Quilt As You Go (17 page)

"How's the shoulder, honey?” she asked.

"It's getting better each day. I'm really tired of this tie-down though.” Harriet wiggled the fingers on her injured side.

"I'm sorry the boys misbehaved last night. They confessed as soon as I got here this morning."

"Where are they?"

"Harry is out running, and Ben went to get doughnuts."

"Did they mention what we talked about last night?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry you had to be in the middle of all this, honey. I'm sure it was no picnic telling them about their dad's new wife."

Harriet looked away. “I wasn't sure if I should be the one to break the news, but they were getting worked up about hiring an investigator. I felt like I had to stop them before they actually did something."

"Well, I'm sorry, honey.” Mavis reached over and patted Harriet's good arm.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"About what?"

"Ilsa, the funeral, all of this?"

"There's not much I can do. Ilsa's the one whose husband just died. Gerald Willis has been dead a long time. Ilsa seems pretty sensible. I thought I'd see what she wants to do about a memorial. If she doesn't want to do anything public, then the boys and I will do something private ourselves."

"Have you talked to James yet?” Harriet asked. “You need to find out where you stand legally. We're assuming Ilsa is the widow here, but if Gerald was never dead, than you were still his wife when he died. It doesn't matter if he changed his name or married a second time or anything."

"Honey, I'm trying to avoid thinking about the insurance money I've been getting all this time. I suppose there's nothing for it, though. James has to be in court this morning, but he said he'd come over when he's finished and see what he can figure out."

"What a mess this all is. I wish we knew what was so important about that polymer. It doesn't make sense. If something made Gerald leave, what about a polymer could make him come back?"

"I think I hear Aunt Beth arriving,” Harriet said. “I'm going to check in with her, and then I'm going to Pins and Needles. The needle I'm using for my hand-piecing doesn't feel right. I realize it could be the fact that I have to hold my work at a weird angle, but my hand gets a cramp if I work for very long. I thought I'd try a short needle."

"I'm going to wait here with the boys until James arrives,” Mavis said. “Could you check and see if Marjory has that extra-wide backing fabric in a pale yellow while you're there?"

"Sure,” Harriet said, and went through the connecting door into the studio.

Driving was a little harder than Harriet had anticipated, and she had to park three blocks away from Pins and Needles in order find a spot big enough to lurch her car into.

"Hey, Carla,” she said as she came into the quilt store. Her young friend was behind the counter. She explained her needle problem, and Carla showed her the array of needles Marjory stocked. Harriet ended up choosing a Jean Lyle big-eye quilting needle. It was short and should prove easy to thread.

"I heard one of the teachers in Angel Harbor say we should try quilting thread for our hand-piecing. She seemed to think it was easier to use,” Carla offered.

"I'll try anything. It's hard to keep my thread from tangling when I use sewing thread, so maybe this will be the answer."

"Mavis told me to cut my length of thread shorter and it wouldn't tangle so much.” Carla looked at her feet. “She said it didn't pay to be lazy."

"Threading a needle every five minutes isn't my idea of fun, so I guess I'm lazy."

"Mavis showed me how to wax the end of my thread on a candle and then load a whole package of needles onto my spool. You tie a knot in the end of the thread and then each time you want a new needle, you grab it and pull some thread out, then clip the thread and needle from the spool and retie the end of the spool piece."

"She's been holding out on me,” Harriet said. Carla blushed. “That technique could really help me now. I think I'll get two packages of needles. My aunt can thread them on for me, and then I can stitch for quite a while without having to bug her."

Carla followed Harriet to the checkout counter, carrying the thread and needles for her. She rang up the purchase then hesitated as she put the items into one of the flowered bags Pins and Needles used for that purpose.

"Can I ask you a question?” she asked, looking everywhere except at Harriet. “About men,” she added, her face turning the familiar red color.

"Sure,” Harriet said, not sure she knew much more than Carla did where men were concerned.

"It's about the dinner I made the other night."

Harriet's mind immediately went to the practice meal Aiden had dumped her for, and wasn't sure if she'd be able to talk about it without her anger being obvious.

"I cooked dinner for Terry, my friend, the other night,” she started then faltered. Of course—she was going to talk about the main event, Harriet thought with relief. Why would she give the practice dinner a second thought?

"And?” she prompted. “What happened?"

"He cancelled. I'd already prepared the do-ahead stuff and everything. What did I do wrong?” Carla pleaded.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. We'd been talking about food. He said his mom wasn't a very inspired cook. I can't think of anything we talked about that would have scared him away."

"It probably wasn't anything to do with you,” Harriet said. She put her good hand on Carla's shoulder. “Sometimes things happen that have nothing to do with us,” she added, thinking that little bit of wisdom applied to most of her childhood.

"He had come over for coffee and we were talking about food. I was getting him warmed up so I could ask him, and then his phone made a noise and he looked at it."

"Could you see his phone screen?"

"I saw it light up, but I couldn't see if he got a text or what. I asked him if he could come to dinner that night, and he said no, so I said how about tomorrow and he said no, and I was afraid to ask anymore."

"Something must have come up. Someone contacted him, and he had to meet them or do something for them. Have you seen him since?"

"He stopped by here, but he made excuses for why he can't come to Aiden's house at night, and he did it before I could even try to invite him again. I'm starting to wonder if he's a vampire or something."

"It's daytime that vampires don't like, not night. Besides, you said he eats, right? And drinks coffee?"

"Just because they live on blood doesn't mean they can't eat food. They just don't need to. And they have to hunt at night."

"You don't seriously believe in vampires, do you?” Harriet couldn't believe she was having this conversation with Carla, of all people. If there was anyone acquainted with the real world, it was Carla.

Carla pulled a thick book with a black cover from under the counter, one of a popular teen vampire series.

"Come on, you know that's fiction."

"It sounds so real, though, the way the young man protects her."

"Oh, Carla, it's a nice fairy tale, but he's just like your knight when you were little and your mom locked you in the closet. He helped you through a rough time, but he wasn't a real person.

"I know,” she said with a crooked smile. “But sometimes when people do weird stuff it's easier to believe in fairy tales."

"Do you think Aiden said something to him?” Harriet asked, pulling the conversation back to reality.

"Not that I know of. He's always been really friendly when Terry is there, and he usually goes to some other part of the house when Terry visits."

"Terry said he's trying to find people his dad worked with. Maybe he did."

"I don't think so. He doesn't like to talk about his dad."

"I'm not putting Terry down,” Harriet said, “but there's something strange about his search for information about his father."

"What?"

"I'm not sure. He seems like a smart guy, but he's trying to find out about his dad by just asking around in a town they lived in once. It would make sense if his dad was still alive, but he isn't."

Carla leaned against the back counter and picked at her lip.

"I'm sorry I don't have better answers. I'm not that great with men myself.” Harriet picked up her bag and started to leave. “Oh, before I forget, Mavis asked about extra-wide quilt backing.” She described what Mavis was looking for, and Carla showed her the options, two of which seemed like possible choices.

"Tell you what,” she said. “I'll talk to Aiden tonight and see what he thinks. He's a guy, maybe he can enlighten us."

Carla busied herself straightening a stack of postcards telling about an upcoming guild show.

"I could cook dinner for you,” she said in a quiet voice.

"What?” Harriet asked, not hearing her clearly.

Carla looked up.

"Could you come to dinner tonight? I can try out another recipe your aunt Beth taught me."

"I think that would be delightful,” Harriet said with an encouraging smile.

She left the store, heading for her car. Going home wasn't an appealing option right now, with the Willis family reunion going on, so she pointed her car toward Foggy Point Fire Protection. Like Gerry, Carlton had been a newly minted college graduate who had just joined the company twenty years ago. Now he owned the company—if anyone had answers, Carlton would.

She pulled into the visitors section of the parking lot and was relieved that the other spaces were empty.

"Hey, Lynn,” she said when she entered the small reception area. Foggy Point Fire Protection was not the type of business that hosted a lot of customers onsite, so their waiting room had an industrial quality to it, with gray indoor/outdoor carpeting and two groupings of molded plastic chairs arranged around a stern mannequin wearing the company's signature fire protection gear.

"Oh, hi, Harriet. Do you need to see Carlton?” Lynn asked. Carlton's lack of cooperation during the lead-up to the re-enactment had necessitated so many trips to his workplace Harriet had sworn she would never come here again, yet here she was for the second time in a week. “Did you find the man you were looking for?"

"Yes, I'd like to see Carlton, if he's in and no, I haven't found Mr. Jansen yet. By the way, has anyone else come by asking about my mystery man?"

"No, you're the only one's who's looked in those books in years. The way the economy's been, we haven't hired anyone in ages, so we haven't even added any new pictures."

"And you're sure no one else has asked to see the pictures or asked about anyone who used to work here?"

"Trust me. I'm here every day, eight to five. And on the rare occasion I leave my desk for lunch, I put the phones on automatic and lock the office. If someone called or came in, I'd know it."

"Okay, well, thanks,” Harriet said, and Lynn flipped a switch on her phone and announced Harriet's presence into her headset.

"He'll be right out,” she said.

Her phone rang, and she became engrossed with a customer placing a sizable order, or at least that's what it sounded like on Lynn's side of the conversation, which she was broadcasting to the whole room. She was obviously used to having the place to herself.

"Harriet,” Carlton boomed a few minutes later as he entered from the hallway. “Come in.” He held his arm out, gesturing for her to precede him back into the hallway. “What's up?” he asked.

Another man might have asked “How can I help you?” but it wasn't in Carlton's nature to think of others.

"Are you making a new product?” she asked him when they were both seated in his office, him behind and her in front of his desk.

"Well,” he said, and stopped twirling the pencil he'd been toying with. “Why do you ask?"

Good question, Harriet thought. “I heard someone say they thought you were going to start a new product line, and I wondered if that meant you would be hiring. I know someone who's looking for work.” It sounded lame even to her, but Carlton didn't seem to notice.

"Carlton, baby, let's get out of here,” Bebe said as she sauntered into the office. She was wearing a pale-pink tube top and dark blue denim skirt that was almost conservative, falling only six inches above her tanned knees. “We have lunch reservations at Bella Italia in Port Angeles."

"I didn't think they were open for lunch,” Harriet said.

"Oh, hi, Harriet,” Bebe said. “They aren't open to the
public
till four, but they're opening early for us.” She looked at the pink-faced, gold Juicy Couture charm watch on her left wrist. “Say bye, Carlton, we gotta go."

Carlton got up and grabbed his linen sport coat then plucked his car keys from a ceramic ashtray on his desk.

"Sorry, Harriet, I've got to run,” he said, and left through a back door to the outside.

"Don't worry, I'll show myself out,” Harriet said but didn't move. As long as she was here, she might as well have a look around.

She stood and glanced through the open door. Lynn was still sitting at her desk and talking on her headset. Harriet went around the desk and sat in Carlton's chair. There were stacks of papers and files on both sides of the center blotter. The first folder she opened contained a flyer from a company that supplied premium items with the company logo on them. A note clipped to the flyer instructed Carlton to pick his two favorite colors for the insulated cup holders the company would be handing out at the annual picnic.

The next folder contained his credit card bill and a stack of receipts that looked like they matched the charges. The third folder was the information she'd asked him for—a list of projects Gerald had worked on. She wasn't sure how it was going to help, but she took the list from the folder, folded it in half and tucked it into her sling.

A quick glance through the remaining files and papers revealed more of the same—busy work. The company managers obviously gave Carlton just enough to keep him busy the few hours he was in the office but kept him far away from the actual running of the business.

After another quick check into the hallway, she returned to Carlton's desk and tried the drawers. They were locked, all of them. She yanked on the handle of what should be a file drawer. Not only was the drawer locked but it appeared to have more than the usual flimsy device that was standard issue on most office furniture.