Harriet grabbed Fred and his travel cage, his dishes and his bag of food. Mavis all but walked in the heels of her shoes, which made the task take twice as long as it might have.
They were back at the cottage before they dared speak about what they'd seen.
"Lauren is going to have kittens when she hears the news,” Mavis said. “In fact, I don't think you should tell her in person."
"I have to tell her. Her quilt was in my possession when it got ruined."
"But when it was damaged in the first place, you weren't there. In fact, if we hadn't arrived at the show when we did, it probably would have been destroyed on Monday."
"I just don't get it. What could anyone gain by destroying Lauren's quilt?"
"The real question is who would be willing to kill you to destroy Lauren's quilt?"
The kettle Mavis had put on to heat whistled, and she got up and poured hot water into their waiting mugs. She set the mugs on the table and was putting homemade gingersnaps on a plate when the phone rang. She handed the cookies to Harriet and searched for the cordless phone. She found it on the table beside her chair in the living room and answered just as the caller hung up.
"Dial star-six-nine,” Harriet suggested.
She did, and Harriet could hear the phone on the other end ringing.
"Hello?"
Mavis listened, said a few uh-huh's and finished with “We'll be there."
"Aren't you just the clever girl,” she said to Harriet when she keyed the phone off and returned it to its base. “That was Jenny. She said the Loose Threads want to meet tomorrow to deal with the project bags from Avanell's. What she didn't say is that they all want a first-hand account of what happened to you. I hope it's okay that I said you'd come."
"If we're going to be joined at the hip, I guess I don't have a choice,” Harriet said. She realized she sounded like a petulant teenager, but she was tired and feeling boxed in.
"I can call her back if you're not up to it,” Mavis said, trying to hide the hurt in her voice.
"I'm sorry, it's not you. It's my life. Aunt Beth was right-I was hiding in Oakland. But I thought I came here to help her. Then I find out I'm really here to take over her business and start my life again. I was even starting to believe it could work when all hell broke loose. I'm living like a fugitive, afraid of I don't know what. My life in California might not have been perfect, but I was safe and free."
"Honey, life is never predictable. You can lock yourself away in an apartment in California with only a cat to talk to, but that's not living. I'm not saying getting hit on the head is normal, either, but that could have happened just as easy in California as here. In fact, it's probably less uncommon there.” Mavis came over to her chair and rubbed her back like she would a child. “The police are going to get this sorted out and you'll be back at your aunt Beth's in no time. You've lived in Foggy Point before. You know it's a good place."
Yeah, she knew what a great place it was. That's why she had so many friends from her previous time here. Still, a small part of Harriet wanted to believe her, but it was hard to see how it was going to happen. As near as she could tell, whoever had trashed her studio, hit her on the head, drugged her and ruined Lauren's quilt was getting away scot-free, and neither she nor the police had any idea what was going on or why. And she didn't even want to think about Avanell's death. She was trying to convince herself her troubles were unrelated to that; but deep down, she didn't really believe it.
"It might be good for you to talk to the Loose Threads. Maybe they can see a connection with the quilt and your studio and Avanell's death that we don't."
"I suppose,” Harriet conceded. “You're right about one thing."
"What's that?"
"We aren't getting it. Whatever it is."
Harriet hadn't believed the doctor when he predicted how much better she would feel by the next morning, but she had to admit he'd been right. She wasn't ready to run a marathon, but the world no longer spun with her every movement, and her stomach had stabilized.
She opened her bedroom door to the smell of eggs cooking. Mavis had prepared scrambled eggs with Laughing Cow cheese and chopped chives. It was accompanied by toasted English muffins dripping with butter and homemade blackberry jam. The two women washed it down with steaming mugs of English Breakfast tea.
"You're looking better this morning, honey,” Mavis said when they were finished.
"I do feel as though I might live, which is a definite improvement over yesterday."
"If you want to change your mind about facing the Loose Threads, you say the word and I'll call in our regrets and we can spend the day here."
"No, I need to face Lauren, and I do think you're right about talking to the group and seeing if they have any fresh ideas. And, as much as I like you, I think we'll drive each other nuts if we just sit here all day and night."
Fred jumped into her lap and gave her a friendly head butt.
"He seems to have adjusted just fine,” she said.
"I expect he's happy anywhere as long as he's with you."
"He's going to have to get along without me for a few hours. I need to see Lauren and get it over with."
"You go take your shower and I'll rinse off these dishes, then we'll hit the road."
"Mavis,” Harriet said when she came out of the bathroom a half-hour later dressed in the pink T-shirt and jeans from the day before. “Did you wash these while I was sleeping?"
"I always wake up with the birds, and you needed your sleep. I was washing a load of towels so I tossed your stuff in. It wasn't any extra effort. We'll have to figure out something about getting the rest of your clothes. I was thinking we could ask Aiden Jalbert to go pick up a few things for you."
"I'm not sure I want his help at this point. I can't get past the fact he's the one person who seems to have a convenient reason to be close by whenever something happens to me."
"I've known that boy his whole life. He could never harm anyone. He's a vet, for pity's sake. When he was a boy, he'd cry when he saw a dead squirrel in the road. And I've raised enough boys to be able to tell when one is sweet on a girl, and you mark my words-that boy is smitten with you."
"It's highly likely you're going to know whoever attacked me, and probably whoever killed Avanell, too. I don't want it to be Aiden, either, but until I figure it out, I can't take any chances."
Mavis didn't say anything. She picked up a plaid wool shirt jacket that had been her husband's and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
"Let's get this over with, then."
Harriet grabbed the purple sweatshirt and her purse and followed Mavis to the car. The silence during the ride was a bit strained. Mavis finally spoke as she pulled up to the curb a block away from Pins and Needles.
"You tell the group everything that's happened, and I'll bet they'll have some ideas about what's going on around here, and it won't be Aiden."
She got out of the car, locked it and headed up the block to the fabric store. Harriet had to hustle to keep up.
"Good morning, ladies,” Marjory said as they came through the front door. “Connie's in the breakroom making coffee, but no one else is here. How are you doing, Harriet? I heard you spent the night in the hospital again."
"I'm fine. I've got a little bit of a headache, but I'm much better than I was. I just wish I knew what was going on."
"It does seem like someone's got it in for you, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, that's the easy part. The why is what I don't get.” Maybe Jeanne still lives here, she thought.
"That's what we're going to try to figure out,” Mavis said. “As soon as everyone gets here."
Right on cue, the door opened and Robin McLeod and DeAnn Gault entered, each with a colored canvas totebag bearing a faded logo commemorating a quilt show many years past hooked over her arm. They dropped their bags and coats in the big classroom and went into the breakroom for coffee. Jenny Logan arrived carrying a wicker basket in one hand and a travel mug with a teabag string pinched between the lid and the rim in the other. She dropped her black leather coat on a chair, put her basket on the table and set about extracting the teabag from her mug.
Harriet's neck muscles tightened a little more with each arrival. Sarah Ness arrived in a cloud of complaints, and Darcy called to say she would be joining the group a little later and to save her some cookies. That left only Lauren. Hollywood couldn't have scripted it better.
She and the other quilters moved the worktables around to form one big rectangle then sat down with their stitching projects and hot drinks. Harriet picked a green-and-yellow baby quilt from Marjory's charity shelf then found a pastel rainbow-stripe fabric to bind it with. She cut binding strips then picked up one of the two sewing machines Marjory kept in the store for students who weren't able to bring one when they took a class. Connie gave her a spool of thread, and Mavis provided scissors. She had machine-stitched the binding about halfway around when Lauren entered carrying a red totebag with a stylized cat appliqued on its side.
"Oh, Harriet, I'm glad you're here. I can reapply the binding to my quilt and then take it back to Tacoma this afternoon. That way, it can at least be on display for the weekend. They expect the largest crowd on Saturday."
The room had gone silent.
"What?” she said. She looked around the table. “Where's my quilt?"
Mavis looked at Harriet and then pulled a large Ziploc bag from her tote. She set the bag of scraps she'd scooped from Harriet's floor the night before onto the table.
Lauren looked around for an explanation. Mavis opened the bag and dumped the contents on the table in front of her. The younger woman picked a handful of the fluff up with stiff fingers. The color drained from her face.
"Lauren,” Harriet began, “I'm really sorry."
Lauren dropped straight down, her tailbone hitting with a jarring thud on the edge of her chair. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
"After the memorial service, I took your quilt to my studio,” Harriet continued. She didn't think the other quilters needed to know about her date with Harold. “I had Sarah's on the machine, but it was finished. I took it off and laid it on the big cutting table and was trimming threads when someone knocked me out. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital. Mavis picked me up the next morning, and when we went back to the studio to finish your quilt…” She looked at Mavis, hoping she wouldn't expose the small lie. “All we found was this.” She pointed to the pile of quilting debris.
"How could you?” Lauren finally choked out. “I can understand you wanted Avanell's quilt to win the competition, especially with her being dead and all, but why did you have to destroy mine?” She looked at Harriet and burst into tears.
"Get her a cup of tea,” Mavis ordered Connie.
The small woman got up and hurried to the breakroom. DeAnn pulled a handful of tissues from her purse and handed them to Mavis. Mavis dabbed at Lauren's face then pressed the tissues into her hand. She patted it.
"It's going to be okay, you'll see."
Lauren looked up, her face red in uneven patches and wet with tears.
"It won't be okay, ever. This was my chance. I used my credit card to pay for advertising, and to have patterns printed up and I needed the win. Avanell didn't care if she won or not. Couldn't she have just stepped aside this once and let me have my chance? Was that so much to ask?"
"Diós mio,” Connie said as she came back and set a cup of steaming tea beside Lauren. “You can make another one. And if you were silly enough to spend money you didn't have, well, that's your mistake. Avanell is dead. She didn't do anything to you."
Lauren turned back to Harriet. “I trusted you with my quilt,” she accused.
Harriet stood up.
"I'm sorry about your quilt, but I can't do this right now.” She turned off the sewing machine and left the room. She saw Connie start to follow, but Mavis stopped her.
"Just give her a few minutes,” she heard her say.
She went into the retail area of the store and was looking at a row of new arrivals without really seeing the fabric when she glimpsed Misty outside the store window.
"Misty, wait,” she called as she hurried to the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Misty turned the corner and disappeared. Harriet broke into a run and rounded the same corner. She stopped and didn't see anyone. She was about to turn back when she heard a soft voice.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word,” the voice sang tunelessly.
Harriet continued slowly up the block. Misty was huddled on the stoop of an abandoned office suite. A faint odor of rotting food permeated the area. Misty pressed her body against the doorjamb.
"It's okay,” Harriet said softly. “I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk."
"Mama's gonna buy you a mockin'bird…"
"Will you let me help you?"
She didn't answer. She stopped singing and started picking at a patch of raw skin on her elbow. A trickle of blood snaked down her forearm. Harriet took a step toward her, but Misty cringed away, so she crouched down in front of her.
"Misty, can you tell me what happened to Avanell at the factory a few nights ago? Were you there?” She felt a brief stab of guilt-Misty had enough problems of her own. But this couldn't wait.
Misty started humming, occasionally breaking into song for a few phrases. Harriet listened.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
Misty continued her humming.
"Hmmmm, my brown-eyed girl, hmm hmmm hmmm hmm,” she sang.
Harriet thought she was hearing a rendition of Van Morrison's song “Brown-eyed Girl."
"Misty, did a brown-eyed woman hurt Avanell?"
"Bang-bang."
"Did you see who shot Avanell?"
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word…” she sang again, and started rocking back and forth.
"Harriet,” called DeAnn from the corner. “Is that you?"
Harriet turned to look, and Misty jumped up and ran down the block.
Harriet stood and walked back to DeAnn.
"Mavis got worried when she couldn't find you in the store. I told her I'd come out and see if you'd gone around the corner for a soda.” She pointed toward a mini-mart across the street.
Harriet fished in her pocket for coins.
"That's what I was doing, but I ran out without my purse,” She held up her hand with thirty cents in her palm.
"Here.” DeAnn handed her two crumpled bills from her jeans pocket. “I'll tell Mavis you'll be right back."
Harriet thanked her and crossed the street. If DeAnn wondered what she was doing talking to the straggly-looking waif in a doorway, she didn't say.
Harriet returned to the group and sat back down at the sewing machine, her untouched can of cola on display to the right of her half-filled teacup and her scissors. Lauren's place at the table was now vacant. Mavis caught her glancing at the empty spot.
"She decided she'd rather lick her wounds alone,” she explained.
"That's a diplomatic way to put it,” Connie said. “She had a tantrum, and Marjory offered her sympathies and ushered her out the door."
Harriet finished the machine-stitching part of the binding and moved the sewing machine back to the storage shelf. Mavis handed her a threaded needle.
"Why don't you sit down and tell everyone what's been going on, and let's see if we can make any sense out of it."
Harriet wasn't sure this was the route to go, but as she was living with Mavis, she knew word was going to get out anyway. At least this way, they would all hear the same story at the same time.
"Start with the day you moved here,” Jenny suggested.
Harriet explained how she had come from Oakland believing she was going to operate Aunt Beth's business for the month her aunt was away on her cruise. She'd spent a little more than three uneventful weeks working alongside Aunt Beth, reacquainting herself with the quilting machine and learning Aunt Beth's recordkeeping system. There had been no indication of trouble in those first weeks.
She told them how Aunt Beth had given her the business. The group's lack of reaction confirmed they had known the plan before she had.
After a brief internal debate, she told them about the scene in the Sandwich Board the day she'd gone to lunch with Avanell. She reviewed the perils afflicting Avanell's quilt from the time she'd given it back to her through the injured-dog fiasco and ending with the quilt being delivered to the show on the morning of Avanell's death. She skimmed over the part where she found Avanell's body; and as far as she was concerned, no one needed to know she'd been through Avanell's and Bertrand's offices. She hadn't found anything, so it couldn't possibly matter.
"Don't forget what happened after we left the quilt,” Mavis reminded her.
"I think most of you know I got a phone call from the quilt show committee telling me they had to meet to decide if Avanell's entry could remain on display with the group exhibit. Mavis and I got worried about what they would do with the quilt while they were deciding. We drove back to Tacoma, but Lauren had already talked to them and had instructed them to put her Kitties in the center spot of the group entry and to take Avanell's trapunto off display.
"As we were walking into the exhibit hall, someone was trying to yank Lauren's quilt down from the back. We yelled, and they abandoned their effort and took off; but they damaged the quilt in the process. We re-hung Avanell's and brought Lauren's home for repair."
"Why on earth would anyone damage Lauren's quilt?” Jenny said. “Avanell knew Lauren wasn't a threat to her entry, and besides, Avanell was dead before you delivered the quilts."
"You tell me,” Harriet said. “You know all the people involved. Who would be threatened by Lauren's success?"
"Maybe it wasn't Lauren they were targeting,” Sarah suggested as she stood and picked her coffee cup up. “Maybe whoever it was wanted to discredit all of us. You know my quilt was displaying all the new fabrics Marjory got in this spring. Maybe one of the other stores would be threatened if quilts made from Marjory's fabrics win all the prizes.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
The group went silent.
"I'm sure that's it,” Robin muttered low enough that Sarah couldn't hear.
Connie stood up. “Anyone else want a refill of coffee or tea?"
Robin wanted coffee, and DeAnn got up and said she'd make a pot of tea and bring it back with her. Jenny went to the restroom.
When everyone was back, Harriet picked up her story. DeAnn had refilled her cup, so she stalled a minute while she added sugar and stirred.
"I didn't mention the break-in at Aunt Beth's studio because most of you were there. For those who weren't, I went to a Chamber of Commerce dinner Avanell asked me to attend, and when I got home someone had broken in and damaged some of the quilts and generally messed things up."
She edited out the part where she hit Aiden in the head with a sprinkler. She felt a slight twist in her stomach at the thought of him but ignored it and continued her story.
"My part of the story picks up again Monday. Mavis and I returned from Tacoma with Lauren's quilt. I gave it to Lauren here and then went to look for one of the young women from the Thursday night group. I got to her apartment, and the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open and that's the last thing I remember clearly until I woke in the hospital. I'm not even sure how I drove my car home."
"She's not mentioning that the girl's apartment was down in the dock area."
Jenny and Connie rolled their eyes.
"I know your aunt taught you better than that,” Connie said.
"The girl lives there,” Harriet countered.
"That doesn't make it a safe place,” Jenny told her.
"Continue,” Sarah interrupted. She was clearly bored with the conversation.
"I went to stay with Mavis when I got out of the hospital. We went to the memorial service and saw all of you. Then I went to my studio to take Sarah's quilt off my machine and re-stitch Lauren's."
"And I found her on the floor, passed out,” Sarah interjected. “If I hadn't come along she'd probably be dead. Not that she thanked me or anything."
Harriet looked at her but couldn't think of an appropriate response.
"I took Harriet back by Beth's place so she could get her cat, and we found Lauren's quilt, or what was left of it, in a pile on the floor,” Mavis said.
Darcy came in and set her nylon stitching bag on the end of the table. She went to the breakroom and came back a moment later with a cup of coffee and two oatmeal raisin cookies.
"Don't stop talking on my account,” she said as she sat down and pulled a quilted square from her bag.
"What are you making?” Robin asked.
Darcy held the nine-inch square up so the group could see it. It was a simple pinwheel variation in sage green and pink. She was sewing a dark-green binding on the block.
"It's a kitchen quilt,” she said. “My sister is remodeling her kitchen, and I'm making her a set that will match her new colors."
"Kitchen quilt” was the group's euphemism for a potholder.
"It's cute,” Jenny said.
"So, what were you guys talking about in here, looking so serious?"
Mavis spoke first. “We were going over Harriet's problems to see if we could make any sense of them. You probably know all about them anyway."
"I'll tell you what I do know-whoever drugged Harriet didn't leave us much to work with. We found the handkerchief that was used to deliver the ether, but it's absolutely ordinary. You can buy them in any variety store. Otherwise, there wasn't anything to work with. Of course, in a studio where fibers are the stock-in-trade of the business, it wasn't likely we were going to find much hair or fiber evidence. So, did you guys come up with anything?"
"We were just starting to work on that when you came in,” Mavis said.
"Let's start with the first incident-the break-in."
Marjory had been listening to the discussion from the kitting room where she was cutting fabric for patterns that would be packaged with the appropriate materials to make a finished quilt top. She came in carrying an easel and flipchart with a couple of marking pens.
"This might help,” she said and went back into the kitting room.
Robin took the green pen and wrote “Harriet's Break In” at the top. “Okay, what do we know?"
"Some quilts were destroyed and some weren't,” said DeAnn.
"Nothing was stolen,” Jenny offered.
"There was no sign of forced entry,” Darcy said.
"I'm not sure how much that means. There are quite a few keys to Beth's studio floating around in the community. Most of us have them,” Mavis pointed out.
"That's a comfort,” Harriet said, and made a mental note to call a locksmith when she got back to Mavis's house.
"What difference was there between the quilts that were damaged and the ones that were passed over?” Sarah asked, initiating a long silence.
"I don't think we know that, do we,” DeAnn stated finally.
"Make a column on your piece of paper,” Connie said. “Let's go around the table. Everyone can say if your quilt was damaged or not. And maybe even say how badly damaged it was."
Each in turn described the quilt they had at the studio and what, if any, damage it suffered. The results didn't yield a ready answer.
"So, what could be gained by destroying the particular quilts that were ruined?” Harriet wondered.
"I'm not naming names, but maybe someone was trying to guarantee a win,” Sarah suggested.
"That doesn't make sense,” Jenny said. “Why would they destroy DeAnn's and leave Connie's and mine alone?"
"Would they even know it was DeAnn's they were destroying?” Harriet asked.
"All the show quilts are labeled, aren't they?” Robin asked.
"My label didn't show up very well,” DeAnn said. The fabric I used wasn't high enough contrast. It faded into the background. I didn't have time to fix it before the show, though, so I just left it."
"I know at least two of the non-show quilts were ruined, and they didn't have labels because they weren't bound yet,” Harriet added, and tried to remember what other work had been in the studio at the time.
"So, maybe instead of damaging show quilts, they were excluding them.” DeAnn offered. “It's hard to imagine why they would do that."
"Unless it was someone who personally knew how much work had gone into them,” Mavis suggested.
"Then we're back to why,” Harriet said. “There's no reason for someone to damage a random assortment of quilts."
"Let's move on to the next event,” DeAnn said. “Harriet finds Avanell.” She wrote it on the flipchart sheet.
"What can you tell us about that?” Robin asked.
"Not much, I'm afraid. I went to Avanell's to get the entry form for her quilt. The receptionist told me she was in the back, so I went to there and found her. She was dead."
"What can you tell us about finding her?” Robin asked.
"It was really sad,” Harriet said. And something she didn't really want to think about.
To distract herself, she scanned the group, looking for brown-eyed girls. Darcy and Mavis were blue-eyed, and Robin had green eyes. That left Sarah, Jenny, Connie and, if you counted hazel, DeAnn. Harriet should remember the color of Lauren's accusing eyes, but all she recalled was the anger in them.
"How was she killed?” Jenny asked.
"I don't know,” Harriet said. “I saw her on the floor and there was a lot of blood around her head, an amount that it would be hard to do without. I touched her hand, and it was stiff. I called nine-one-one, and that was it. I tried not to look at her face, so I don't know what happened."
"Single gunshot to the head,” Darcy supplied. “I think it's okay to tell you that, but don't ask me anything else, ‘cause I can't tell you."
"What kind of gun?” Sarah asked.
"Sarah,” Robin said, “she just said she can't tell us anything, let her be.” She wrote on the chart “found in the early morning, shot in the head, stiff to touch."
"Was anyone else around?” she asked Harriet.
"Not where I found her, but there was a young woman in the reception area.” Harriet would have to check her eye color, too. At least, if you believed the humming of a disturbed young woman.
"Let's move on,” Mavis said. “It was hard enough on Harriet to find the body. She doesn't need to keep talking about it just to satisfy our morbid curiosity."
"Okay,” Robin said. “What happened next? Harriet took the quilts to Tacoma and then came home. And then what happened?"
Nothing I'm telling this group about, decided Harriet as she mentally reviewed her impromptu dinner with Aiden followed by her proper dinner date with Harold.
"The next big event was getting hit on the head,” she said, and Robin wrote “Harriet attack number one."
"Not much to tell there, either,” Harriet said.
"If you aren't willing to tell us anything we aren't going to be able to help you solve your problems,” Sarah complained.
"Look, if I knew more, you'd be the first to know. I went to find a young woman who hadn't showed up at Marjory's Thursday group. For my effort, I got hit in the head. I woke up in my car. I saw no one, I heard nothing."
"Harriet hit in head down by docks,” Robin wrote. “Related or bad luck?” she added in parenthesis.
"The next thing that happened to me was after I got out of the hospital,” Harriet continued. “As I told you, after the reception, I went to work on Sarah's and then Lauren's quilts. I heard a noise, but I thought it was Sarah. Someone put ether on a handkerchief and drugged me from behind."
"Did you get any sense of how tall the person was?” Jenny asked.
"Not really. I was bent over a table, so I suppose the attacker could have been short."
"Well, this has been a real waste of time,” Sarah said.
"I'm sorry. Next time I'm attacked multiple times within a few days, I'll take notes."
"Clearly, whoever drugged you did it to buy time to destroy Lauren's quilt,” Jenny said, and Robin made a note to that effect. “So the break-in, and the drugging and, for that matter, the attempt to remove Lauren's quilt in Tacoma were all related to the Kitties.” Robin put these notes under a heading labeled “Lauren's Quilt.” She went back to the column marked “Harriet finds Avanell” and underlined it.
"But what about Avanell?” she said. “There has to be some connection between the attacks on Harriet and Lauren's quilt and Avanell's death."
Harriet looked at the list again. “This would make more sense if it was Avanell's they were going after. If someone were jealous of Avanell's wins at the quilt show then killing her and destroying her quilt would make sense, in a sick sort of way."
"But Lauren was the one with the most to gain if Avanell's quilt weren't in the show, and she wouldn't destroy her Kitties,” Jenny said. “That would defeat the whole purpose."
"What if it wasn't anyone from your group?” Harriet wondered.
"Would anyone really kill over a quilt?” DeAnn asked no one in particular.
"People kill over pocket change,” Darcy answered.
"I still have to wonder if Avanell's family might be involved,” Harriet said.
"On TV they always say you're most likely to be murdered by a loved one,” Connie said as she tied a knot in the thread she'd just stitched and clipped the end close to the fabric surface.
"Unfortunately, that's a fact,” Darcy said. “Being related is the number one risk factor in murder. It's generally either money or an argument over something stupid. And there are a lot of spouses who think murder is easier than divorce, although that doesn't apply here."
"First, it's hard to believe Avanell's family would hurt her,” Jenny said. “And second, how does destroying the quilt fit into that scenario, assuming Avanell's quilt is the real target.” She looked around the room, but no one had any answers.
"I think I can answer one thing for you,” Marjory said as she came in from the kitting room. “They both chose a red batik for their backing. Avanell used it first, and then Lauren chose it, too. I know that for sure, because Lauren's so sensitive about what Avanell is or isn't doing. I did call Avanell and tell her, but she just laughed and said she wasn't going to start over at that point. If someone only looked from the back and not real close at the stitching, they might look alike."
"We're still missing something,” Harriet said. “It doesn't make sense for someone to kill Avanell and then destroy her quilt. Once she was dead, why would they care?"
"So, we are no closer to figuring this out than we were an hour ago,” Sarah said.
"That's not entirely true,” Robin argued. “If we assume Harriet's attack down by the docks was the result of going into a bad neighborhood alone, then the other two problems were probably about destroying the quilt, whether it was Lauren's or Avanell's that was the target."
"If that's right, then Harriet shouldn't be a target anymore if Lauren's quilt was the thief's goal,” DeAnn said.
"That's a big if,” Mavis pointed out. “If Avanell's quilt is the one, then Harriet won't be safe until the police arrest someone."
"I think you're overlooking the obvious here,” Sarah announced.
"Please,” Jenny said. “Enlighten us."
"We go get Avanell's quilt, and leave it in some easily accessible place. When it's gone, we know Harriet's safe."
"Do we worry about catching this person, who is probably Avanell's killer?” Mavis asked.
"Are we supposed to do everything?” Sarah retorted. “Aren't the police supposed to be catching the killer? Besides, we don't know for sure the same person who is destroying quilts is the person who killed Avanell. It could be two separate incidents."
"Sarah has a point,” Darcy conceded. “First, we can't assume the events are related until we have evidence to link them. And second, it isn't the group's responsibility to solve either crime."
"The police don't seem to be getting anywhere,” Jenny said. She got up and took her cup to the kitchen. They could hear the sound of running water as she rinsed it and set it in the drying rack.
"At least Avanell's quilt is safe for a few more days,” Connie said. She folded the pink-and-orange table runner she'd been binding and put it into her bag. “I took my mother-in-law to the show yesterday, and they had hired additional private security guards. It seemed like we saw a guard every time we turned around."
"If it stays safe, that will tell us something,” Darcy said. “If someone in Avanell's family is behind this, all they have to do is wait until the quilt is returned to them on Sunday. If it's not a family member who wants the quilt, they'll have to make a move in the next two days."
"That's assuming Avanell's is the target,” Harriet said. She finished the last stitches on the baby quilt binding and buried the knot in the batting, clipping the thread end close then pulling the cloth to make the thread withdraw below the surface.
Mavis stood up. “We're going in circles here. Everyone keep your eyes and ears open and call if you hear anything. I'm going to take Harriet back to my place."
Harriet folded the quilt into quarters and took it into the kitting room, where Marjory was now cutting and bagging fabric swatches that would be mailed to her block-of-the-month customers. She held it up for approval.
"That looks great,” Marjory said. She took it from her. “Did the group help at all, or are they just adding to your stress?"
"The only real thing the group came up with is that since Avanell's and Lauren's quilts have the same backing, it's possible someone might have confused them. That, and the fact they all think I was asking for trouble going down to the dock area."
"If you ask me, this isn't about quilting. I heard a little of what you all were saying. I don't buy that someone is sabotaging quilts for personal gain. Frankly, I don't think anyone in the Loose Threads cares enough about winning to make it worth their time and trouble. And I can't believe any of them would kill Avanell. Not even Lauren. No, I think in the end it will be something else entirely."
"What do you know about Avanell's family?” Harriet asked.
"After her husband died, she developed the business into a going concern. She and Bertie have been generous to the community. They seemed to get along well. The kids all scattered when they grew up. Marcel couldn't get out of here fast enough, but he came back to visit on a regular basis.
"Michelle was more difficult for Avanell than the boys were. She's a bit of a drama queen, and Avanell didn't have much time for that. Aiden is the sensitive one. I think Avanell was a little more protective of him, since he was younger when George died. He came back to be close to his momma. I suppose that might change now."
Harriet drew in her breath and then coughed to cover it. It hadn't occurred to her that Aiden might leave. She mentally scolded herself for caring.
"You ready to go, Toots?” Mavis asked Harriet.
"I just need to rinse my cup."
"Connie did our dishes, so we're good to go."
She led the way through the shop and out the door. “Do you feel up to a stop at the grocery store? If you're too tired, Connie said she could come over at five and stay with you so I could go. The Foggy Point Market has whole chickens on sale, and I want to get a couple before they're too picked over."