Harriet woke early the next morning; between her walk with Aiden and watching the romantic comedy with Mavis, she'd gotten a good night's sleep.
Mavis was already in the kitchen and had the kettle on when she came out of the bathroom.
"How are you feeling this morning?” Mavis asked.
"I slept really well. I'm getting a little tired of pink and purple, though.” She held out the hem of her pink shirt. “Is there any chance we could go by my house and pick up some clothes?"
"Oh, honey, I don't think that's a very good idea. You've only been out of the hospital for two days. Until the police have some idea what's going on, I think you need to stay away from there. We could ask Darcy if that skinny blond woman who drives the patrol at night could go over and pick up some clothes for you."
"I don't want some stranger going through my clothes. I don't care if it is a woman."
"We could go by the thrift store on Second Street if you want, or if you feel up for a drive, we could go to the Wal-Mart."
"The thrift store is fine. Surely, they'll have something I can wear-I really only need a couple of shirts and maybe another pair of jeans."
"I usually go to my hand-piecing group on Friday mornings at Pins and Needles,” Mavis offered hopefully.
"That sounds like fun,” Harriet said without much enthusiasm.
"We can stay here if you're not up to it."
She needed to go into town. She had to get Misty's medicine and give it to her. The girl might not have seen Avanell's murder, but Harriet was sure she knew something.
"I think a trip to town would be great. I can stop by the thrift store and then maybe I can find a hand project I can do at Pins and Needles."
"Do you do hand piecing or do you prefer redwork?” Mavis asked and started a conversation that lasted through breakfast.
Harriet was surprised at Mavis's defense of the controversial trend of painting on art quilts. There were a few artists painting images on fabric then stitching around the image and entering them in competition. Harriet understood that the predecessors of pieced quilts were bedcovers made by doing intricate stitching on a single large piece of fabric, but in that case the stitches were the art. She definitely was on the side that felt sewing a backing onto a painting didn't make a quilt.
In the end, though, she had to concede that images painted in dye and combined with art stitching were, in fact, art quilts.
They moved on to discuss various hand-piecing styles, and by the time they got into the car, Harriet was pretty sure she was going to try doing some Grandmother's Flower Garden blocks using English paper piecing style, where hexagonal images were cut out of paper, a circle of fabric hand-stitched around the paper piece and then the edges of the hexagons whip-stitched together, removing the paper from the back when all the stitching was done.
Mavis had shown her a picture of a Civil War-era quilt using the technique that was made in navy blue and tan with just a touch of red. Harriet decided if she could find the right fabric she'd give it a try.
Wisps of fog swirled close to the pavement as Mavis parked at the curb across the street and halfway between Pins and Needles and the thrift store.
"I really think I could go to the bank and the thrift store without an escort,” Harriet said. “I promise I'll come right back to Pins and Needles when I'm done."
She could tell Mavis was having a debate with herself. Harold emerged from the bank before she'd decided.
"Good morning, ladies,” he said. “What brings you to this fair city?"
"Mavis has a stitching group this morning, and I was just trying to convince her I could go to the bank and the thrift store without her. She doesn't need to babysit me in downtown Foggy Point in the middle of the morning."
"I'm sure she's trying to look out for your best interests, but might I suggest an alternative?"
They both looked expectantly at him.
"What if I follow along while you do your errands and then we go to Annie's Coffee Shop for some hot cocoa?"
"Okay,” Harriet said immediately.
Mavis looked skeptical but agreed. Harold held the door for Harriet.
He was gracious enough to stay outside the thrift store and make phone calls he probably hadn't needed to make so she could shop in peace. She found a serviceable pair of flannel pajamas, three long-sleeved T-shirts in neutral colors, a black long-sleeved Flax shirt-jacket, a pair of Calvin Klein khaki pants and a dark-green lightweight jacket. She got the whole collection for twenty-five dollars, which seemed like a pretty good deal. She came out of the store in just over fifteen minutes.
"That was quick,” Harold said. He put his hand on her elbow and guided her to the left. “Annie's is around the corner on Ship Street."
They discussed the fog and whether it was expected to lift later or not until they were seated at a dark wooden table with matching chairs that had calico fabric seat cushions. A young woman with a blond braid that brushed her waist brought them steaming cups of cocoa.
"I don't remember this place,” Harriet said and looked around the small book-lined room.
"I think it's been here about three years or so.” He nodded toward a middle-aged woman on the other side of an antique library table that served as a counter in the small shop, “According to Bertie, Annie used to be the head librarian at the Foggy Point branch of the Calallam County Library. He says she got tired of busting people for sneaking food and drink into the library. She decided folks wanted a place to do both, so here we are.” He spread his arms to indicate their surroundings. “She has a swap party a couple of times a year, so her stock of books gets freshened."
"It seems like a good idea.” Harriet looked around at the half-filled space. “It looks like she does okay."
"We're between crowds right now. The working crowd has left and the stay-at-home moms and senior citizens haven't arrived yet."
"Speaking of Bertie, what's he like?” she asked. “I knew Avanell when I was young, since she and my aunt were friends, but I didn't know the rest of her family."
"What do you want to know?” Harold countered.
"I don't know. It seems like Avanell was such a big part of this community, I guess I wonder if Bertie will be able to fill that role."
Aiden clearly didn't think so, but she wondered how much of that opinion had to do with his father's death and the aftermath.
"It's true Bertie prefers to stay in the background. I'm sure he'll do whatever's necessary."
Clearly, he wasn't going to give up any information. She wondered if he didn't like to gossip or if his evasion was more purposeful. What would he have to hide?
"Would you mind walking over to Myca's House on our way back? One of the young women in the Thursday night group needs me to pick something up for her."
Harold agreed, and they sipped their cocoa.
"I assume the fact you're still living with Mavis and she's not letting you out of her sight means the police haven't caught whoever attacked you."
"They haven't said a word, so I interpret their silence as meaning they aren't getting anywhere."
"You can't keep living with Mavis forever, can you? I mean, if it were me, I'd be going crazy living with anyone else under those conditions. And what about your business?"
"You've pretty well summarized my life. I have to go back to work. Mavis is nice, but I'm not used to living with anyone, and Aunt Beth isn't due home for two more weeks. And that's no guarantee of my continued safety. The whole thing makes no sense. I haven't done anything to anyone, I don't have anything anyone would want, I don't know any big secrets. There is absolutely no reason for someone to break into my house, destroy my clients’ work or hit me in the head."
"Maybe you know something but don't know that you know it."
"This just goes in a big circle, Harold. If I know something, then whoever it is didn't need to trash my aunt's place. If they're looking for something, they didn't need to hit me on the head down by the docks.” She covered her face in her hands. “Could we just not talk about this for a while?"
"Of course. How did the show go? Did Foggy Point represent itself well?"
"Actually, with all that's been going on, I don't know who won what. Everyone's assuming Avanell won the best of show, but other than that it's anyone's guess. I suppose Lauren's quilt wasn't up long enough to have been judged. But I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few prize winners in the group."
"When is it over?"
"Tomorrow's the last day. Mavis and I are going to Tacoma to bring them all home."
"What happens to the quilts after that? Do they go on to other shows or do they retire to the linen closet and a life of service?"
She smiled. “Some of both, I suppose. A few people enter their work in other shows, but I think most of the women in our group will just take them home and either put them on a bed or give them to the grandson, niece, sister or friend they were intended for.
"That brings up a good point. They're supposed to collect them from my house on Monday. The people in the group I go to know about my relocation, but some of the ones I took were from other people. I need to call them so they don't show up at my aunt's house. I hate to ask Mavis to let me have people collect them at her house. I feel like I've been such an intrusion on her life as it is."
"Could you deliver them to people? If there aren't that many and since Foggy Point isn't that big?” Harold suggested. “At least, I assume there aren't that many,” he corrected. “I could help you on Sunday if you want. You will be home Saturday night with them, won't you?"
"Hmmm.” You know, I think that could work. But you don't need to spend your Sunday driving around with me."
"I hate to point out an unpleasant reality of your life, but in fact, no one is going to let you go anywhere by yourself. And I don't mind-really."
Harriet was silent. She tried to think of an alternative but nothing came to mind. She sighed.
"You're right. I just hate this."
Harold picked up his cup as if to drink but found only thick chocolate sludge in the bottom. He set it back down. “If you're ready, maybe we should go pick up your package at Myca's House and get you back to Mavis before she sends out a search party."
He pulled two dollars out of his thin lizard-skin wallet and laid them on the table. He picked up Harriet's bags from the thrift store and helped slide her chair out.
"Follow me,” he said as they reached the sidewalk. “I know a shortcut."
He led her to a narrow cement-paved alley between two buildings. It widened into an asphalt courtyard of sorts. He crossed the open area diagonally and entered another dark alley between buildings that faced on the next block. Once they reached the sidewalk there, Myca's House was two doors down.
"I'm impressed,” Harriet said. She wondered how a guy who wore pressed slacks and a bow tie everywhere he went learned about back-alley shortcuts.
"Would you like me to wait out here?” he asked.
"No, it's fine. I'm just picking up something for a friend."
She opened the door and stepped into a tired-looking lobby. Three scratched plastic chairs sat against the wall. Two six-foot-long folding tables topped with peeling plastic laminate separated the sitting area from the rest of the office. Cardboard boxes overflowed with papers. A grey-haired man with a short curled ponytail and sparse salt-and-pepper beard came into the office and asked if he could help her.
She explained why she was there. He asked to see her driver's license, but then looked up at Harold.
"I'll vouch for her identity,” Harold said. “Harriet, this is Joseph. He's the office manager here at Myca's House. Joseph, meet Harriet Truman. She's Beth's niece. Harriet here has just taken over Beth's business. Maybe once she gets settled, she'll join us at Rotary."
Harriet was a little annoyed with two men discussing her as if she were a small child incapable of speaking for herself.
"Oh, yeah, I heard you've had a little trouble up at your aunt's place."
She wondered if there was anyone in Foggy Point who didn't know her business. She didn't say anything, and the silence became awkward. Joseph picked up a white paper bag and handed it to her.
"Dr. Mason said to tell you there are three doses. He said that should be enough to get the patient stable enough to come in by herself. He said to make sure she gets in before the third dose wears off."
"Thanks,” Harriet said.
"See you next week,” Harold said to Joseph and followed her onto the sidewalk.
"I guess we better get you back to the quilt store,” he said. He led her around the block this time, and didn't speak until they'd turned the corner.
"I don't mean to pry, but it sounds like your young friend might be unbalanced."
"I couldn't say. She's more like a friend of a friend.” She held up the white bag. “This should help."
"Would you like me to go with you when you deliver the medicine? I mean, it's possible this person was involved in your attack, isn't it?"
"I doubt it. I don't think she's got her act together enough to do something like that. Besides, like I said, this is a friend of a friend kind of thing. It doesn't have anything to do with me. But thanks for offering."
She wasn't about to bring anyone, much less a man, to see Misty. Harold's sudden helpfulness was bothering her, too. He'd been quick to leave the first few times she'd seen him, and now suddenly he wanted to be her constant companion. It could be his awareness of Aiden's interest, but she wasn't sure.
"If you change your mind, call me. I'll be at the factory all day."
"Things must be strange there with Avanell gone."
"She will be missed. She was the spirit of the company, that's for sure."
"Well, here we are,” Harriet said and stopped one door away from Pins and Needles. She held her hand out for her bags.
"I'll call you Saturday night, and we can talk about our delivery plan,” Harold said. He turned and walked away before she could thank him for the hot cocoa.
She watched as he strode briskly down the block and wished she felt something-anything. Instead, images of another man came unbidden to her mind, and the butterflies awakened. She told herself Harold was the man she should be thinking about. He was the right age. He was considerate, and punctual, and he planned ahead.
Aiden was exciting.
Harold wasn't fat, but he had a soft, rounded look.
Aiden was lean and long, and had washboard abs.
She had to stop thinking about Aiden. She had to remember he was the one who had everything to gain when his mother died.
"Are you coming in or are you going to stand out here on the sidewalk all morning?” Mavis said from the door of Pins and Needles. “Marjory pulled a few bolts of fabric for you to look at for your Grandmother's Flower Garden. She has templates of various sorts and pre-cut papers for English paper piecing, too, if you want to go that route."
"Sounds great,” Harriet said and entered the shop. She put her bags by a chair at the table in the big classroom, where the group was meeting. She greeted the women and assured everyone she was feeling better and that the police still had no idea who had it in for her. As quickly as she could gracefully escape, she went to the back of the store and found Marjory.
"Bet you're getting tired of talking about your problems,” Marjory said.
"That's the truth."
"Looks like you got a little break this morning, though."
"Yeah, Harold Minter went with me to the thrift store and took me to the coffee shop."
"So, how was that?” Marjory asked.
"It was fine. He's a nice man. I mean, I don't know him that well, but he seems nice. Do you know him?"
"I've seen him around town.” She hesitated. “He participates in community events."
"So, what are you not telling me?"
"Nothing,” Marjory said. “He's always been polite when I've spoken to him."
"But? Come on, Marjory, don't hold out on me."
Marjory leaned across the cutting table and lowered her voice. “It's nothing I can put my finger on, but there's just something about the guy that leaves me cold. I don't know. It seems like he's a little too perfect, too polite. Every move he makes seems planned."
"Planning can be a good thing,” Harriet said.
"It can be boring, if you ask me. A person needs a little spontaneity. And a person needs to laugh. I can't imagine Harold laughing."
"He offered to help me deliver quilts from the show on Sunday."
"You wouldn't catch me being locked in a car with that man for hours on end. So, tell me about this Grandmother's Flower Garden project,” she said, effectively ending the discussion of Harold.
Harriet chose several dark blues, a cream-colored tone-on-tone print and a red print. She decided to make things easy for herself and bought a bag of pre-cut hexagonal papers. In only a few minutes, she was seated at the big table cutting pieces of her new fabric among a group of middle-aged women she'd never met before today. Mavis made the appropriate introductions, and Harriet was grateful when the women went back to their stitching without asking her any more about the recent events in her life.
She had just stitched her first complete flower when Mavis stood up and rubbed her back.
"I don't know about you, honey, but I'm starving. What do you say we go find us some lunch?"
"Sounds great.” Aunt Beth would have a cow if she saw how often Harriet was eating out in her absence. She was trying to make good choices, but she knew it didn't compare to the “all salad all the time” diet Aunt Beth had put her on when she arrived.
"I been feeling like Mexican food,” Mavis said. “What do you think?"
Harriet's heart skipped a beat. She reminded herself there was probably more than one Mexican restaurant in Foggy Point.
"I like Mexican food,” she said, her voice sounding strange in her ears.
"Anyone else want to join us?” Mavis asked. She was thanked for her offer, but Harriet was relieved when, one by one, they declined.
"Shall we walk over to Tico's Tacos?"
"Can we stop by the car first and drop off my new wardrobe?"
"That can be arranged.” Mavis looked out the shop window and pulled a plastic rain hat from her pocket. “Looks like it's going to be a wet walk. Did you buy anything waterproof?"
Harriet was already pulling the green jacket from her bag. “I hope I don't run into the person who donated this to the thrift store,” she said with a smile.
"The same people own another store in Port Angeles. I'm pretty sure they swap the stuff between the stores for that very reason."
A light mist filled the air as Harriet and Mavis said their goodbyes and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Harriet's new jacket didn't have a hood, and by the time they had walked to the car to deposit her bags and then on to Tico's her hair was damp.
A young woman with thick black hair pulled back into a neat braid showed them to a booth by the window. Harriet got up immediately and went to the restroom to use the hand dryer on her hair. When she returned, Mavis was dipping a blue corn chip into a stone bowl overflowing with guacamole. Harriet grabbed a chip and had just dipped it into the bowl when a pair of hands covered her eyes.
"Guess who?” Aiden said.
It was all she could do to not scream. She pried his hands off her eyes and turned around.
"What happened to your eyes?” she asked, and felt the color drain from her face.
"What do you mean?” he asked. “Oh, these?"
He pointed to his eye then cupped his hand in front of his face and pinched his eye surface with his thumb and forefinger. A brown sliver of plastic fell into his hand. He held it out for her to see. His eye was now its normal pale color. The other one remained dark brown.
"Mom got me dark contacts the first time we traveled out of the country. When I was in Africa, I had to wear them all the time-my eye color freaked out the locals. I still have a bunch of them, and frankly, it's easier sometimes to blend in."
"It's amazing how different they make you look,” she said.
"They look natural,” Mavis said. “Sarah wears colored lenses that make her eyes a color of green never before seen in nature."
"I'd be happy to have normal brown or blue eyes like everyone else,” he confessed.
"Don't try and tell me you didn't use your looks to your advantage with the girls when you were in high school,” Mavis said. “I was here, remember."
He had the grace to blush. “Are you ladies having lunch?"
"Would you care to join us?” Mavis invited him.
"I thought you'd never ask,” he said and sat next to Harriet, his leg pressed against hers.
Harriet was distracted during lunch in spite of the delicious tomatillo enchiladas and Spanish rice she ate. Aiden was at his charming best, making Mavis smile throughout the meal, but there was something about this brown-eyed Aiden that bothered her.
"Are you about done?” Mavis asked her.
"So soon?” Aiden protested.
"Almost,” Mavis said. “I'm going to powder my nose, then I think I need to get Harriet home for some rest. We've had a busy morning, and she's looking a bit peaky."
"I wish people wouldn't talk about me as if I weren't here.” She found this one of the less charming aspects of life in Foggy Point. Perhaps it was inevitable when most of your friends were old enough to be your mother.
Mavis patted her arm, got up and went to the restroom.
"So, what's wrong? And don't tell me you're just tired,” Aiden demanded.
"I am tired, but not like Mavis means. I'm tired of being in limbo.” She looked at the sleeve of her green coat. “I can't even wear my own clothes."
He put his arm around her and pulled her to his chest. “This is bound to be over soon."
"Have you heard something? Do they know who killed your mother?” She looked into his brown eyes.
He slumped. “No. I stopped by the police station on my way here. They have no idea. They're still going on the belief that she came back to work after dinner and startled a thief in the process of robbing the factory."
"You still don't believe it?"
"No, and don't try to tell me you do, either. I don't know who did it, but I'll bet it's not some stranger. It's going to be someone we know."
Mavis cleared her throat as she approached the table. Harriet straightened up, buttoned her coat and slid out of the booth.
"Can I come by and see you later?” Aiden asked.
She hesitated.
"We'll take a rain check,” Mavis answered for her. “We're going to Tacoma tomorrow and need to rest up."
"Thank you,” Harriet said when they were outside again.
"I may be old, but I can catch a hint with the best of them."
"I can't deal with Aiden and Harold right now on top of everything else. They're both trying to be so helpful, but I'm not sure I completely trust either one of them."
"We can agree to disagree about Aiden, and I don't know Harold well enough to have an opinion, but you don't need any more pressure right now."
"That we can agree about."