Quilt As Desired (21 page)

Harriet debated following but didn't want to draw attention to the woman. She returned to the mourners.

"How are you holding up, honey?” Mavis asked.

"My head hurts, but no worse than it did this morning."

"If you want to leave, just say the word."

"I sort of told Harold I would go get coffee with him after this. I told him I had to get Lauren's quilt first."

"I can get the quilt, but are you sure you should be going out?"

"He promised me Death by Chocolate."

"What on earth is that? It sounds dangerous."

"I hope so. It's a dessert experiment by his friend James, the chef."

"Let's go eat our cookie and drink some tea and then you can get on to your ‘chocolate death’ or whatever it is."

The Loose Threads reassembled and returned as a group to the church reception. The tea was weak and the cookies doughy, but it was a kind gesture by the women of Avanell's congregation. Lauren had been one of the drivers, so she got the quilt from her trunk and brought it in to Harriet.

"Here,” she said and thrust it into Harriet's hands. “When can I get it back?"

Harold chose that moment to join them. “Do you need more time?” he asked.

"Just let me put this in the car,” she told him then turned to Lauren. “I should have it done sometime this evening. I'll have to see how much area has to be done before I can be more specific. I'll call you when I get it on the machine."

Lauren walked away without so much as a fare-thee-well. Harriet hadn't expected a thank-you but the woman could at least have been civil.

Lauren reminded her of a girl named Jeanne she'd gone to school with when she'd been dropped here in junior high. Harriet knew now that Jeanne had simply been protecting her territory—she had the other girls in their class convinced she was the most sophisticated, cutting-edge seventh grader Foggy Point had ever seen. She'd studied French the whole summer prior, and she would break into the language whenever a cute boy was in sight.

On her first day, Harriet made the mistake of responding to one of her comments, also in French. It was automatic. She hadn't done it on purpose. She hadn't been there long enough to realize that French was reserved for Jeanne and the boys, and no one else. Jeanne never spoke to her again, and for the rest of the year, no other girls did, either, if Jeanne was in the room.

Her problem with Lauren was that she hadn't done anything to the woman. There was no reason for her to be the focus of Lauren's anger. She hadn't destroyed anything. Lauren should be grateful she had been at the show and able to bring the damaged quilt back right away. She was going to point that out when Lauren came to pick it up.

"Here, honey, I'll take that,” Mavis said when Lauren was out of earshot. “You know you shouldn't be working, with your head and all."

"Is something wrong?” Harold asked.

"Nothing a little chocolate won't help,” Harriet replied.

"I'll go get the car and pull it up front."

He left, and she saw Aiden standing across the room, picking at a cookie. She walked over to his side.

"I'm really sorry about your mother,” she said.

Tears filled his pale eyes. “It really sucks,” he said.

Her heart went out to him, but she couldn't help but wonder just how far a brother would go to help his sister.

"You want me to get a movie and bring it over to Mavis's later?"

She didn't reply. Her pulse raced as she rapidly tried out and then rejected methods of ditching Harold. Could she drop to the floor in a fake faint? No, they might try to take her to the hospital. She couldn't plead a headache; she'd already said chocolate would help her headache. Her head throbbed.

"What?” he asked. “You have a hot date or something?"

"I have to fix Lauren's quilt,” she said. She saw Harold's El Dorado pull up in front of the fellowship hall. Aiden's gaze followed hers.

"Is he waiting for you?"

"He asked me to go for coffee, and I said yes. His friend is a chef and is making a special dessert."

"You sound like you know the guy. Have you been out with him before?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, we went to dinner."

"The Chamber meeting, right?” he said.

"No, dinner."

"So ... what? You're dating Harold?"

She could see the disbelief in his eyes.

She put her hand on his arm. “It's just coffee."

He was still staring at her when she turned, walked out the front door and got into Harold's waiting car.

"Is the boy all right?” Harold asked.

"He's upset about his mother. Do you have any idea what form Death by Chocolate takes?

"Let's go find out,” he said, and turned his car toward Smuggler's Cove.

The dessert experiment turned out to be a smashing success. The concoction was a layered affair; the main sections were somewhere between really rich cake and a dark chocolate fudge, with the filling layers a heavy chocolate ganache. James drizzled raspberry sauce onto the chilled plates before arranging the perfect chocolate wedges on top.

"That was a nice service. Didn't you think?” Harold said when they had finished the dessert and were sipping cups of dark coffee.

"I don't think it's possible to have a nice funeral service. Maybe if you die at home at the age of a hundred and five. But I'll bet your children are still sad."

"Your children will be in their eighties by then, and their sadness will have more to do with what implications your death has for their own mortality."

Harriet actually smiled at this. “Good point."

"Of course, there won't be any children at my funeral,” Harold said.

"Mine, either, it would seem.” She sighed. She tried not to think about Steve, but it was impossible. They had made plans for a family. Of course, that, too, had been a lie. He knew he wouldn't live to have children, and if he did he had a fifty percent chance of passing on his disease to any offspring.

No, there weren't children in her future.

"Did I say something to upset you,” Harold asked and took her hand across the table.

She pulled it away. “No, it's not you. It's been a hard day. Would you mind if we went home now?"

He glanced at his watch.

James came to the table before Harold got up.

"How did you like it?” he asked.

"It was wonderful,” Harriet said. “And believe me, I know my chocolate."

"Okay, Miss Expert, what's your favorite chocolate candy."

"Are we talking high-end or grocery store?"

"Your choice."

"High-end, I like Ethyl M's, but they're hard to find here. In the northwest, I like Moonstruck and Dagoba."

He looked at Harold. “The woman has taste."

"Grocery store, I go for Lindor Balls, the blue wrapper. Seattle Chocolates, pink wrapper, are good when you can find them, too."

"You come here any time you need a chocolate fix.” James put his hands up in a gesture of rejection. “Tonight's on me,” he said as Harold went for his wallet.

"Thank you, this was a perfect end to a hard day,” Harriet told him.

Harold delivered her to Mavis's cottage. He opened the car door and escorted her to the small front porch. To her relief, he rubbed his hand on her back, urged her to get some rest and left.

"That you?” Mavis called from the kitchen.

"Yes,” Harriet said and wandered in to join her. Mavis was pulling a baked chicken from the oven.

"I cooked a bird so we could have an early supper, but I'm afraid I can't stay here and eat with you. My daughter-in-law called and needs me to watch the baby so she can go to a class she's teaching. My son was going to do it, but he's stuck at work."

"I'm not hungry right now anyway,” Harriet said. “Besides, I need to go fix Lauren's quilt. Could you drop me off at my place? Then I can drive my car back when I'm done."

"You aren't supposed to be alone at your house, though."

"Everyone knows I'm staying with you, especially after the memorial service. No one will go looking for me at my house. It's probably safer for me there. If someone comes looking for me, it will be here."

She could see Mavis was trying to work out a better plan in her head.

"I suppose if you call me every hour while you're there. And just stitch, nothing else. Then you come right back."

"Agreed."

"Okay, let me put this chicken in the icebox and then we can go."

Harriet used the time to call Sarah Ness.

"I have your quilt on the machine. I'm leaving now, so just give me a few minutes to get it off the frame.” She rang off.

"You know, the more you accommodate her the more she's going to expect,” Mavis said and leaned into the coat closet to retrieve her purse, cutting off any response Harriet might have made.

Mavis drove around the lagoon and up the hill to Harriet's house.

"I'm still not comfortable with you being here alone,” she said as Harriet got out.

"It's going to be fine. I'll stitch the quilt and probably be back to your house before you are.” She retrieved the quilt from the back seat.

"Don't worry,” she said as she shut the door.

Mavis drove away, and Harriet fished the house keys out of her pocket. A low window to the left of the door was covered with a cream-colored sheer lace curtain to allow a maximum amount of natural light into the studio. She froze as the curtain slowly rippled. She started to back up and slipped off the landing onto the top step. The curtain slowly pulled to one side, and a furry face pressed against the glass.

"Fred,” she said and let out her breath.

She opened the door and stepped into the studio. The cat jumped off the windowsill and began to meow and rub his face on her shoes.

"I haven't been gone that long,” she said.

Fred wasn't buying it. It had clearly seemed an eternity to him.

"Come on.” She set her purse and the quilt on a chair in the studio and went into the kitchen. She poured a scoop of catfood into one ceramic bowl and filled the other with fresh water.

"There,” she said. “Just don't think you get to go on a food binge because I'm spending the night with Mavis."

Fred made a purring noise and planted his face in his dish. Harriet propped the door open and went back into the studio.

At the long-arm machine, she attended to Sarah's quilt. She loosened the tension block and unclipped the elastic tension pulls then removed it from the frame and laid it on her cutting table. She picked up a small, curved pair of scissors that would allow her to clip any loose threads close to the fabric's surface without cutting into it. She pulled a floor lamp over to the table and bent over the quilt. She was almost finished when she heard the door open.

"It's almost ready,” she said without looking up.

She heard footsteps approach the table then smelled a sickly sweet odor. She struggled to pull away the cloth that was clamped over her nose but only succeeded in breathing more deeply. She suddenly felt very heavy.

"Harriet,” a voice called from far away. “Harriet, can you hear me?"

She could hear, but it was too hard to answer. She tried to open her eyes, but it took too much effort. She slid back into the darkness.

When she awoke again, she was lying in a dark room. She wiggled her feet and tensed her hands then released them. She could feel everything, including the IV line attached to the back of her left hand. That had to be a good sign.

She moved her head, and a wave of nausea so powerful she couldn't quell it swept over her. She threw up in a kidney-shaped yellow plastic pan someone held for her. A cool cloth draped across her head.

"Try not to move,” an unfamiliar female voice said.

She opened her eyes again.

"Don't try to talk,” the woman's voice said. “You're in the hospital. Sarah Ness found you slumped on the floor of your studio. She called nine-one-one and they brought you here.” She must have seen the panic in Harriet's eyes. “Don't worry. Your head is fine. It says on your chart you were hit on the head last night. Tonight, it would seem, you were drugged. From the smell of your clothes when they brought you in, it was probably ether or something similar. You'll have a bit of a hangover, but other than that, you should be fine by morning. I'll call the doctor and see if we can give you another shot of Compazine to control your nausea."

Harriet mumbled a thank-you and closed her eyes again. The woman picked up the pan and headed for the door.

"I'll take care of this and be back to clean you up a little. Then if you feel like it, there's a gentleman outside who'd like to see you."

True to her word, the nurse returned with a toothbrush and paste and a warm wet washcloth.

"You just hold still and let me do the work,” she said. “The trigger for nausea is motion."

She worked magic with a squirt bottle and several clean hand towels. Harriet had to admit, she did feel a tiny bit better.

"You ready for your visitor?"

"Give me a clue. Young? Old? Uniform?"

"No uniform, very good-looking."

Harriet nodded ever so slightly.

"What happened?” Aiden said as he rushed into the room. He pulled a wheeled visitor's chair to the side of her bed and sat down, scooping her hand into his as he sat. “Mavis called and said you were going to your studio and she was worried about letting you go there alone. She said she tried to call you to check up and you didn't answer. She asked me to run by and see if you were all right. I passed the ambulance coming down your hill. I checked your studio, and the police were there—I guess Sarah Ness found you. I found Fred and locked him out of the studio so the police could do their thing."

"Thanks,” Harriet mumbled. She pushed her suspicions aside and closed her eyes, knowing she was being weak but unable to fight it.

The grey light of dawn made a pale rectangle of light on her bed the next time she woke up. A different nurse with a digital thermometer and a blood pressure cuff stood by her bedside.

"This'll just take a minute,” she whispered. “I'll try not to wake your boyfriend. He can't have gotten much sleep wadded up in that chair.” She nodded her head toward an upholstered chair near the window.