"Don't stress out if it takes longer than an hour at the doctor,” Aunt Beth said as she picked up her purse and coat the next morning. “I've got a little more to go on Phyl's quilt, so I'll be at your house when the Threads arrive. I can entertain them until you get done."
"I thought you said Phyl's quilt was going to be simple,” Harriet said. She balanced on her good foot as she reached into the coat closet and pulled out her gray hoodie and put it on. She was wearing jeans that had the side seam split open to the knee to accommodate the soon-to-be-removed cast.
"It could have been, but I'm doing a dense stippling pattern in the cream-colored background areas. It looks real nice, but it's taking me a little time."
"Anyone waiting for a taxi?” Mavis asked with a smile as she came through the door without knocking.
"I promise, I'll make this up to you two,” Harriet said. “I'll drive you everywhere when you're not allowed to drive anymore."
"Honey, I plan on going to my grave with the keys to my Town Car in my hand,” Mavis said and laughed.
"I'll see you ladies at Harriet's,” Beth said as they all went outside.
Harriet wasn't sure how it was that you could have the first appointment of the day at the clinic and still be made to wait for twenty minutes before they called you in. She spent another twenty minutes getting the heavy cast removed before she was able to finally move into the doctor's examination room.
The wait turned out to be worth it when Dr. Eisner came in and proclaimed her healing process to be better than average and offered her a lighter, removable air cast if she would promise to continue to mostly use her crutches for another week. She agreed, and after a few probing touches to her still-tender kidney, she was released back into Mavis's care.
"Well, what did he say?” Mavis asked when they were back in the car.
"He said I was healing nicely. He said if I use my crutches most of the time, I can wear this removable air cast."
"We should be only fashionably late to the Threads meeting,” Mavis said. “What did he say about your kidney?"
Harriet gave her a full report as they drove back to her house, where they found the driveway full of Loose Threads cars.
"Harriet,” Lauren said as she came through the door to the studio, “I was just telling DeAnn you'd found some really interesting information on your computer."
"Lauren,” Harriet said in exasperation, “what happened to not running the world and letting the detective deal with things?"
"Oh, so if you meddle it's a virtue, but if I open my mouth I'm a troublemaker?” Lauren grabbed her long blond hair and swept it off her shoulders to her back.
"What are you two talking about?” DeAnn asked.
Harriet glared at Lauren, who merely shrugged and turned to talk to Jenny, who was sitting on her left. She looked for Mavis or her aunt, but neither woman was in the studio. They were probably in the kitchen getting refreshments.
"If you know something, spill it,” Robin urged. She was dressed in the fall version of her usual yoga outfit, the seasonal difference being that her black stretchy pants were full-length and she'd added a fitted pastel hoodie to her costume. Her clothing might have been casual, but she was using her best courtroom voice, and Harriet found it very compelling.
"This is more of a show than a tell,” Harriet said, and crossed to her computer desk. She turned the machine on and pulled up the website with the picture of the Samoan family. She'd also e-mailed herself a copy of Lauren's cleaned-up version of the picture, and she displayed that, too.
DeAnn was silent. A minute passed, then two. Without saying anything, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the tollfree number listed on the screen under the picture. She listened, and then said, “English."
Harriet returned to the sitting area, giving DeAnn privacy to deal with what had to be a very painful conversation. Robin joined her.
"That's really tough,” Harriet said.
"I'm sure DeAnn's thinking it's nothing compared to what that family has to have been going through, thinking they might have lost their daughter forever."
"So, what's the next step?"
"I'm going to recommend to DeAnn they have a DNA test done, just to be certain, but I imagine they could learn all they need to know by showing the picture to the little girl."
"Should we call Phyllis?"
"She'll have to be told, so she can figure out where the breakdown in her system occurred. It could be Joseph, or it could be they were dealing with a corrupt person on the other end who produced good quality forgeries for the required documents,” Robin explained. “I don't think she needs to be involved right now. This…” She pointed to DeAnn. “…will be between two families and be about doing what's right. The blame game can come after that."
"I need to go home,” DeAnn said when she'd finished her phone call. “The quilt is in my bag. Can you deal with it?” she asked Robin.
Robin assured her her family should take precedence and offered to drive her home, but DeAnn insisted she was okay to drive.
"It's really for the best, don't you think?” Lauren said when DeAnn was gone.
"Actually, yes,” Harriet snapped. “I do. My problem is with you. We agreed to one thing, and then you did the exact opposite. If we're going to work together on projects, it isn't going to work for me if you always do the opposite of what we agree on."
"That's a two-way street, you know,” Lauren fired back.
"Shall we look at the quilts, ladies?” Connie stood, speaking in her best schoolteacher tone, silencing them both.
A knock sounded on the door, and Carla came in with Wendy balanced on one hip and a canvas quilting bag on the opposite shoulder.
"I hope it's okay that I brought Wendy with me,” she said. “We're going to Toddler Time at the library when we're done."
Connie took the little girl from her.
"Wendy's always welcome,” she said and tickled the child's tummy, causing her to shriek in delight.
Carla sat on one of the folding chairs Aunt Beth had set up in a circle around Harriet's gray easy chair.
"I'll start,” Jenny said, and unfolded the dog-bone appliqué wall hanging. She turned it around so the chocolate-brown back showed, revealing the label and sleeve, both sewn into their proper place with almost invisible stitches.
"That came out really nice,” Harriet said. “The dog faces capture the essence of small dogs everywhere."
"I love the way the flower stems intertwine with the bones to form the wreaths,” Robin said.
"Kind of makes you feel sorry for the Small Stitches and the bone blocks they're copying,” Lauren said.
"Why is that?” Sarah asked. “If they do a decent job of copying my design, they should be great blocks."
"I'm sure they won't copy them with anywhere near the skill you made the original with,” Lauren said with a wicked smile. “It's really too bad we couldn't use them, but after they copied them it was out of the question."
Harriet whacked her on the arm.
"Behave yourself,” she muttered, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling.
The group revealed the rest of the quilts one by one, oohing and ahhing over the finishing work and the overall result. Mavis's and Beth's snowball quilt had come out beautifully, and Harriet's tumbling block design with its three-dimensional effect was striking. The star block quilt had perfect points and charming fussy-cut dog images. Connie and Lauren's doghouse quilt was raised from nice to exceptional thanks to their skilled choices of color. They declared themselves as done as they were going to get, and Aunt Beth retreated to the kitchen to fetch a plate of brownies Jenny had brought.
"Have you had any news about Kissa?” Robin asked Connie.
"Absolutely nothing,” Connie replied. “I've taken her for her well baby exams, and other than being a little underweight for her age, she's healthy. She's meeting all her developmental milestones, too."
"Do they have any idea where she came from?” Lauren asked.
"She seems to be African, but that's guesswork on our part. So far, no missing person reports match her. They did a simple blood-type matching between her and Neelie Obote and Rodney Miller and she doesn't match either of them, but that only rules them out as potential parents as a couple. One of them could still be her parent if you assume she got her blood type from the unknown parent."
"So, what will happen to her?” Jenny asked.
"Officially, she's in foster care. If they find no one to claim her, I imagine she'll become a ward of the state and eventually be eligible for adoption-hopefully by someone younger than Rodrigo and me."
"Has anyone heard any more about who killed Rodney Miller or Neelie Obote?” Carla asked.
"All I know is they have Joseph Marston in custody and he's not speaking,” Harriet said. “Aiden was pointing out that, given the fact we now think Rodney was Neelie's pimp, there's a good chance someone followed them here and all of it had nothing to do with Foggy Point or anyone who lives here."
"Rodney was a pimp?” Sarah said, the excitement clear in her voice.
"Coffee or tea, anyone,” Aunt Beth asked, before she could get started.
The Threads ate brownies, sipped coffee or tea and congratulated themselves on a job well done. They were divided whether they thought Harriet's tumbling block design, Jenny's dog-bone wreaths or the doghouse quilt would be chosen for the raffle quilt. They agreed that while Beth's and Connie's quilt was quite lovely, the fact they had used dogwood fabric instead of actual dog fabric would go against it in the judging.
"Can everyone come help hang the quilts this morning?” Aunt Beth asked. “The judging is supposed to start at two."
Sarah assured everyone the senior center would grind to a halt if she didn't rush back and put things right. This, of course, was not unexpected, as this was the excuse she always used when there was work to be done. Carla had to take Wendy to story time, and the group assured her Wendy's library time was more important than hanging quilts. She apologized profusely then left, baby once more on her hip.
The phone rang, and Aunt Beth answered, speaking in low tones to her caller. When she'd finished, she turned to Harriet.
"That was Phyl. I told her I'd finished her quilt, and I hope I didn't speak out of turn, but I said that if she'd bring her binding over and machine stitch it to her quilt, you wouldn't mind doing the hand-stitching part, since you have to sit in your chair with your foot up while we go hang quilts."
"That's fine with me,” Harriet said. “At least then I'll feel like I'm contributing something, even if it is for the other team."
"Now, honey,” Mavis said. “You know all the quilts go for the same good cause. It doesn't matter who makes the raffle quilt as long as it brings in a lot of money for the shelter."
"Yeah, and if you believe that, I've got a bridge I'd like to sell you,” Lauren said.
"You ladies can go on ahead to the community center whenever you're ready,” Aunt Beth said. “I'm going to wait for Phyl to get here, in case she needs help setting up to sew her binding on."
Everyone knew Phyl could thread any sewing machine with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. They also knew Beth wasn't ready to leave Harriet alone, even if Joseph was in custody.
"We'll see you over there,” Jenny said as she buttoned her cardigan and picked up her quilt bag and purse. The rest of the group followed, in twos and threes, until only Aunt Beth and Harriet remained.
"You know, you can't make guarding me your life's work,” Harriet said.
"I don't plan on it. But it doesn't hurt to be careful.” Aunt Beth put on her purple hip-length jacket and picked up her bags but didn't make a move toward the door.
"We both know Phyllis doesn't need help getting set up to sew the binding on her quilt. You already threaded the machine and turned it on. What?” Harriet said when her aunt still didn't leave.
"I might as well tell you-Jorge will be bringing you lunch in an hour or so.” She gave Harriet a half-smile and scooted out the door before her niece could react.
Phyllis Johnson came in through the studio door moments later.
"I hope you don't mind my not knocking,” she said. “I didn't want you to have to get up."
"No problem,” Harriet said. “No one seems to knock these days."
"How's your ankle doing?” Phyllis patted a stray curl back into the cotton candy fluff that was her hair.
"It's better. Have you had any word about Joseph?"
"No, but then, there's no reason I would. I know I'm his employer, and he is like a son to me, but in the eyes of the law, I have no claim on him.
"I called the police station, of course, but they were tightlipped. I used to have friends on the force,” she said with a sigh. “Everyone's retired now, and these young folks are so serious. They don't seem to understand how things work in a small town."
"I have a question for you,” Harriet said. “Do you know a woman named Mary Ann Martin?"
Phyllis bit her lower lip.
"I don't believe I do. Should I?"
Aunt Beth had left two sewing machines in the studio when she gave it to Harriet. They were sturdy workhorse models, strong enough to stitch through the multiple layers of fabric and batting one had to deal with when they were sewing a binding on a quilt. In addition, Harriet had brought her own embroidery sewing machine as well as her smaller travel unit when she'd moved in. Phyl sat down at the studio machine Aunt Beth had set up for her and began sewing on her binding.
"Mary Ann and her husband are foster parents in Foggy Point. I thought they might have taken one of your classes."
"Honey, in thirty years, a lot of people have taken my classes."
"Did you do an adoption for an African girl named Nancy Lou Freeman?"
Phyllis deftly turned the corner on her quilt binding.
"Not that I recall. Why?"
"I just found out Nancy Lou was Neelie Obote's name when she was adopted in Foggy Point. This would have been, maybe, twenty years ago."
"Neelie Obote? The girl that was killed at Aiden's? Are you thinking I knew who that woman was and didn't tell the police?” She shifted the bulk of the quilt as she completed the second corner.
"No, I just thought it was a little strange that Neelie had been adopted here and then was involved in adoption abuse and put back into foster care but that you hadn't at least heard about it."
"I keep trying to tell you-I've processed hundreds of adoptions over the years. I'd like to think I could remember them all, but the fact is, without a file in front of me, I simply can't."
Phyllis turned the third corner on the quilt binding.
"I suppose my aunt told you about DeAnn's little girl."
"Everyone has told me about the problems they're having, and I keep trying to tell all of you that Joseph handled that match. We do our best to match children with adoptive families, but sometimes, in spite of all our hard work, the relationship is incompatible."
Harriet was silent for a minute, thinking. Phyllis rounded the fourth corner of her quilt and approached the point where she'd started. She clipped the thread then cut the excess binding fabric, leaving two tails Harriet would stitch together by hand, closing the gap between the start and finish.
"Did you hear the latest?” she asked carefully, watching Phyllis for her reaction. “It appears DeAnn's child isn't from Africa at all. She's from American Samoa. Or at least, that's the language she speaks."
"I told you, I don't know what Joseph was or wasn't doing on his cases.” Phyllis stood up. “I have a spool of thread that matches the binding here somewhere,” she said, and dug in her bag.
Harriet kept watching her.
"Phyllis, I have to tell you, I'm having a little trouble believing you didn't know what Joseph was doing. I mean, we saw you grabbing files and stepping in for your other employee when she was covering for Joseph. I've tried real hard to figure out how, in an office with four employees, Joseph could have run an elaborate adoption scam without raising any red flags with you or Jennifer or your secretary. I mean, he had to have been arranging passports, and airfare, and I don't know what else, and they would all be for places that didn't match the country the child was supposed to have come from."
"Are you accusing me of something?” Phyllis stepped closer to Harriet's chair in a sudden move.
"I'm not accusing anyone of anything,” Harriet said, her eyes on Phyllis's hands, which were concealed under the quilt, which was draped over her arm. “I'm just trying to figure out what's going on.
"I mean, on one hand, two people are dead. One of those two was adopted in Foggy Point. On the other hand, we have a child who is not from Africa like she was supposed to be, and in fact seems to have a family in American Samoa who are trying real hard to find her. Can you see the connection here?"
"I don't know what you're talking about.” Color was creeping up Phyl's neck and into her face.
"I'm thinking both of these situations are connected by adoption-international adoption, at that. And we both know there is only one adoption agency doing international work in Foggy Point-Little Lamb."
Phyllis sighed and sank onto the ottoman. Her hands were still out of view.
"You aren't going to let this go, are you?"
"No, I'm not,” Harriet said defiantly. “Not until I find out who killed Neelie and who took Iloai from her family. Since DeAnn has already contacted the people looking for her, that should become clear any time now."
Phyl's shoulders slumped. “Your aunt always did brag about how smart you were. Too smart for your own good, I'm thinking."
She pulled her hands out from under her quilt. One was holding a slender syringe Harriet recognized as the kind used for insulin. She flipped her quilt across Harriet's legs, pinning them to the ottoman.
The older woman was surprisingly strong. Harriet squirmed as Phyllis bore down toward her with the needle. She wished she hadn't taken her air cast off when she'd sat down.
"If you're going to kill me anyway, can you at least satisfy my curiosity?” she pleaded.
Phyllis glanced at her watch, and Harriet hoped the older woman hadn't seen the same crime shows she had, where they told you that in a hostage situation the best course of action was to keep your attacker talking.
"I suppose your aunt isn't coming back until the judging is over,” Phyllis said, obviously gauging the time. “Okay, it's simple, really. Nancy Lou was one of my adoptions. There are women in Africa and other places who have jobs that put them at high risk of pregnancy and for whom an unwanted baby would be an…inconvenience. We in American have an endless supply of parents looking for infants to adopt."
"So, prostitutes are cranking out babies and selling them?” Harriet asked, her outrage causing her to temporarily forget the syringe poised over her leg.
"I wouldn't put it so crudely, but yes, that is, in fact, the situation. I didn't realize this when I first got into the international adoption business. The people on the other end handle that. I just pay a fee, which I pass on to the adoptive parents. By the time I realized what was going on, I was in too deep to stop."
"So, why steal a baby in American Samoa?"
"Two reasons, really. First, a lot of the prostitutes in Africa have HIV, which means they don't have healthy babies. Second, the authorities are always shutting my overseas contact down in one place or another, and he's forced to move on to another part of the world. Unfortunately, he became a little aggressive in his methods for procuring children in the South Pacific."
"That's one way to put it. It seems like he was stealing children from their rightful parents."
"Parents who were willing to send their child away to school at an improbable age, don't forget. And do you really believe DeAnn's child was better off with subsistence farmers or fishermen or whatever it was her birth parents did? She'll have a much nicer life here in Foggy Point."
"Like Nancy Lou did?"
"That was unfortunate. I didn't know those people were adopting a child just to be a domestic. And, well, when I discovered the problem, I couldn't risk an investigation for fear my situation would be uncovered. Surely you can understand that."
"So, you knew Neelie was being sold into slavery and could have saved her from it?"
"I didn't know before I sent her, but yes, I did figure it out when I made a home visit. It's unfortunate, but she really was a troubled child to start with."
"Did she recognize you? Is that why you killed her?” Harriet tried to worm herself into a more upright position.
"She saw me at the shower, and then came to see me. As you might expect with someone of her class, she wanted money, an impossibly high sum. What could I do? She said if I didn't give her two hundred thousand dollars, she would go to the authorities. I had no choice."
"So you injected her with an overdose of insulin?"
"That's pretty obvious,” Phyllis said and held the syringe a little higher. “I didn't know she'd told all to her pimp. That horrible man.” She shivered at the memory. “He came to me with the same demand. I had him meet me at Joseph's-I couldn't have him come to the office, after all, and Joseph's house had the perfect ambush spot.
"He's converted one of the basement rooms into a home gym. I have a key from when I watered his plants when he went to visit his mother, and there's a below-grade basement entry at the back of the house that goes into that room.
"Joseph does seem like the sort who would do something like this. He's always skulking about looking guilty. I've never known what about, though.
"Anyway,” she said, returning to her narration, “I had that creature Rodney meet me there. I hid behind the first door, and when he started down to the interior door I whacked him with a weight from Joseph's gym. I know what you're thinking-how can an old fat lady like me hope to overpower a young man. I haven't always been this size. I used to play women's professional softball. It's how I hurt my hip.” She patted her ample midriff. “More of this is muscle than you probably think, and you know it doesn't really take a heavyweight to knock someone out if you hit them just so."
"And then he got an insulin overdose?"
"Well, yes,” Phyllis said. “One has to be sure they've done the job. And you know, they never look for insulin. It's real hard to detect. I put it in that big vein in his arm. I made a couple of extra holes so it would look more like he was a drug user. Fortunately, you've had so many injections from the hospital, one more will go unnoticed."
Harriet rubbed her thigh on the leg that had the sprained ankle as if she had a sudden cramp.
"Don't worry, honey, in a few minutes you won't feel that cramp or anything else."
Harriet knew she had to time her move perfectly. She was frantically looking for a distraction when Fred started scratching on the kitchen side of the connecting door. Phyllis looked briefly toward the door, and Harriet made her move. She grabbed the edge of the folded quilt and unfurled it, throwing it over Phyllis's head.
Phyllis made muffled sounds as Harriet sprang up from her chair and onto the quilt-wrapped woman, knocking her over.
"What's going on?” Jorge yelled as he rushed inside, throwing his bags of food to the floor and coming over to the women tangled in the quilt on the floor.
"She's trying to kill me,” Harriet yelled. “She's got a syringe."
Jorge grabbed the edge of the quilt and pulled it back, revealing Phyllis's angry face. Without hesitation and with a swing worthy of an Olympic boxer, he landed a punch square in her face, knocking her out and breaking her nose in the process. He flipped the quilt further back and kicked the syringe out of the unconscious woman's hand, crushing it under his boot.
"Are you okay?” he asked Harriet.
"I am now."