“Fine. I’ll leave the door up for you.”
He hung up without saying good-bye. Izzy set down the receiver, picked up the glass of water and the plate full of crackers, and went into the living room.
“Where’s the phone?” Janice asked.
Shoot. Brandon had been acting so weird that Izzy forgot Mom wanted to talk to him. “He hung up. But he’s on his way over and he’s going to stay with you while I go out for a bit.”
Her mother was so pleased by the idea of a visit from Brandon that she even said thank you when Izzy set down the snack. After five minutes of pillow fluffing and helping her find something good to watch on television, Izzy made the excuse that she had to get ready for her meeting and headed back to her room.
Sitting on her bed, she looked down at the Wild Goose Chase quilt. The fabric appeared so fragile that she was afraid it would fall apart if she handled it too much. So it remained folded up in the box, just as it had been when Virgil gave it to her. Now, she dared to touch it.
With the tip of one finger, she traced the triangular shapes running after one another. On the section she could see, there were four rows of triangles, but they didn’t all head in the same direction. The first and third rows went one way while the second and fourth rows went the other. It was a striking effect, although she imagined seeing the whole quilt would be dizzying. So many different fabrics, too. Many of them looked as though they’d come from dresses. They were in reds, blues, and creams, with tiny flower patterns. Some of the striped patterns made her think of men’s shirts. Had the fabric come from scraps left over after sewing those garments? Or were the dresses and shirts themselves cut up after they wore out? As Max had said, what a story this quilt could tell. No wonder he wanted to get his hands on it.
Maybe she should take it along to her meeting at the museum. After everything Max had done for her at Gran’s funeral, the least she could do was give him visitation rights to this quilt that he wanted so badly. And he did want it badly, if their first interaction was any indication. What if he interpreted her generous gesture as meaning she was handing the quilt over? No, better to leave it safely at home until everything was straightened out.
The doorbell rang, followed by the tinkling of mother’s bell and the frantic barking of a Jack Russell terrier. Brandon had arrived. And not a moment too soon.
Izzy propelled herself from the bed, eager to get to her meeting with Max. She might be walking into unknown territory, but at least she’d be getting out of the madhouse for a few hours.
“It’s two minutes since the last time you checked.”
Max looked up from his watch. “Hmm?”
Tara’s jet-black ponytail swayed like a pendulum as she shook her head. “You’ve looked at your watch about ten times in the last fifteen minutes. Are you late for a date?”
One of the things that made Tara a great assistant was her attention to detail. It also made it impossible to hide anything from her. “I’m not late. I have an important meeting at four.”
“Ah. Would this meeting be with a woman?”
“Yes, but it’s not a date. I’m meeting with Mrs. Randolph’s granddaughter.”
“About the Wild Goose Chase?” Tara was all business now. She knew just how vital the quilt was to their upcoming exhibit.
“Exactly. I need to make her understand how important it is for her to honor her grandmother’s agreement.”
He looked around the room that was currently closed to the public. So much of the exhibit was already in place, but it was fragmented. Pieces of history here, unrelated artifacts and bits of days gone by there. In the same way that the quilt turned scraps of fabric into something meaningful, it would bring all these bits and pieces together into one cohesive, powerful exhibit.
“It would be a shame not to have the quilt,” Tara said. “But I’m sure you can make her understand.”
“I hope so.”
“No worries, Boss. You have a way with people. So get out of here and get ready for your meeting.”
“You sure?”
Tara looked at the paper on her clipboard, running her pen down the list of action items. “We’ve covered just about everything. I can take care of the rest of it. Besides, you’re too distracted to be much help.”
She had a point there. “I’ll be in my office, then.”
Tara shooed him off with a wave of her hand, her attention already on something else.
As Max went down the back hall to his office, his attention shifted as well. Rather, it finally settled fully and completely on the person who had been distracting him all day: Izzy Fontaine. That he was fixated on her and not the quilt bothered him more than he cared to admit.
“Focus,” he commanded himself as he dropped into his desk chair. He jiggled the mouse, bringing his computer screen back to life. A few clicks later, he’d opened the file containing all the information he had about the Wild Goose Chase quilt.
He’d only seen the quilt twice. The first time, Mrs. Randolph had allowed him to take it out of the box and examine the precise, hand-stitched pieces of fabric. He’d held history in his hands. After that, every time he visited his grandfather he’d stop by to see Mrs. Randolph. Every story she shared had been a gift, and he’d hastily scribbled them down as soon as he got to his car, in fear of forgetting some fascinating detail. Then he’d transferred it all to his PC. When he told Mrs. Randolph his idea of creating an exhibit around the quilt and asked if she’d consider loaning it to the museum, she’d done him one better. She promised to give it to him.
Max went back over it in his mind. Had he misunderstood? Had she ever given him any indication that she had other plans for the quilt? Or had she simply not remembered making the promise?
No. Physically, Mrs. Randolph’s health had been frail. But mentally, she was razor-edge sharp. She hadn’t forgotten anything.
A knock sounded and his eyes automatically slid to the clock. Four on the dot. He rose from his chair, clicking the mouse at the same time to minimize the information on the screen, then strode to the door.
“Izzy.” Max hesitated, unsure of how to welcome her. A handshake was customary, but it felt a little formal. For some reason, he had the crazy urge to hug her. Instead, he thrust his hand at her before he could embarrass them both.
“Max.” She barely smiled as she took his hand.
“Come in. Have a seat.” He took a step back to let her inside the room. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding my office.”
“I ran into your assistant up front. She gave very good directions.”
He shut the door and turned back to Izzy. Rather than sit in one of the hard chairs by his desk, she’d gone to the comfortable seating arrangement in the corner and settled onto a soft upholstered chair. From the set of her mouth and the storm clouds in her eyes, he guessed she’d had enough discomfort for one day.
“Can I get you something to drink?” He asked. “Coffee? Tea?”
“No. Thanks.” She cleared her throat and clasped her hands together in her lap. “I just want to get this over with.”
“All right, then.” As he moved to the chair beside her, he patted the side of his jacket, checking that he had indeed tucked a handkerchief into the inside pocket. So far, he’d needed one every time he’d seen Izzy. He didn’t expect today to be any different.
Max was prepared to launch into a persuasive speech about why the quilt belonged in a museum, but her guarded look stopped him. More than just the quilt situation was bothering her. “Are you feeling OK?”
She squeezed her eyes closed and sighed. When she looked back at him, some of the exhaustion in her expression was gone, replaced by determination. “My mother moved in today.”
“Oh.” That explained a lot. “How long will she be with you?”
“A few months. My brother is staying with her while I’m here.”
“Well, that’s good. At least he can help share the burden.”
Izzy laughed right in his face,
then quickly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. If you knew my brother, you’d realize how funny that is. He’s only there because he has an ulterior motive. I’m just not sure what it is.”
Max shifted in his chair. This was not going the way he’d hoped. Right now, Izzy was worn down by people who wanted something from her. Once they started talking about the quilt, she’d add his name to that list. It didn’t bode well for their negotiations.
“But I didn’t come here to talk about my family drama. I came to talk about Gran’s quilt.” Her eyes narrowed, as if she dared him to say the wrong thing.
“Yes. The quilt.” He paused. “I can show you the letter of intent from Mrs. Randolph.”
He rose from his chair, but Izzy motioned for him to sit back down. “I don’t need to see it.”
“Yes you do.”
She jumped a little in her seat, and Max immediately regretted the strength of his rebuttal. But if she wouldn’t even look at the letter, what hope did he have of convincing her that Mrs. Randolph intended to donate the quilt? None. Which would leave him with no quilt and no exhibit. “If you’d just take a moment to read the letter, then you’d see—”
“I don’t need to see anything.” She hurried on before he could interrupt. “Because I’m giving you the quilt.”
“What?” Max sank back down and leaned toward her. Perched on the edge of the chair, his mouth gaping, he thought he must surely look like the village idiot—not far removed from how he felt. “I don’t understand. You’re giving me the quilt?”
She smiled. “Well, I guess giving isn’t the right word. I’m loaning you the quilt.”
“Loaning?”
“Yes. For your exhibit. And when you’re done with it, you can give it back to me.” Her smile slipped a bit and worry lines creased her forehead. “That’s OK, isn’t it? I know people do that with artwork all the time, so I figured it wouldn’t be any problem.”
“Oh, it’s fine. No problem at all.” Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The only reason he wanted the quilt was to share it with the public. It didn’t matter what home it returned to after the exhibit. She’d just solved all their problems. He forced himself to sit back and relax. “I just wasn’t expecting this meeting to be so … simple.”
The smile came back, accompanied by a throaty chuckle. “Believe me, I’ve got plenty of complications in my life right now. I’m thrilled to add a dash of simplicity whenever possible. But there’s still a little bit of a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I have no idea where to find the documentation Gran told you about.”
OK, maybe she hadn’t solved all their problems. Without the provenance, the exhibit would still be nice, but it wouldn’t be nearly as substantive.
“I’ll keep looking, though.”
Her falsely bright tone and attempt at encouragement made Max smile. “I appreciate that. For now, we should probably talk about the particulars of the loan.”
The door to his office burst open. Both Max and Izzy swung their heads to see Tara standing in the doorway, looking a bit pale.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Max. “I forgot Miss Fontaine was here. But the FedEx man just left and, well, you got an envelope.”
Max had never seen his usually unflappable assistant in such a flustered state. “Keep it on your desk for now. I’ll look at it as soon as I’m done here.”
“No, Sir. This can’t wait.” She was all the way in the room now, holding the envelope out to Max.
Izzy stood up. “I should be going anyway. We can finish working out the details later.”
Max stood too. “You don’t have to leave.”
“No, you can’t leave,” Tara said. “You’re going to want to see this, too.”
They both turned to stare at Tara again. “What’s gotten into you?” Max asked her, snatching the envelope from her hand. He looked down at the address label and froze. “This can’t be right.”
Tara’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “I know. I read the label three times. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“Would one of you care to share what’s going on?” Izzy spoke up.
The envelope shocked Max, so he had no idea how Izzy would take it. But he had to tell her. “The return address on the label,” he said, his voice cool, calm, and level, “is from Isabella Randolph. It’s from your grandmother.”
10
Izzy took the envelope from Max. She looked at the front, flipped it over, and looked at the back. “Weird.”
“Weird?” His head jutted forward, as if he was certain he had heard her wrong. “It’s more than weird. It’s impossible.”
Max probably expected her to be as thrown by the envelope as he and Tara were. But since Gran’s death, Izzy had already received two mystery packages from her. She was starting to get used to them.
“It’s totally possible.” She handed the envelope back to Max. “Obviously, Gran had this ready to go before she died and she gave it to someone to send for her.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Absolutely.” Tara rushed to agree with her boss.
Izzy held back a grin. Neither one would admit it, but they’d been a bit freaked out at the idea of receiving a special delivery from beyond the grave.
“The big question is, who did she enlist as an accomplice? One person comes to mind.” She looked at Max, waiting for him to come to the same conclusion.
It didn’t take him long. “My grandfather?”
She shrugged. “They were together a lot. And she did give him the quilt to give to me.”
“I guess it’s possible. Maybe.” Max rubbed the back of his neck. “But why would he bother with FedEx? Why not just hand it to me?”
“We’ll have to ask him.”
Tara took a step closer and tapped the envelope in Max’s hand. “You’re both missing the bigger questions. Why did Mrs. Randolph want Max to have this after she was gone? And what is it?”
Max looked from Tara to Izzy. “There’s only one way to find out.”
He grabbed the pull tab at the top of the envelope and gave it a yank, ripping the top open. In unison, the two women leaned forward, holding their breath in anticipation. Max reached in and pulled out the contents. The women exhaled.
Another envelope. But this one was smaller and cream colored. Izzy immediately recognized the stationery. It was the same kind that had been in the box with the quilt and the package she received from Pastor Quaid.
Max removed a folded sheet of paper. His eyes scanned the print, reading it to himself.
Tara poked him in shoulder. “We can’t hear your thoughts, you know.”
“I’m just making sure it’s not confidential.”
“It’s from my grandmother,” Izzy said. “How confidential could it be?”
Max nodded, then read the note aloud.
Dear Maximilian,
“Maximilian?” Izzy interrupted.
Max shot her a glare from the corner of his eye. “Do you really want to make fun of my name, Izzy?”
Tara snickered.
Izzy held up a hand in apology. “Sorry. I just hadn’t considered that Max was short for something else.” Certainly not Maximilian.
He looked back at the note and kept reading.
By now, you’ve probably tried to claim the quilt, and you must be wondering if I was senile. I assure you, I am perfectly in control of all my faculties. Please trust that I have a reason for everything I have done and will do.
Izzy and Max looked at each other, and she knew they were thinking the same thing: Gran had more surprises in store.
Dear boy, you have blessed me with your presence. You understand the importance of family, which is why I know you will understand my decision to give the quilt to my granddaughter. You and Izzy have more in common than you know. You both have mending to do. Together, I’m certain the two of you can discover the treasure of the Wild Goose Chase.
Max faltered as his voice c
racked and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s it.” He folded the paper and tucked it back in the envelope. “She signed it ‘With love.’”
Izzy hadn’t meant to get emotional. But the cryptic message rubbed against her already raw nerves. She squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to cry in front of Max again. But a moment later, she felt something being pressed into her hand. Another of Max’s handkerchiefs. That stemmed the flow of tears faster than anything else could.
“Thanks.” She smiled and handed it back to him. “I’m OK this time.”
He tucked it back into his jacket. “You know where it is if you need it. Tara,” he said to his assistant. “Would you give us some privacy, please?”
“Sure thing.” She nodded and left the room.
When the door clicked shut, Max turned to Izzy. “There’s something else in here.”
“What?”
He reached into the deep FedEx envelope and produced a triangular piece of dark brown fabric sprinkled with yellow polka dots so tiny they resembled pin pricks. “Does this look familiar?”
She took it from him and turned it over, rubbing it between her fingers. “The pattern doesn’t, no. But the shape does.” She handed it back to him. “It’s just like the pieces in the Wild Goose Chase.”
As he stared at the triangle his jaw tightened and the furrow between his brows deepened. Izzy had an overwhelming desire to take his hands in hers and tell him everything would be all right. It was ridiculous on a number of levels, not the least of which was she didn’t even know what was wrong, so she couldn’t possibly promise to fix it. But she wanted to fix it. She wanted to erase the lines of worry that pulled at his face and bring a sparkle back to his eyes. Maybe, if he knew he wasn’t alone, he would feel better.
“She sent a piece to me, too.”
His eyebrows lifted, but not in the burden-lifted way she’d hoped. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I didn’t think it was important. She gave my pastor a box to give me and it was in there.”
“Just the quilt piece?”
A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series Page 7