Authors: Arlene Sachitano
"How's my girl,” Aunt Beth asked in a high-pitched voice and scooped the child up in her arms, tickling the girl's belly as she did so.
Wendy shrieked in delight.
"Okay if we go find a treat in the kitchen?” Beth asked Carla.
When Carla nodded agreement, Aunt Beth carried her squirming armload out of the room.
"Can I pour you some tea?” Carla asked.
"Sure,” Harriet replied. “I'm having a little trouble with activities like that right now."
"It's no trouble.” Carla picked up a cup, placed a tea bag inside and poured steaming water over it. “Who do you think hit you?” she asked as she handed Harriet the cup.
"I truly have no idea. This whole business with Mavis's husband showing up dead is a real mystery. And I can't figure out what I was doing at the scene of his death that could be interpreted as a threat to anyone."
"So, what did you see while you were out there?” Carla asked and looked intently at her.
"The only thing I remember is the grass had something white and powdery on it. It felt smooth. I'd planned to talk to Darcy and see if that was something the criminalist's had used. I went a little farther and my toe got stuck in a tangled root. I bent down to pull it free, and I saw a blue plastic cylinder. I was about to pick it up for a closer look when something hit my shoulder."
"Do you know what it was?” Carla asked. “Was it a shotgun shell casing? Sometimes those are colored plastic."
"It was about that size, but more solid. It reminded me of some of the plastic creations people made in machine shop when I was in junior high school."
"I thought you went to fancy schools,” Carla said, momentarily distracted.
"I came back here a couple of times for a few months at a whack."
"At least you got to go sometimes,” Carla said.
Harriet was trying to think of the right way to explain how much she cherished her time in Foggy Point and resented all the others, without coming across like a drama queen. She was spared by the appearance of Carla's new friend.
"I hope it's okay that I'm here,” Terry said. “The lady in the kitchen let me in."
"Of course it's okay,” Carla said, her cheeks a little pinker and her eyes a little brighter in response to the new arrival.
"I couldn't help but hear your description of the piece of plastic you found,” Terry said. He was wearing baggy khaki cargo shorts and a form-fitting red T-shirt. “Do you have it with you?"
"No,” Harriet replied. “I was just about to pick it up when I got hit. Why?"
"What you're describing sounds like a sabot. It's a piece of plastic that can be shot out of a shotgun. It can do a lot of damage without leaving a recognizable gunshot wound. Without seeing it, I can't be sure."
"If you don't mind my asking, how do you know that?” Harriet asked.
"I've used something similar,” he said.
"Terry's in the navy,” Carla explained.
"And in the navy you shoot guns filled with plastic?"
"I'm a SEAL—we do a lot of stuff."
It was obvious to Harriet that Terry was well-trained in how to avoid answering questions.
"Can I get
you a something to drink?” Carla asked Terry, and when he requested water, she left Harriet alone with her visitor while she went to the kitchen.
Harriet sipped her tea, and Terry sat on an uncomfortable looking velvet sofa, saying nothing.
"Are you from around here,” she finally asked when she couldn't stand the silence.
"No."
"Visiting?” Harriet guessed.
"I guess you could say that."
"Will you be staying long?” Harriet persisted.
"Are you an undercover policewoman or something?” he asked with a smile.
"No, but Carla's my friend. And I'm not buying your family genealogy story. You could do that on the internet, you wouldn't need to come here in person if that's all you were doing. Carla doesn't need someone laying on the charm and trying to take advantage of her."
"Why would you assume I'm trying to take advantage of her?” he asked, the smile leaving his face.
"I'm not assuming anything. It's just that she's my friend, and she's vulnerable, and I want to be sure."
"Fair enough,” Terry said. “I
am
here doing some family research. When I was young, we lived in Foggy Point. My father died, and my mother moved us to Seattle. I had some leave, and I wanted to try to understand who my father was. My mom won't talk about him. This seemed to be a logical place to start. I met Carla at the grocery store my first day in town, and she was friendly. I like her—simple as that."
"So, have you learned anything?” Harriet asked.
"Not as much as I'd hoped. I think he worked at a place called Industrial Fiber Products, but that doesn't exist anymore."
"That's what they used to call Foggy Point Fire Protection,” Harriet offered.
"So I've been told,” he said and stood up to pace. “I went out there to see if anyone who knew my dad still worked there.” He fell into silence again.
"And?” she prompted.
"And ... nothing. They said they couldn't give out any information on who did or didn't work there. I didn't get any further at the library."
"What was your dad's name? My aunt has lived here forever. Maybe she knows something."
"His name is the same as mine—Terry Jansen."
"I suppose you've tried the newspaper?"
"Not yet, but it's on my to-do list."
"You might give it a try. They have a pretty good archive."
Carla returned with Terry's water, followed by Aunt Beth and Wendy, effectively ending the conversation.
Harriet and Beth
returned to the car and headed home.
"Could we swing by and see Mavis?” Harriet asked.
"Sure, I wouldn't mind checking on her, but what are you thinking?"
"I've been thinking about that quilt that showed up at her house the other day. Now that we know Gerald was likely in the area at the time, it seems probable he was the one who put it in her house."
"Just don't upset her. She's been through enough. You better call Lauren, too. She needs to know the name Gerald was using and about his wife."
Lauren was the last person Harriet wanted to talk to, but she knew her aunt was right, and Lauren
was
the computer maven of the group. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and balanced it on her leg while she dialed with her good hand.
"Talk to me,” Lauren answered without preamble. Harriet silently counted to ten.
"We have a name.” she said. “Gerald was going by Gerard Van Auken. He married a lady named Ilsa in the Netherlands."
"The Netherlands is a big place,” Lauren sniped. “Could you be a bit more specific?"
"No, I can't,” Harriet shot back. “I think she's going to be staying in one of DeAnn's guest houses, so maybe you can call her for more info."
"Fine,” Lauren said and hung up.
"She's such a ray of sunshine."
"It'll be worth it if she can come up with something,” Aunt Beth said.
"Come in,” Mavis said when she opened the door to her cottage and found Harriet and Aunt Beth on the small porch. “Let me put the teakettle on."
The two visitors sat on the sofa and waited for their hostess to reappear.
"Here, let me get this out of the way,” Mavis said, and moved a stack of fat quarters in shades of brown from her coffee table. “I like that stars and rails pattern you used for your re-enactment quilt, so I thought I'd try it out,” she said to Harriet. “I'm cutting enough out to make a table runner, and if I like I how it looks I may make it bigger."
"Do you have enough fabric?” Aunt Beth asked.
"It's going to be scrappy, but within three or four color families. I think using lots of different prints is more in keeping with how quilts actually looked during the Civil War.” Mavis went into her sewing room and brought out a few more pieces of brown fabric for Beth's approval. The women rearranged the material into several piles until the sound of the teakettle whistle interrupted.
"How are you feeling about things,” Harriet asked when Mavis came back to the living room carrying a tray with three mugs of tea on it. “Are you up to looking at Gerald's quilt again?"
"Of course,” Mavis said. “And I'm not sure how I'm feeling about things, but the options are running towards angry and frustrated."
"We don't need to do this now if you don't want,” Beth said.
"Don't be silly. I want to get to the bottom of this, and the sooner the better. The quilt's in my sewing room. I'll get it.” She went back into her sewing room and returned with the plaid quilt draped over her arm and the piece of strange material in her hand. “I figured this is what you really want to look at,” she said and handed Harriet the black square.
"There must be something special about this material,” Harriet said. “Why else would he hide it, yet keep it with him. And what about this would make him come back?"
"It
is
strange-looking,” Mavis said.
Harriet raised an eyebrow. “How so?"
"It's the only black one I've seen. The samples he usually brought home were white or off-white or dingy gray or yellow. Nothing I ever saw was black."
"Huh,” said Aunt Beth. “So, this isn't a memento from his final success, the fire cloth?"
"No, that stuff is yellowish-white, but it could be an earlier version. Let me get a match.” She went to the kitchen and came back with a box of wooden matches. “Here,” she said as she positioned the black square in Harriet's hand. “Now, hold it out while I try to burn it."
Harriet did as she was instructed. The fabric resisted burning, but it got so hot she dropped it, and when she grabbed at the falling square, she jostled her sore collar bone, causing her to yelp and jerk back onto the sofa. In the process, she slopped her tea onto the square and knocked Mavis's appliqué scissors off the table. The scissors ended up stabbing point-down into the floor, impaling the wet black square in the process.
"Well, that eliminates a few experiments we might have done,” Mavis said. “It's neither waterproof nor scissor-proof, and from your reaction I'm guessing it wasn't protecting you from the match."
"What are we missing?” Aunt Beth wondered. She picked up the flannel quilt and felt the intact squares as Harriet had done before. “I don't feel anything out of the ordinary,” she said when she'd finished.
Mavis took it from her and took a good look at both sides. When she didn't find anything, she folded it, placed the black square on top of it and returned both to her sewing room. “With him dead, we may never know what was going on,” she said when she came back. “It may simply have been a wear test.” She went into the kitchen and made Harriet a fresh cup of tea.
"What are you thinking regarding the funeral?” Aunt Beth asked when Mavis was settled in her chair in the living room again.
"I go back and forth,” Mavis said honestly. “For the boys’ sake, I need to do
something
, and if that Ilsa person really was married to him for fifteen years, she needs to be involved. I'm just so angry at Gerald.” She stared out the window for a moment, gathering her composure. “But I guess that can't be helped. And anyway, on a cheerier note, it seems like I'm no longer alone at the top of the suspect list."
"There is that,” Harriet said. “By the way, we have Lauren on the case, computer-wise. She'll see what she can find out about Ilsa and also see what she can find out about Gerald's activities over the past twenty years."
"Why does she need to be involved?” Mavis asked. “Let's get Ilsa over here and grill her."
"I think we should do that, but I also think Lauren can help us know if Ilsa is telling us the truth,” Harriet said. “I mean, we have no reason to believe she isn't being truthful, but on the other hand, she could be anyone."
"Why don't we invite her to our Loose Threads meeting tomorrow?” Aunt Beth suggested. “Then it won't seem so much like an inquisition."
"Does she quilt?” Mavis asked.
"I don't know,” Harriet said. “But I think Aunt Beth's right. I'll call DeAnn later and see if Ilsa's arrived."
"Well, we better get going,” Aunt Beth said and drained her cup. “I've got some quilting to do while someone...” She glanced at Harriet. “...gets some rest."
"Hey, you were the one who insisted on taking over."
"Okay, missy, how are you going to stitch the orders you have with one arm tied to your side?"
Harriet smiled. “I don't know, maybe I can train Fred to help."
"That's what I thought. Come on, we've got work to do."
"Bye, Mavis,” Harriet said. “See you tomorrow."
Aunt Beth hugged her friend and then ushered Harriet out to the car.
"Wake up, sleepyhead,” Aunt Beth called from the top of the stairs. Harriet looked at the clock beside her bed and was shocked to see she'd been asleep for almost two hours. “Carlton's here,” Beth continued.
Carlton was the last person Harriet wanted to see, but she was pretty sure he wouldn't leave if she refused to come downstairs, so she got up and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.
"Carlton,” she said as she came into the long arm studio a few minutes later. “How can I help you?"
He was wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt over khaki shorts. His basketball-shaped stomach held the shirt away from his waist, and his thin legs looked stick-like coming out of the stylishly baggy shorts. He watched the stitch head on the long arm machine as Aunt Beth guided it around a large quilt that was made up of circles in squares. The woman who'd made the quilt had chosen sunflower colors—gold, forest green and brown with touches of orange and lime. She'd incorporated sunflower prints in several scales in the circle parts. It would make someone a nice late-summer bedcover.
Carlton turned toward Harriet.
"How's the arm?” he asked in his slightly too loud for indoors voice.
"Its fine, Carlton, but I'm pretty sure you didn't drive over here to ask about my health.” She was still annoyed about the workload he'd dumped on her during the re-enactment and was pretty sure he was here to ask for something more.