Crazy as a Quilt (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 8) (20 page)

“What I don’t get is why, all these years later, long after Steve is dead, you come to my house packing an album of steamy pictures of you with my husband.”

“It’s not what you think.” Sharon’s face had turned red, and her eyes were filling with tears.

“Enlighten me,” Harriet said in a hard tone.

“Steve and I started dating in the spring of our junior year in high school. His girlfriend at the time had moved out of state during Christmas break. I’d just had a traumatic breakup with my boyfriend.

“I’m sure you remember how things were at that age—every little thing was a major tragedy. We spent most of our time together commiserating about how much our lives sucked. We were good kids. We didn’t drink or do drugs or anything like that. No one in our group did.”

Sharon paused, and Harriet got up and brought her a glass of water. She set it in front of her.

“Go on.”

“In a moment of terrible judgment, we decided being good wasn’t getting us anywhere, so we’d try the other side.”

“What did you do?” Harriet asked in spite of herself.

“Steve’s parents were going away for the weekend, and of course they didn’t give a second thought to leaving him home alone. We were the good kids, after all. I told my parents I was going away for the weekend with a girlfriend. They didn’t ask too many questions, so we had the whole weekend and an empty house.”

Harriet sat back in her chair, curious now about where this was going.

“So, you got into their liquor cabinet, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. First their liquor cabinet, then their bed. When we sobered up, and cleaned up the wreckage, we realized that drinking and having sex were not the answer to anything. We also realized that something that should have been so special when you’re with the right person, at the right time, was now ruined forever for us.

“We stayed friends and went to the prom together, mainly because we were sufficiently disgusted with ourselves we weren’t ready to date anyone else and didn’t want to miss prom.”

“I guess I’m missing something here, because I’m not getting how that brief, ill-advised interlude in your teen years is causing you to carry a reminder with you here. I mean, everyone makes mistakes in their youth.”

Sharon sipped her water.

“Some mistakes carry bigger consequences than others.”

Harriet stared at her.

“You got
pregnant
?”

Steve had lied about his illness, but Harriet couldn’t believe he’d have omitted having gotten a girl pregnant. He definitely would have told her if he had a child.

Wouldn’t he?

“Steve never knew. School was almost out for the summer when I realized. I was in denial at first, but when I missed my second period, there was no doubt. My parents were great. I was already doing modeling jobs by then, so sometimes I’d go away on shoots. My mom told the school I was abroad and would work with a tutor. She took me to her sister who lives on a farm in Middle of Nowhere, Washington. A friend of hers in England would send postcards and letters I’d write back to Oakland.”

She paused to sip her water again.

“What happened to the baby?”

“We made arrangements for it to be adopted right from the hospital. I say ‘it’ because the adoptive parents were in the delivery room. The baby was wrapped in a blanket, I nursed it once; but by previous agreement among all the adults, its gender was never mentioned. The new parents took the baby away to another room, and I was moved to a different floor where there weren’t mothers or babies.”

Tears began to slide down Sharon’s perfect face.

Without thinking, Harriet reached across the table and took her hand.

“That sounds so sad. I can’t imagine how you coped.”

“Like I said, my mom was great. We stayed on for another month in Washington. She took me to a therapist daily at first and continued it when we got back to California. They kept me on antidepressants until I’d made peace with the situation. I came back during Christmas break as if nothing had happened. If the others noticed I’d changed, they chalked it up to my modeling in Europe.”

“And you never thought Steve would want to know he had a child?”

“Later, yeah. When it was too late. My mom and the therapist kept really close tabs on me. I was in my senior year when I came back, and I was getting more and more modeling jobs. I threw myself into my career and never looked back.”

“What changed?”

“The easy answer is—my accident. I’d like to think I’d have gotten to this point even if I hadn’t been in the accident, but being in the hospital brought back memories and gave me ample time to think. I used it reflecting on the mistakes I’ve made. Steve’s dead, so I can never fix that mistake. When I saw the quilting event and saw the opportunity to come stay with you, I guess I figured telling you would be the next best thing.”

“So, when were you going to tell me?”

“After I got here and spent time with you, I decided it wasn’t fair to make myself feel better by unloading all this on you. I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“And yet here we are. What I still don’t understand is why the pictures? They have to be a painful reminder.”

“They aren’t, strangely enough. I don’t have a single picture of my child, so those are the only things I have to remind me that it was real. Steve and I were together, and we created a child.”

“Are you still seeing a therapist?”

“I am. Not the same one, of course. That’s another reason I wanted to come to Washington. It turns out attitudes have changed about adoption. Both birth parents and adopted children are finding it beneficial to connect. And before you say anything, I’ve talked a lot with my therapist, and I know not every child wants to find their birth parents and vice versa. I also know my child might not still be alive, and I’ve been warned he or she might not have had the ideal childhood I’ve imagined for him or her. And he or she might blame me, if that’s the case.”

“But you’re going to try and find your baby?”

“I am. The adoption took place in Washington, so I was going to find an investigator while I’m here.”

The two women sat in silence until Scooter jumped into Harriet’s lap and settled.

“I may be speaking out of turn, and we’ll have to ask Lauren first, but she works with a group of computer people who might be helpful. They’re programmers, not real investigators, but they can find things through the internet no one else can.”

“Should I ask her, or do you need to talk to her?”

“I better talk to her first. And you’re welcome to stay here while you get things set up.”

“I’m really sorry. You don’t need my drama on top of everything else.”

Harriet set Scooter on the floor.

“I’m going to go upstairs and pretend to sleep. Help yourself to a snack or tea, if you want.”

Sharon groaned. “I may never eat again after this week. I think I’ll go up—I need to refresh my manicure.” She held her right hand out, fingers spread. “It probably seems silly, but for so many years when I was working, we had to keep our nails neat and prepped with clear nail polish so we’d be ready on a moment’s notice. It’s just habit now.”

“I hear you about the food. And there are worse habits than keeping your manicure tuned up.” She looked down at her dog. “Come on, let’s get on up to bed.” She looked back at Sharon. “See you in the morning.”

Chapter 21

The sky was gray when Harriet took Scooter out for his morning walk. With luck, the clouds would clear off before Marine’s funeral tomorrow.

Sharon came out of the house through the studio door. She was wearing tan slacks and a pink silk blouse and looked every inch the former model she was. She also had a spring in her step that had been absent until now.

“I slept the whole night through for the first time in forever,” she said.

“Oh, good. I’m glad we talked last night. And I’ll ask Lauren about what we discussed when we see her at the breakfast buffet. I’ll be ready as soon as I get this little guy settled.” She looked down at Scooter with a smile.

Sharon’s look turned serious.

“I’m going to drive
my
car today. I called my doctor about my headaches, and he called in a different prescription for me. I’ve always had headaches, but not as frequently as I have lately. And it’s not just the stress—I’ve had some tough therapy sessions, and it hasn’t triggered anything.

“Anyway, he called my prescription to the pharmacy out by the highway. I stuck a cereal bar in my purse, and I thought I’d skip breakfast and go by this morning before class.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you in class or at morning break. By then, I should have an answer from Lauren.”

Lauren was at the buffet table loading a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon when Harriet arrived.

“I need to talk to you privately,” Harriet said as she passed by on her way to the beginning of the line.

“I love it when we sit in the corner and tell secrets.”

“This is serious,” Harriet scolded.

“Isn’t it always?”

Harriet rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the bowl of cut fruit in front of her.

“Where are your aunt and Mavis this morning?” Lauren asked when she arrived with her plate and glass of juice.

Harriet set her food down and pulled out the chair opposite her friend.

“They’ll be a little late. They’re going by the florist to arrange for flowers for the service tomorrow. They’re going to hit up the rest of us Threads for donations when they figure out how much it’s going to cost.”

Lauren took a bite of her bagel.

“I don’t have a problem with that,” she said when she’d finished chewing. “It’s kind of sad that Marine didn’t have anyone to put on a funeral for her.”

Jessica came to the table.

“Is this a private party?”

Lauren looked at Harriet.

“I can go sit over there,” Jessica indicated with her napkin-wrapped silverware, and then looked from Lauren to Harriet.

Harriet indicated she should sit down.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

“It’s fine, really. This sort of involves you. I’ll trust your discretion. What I’m going to tell you is someone else’s secret.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone. It’s part of my previous professional training.”

“I confronted Sharon about the book of pictures.” She went on to tell them the story Sharon had told them. “Part of the reason she came here was to find an investigator to find her baby.” She looked at Lauren. “I told her about your nerd herd. I don’t know if they do this sort of thing, but I thought they might have more luck than a random investigator in digging through electronic records.”

“Are you suggesting they could hack into records that a licensed investigator couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

“No.”

Lauren tilted her chin downward and looked up at her.

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Okay, it did occur to me they might be able to access records that weren’t quite public.”

“Only because I know they can get into and out of the level of records we are speaking about without leaving a trace will I even consider asking them to help. What’s in it for them?”

Harriet took a bite of her roll and chewed thoughtfully.

“I didn’t ask, but I’m sure she’s willing to pay them for their time.”

Glynnis Miller came hurrying up to the table; her usually neat bun had wisps hanging down to her collar on one side.

“Harriet, I’m so glad I found you. Could I impose on you to drive over to the screen-printing shop?”

“Sure, what’s happening?”

“We’re putting together the goodbye goodie bags, and the printer made a mistake on the logo. We discovered it yesterday, and they printed a new batch for us, but I’m afraid the rest of the Small Stitches are tied up with the funeral arrangements. We’re having trouble finding some of Marine’s family and friends. I spoke to Beth, but she and Mavis and Connie are busy getting flowers, and Robin and DeAnn are printing up a program. She suggested you or Lauren. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s no problem. Is the printer in that industrial park down by the docks?”

Glynnis handed her a piece of paper.

“I wrote down the address and what the printing on the bags should say. I’m sure they’re fine this time, but please check them while you’re still there.”

“I’ll go right now,”

Glynnis thanked her two more times before she bustled off to deal with whatever the next crisis on her list was.

“Shotgun,” Lauren called out the moment Glynnis was out of earshot. “I don’t think this is a good time for any of us to be driving to sketchy neighborhoods alone.”

“It’s fine down there during the day when the businesses are open. It’s nighttime that’s the problem.”

Lauren crumpled her napkin onto her plate.

“I’m coming with anyway.”

Jessica looked from Lauren to Harriet and back to Lauren.

“Me, too?”

Harriet sighed. “Sure, why not. We’ll make it a party bus.” She glanced at the time on the face of her phone. “Come on. If we hustle we won’t miss much of our morning session.”