1 Forget Me Knot

by Mary Marks

  I walked in front of Beavers down my hall, barely able to process the mess. I stopped to pick up some of the towels and bedding that the intruder threw out of the linen closet. Someone had violated my home, taking away my sense of security and leaving me exposed and vulnerable. I stood in the middle of the hall, folding towels in a trance. “I’m going to have one heck of a time cleaning all this up.”

  Beavers gently took the towels out of my hands and urged me toward the bedroom. “You can do this later.”

  I stopped at my bedroom door, scarcely able to take in the mountain of clothes that had been ripped from my drawers and closet and thrown into piles around the room. Then I saw a huge butcher knife sticking straight up out of my pillow, pinning some kind of note there. My knees felt like rubber and I sagged backward into Beavers’s chest. He stood solidly behind me and grabbed my shoulders.

  “Oh my God.” I turned slightly and looked at him. “Who did this? What does the note say?”

  “It says ‘Back off or die.’”

  I shook. The killer had finally caught up with me just like Beavers predicted. I was in over my head, just like he said I would be. He’d been right all along. God, I hated when that happened.

  “How’d he get in?”

  “Bathroom window. Broken.” Beavers took out his cell phone and called in the CSU.

  “Darned if you haven’t done it again,” he said, turning me around and gently guiding me by the shoulders back into the kitchen.

  At this point I was grateful he’d insisted on seeing me safely home. I was even glad to have him take charge, but I barely heard him through the pounding in my ears.

  “What’s the story with you and crime scenes?”

  I just stared at him. Then I remembered Bumper again. “My cat! Did you see him? If Kaplan let him run out of the house last night, I’ll kill him!”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”

  My whole body trembled and I couldn’t sit still. I started pacing and shaking my wrists. “What do I do now?”

  “Why don’t you call Mrs. Mondello and go stay with her?”

  “I need to find Bumper. Take a shower. Get some clothes. My medications.”

  “You can get a few things to tide you over, but you can take only a minute or two. Forensics won’t want you to disturb anything.”

  “Like nothing has been disturbed already? Like my whole house isn’t upside down? What about Claire’s quilts? I promised the Terrys I’d give them back today.”

  “Giving them back is the first good idea you’ve had in over a week. And, Martha?”

  Whoa. Did he just use my first name? An arc of electricity sizzled somewhere in the region of my shoulder blades.

  He stood in front of me, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked at me intently. “The fact you spent last night in jail? Detective Kaplan probably saved your life.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I stood in Lucy’s shower for twenty minutes, exhausted and achy, shampooing the filth from my hair and scrubbing until my skin turned pink. Lucy had provided a silky bar of triple-milled French soap smelling like a field of lavender in Provence.

  After I dried myself off, I swallowed a Soma. The strong muscle relaxer eases some of my muscle pain and stiffness and makes life bearable. It also gives me a brief, fuzzy high and a feeling of well-being.

  The worst time of year for fibromyalgia was winter when the barometer dropped before every rainstorm and cold front. During approximately six months out of the year I relied heavily on all my medications for relief. However, stress could also cause a flare-up of fibro. So even though it was now springtime, a relatively pain free time of year for me, the stress of going to jail drove me straight to my bottle of medicine.

  I put on some clean clothes from my hastily packed overnight bag and followed my nose into the kitchen. I’d already decided not to call Quincy and tell her about my ordeal because I didn’t want any of this to get back to my ex. I also decided not to tell Uncle Isaac as he would certainly become upset and worry.

  When I was first arrested in an anti-Vietnam War demonstration, Uncle Isaac told me, “We’re not a family of Cossacks and thieves. We’re not a family that gets arrested.”

  “But, Uncle Isaac, this war is all wrong. We’re sending our young men to die for Southeast Asian oil, pure and simple. Nobody’s fooled. We need to get out of Vietnam and stop this unrighteous war.”

  “You’re a good girl, faigela, but a young lady doesn’t get herself arrested. This is going to be on your record for the rest of your life. How will you get a decent job or find a decent husband if you’re a felony?”

  “It’s felon, Uncle. Felony is the crime, felon is the criminal.”

  He threw up both his hands. “Vey iz mir!”

  Lucy and Birdie sat waiting for me at the table. They’d fixed me a breakfast of waffles, fried eggs, turkey sausage, sliced cantaloupe, and coffee.

  As soon as she saw me, Birdie jumped up and gave me a long hug. She spoke into my ear while she patted my back. “I’m so sorry, Martha dear. You’re safe now, here with Lucy and Ray.”

  Tears stung my eyes. Dear, sweet Birdie.

  I sat down and Lucy put a heaping plate in front of me. Just an hour earlier she drove to my place, helped me pack a bag, and drove me back to her house. “Feeling better?”

  I gratefully thought about my twenty-minute shower. “I’ll never take hot water for granted again.” I shoveled a hunk of waffle into my mouth. The crispy edges of the little squares dripped with melted butter and sweet maple syrup. I closed my eyes and the food and I became one.

  Birdie poured the coffee. “I tried for hours last night, but I just couldn’t come up with a pattern in those quilt names. I’m sorry, Martha.”

  “Thanks for trying. Actually, what you did isn’t a complete loss. At least we can now rule out cryptograms and anagrams as part of a hidden message.”

  Birdie nodded. “I can’t believe that young detective actually arrested you. What was it like? In jail, I mean.”

  I moved on to a bite of juicy sausage. “Pretty awful. Dirty. Vulgar. Disgusting. Smelly and scary.” I stopped for a sip of coffee.

  Birdie was a huge fan of crime dramas and mystery novels. She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “You didn’t have to be somebody’s girlfriend, did you, dear?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes.

  I thought about my confrontation with Blondie. “Well, I did have a near miss with a big, blond biker chick, but everything turned out okay.”

  As I devoured my breakfast, I filled them in on everything, beginning with Godwin, Dixie Barcelona, and the baby quilt; meeting Jerry Bell; getting arrested; and ending with Bumper’s disappearance and the knife in my pillow.

  Lucy threw her hands in the air. “Why can’t you just make quilts like a normal person?”

  “Don’t worry. When I return Claire’s quilts, that’s just what I intend to do. Quilt like a virgin.”

  “When the time comes, we’ll help you put your house back together again, won’t we, Birdie?”

  “Absolutely!”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, fighting the urge to cry. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe enough to go back, especially with Claire’s murderer coming after me.” I looked at Lucy and my voice quivered. “I just don’t want to jeopardize you and Ray by staying here.”

  “Oh, please.” She waved her hand. “Ray and I are from Wyoming, remember? We own guns and we know how to use them.”

  “Wasn’t Dick Cheney from Wyoming?” asked Birdie.

  “Right!” I nodded. “And he practically shot a man to death while hunting. Guns can be dangerous.”

  Lucy started gathering the dirty dishes. “I rest my case.”

  A moment later Lucy answered her telephone. “Just a minute.” She handed the phone to me.

  “This is Arlo Beavers.” When did he become “Arlo” and not “Detective”? I could almost smell his cologne through the phone.

  “I�
�m wrapping up here and will be at Mrs. Mondello’s house in about fifteen minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I stood up and handed the phone back to Lucy. “Detective Beavers is on his way over.”

  “Oh, this should be interesting.” Birdie smiled. She exchanged a knowing glance with Lucy.

  “What?” I suspected they talked about me while I was in the shower.

  Lucy stopped loading the dishwasher and examined me for a full ten seconds. “Your hair is still wet.”

  “So?”

  Lucy put her hands on her hips. “So, you should dry it.”

  “I’m not stupid. I know what you two are doing, and you can stop right now. I’m not interested in him, and he’s not interested in me.”

  Lucy put her arm around my shoulders and propelled me down the hallway. “You should still dry your hair, girlfriend. Let me show you where the blower is.”

  She shoved me into the guest bathroom and pulled a hair dryer out of one of the vanity drawers. “You’ll feel better if you do this.” She was right, of course; I was just vain enough to want to redeem myself from the sorry sight I was after spending a night in the Van Nuys jail.

  For the next five minutes I scrunched my curls with one hand while aiming the dryer with the other. At some point Lucy came back armed with a bottle of perfume, which she sprayed all over me, despite my protests. “Don’t forget lipstick.”

  I smoothed my pink T-shirt, adjusted my glasses, and took one last inventory in the mirror. So what if I was a little on the zaftig side. I still had a recognizable waist, curvy hips, and a generous bosom that was 100 percent natural. Some men would find me irresistible. Maybe not in LA, but somewhere on this planet.

  When I walked back into the kitchen, Lucy looked me up and down. “Better.” Birdie just smiled.

  My face heated when the doorbell rang.

  Detective Beavers walked in holding a cat carrier with Bumper inside, and a bulging plastic trash bag.

  “Oh, Bumper!” I took the carrier from him.

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. “I hope you brought his litter box.”

  Beavers smiled at her and pointed to the trash bag. “Also a sack of litter and a bag of kibble I found in the kitchen.”

  Lucy took the bundle to her laundry room and came back with a cup of coffee for Beavers, who accepted it gladly.

  Bumper purred in my arms, clearly happy to be reunited. “Where was he?”

  “I sent a patrolman door to door. Turns out one of your neighbors took him home last night.”

  “Who?”

  “Spiegelman. Sonia. She insisted she saved him from being blown up by the bombs you kept in your basement.” He looked at me over the rim of his coffee mug. “Would you happen to know what she was talking about?”

  I opened my eyes wide and shrugged. “Not a clue. I don’t even have a basement.”

  The hot shower, the Soma, and a stomach full of comfort food were working together to finally relax me. My eyelids felt too heavy.

  Beavers must have noticed. He stood up and handed his cup to Lucy. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Mondello.”

  He turned to me. “CSU will be finished in a few hours. You’ll want to get the bathroom window fixed as soon as they’re done. I also strongly advise you to get a security system. Or a big dog.”

  “And a gun.” Lucy pointed her finger at me.

  “Only if you know how to use one,” he warned.

  Birdie cleared her throat. “Detective, do you have any leads on our missing quilts?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Watson. Not yet.”

  My body felt leaden as I walked with him to Lucy’s front door. “Thank you for making the effort to find Bumper. I haven’t forgotten this was supposed to be your day off.”

  “Get some sleep.” He opened the door. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  I vaguely remembered walking to Lucy’s guest room and putting on my pajamas. I crawled under a lovely Dresden Plate quilt Lucy’s grandmother made using feed sacks she saved during the Depression. Lucy told me her grandmother raised chickens and sold the eggs to help support the family. The chicken feed came in cotton sacks printed with colorful patterns. In those days, nothing was wasted, and the feed sacks were repurposed to make clothing and quilts.

  I pulled the quilt up to my chin and turned on my side. Bumper jumped up on the bed and curled into the crook behind my knees. Feeling cozy and safe, I snuggled deeper into the bed and closed my eyes.

  The next thing I knew, it was dark outside and the little hand on the bedside clock was pointing to seven. I debated whether to get up and be sociable or just roll over and go back to sleep. Snippets of something I dreamed came floating through my brain behind wisps of gray fog: I stood near a bank of elevators in a crowd of people; Claire was standing in the midst of the crowd holding a needle and thread; the little girl with the thick glasses and the shape sorter box fingered the elevator call button. She turned toward her mother and smiled excitedly. “It’s a rectangle.”

  My eyes flew open and I sat straight up in bed. That was it! Oh my God! No longer sleepy, I jumped up and threw on some clothes. I wanted to consult an expert for confirmation, but I was dead certain I was right.

  Then it dawned on me. This was Wednesday night and I’d promised Will Terry he’d have the quilts by now. Darn! I needed to keep them a little bit longer. Just until I knew for sure. Then I’d give them back.

  I turned on my cell phone and discovered several messages from Siobhan Terry. They probably think I’m a flake. I called her number.

  “Siobhan, this is Martha Rose. Please forgive me for not getting back to you earlier today. I was kind of incapacitated.”

  “Thank goodness you called. Are you all right? Will sent a driver to your house earlier to pick up the quilts. The driver reported when he got there he saw crime scene tape and police cars. No one would tell him where you were. I’ve been calling your cell phone for the last several hours. What happened?”

  I told her about my arrest, the break-in at my house, and the threatening note. “Detective Beavers says if I’d been home last night, I might have been killed.”

  “Mother of God! Where are you now?”

  “For the moment I’m staying with my friend Lucy Mondello and her husband, Ray. I was so exhausted from everything that’s happened, I slept the entire day. I just woke up, in fact.”

  “I’m so sorry I ever got you into this, and I’m really sorry you were arrested. I was stupid to tell the detective about the computer. If you give me your friend’s address, I’ll have someone come right over and pick up the quilts. You do have them, don’t you?”

  “They’re here. Whoever broke in to my house didn’t find them.” By now I was pacing the bedroom. “I’d like to keep them just a little longer—say until noon tomorrow? I need to test a hunch.”

  Siobhan’s voice dropped to a whisper and I had to strain to hear her. “Have you found something?”

  “Yes, Siobhan, I have. I think I know exactly how Claire sewed her story into her quilts!”

  CHAPTER 20

  The pillowcases containing Claire’s quilts sat next to my overnight bag on the floor in the corner of the bedroom. I pulled out one of them at random: Midnight Garden, the one with the navy blue background. No good. The background was too dark to see what I was looking for.

  I pulled out another one: Mother’s Asleep, the one with the white cloud background. This one was much easier to examine. I needed an expert to decode what I was looking at, but I was confident I was right.

  I took the quilt out of the guest room and went looking for Lucy. Bumper jumped off the bed, followed me out of the bedroom, and made a beeline for the litter box. Lucy sat in the kitchen with a glass of wine reading the newest issue of Pieces magazine. She wore a white blouse with a sailor collar, blue capri pants, and red and white striped espadrilles (which kind of matched her hair). Little gold anchors hung from her ears. For a minute I wondered if this was Memorial Day.

  When Lucy saw me
, she got up, still holding her wineglass, and gave me a one-arm hug. “Hi, hon’. Did you get a good sleep?”

  “Not only did I sleep like a log, I had an incredible dream.”

  Lucy pointed to an empty chair. “Sit. Ray and I have already eaten, but I saved some dinner for you.”

  “Okay, but first I have to . . .”

  She took the quilt out of my hand and put it on a chair. “Sit. Before you do anything, you’re going to eat.”

  I sat obediently. “Are you sure you’re not Jewish?”

  “Italian by marriage. Same thing. If you’re thinking about calling someone to fix your bathroom window, forget about it. Ray is over there now with Joey doing the repairs.”

  She poured me a glass of red wine and prepared a steaming plate of meat loaf and gravy, mashed potatoes, and spinach sautéed in garlic and olive oil while she talked.

  Suddenly I was famished. “I can’t thank you and Ray enough,” I mumbled through a mouthful of spicy meat loaf, “but I have to go back to my house tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No. I have to get a phone number. I think I’ve figured out how Claire sewed her stories into her quilts.”

  “Get out! How? When?”

  “Well, it actually came to me in a dream. Right now I need to talk to an expert who can read the code.”

  “Code?”

  “Yes, Lucy. I need to talk to Dixie Barcelona. She’s a Braille expert.”

  Lucy looked puzzled for a moment and then her eyes lit up. “I get it! You’re brilliant.” She stood and went for the quilt on the chair. “The code is in the French knots, isn’t it? You think the French knots are Braille.”

  I smiled and nodded as Lucy spread out the quilt and fingered the bumps in the background.

  Lucy looked closely. “I see what you mean. These knots appear to be clustered in tiny groups and are oriented in even rows. To the casual observer, they’d just look like random embellishment.”

  Then Lucy got a funny look on her face. “Do you think the killer is blind?”

  “No, of course not. Claire may have confided to the killer what she was doing. The killer wouldn’t have to actually read Braille in order to want to destroy the quilts and the stories they tell.”