Make Quilts Not War

by Arlene Sachitano

  “Maybe we should call Robin,” Lauren suggested.

  “Once we do that, she’ll be required to report it, whether Jenny knows about it or not.”

  “We could call your aunt, or Mavis.”

  Before Harriet could express an opinion about that idea, her phone rang. She went to her work desk and answered.

  “That was Tom,” she reported after she’d hung up. “He was just checking to make sure nothing else had happened. He also wanted to know if we’d gotten anything resembling an explanation for the attack by the kitchen crew. I said no. I didn’t want to go into the whole ‘they’re probably the bank robbers Jenny worked with when she robbed a bank forty some years ago.’”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  Harriet felt a small twang of guilt. Tom had been nothing but helpful, but with this latest revelation, and Jenny’s new version of her past life, she just hadn’t had the energy to recount it all.

  “I guess we probably shouldn’t tear her quilt apart,” Lauren said with a disappointed sigh.

  “Not without Robin or Detective Morse or Jenny or someone else weighing in on the matter.”

  “I better go,” Lauren said. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

  Harriet started to reply but then froze.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  Harriet held her finger to her lips. From outside came the sound of a car door.

  Lauren quickly grabbed the quilt and the pillowcase and disappeared into the kitchen. Someone knocked on the door. Harriet got up and looked through the side pane of the bow window.

  Colm Byrne stood on her porch holding a large shopping bag. She opened the door.

  “I hope it’s not too late to come calling,” he said. “I drove by and saw your lights on and a car in the driveway, so I hoped you’d still be awake.

  “Come in,” she said and stepped aside to let him in.

  “I know your young friend was hoping to get a CD earlier, and I was hoping you might want a CD set for yourself.” He held the bag up. “Here are sets for both of you, along with tour T-shirts and souvenir scarves.” He pulled the items from the bag and laid them on the seat of one of the wing chairs.

  “This is way too generous,” Harriet protested.

  “I was hoping we could cash in that rain check from the other day,” he said.

  “Now?” Her voice was a little too loud.

  “No, no. I thought maybe we could go to dinner tomorrow night. We have to leave town in a few days, and I was hoping, if dinner went well, you’d see me again before that happened.”

  Before Harriet could answer, Lauren came back from the kitchen.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” she said. “I happen to know Harriet is free tomorrow night. She had to cancel all her plans because of her arm.”

  “Speaking of my arm, if you two don’t mind, I’m getting a little tired.”

  “Yeah, when you see the doctor tomorrow morning, he’s going to know you haven’t been staying home with it elevated like he told you to do.”

  “I’m sorry if that’s my fault,” Colm said, trying to appear sheepish but not succeeding.

  “It’s fine,” Harriet assured him. “I wouldn’t have missed your concert for anything.”

  “I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

  “It was wonderful,” she said. “Especially when you did all the old songs before you did your own. It showed a lot of versatility.”

  “Well, thank you,” he said. “My mother used to make me play whatever was popular on American radio at the time. It’s finally paying off.”

  Lauren picked up her coat and swung her messenger bag over her shoulder. She stared at Colm.

  “I’ll take my leave, too,” he said with obvious reluctance. “I’m glad you were still up and look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.” With that, he turned and went out the door.

  “Thanks for accepting an invitation for me,” Harriet complained when he was gone.

  “Are you telling me you were going to turn down a date with Colm Byrne?” Lauren asked.

  “Don’t you think I have enough men in my life?”

  “Yeah, but this isn’t like that. This is just dinner with a rock star and maybe one more date, and then he’s out of here to start his ‘Irish Spring’ tour. I saw it on his web page.”

  “You looked him up on his web page? You should go out on a date with him.”

  “He didn’t ask me, groupie. Besides, it will make a great picture for your MyFace page.”

  “My MyFace page?” Harriet asked. “I don’t have a MyFace, YourFace or AnyoneElse’sFace page.”

  “Seriously?” Lauren asked, shock plain on her face. “How can you expect to grow your business without using social media?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I’ll just muddle through the old-fashioned way—word of mouth.”

  “Geez, do I have to do everything? When this whole festival business is over, I’ll come over and set you up basic pages on the popular apps. We should join you to some of the e-quilting groups, too.”

  “Whatever,” Harriet said.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to see what the plan is for tearing your booth down. Do you need help getting into your jammies?”

  “No, I can handle it.”

  “Good, I hate that sort of thing,” Lauren said as she turned and went out the door.

  Chapter 25

  Harriet awoke with a shout the next morning as Scooter jumped onto her bandaged arm. He immediately cowered at the bottom corner of the bed as she sat up and leaned against her headboard.

  “Come here, little guy.” She managed to coax him back to her lap. “Mommy’s not mad at you,” she said in a higher than normal voice. “Mommy’s arm is hurt, just like your back. I know you didn’t mean anything.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Mavis called up the stairs.

  “Scooter,” she called back and then noticed the aroma of bacon. “We need to go down and see what your auntie Mavis is making,” she said to Scooter.

  She carefully set him aside and got out of bed. Dressing was a bit tricky with her arm, so she eased it into an old flannel bathrobe her aunt had left behind then picked up her dog and went downstairs.

  “Don’t tell your aunt what I cooked you,” Mavis said as soon as Harriet came into sight.

  “What are you making me?”

  “I’ve got some buttermilk waffles in the oven, bacon and scrambled eggs and some homemade sourdough toast.”

  “Bless you,” Harriet said. “I’m sure I need this to heal my arm.”

  “My thinking exactly.” Mavis extracted a bottle of maple syrup from a pan of hot water and wiped it dry with a dishcloth before putting it on the kitchen table, where she’d set two places. “I put food down for both your pets, too, so you sit down and tell me whether you want tea or coffee or something else.”

  Harriet chose tea, and Mavis fixed two cups then sat down on the opposite side of the table. She made small talk while they ate. She reminisced about quilting in the sixties and swore she had only made one polyester quilt during that time.

  “I mostly did what I’ve always done,” she said. “Traditional patterns, stitched by hand. There weren’t any new designs or designers that I remember.”

  “Okay, I’m done,” Harriet said when she’d eaten some of everything Mavis had cooked for her. “Can we talk about Jenny now? I know you were trying to avoid controversy while I was eating, but I’m through, and it was delicious, and I’ve got some things to tell you.”

  “Let me top off our tea, and then I’m ready to listen.”

  “After you-all left last night, Lauren remembered that she had Jenny’s quilt in her car.” Harriet paused to sip her tea. Mavis leaned forward in her seat. “I’d noticed there was something weird about the quilt where the acid had splashed it. I think Lauren had, too, so we brought it in and poked at the spot where the acid had eaten the fabric away.”

  “And?”

 
; “And, first, the batting wasn’t regular batting. There was a little bit of something fuzzy that was much thinner than the batting we use. Then there was newspaper—from the nineteen-sixties. And finally, there was money—a lot of money.”

  “How much are we talking?” Mavis looked intently at her.

  “Hard to tell. The piece of bill I pulled out looked like it was a hundred. We opened a seam on the opposite corner, and there were more. I can’t even guess how much is in there, but it looks like it’s multiple layers of bills.”

  “That would be a little over fifty thousand dollars per layer.” Mavis and Harriet had been so focused on their discussion neither one had noticed Lauren come in. “My client had some crisis that didn’t involve me, so they rescheduled my eight o’clock. I thought I’d drop by and see what was happening here.”

  “Have you eaten?” Mavis asked. “We just finished, and I’ve got plenty left.”

  “In that case, I’d love some.”

  Once again, Mavis wouldn’t let them talk about anything stressful while Lauren was eating.

  “So, I take it Harriet told you what we found last night,” Lauren said when she’d finished.

  “Is there more?” Mavis asked.

  “Nothing but speculation after we found the money.”

  “The money has to be related to the robbery, don’t you think?” Harriet asked.

  “It’s hard to see how it could be any other way,” Lauren agreed. “Especially with the newspaper scrap dated nineteen-sixty-seven.”

  Harriet paused, deep in thought.

  “Uh-oh,” Lauren said. “Harriet’s about to have a big idea.”

  “What if Jenny is one of the bank robbers?” she said.

  “Oh, honey, that’s not possible,” Mavis said.

  “Think about it,” Harriet insisted. “It’s become pretty obvious that Jenny’s been keeping secrets for a long time. What’s to say she’s telling the truth now? No doubt some of what she’s saying is true, but I’ll bet there are still some big holes in her story.”

  “This has possibilities,” Lauren said.

  “She could be one of the robbers,” Harriet persisted. “That would give those two goons that jumped her and Robin a motive, especially if she has all the money and not just her share. Do we know how much was taken in the robbery?”

  “I don’t think the article I saw said, but I can look it up,” Lauren said.

  “Maybe she was the mastermind,” Harriet suggested.

  “I still can’t believe that,” Mavis said. “A person doesn’t change that completely, and your aunt and I have known Jenny for a lot of years.”

  “Maybe she got caught up in something she couldn’t control,” Harriet suggested.

  “On the other hand,” Lauren said, “she could be a psychopath. They’re always much-beloved members of their community, aren’t they?”

  “Even if she was part of the robbery, that doesn’t explain the shooting or her brother being killed,” Harriet said, scooping Scooter up onto her lap.

  “She wasn’t with us when Pamela was shot. We were outside waiting for her to get out of the bathroom, and when her tires were slashed, everyone came up after the fact, didn’t they?” Lauren pointed out. “And where was she when her brother was killed?”

  “She and Robin were looking for Bobby earlier in the morning, but we’ll have to ask Robin if they were together the whole time until we found him,” Harriet said.

  “You can speculate all you want, but I’m reserving judgment until we know the facts,” Mavis said stubbornly. “I’m going to clear these dishes up, and then we better get you to the doctor.”

  “I’ll take the dogs out,” Lauren volunteered. “Carter is out in the car on his microwave heating pad,” she said. “I assume Curley is around here somewhere?”

  “She’s in her cage in the front room. She’d have eaten Scooter’s breakfast otherwise.”

  Lauren opened Harriet’s coat closet and got out Scooter’s leash, and then picked him up from Harriet’s lap before disappearing into the living room to gather up Mavis’s dog.

  “Do you really think Jenny could have been involved in all of this?” Mavis asked Harriet when Lauren was outside with the dogs.

  “Anything’s possible,” Harriet said. “But I’m with you—there must be something more to this story. I definitely can’t see Jenny killing Pamela, but Lauren’s right. Every time you hear them interview neighbors of killers, they always describe them as normal citizens and profess to be shocked.”

  “Can you get dressed by yourself?” Mavis asked, ending the discussion.

  “I’ll manage,” Harriet said as she stood up and headed for the stairs.

  Lauren was sitting at the kitchen table tapping the keys of her laptop when Harriet came back downstairs. Mavis was wiping the countertops while the dishwasher did its job.

  “My client is still busy with their problem,” Lauren announced as she snapped the lid of the computer closed.

  “Would you like to come along with Harriet and me,” Mavis asked.

  “Sure, why not. I can’t really do anything else until my client either fixes their problem or reschedules.”

  “You can keep me company in the waiting room.”

  “You’re delusional if you think I was going to try to go in with Harriet while the doctor digs around on her arm.”

  Mavis and Lauren were laughing when Harriet came back into the waiting room.

  “What did the nurse say?” Mavis asked.

  “Not much,” Harriet said a little too nonchalantly.

  “She could tell you’ve been overdoing it, couldn’t she.”

  “She might have mentioned something about resting more,” Harriet said. “Along with the healing being nonexistent, but that’s mostly because of the infection.”

  “Oh, honey, I knew you were doing too much.”

  “Would it help if I promised to take it easier now that the festival is coming to an end?”

  “It would help…if you’ll do it,” Mavis replied.

  “In the spirit of resting Harriet’s arm, is anyone up for a trip to the Steaming Cup before we take her home?” Lauren asked.

  “That sounds like a fine idea,” Mavis said. “If Harriet’s up to it,” she added.

  “I’m not an invalid,” Harriet muttered. “And I could use a cookie after my visit with Nurse Ratched.”

  “If it were true about you not being an invalid, your doctor wouldn’t be telling you your arm isn’t healing,” Mavis said.

  Harriet and Mavis were sitting across the table from Lauren, their cups of hot cocoa nearly emptied, when Harriet’s cell phone started ringing. Mavis picked it up off the table and answered.

  “This is Harriet’s phone, how may I help you?” she said. Then: “Slow down, honey.” She turned to Harriet and Lauren. “Carla says Wendy is missing.” She turned back to the phone. “Hang up and dial nine-one-one. We’ll be right there.”

  She ended the call and handed Harriet her phone, digging in her purse for her keys as she did.

  “You two get on your phones and call the rest of the Threads,” she ordered. “And then call Detective Morse.”

  She hurried them to her car and drove as fast as the speed limit allowed straight to Aiden’s house.

  Chapter 26

  Harriet and Lauren were out of the car before Mavis had turned off the engine.

  “What’s happening?” Harriet asked as they approached Officer Nguyen, who was standing in Aiden’s kitchen questioning Carla. Tears streamed down the young woman’s face, and she was pacing a small pattern in front of the policeman.

  “Harriet, tell him! We need to be looking for Wendy, not standing around talking.”

  “Miss, we need to get the information about your child so we can put out an Amber Alert,” Officer Nguyen said.

  “You think she’s been kidnapped?” Carla shrieked and then began crying.

  “We’ll look for Wendy while you answer Officer Nguyen’s questions,�
�� Harriet told her.

  “This is a crime scene,” Nguyen said.

  Carla fainted as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  Lauren turned and went out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Mavis crouched beside Carla, who was already waking, slipped her arms out of her jacket and laid it over her.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Harriet said in a quiet voice.

  Officer Nguyen glared at her but didn’t stop Carla from speaking.

  “I put Wendy down for her morning nap a little early, since she’s been up later than usual the last few nights. I turned on the monitor and was sorting her laundry in the sitting room part of our rooms when Michelle called me on my cell phone to tell me to come get her sheets and wash them.

  “I went to her room, stripped her bed and put her sheets in the wash. When I came back to my rooms, I went in to check on Wendy and she was gone.” She started crying again.

  “Has she gotten out of her crib before?” Harriet asked.

  “Never,” Carla said. “And I should have heard her, whatever happened. And I didn’t put the chair beside the crib. I would never have done that.”

  A policeman Harriet remembered from the storm came into the kitchen.

  “Mary and I searched all the rooms on the second floor, and Glen searched the basement, but nothing so far.”

  “What’s going on?” Michelle asked, as she entered the kitchen carrying an empty coffee cup.

  “You tell us,” Harriet said. “You’re the one who lives here.”

  “Miss Salter called us to report her child missing,” Nguyen said. “Can you tell us where you’ve been for the last half-hour?”

  “Didn’t Carla tell you?” She turned and stared at the sobbing woman. “I called her to get my sheets in the wash. She didn’t have the brat with her when she came to my room. She took the sheets and went down to the laundry, and I went up to the third floor to work on my mom’s old computer where it’s quiet. And no, I didn’t see the kid or its supposed kidnapper.”

  As Michelle spoke, more people came into the kitchen. She edged her way toward the servant’s stairs that led upstairs.