A Wild Goose Chase Christmas: Quilts of Love Series

by Jennifer AlLee

  Max’s eyebrows lifted at the man’s name. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “No. Just left his number and said to call. The message slip is on top of those files I left on your desk.” She pursed her lips as though the words she spoke were sour. “I have a feeling he’s going to try to spirit you away to New Mexico. I don’t like it.”

  He watched Tara walk away, wondering why the director of one of the country’s most prestigious historical societies wanted to speak with him. Max picked up his mug and headed back to his office, wondering if the Wild Goose Chase had anything to do with it and if he’d ever be able to pull this exhibit together.

  Leave it to Grant to present the most literal representation of cubism possible.

  “It’s made out of Legos,” the boy said proudly.

  “I can see that.”

  It was quite ingenious. Rather than create a freestanding model, the face he’d constructed using the interlocking bricks appeared to grow out of the canvas. He’d even managed a passing resemblance of himself. No small feat.

  She nodded her approval. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks, Miss Fontaine.”

  He’d never admit it, but his smile told her he’d actually enjoyed the project.

  “You’ve all done an amazing job.” She motioned to their work lining the walls, sweeping her arm like a game show model indicating the day’s big prize.

  “Picasso would be proud. Monday, we’ll start looking at the exciting world of impressionism. If you’re feeling adventurous, Google Vincent van Gogh over the weekend.”

  Izzy glanced at the clock. There were five more minutes left in the school day, but she was feeling generous. “Gather up your work and get out of here. Enjoy your weekend.” In the mad dash that ensued, she waved to two of the students. “Grant. Josie. Would you two stay behind, please? I need to talk to you.”

  The two teenagers who stood before her couldn’t be more different. Grant hitched his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. Josie kept her head down, eyes studying the floor, hair hanging around her face like limp brown stage curtains before a show.

  “All the work was good today,” Izzy said. “But you two showed some extraordinary talent.”

  Grant stopped rocking. Josie looked up from beneath her lashes, though her head stayed bowed.

  “There’s a big regional art competition coming up in February. I’d like you both to consider entering your work.”

  That snapped up Josie’s head. “Really?”

  Izzy smiled at the girl’s whispered amazement. “Really. Josie, you have a very classic, polished style. But you convey so much emotion in your work. If a picture’s worth a thousand words, yours is worth two thousand.”

  The girl’s cheeks blushed until they were bright as a red velvet Santa suit. “Thank you, Miss Fontaine.”

  “As for you,” she motioned to Grant. “You think outside of the box. Try not to let this go to your head, but you may be a creative genius.”

  A grin took over his face. “Cool. What do we get if we win?”

  “There are scholarships for first, second, and third place. And there are several different categories. It’s worth the time to enter, believe me.”

  She picked up two stapled stacks of paper from her desk and handed one to each of them. “This has all the rules and the entry form. Show it to your parents and think about it over the weekend. I can help you fill them out on Monday if you like.”

  “Cool.” Grant saluted her with one finger on his way out the door.

  Josie stood for a moment, looking at the papers in her hand. “You really think my painting is good enough for a contest?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you. You have talent. Now it’s time to let it shine.”

  A smile bloomed and she pushed one side of her hair back over her shoulder. “Have a good weekend, Miss Fontaine.”

  “You too.”

  Warmth spread through Izzy’s chest as she watched the girl leave the classroom, her stride more confident than she’d seen before. This was the part of teaching she loved the most. Being able to encourage young people, to help them see their God-given gifts and talents. It’s what Gran had done for her.

  After securing the room for the night, Izzy pulled her purse from the bottom desk drawer. Out of habit, she took out her phone, turned the ringer back on, and saw that she had a message. Praying it wasn’t from Mom or Brandon, she dialed into her voice mail. To her surprise, the message was from Max.

  “Izzy. Hi. It’s Max. I’ve found some interesting stuff in the diaries. I was wondering if you’d be free for dinner tonight. So we can talk about the quilt. And eat, of course.”

  He rambled a little longer, left his number, then hung up.

  So Max Logan wanted to take her out to dinner. He said it was to discuss the quilt and the diaries, but Izzy wondered if there was more. Was there a date hidden under the necessities of meeting? And if there was, how did she feel about that?

  The fact that her heart was beating a little faster than normal as she dialed his number provided the answer.

  “Max Logan.”

  “Max. Hi. It’s Izzy.”

  “Izzy. Hi.” The professional, all-business tone in his voice dropped and became warm and inviting. “Thanks for calling me back.”

  “Of course. I’d love to have dinner with you, but I can’t tonight.”

  She thought she heard an exhale of breath. Maybe not a sigh, but a signal of disappointment. “Maybe another night.”

  “It’s just that I promised to work down at the Friday night street fair on Myrtle tonight.” She rushed on, wanting to make sure he knew that if she could see him, she would. “My church has a craft booth, and I’ve got the first shift.”

  “Oh.” His tone lifted. “Well, I could meet you there. We could grab some coffee when you’re done.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “OK then. It’s a date.”

  Izzy smiled to herself. It was a date.

  19

  Izzy always enjoyed the street fair in Old Town Monrovia, but she loved it when it was all done up for Christmas. As she’d told Edna, the church organist who was also working the booth, it was as if the stars fell from heaven and draped themselves across the buildings and trees.

  A light breeze moved the crisp night air, flapping the edges of the canopy covering the church booth. Hands in her pockets, Izzy smiled at people who passed by, but her eyes kept sweeping the crowd, looking for one familiar face.

  “Izzy.”

  She jumped at the hand on her arm. Turning to Edna, she smiled. “Yes?”

  “Goodness, dear, you were a million miles away.” She held up a set of tea towels with pink flamingos hand embroidered on them. “These are marked three dollars each. Do you think it would be all right to sell two of them for five?”

  “I just love them,” said a woman on the other side of the table. She motioned down to the boy and girl standing on either side of her. “But I promised these two a visit to the bounce house and I don’t have quite enough cash left over.”

  The little girl looked up at Izzy with a shy smile. It was almost enough to make Izzy want to give the towels away for free. But the money was earmarked to provide Christmas baskets for local needy families. Still, there was no reason they couldn’t give this woman a hand, too.

  “Five dollars for the pair would be fine.”

  As Edna took the woman’s money and put the towels in a bag, Izzy leaned over and covertly asked if the children were allowed to have candy. When the mother nodded, Izzy reached into a bag behind the table and pulled out two candy canes.

  “Here you go.” She handed one to each of the children and was rewarded with face-splitting smiles. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas!” All three of them returned the greeting, and the children waved as their mother lead them off to the end of the street where the inflatable games were set up.

  “Don’t you just love the excitem
ent of children?” Edna straightened the already neat crafts arranged on the table. “It takes so little to make them happy at that age.”

  Izzy thought about her students. “And in about ten years, they won’t be caught dead near a bouncy house. Or holding a candy cane.”

  A tall person walked up to the booth and cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I’d be happy with a candy cane.”

  “Max. You made it.” In jeans, a navy blue sweater, and a black pea coat, it was the most casual she’d seen him. Izzy turned to the woman beside her. “Edna, this is Max Logan. He’s the director of the California Pioneer Museum in Pasadena.”

  “Pleased to meet you, young man.”

  “And you.” Max pointed to the small quilts mounted on stands behind them. “Those are beautiful. Did you make them?”

  “Heavens no.” Edna waved a hand at him, batting her eyelashes like a schoolgirl. “We have a quilting group at our church. They mostly make small quilts for children in foster care. These quilts are special projects to raise funds for our cause.”

  “Very impressive.”

  “Max knows a lot about quilts,” Izzy chimed in. “He’s helping me uncover the background of a quilt Gran gave me.”

  Edna’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. The Wild Goose Chase?”

  Izzy was shocked. “You know about it?”

  “Yes, dear. Your grandmother told me all about it one time when I went to visit her. But she swore me to secrecy.” Edna put her fingers to her lips and twisted, as though securing a lock.

  Had Gran told everyone about the quilt but Izzy?

  Edna looked from side to side, as if checking to make sure no one would overhear what she was about to say. Then she put her hand on Izzy’s shoulder and leaned her head toward Max. “Did you get the envelope?”

  Max’s eyebrows lifted as he made the connection. “You sent the FedEx envelope to the museum.”

  “Yes, I did.” Edna’s eyes sparkled. “Isabella told me it was very important and she gave me specific directions about how long after she passed to send it. I was honored to be included in her last wish.”

  Another piece of the mystery solved. Izzy snaked her arm around the woman’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  Before the conversation could become any more sentimental, a young woman jogged up to the booth, stopping just short of the table. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem.” Izzy said to the girl. Jordan was a college freshman with boundless energy. Having her man the booth would no doubt attract an equally energetic crowd. It was a good thing Edna was there to balance things out.

  After making sure the women were settled, Izzy grabbed her purse and came out of the booth. “I’m all done here,” she said to Max.

  “Great.” He looked up and down the street. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Have you been to the street fair before?”

  He shook his head. “Never have.”

  She looked down at the sneakers on his feet. “Glad to see you wore your walking shoes. Let’s go up the street. There’s a coffee shop there where we can sit outside and enjoy the lights.”

  “Lead the way.”

  They moved up Myrtle Avenue, stopping along the way to look in different booths. More than once, Izzy saw someone she knew, either from church or from the neighborhood. She and Max would stop, she’d make introductions, there would be some small talk, and then they’d move on. Izzy was so distracted by the wonderful aroma of the kettle corn cart that she tripped on a plastic strip covering a row of wires. If not for Max grabbing her arm, she would have fallen. As they continued, his hand stayed on her arm, guiding her through the crowd.

  They reached the coffee shop just as a young couple was leaving their table. Izzy quickly claimed it, plunking herself down on the wrought iron chair.

  “Remind me never to get in your way,” Max said with a laugh.

  She looked up at him with a grin. “Sometimes you’ve got to be quick or you miss out. Would you mind getting the drinks while I hold down our claim?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I’d like a hot chocolate.”

  “Whipped cream?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled. “A woman after my own heart. Be right back.” While she waited for him, Izzy watched the people as they passed by. If the number of children who looked like cats, fairy princesses, and superheroes was any indication, Jonas the face painter was working overtime tonight. Across the street, a young gal with a portable sound system sang Christmas carols with such earnest, you’d have thought she was auditioning for American Idol.

  “What a surprise!”

  Izzy jerked her head to what had been an empty chair across from her. Now it contained the body of a nervous man who was trying to smile but instead looked like he was in pain.

  “Barry. Imagine running into you here.”

  He nodded, his head bobbing so fast she feared his glasses might fly from his face. “I got my flu shot today at the school clinic and … hey, I didn’t see you there. Have you had your shot yet?”

  “No, I meant to, but I forgot.”

  “You should. Germs cannot be taken lightly. Anyway, Marcy was giving me my shot and she mentioned the street fair. I thought it would be fun to get out tonight. Mingle with the people.”

  If anyone needed to get out more, it was Barry. “That’s great. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Absolutely.” The tone of his voice wasn’t nearly as convincing as his proclamation.

  Izzy nodded in return. What should she do? She didn’t want to be rude, but there was only one extra seat at the table, and now Barry was sitting in it. How could she get him to move before Max got back?

  A brown paper coffee cup appeared on the table in front of her and a hand rested on her shoulder. “Hello.” Max’s voice was low and deep behind her.

  Izzy looked up in his general direction. “Max, this is Barry. He and I work together.”

  Max extended his hand. “You’re a teacher, too?”

  “Yes, biology.” Barry half stood when shaking Max’s hand, but then he plunked back down in the seat. “Say, are you the fellow who’s helping Izzy with her grandmother’s estate?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  Izzy heard the confusion in Max’s voice. He probably wondered what she’d told Barry about him, whether she considered him a business contact and nothing more. Across from her, Barry showed no signs of giving up the seat. There was nothing to do but be blunt.

  “Barry, Max and I are on a date.”

  Perhaps because she said it gently, the truth didn’t register with Barry right away. A moment later, his eyes opened a bit wider as a light bulb switched on in his brain.

  “Oh. You’re on a … and I … you probably want this seat.”

  Max gave a slight nod of his head. “I’d appreciate it, yes.”

  “Uh, sorry.” He jumped up and for some reason dusted the seat off with his hand. “Nice seeing you, Izzy.”

  Barry dashed away before she could respond. Max lowered himself into the vacant seat, shoulders rising in silent laughter. “I think I scared him.”

  “Poor Barry. He’s had a crush on me for a few years.”

  “I see,” Max said. “So I just dashed his hopes of being with you.”

  The heat in Izzy’s cheeks was even more pronounced because of the bite in the air. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you, telling him this was a date. I just didn’t know what else to do to make him move.”

  Max didn’t say anything, just watched her as she played nervously with her napkin. Then his hand moved across the table and covered hers, stilling her fingers. “Izzy, do you think we’re on a date?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. So she simply nodded.

  “Good.” He squeezed her fingers before pulling away.

  “Because we are.”

  She took a gulp of her hot chocolate, thankful that the whipped cream had lowered the liquid’s temperature a bi
t. What should she say now? She wanted to ask about the diary, but would they talk about that on a date? Surely they had more to discuss than the crazy mystery Gran had designed for them to solve.

  “Tell me about your work,” Max said, solving the dilemma for her.

  She told him about her classes; about their latest foray into cubism and the surprising talent that was cropping up.

  “I love seeing what these kids come up with,” she said. “Especially when I ask them to use the style of old masters in a modern context. They continue to amaze me.”

  “I can tell you love what you do.” Max swirled his coffee cup in small circles. “How did you make the leap from dancer to teacher?”

  “Ah, that was all Gran.” A gust of air swooshed past, and Izzy grabbed at the napkins before they could blow away. “When I was eighteen, I was rehearsing for a local production of a new ballet. I’d been having a lot of aches and pains but never really thought about it. They’re all part and parcel of a dancer’s life, you know?”

  Max nodded.

  “So one day, we were working on a particularly difficult section of the piece. I had to make a running leap into the arms of the male principal dancer. Either I didn’t jump high enough or he wasn’t ready. Either way, he didn’t catch me.”

  “Ouch,” Max said with a wince.

  “Yeah. I landed on my right knee, hard. Normally, a fall like that wouldn’t be enough to stop a dancer from dancing. But my knee swelled up and the fluid wouldn’t go away. I went to my doctor, who sent me to a specialist. After a bunch of questions and tests I found out that my aches and pains weren’t from dancing; they were from rheumatoid arthritis.”

  “That must have been a hard diagnosis to hear.”

  “It was. I knew my dreams of being a prima ballerina were over. I was devastated. But Gran came in and picked up the pieces.”

  Max set his cup aside and leaned forward. “How so?”

  “She had me move in with her for a few weeks. Took care of me while my knee healed. Most important she helped me see I needed a new dream. She convinced me to go to college and find a new passion.”