by Terri Thayer
I went out front. "Okay, I'd like a progress report from everyone. Where do we stand on the jobs done for the sale? We only have the remainder of today, and then tomorrow, to get done, so tell me what still needs to be done."
Vangie spoke first. "My special project is nearly complete."
"Okay," I said, knowing I'd put her on the spot. I didn't want to talk about the online store just yet. "The e-mail hasn't gone out about the sale yet, but I will do that tonight. The big shipment of notions got checked in this morning. Finally."
Jenn said, "We've put those all out already. We've finished bagging all the kits. We're just about done with the goodie bags."
"We could make some favors to go in them," Kym suggested.
There was no way. "Have all the shelves been dusted? Have you set aside the door prizes? Are the bathrooms cleaned?" I said, making my point. "The front window could use a fresh look, too."
"What about the QP Originals?" Kym said.
"Vangie and I will hang up the samples tonight," I said.
Jenn was busy taking notes. Kym just looked at me sourly. Life at Quilter Paradiso was getting back to normal.
"All right, then," I said. "There's plenty to do between now and the sale. We're going to need every last minute."
I returned to my office. The e-mail icon was up, so I checked my inbox. Another digest of messages from the guild. I scanned through.
I breathed a sigh of relief. There was a question about natural dyes, using hibiscus. Another looking for a source of ivory buttons. There was a hue and cry about someone's dog dying from tainted food. No mention of dead bodies. No mention of the store.
Finally things were back to normal.
The poisoning of the dog made me think about Mrs. Unites's theory about Frank, no, Larry's death.
Mrs. Unites had said that the face of the dead man looked like someone who died of DDT. San Jose had once been farmland. Orchards still existed, although they were harder to find. Redevelopment had paved the valley of the heart's delight and put up condos.
I went online to see if the chemical was still being used. It had been banned in the sixties.
Larry's face had been contorted. I remember thinking he must have died a painful death. According to the witnesses, he'd been lurching around the neighborhood for at least a half-hour before ending up in my alley. It sounded like a slow, torturous way to die.
I looked up poisonings, checking for the usual reactions. Vomiting seemed like a common denominator, but no one had reported Frank throwing up on his way to the alley.
Vangie appeared in the doorway, with the twenty-foot ladder.
"Ready to hang some quilts?" she asked.
I glanced at the clock. The store was still open.
She read my mind. "We haven't had a customer in hours. Only those people scouting out the stuff they want to buy when it's discounted. I found two bolts of Moda stashed behind the book display. Someone was thinking ahead."
Mindless work, just what I needed to keep my mind off Celeste's mourning.
SEVENTEEN
LATER THAT NIGHT, I tugged on the long silver handle, making the door rattle. It was locked tight. I was here alone, and I wanted to be sure I was safe.
Jenn and Kym left as soon as the store closed. Vangie had helped me hang the QP Original quilts, and then left for her bowling league.
Turning around, I walked into my store, following the path a new customer would take. I tried to look at the place with fresh eyes. In the clip from Wonderful World of Quilts, the store had looked to me like we could use some sprucing up. The Vineyard quilt, hung high, was in the same position that it was in when my mother was alive. Even with the quilts Vangie and I had just finished hanging, the store looked stale. We needed a change. I needed a change.
I'd put Vangie's poster on the front door, to set up some anticipation about the QP Originals. The loft railing was the perfect place for Ina's "Over Easy." Her pattern was just the thing for beginners. Eye-catching colors, simple shapes. The quilt looked great viewed from a distance.
Pearl's quilt was small, so it needed to be at eye level and securely fastened. We'd made a display board and placed the landscape near the cash register, so it'd be the last thing people would see. If we had a line of customers waiting to pay, as I hoped, her quilt would get a lot of attention.
Celeste's Garden quilt was intricate and needed to be seen up close to be appreciated. Redwork was an old-fashioned craft, but I was counting on the fact that many of my customers remembered their mothers or grandmothers embroidering and so might be tempted to try it themselves. Vangie had climbed the ladder, and we'd suspended the redwork quilt right over the cutting table. That would give the customers time to scrutinize it while they waited for their fabric to be cut.
Jenn's Home for the Holiday Quilt and Vangie's Starry Nights were hung along the alley wall, with their kits underneath. That was as far as Vangie and I had gotten before it was time for her to leave. I'd stayed behind. Buster was in L.A., and I had no desire to go home to an empty house.
I walked backward, trying to decide what I wanted to move. I wasn't the great merchandiser. Making things pretty was not my forte. That's why I'd let Kym continue in the role she'd had when my mother was alive. The problem was I didn't like her end product.
I tripped over a white wicker baby doll carriage that housed the flannel pre-printed panels. I heard a loud crack as I caught myself on the shelving nearby. I was okay, just a sore shin, but the doll carriage wasn't so lucky. It was listing badly to one side. I'd broken the wheel. I felt a moment of guilt. This was one of Kym's props.
I picked up the fallen fabric and looked at the panel barcodes. I could see they were over a year old. Since I'd already destroyed the display, I might as well mark them down. I found a red pen and reduced the price to three dollars. I put them in a flat wicker basket. I dragged the broken carriage up to the loft and surveyed the store from above. Already it looked less cluttered. I looked for more things I could change.
From here, I could see everything. My favorite items, the paint sticks and pots of dyes and the art quilt books were stuck on a rack, near the hall. This stuff was expensive. And popular. I would move it up front.
I felt a surge of energy. I ran down the steps, emptied the wooden rack and moved it to where the baby carriage had been. It was heavy, but I didn't mind.
I loaded it back up again and stood back. That looked better.
I polished the front glass case and filled it with beads, and the one-of-a-kind buttons that had been languishing in the drawers behind the cash register. I cleared a space for the fancy scissors. I mentally designed a sign announcing "As Seen on Wonderful World of Quilts."
Turning my attention to the fabric, I gathered all the florals I could find and grouped them together. Than all the landscape types. I color-coordinated the batiks and moved them to the wall behind the cutting table. A new line of exotic-looking Amy Butler fabrics replaced the nineteenth-century reproduction line that Celeste had been admiring.
I wondered how Celeste was doing. She'd already outlived her husband, now she'd be burying another love.
My phone rang. I mopped the sweat off my neck. Moving fabric was an aerobic activity.
I dropped a bolt when I reached for the phone, and it set up a domino effect, until at least thirty bolts had fallen.
"Sorry for the racket," I said to Buster when I answered. "I just knocked over a mess of fabrics."
"You still at work?" he asked. "It's after eleven." I picked up one bolt and undid the pin holding it together. I pulled the fabric tauter and re-pinned. All the bolts that had fallen now needed straightening. I put in my earbud so I could use both hands.
"Of course, what about you? Sanchez there?" I said.
"Out like a light. Man can't stay up past nine."
There was a moment of silence. I panicked. I didn't want Buster to talk about anything substantive. I'd keep the conversation light.
"Is the weather nice there
in L.A?" I asked.
"It's Lala land. Perfect sun, perfect bodies, perfect faces. Even the cops look like they belong on TV or in the movies."
"They're all fake, you know," I said, keeping my voice light.
"The cops?"
"The boobs. All the boobs in L.A. are fake."
My attempt at humor fell flat. There was another awkward silence.
"About last night-," Buster began.
My stomach tightened. I felt the hurt and uncertainty come rushing back. I wasn't ready for that discussion yet. I'd spent the day ignoring any worry that I'd lost Buster.
I diverted him yet again. "Did you get in to see your inmate?"
(( " Yup.
"Is he the one that committed the murder here?" I asked.
Buster sounded happy, but restrained. "Looks like it. All the surveillance footage I looked at paid off. I finally found a shot that matched the regression I'd done of his current mug shot. It had to be him."
"Congratulations. You worked hard." His task reminded me of my own news. "Guess what?" I said. "I figured out who the dead guy in my alley was."
Buster sounded incredulous. "What do you mean-you figured it out?"
"I used your facial recognition points. I found a picture in the shop's photos that looked like him, and matched him to the dead guy's picture."
"He was one of your customers?" Buster asked.
"Worse. He was Celeste's boyfriend, Larry," I said.
He whistled. "That explains what he was doing in your alley. Probably looking for her. Nice work, Holmes."
I warmed to his praise. "It's bittersweet. He'd been robbing Celeste blind. He was selling her Ohr."
"Not the Ohr," Buster said, with exaggerated fake horror in his voice.
I laughed, which I knew was what he intended. Despite the distance between us, he could make me laugh. "Your ignorance of Arts and Crafts pottery is forgivable, but barely. Let me put it in perspective for you. One piece can bring as much as fifty thousand dollars."
Buster was admiring. "So you ID'ed the guy, and broke up a pottery-fencing ring. Dewey Pellicano, investigator extraordinaire to the quilt world. "
"Now if I could just solve his murder," I said. "My life could get back to normal."
Buster was philosophical. "He probably had a partner. Those con guys often do. Fallout between thieves is nasty stuff. Especially with so much money involved."
Now that the talk about work was out of the way, we were quiet again. I thought I heard Buster sigh.
He spoke first. "Last night, I was an idiot. I shouldn't have walked out on you."
That was true. "Apology accepted," I said tentatively. I wished I could see his face.
Buster continued, "I thought about what you said, and I do understand. It's like my job. I like to be the one that discovers the truth. It's not very satisfying if someone hands me the answers"
I wasn't sure I liked having my love life compared to homicide work, but I knew how his mind worked. I had to give him an A for effort.
He said, "You know I never meant to torture you. The sixmonth celibacy timetable was just to give us enough time"
"You wanted to woo me, you said."
"Exactly, so we could get to know one another."
I took a pin out of my mouth to answer. "And we did." Truth be told, for the first few months, I'd liked it. Our energies were focused on other aspects of our personalities. We both worked a little harder to make our time together memorable, knowing it wasn't going to end up in bed.
But our sexual natures could not be denied. The foreplay got bolder and longer and more involved. Better, yet less satisfying. And the march to sex began. Why not? We were adults in a committed monogamous relationship. Sex was the next step.
Buster said, "Do you know why I haven't made love to you yet?"
"Because you admire Harry Truman, and he courted his wife for seven years?" I asked, laughing. No reply. Not funny to him. I continued more seriously, "I never thought the celibacy would last the entire six months."
"I was trying to remove my lust from the equation."
"What's wrong with lust?" I asked.
"I wanted the lust to have a context," he said seriously.
"Now you're losing me," I said.
"Don't get me wrong, lust is great. Lust is what we had the first couple of times. That was seriously great. I wanted more than that."
"More?"
He was quiet. I could hear him breathing. He'd been thinking about this a lot.
He said, "I didn't ever want you to feel like I don't want everything about you. Your body, yes, but your mind, your heart, your laugh, too. I wanted you to be completely secure in my love for you. Of course, I want you. But I wanted you to know that I wanted you.
I let his words sink into me. Spending the afternoon with Celeste had made me leery of love. She'd spent all of her love on a man who didn't deserve her trust, never mind her love.
Buster spoke, his voice husky. The timbre went straight to the pit of my stomach, making my knees wobble. "The ban is officially over. My timetable is over. Whenever you're ready, all you have to do is ask."
I found myself whispering, "Is there a secret code word I need to use?"
"Yes."
I waited for the rest. He said nothing more.
"That's it?"
Buster said, "Just say yes. Yes means yes."
Finally.
I hung up the phone. I'd lost my appetite for rearranging, seeing it for what it was-a way to avoid thinking about our relationship. But now, all I had to do was to say yes. The next time I saw Buster, I would give him a resounding, Yes. I couldn't wait.
It was two o'clock in the morning. I should have been tired but I was exhilarated. I took a final walk through the store. I liked the way it looked. This was not my mother's store anymore. This was my store now.
I wasn't ready to go home, even though I had to be back early to watch Wonderful World of Quilts. I ran the feather duster over the register one more time. The display of Pearl's QPO quilt kits caught my eye. I opened one of the kits and laid out all the pieces. It was an ocean scene, and the hand-dyed blues and oranges attracted me. I ran my fingers over the fabric while I read the directions that came with the kit. According to her blurb on the envelope, all I needed was four hours, fusible webbing, and an iron.
I gathered up the pieces and headed for the classroom. I had a date with Petey.
EIGHTEEN
I WAYLAID JENN ON her way to the kitchen in the morning.
"Everything go okay with Zorn the other day?" I asked, watching her face. Her mouth looked a little more strained than usual. She must have let her husband know about Frank Bascomb. Dragging up long-buried hurts is rough business.
She nodded, continuing into the kitchen and hanging up her purse. "It just brought up a lot of old drama. I could have gone without it."
"Well, Frank is out of your life for good now."
She shrugged. "I guess"
Kym grabbed her and pulled her into the classroom. It was too bad that Frank's death didn't bring her more closure.
I went back to my computer.
"Hey, kiddo, the store looks great."
I looked up from the promotional e-mail I was composing to see Pearl and Ina entering my office. They were both smiling at me, but their eyes were soft, and Ina had black circles under her eyes. Pearl looked pale under her usual tawny skin.
"Thanks," I said. "I didn't expect you to be here to watch Wonderful World of Quilts?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Ina said.
I said, "How's Celeste? And Gussie? Have you seen them this morning?"
Ina shook her head. "We left Celeste's around midnight. I called Gussie this morning. They'll be over soon."
Pearl gave my chair a little shove. She glanced at Vangie, who was counting yesterday's receipts. She lowered her voice. "Why didn't you tell us about Gussie and all that money?"
Ina put in, "No wonder you were ready to call the cops."
; I shrugged. "She made me swear I wouldn't. Besides, you told me that old ladies didn't need my help."
Pearl gave me a disgusted look. Old ladies was not a politically correct term.
Ina said, "Having all that money in the house, that's nuts."
I skipped the told you so. "It's okay. It's not at her place anymore." I nodded to the safe behind the door. Vangie'd had it open while she was working on the bank deposit. The key dangled from the lock.
I could see the stacks of cash. I said, "She gave the money to me to hold. If Jeremy does need it for a down payment on the house, he can come and get it."
Pearl and Ian exchanged puzzled looks.
"House? What house?" Ina said.
"The one that Jeremy's buying."
"No-uh" Pearl talked over her. "Is that what she told you? Jeremy needs bail money."
What? Bail money? I looked from one to the other. Neither one looked very surprised at the idea of Jeremy in jail.
"We were at Gussie's when somebody called her last night and said Jeremy needed money to get out," Pearl said.
Before I had a chance to react, Kym poked her head in my office. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement. Being on TV was going to be the highlight of her life. "The show's on."
I glanced at the clock. "We've got ten minutes," I said. I wanted to find out more about Jeremy and Gussie.
"Let's go," Kym said. She stood in the doorway, staring at Vangie until she put her work away.
"Come on, everybody," she said, hands on hips. She herded Pearl and Ina out of my office. "I want everyone seated before the show starts. No interruptions."
"Wait," I called to Pearl. "Tell me about Jeremy."
Kym had her arms around both women. Ina said over her shoulder, "Gussie will be here. Let her tell you."
I went back to my computer to save the e-mail I'd been working on. I needed to proofread it one more time before I sent it out.
"Oh, dang," Vangie said, putting our cash back into the safe in the plastic zipper bag. "I wanted to finish the bank deposit." She gave no indication she'd heard the conversation about Jeremy.