The Friendship Star Quilt (5 page)

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The two blocks back to The Stitching Post seemed much shorter to Anne than the trip to the bank had been.

She used her key to unlock the shop's entrance then quickly slipped inside. Not wanting to turn on the lights when she was only passing through the room on her way to Myra's office in the back, she used a tiny penlight on her key chain to guide her steps. Once she reached the office, Anne flipped on the wall switch then put the bag with her leftovers in the small refrigerator just outside the door. Mario's rigatoni would be delicious warmed up for her lunch the next day.

Now it was time for business. Anne hung up her jacket then settled into the desk chair. She jiggled the computer's wireless mouse the way Myra had showed her to “wake up” the monitor and get to the password screen. Anne didn't have a computer of her own or an email account; she used one of the shop's generic email IDs (StitchPost1) to order supplies, answer customer email inquiries, and stay in touch with Myra, who used the shop's other ID. Anne was grateful her boss let her use the business computer for her occasional personal business, too. She just insisted the sites visited had to be secure to avoid hackers.

That was no problem. The site Anne checked, OTIS, was the Offender Tracking Information System set up by the Michigan Department of Corrections. Definitely safe, in fact, one might say it had maximum security. Ever since Jeffrey's trial, Anne had checked it religiously at least once a week. However, after Kirstie's mention of the prison break in Jackson, Anne had started to check OTIS every day just to keep tabs on her ex. She loved the new life she was building for herself in lovely little Grandville. Her biggest fear was her past life might catch up with her one day and ruin everything. As long as Jeffrey remained behind bars, the odds of it happened were minimal.

Relieved when she found no change in Jeffrey's status, Anne made a quick search of the Detroit newspaper websites, scanning every mention of his wealthy family. Seeing nothing more than the usual social tidbits, Anne cleared her browsing history, emptied the cache then shut down the computer for the night. She hadn't realized how tense she'd been until her muscles protested when she rose from the chair and reached for her jacket.
A nice soak in a warm bath will take care of those,
she thought as she tidied up the little office and turned off the lights.

In the back hall, she arranged her key ring in her hand the way the instructors in her self-defense classes had taught. With the sharp ends of the keys extended outward between her fingers for protection, she opened the door. The security light came on as soon as she stepped onto the small porch. It remained lit long after she had crossed the back parking lot and made her way down the street to the narrow, two-family home where she lived on the top floor.

Anne had been so excited to find a place to rent so near to The Stitching Post. Even better, Myra was friends with Helyn, the elderly owner of the house. Anne had been touched when Myra phoned the woman to vouch for Anne. Her new landlady assured Anne the recommendation from the shop owner eliminated any need for a credit check. Anne had been relieved. She'd worried an inquiry would be a flag Jeffrey could trace later to find her. With that avoided, she'd settled happily into the cozy apartment. It was small, but the location fit her needs perfectly. To make it even better, there was a private outside entrance as well as one through the front of the house. Two exits always made Anne feel safer.

Frost had glazed the wooden steps in the morning when Anne left for work, but they were dry now. She hurried up them, let herself inside her kitchen door then quickly set the deadbolt. Holding her keys like a weapon again, she flipped on lights as she went through to her cozy sitting room. She checked the front door to make sure it was still securely locked, too. Only then did she kick off her shoes and put her jacket away in the coat closet. In stocking feet, she returned to the kitchen and took a pitcher of water from her refrigerator. The nearly empty shelves made her grimace. Some wilted lettuce, a carton of milk nearing its expiration date, a few condiments, a package of cheese, and a small container with leftovers of the taco pie Sue had brought by the shop on Saturday. As Anne heated water for a cup of tea, she decided a trip to a Meijer superstore for a few groceries had to go on her schedule and soon.

Money was no problem. Her rent was modest and she'd been able to save most of her salary each payday. She just hated to spend any of it except for absolute necessities. Anne wanted to have a healthy nest egg ready in case she had to flee again. However, she certainly didn't want her customers to think she was starving or— Heaven forbid—that Myra wasn't paying her enough. Nothing could be further from the truth. The Stitching Post's owner had been more than generous, even leaving Anne her car to use while she and her husband Ed were in Florida on their vacation.

When the tea pot whistled, Anne poured a cup and set it aside to steep while she changed her clothes and settled in for the night. Normally, she spent her evenings reading one of the various quilting publications the shop sold, scanning them for projects to recommend to customers or items she could make for displays. Sometimes, she read sewing magazines, too, in order to keep up with fashion trends and new products on the market. But tonight, she had other reading waiting for her.

The library had held a big sale over the weekend, and Anne had visited it on the final day when the organizers were eager to clear the tables. For just a dollar, she'd been able to fill an entire paper grocery sack with novels by several of her favorite romance authors. The treasure trove, now neatly arranged on a bookshelf in her bedroom, would keep her entertained for several months. The woman working at the sale had encouraged Anne to apply for a library card, but Anne had firmly declined. She avoided having her name on accounts of any kind… even one as seemingly innocent as a library membership.

Accounts left paper trails. Trails Jeffrey, with his connections, might be able to use one day to find her. She realized she was being paranoid, but she refused to lower her guard. Experience had taught her it was too dangerous to ever lessen her vigilance. She'd take every necessary precaution to avoid being located. If it meant she had to pay cash for everything and live her life with a packed suitcase in her closet, so be it. She accessed the Internet only on the store's computer, refused to create a personal email account even on one of the “free” Internet providers. She had no bank accounts and no bills. Her rent included her utilities, and she paid it in cash on the first of every month. Myra had agreed to give Anne her wages in cash, too, once Anne confided in her about the situation. The kindly shop owner had recorded Anne's social security number for tax purposes but assured Anne no one else would have access to the information as she did her own bookkeeping.

For almost two years now, this had been Anne's reality. She lived quietly in Grandville and kept to herself. She still blessed the stroke of providence which had brought her to The Stitching Post. When she'd left Jeffrey, she'd fled to the Grand Rapids area, hoping to lose herself in the thriving city. Wanting to lay low, she'd needed to find a temporary shelter off the beaten path while she checked out living and employment opportunities. Renting a room by the week at a small bed and breakfast in Grandville, she'd been able to avoid showing her ID and could pay cash for the room. Her first day in town, she'd spotted the quilt shop on her way to lunch.

The Stitching Post had reminded Anne of similar places she'd visited with her grandmother over the years. Suddenly overwhelmed by nostalgia, she'd gone inside and wandered through the displays of folded fabric, bolts of colorful calico, and shelves filled with every sort of quilting accessory imaginable. Somehow, she'd gotten into a conversation about quilting and quilt shows with the owner. At the end of the chat, Myra had offered her a job. It had been an unexpected blessing, and Anne had quickly accepted the offer.

Since then, The Post had become almost her whole world. Anne often pretended the quilters, who came on Tuesdays, were actually her friends and not merely customers. She felt safe with them, and they offered some normalcy to her life for the short period she was with them each week. With them, she could sew, chat, and listen to the stories they shared about their homes and their families.

Home and family. Those were the two things Anne knew she could never have while living “under the radar.” Watching other people actually get to live their lives was the absolute pits.

Well, there's no sense wishing for things that can't be changed
, she thought as she went to pour a bubble bath in the old-fashioned, claw-footed tub. She was alive and safe. She had her cozy apartment, her job, and enough money stashed in a shoebox in the bottom of the closet to take off at a moment's notice if she had to do so. Until the day came, she'd relax in a nice, warm bubble bath with one of the romances she'd bought and soak until she became tired enough to sleep.

However, even after climbing into her cozy four-poster bed later that night, Anne couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about the adorable little girl she'd met the week before and the child's attractive father. Jennie and Brad Carmichael.

She certainly hoped she'd see more of them.