Crazy as a Quilt (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 8)

by Arlene Sachitano

“Sorry,” she said when she saw Harriet. “I didn’t mean for you to unload my luggage by yourself. My bladder was just bursting after that long drive.”

  Harriet was fairly sure the words were an attempt to soften the stern glares her visitor was receiving from Aunt Beth and Mavis.

  “Would you like some tea or coffee and brownies?” Mavis asked.

  “No, thanks, I don’t eat sugar.”

  “These are sugar-free and gluten-free,” Mavis said with a smile.

  “I said no.”

  Harriet brought one of the suitcases into the kitchen.

  “Let me show you to your room so you can rest and freshen up a little before this evening’s mixer.” She didn’t wait for a response, just headed up the stairs.

  Harriet let Scooter out of her bedroom, where she’d shut him in before her guest’s arrival, and headed back downstairs.

  “What was that all about?” she demanded in a firm whisper.

  Mavis gave her a sheepish look.

  “I was testing the waters. I figured we might as well find out what we would be dealing with.”

  “I’m glad she did,” Aunt Beth said, defending her friend. “Now we know we’ve got a prima donna on our hands.”

  Harriet sat down at the table.

  “All you’ve done is stirred the hornet’s nest.”

  “We’re just trying to help,” Aunt Beth said. “And we’ll help you with her.”

  “If this is your idea of help, I’ll take a pass.”

  “You say that now, but you’ll appreciate our help. A week is a long time.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Harriet said and grabbed a brownie.

  Aunt Beth looked at Mavis as she stood up.

  “Our work here is done.”

  Mavis laughed.

  “We’ll see you at the mixer.”

  Chapter 7

  The aroma of Jorge’s hors d’oeuvres wafted over the meeting room at the Methodist church. He had prepared spicy shrimp cocktails, guacamole, and smoky queso with blue corn chips, but he’d outdone himself with the quesadillas. To mirror the quilt theme, he’d used red pepper-and-spinach tortillas cut into small rectangles and squares and arranged them to look like quilt blocks. Waiting in the kitchen was his famous flan.

  Harriet joined Lauren and her new roommate at the check in table. Her own guest was in the restroom adjusting her makeup, even though they’d just arrived and she looked perfect.

  “Wow, Jorge’s outdone himself.”

  “No kidding,” Lauren said. “Harriet, meet Jessica.”

  Jessica took Harriet’s proffered hand in both of hers.

  “Lauren’s told me so much about you. Do you really speak seven languages?”

  Harriet looked at Lauren, who shrugged.

  “Yes, I do. My parents worked internationally when I was young, and they wanted me to be prepared when I joined them.”

  Jessica’s red hair was cut short and gelled into a faux-hawk. Her ears sported half a dozen metal rings.

  “You must have a real ear for it. I struggled with Latin and barely got by in Spanish when I lived in Mexico.”

  If Lauren’s roommate was truly an ex-nun, Harriet was beginning to suspect why the convent hadn’t suited her.

  “I think it helps that I started young.”

  Jessica looped her arm through Harriet’s and turned toward the growing crowd.

  “Okay, so, tell me who some of these people are.” She pointed with her free hand. “I’m guessing, by the matching name tag, the little lady over there is part of your group.”

  Harriet looked where she was pointing.

  “That’s Connie Escorcia. She’s not only in our group, she’s also a retired kindergarten and first-grade teacher. It seems like half the town has been in her class. Those two ladies beside her must be the sisters she’s hosting.”

  “What kind of quilting does she do?”

  “She machine pieces and appliqués and dabbles in art quilting.”

  “What about the white-haired lady in purple standing beside the woman with rust-colored hair?”

  “My aunt Beth Carlson and her friend Mavis Willis. Along with Connie, you’ve picked out the power players in the Loose Threads quilting group.” Harriet turned them slightly. “See the woman over there with the blond pixie cut, wearing yoga pants?”

  “With the younger woman?”

  “Yes. The blonde is our resident quilting lawyer, Robin, and beside her is our youngest member, Carla.”

  “I’m guessing that cluster of women across the way are not Loose Threads.”

  “Give the girl a prize,” Harriet said with a laugh. “I recognize a few of them. They belong to the other quilt group in town, the Small Stitches.”

  Jessica pulled back and looked at her.

  “That’s really their name?”

  “What can I say? I guess they’re proud of their work.”

  “Oh, that’s too funny.”

  “So, what’s your quilt group’s name?” Harriet asked her.

  Jessica slipped her arm free.

  “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “No guarantees,”

  She looked at Lauren.

  “It can’t be worse than what we’ve just told you.”

  “It can be. Okay, here goes. We call ourselves ‘Out of the Habit.’”

  Harriet and Lauren laughed, and several other groups of women stopped talking to stare at them.

  “That’s priceless,” Harriet said when she could speak.

  “I love it,” Lauren said at the same time.

  A tall skinny woman with bleached blond hair streaked with purple approached the table. Heavy makeup covered the pockmarked surface of her skin. Harriet and her two companions fell silent as the woman completed the check-in process and headed for the food table.

  “Who’s the tweaker?” Jessica whispered.

  Before Harriet or Lauren could answer, Michelle approached the table. She noticed Harriet and joined the group.

  “Did you see Marine come in?”

  “Is that her at the food table?” Lauren asked.

  “Oh, there she is. I was parking the car, but she was afraid we were late. I told her I’d come in and introduce her to a few people. Let me go get her.”

  Harriet turned to face Jessica.

  “Why did you call her the tweaker?”

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes my mouth operates before my brain. I work for a Catholic charity that helps people get off the streets and reengage with society. I see a lot of people who look like her. Maybe not the makeup and designer jeans, but you get to know the look. I shouldn’t judge. She’s probably in the early stages of her recovery and more power to her for coming to the quilt retreat.”

  Michelle returned with the woman.

  “Everyone, meet Marine. Marine, this is Harriet and her friend Lauren and…I’m sorry.” She turned to Jessica. “I don’t know your name.”

  Jessica held her hand out, and Marine had to juggle her plate to free her own.

  “I’m Jessica.”

  “Marine and I were in high school together,” Michelle explained. “She left Foggy Point and became an actress in Hollywood.”

  Everyone looked at Marine.

  “Michelle exaggerates. I went to acting school in Los Angeles after high school. I got a few parts in the soap operas, but then the networks started canceling soaps and replacing them with cooking shows and talk shows,” She shrugged. “I did a play, but mostly I was waiting tables—and there’s a lot of competition for those jobs. I decided to come home and do some regional theater.”

  “And…you’re a quilter?” Lauren asked.

  “Not yet, but I’ve always been fascinated by the costumes in theater work and the crazy quilts look like they use the same kind of material. Besides, I don’t have a lot else to do until the casting call for the next play at the Foggy Point Theater. I thought I’d give it a try.” She popped the last square of quesadilla into her mouth.
“These are really good.” She turned and looked at Michelle. “I’m going to go get more. Do you want anything?”

  Michelle shook her head, and Marine headed back to the food. Michelle looked to be sure she was out of earshot.

  “Her mother remarried while she was in LA, and new hubby isn’t interested in having an adult child return to the nest. I ran into Marine while I was in Seattle, and when I told her I was coming back to Foggy Point to do some work, she asked if she could visit.

  “I gather she came back here once when my mom was still alive, and when her own mother wouldn’t let her stay at home, Mom ended up taking her in. I don’t know how that all happened, but what could I do? The old me would have told her to get lost, but my therapist says I have to be more empathetic. Besides, Carla had already signed us up to be a host house.”

  Lauren picked up a stack of puzzle pieces and handed it to Harriet. She picked up a group of opposite pieces for herself.

  “Let’s get this show on the road. I’ll do the out-of-towners while you do locals.” She handed Jessica the first piece.

  Harriet shuffled her pieces.

  “Give us a few minutes to distribute these, and then you can begin the hunt to find your match.”

  Jessica looked at her piece.

  “This should be fun. Too bad there aren’t any men.” She laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, and don’t tell me you didn’t think it.”

  Harriet smiled and shook her head.

  “Not me. I’ve got my hands full.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Lauren said and walked away.

  The noise level in the room increased as quilters queried each other, trying to find their match.

  “This worked better than I’d hoped,” Harriet told Lauren as they stood by the food table.

  Lauren fanned herself with her remaining piece of puzzle.

  “I’ve still got to find my match.”

  Harriet held her piece up.

  “Me, too,” She scanned the room. “Okay, what are the chances of this?” She pointed across the room at Connie’s two sisters. Each woman clutched a laminated crazy quilt piece in her hand. She wove her way through the crowd, followed by Lauren.

  “Are you my partner?” Harriet asked and held her puzzle piece up.

  The younger-looking sister smiled with relief.

  “I am,” she said and matched her piece to Harriet’s.

  Lauren held her piece out to the other woman.

  “That must mean we’re a pair.”

  An exchange of information ensued. Lauren was delighted to learn the Texas sister was a recently retired computer programmer.

  “I have no idea what my sister is talking about with your friend,” the Colorado sister, Pam, told Harriet.

  “I’m glad they found each other. Lauren doesn’t have many women to talk tech with.”

  As they spoke, Harriet scanned the room to locate her roommate, finally spotting her in a cluster of women.

  “Do you know that woman? The tall skinny one?” Pam asked. “I tried talking to her, but she didn’t seem very interested in meeting people. At least, she didn’t want to meet me. She heard that redhead say she was from the Bay area, and I no longer existed.”

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice.”

  “She looks vaguely familiar.”

  “She used to be a fashion model. She did a lot of print work in magazines. I think she did a few TV commercials, too.”

  Pam put her hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sorry if she’s a friend of yours. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

  “No problem. She’s the wife of my deceased husband’s best friend.”

  “Oh, now I’ve really made a mess of things.”

  “Don’t worry, I find her rather pretentious myself, and my husband’s death isn’t recent.”

  Pam gave Sharon a last glance and turned back to Harriet.

  “I suppose I’ve spent too much time in the People’s Republic of Boulder. We’re all a bunch of aging hippies—no makeup, no designer clothes, and no posturing.”

  “Sounds like Foggy Point,” Harriet said and held her hand out. “Can I take your plate?”

  Glynnis Miller of the Small Stitches quilt group picked up a black handheld microphone from atop a podium that had been brought in during the quilt-piece matching exercise. She tapped and blew on it before calling the group to attention. Teachers were introduced, quilt samples were shown, and schedules were explained before the group was dismissed for the evening.

  Lauren came to stand beside Harriet.

  “Jessica wants to go get lattes on the way home. Do you want to come with?”

  Harriet’s roommate was still talking to her new friend from the Bay area.

  “I’d like to, but I need to take Sharon home. If she came here to talk to me about Steve and his death, I’d like to give her the opportunity to get that over with so we can get on with our week without that hanging over us.”

  “You don’t owe that woman anything.”

  “I know, but she seems to have an agenda, so I’d rather get it out on the table and move on.”

  Chapter 8

  Harriet took Scooter’s leash from the kitchen coat closet and attached it to his collar. She turned toward Sharon, who was looking a little lost in the middle of the kitchen.

  “I’m going to take my dog out for a minute. There’s cut-up fruit in the fridge and chocolate chip cookies in the jar on the counter, if you’re hungry.”

  She paused a moment, but when Sharon didn’t say anything, she picked her dog up and headed for the door.

  “Well, she’s not very friendly,” she said to Scooter as she set him down.

  “Who isn’t?”

  “Aiden? What are you doing hiding in my bushes?”

  Aiden’s dog Randy rustled out of the hedge that bordered one side of Harriet’s drive.

  “I thought I’d hike over here through the woods and see how your opening soiree went. Bringing this little rascal along was a big mistake.” He bent down and rubbed his dog’s ear, removing a dried twig that had attached itself to her. “She thinks she saw a rabbit or a rat or something and took off. I’m lucky she stopped in your hedge.”

  “Yeah, how would that look if she’d ended up chomping on someone’s cat? Dr. Jalbert flaunting the leash law.”

  Aiden barely contained his smile as he grabbed Harriet’s arm and pulled her to his chest. His voice dropped to the husky whisper that made her heart race.

  “So, are you going to turn me in to the police?”

  She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Let me help you.” Aiden tilted his head down and lightly brushed his lips across hers, teasing her mouth. “Are you convinced of my innocence yet?”

  “Hmmm, I may need more data.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, sliding his hands to her lower back, and kissed her thoroughly.

  “Okay, so maybe we can let it go this one time,” Harriet said when they finally separated. “I’m always happy to see you, but what are you really doing here?”

  “My sister invited me over for dinner with the kids since you-all were having your quilt party. Randy and I decided to go for a run before we go back to the apartment, and I wanted to see how it’s going with your houseguest.”

  Harriet slid her hands slowly up his arms.

  “It’s going great, since I’m out here with you and she’s in the house.” She put her hands behind his neck and pulled him to her for another kiss.

  He groaned. “I’m trying to be the interested, supportive boyfriend here, but you’re making it difficult to listen attentively.”

  She stepped back.

  “I appreciate that you were willing to listen, but I’m all talked out.”

  Aiden sighed. “I tried.”

  “And you did very well.” Harriet smiled up at him.

  “Someone is looking for you.” He turned her slightly so she could see t
he dining room window and the silhouette of Sharon.

  Harriet took another step back.

  “Don’t worry, we’re in the shadow of the hedge. I should let you get back in before she comes out, though.” He leaned in for one more quick kiss.

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  She watched while he and Randy, now on her leash, jogged down the drive and out of sight.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” Sharon asked when Harriet had returned to the kitchen. So, they hadn’t been as concealed in the shadows as Aiden had thought.

  Harriet rubbed the back of her neck.

  “It’s complicated, but the simple answer is yes.”

  Sharon looked at her but didn’t say anything. Harriet ran her hand through her hair then dropped it to her side.

  “Look, this is going to be a long week if we keep walking on eggs around each other. If you have something to say about Steve or anything else, just say it. If it’s that you’re uncomfortable around me and maybe you didn’t expect to be, we can find you a room somewhere else. Foggy Point has a motel not far from downtown. I’ll pay for a room for you. It’s not the Hilton, but it’s clean and we could move you there tonight. The workshop organizers reserved several rooms just in case there were problems, so I know we can get you in there.”

  Sharon twisted a hank of her fine blond hair in her fingers.

  “Harriet, no. You’ve got it all wrong. I am uncomfortable, but not for the reasons you think. I feel terrible about how everyone treated you when Steve died. We weren’t there for you.”

  “Would you like some tea?” Harriet asked as she put the kettle on the stove.

  “That would be nice.”

  It was the first genuine thing Harriet had heard come out of the woman’s mouth since she’d arrived.

  “I didn’t expect anything from any of Steve’s friends when he passed. We’d never really been friends. You all were a close group who had known each other since you were children. I get that I was never going to fit, even if Steve had lived.”

  “You make us sound like monsters.”

  “Not at all.” Harriet handed her a box of mixed flavored tea bags to choose from. “I had a very nontraditional childhood. I don’t fit in many people’s groups of friends. Thankfully, Steve understood that and didn’t expect me to be anything but what I was.”