Quilt As Desired (13 page)

DeAnn brought out a plate of tea cookies she'd made. Robin carried them around to everyone, Connie following her with the tea carafe, refilling cups as needed.

"Harriet,” Robin said, “was that you I saw last night in a black Cadillac heading toward Smuggler's Cove?"

Harriet flushed. “Yes, it must have been.” She stumbled over her words. “I went to dinner at Pirate's Treasure down there."

"Don't make us beg, chiquita,” Connie said. “Spill it. Who was the guy?"

"And what is Pirate's Treasure?” Mavis asked.

Harriet wasn't used to discussing her private life in a group, but then, she hadn't made enough good friends in California to comprise a group.

"The man was Harold Minter. He's some kind of finance guy at The Vitamin Factory. I went to a Chamber of Commerce dinner with him in Avanell's place on Wednesday. A friend of his opened a new restaurant called Pirate's Treasure, and he wanted to try it out. He'd noticed my appreciation for good food and asked me if I'd like to go with him."

"And?” Connie said.

"And nothing,” Harriet said. “We ate, he brought me home, end of story."

"Are you going to see him again?” Connie pushed.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it,” she lied. She had thought about it. She imagined going out to delicious dinners and then going home to Harold's house and working differential equations together. A small part of her was attracted to the scenario.

She and Steve had shared a love of fine food, and the Bay area had no shortage of options. Their evenings were spent at bistros and cafes, dining rooms and trattorias enjoying beef Wellington and chicken cacciatore, pad Thai and provolone, all followed by rich wines, liqueurs and chocolate in every shape and form you could imagine—and some you couldn't. They would return home talking and laughing and collapse into bed, where they would make love until dawn.

What they hadn't shared was the knowledge Steve had a terminal disease.

Harriet knew she and Harold would never share a passion like she'd had with Steve; but then again, he would never be able to hurt her as deeply.

She shook her head. What was she thinking? She'd been on one date with the guy.

"Are you okay, honey?” Mavis asked and glared at Connie. “You want some more tea, or another cookie?"

"I'm fine,” Harriet said stiffly.

An awkward silence fell over the group. The women returned to their work, heads down, focused on the piles they were sorting. Harriet went upstairs to retrieve another box, and when she returned, she had the distinct impression a discussion had taken place in her absence.

"Anyone feel like pizza?” Mavis asked.

DeAnn sat back and looked at the piles on the table. “I hate to stop now. I feel like we're just getting rolling,” she said.

"I could go down to Mama Theresa's and pick up pizza for us to eat here,” Harriet volunteered.

"Are you sure you don't mind?” Jenny said.

"Not at all. I'll just bring another box down from the workroom first so you won't run out while I'm gone."

"That sounds like a plan,” Mavis said. “I'll call in our order while you're doing that."

Harriet got up, went down the dark hallway and climbed the steep stairs one more time. She started toward Avanell's workroom but found herself drawn to the tower room. She looked around, as if someone might have sneaked up behind her, then entered the round room.

With one more glance over her shoulder, she went to the desk and picked up the first stack of papers. She quickly ruffled through them. They seemed to be some sort of monthly balance sheet. She scanned the categories.

There seemed to be the usual ones you might expect to be associated with running a vitamin business. Raw materials purchases, labor expenses, utility costs, transportation payments were in one column, and payments for deliveries received in the other.

What didn't make sense was a series of write-offs that were taken each month. One month it was damaged goods, the next it was depreciated equipment. Every month had a write-off, and they were all five- or six-figure amounts. With those added to the mix, The Vitamin Factory was losing money at an alarming rate. No wonder Avanell had seemed troubled.

Harriet quickly scanned the other stack of papers. They were receipts for goods shipped. Without knowing more about the business, she couldn't tell if they were significant or not.

She set the papers back on the desk and tried to remember if they had been neatly aligned or not. She heard a noise and quickly arranged each stack then went into Avanell's workroom to get another box. She had just started for the stairs with a large plastic tub in her arms when her load was suddenly lightened.

"I'll get it,” Aiden said. “Mavis thought you might be lost, so I came to check."

"Very funny,” she retorted, trying to think of a reason she would have taken so long. “I was in the bathroom."

She hoped he hadn't been close enough to notice the lack of plumbing noises.

"Jenny said you were going to pick up pizza for the group. I didn't see your car out front. Were you going to walk?"

"I rode with Mavis and assumed I could take her car."

"That boat? Do you have your captain's license?"

She couldn't help smiling.

"How about I drive you?” he offered. “I need to stop by the clinic and pick up my schedule anyway. It'll only take a minute, and it's on the way."

He disappeared down a back set of stairs that must have been the servants’ route to the first floor. Harriet stopped in the upstairs parlor to collect her purse and get last-minute instructions from Jenny. She came down the main staircase but found the entry hall empty. A quick glance through the etched glass insert in the front door verified that Aiden hadn't gone out without her. His rental car was still in the driveway.

She paced the length of the foyer. The downstairs parlor was empty. Several doors opened off the entry on the opposite wall. The second one she passed was slightly ajar. She could hear raised voices coming from an interior room.

"You put Mom's house on the market without even telling me?” Aiden said. “She's not even buried yet, and you've scheduled an estate sale? What about Marcel? Does he know about this?"

She didn't hear the reply, but from what he said next, it sounded like Marcel did know.

"Were either of you going to tell me? Or was I just going to drive up one day and find my stuff gone and someone else living here?"

"Look, Aiden, you haven't been here. Don't play the injured party with me. You've been half a world away playing Dr. Dolittle while the business has been crumbling out from under us. Mom was going to have to sell the house anyway. And frankly, we need the estate sale to pay for the funeral. They want cash, and Mom doesn't have any. Uncle Bertie is barely keeping the business going while he looks for a qualified buyer. He can't help—he already sold his house. He and Sheryl are living in a two-bedroom apartment over Green's Tavern out on Shore Road."

"How could this happen?” Aiden demanded. “When I left we were getting quarterly payments that were substantial."

"Things change, little bro. That was three years ago. Have you looked at your statements lately? We haven't gotten anything in a year and a half. While you were off chasing Simba through the brush, Marcel was loaning Mom money so she could meet the payroll."

"What about the insurance money from Dad? And I know Mom had insurance. What about the money from Grandma Binoche?"

"Are you thick? It's gone,” Michelle said, her voice rising in pitch. “All of it—spent, borrowed against, gone."

"Everything?” Aiden said in a tone of disbelief.

"Not Grandma Binoche's money, but that didn't do Mom any good, because Grandma set it up so Mom couldn't touch it, so it doesn't matter. If you ask me, it's a good thing Mom died when she did."

"Shut up,” Aiden shouted. “Just shut up."

"Don't be naive. After Daddy died, Mom lived for The Vitamin Factory. It was failing, and she couldn't bear to go down with the ship."

"You're not trying to tell me she shot
herself
in the back of the head, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm just telling you how things are."

Harriet heard footsteps. She returned to the front door and was gazing out at the driveway when Aiden stormed into the entryway.

"Come on,” he said, and went out without waiting for her.

He climbed into a black Jeep Cherokee. Harriet got into the passenger seat, and he accelerated down the steep driveway as she buckled her seatbelt.

"Is everything okay? I mean, I know it isn't okay, but is there anything I can do?” Her words sounded false in her ears. She knew nothing she could say or do would change the pain he was feeling.

He pierced her with an icy glance but said nothing. They were off the hill and driving down Main Street before he spoke.

"I can't believe Mom's business could go into such a steep decline in just three years. Has the economy been that bad while I've been gone?"

"Things were slow when the dot-com bubble burst, but that's been more than three years ago. It's hard to imagine that would impact the vitamin business. I don't know what to tell you. Can you look at the company books?"

"Technically, I suppose I could—when my dad died he left us each a share of the company. His will stated we didn't get to participate in the management unless Mom became disabled or invited us to participate. Uncle Bertie has the other share of the company, though."

"Is that a problem?"

"Well, let's just say he and I aren't on the best of terms."

"You could do some research on the internet. I assume The Vitamin Factory was privately held, but you might be able to find a public competitor and get an idea of how the industry has been over the last few years."

She wanted to tell him he needed to look at some rather large losses the company had incurred over the last year, but she couldn't figure out a way to work it into the conversation.

"Could you talk to the family attorney?"

"Do you think he would tell me anything? I've had nothing to do with the business. And then there's confidentiality. Isn't that the excuse lawyers always use so they don't have to answer any uncomfortable questions?"

"He's your lawyer, too, though. That should count for something, shouldn't it?"

He pulled up in front of the Main Street Veterinary Clinic.

"Want to see where I'm going to work?” he asked, ending the discussion.

Harriet followed him around the building to a side door. They entered into what looked like the employee breakroom. A long wooden table was pushed against the wall with the street-side window. The opposite wall held a sink, microwave and two-burner stove.

They passed through into a hallway. Harriet's nose was immediately assaulted with the pungent odor of disinfectant.

One wall had doors spaced evenly along its length. Aiden went to the third door, opened it and entered. She followed him.

"This will be my office,” he said and spread his arms to indicate the small space. A scarred wooden desk dominated the room. A mismatched bookcase filled one wall, battered file cabinets the other.

"It's...” She paused searching for the right word. “Charming,” she finished.

His mouth curved into a wry smile.

"The low man on the totem pole gets the leftovers,” he said. “I have to pay my dues.” A few papers were scattered on the surface of the desk. He picked them up and looked at each one in turn. “I'll have to go up front. None of these are my schedule."

He led the way down the hallway and through another door into the front office and reception area.

"Aiden,” called a high-pitched voice from the waiting room. “Over here."

Harriet looked across the reception counter and saw Sarah Ness clutching a fabric-and-nylon-netting pet carrier containing a yowling cat. She was waving to Aiden.

He went to the counter. “Hi."

"I brought Rachel in to have her sneezing looked at. You said you weren't going to be here, so I made an appointment for her with Dr. Romig, but I have to wait because they are fitting her in. Can you examine her instead?"

Aiden looked around for help.

"I haven't really started working yet,” he began, but was interrupted by Helen Martin, the veterinary technician who ran patient intake.

"Dr. Romig's schedule is stacked, and it would be doing us all a favor if you could look at the cat.” Her expression finished the thought.

Aiden looked at Harriet.

"I'll call Mama Theresa's,” she said and pulled out her cell phone.

"Here, use ours,” Helen offered and pushed a desk phone toward her. “Come on back here, and I'll get you a lab coat and an exam room,” she said to Aiden, and took him through another door into the bowels of the clinic.

"What are you doing here?” Sarah asked as soon as Harriet hung the phone up.

"Aiden's giving me a ride to Mama Theresa's to pick up pizza. Some of the Loose Threads are going through Avanell's stash today, and I'm on a food run."

"Mavis left me a message, but I had a meeting."

Harriet decided not to point out that she wasn't in a meeting now.

"You certainly seem to be getting cozy with Avanell's son,” Sarah said.

"He just gave me a ride to get pizza, that's all."

"Oh, please. I saw the way you looked at him. Isn't he a little young?"

"I'm almost certain he's old enough to drive."

Whatever Sarah was about to reply was cut off by Helen. She opened a door labeled Exam Two and called Rachel's name. Sarah went into the room with her cat bag and shut the door.

Helen gave Harriet a copy of
Cat Fancier
magazine and led her back to the breakroom.

"That one's a piece of work,” she said and shook her head as she left for the front desk.

Aiden found Harriet fifteen minutes later.

"Let's get out of here before she comes up with something else."

"What was wrong with her cat?"

"As near as I can tell, the only thing wrong with that cat is her owner."

Harriet smiled. “So, what did you tell Sarah?"

"Oh, I told her to change to dust-free cat litter and to keep a journal of when her cat sneezes. She's to record all the environmental conditions every time Rachel makes a nasal noise. That ought to keep her busy for a while."