Make Quilts Not War (9 page)

“I’m sure she’s upset,” DeAnn said. “Did she know the woman very well?”

“She says not,” Harriet answered. “But then as soon as we were outside, she took off. And Mavis says her husband is out of town, so she’s going to an empty house.”

“If she’s
going
home,” Robin said thoughtfully. “Why would she run off like that if she didn’t know the woman? I mean, I’m sure any of us would be upset if someone we worked with was shot, but we’d want to talk it over with the rest of the group, not run away.”

“Maybe she’s worried that she was the intended victim,” Harriet suggested. “It was
her
quilt, after all, so most people who had seen the advertising would expect that she’d be the one talking about it, especially on the first night.”

“She’s been acting weird ever since the committee first asked if they could feature her quilt,” Lauren pointed out.

“I agree,” Robin said. “Her reaction to being asked was way off. Think about it. What would you say if they had asked you for one of your first quilts? It might not be comparable to something you’d make now, but would it freak you out?”

“Good point,” Harriet said. “But who knows what memories that particular quilt might hold for her. Maybe her dead mother helped her make it.”

“Or she cried on it when her first boyfriend dumped her,”
Lauren added with enthusiasm. Or—”

“We get the idea,” DeAnn said, cutting Lauren off. “But even if that was the case, it’s been—what?—forty, forty-five years since that quilt was made? How upset can you still be over a lost boyfriend?”

“We aren’t going to get any answers standing here,” Robin said. “I’m going to swing by home and make sure things are under control. I’ll come by after that.”

“Me, too,” DeAnn said. “David is with the kids, but I should
check in if I’m going to be gone longer than I told him.”

“I’ve got to wait until they close the vendor hall so my stuff will be secure,” Harriet said. “Let yourself in if you get there before me.” She had changed the locks on her house after it became apparent that Aunt Beth and her friends had given keys to half of Foggy Point when Beth had owned the house. Several of the Loose Threads had keys to the new locks; the rest used a key hidden under the planter box next to the door.

“So, what do you really think is going on?” Lauren asked
Harriet when DeAnn and Robin had left.

“I don’t know.”

“But if you had to guess…”

“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say Jenny knows something she’s not telling the rest of us.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. I have no idea what that could be, but there’s something there.”

“Do you know how long she’s lived in Foggy Point?”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t. I just assumed she was descended from a serving wench on Cornelius Fogg’s pirate ship, like almost everyone else in town.”

“She talks about her son and daughter-in-law a lot, and I know her son went to school with Aiden.” Harriet’s stomach spasmed at the mention of Aiden’s name, and she tried to block the flood of emotion that came with it.

“You’re pathetic,” Lauren said and shook her head.

“What?” Harriet felt her face coloring as she said it.

“It’s like junior high with you and He Who Shall Apparently Not Be Named Without You Getting All Weepy. You need to work on shielding your emotions a little better if you don’t want to share all with the Threads.”

“Thanks for the advice. I suppose you’re an expert?”

“The fact that you don’t know tells you that I am. At least as far as blocking emotions goes.”

She had a point, Harriet thought. She had no clue about Lau
ren’s love life.

“Back to the topic at hand,” Lauren continued. “I can do some
digging on the computer after our meeting. Maybe I can find
some-thing.”

A woman wearing a pink T-shirt with
she
who dies with the most
fabric wins emblazoned across the chest in purple came up and
asked about Harriet’s long-arm quilting service, ending the discussion.

T
here
were several cars
parked
at Harriet’s house when she pulled into her garage, but her aunt’s silver Beetle was not among them.

“Beth decided to stop by Jenny’s house and try to get her to come here with her,” Mavis explained when Harriet came into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind I’m making coffee and tea.”

“Of course not, you know you don’t need to ask.”

“Do you have anything we could put out for people to nibble on?”

“I have hummus and could cut up some veggies.”

Mavis looked at her over the top of the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Or I have some brownies in the freezer. It would only take a minute to thaw them in the microwave.”

“That would do nicely,” Mavis said and continued putting coffee into the filter basket on the coffee machine.

“Does anyone know the woman who was shot?” Robin was asking when Harriet entered her studio carrying a plate of warm brownies and a stack of paper napkins.

Carla and Connie shook their heads no.

“She used to come in the video store,” DeAnn said, referring to her family’s business. “I haven’t seen her lately, but then again, I haven’t been working much since we got Kissa.”

DeAnn and her husband had adopted a baby girl the previous fall and that, along with her two sons’ activities, meant she was too busy to help out at the store on a regular basis.

“I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary. She generally rented from the new-arrivals shelf,” She shrugged. “Not that movie habits tell you anything.”

No one else knew Pamela, and the group sat, each one lost in her own thoughts, as Harriet carried the brownie plate to each one in turn, handing out a napkin as she went.

Mavis came in with the coffee carafe a moment later.

“This is decaf, and there’s hot water in the teapot if anyone prefers that,” Mavis said as she filled cups and handed them around.

The outside studio door opened, and Aunt Beth came in fol
lowed by Jenny. Harriet got up and took their coats, while Mavis handed them cups of hot coffee. Connie pulled two more chairs into the loose circle they had formed in the middle of the studio space.

“Did Jorge sell a lot of food?” Mavis asked.

“He did okay,” Beth answered. “Most people left early.”

The group fell silent again.

“Jenny,” Aunt Beth began, “can you tell us what’s got you so rattled?”

“A woman was killed tonight,” Jenny said, her voice tight.

“Everyone knows how upsetting that is,” Harriet said. “But if I understood you right, you didn’t even know her.”

“If you had come five minutes later, that could have been me.”

“Or the killer could have had to wait five more minutes,”
Harriet
said gently. “If you didn’t know Pamela, how do you know she
wasn’t the intended target?”

“I don’t, I suppose.”

“Would you like us to contact your husband?” Mavis asked.

“He and Mark are on a hunting trip in Africa. They’ve been
planning it for two years. I’m not going to interrupt them for this. I’m just a little shaken. I’ll be fine after I’ve had time to process this and rest a little.”

Robin had been silently studying Jenny, Harriet noticed. As a
lawyer, she had probably had more experience deciphering whether people were being truthful or not.

“When I was in law school,” Robin finally said, “we had a class on body language. You know, to help us tell if a witness was being truthful or not.”

“I am not some kind of criminal,” Jenny snapped and started to rise.

Mavis stilled her with her hand.

“I’m sure that’s not what Robin is saying,” she said.

“Actually, I’m not saying you’re a criminal,” Robin said to Jenny, “But I am saying you’re not being truthful. We’re not the police, and I’m not your attorney—we’re your friends. If you’re in some kind of trouble, maybe we can help you. We can’t do anything if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jenny said.

“That I believe,” Robin said.

“There must be something that’s got you spooked,” Harriet
said.

“It’s the clothes,” Jenny finally said, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“The clothes?” Harriet echoed.

Aunt Beth got up and crossed to Harriet’s desk, where she
picked
up a box of tissues and brought it back, plucking out two and
pressing them into Jenny’s hand.

“I had an outfit very like the one I was wearing tonight,” Jenny began. Harriet noticed for the first time that she had changed from her sixties outfit into a silver velour jogging suit.

“And?” Lauren prompted.

“And I hope you all will still want to be my friends after I tell you all this.”

“You know there is nothing you can say that will cause us to not be your friends,” Mavis assured her.

“I’ve been lying to you all for a very long time.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Not exactly lying, but being dishonest, all the same. I’ve let you believe certain things and not corrected you when you came to the wrong conclusions. In fact, I led you there.”

“Honey, you’re going to have to tell us a little more than that,” Mavis said.

“I know, I’m sorry, I–it’s just hard after all this time.” Jenny sipped her coffee, stalling. “I’m not from Foggy Point.”

“Well, that’s hardly a crime,” Lauren said.

“I’ve lived here for some time, but not as long as I’ve let you believe. I didn’t graduate from the University of Wisconsin. In fact, I didn’t graduate from anywhere—not even high school. At least, not in the normal sense.

“I grew up in a commune in Georgeville, Minnesota. It was
started by a couple of assistant professors from Smith College. They’d been fired for their liberal views so they ‘tuned in, turned on and dropped out,’ as the saying went back then. They did value education, so we were educated, but they didn’t believe in ‘the man,’ or ‘the system,’ so we were never tested by the state or given real diplomas.”

“Who were ‘we?’” Harriet asked.

“All of us at the commune who were school-aged. I thought I’d put that time of my life behind me years ago. I moved on. I have a
wonderful husband and son. I don’t like thinking about those
times.”
She started crying again. “This whole festival has brought it all
back.”

“Honey,” Mavis said in a soothing voice, “nothing you’ve told us is anything to be ashamed of. That all happened a long time ago; it’s not who you are today. You’re right. You have a wonderful family and a group of friends who care a lot about you.”

“You still haven’t told us anything about why you would think that bullet had your name on it,” Harriet said.

“Shush,” Aunt Beth told her. “Jenny is upset enough. We don’t need to hear anything else tonight.”

Harriet looked at Lauren. She could see there were at least two people in the room who wanted to hear more tonight. But then, maybe that was because they were the two who had seen Jenny step past Pamela’s body as though it didn’t exist.

“Is there anything about your time living in the commune that would cause you to worry about our festival forty some years later?” Robin asked.

“No,” Jenny said.

Harriet looked at Lauren and could tell they were thinking the same thing. You didn’t have to be a lawyer or a body language expert to tell Jenny was still lying.

“Did you sign up any new customers?” Aunt Beth asked
Harriet, ending any further discussion of Jenny’s past.

Harriet gave a detailed accounting of her time in the booth,
complemented by snide observations from Lauren. Robin and DeAnn told them about the customers they’d helped, but it was clear the Loose Threads were only half-listening.

Harriet was still thinking about Jenny’s commune revelation. She wondered if she’d be more shocked about it if she’d come of age in the sixties. She just couldn’t understand why Jenny was acting like being raised in a commune was such a horrible stigma.

“I told Jorge I’d help him dip more Twinkies in chocolate in the morning before the festival opens, so I better get going,” Aunt Beth said finally. “Are you ready to leave?” she asked Jenny.

Harriet was pretty sure Jenny’d been ready to leave since before she arrived.

The group all assured her they supported her and loved her, and they each gave her a hug before she made her way out the door, followed by Beth.

“Anyone else think she’s lying through her teeth?” Lauren asked when the door was closed again.

“Lying might be too strong a word,” Robin said, “but I agree—she’s still holding something back. And I don’t for a second think she’s just embarrassed about her educational background.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up on the Internet,” Lauren said.

“Her quilt doesn’t look like the rest of the quilts on display,”
Carla said, her cheeks turning red. “I mean, it sort of does, but that big piece in the middle doesn’t.”

“Quilters have always made use of recycled fabric,” Mavis
pointed out. “In pioneer days, people used their worn-out clothes to make quilts because they had limited access to fabric, but after the Depression was past, I think people did it as a way of remembering favorite clothes, often from their childhood. In the sixties, people were just starting to rediscover the idea of recycling. The center of Jenny’s quilt looks like men’s shirts did back then.”

“I still don’t get why she’s so weird about that quilt,” Lauren
said.

“If Jenny lived on a commune back then, who knows what sort of memories it brings up,” Mavis said.

“Yeah,” Connie added. “There were communes…and then
there
were communes, and that’s probably still the case today. I don’t
want to talk out of turn, but a lot of them were also cults.”

“Do they even
have
communes today?” Harriet asked.

“People still live in group settings, but I don’t think they call them communes anymore,” Robin answered.