Max’s eyes grew somber, his face clouding over. “Most people can’t.”
Although he stared at the quilt, Izzy was certain something else was on Max’s mind. Whatever it was, he was far away from this little room in Monrovia.
“Max? Are you OK?”
He shook his head and forced a smile. “Me? Sure. I was just thinking we should find a safe place for the Wild Goose Chase.”
“Why don’t you take it with you?”
Max began folding the quilt, turning it over on itself so the colorful pattern on top was completely hidden. “I’d love to take it, but I can’t. Not tonight.”
“Why not? You’ll take better care of it than anybody else.”
“Your family’s already upset. If I walk out with this quilt, they’ll go crazy. You need to settle things with them before I can take it.”
“I guess you’re right.” Izzy grabbed the empty box from where Brandon had tossed it on the floor and handed it to Max. “Here. This is what it was in when Gran gave it to me.”
He looked inside the shallow container, then turned it over. Izzy laughed. “You won’t find any clues in there.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said with a shrug. He packed the quilt carefully in the box, then looked around the room. “Where can we put this so the treasure hunter can’t get his hands on it again?”
His assessment of her brother drew a grin from Izzy. He had Brandon pegged. “In my closet. There’s a lock on the door, although I have no idea why. It’s been like that as long as I can remember.”
She opened the door to a closet that was miniscule compared to contemporary, walk-in standards. Turning, she nearly ran smack into Max. She took a step sideways and pointed to the top shelf. “Up there would be good.”
Once the box was safely stowed away, Izzy fished the key out of a dresser drawer and locked the door. “I never thought I’d lock this door. Glad I didn’t throw the key away.”
Max stood in the middle of the room, hands in pockets. “I should be going.”
Izzy nodded.
“When can I see you again?”
She had no idea how to answer. Exactly what was he getting at?
“We still have a lot to talk about,” he continued, answering her unasked question. “What the notes your grandmother sent you mean, the reason for the pieces of cloth, where the documentation might be …”
“We do have a lot to talk about.”
“And it’s probably best not to do it in your … office.”
A blush heated Izzy’s cheeks. If Gran meant to throw her and Max together, she was probably looking down from heaven right now with a grin plastered on her face.
“Good point. I’m off from school this week but I’ve got to take care of Mom. Can you come here? We could talk on the porch.”
“I’ll stop by after work tomorrow. Around six?”
“Great.” Izzy opened the door to her room, motioning for him to follow. “Come on. I’ll walk you through the gauntlet.”
Janice and Brandon were unexpectedly silent as Max and Izzy walked through the room. Before leaving, Max stopped and addressed them.
“I’m sorry if my visit caused any friction. Have a good evening.”
Janice frowned. Brandon raised his hand in a halfhearted farewell. Izzy opened the door for Max, wishing she could follow him out and not have to face the awaiting family summit. She closed the door firmly behind him, then whirled on her brother.
“Brandon, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Me? Mom was in on it too.”
His innocent act was almost laughable. Only Izzy was too angry to laugh.
“She has an excuse. She’s on painkillers. But you should be thinking straight. What made you think you could go through my things? Or that you have any right to claim what’s mine?”
“I already told you. Gran left you everything, but Mom and I deserve our share. It was clear you weren’t about to let us in on it, so I had to take matters into my own hands.”
Izzy liked to consider herself a fairly levelheaded, rational person. Right now, she had the irrational desire to toss a glass of water in Brandon’s face. Good thing there wasn’t one in grabbing range. “You think you deserve your share?”
His stance transmitted righteous indignation.
“You really are something,” Izzy muttered. “Have you ever stopped to wonder why Gran gave me so many of her things?”
Janice motioned from her place on the couch. “Because you were her favorite.”
Normally, Izzy would contradict her mother, denying that Gran played favorites. But after what happened today, she didn’t bother with it. “No. It’s because she knew me. She knew I loved the things she loved. And she knew you would only look at the monetary value of whatever she left behind.”
They looked at her like she was crazy, and Izzy knew it didn’t matter what she said tonight. She could ask them where they’d been for the last three years, while she was living with Gran. She could remind them that even though they all lived within twenty miles of one another, the two of them only made time to see Gran on holidays or if they needed something. But none of it would do any good. Mom and Brandon were sure they had been wronged, which, in their minds, certainly put their actions in the right.
She spoke to her brother. “Go home.”
“We’re not done here.”
“Yes, we are. For now, we’re done. We’ll talk about it later.” The later the better.
“Fine.” Brandon leaned over and kissed his mother’s forehead. “Take it easy, Mom. Don’t try to do too much too soon.”
Her droopy eyes opened a bit wider. “Are you leaving?”
“I have to go home.”
“When will you be here tomorrow?”
Brandon looked over his shoulder at Izzy, silently imploring her to step in. Sure, now he wanted her help.
She shook her head. You’re on your own, buddy.
He glared at Izzy, then turned back to Janice. “I don’t think I can get here tomorrow, Mom. I’ve got a lot of stuff going on at work.”
“Of course, your work comes first. But at least we’ll see you Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
Now, Izzy was ready to step in. “It’s Thanksgiving. You will be here, won’t you?”
“Of course.” He paused. “But how will we do it without Gran?”
For a moment, Brandon’s emotions were out in the open, and Izzy felt sorry for him. “It won’t be the same. But we’ll still be together as a family.”
He nodded, then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you cooking?”
“Yes.”
“Heaven help us.” A grin lifted the corner of his mouth.
Izzy couldn’t agree more.
12
If one more thing went wrong, Max would need to head to the gym and knock the living daylights out of a punching bag. Tara had taken a few days off to spend Thanksgiving in Michigan with her family, leaving him to fend for himself. He hadn’t expected it to be difficult, until the director of a museum in San Diego called about the early Mexican pottery Max had agreed to loan them. Not only could he not find the requisition, but it also seemed the pottery in question had disappeared, probably mislabeled and packed away in an obscure corner of the warehouse.
Then one of the aides had a question about the Moving West exhibit. Mainly, what information did Max want on the plaques for the Wild Goose Chase case. He couldn’t tell her because he had no idea what was going on.
Things were far from great when he’d left Izzy’s house Monday night, but the idea of seeing her the next day had given him hope. They’d figure a way to work everything out. Only he didn’t see her the next day. She’d called and said she couldn’t make it but that she’d contact him as soon as she was available. Two days later, he still hadn’t heard back from her.
Was she busy with her mother? Had her brother run off with the quilt? Or had she simply changed her mind and decided to keep it in the fa
mily, locked away in her closet?
Leaving the museum’s back entrance, he checked his watch as he jogged to the car. He had told Gramps he’d pick him up at six. It was already six-thirty. One more thing gone wrong.
As Max steered his car through the congested streets of Pasadena, the quilt conundrum continued to plague him. If Izzy or her family blocked its use in the exhibit, what was he going to do? And if he did get the quilt, would he and Izzy be able to find the documentation about its creation? Could he have the exhibit without it?
When he pulled into the parking lot of Vibrant Vistas twenty minutes later, he was no closer to answers. Instead, he’d just given himself a headache.
The automatic front doors slid open for him and he strode to the reception desk. “Hi, Lucy.”
The young nurse looked up from her seat and smiled at him. “Hi, Mr. Logan. How are you tonight?”
“Running late, I’m afraid.”
“That’s right. You’re taking Virgil home with you, aren’t you?”
He chuckled. “Can’t keep any secrets from you.”
She waved her hand at him. “That’s all Virgil’s talked about for the last two days. How he’s breaking out of here and spending a few days with his grandson.”
Max shook his head. Gramps pretended he was a prisoner at Vibrant Vistas, but moving there had been his idea. Despite his protests, Max knew he enjoyed being doted on by the staff. “I’m surprised he’s not out here waiting for me.”
“Oh, he’s got a visitor. He may not realize what time it is.”
“A visitor? Who?”
“Mrs. Randolph’s granddaughter, Izzy.” Lucy’s voice dropped nearly to a whisper, as though in reverence to the departed woman.
So Izzy had time to visit his grandfather but not to call him back. Wonderful.
Max pulled his mouth up into a smile, fighting the tension in his jaw. “Great. I’ll go back then. Thanks, Lucy.”
“You’re welcome,” she called after him. “Have a happy Thanksgiving!”
Calm down, he told himself. You have no idea why she’s here. But the closer he got to Virgil’s room, the more irritated he became. The sound of laughter floating out the open door of his grandfather’s room only made it worse.
“Max!” Virgil called out an enthusiastic greeting the moment he stepped through the doorway. “Look who came for a visit.”
Izzy twisted in her chair, looking over her shoulder. “Hi, Max.”
“Hi.”
Confusion pushed down her brows at the sound of his clipped greeting. But Virgil plowed on as if nothing was wrong.
“Isn’t this a great surprise?”
“Oh, it’s a surprise all right.” He stared down at Izzy. “Considering how busy your schedule is.”
“Max, I’m sorry.” Izzy stood up quickly, almost knocking the chair over. “I meant to call you, but you have no idea how stressful it’s been at my house.”
Actually, he did. The thought of what she was dealing with softened his heart.
“But that’s part of why I came by today.”
Virgil took a halting step forward, clearly displeased by his grandson’s bad manners. “Don’t be a ninny, Max.”
Izzy choked back a laugh. Max shook his head. No way could he fight both of them. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I’m in a foul mood and I took it out on you. I was wrong.”
“Bad day?” she asked.
He nodded in solemn agreement.
“Maybe this will cheer you up.” Her lips bloomed into a full smile, her hands shooting out from her sides, as she made her announcement. “I want you to join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow!”
Who did she think she was fooling? “You don’t want to face your family alone, do you?”
She dropped her hands, letting them slap against her thighs. “No. But that’s not the point.”
He smirked, head cocked to the side.
“OK,” she admitted. “It’s part of the point. But I do want you there. Both of you.”
“What difference does it make?” Virgil’s irritation rumbled in his throat. “She’s inviting us for a home-cooked meal on Thanksgiving. What’s wrong with that?”
“You haven’t met her family.”
“Yes I did. At the funeral.”
“They were on good behavior, then.”
“Really? I thought the stress of the funeral was getting to them.” At this revelation, Virgil turned to Izzy. “Are they worse than that?”
She sighed. “They can be difficult, yes. But they’ll behave themselves if we have company.”
“Excuse me,” Max raised his hand as if answering a question in class. “In case you forgot, they have a pretty low opinion of me. I doubt they’ll want me to share your holiday.”
“Brandon will just be happy not to be outnumbered by females. Besides, if you spend time with them, they can get to know you and realize how silly it is to fight about loaning you the quilt.” She fluttered her eyelashes, then said in an exaggerated sing-song, “It’ll keep you out of Denny’s this year.”
Max wasn’t sure how eating turkey together would endear him to her brother. But any plan that kept him and Virgil out of Denny’s definitely had merit.
“What time should we be there?”
Despite Izzy’s positive attitude in front of Max and Virgil, there was no doubt having them over for Thanksgiving would be tricky. It was a crazy idea to begin with. But something in her spirit had kept nagging her to invite them. It was as though God wanted Max and Virgil to be included in her family celebration and she couldn’t do a thing about it.
Janice had been oddly amenable to the idea, probably because of the amount of prescription drugs in her system. Brandon was the one who pitched a fit about having “that man” join their family. But after she told him that Max’s grandfather had been a good friend of Gran’s, he began to mellow. She took it as a sign that there might be hope for her brother yet.
As she worked in the kitchen, Izzy sent up a silent prayer of thanks. So far, everything was going well. Brandon and Max were watching a football game while Virgil and her mother alternated between chatting with each other and dozing. This left Izzy free to work in the kitchen, a task that was far more complicated than she imagined. How had Gran managed to make this all look so easy? The last few years, Izzy had helped her, but following Gran’s directions here and there was nothing compared to preparing the whole meal on her own.
The oven timer sounded. Izzy grabbed pot holders with one hand and pulled down the oven door with the other. The aroma of turkey rushed out on a wave of hot air. If it tasted as good as it smelled, then mission accomplished.
Grabbing the handles carefully with the pot holders, she lifted it from the oven. The heavy roasting pan had been hard to wrangle into the oven when it was cold, but now that the hot surface allowed fewer gripping spots, Izzy found it even more difficult. To make matters worse, she hadn’t stopped to think where she would put it once she had it out. There was one open burner on the stove, and she plunked the roaster down on it with clatter.
“Are you OK in there?” Max’s voice called from the living room.
She called over her shoulder. “Yes. I’m fine. I … ouch!”
She hadn’t noticed how close her hand was to the pot of simmering green beans. Yanking her hand back and holding it tightly against her chest, she sucked in a deep breath. A moment later, Max stood in the kitchen doorway.
“You don’t sound fine.”
Izzy shook her head. “I burned my hand a little. It’s no big deal.”
Max frowned and strode to the sink. He turned on the faucet full blast and motioned her over. “Put your hand in the cold water.”
“It’s really no big deal.” Even as she protested, she did as he said, and was glad the minute the cold water began to ease the sting.
“Let me see.” With her hand still under the water flow, he took it in his, turning it over gently and examining it. “Doesn’t look like you did any permanent damage.”
“Good.”
They stood that way, her hand in his, water pouring over both of them, until they simultaneously realized how awkward it was. Izzy pulled her hand away. Max smiled, ducking his head slightly and turning off the faucet. She ripped a length of paper towel off the roll and handed it to him.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“Any time.” He looked across the counters and at the stove top. “What can I do to help?”
“You don’t need to do anything. Enjoy the football game.”
Max leaned against the counter. “I’m not nearly as involved in it as your brother is.” He looked into the living room, then said in a whisper, “Between you and me, I think he’s got money on the game.”
A shout followed by an expletive exploded from the other room, proving his point.
“I take it his team’s not winning.”
Max shook his head. “Not since halftime.”
Izzy would have to talk to Brandon about that later. For now, she needed to focus on dinner, and if they planned to eat tonight, she definitely could use a little help.
“The only thing I still need to make is the gravy. If you can get the bird out of the pan and onto a platter, I can get to the drippings.”
Max went right to work. While Izzy concentrated on making lump-free gravy, he removed pots and pans from the stove, pouring the contents into the serving bowls she’d set out.
“Do you usually carve the turkey at the table or should I do that now?”
Izzy smiled. “We’ve never been a Norman Rockwell kind of family. If you want to carve it now, that would be great.”
Twenty minutes later, Izzy shook her head in surprise at the spread of food laid out on the dinner table. When she wasn’t looking Max had garnished the plain platters and bowls she’d set out. Most impressive were the cranberry-dotted orange slices circling the turkey. She hadn’t even known she had oranges in the kitchen.
“This is beautiful, Max. I had no idea you were so artistic.”
“One of my many hidden talents.” He positioned a sprig of parsley on the sweet potato casserole. “During my first year of college, I worked for a commercial photographer. He taught me a lot about food styling.”
A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Page 9
