She didn’t tell Agnes about the encounter—Agnes had baby-sat Diane as a child and they had remained close, so she was almost a surrogate grandmother to her boys and could hardly be objective—but she did tell Gwen when she stopped by the shop a few days later. Gwen seemed more concerned with her daughter’s perfectly legal decision to move in with her boyfriend than by Michael’s breaking the law, but that was not surprising. Gwen did offer one offhand suggestion and, after mulling it over, Bonnie decided it was actually quite good: She could talk to Michael herself. She was no prude, and she knew college students started drinking as soon as they hit campus regardless of age, but that fake ID could get him in serious trouble. Diane and Tim were so proud of how their rebellious son had turned his life around. Bonnie could not sit back and wait for him to disappoint them, or worse.
But first Bonnie had to pay back Grandma’s Attic. The following Thursday evening she took a cab out to Elm Creek Manor and found Sylvia in the formal parlor, tidying up for their business meeting. After procrastinating with small talk, Bonnie awkwardly asked her for an advance on her first quilt camp paycheck. “I wouldn’t make this request lightly—”
“I know you wouldn’t,” interrupted Sylvia. “If you say you need the money now, you must have good reason.”
“I think I owe you an explanation.”
“Well, you don’t. Now, let’s go upstairs so I can write you a check before everyone else gets here and wants their first paycheck early, too.”
Bonnie managed a smile as she followed Sylvia from the room, but as they climbed the stairs, she said, “I left Craig.”
Sylvia nodded. “I thought it was something like that. Have you contacted a lawyer?”
“I meet with him tomorrow.” Bonnie gave Sylvia a sidelong glance. “You’re not surprised?”
“Frankly, no. I’ve been expecting something like this for the past five years.”
Bonnie stopped short on the landing. “Really.”
“Of course, dear. Once the trust between a husband and wife is broken, it’s very difficult to repair, even with the best of intentions.”
Sylvia continued down the hall toward the library, but Bonnie caught her arm. “You’re not going to tell me I should try harder?”
Sylvia looked shocked. “I wouldn’t presume to. You stuck it out for more than thirty years, by my reckoning. You would know far better than I whether you’ve done all you could.”
“But what about all your talk about forgiveness, about reconciling before it’s too late?”
“Oh. That.” Sylvia sighed and shook her head. “In an ideal world, your forgiveness would have inspired Craig to mend his ways and be an exemplary husband. You gave him five years to prove himself, which is about four and a half more than I would have managed in your place. If you’re still miserable, if you still can’t trust him, you’re far too young to live that way for the rest of your life.”
“I didn’t leave because of that woman from the internet,” said Bonnie, and while Sylvia wrote out a check, Bonnie filled her in on the events of the past few months. Sylvia’s expression grew more grave as the story tumbled out, and at the end, she gave Bonnie one long, wordless hug. They returned downstairs together, ten minutes late for the meeting.
The next day was unseasonably mild, with sunny skies and warm breezes that promised of the coming spring. Students basked in the sun on the main quad across the street from Grandma’s Attic, while others clad in shorts and T-shirts packed their cars for spring break. Business picked up a little that week, as residents of outlying small towns took advantage of the students’ absence to venture into Waterford. Bonnie tried to take some hope from this and the fine weather as she locked the door to the quilt shop and walked to her lawyer’s office.
She had collected some of the papers he had requested, but the most important documents were unattainable in the condo. Not for long, however, if her new lawyer could be believed. Darren had told her it was unfortunate that she had abandoned the property, but he could argue that Craig gave her no other choice. The echo of Craig’s words made her uneasy, but she decided to believe Darren when he said he would have her back in her home soon. She didn’t ask where he expected Craig to go.
Scanning front doors for the address, she glanced through the window of a coffee shop and spotted Michael pouring sugar and cream into a to-go cup. She hesitated, then checked her watch and went inside.
Michael eyed her warily as she approached. “Hello, Michael.”
“Hi, Mrs. Markham,” he mumbled.
She smiled pleasantly. “Do you have any plans for spring break?”
“Stayin’ here.”
When he did not elaborate, she decided to get to the point. “Michael, I’ve been concerned ever since I saw you at the liquor store.”
“It wasn’t all for me,” he broke in. “I wasn’t going to drive after.”
“I’m relieved to hear it, but that doesn’t change the fact that you used a fake ID.”
“I’ll be twenty-one in six months.”
“Do you think the police would care? Do you have any idea what would happen to you if you got caught?” He shrugged, and since Bonnie didn’t know either, she let the ominous threat hang in the air. “I could tell you all the reasons why you shouldn’t drink, but I’m sure you’ve heard them before. What you might not have considered is that breaking the law so you can drink makes a bad situation worse.” His scowl deepened, so she finished in a rush. “I want you to give me that ID.”
“What?”
“It’s for your own good.” She could have cringed; she shouldn’t have put it that way. “I haven’t told your parents what I know, and I won’t, as long as I know you can’t do it anymore.”
“What if I just promise?”
“If you promise, and if you intend to keep your promise, you won’t need the ID.” She held out her palm. “Please, Michael. Either give it to me now or to your parents later.”
He looked as if he might protest, but then he whipped out his wallet and shoved the card into her hand. He stalked off as she tucked it into her purse, but at the door, he turned and gave her a look of such unmitigated rage that her breath caught in her throat. Then he was gone.
She composed herself and continued on to her lawyer’s office, to prepare for another confrontation she did not want but could not avoid.
Two days later, Bonnie and the other Elm Creek Quilters welcomed the first group of campers for the season. It was a scene so customary that it should have comforted her, but instead its sameness in the context of sudden and unwelcome change unsettled her. First there was the excuse she invented for being at Agnes’s house when Diane stopped by to pick her up—although she would have been uncomfortable around Diane regardless. Then, when she finally confided to Summer that she would have to let Diane go, Summer actually tried to resign in order to save her friend’s job. Bonnie was deeply touched that Summer would offer to make such a sacrifice without even pausing to consider the consequences, and if Summer were not so crucial to the survival of Grandma’s Attic, Bonnie might have taken her at her word.
Still, as the Candlelight welcoming ceremony concluded, Bonnie began to fall under the spell of the campers’ joy. Even Judy’s unexpected absence seemed reassuring as the sort of ordinary emergency the Elm Creek Quilters had learned to expect and absorb. By the end of the first day of classes, Bonnie almost managed to forget her grief over the loss of her marriage, the indignity of having to rely on Agnes for a place to live, her fear that one day soon she might have to lock the door of her beloved quilt shop forever. The familiar rhythms of quilt camp reminded her that she had a life beyond Craig, beyond Grandma’s Attic.
True to her predictions, business did pick up slightly as spring break began, so that as she walked to the quilt shop Wednesday morning, she considered that they might just be able to save the store without losing Diane.
But then she reached the front door, and before unlocking it, she knew that she had already lost.
She was too shocked to cry. She stepped carefully over the rubble of her dream, turning around, taking it all in. She could not believe it, but it had to be real. It hurt too much to be a nightmare.
Craig. He had always hated the shop. He had smirked when he said she was close to losing it. She never suspected he would be vicious enough to push her over the edge. Until that moment, she had not understood the depth of his contempt for her.
The cash register was empty, as she had suspected it would be. Then, a shiver of alarm ran through her. In her haste to meet her lawyer, she had stashed the previous day’s deposit in a filing cabinet rather than taking it to the bank. She ran to the office, tripping over fabric and spools of thread, but that room, too, had been ransacked, the filing cabinet overturned. The money bag was gone.
With a sob, Bonnie sank down onto a chair. She stared at the disarray, seeing Craig hurling fabric bolts across the room, knocking over shelves, tearing sample quilts from the walls and grinding them beneath his feet, until she remembered she ought to call the police. She fumbled for the phone and made her report numbly. When the squad car pulled up in front of the store, lights flashing, she was picking her way through the mess in a daze, trying to determine exactly what had been stolen.
One officer questioned her and took notes while the other looked around, studying the front and back doors and the windows carefully. They asked what was missing. When Bonnie told them, the second officer’s eyebrows rose. “That’s all?” she asked.
“As far as I know,” said Bonnie, indicating the mess with a wide, despairing sweep of her arm. “It’s difficult to say.”
They urged her to look around, carefully. Bonnie complied, gradually understanding the reason for their surprise. Common thieves would not have wasted so much time destroying the shop, and they would not have left so many expensive items behind. Whoever had done this had wanted to hurt her. Bonnie wanted to dismiss the thought—it would be easier to believe thieves had struck rather than the man with whom she had shared most of her life—but it became an irrefutable conclusion when she discovered the thief had also taken the carton of blocks for Sylvia’s bridal quilt.
Bonnie could no longer stand. She managed to reach a stool and brace herself against the cutting table, but not before the officers noticed. When she told them what else was gone and explained the significance of the project, they exchanged a knowing look she doubted she was meant to see.
The first officer finally asked the question she had been dreading: Did she have any idea who the culprit was? She could not bring herself to speak, so she shook her head. The officer frowned and tapped his pad with a pen. “Do you have any enemies?” he asked. “Anyone who would like to see you driven out of business? Any competitors who play hardball?”
“No,” Bonnie said, since the Fabric Warehouse was succeeding in that without destroying her shop. Then she thought of Krolich and gasped.
“What is it?” the second officer asked.
“There is someone … I don’t want to accuse anyone lightly, but the new owner of the building doesn’t want me to stay. He wouldn’t need to resort to this, though. The rent he wants to charge is enough to drive me away.”
“We should probably talk to him anyway,” said the first officer. “Can you tell us how to reach him?”
Bonnie nodded and made her way to the front counter, where the contents of her card file had been scattered on the floor beneath the register. She picked through the pile but she could not find Krolich’s business card, and then suddenly she froze, realizing what else was missing.
Michael’s fake ID. She had put it in the card file for safekeeping, not quite willing to discard it in case she had to go to his parents after all. A momentary relief flooded her when she realized Craig was not to blame, but the feeling vanished when she thought of what this would mean for Michael, and for Diane.
Then she spotted Krolich’s business card and quickly scooped it up and rose before the officers noticed her distress. “Here’s his card,” she said, handing it to the first officer.
He glanced at it before tucking it into a pocket. “I assume that as the owner Mr. Krolich has a key to the building?”
“I suppose he must,” said Bonnie. “Why?”
“There’s no sign of forced entry,” said the second officer. “It must have been an inside job, if you’re sure you locked the door.”
“I’m sure, but I really don’t think Gregory Krolich did this.”
The officers nodded noncommittally and resumed their work.
Krolich would likely have access to a key. So would Michael, but not Craig. Michael could have taken Diane’s key from her purse, while Craig had not been within blocks of Bonnie’s key for weeks.
Another officer arrived shortly afterward and began dusting for fingerprints and photographing different areas of the store. The officers’ questions shifted from points of entry and the motives of her enemies to Bonnie herself, and how she felt about her shop. Bonnie supposed they were trying to put her at ease, but explaining that she and her husband were estranged and admitting that Grandma’s Attic was not in the best fiscal health only made her more uncomfortable. Just when she was considering asking them to allow her to sit down for a moment, alone, Summer burst in. The third officer tried to prevent her from entering, but Bonnie was so glad to see her she almost could not tell her what had happened. She clung to her young friend and, finally, let her tears fall when she admitted that Sylvia’s blocks were missing. Why would Michael have done that, when most kids would assume losing the expensive sewing machines would hurt her most deeply? How would Michael have known to do that?
It was midafternoon before the officers said she could straighten up the areas they had already searched and photographed. As soon as they departed, Bonnie and Summer got to work. They had made little progress by the time Gwen arrived several hours later. Since Summer had a tender spot in her heart for Michael, Bonnie waited until she was out of hearing to confide her suspicions to Gwen. At first Gwen denied the possibility that the Michael they had known since childhood could have done such a terrible thing, but soon doubt appeared in her eyes.
Bonnie had no doubts.
CHAPTER FIVE
Agnes
Agnes’s New Year’s resolution was to update her will and get her affairs in order, so after the traditional New Year’s Day feast of honey-glazed ham with all the trimmings, she took her two daughters aside and told them if they especially wanted any of her belongings, they should let her know so she could set them aside.
She was not surprised when both of her girls recoiled. “Mom, that’s morbid,” said Stacy, her eldest. “That’s not something you need to worry about yet.”
Laura, as always, suspected she had not been told the entire story. “Are you ill?”
Agnes laughed. “Of course not. I’m perfectly healthy, or so my doctor tells me. But I’ll be seventy-four in two months, and no one lives forever. I’d like to know things are settled so there won’t be any arguments after I’m gone.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Stacy assured her, patting her on the arm and guiding her to a seat on the sofa. “Is something else bothering you?”
Agnes sighed. She should have anticipated this, although she wished her daughters would show more respect for her intelligence. She was well aware she would not be the first immortal woman in the history of the species, but the gentle, soothing tones in her daughters’ voices suggested they thought they could convince her otherwise. “If there’s a certain quilt you would like, for example, or a piece of furniture, let me know so I can put it in writing. Soon,” she added, and hid a smile when they exchanged a look of dismay at the implied urgency. They deserved to be needled a bit for patronizing her.
“Just divide up everything fifty-fifty,” said Laura. “We won’t argue over anything.”
“Of course not,” Stacy chimed in. “For goodness’ sake, Mom, how could we care about things when we’ve lost you?”
L
aura nodded, so Agnes merely smiled, patted their hands, and suggested they return to the family room where her sons-in-law and grandchildren were watching football on television. Even as youngsters Stacy and Laura had indeed gotten along much better than the average pair of sisters, but Agnes had witnessed the sad legacy of friends whose children’s amicable relationships had fractured into bitter animosity over the ownership of an antique armoire or a set of books worth only sentimental value. She did not want to think of that happening to her girls, nor did she want to stipulate that they sell everything and divide the cash. After seeing what Sylvia had gone through to find her mother’s heirloom quilts Claudia had sold off, Agnes was determined to spare her daughters that ordeal.
The girls said nothing of her proposal for the rest of their visit, so two days after they departed, when their absence and the enduring winter made the house seem especially lonely and quiet, Agnes sorted through her collection of quilts with a pad of paper, a pen, and a box of new safety pins by her side. She admired the handiwork of decades, reminiscing about the creation of each quilt and mulling over who might appreciate it best. Each daughter would receive one of her two queen-size Baltimore Album quilts—Stacy the one in pastels and Laura the one in brighter hues. Sarah, who loved samplers, would adore the floral appliqué wall hanging, and the Pinwheel lap quilt simply had to go to Summer, who had encouraged Agnes to piece it from Summer’s own favorite vivid Amish solids. Come to think of it, she ought to put Summer’s name on the leftover fabric, too, which had sat untouched in her fabric stash since she had completed the quilt five years before.
As for Sylvia—Agnes chuckled as she wrote Sylvia’s name on a piece of paper and carefully pinned it to a cheerful scrap Double Wedding Ring quilt. Surely Sylvia would remember Agnes’s first quilting lessons, when Agnes, who knew nothing of sewing except needlepoint, decided to learn to quilt in order to pass the time while their men were in the service. Sylvia suggested Agnes choose a simple pattern or a sampler as her first project. Then Claudia drew her aside and told her she would master the skills more quickly and thoroughly if she chose a more challenging pattern. Agnes unwisely took her advice, for the bias edges and curved seams of the Double Wedding Ring proved too difficult for her inexpert stitches, and the resulting half-ring buckled in the middle and gapped in the seams. She never finished that quilt—the news of the men’s deaths and Sylvia’s subsequent departure brought the quilting lessons to an abrupt end—but twenty years later she had attempted the pattern again. Practice and a more knowing eye for color and contrast enabled her to create a lovely, comforting reminder of how far she had come since leaving Elm Creek Manor to remarry. If Sylvia inherited that quilt, she would be clever enough to understand the symbolism and generous enough to forgive Agnes one parting joke.
Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter Page 14
