Authors: Arlene Sachitano
"Can you think of anyone who worked with Gerald back then and is still around now?"
Marjory thought for a moment. “You know, I can't. Remember, Foggy Point Fire Protection wasn't called that, and it was much smaller. Let me think again.” She tapped her forefinger against her upper lip. “You know, my brother worked there around then. What I remember is that there was a big layoff. I remember it because the unemployment in Washington State had been improving for a number of years and was at one of its lower points, so it was weird that Carlton's dad laid off almost the whole work force.
"My brother found another job within a week. I think most of the other people did, too. FPFP actually had trouble a few months later when they started making the fireman's turnouts. They had a big job fair in the middle of town.
I
even worked for them for a few years. They offered signing bonuses and everything, but my brother didn't trust Carlton's dad and refused to come back."
"That's weird,” Harriet said.
"Well, that's the Brewsters for you—or haven't you noticed that Carlton's not the sharpest knife in the rack? His dad wasn't as slow as Carlton, but he was always strange."
Harriet paid for her purchases and headed for Aiden's house to check up on Carla. She could see the road to Mavis's cottage coming up on her right, and in a last-minute move, she turned.
Mavis's powder blue Town Car was parked in front, and she opened the front door before Harriet could knock.
"Your asters are beautiful,” Harriet said, referring to the lavender daisy-shaped flowers that covered two large plants in the flowerbeds on either side of the path leading to the cottage porch.
"Yes, they are, but I'm sure you didn't come to admire my asters. Are you staying for tea?” She held the door open, and Harriet stepped into the cozy living room.
"No, I was just at Pins and Needles, and Marjory said Carla took some time off to search for Terry. I thought I'd go by Aiden's and see if she's back."
Mavis waited patiently for her to say more.
"I swung by Carlton's office before I went to the quilt store. He insists nothing is going on at night other than warehouse work. I tried to get him to tell me who still works there that worked there during Gerald's time. He was kind of evasive, but it was hard to tell if he was trying to avoid telling me or if he was just being Carlton."
"I lost touch with those people after Gerald die—” She stopped and corrected herself. “...disappeared."
"Marjory said they had a layoff around the time Gerald left."
"Yeah, but that wasn't unusual back in those days. Until they started making the fireman's turnouts, things were real up and down. Products came and went, and the work force came and went with them."
"This is so frustrating,” Harriet said. “I feel like we're so close to knowing what happened. If only we could figure out how the pieces fit together. Actually, that's why I stopped by. I was hoping you'd let me borrow the mystery square and Gerald's quilt. I'd like to get as many of the Threads together as we can on short notice. If everyone could look at the mystery square, it might jog a memory or create a connection or something."
Mavis went into her sewing room and returned with the quilt and the square.
"Do you need a bag?” she asked. “I tried to pin the magic square to the quilt, but my pin bent."
"This is fine,” Harriet said and took the two pieces.
"You want me to start calling people?"
"I don't want to impose on your time."
"I need the distraction. Everyone is busy working on the funeral, and I'm just sitting here stewing. Where do you want to meet?"
"Tico's, if it's okay with Jorge."
"You go check on Carla, and I'll call around and let you know what people say."
"Thanks.” She gave Mavis a one-armed hug.
"Thank
you
, honey. You're the one doing
me
a favor, figuring this thing out."
Harriet went to her car hoping she wasn't going to disappoint her friend.
Aiden's mother had left him her house and her collection of cars. It had been one of her few indulgences, apart from quilting fabric. The stately Victorian had a matching carriage house that had been turned into a five-car garage complete with servant's quarters on the second floor.
Carla didn't own a car of her own, and Aiden had been happy to share his fleet with her. It was anyone's guess which one she was driving today.
Harriet pulled around to the back of the house, as she generally came and went through the back porch door when she visited. There were no other cars visible, but she parked and went up to the door anyway, looking around the groomed back yard and the landscaped grounds leading to the woods beyond. She was reminded again of just how isolated the house was.
She heard the crunch of gravel behind her and was relieved to see a familiar Mercedes sedan pull in behind her car.
"Hi, Harriet,” Carla said as she got out. “Aiden's at work."
"Actually, I came to see you."
"What's up?” She went around to the passenger side and got Wendy out of her car seat in the back.
"I heard you went to look for Terry this morning."
"I did,” Carla said.
"And you took Wendy with you?” Harriet asked without thinking about how it would sound.
"No, I didn't take Wendy.” Carla's face burned red.
"I'm sorry,” Harriet said. “Of course you didn't."
"I took her to the drop-in day care at the Methodist Church."
"Did you find Terry?"
"No,” Carla's shoulders drooped. “His car wasn't at his motel, and it wasn't at Miller Hill Park either."
"Well,” Harriet said, trying to brighten her voice. “We know he's good at sneaking around. A whole group of us were following him, and four of us followed him all the way into the park, and he still was able to get the drop on us. He could very well be right here in town and doing just fine."
"He's not trying to hide from me on purpose, though,” Carla said defensively. “He told me he was taking Wendy and me to breakfast. And he wanted to take Wendy to toddler time at the library. He wouldn't have made all those plans if he didn't want to see me anymore."
Let's hope not, Harriet thought. “Did he say anything about what he was doing?"
Wendy ran to the grassy back yard and plopped down on her rear end, laughing as she did so. Carla followed and handed her a brightly colored plush chicken. The toy made a cackling noise in response to the motion, which caused Wendy to giggle.
"He hasn't told me anything except that he's trying to find people who knew his dad. He said he was meeting a guy the other night. And he went to the library, but mostly he doesn't like to talk about it."
"Assuming he's not a big jerk—and at this point we don't have any evidence that he is—I'm starting to get worried."
Carla's eyes opened wide, and she sucked in her breath, but she didn't say anything.
"We're trying to get the Loose Threads together this afternoon to talk about things. Can you come?"
"What time?"
"Mavis was going to start calling people while I came here to check up on you,” Harriet said. “She said she'd call and tell me the time when she had one."
"Do you want some lemonade?” Carla asked. “I made some from scratch this morning. Maybe Mavis will call while we're drinking it."
"Okay,” Harriet said. “Tell me everything you saw at Terry's motel."
Carla picked up Wendy and swung her onto her hip, then led the way into the kitchen. She poured lemonade for herself and Harriet and poured apple juice into Wendy's sippy-cup. The toddled insisted on sitting on a “big-girl” chair at the kitchen table instead of her high chair, and Carla indulged her.
Harriet made Carla retrace her steps over and over again, but the only significant observation she made was the absence of Terry's car. He wasn't at his motel.
Carla had gotten up to refill their glasses when Harriet's cell phone rang. Mavis had arranged a meeting of most of the Loose Threads at Tico's Tacos at four that afternoon.
"I better go,” Harriet said when she'd hung up. “Can you come to the meeting?"
"I think so,” Carla replied. “I have to see if I can find someone to watch Wendy."
"I don't think anyone would mind if you brought her with you."
She thanked Carla for the lemonade, which really was the best she had ever tasted. They agreed they'd see each other in a few hours.
Aunt Beth was
still stitching her quilt when Harriet returned to her studio.
"You aren't overdoing it with your shoulder, are you?” Harriet asked.
"No. I've been taking it slow today, taking lots of breaks."
"Did Mavis call you?"
"Yeah, she told me about the meeting. I don't know what you think you're going to accomplish."
"We're right on the brink of knowing what happened to Gerald. I'll bet you anything that whoever killed him will show up at the funeral."
"And just what makes you think that?"
"All those detective shows on TV. They always say the killer comes to the funeral just to feel superior because no one knows who they are."
Aunt Beth shook her head. “Don't you think criminals watch television? If you know to expect him to show up, then he knows not to show up."
"Well, then, we'll pay attention to who isn't there and should be. And I can tell you, unless something happens overnight, Carla's friend Terry is going to be at the top of the absent list."
"Okay, I said I'd be there,” Aunt Beth said. “I'm going to go home and put my feet up for a while before meeting time, and I suggest you do the same. You know your collar bone will heal faster if you rest a little now and then."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah."
"Don't get smart with me,” Beth said, but she was smiling.
"I promise I'll lie down."
With that promise, Beth left.
Harriet did intend to lie down, but not until she had a snack. Her refrigerator was filled with leftovers, and she quickly found the potato salad. The lid was the sort that automatically released air as it sealed making it a sturdier seal than its cheaper competitors. This also made it impossible to open with one hand.
"Here, let me do that,” Harry said. He'd come downstairs as Harriet was trying to use the edge of the counter to pop the lid. “I don't want to see a grown woman cry."
"And you would have, too."
He fetched two bowls and scooped potato salad into them. He handed one to Harriet and took the other one himself, returning the storage bowl to the refrigerator.
"Have you figured out who killed my dad yet?"
"I wish I could say yes,” she said, looking at Harry's serious face. “But so far, I have more questions than answers. Carlton's father is dead. The people who worked with your dad are no longer at the company, and Carlton isn't being very forthcoming with names. But Carlton is generally not a helpful guy, so that in and of itself doesn't mean anything. Carla's friend Terry has been snooping around and spying on the factory, and now he's gone missing."
"Don't forget the magic bullet that wasn't a bullet,” Harry added.
"How could I forget the magic bullet? Like I said—lots of questions, not so many answers."
"I might have one little answer,” Harry said and paused for dramatic effect.
"Come on, my heart can't take the suspense.” She was only half-joking.
"Well, my friend Nick's dad worked with my dad back then. And he's still in town. In fact, he'll be coming to the funeral tomorrow."
"So how long were you going to wait to tell me?"
"Geez, you sound like my mom. I just found out. Nick heard about Dad's funeral and told me he was going to be there with his dad."
"Sorry,” Harriet said. “I've been badgering Carlton Brewster to give me names and he hasn't, so it's been a bit frustrating."
"Nick only called me last night to offer his condolences."
"It's all right, Harry, really.” She finished eating her potato salad. It was true what they said about potato salad benefiting from a day in the refrigerator. It was always better the second day. She rinsed her bowl and put it in the dishwasher while Harry went for seconds.
"I'm going to go lie down and rest my collar bone,” she said and went upstairs.
It was déjà vu
when Harriet walked into the back room of Tico's Tacos just before four o'clock. Jenny and Lauren were at the picnic table sipping iced tea. A pitcher and more glasses sat on a smaller table off to the side. Jenny had shed the black spy look and was dressed in silver cotton pants and a pale pink shell. Lauren wore denim capri pants and a yellow T-shirt that brought out the highlights in her pale hair.
Connie came in from the kitchen where she explained she had been talking to Jorge about a recipe for barbacoa. She'd come from her volunteer job reading stories to preschool children at the library, and was still wearing a floral shirtwaist dress in her signature sherbet tones. She knew the current crop of pre-school teachers dressed in jeans and sometimes even sweatpants, under the theory that a teacher needed to crawl around on the floor to relate to her students; but she had made it clear to Harriet on more than one occasion she didn't believe rolling around on the floor on the teacher's part was an integral part of learning.
Harriet filled a glass and, after a nod from Connie, one for her friend. She carried them to the table one at a time.
"Has anyone had any insights since we last talked?"
"Aren't you supposed to be the hot-stuff crime solver around here?” Lauren asked.
"Only if the rest of you won't step up to the plate."
The room went silent.
"Look, right now, Mavis is suspect number one as far as the police are concerned. I'm not willing to sit back and watch her get arrested for something she didn't do."
"Are you certain she
didn't
do it?” Lauren asked. “I mean, she doesn't have an alibi for the time of the crime."
"Well, it's nice to know I have one person on my side,” Mavis said. No one had heard her arrive.