Make Quilts Not War (31 page)

“It
was
a festival weekend, though,” Colm countered. “More than one person may have thought that having a crowd of strangers in town would provide good cover for whatever they wanted to do.”

“We’re a small community. We can’t go creeping around being afraid of our own shadows. I won’t live that way. We’ll figure out what happened.”

“Be careful,” he said and pointed to her arm. “Justice is one thing, but personal safety is as important.”

“No one is interested in me,” Harriet said, lifting her burned arm. “I’m convinced this is the result of one crazy woman and her own personal demons. It was just chance that I was standing on the stage with the quilt when she took action.”

“Do you think the local police have the resources to keep you safe with a killer on the loose?”

“They’re a small force, but diligent. I doubt they’d turn down
any offers of money, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’ve already brought in extra security, and giving your folks
money won’t help the immediate problem.”

“How did you end up with those two ex-cons who attacked my friends?” Harriet asked.

“That’s my fault. Well, Sean’s and my fault. After all these years, and everything we’ve seen, we can still be naive at times,” Colm said. “I had this idea that folks who come out of prison end up offending again for simple lack of a job. The band and I decided we were going to take a leap of faith and hire nonviolent ex-offenders for our road crew. Most of the time, it works out—Skeeter’s evidence of that. But as your friend saw, sometimes we end up with people who aren’t ready to be rehabilitated.”

“At least you’re trying to make the world a better place,” Harriet said.

“I hope you and your friends will accept our apologies.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Mavis called from the kitchen, ending their discussion.

“This looks great,” Colm said as he sat down opposite Harriet and Mavis at the dining room table.

Mavis had heated some minestrone soup from a can and made grilled cheese sandwiches. She’d also cut up celery and carrots and put them on a plate with green olives and dill pickle spears.

“We have a cook, and with the exception of concert day, when they put on a show for the backstage guests, she only makes what our nutritional consultant tells her to. At our ages, it’s the only way we can stay in the game. Sometimes I think if I eat any more skinless chicken I’m going to start clucking.”

“I hear you. My aunt sort of plays that role for me.”

“I thought you rock stars got to dictate a long list of must-haves in your dressing room—blue Skittles, brown M-and-Ms, some exotic brand of bottled water that no one’s ever heard of,” Mavis said.

“I’m sure some bands take advantage of their hosts, but most people put those detailed snack requirements at the bottom of the contract so they can tell quickly if the right people read the whole thing. We all have very specialized electronics in order to produce all the effects we use on stage—video equipment, lifts in the middle of the stage, pyrotechnics, you name it. If you walk in the dressing room and see the big bowl of blue Skittles sitting next to the brown M-and-Ms, then you know they paid attention and probably did all the wiring correctly, too. We, of course, check it out, but it gives us a clue what we’ll be dealing with.”

“How very clever,” Mavis said.

“Can I help you wash the dishes?” Colm asked Mavis when they had all finished eating. “It’s hard to believe, but it really is nice to do ordinary tasks. It gets tiresome having people wanting to do everything for you. Not for who you are, but for who you are, if that makes any sense.”

“Help yourself,” Mavis said. “Harriet’s not going to be able to help you, if you were hoping to have some one-on-one time. She needs to lie down again.”

“I do want some one-on-one time, m’lady—with you,”

“I bet you tell that to all the girls,” Mavis answered, but Harriet noticed her cheeks were ever-so-slightly pink.

“Thanks for staying to have dinner with us,” Harriet said. She stood up and started toward the stairs.

“Can I come see you in the morning before we leave town? I’ll bring something my nutritionist doesn’t approve of,” Colm said with a devilish smile. He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

Harriet mentally reminded herself that she already had too many men in her life.

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “What time should I expect you?”

“Is eight too early?”

“Eight sounds perfect.”

He stood and came to her, grasping her good hand and raising it to his lips. He went to Mavis and repeated the performance.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he said to her and headed for the kitchen.

“He’s a charmer,” Mavis said when he was gone, “but he does
wash a mean dish.”

Harriet looked at her, and they both laughed. They were once again upstairs in the TV room.

“He does seem a little slick, but I’ll eat food made by his trainer if he talks to me with that accent.”

“Forget the food,” Mavis said. “I’d pay him to sit there and read the phone book.”

Harriet laughed.

“I’m surprised we haven’t heard from Aunt Beth.”

“I’m not. While you were sleeping and everyone was packing up the booths and displays, Jenny and Lauren came to help, and then Jenny said she needed to talk to us all. They were going to Jorge’s place. Jenny told me that you could tell me what she’d told you and Lauren. Lauren has your stuff in her car, by the way. She said to tell you she’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“We better make some hot cocoa, because her story is going to take a while.”

Harriet was tired by the time she finished telling Mavis what she now believed was the true story of Jenny’s life before Foggy Point.

“The problem,” she said, “is that it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who killed Pamela or Bobby or even who slashed Jenny’s tires. We can assume it was someone associated with the robbery, but who?”

“Sounds like there are more than a few choices. I’d imagine any of the people who got shot, went to jail or both could be contenders. So, how can we figure it out?” Mavis asked.

“Lauren is going to see if she can track each of the players, but she’s not holding out much hope. It’s likely that more than one person changed their identity as effectively as Jenny did.”

“I don’t like feeling so helpless like this,” Mavis complained. “We don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

“You can stay here with me if you’re worried. Nothing’s going to happen to me as long as you-all have me on house arrest.”

“I guess we can hope Detective Morse and her bunch will do their jobs and solve the case.”

“I like Jane, but I’m not holding my breath on this one,” Harriet said.

“Now, honey, you know she’s doing the best she can on a shoestring budget and her having to stay within the bounds of the law all the time.”

“I guess.”

“Would you like some help getting in your jammies?”

Harriet would never have admitted it if Lauren had been there, but she really did need help.

“That would be great,” she said and followed Mavis across the hall to her bedroom.

Harriet woke to the sound of her cell phone buzzing on her
nightstand. She saw the image of Carla holding Wendy on
the screen and grabbed it, swiping to connect the call.

“Hey,” she said.

“Is it too early?”

“No, my alarm was about to go off.”

“I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

“Colm Byrne is bringing me breakfast.”

“Wow, that’s exciting,” Carla said.

“I guess. But enough about me. What did you want to talk
about so badly we’re doing this at seven in the morning?”

“It’s Aiden,” she said. “He wants me to move home. I mean, to his home.”

“What do
you
want to do?”

“I want all this business with Michelle to never have happened,” she said.

“I’m sure, but what do you want to do now, in the real world?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Carla said. “I’ve spent a lot of time making bad choices and being everyone’s doormat. I don’t want Wendy to think it’s okay for people to treat you bad, and then you respond by asking them to do it again.”

“So, you don’t want to go back to Aiden’s?”

“No, I do want to go back to Aiden’s, but how do I without it being him taking advantage of me again?”

“That’s a tough one,” Harriet said. “You’re sure you want to go back?”

“Our time at Aiden’s was the first time in Wendy’s life that I
didn’t have to worry where her next meal was coming from. And I liked the idea of being able to stay in one place for a while.”

“It’s not being weak wanting to provide a better life for your child. Maybe you need to talk it out with Aiden. Tell him what you just told me. Let him know how he made you feel. Let him know that if you come back, it can’t be like it was, with him letting his sister or anyone else treat you like that.”

“Won’t he fire me for being too demanding?”

“He needs you more than you need him,” Harriet told her.

“That’s not true,” Carla protested. “He has everything.”

“He has everything
material
. The only reason his sister could influence him like she did was because he’s lonely or emotionally fragile or something. He’s suffered a lot of loss this last year.”

“Including you?” Carla asked softly.

“That was his doing. I guess I’m in the same spot you are. Mi
chelle has been our only real problem. I just worry that, if he
ditched me so easily when his sister went off the rails, what else might do it?”

“Maybe he’s right. If either of us had a sister, maybe we’d understand why he’ll move heaven and earth to help her. Maybe she is a one-off, and nothing else would cause him to treat us so badly,” Carla said.

“Or maybe we’re being the perfect victims.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“I guess I’m not the right person to ask.”

“It helped to talk about it—thanks for listening. I guess I better go.”

“Let me know how it goes,” Harriet said and rang off.

“Come on, boys,” she said to her furry bed buddies. “We need to get you fed, and I need to get cleaned up before our breakfast date gets here.”

Scooter jumped off the bed and started dancing around her feet. Fred swatted at the excited dog then ran down the stairs.