Read The Friendship Star Quilt Online
Authors: Patricia Kiyono,Stephanie Michels
The Friendship Star Quilt (27 page)
****
“Good morning, Anne,” the postman greeted the next afternoon as he came through the door.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” she said, hurrying from the back of the shop where she'd been straightening bolts of fabric. “What do you have for me today?”
He pulled several envelopes and circulars from the bundle of mail in his arm. “Got a bunch for the shop, and there's an envelope here for you, too. You want me to leave it with you or deliver it to your apartment?”
“Just leave it here and save yourself an extra stop,” she said, taking the mail from him. “Do you have time for me to get a cup of coffee for you? I have some foam to-go cups.”
“Sounds wonderful. It's sure a chilly one out there today.”
“According to the weatherman, we're due for another storm.” She set the mail on the register counter then led the way to the back of the shop. “I hope it holds off until after I get home⦠and you get home, too.”
“I hope so, too,” he said, accepting the cup from her then heading back out into the cold. “Miserable weather might not keep mail carriers from our âappointed rounds,' but we sure as shooting don't have to like it.”
When he'd left with his coffee, a few of the shop's regulars came in to pick up supplies. When Anne thought of the mail again, it was lunch time, so she carried the stack to the back and flipped through the pile while she waited for her leftover stew to warm in the microwave.
A couple circulars, several invoices from suppliers, a catalog from a new company trying to get their business. A glossy postcard with a colorful flamingo holding a heart was a Valentine from her boss. Anne posted it on the wall behind the register counter and made a mental note to send Myra an email to say thank you.
The final piece was an ordinary white business envelope with her name and address neatly typed on the front. She noticed there wasn't a return address on the front, so she flipped it over. Nothing there either, but companies often used such tactics to send ads. It forced the recipient to open the envelope to see what was inside. Figuring it was one of those, she slit the envelope and removed the single sheet of white paper it contained.
The microwave buzzed just as she was about to unfold the paper, so she set it down to get her lunch. Using a folded paper towel, she retrieved the hot bowl from the microwave then grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. While she waited for the stew to cool slightly, she sat down and took a swig of her water then opened the ad she'd set aside. Five words neatly typed in the middle of the page caused her to nearly choke on her drink.
Did you like my roses?
Anne's heart pounded so hard it felt like it was trying to escape through her chest. This unsigned message confirmed she hadn't been imagining things. Someone had been watching her, following her. Whoever it was knew where she worked and, from the address on the envelope, knew where she lived, too.
Was the person outside watching her now to see her reaction?
With her hand pressed against her pounding heart, Anne hurried to the front of the shop and peered out the window. No one was in sight. She moved to the door and scanned the lot and surrounding buildings. Nothing. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she quickly shut the blinds, hung a closed sign in the window then locked and bolted the door. Leaving the money in the register, she snapped off the overhead lights, retrieved her things from the office then fled for the safety of her apartment.
Now, she stood there in her bedroom, shaking uncontrollably. Just when she'd started to feel safe, this had to happen! Who was stalking her and why? She needed to call the police. But what would she say? Someone sent me flowers for Valentine's Day then sent a note to ask if I liked them? Even though the flowers and the letter both had been sent anonymously, there hadn't been any kind of a threat with them. The cops would laugh at her. So what would a complaint accomplish except to get her name in their files?
It would be better to just leave. Immediately. She turned to the closet to retrieve her suitcase, the one she always kept ready. As she reached for the handle of the case, tears rolled down her cheeks. Before she knew it, gulping sobs wracked her frame. She sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her middle, and rocked. Why was this happening to her? Hadn't Jeffrey been bad enough? What had she done to deserve this?
She needed to let Myra know. But her boss was out of touch, somewhere between here and Florida. Anne knew she couldn't just take off and leave the woman who had given her a job, found her a home, and helped her rebuild herself. Besides, she couldn't just take off without a plan. Where would she go, what would she do? She'd come here with nothing, and she could leave with nothing if she had to do so.
Anne sniffed and brushed away her tears. Why was she acting like the heroine in some gaslight melodrama? She was made of tougher stuff. It was just a letter and a bunch of creepy flowers. No one had threatened her or tried to hurt her. She'd survived Jeffrey's fists, survived being dumped from his car, survived the loss of their child. Compared to those things, this was a harmless prank, nothing more. Still shivering, she curled up on the bed and pulled the blankets over herself.
Maybe I'm coming down with something,
she thought.
The cozy bed made her realize how exhausted she was. It wouldn't hurt to close her eyes and take a little nap before going back to the shop for the quilt group's meeting.
****
Brad turned the car onto Wilson Avenue, slowing down as he approached The Stitching Post, hoping for a glimpse of Anne as he drove by on his way to pick Jennie up from an extra piano lesson at Mrs. McGuire's house. He drove past the shop a lot these days, quite often going out of his way to do so, like an adolescent boy finding excuses to drive past the house of a girl he liked on the off chance he'd see her. Since the quilt group met that evening, Brad figured his odds of seeing Anne would be almost assured.
Good thing I didn't play those odds,
Brad thought with chagrin when he reached the quilt shop and found it dark with the all shades drawn. Still, it was very unusual for the place to be closed. Anne had recently told him how the group members almost always arrived before the shop closed for the day just to set up for their weekly pot luck. So, where was Anne? Had she gone out to eat? Or maybe run back to her apartment to get something she'd forgotten? Neither thing seemed like anything Anne would do, so he pulled to the curb and stared at the shop.
A couple other cars pulled into the lot while he sat there. Brad recognized Ellen Wheeler and her friend as they got out of their vehicles. The two women went up to the door, each balancing a covered dish as well as a purse and big, cloth tote bags. They stood on the porch, knocked then tried to open the door. He saw their puzzled expressions in the light thrown by the street lamps.
Since no traffic came down the road, Brad made a U-Turn and drove into the lot shared by The Post and its neighbors.
“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler,” he called as he exited his car. “What's up?”
Ellen turned at his voice. “Oh, hi, Brad. I was looking for a note or something from Anne. I thought she would have something posted if she had to cancel our quilt group meeting.”
“I was surprised to see the dark shop, too, since you ladies are always here on Tuesday nights.”
Ellen turned a speculative eye on him. “Oh? Are you and Anne spending a lot of time together these days?”
Brad felt his face heat. Good grief, he was blushing like a teenager. So what if he spent time with Anne? They were both grown adults. “Um, well, she's helping with the wardrobe for the high school play. And Jennie has sort of befriended her, too.”
“Your daughter has good taste, Mr. Carmichael,” Ellen's friend â he suddenly remembered her name was Sylvia â said. “Anne is a lovely young woman.”
“She's usually very responsible, too,” Ellen added then turned a wistful eye at the shop. “Well, I guess we're not going to get any work done on our quilts tonight, Sylvia.”
“It might be a good thing any ways,” her friend replied. “Dave heard we're supposed to get a storm tonight.”
“I heard the same thing,” Brad admitted. “I suppose I'd better get over to Mrs. McGuire's and pick up my daughter so we can get home before the bad weather hits.”
“If you talk to Anne, please tell her we were worried about her,” Ellen said as she put her things back in the car.
“I certainly will,” Brad promised then climbed into his car and waved goodbye.
In fact,
he thought,
I'll be dialing her cell phone number to check on her just as soon as I get home.
Anne fussed with a shelf of jelly roll cylinders, stacking and restacking them until the arrangement showed off the spring pastels to her satisfaction. Since Myra had returned two weeks ago, Anne had more time to devote to building displays and making samples for the shop instead of trying to fit such projects in with the dozens of things she'd juggled all winter. It had been a relief to turn over the responsibility, especially the nightly bank runs. No more listening for footsteps or feeling like she was being watched. Still, it felt odd to have so much time on her hands, and she worried her boss might decide the place wasn't busy enough to need both of them.
“You have such a knack for color, Anne,” Myra said, coming up behind her. “Your displays are so much nicer than the ones I always did. I don't know what I'd do without you here.”
“I'm glad you feel that way, Myra. I've worried you wouldn't need me around any longer.”
Myra tilted her head and frowned. “Why wouldn't I need you, dear?”
“Well, business has been rather slowâ”
“Slow?” The shopkeeper laughed. “Honey, you just got so accustomed to rushing around all day, doing the work of two people while I was gone. You probably don't realize our sales are nearly double what they were last year at this time.”
Anne felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “Well, that's a relief. I'd hate to have to find another job.”
“Not a chance,” Myra assured her. “Your friends in the quilt group would stage a strike. Then what would Ed do on Tuesday nights? He's made himself a regular fixture at their potlucks each week. Those ladies can cook as well as they quilt.”
“That's for sure,” Anne agreed. “I think I've gained ten pounds over the winter.”
“If you did, they are in all the right places. I'm sure your young man hasn't complained.”
“Myra, Brad isn'tâ”
“I know, I know! You keep telling me he's just a friend⦔
“A good friend. He helped me get extra sewing work, andâ”
“And he's mighty easy on the eye. If I was single and thirty years younger⦔
Anne couldn't help but grin. “He is pretty good-looking.”
“All hail the Queen of Understatements,” her boss teased. “That's like calling a lion a pretty large catâ” She cut off and snapped her fingers. “Which reminds me, Anne, have you seen anything more of the stray you told me about?”
“I never did see it, Myra. Only the
gifts
it left for me.”
“Well, I talked to Helyn, and I called Animal ControlâI know you've hesitated to do it⦔
“I hate my name being in any public records, but those carcasses have been pretty gruesome.”
Myra grimaced. “They'd be even worse in warm weather. But Animal Control will surely find the animal long before then. And you don't need to worry about the files. Helyn and I lodged the complaint in our names.”
“Thank you.” Anne said, giving Myra's arm a quick squeeze. “You're so good to me.”
The shop owner waved away the thanks and changed the subject. “Are you off to work on costumes again this evening?”
“Yes. I've finished the ones for the main characters, but I need to alter the ones we chose for the smaller parts. The drama department has a pretty big wardrobe from previous plays, and Mrs. Alt, thankfully, never cut down the costumes to size. She left the seams in place just taking them in a bit further. It makes my job a bit easier with such a large cast. I scheduled a fitting for some of the bit players for six-thirty tonight.”
“Why don't you take off early today? It will give you time to grab a bite to eat before you head to the high school,” Myra offered.
“Well⦠I wanted to use the computer after closing toâ”
“You don't need to wait until after closing to use it, silly. Just go in the office and close the door.”
“Are you sure you don't mind?”
“Go! I'll see that no one disturbs you,” Myra answered, making a shooing motion, then added, “Unless, of course, Brad Carmichael stops by.”
Anne nodded and hurried to the office before her boss teased her any further. Closing the door behind her, she put a hand to her heated cheeks. Why did the mere mention of Brad make her react like an adolescent schoolgirl? It was no wonder Myra, Sylvia, and Tee loved to tease her about him. Not that she minded. Brad Carmichael was exactly the sort of man she might have wanted in her life if things had been different.
If.
Shaking off the thought, she moved to the desk and booted up the computer. The monitor came to life slowly, giving Anne time to settle in the chair. When the computer was ready, she clicked the icon for the Internet then typed in the website for OTIS. With her mind preoccupied with the upcoming costume fitting, Anne typed in Jeffrey's name and case number almost on auto-pilot.
When the file opened, she glanced at his picture, taken on the day of his intake at the G. Robert Cotton Correctional Facility. She doubted the prison barber kept him quite as stylish as his hundred-dollar haircuts had. Relieved to see his classification hadn't changed, she reached for the mouse to close the program. Her hand stopped in midair when Jeffrey's current location caught her eye. Her ex was still in Jackson, but he'd been moved from the Cotton Correctional Facility to the Cooper Street Facility. She scanned the file, trying to determine the reason for the move, but all the other information appeared the same.
