Make Quilts Not War (22 page)

Harriet added fruit to her plate and joined Lauren at one of the small tables.

“That was weird,” she said. “The big guy just asked me where Jenny was. He said they went to high school together.”

“If I’m not mistaken, those are prison tattoos on their arms.
And those teardrops by their eyes represent people they’ve murdered.”

Mavis filled her plate and pulled a chair up to Lauren and Harriet’s table.

“What are you two whispering about?” she asked.

“The big guy that’s slicing pork asked me where Jenny was. He said he went to high school with her.”

“Well, that sounds fishy, given she was schooled in the com
mune.”

“He asked me about Jenny, too,” Carla said. She’d just joined them. “He asked me if I knew the lady who had been wearing the afro.”

“What did you say?” Harriet asked.

“I told him I didn’t know who he was talking about, and that lots of people were wearing afro wigs at this event.”

“Good girl,” Harriet said.

Several of the singers brought their plates to the next table and sat down, ending the conversation.

Twenty minutes passed before Skeeter came back to escort them to their next backstage activity.

“You ladies ready to meet the man?” he asked.

“I have a question,” Harriet said. “Who are those two guys
carv
ing the meat? They don’t seem like your usual food service work
ers.”

“And they were asking a lot of questions,” Mavis added.

Skeeter glared at the two men then turned back to Harriet.

“Since Colm’s made it big he’s tried to hire people who couldn’t get a job otherwise. I’m sure you wouldn’t be surprised to find out these two have done time. They usually do more physical labor, but our regular cook got hurt, so the kitchen helpers had to step in, and we had to move those two up. I thought they could handle it, but I guess not.”

He glanced at his watch.

“We better move. Colm will meet you in his dressing room. But we’ve got to swing back by the front entrance to gather up some folks who won backstage visits in a radio contest.”

The newcomers wore red passes with the radio station’s call letters around their necks, apparently denoting their lesser status. When they returned backstage, Colm Byrne and his band members sat at a table in the main passageway. The radio station bunch was ushered to the table while Skeeter sent the Threads into what turned out to be Colm’s dressing room.

A large bowl of fresh fruit sat in the middle of a table on one wall. To the left of the fruit, bottles of water stuck out of a large tin wash bucket that was half-full of crushed ice. To the right, a ceramic bowl was filled with dark chocolate truffles.

“Make yourself at home,” Skeeter said and shut the door as he left.

Harriet immediately made a move toward the truffle bowl.

“You don’t have to ask me twice when it comes to chocolate.”

She selected a truffle with a pink dot of hard frosting on its top. Mavis joined her and selected one with a sprinkle of large salt crystals.

“Somehow I thought they’d have beer and chips for snacks,” she said.

“When they were younger, they probably did eat like that,”
Lauren said. “I read an article on the Internet that said the groups that survived the sixties and still are active have learned to live a healthier life. Ozzy Osbourne travels with a personal trainer!”

“Wow,” Carla said.

“Are you ladies enjoying your tour?” Colm Byrne asked as he joined them

“We definitely like the chocolates,” Harriet said.

Colm went to the bowl and selected a truffle.

“Our nutritionist only lets us have them on performance days.”

“We were just talking about how healthy your snacks are,”
Lauren said.

“We’ve been in the game a long time,” he said with a smile. “We
have to use every trick in the book to keep up with the younger
guns.” He stepped over to an electric kettle sitting on his dressing table and began preparing a cup of peppermint tea laced with honey. “I hope I can trust you ladies not to let out my secret weapon.” He held up his teacup.

“Our lips are sealed,” Mavis said.

“When I met you ladies the other day, I thought there were
more of you. Are some of your group not fans?” Colm asked.

“Some people had better things to do,” Lauren said.

“Ouch,” he said with a smile.

“What my friend meant to say is that some of our group had obligations in other areas of the festival,” Harriet said. “My aunt, for one, will be helping serve food during your intermission.”

“How did the festival end up landing a big act like yours for our little event?” Lauren asked sweetly.

“We like to get back to our roots once in a while. We used to play small festivals in Ireland when we were starting out. We had some time off a couple of months ago and saw the notice that you were looking for a band. It sounded fun, so I called my buddy Jerry to see if we could get in.”

“Did you meet Jerry in Ireland?” Harriet asked.

“That I did,” Colm said. “That I did.”

“Everyone is happy to have a big name like you. We’ll probably get a lot of out-of-town people tonight,” Mavis said.

“I had them save front-row seats for you for the performance. The radio people will be behind you. Skeeter will come get you in a few minutes. We’ll have a couple of sets by the local bands before I come out. I hope you enjoy the show.”

“Thank you so much,” Carla said, blushing furiously.

“Are you the young lady who’s never been to a show before?”

Carla was so starstruck all she could do was nod her head. Colm
opened a drawer in his dressing table and pulled out a colorful
scarf.

“These are my trademark,” he said and handed it to Carla.

“Thank you so much,” she stammered and carefully took the
scarf from his hands.

Mavis wound it around Carla’s neck, crossing it into a loose knot at her throat. Carla thanked Colm again, and then Skeeter came into the room and led them to the front row of the auditorium. The seats were roped off, including the ones that would have been Robin’s and Jenny’s.

“I’m going to the restroom one last time,” Harriet said.

“Take Lauren with you, and when you get back, Carla and I will go,” Mavis instructed.

Harriet was standing outside the restroom door waiting for Lauren when Tom approached her.

“Hey,” he said. “You here for the concert?”

“Not only am I here, I have front-row seats.”

“Did the organizers feel sorry for you?” he asked with a smile.

“No, we actually had these tickets before I got hurt.”

“Did you charm Mister Byrne out of them?”

“Actually, we performed a service for him—and not the one you’re thinking of. His stage manager asked us to sit and listen while they adjusted the sound and lights for the smaller venue.”

“That’s lucky. I paid twenty-five dollars for my ticket at the vendor’s rate, and I’m halfway back.”

“Come sit with us,” Harriet said.

“How can I do that? I heard it’s a sellout.”

“Jenny and Robin decided to stay home at the last minute. We have their passes.”

“In that case, I’d be happy to join you,” Tom said and smiled at her.

They waited for Lauren then went back to their seats, guarding purses while Mavis and Carla had their turn powdering their noses. Then the show began.

The first act was the Simon and Garfunkle tribute trio, consisting of two men and a woman. The men were deft guitarists, and with the woman to cover the higher ranges, they were able to sing credible versions of “Sounds of Silence,” “Scarborough Fair,” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” The Four Tops send-up group sang “I Can’t Help Myself,” which was the song most people knew of as “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch,” and finished with “Reach Out, I’ll be There.”

The background band played a musical interlude while the stage was reset, and then the man himself walked out on stage, guitar in hand.

Colm played a medley of songs, starting with the ballad “Roses are Red (My Love),” an old Bobby Vinton song, and several others from the early sixties. Harriet couldn’t have told anyone what else he played. Mavis and Carla were clapping and, in Mavis’s case, singing along. Lauren had her smartphone concealed by her leg and was looking something up. Tom seemed to be listening, but Harriet was mentally reviewing what had been going on for the last few days.

The police were treating the shooting, the tire-slashing, her acid attack and Bobby’s killing as if they were four coincidental but separate incidents, but it didn’t seem likely to Harriet. Their festival was too small to have so many unless they were related. And Jenny seemed to be at the center of it all.

Before she realized it, Tom had taken her hand and was urging her to her feet.

“It’s intermission,” he whispered into her ear. “You were a million miles away—want to tell me where?”

“Not here,” she murmured.

“We’re going to the restrooms and then maybe check out the food,” Harriet told Carla and Mavis.

“We’re going to go find a band T-shirt for Carla,” Mavis said. “After all, she needs something to commemorate her first-ever rock concert.” She beamed at her.

“I’m going to the bathroom with them,” Lauren said, gesturing toward Harriet and Tom. Mavis glared at her but didn’t say anything.

Tom led Harriet and Lauren out of their row and into the main aisle.

“I presume we aren’t really going to the restrooms,” he said
when
they were far enough from Mavis and Carla they wouldn’t be
heard.

“No, we are not,” Harriet said.

“I knew it,” Lauren said. “Are we going backstage?”

“No. I think with all the extra security Colm has in place, we wouldn’t get very far. We’re going to see if Jenny’s quilt is still at her display. If it is, we’re going to see if we can figure out what’s inside it besides batting.”

“I thought they closed the exhibit during the concert,” Lauren
said.

“They did, but only for the general public. Those of us with vendor badges can get in,” Harriet informed her.

“What about those of us without a badge?” Tom asked.

“I’ll wave this,” Harriet lifted her bandaged arm. “I’ll tell them I need you to carry something for me. We can grab something from my booth if we need to.”

“Time’s a-wasting, kids,” Lauren said and then led the way out of the auditorium and toward the exhibit hall.

The attendant opened the exhibit hall door and waved them in, barely glancing at Harriet’s proffered badge. They started down the main aisle, but Harriet stopped, putting a finger to her lips. She waved them down a side aisle then stopped to listen. She could hear muffled voices at the back of the hall.

They made their way slowly toward Jenny’s stage, stopping at every aisle to look and listen before advancing. The quilts hanging in almost every vendor booth limited their visibility.

“Look, Jonquil, we just want our money,” a deep male voice
said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jenny said, “and I don’t know who Jonquil is. Is this some sort of joke?”

“Don’t give me that,” the man said. “You and Paisley are the
only ones who got away.”

They heard the sound of scuffling, and then a woman
screamed.

Harriet rushed down the aisle, followed by Tom, stopping abruptly when they reached Jenny’s stage. Lauren cut down the last side row and disappeared. The two cooks from the buffet were restraining Jenny and Robin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harriet yelled at them. “Let them go.”

“I suppose you’re going to make me,” the white-haired guy said.

Tom came up behind Harriet.

“Oh, are you the muscle for the ladies?” White Hair said.

“Let them go,” Harriet repeated.

The smaller man looked at his partner. He was clearly not prepared for an audience.

In that moment both men looked at each other at the same time, Lauren came out from behind the black curtain where Jenny’s quilt had hung. She jumped from the raised stage, kicking the big guy in the back of his knees as she landed. Before the gray-haired man could move, Tom did a sweeping karate kick that knocked him to the floor. Lauren hit White Hair with a punch to the kidney, dropping him to the floor.