Harriet was surprised by how well she slept in Mavis’s guest room. Scooter was curled up in the space created by her bent knees as she lay on her side. Fred stretched out next to her, his head on her pillow, a position that never failed to make her smile.
“This is great, guys, but we have to get up. We have things to do, places to go, people to see.”
Scooter raised his head and looked at her before putting it back down on his front paws. Fred ignored her completely until she sat up, jostling him off the pillow. She grabbed the cotton robe Mavis had loaned her and put it on before leaving her sleeping pets.
“I’ll have your tea steeping,” Mavis called as Harriet made her way to the bathroom.
She had freshly buttered toast on a plate beside a steaming cup of tea when Harriet returned a few minutes later and sat down at the kitchen table.
“Did you sleep all right?”
Harriet sipped her Earl Grey.
“I slept like a log, which is surprising, given my two little bed buddies.”
“I got a new mattress for that bed. It’s a combination of memory foam and inner springs.”
“It was great. I just wish I hadn’t had to impose on you.”
“Oh, honey, it isn’t an imposition. And until they figure out who broke into your house, I feel better knowing you’re here and safe. I know you’re aunt feels that way, too.”
“What if whoever did it discovers I’m here and tries to burn your house down?”
“We’ll call nine-one-one, and if we aren’t here, my house is insured.”
“You can’t mean that,” Harriet said.
“I do, but I also don’t believe anyone will come here. What would be the point? I don’t have anything anyone would want, or want to destroy, for that matter. I don’t really think they were trying to burn your house down, either. A child could have done a better job of it, according to James.” Mavis shook her head. “Whatever mischief they were up to, I don’t believe destroying your house was part of it.”
Harriet chewed her toast thoughtfully.
“You may be right. Maybe someone found whatever they were looking for in my files and burned it in the wastebasket.” She set the toast down on the saucer. “I can’t imagine what that would be. My paper records are mostly receipts I keep for tax purposes. I also have copies of the work orders from customers. Again, it’s hard to believe any of that is threatening.”
Mavis reached across the table and patted her hand.
“Try not to dwell on it. We can’t solve anything until you can get back into your house and see if anything’s missing. In the meantime, we need to be thinking about the pattern for our hand-quilting project.”
Harriet leaned back in her chair.
“You’re right. The pattern I’d been planning is way too dense to hand-stitch in the time we have available. I’d planned an all-over, continuous-line flower pattern.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe we could still do flowers, but just spread them out a little more.”
“That might work. I was thinking of doing something simpler than that. I thought we could stitch around each square in the pattern, a quarter of an inch inside each seam.”
“That would save us a step. We wouldn’t have to mark a pattern if we use the seam lines as a guide.”
Mavis stood and picked up the empty cup and saucer.
“Let’s get dressed and go see what the rest of the group has in mind. The bottom drawer of the dresser in the guest room has clean clothes I picked up at the thrift store in various sizes for when my kids and their kids come visiting and forget stuff—and they always forget something. Help yourself.”
“Thank you, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Mavis’s normally ruddy cheeks turned redder.
“Oh, honey.”
Mavis was rinsing their breakfast dishes and putting them on the drying mat when Harriet came out of the bathroom, dressed in her own jeans with a long-sleeved pink T-shirt and matching pink cotton socks from the community drawer.
“That looks very nice. You should wear pink more often.”
Harriet looked down at the shirt and shook her head.
“If you say so.”
“You ready to head over to meet the group? I walked the dogs while you were getting ready.”
Harriet thanked her and went to the guest room to get her purse and coat.
“Do you think it’s a sign? You know, my house being broken into and my machine destroyed?” she asked when she’d returned to the kitchen.
“What do you mean, ‘a sign’?” Mavis led the way out the door and into the garage.
“A sign that I should give up on Foggy Point and go back to California. Aiden’s gone, my livelihood is in jeopardy, maybe the universe is telling me I’ve worn out my welcome here.”
“I don’t know about it being a sign. I do know bad luck can happen to anyone, and running away from whatever’s going on won’t solve anything.” She got in and unlocked the passenger door. “I can’t believe you’d run out on your aunt when she’s hurt, either. You don’t know what happened to her was because of you. What if she has trouble all on her own? Are you just going to leave her to it?”
Harriet slid into the passenger seat and strapped on her seatbelt. She hung her head.
“Of course I won’t leave until we know who slashed her tires and sabotaged her car. I’m just tired of having my person and my things attacked by crazy people. That never happened when I was in California.”
“Were you engaged in your life down there after your husband died, or were you just hiding at home passing time? Being truly alive involves risk.” Mavis looked at her to make sure she was hearing what was being said. “I’m not saying we all couldn’t be more careful—Jane Morse may be right about that. You just can’t be so careful you forget to live.”
Harriet looked out the window as they backed out onto the driveway.
“I suppose,” she finally said.
“Oh, honey,” Mavis said, reaching over to pat Harriet’s leg. “Just promise me you’ll think about what I said before you make any decisions.”
“I can’t make any promise except that I’ll wait until Aunt Beth is better before I do anything.”
Mavis shook her head and sighed.
“I guess that’ll have to do.”
Connie and Carla were sitting at the large table at The Steaming Cup when Mavis and Harriet arrived.
“Get your drinks then come give us your opinion about quilt batting.”
The new arrivals did as instructed and returned a few minutes later, their mugs filled with their hot liquid of choice. Harriet sat down next to Carla and hung her purse on the back of her chair.
“Are you thinking we need to change the batting to make it easier to hand-quilt?” she asked Connie.
Connie set down her half-empty mug.
“I was just explaining to Carla the difference between cotton and wool and silk when it comes to hand-quilting. Given our time limits, I think we need to go with something other than cotton.”
Mavis settled in her chair, pulling her hand piecing project from her purse.
“As my granddaughter would say, it chaps my hide to spend the extra money to buy silk batting for that jerk.”
Arriving just then, Lauren laughed as she set her messenger bag on the table and sat beside Harriet.
“Tell us how you really feel, Mavis.”
“I’m sorry, it just doesn’t seem right that we’re having to spend extra time and money to make a quilt for an abusive man who only donated the money so he could maintain some sort of contact with Molly in violation of her restraining order.”
“Don’t forget he could also be her killer,” Connie reminded her.
“I’m willing to pay the extra money for silk batting,” Lauren told them.”We aren’t buying it for him, we’re buying it for us and the health of our own hands. We’re all going to have to do a lot of hours of stitching, and silk will be a lot easier to work on.”
Mavis pressed her lips together.
“It’s still not right.”
Robin and Jenny came in together from the parking lot.
“We were just talking about the batting,” Jenny said.
Lauren laughed.
“So were we. We’ve established we’ll change to silk, and I’ll pay for it because Mavis doesn’t want us to spend another cent on the jerk of a recipient.”
Robin slid her jacket off and draped it over the back of her chair.
“We didn’t discuss our distaste for Josh Phillips, but Jenny also volunteered to buy silk batting to save our hands.”
Lauren looked across the table at Jenny.
“Want to split it?”
Jenny nodded.
“Sure. Have you-all talked about our schedule yet?”
Harriet sipped her cocoa.
“No, we just got here ourselves.”
Robin went to order her tea and returned to the big table.
“Did I hear someone say schedule?” She pulled a handful of papers from her shoulder bag. “I took the liberty of making a spreadsheet. I set up two-hour blocks that people can sign up for. I stuck to the hours the church office is usually open. I thought we could see how it goes the first day, and then, if it’s obvious we need more time, we can ask to have access to the church during off-hours, too.”
Stewart Jones entered and approached the group before anyone could comment on the schedule. His hair was dyed a hard black and styled into a faux-hawk. Harriet watched Robin scoop the papers back into her bag in a practiced move before he could see what was written on them.
“Thank heaven I found you ladies. Are you going to Molly’s funeral?”
Harriet looked at Robin.
“Why do you ask?” Robin queried in her cold professional voice.
“I wrote a poem. For Molly.” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket.
No one said anything, so he continued.
“I haven’t known Molly for very long, and I didn’t want to intrude on her family, but I wrote a poem, and I think they might want to use it at her service.” He looked around the table and was met with stone-faced silence. “I can see I’ve made a mistake asking you. I’m sorry.”
He started to turn away.
“Give it to me,” Robin said and held her hand out. “I’ll read it, and if I think it’s appropriate, I’ll pass it on to her mother.”
Stewart’s face turned a hot, angry red.
“I don’t need your approval of my poetry, and I think I know what’s appropriate.”
Robin dropped her hand and turned her attention away from him.
“Wait. I’m sorry, this isn’t about my ego.”
He held the paper out. She took it and put it in her bag.
“Aren’t you going to read it?”
“Not now. We’re having a meeting.”
Stewart stood, unmoving.
“Was there something else?” Robin asked.
“Can you at least tell me if or when you pass it on? I don’t even know when the funeral is. I know you don’t like me and that I only knew Molly a matter of days, but she and I had something real.”
A tear slid down his cheek, and he swiped at it with his balled fist. He hesitated then turned on his heel and swept out of the coffee shop.
Harriet leaned back in her chair and followed him with her eyes until he was out the door.
“Is it just me, or was that weird?”
Carla made eye contact with her.
“Was he wearing eyeliner?”
“And eye shadow,” Lauren answered before Harriet could. “He was rocking the tragic poet look.”
“Be nice,” Connie scolded her. “That might be his work outfit if he’s doing a poetry reading.”
Lauren glanced at the time display on her phone.
“Pretty early for a poetry reading.”
“Maybe he’s still up from last night,” Carla suggested.
Harriet once again wondered what Carla’s childhood had been like that made staying up all night in your party clothes seem such an easy explanation. She drained her mug and set it down, then looked around the table at her friends.
“Everyone ready to head over to the church?”
Mavis slid her project back into her bag.
“The sooner we start, the sooner we finish,” she announced and stood up.
“You can leave your cups,” the young man behind the counter called to them. “I’ll get them.”
Everyone thanked him, and they all went to their respective cars and left.
Aunt Beth was already in the church basement sitting beside the quilting frame when the group arrived. Her foot was propped up on a pillow that was held to her knee scooter with a bungee cord. Marjorie came in carrying a pillow-shaped bag of quilt batting.
“Lauren called and asked if I could make an emergency delivery.”
She opened the package and gently pulled out the large folded quilt bat.
“How do we do this?” Carla asked.
Jenny had the folded quilt top inside a pillowcase. She pulled another folded piece of fabric from the case.
“I hope no one minds that I went ahead and bought some extra-wide backing fabric. I thought it would be easier than piecing the back—and that was before we decided to hand-quilt.”
“Thank you for that,” Aunt Beth said. “I was wondering what we were going to do. I had Jorge bring my portable sewing machine and some muslin, but this will be much easier.
Harriet and Lauren pushed several of the large cafeteria tables together, and Jenny laid her piece of backing fabric down. Marjorie added the batting and Jenny carefully unfolded the quilt top onto the two layers.
Mavis handed Carla a spool of thread and a needle.
“First thing we need to do is baste the quilt sandwich together, just like when you’re going to quilt on your sewing machine.”
Harriet and Lauren threaded needles with the pink basting thread when Carla was ready.
“Smooth the layers as flat and wrinkle-free as you can with your hand and then start basting, starting in the middle,” Mavis continued and then stopped. They all heard someone clattering down the steps to the basement.
Harriet stopped what she was doing as well and stared at the open door that led to the stairs. Josh Phillips rushed in and strode over to them.
“Oh, good—I found you in time.”
“And you are?” Connie demanded as she joined the others by the table.
“Meet Josh Phillips,” Harriet told her. “Molly’s ex-boyfriend.”
Josh turned to face her.
“And you are?”
“Never mind who I am. We’re busy. What do you want?”
“Now that Molly’s dead, I want to cancel my quilt order.”
“Your what?” Harriet, Mavis and Connie all said at the same time.
Lauren smirked.
“This day just keeps getting better.”
“I think you’re confusing us with the other quilt group in town,” Mavis said. “We aren’t doing a commission quilt. This quilt is a thank-you for your donation.”
“I’m not confused. This is the quilt I paid ten thousand dollars for. I don’t want it anymore. Since you haven’t made it yet, I’m canceling my order. Now, is anyone from the missing children place here? I went by the offices, but I couldn’t find anyone. I stopped at the quilt store and they said you were here. And luckily I found you before you finished my quilt.”
“You didn’t order a quilt.” Harriet told him, her voice rising.
“Call it what you want, I’m withdrawing my donation. If you want to thank me with a quilt, feel free. I’m going back to Seattle. When you talk to the missing children people, tell them now that Molly’s gone, so is my money.”
The big blond man pivoted and left the way he’d come in.
“Can he do that?” Lauren asked Robin.
“It depends. A pledge is a legally enforceable contract, but in Washington, it needs to be in writing. If he’s given them the money already, and he signed a pledge contract, he’s out of luck. He’s beyond any conceivable buyer’s remorse period. I don’t think that would apply, anyway.
“If he hasn’t actually transferred the money yet, it’s a different story. They’d have to sue him to get it. Most nonprofits are afraid they’ll scare off future donors and seem greedy if they take a donor to court, so they just accept the loss.”
Harriet pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.
“So, where does that leave us and our quilt?”
“Since we don’t know which of those we’re dealing with, I think we need to forge ahead with it,” Mavis advised.
Connie picked up a box of thumbtacks and went around to the end of the quilt frame.
“I agree with Mavis. Until the people at the nonprofit tell us otherwise, we need to have three quilts ready for their fundraiser, and this one isn’t going to stitch itself.”
Lauren shook her head.
“This day just keeps on getting weirder.”
Carla raised her hand.
“Oh, honey, you don’t need to do that when you want to speak,” Mavis scolded her gently.
The young woman’s cheeks turned pink as she spoke.
“What are the thumbtacks for?”
The group spent the next half-hour showing Carla how the thumbtacks were used to hold the quilt sandwich to the wooden quilt frame.
Harriet stood up several hours later, grasping the back of her chair and bending back at the waist to stretch.
“Do we have a lunch plan?”
“We haven’t done Chinese in a while,” Lauren suggested.
Robin stabbed her needle into the quilt top.
“Sounds good to me. And while we’re at lunch, I thought I’d call the missing children center and see if our reluctant philanthropist Josh has approached them about retracting his pledge.”
Carla looked at Harriet.
“Should we call the second psychic?”
Harriet studied the ceiling.
“I’m torn. I had decided I was out of the investigating business. Now, with my machine and my house under attack, I’m not so sure.”
Connie slid her chair back from the quilt frame.
“We can’t give up now. What will we tell DeAnn? And what about Beth? Can you let it go, not knowing who hurt her?”
Mavis stood up and stretched as well.
“I don’t want to see any of us put ourselves in harm’s way unnecessarily, but what if whoever sabotaged Beth’s car and broke into your house isn’t done? If we do nothing, and another one of us suffers some sort of harm, we’ll feel terrible.”
Lauren set her needle down on the quilt surface.
“Besides all that, don’t you want revenge for your machine?”
“Lauren, it’s just a machine. An insured one, at that,” Beth said.
Harriet looked at her friend. Her eyes narrowed.
“You’re right. It was my machine.”
“Hold on a minute,” Beth cautioned. “Maybe we should consider the possibility that anything else we do could cause whoever is responsible for my car and Harriet’s house and machine to do something worse.”
“That could happen anyway,” Lauren countered.
Robin paced the length of the quilt frame and turned to face the group.
“I don’t advocate taking the law into our own hands. It never ends well when citizens try to do the job of the police. That being said, I do think DeAnn’s family deserve answers. Molly may have been obsessed with the disappearance of Amber Price, but that doesn’t mean she was wrong to try to find out what happened.
“The police have had twenty years to come up with something, and they haven’t. We need to be careful, but if we can figure out what happened to Amber, it might go a long way toward explaining what happened to Molly.”
Mavis and Beth exchanged a look.
“Robin, are you sure you’re thinking straight?” Mavis asked her gently. “DeAnn is your best friend and that may be clouding your judgment.”
“I’m not suggesting we do anything wild, but following up with Molly’s psychic shouldn’t step on anyone’s toes.”
“How do you feel about us talking to Molly’s co-workers again?” Harriet asked. “We need to discuss this quilt with them, anyway. Maybe if we get them going they’ll reveal something they didn’t think of when we were there before.”
Robin thought for a moment.
“That should be okay, too, as long as you’re really subtle. Let them do all the talking.”
Lauren slung her messenger bag over her shoulder.
“Now that we’ve sorted that, can we go to lunch? I’m starving.”