sister, was largely fiction.

  For the most part, Harriet and Beth kept their own council and let the two shocked women exchange information—tentatively at first and then like two survivors of a natural disaster. When they finally stopped talking, exhaustion clear on both faces, Pastor Mike stood up.

  "You two will have a lot to talk about in the coming days, and when you're ready we can move forward with the funeral. Would you each take the hand of the person on either side of you,” he said in his gentle voice. “Let us say a pr
ayer for our brother who is no longer with us."

  They bowed their heads and let his soothing words flow over them.

  "Where are you staying?” Mavis asked Ilsa when the prayer was over and everyone had gone outside.

  "I've been staying in Port Angeles. That's where Gerard's reservation was.” She blushed and looked away for a moment. “I checked the history on his computer when he left and found his maps and reservations and then I followed him. Of course, I didn't stay at the same hotel, but I was nearby. I followed his rental car to Foggy Point the day I arrived, but I lost him. I came every day after that, but I didn't see him again until after he died."

  "Can we help you find a place to stay in town?” Aunt Beth asked. “Our friend DeAnn has a couple of guest cottages she rents out. They're empty now that the re-enactment is over."

  "That would be nice,” Ilsa said with a sniff.

  The women exchanged information and agreed to meet for lunch the following day at the Sandwich Board.

  "I called Jenny and told her to hold off on picking the flowers,” Aunt Beth said when they were underway again. “I also called Carla and told her we would stop by and see how she's doing with her new housekeeping plan. I hope that's not going to be too much for you."

  "I'm not a shut-in, for crying out loud,” Harriet said as she fumbled with her seatbelt latch.

  "Here, let me do that,” Aunt Beth said, and rammed it into its fitting with a satisfying click.

  Carla had hot water ready when they arrived and showed them into the downstairs parlor. Randy ran into the room when she heard Harriet's voice and wove between her legs, making little yipping noises until Harriet bent down and scratched her odd little ears.

  "How's your arm doing?” Carla asked. “Have they figured out what happened to you?"

  "There is no ‘they.’ I didn't report it to the police."

  Carla's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't say anything.

  "I told her she should call them, but no one listens to me,” Aunt Beth said.

  "I've been through this a few times, you know,” Harriet said. “And frankly, telling the police when someone banged me on the head didn't do anything for me—twice."

  "Gommy,” yelled a little voice as Wendy came running into the room, launching herself at Aunt Beth when she was close enough.

  "How's my girl,” Aunt Beth asked in a high-pitched voice and scooped the child up in her arms, tickling the girl's belly as she did so.

  Wendy shrieked in delight.

  "Okay if we go find a treat in the kitchen?” Beth asked Carla.

  When Carla nodded agreement, Aunt Beth carried her squirming armload out of the room.

  "Can I pour you some tea?” Carla asked.

  "Sure,” Harriet replied. “I'm having a little trouble with activities like that right now."

  "It's no trouble.” Carla picked up a cup, placed a tea bag inside and poured steaming water over it. “Who do you think hit you?” she asked as she handed Harriet the cup.

  "I truly have no idea. This whole business with Mavis's husband showing up dead is a real mystery. And I can't figure out what I was doing at the scene of his death that could be interpreted as a threat to anyone."

  "So, what did you see while you were out there?” Carla asked and looked intently at her.

  "The only thing I remember is the grass had something white and powdery on it. It felt smooth. I'd planned to talk to Darcy and see if that was something the criminalist's had used. I went a little farther and my toe got stuck in a tangled root. I bent down to pull it free, and I saw a blue plastic cylinder. I was about to pick it up for a closer look when something hit my shoulder."

  "Do you know what it was?” Carla asked. “Was it a shotgun shell casing? Sometimes those are colored plastic."

  "It was about that size, but more solid. It reminded me of some of the plastic creations people made in machine shop when I was in junior high school."

  "I thought you went to fancy schools,” Carla said, momentarily distracted.

  "I came back here a couple of times for a few months at a whack."

  "At least you got to go sometimes,” Carla said.

  Harriet was trying to think of the right way to explain how much she cherished her time in Foggy Point and resented all the others, without coming across like a drama queen. She was spared by the appearance of Carla's new friend.

  "I hope it's okay that I'm here,” Terry said. “The lady in the kitchen let me in."

  "Of course it's okay,” Carla said, her cheeks a little pinker and her eyes a little brighter in response to the new arrival.

  "I couldn't help but hear your description of the piece of plastic you found,” Terry said. He was wearing baggy khaki cargo shorts and a form-fitting red T-shirt. “Do you have it with you?"

  "No,” Harriet replied. “I was just about to pick it up when I got hit. Why?"

  "What you're describing sounds like a sabot. It's a piece of plastic that can be shot out of a shotgun. It can do a lot of damage without leaving a recognizable gunshot wound. Without seeing it, I can't be sure."

  "If you don't mind my asking, how do you know that?” Harriet asked.

  "I've used something similar,” he said.

  "Terry's in the navy,” Carla explained.

  "And in the navy you shoot guns filled with plastic?"

  "I'm a SEAL—we do a lot of stuff."

  It was obvious to Harriet that Terry was well-trained in how to avoid answering questions.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 13

  "Can I get you a something to drink?” Carla asked Terry, and when he requested water, she left Harriet alone with her visitor while she went to the kitchen.

  Harriet sipped her tea, and Terry sat on an uncomfortable looking velvet sofa, saying nothing.

  "Are you from around here,” she finally asked when she couldn't stand the silence.

  "No."

  "Visiting?” Harriet guessed.

  "I guess you could say that."

  "Will you be staying long?” Harriet persisted.

  "Are you an undercover policewoman or something?” he asked with a smile.

  "No, but Carla's my friend. And I'm not buying your family genealogy story. You could do that on the internet, you wouldn't need to come here in person if that's all you were doing. Carla doesn't need someone laying on the charm and trying to take advantage of her."

  "Why would you assume I'm trying to take advantage of her?” he asked, the smile leaving his face.

  "I'm not assuming anything. It's just that she's my friend, and she's vulnerable, and I want to be sure."

  "Fair enough,” Terry said. “I am here doing some family research. When I was young, we lived in Foggy Point. My father died, and my mother moved us to Seattle. I had some leave, and I wanted to try to understand who my father was. My mom won't talk about him. This seemed to be a logical place to start. I met Carla at the grocery store my first day in town, and she was friendly. I like her—simple as that."

  "So, have you learned anything?” Harriet asked.

  "Not as much as I'd hoped. I think he worked at a place called Industrial Fiber Products, but that doesn't exist anymore."

  "That's what they used to call Foggy Point Fire Protection,” Harriet offered.

  "So I've been told,” he said and stood up to pace. “I went out there to see if anyone who knew my dad still worked there.” He fell into silence again.

  "And?” she prompted.

  "And ... nothing. They said they couldn't give out any information on who did or didn't work there. I didn't get any further at the library."

  "What was your dad's name? My aunt has lived here forever. Maybe she knows something."

  "His name is the same as mine—Terry Jansen."

  "I suppose you've tried the newspaper?"

  "Not yet, but it's on my to-do list."

  "You might give it a try. They have a pretty good archive."

  Carla returned with Terry
's water, followed by Aunt Beth and Wendy, effectively ending the conversation.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 14

  Harriet and Beth returned to the car and headed home.

  "Could we swing by and see Mavis?” Harriet asked.

  "Sure, I wouldn't mind checking on her, but what are you thinking?"

  "I've been thinking about that quilt that showed up at her house the other day. Now that we know Gerald was likely in the area at the time, it seems probable he was the one who put it in her house."

  "Just don't upset her. She's been through enough. You better call Lauren, too. She needs to know the name Gerald was using and about his wife."

  Lauren was the last person Harriet wanted to talk to, but she knew her aunt was right, and Lauren was the computer maven of the group. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and balanced it on her leg while she dialed with her good hand.

  "Talk to me,” Lauren answered without preamble. Harriet silently counted to ten.

  "We have a name.” she said. “Gerald was going by Gerard Van Auken. He married a lady named Ilsa in the Netherlands."

  "The Netherlands is a big place,” Lauren sniped. “Could you be a bit more specific?"

  "No, I can't,” Harriet shot back. “I think she's going to be staying in one of DeAnn's guest houses, so maybe you can call her for more info."

  "Fine,” Lauren said and hung up.

  "She's such a ray of sunshine."

  "It'll be worth it if she can come up with something,” Aunt Beth said.

  * * * *

  "Come in,” Mavis said when she opened the door to her cottage and found Harriet and Aunt Beth on the small porch. “Let me put the teakettle on."

  The two visitors sat on the sofa and waited for their hostess to reappear.

  "Here, let me get this out of the way,” Mavis said, and moved a stack of fat quarters in shades of brown from her coffee table. “I like that stars and rails pattern you used for your re-enactment quilt, so I thought I'd try it out,” she said to Harriet. “I'm cutting enough out to make a table runner, and if I like I how it looks I may make it bigger."

  "Do you have enough fabric?” Aunt Beth asked.