Make Quilts Not War

chapter 13



The stop at Tico’s Tacos, Jorge’s Mexican restaurant in downtown Foggy Point, had been uneventful. It had, however, meant that Harriet had to park farther back in the exhibition hall’s parking lot. She spotted Jenny when she got out of her car and had her hand half-raised to wave when she realized Jenny wasn’t alone. A man with matted hair and a tribal tattoo across half of his face was arguing with her.

Harriet continued around to the back of her car, where she could hear Jenny and the man without being seen, and slowly began loading the box of tortillas onto her fold-up handcart.

“Take it,” Jenny shouted and pushed a handful of what had to be money at him.

“Don’t think you can just shove a few bills at me and send me on my way,” he yelled back.

“Scream all you want, but this is all I have,” Jenny said and turned her back on him before striding to the entrance of the exhibit hall.

The man picked up a camouflage backpack and swung it onto his thin shoulders then limped off in the opposite direction.

Harriet locked her car and wheeled her box up to Jenny’s car. An assortment of bills littered the pavement on the driver’s side. She picked them up and stuffed them in her sweatshirt pocket.

“Thank you, honey,” Aunt Beth said when Harriet arrived at the food court with the box of tortillas. “Are you okay?”

“I could have done without running into Aiden this morning, but besides that, I just saw something weird in the parking lot.” She told her aunt what she’d witnessed.

“Are you going to say anything to her?” Beth asked.

“I picked up the money.” She reached into her pocket and pulled the money out, counting it as she straightened the bills and aligned them into a stack. “Geez, there’s two hundred-forty dollars here.” She folded the bills and put them back in her pocket. “I’m going to give the money back to her and see what, if anything, she says about it. I’ll let you know if I learn anything interesting.”

Aunt Beth glanced at her watch.

“You better get moving if you’re going to talk to her and get to your booth on time,”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Harriet said and strode off toward the exhibit hall.

“Hey, Jenny,” she said a few minutes later when she found her friend, fully decked out in her afro wig and sunglasses, standing beside her quilt.

“Oh, hi, Harriet, how are you doing this morning?”

“Wow, it’s like nothing ever happened here,” Harriet said, looking around.

“The show must go on, I guess,” Jenny said with a half-smile.

“Hey, when I was walking past your car, I found this money on the pavement beside the driver’s side door.” Harriet pulled the folded bills out of her pocket and tried to hand them to Jenny.

“That’s not mine,” She stepped back and held her hands up. “Someone else must have dropped it.” When she realized she was still holding her hands up she dropped them abruptly and then nervously smoothed the sides of her tunic.

“No problem,” Harriet said. “They must have a lost-and-found here. Maybe they can take care of it.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Jenny said and turned away.



Harriet talked to a steady stream of potential customers during the morning, two or three of whom she thought might actually follow through. The rest loved her work but wanted to pay a fraction of her lowest rate. Most of them were new enough to quilting to not realize how much work it was to quilt a bed-sized quilt, no matter what sort of machine you used.

“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Lauren asked when she arrived just as the last customer of the morning was leaving the booth. She had on hip-hugger denim bell bottoms with a white patent-leather belt and a red-and-white-striped long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Nice get-up,” Harriet said.

“I’m still going for the folksinger look. Did I make it?”

“Your long bangs and pageboy are right there, but I’m not sure about the shirt.”

“The bangs are driving me nuts, but they did sort of define that era, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Harriet said and laughed.

A series of half-hour talks about the culture and history of the nineteen-sixties would be starting in the auditorium in a few minutes and continue until just after lunch. Traffic would be light in the vendor area for the duration.

“I need a distraction after the morning I’ve had,” Lauren said, changing the subject. “I swear some people should have their license to operate a computer revoked.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really. You’re probably one of them.”

“I saw an interesting encounter this morning on my way in,” Harriet said, ignoring the dig.

“Do tell.”

Harriet related the scene she’d witnessed between Jenny and the tattooed man.

“Well, that is interesting. Any clue as to who he is?”

“None at all, and Jenny was no help. I tried to give her the mon-ey—like I’d just found it by her car when I went by. She shied away from it like it was poison. After my ruse, I couldn’t easily go back and tell her I’d seen her arguing with tattoo guy and had seen her drop the money.”

“Well, that wasn’t very clever of you,” Lauren said.

“I know that now, but thanks for pointing it out. I suppose you could have handled it smoother.”

“I was just saying—”

“I wish we could find tattoo guy,” Harriet said.

“Why can’t we?”

“Time, space, too many people. Stop me if any of this resonates.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Lauren said. “Think about it. He’s not here—we don’t have a big enough crowd yet to conceal someone so unique. If he was trying to get money from Jenny and wasn’t successful, he’s probably still around.”

“You’re right,” Harriet said. “If he’s sticking around, he’ll either end up at the youth hostel downtown or the homeless camp at Fogg Park.”

“Or he could be hanging out around Jenny’s place waiting for her to show.”

“If he knows where she lives, wouldn’t he have gone there this morning instead of looking for her here?”

“I have an idea,” Lauren said and pulled out her smartphone. She tapped a message into the device and sent it.

“Who were you contacting?”

“I teach classes to a group of computer geeks who hang out at the internet cafe downtown. I asked if anyone has seen our tattoo guy and, if yes, to text me. They’ll go out and look. It’s just the sort of mission that appeals to their inner nerd.”

“Then what?”

“Then we go talk to him, of course.” Lauren said and smiled at Harriet.

“Can you watch the booth a minute so I can see if Connie can come babysit when the call comes?”

“Yeah, but let’s not count our chickens and all that.”

“Don’t you have faith in your nerds?”

“Yeah, but still…”

“You’re right. Someone like that will be obvious, and your guys are perfect. He’ll never suspect them of spying on him. Everyone always ignores geeks.”

“I think I resent that remark. Technically, I’m one of them,” Lauren said.

“You are not a geek, Lauren. I don’t care how much you know about computers.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Harriet was halfway across the exhibit hall when she saw Connie approaching from the north vendor area.

“We closed down the raffle station, since everyone’s gone to the lectures or lunch,” she said when they reached each other.

“I was just was coming to see if you could watch my booth in a little while.” Harriet explained the scene she had observed with Jenny and about the plan Lauren had set in motion.

“I feel bad that Jenny doesn’t feel like she can talk to any of us about whatever it is she’s dealing with,” Connie said.

“And she’s clearly dealing with something,” Harriet noted.

“Maybe you should go get a snack for yourself and Lauren so you’ll be ready when the call comes,” Connie suggested.

“Only if you’ll let me get you something, too.”

“I never turn down food,” Connie said with a smile. “You can surprise me.”

“Let Lauren know, will you?”

“Sure.” Connie continued on toward the south vendor area.

“I need food for Lauren, Connie and I,” Harriet said when she reached the head of the line at Jorge’s taco stand.

“You ladies need something healthy,” Jorge said. “No more chocolate Twinkies.”

“That’s not very fun,” Harriet said and smiled. “I think you’ve spent too much time with my aunt. Her food police ways are rubbing off on you.”

“It will be a long week, and there will be many opportunities for treats,” he said and smiled back at her. “And I do have to keep the Señora happy, too. I brought some chicken burritos from the restaurant for you and your friends.” He lifted a paper bag from an insulated box. “Let me get you some guacamole from the cooler.” He put a white container in a smaller paper bag of chips and handed her both bags.

“You are too good to us. Thank you.” She tried to pay, but he refused, reminding her that her aunt was providing free labor at his food cart all week.

“Any calls yet?” Harriet asked Lauren when she’d returned to her booth.

“Geez, you’ve been gone, what? Ten minutes? My nerds are good, but they can’t breech the time-space continuum. It’ll take awhile for them to mobilize. And Jabba is going to drive by the homeless camp.”

“One of them is named Jabba?” Harriet asked, incredulous.

“His parents were Star Wars fans, what can I tell you? And no, he doesn’t look like a cross between a slug and the Cheshire cat. He’s tall and skinny.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.” Harriet said. She knew all about parents and names.

“That’s a terrible thing to do to a child,” Connie proclaimed.

“He seems to like it,” Lauren said. “And the other guys are all jealous and think he has cool parents. He goes by JB when he’s out in the real world.”

“I don’t care what his name is if he finds tattoo guy,” Harriet said and handed out the burritos.

“This doesn’t seem like sixties food,” Lauren said.

“I’m sure people ate burritos in the sixties,” Harriet said.

“Only if they lived in northern Mexico,” Connie said and laughed. “I think burritos are more popular in America than they are in most of Mexico.”

“Mmmm,” Lauren said around a mouthful of chip and guacamole. “He does make great guacamole. Did they have that in the sixties?” She looked at Connie.

“I think the Aztecs invented it,” Connie informed them. “It’s been around forever.”

“So, it qualifies,” Lauren said.

“I wish we knew who tattoo guy is,” Harriet said, changing the subject. “It’s hard to imagine how Jenny could be connected to him.”

“Is it?” Connie commented. “What do we really know about each other?”

“We know a lot about the Loose Threads,” Lauren answered. “Most of them have lived in Foggy Point forever.”

“Not really,” Connie countered. “Most of us have lived here a long time, but not forever. Very few of our group were born and raised in Foggy Point. Our lives before coming here are taken at face value. Whatever we tell people about ourselves is what is accepted as truth.”

“You mean Harriet didn’t really grow up all over Europe? She really lived in Columbus, Ohio, before coming here?” Lauren said.

“Harriet did not grow up in Ohio,” Connie said. “But yes, that is the idea. Jenny clearly had another life we don’t know about, including being raised in a commune, and it wouldn’t be a big surprise if she knew more than one tattooed person from that life.”

“Most of us don’t do that, though,” Harriet said. “Sure, everyone embellishes some, but the core of what we share is true. At least, I choose to believe that most people are honest and upright.”

“I think we all know you’re a little more naive than the average quilter,” Lauren said.

Lauren’s phone rang before Harriet could come up with a cutting response.

“He’s where? Thanks, I owe you guys one,” Lauren said and then pocketed her phone. “He’s in Annie’s,” she said to Connie and Harriet.

“Let’s go,” Harriet said and they gathered up their purses and coats and headed to the parking lot.



“What’s the plan, Kemo sabe?” Lauren asked as Harriet pulled to the curb and parked a block away from Annie’s coffee shop on Ship Street.

“I thought we could go in and get drinks.”

“Well, that’s brilliant.”

“Oh, hush, and let me finish. We get drinks, and then on the way to our table, we ‘notice’ the guy then pull out some of the money Jenny dropped and say we thought we saw him drop it in the parking lot.”

“And if he demands the rest of the money?”

“I’m not giving him all of Jenny’s money.”

“Are you going to tell him we know Jenny?”

“Not if I don’t have to. We don’t know who he is or what their relationship is. Our goal is to find out without revealing any more than we have to.”

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” Lauren unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car.

Annie was a retired county librarian who had spent years making people toss their drinks before they came into her building. The day after her last day of work, she bought her coffee shop, lining the walls with books so people could drink coffee and read to their hearts’ content.

Harriet and Lauren entered the shop and casually dropped their coats on chairs at a table near the tattooed stranger. Lauren made a show of choosing a book while Harriet walked up to the library table that had been converted into a counter. She ordered two mocha drinks and joined Lauren at their table. Annie herself delivered the drinks, asking about the festival before returning to the coffee bar.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Lauren whispered. “By the way, see that guy in the gray cardigan sweater and black-framed glasses?”

Harriet looked across the room at a young man bent over a large book that lay open on the table in front of him.

“He’s one of mine.”

“Good to know,” Harriet said and took a deep breath. “Show time. I guess.”

“Don’t blow it,” Lauren cautioned.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Harriet replied in a low tone then stood up, pulling two bills from her pocket as she went. “Excuse me,” she said when she’d reached tattoo man’s table.

He jumped like he’d been shocked.

Close up, Harriet could see that not only did he have a lot of ink on one side of his face but he had a bar sticking through the top of one ear, metal barbells through the eyebrow on the tattooed side, and a large hole in the earlobe on that same side was held open with a black ring. His foot tapped a silent rhythm on the floor.

“I was at the sixties festival this morning, in the parking lot,” she said, clearing her throat. She could feel sweat forming at her hairline.

The man stared at the surface of his table without saying anything. His clothes gave off the sweet-smoky odor of marijuana, leaving little doubt about what he’d been doing since she’d seen him.

Harriet held the money out to him.

“I found this on the ground. I thought I saw you talking to a woman there. I thought maybe you dropped it.”

The man looked up at her for the first time. Harriet nearly did a double-take, but forced her face to remain still. He was much older than his wiry frame, tattooed face and straggly hair had made him appear at first glance.

“Do I know you?” he finally said. “What makes you think this would be mine?”

It was her turn to stare.

“This is a small town,” she finally said. “We don’t get many people with facial tattoos on just one side of their face. I guess I was mistaken. Sorry I bothered you.” She started to draw the hand with the bills toward her, but he reached out like a snake striking and snatched them from her before she could put them back in her pocket.

“Maybe it was me,” he said.

Harriet didn’t move.

“Thank you,” he said finally and went back to staring, this time at the coffee in his cup.

“I’m Harriet,” she said and offered her hand.

“Bobby,” the tattooed man said without looking up or taking her hand. He busied himself straightening the two bills she had given him before slipping them into a wallet he pulled from the dirty camo colored backpack that was on the floor next to his chair.

“His name is Bobby,” she reported to Lauren as she sank back into her chair. She grabbed her mocha and took a big gulp of the hot liquid, burning her tongue.

“And?” Lauren prompted.

“And that’s it. He wasn’t very communicative.”

“Bobby? That’s all you got for forty dollars? Bobby? How’s that supposed to help us?”

“Grilling a stranger is harder than it looks. He didn’t want to say anything. I couldn’t exactly get out the bright lights and rubber hose.”

Lauren sighed.

“Do I have to do everything?” She pulled a handful of papers from the messenger bag she took nearly everywhere and slipped them into the book she’d taken from the shelf.

“What are you going to do?”

“Hide and watch, grasshopper, hide and watch.”

She got up and made her way to the bookshelf beside Bobby’s table. She browsed the books, reading the authors’ names on the spines. She used her fingers to make a space between two of them and turned her book around in her hand as if she were going to put it back on the shelf. At the last moment, she fumbled the book, dropping it on Bobby’s table, knocking his coffee into his lap and sending the papers from her book flying.

“I’m so sorry,” she said and pulled a handful of napkins from the dispenser on his table. She handed them to Bobby, who immediately began dabbing at his lap. She set her book back on the table at the same time.

“Let me buy you another coffee,” she offered and took her book back. Without waiting for a reply, she bent and started gathering her papers. “What would you like?”

“One of those fancy drinks,” he growled at her. “I don’t care what kind.”

Lauren dropped her papers in front of Harriet and continued on to the table to order Bobby’s drink. Harriet picked up the stack and began straightening them. Neatly hidden between the third and fourth pages was an identification card, the sort that fit in the clear plastic sleeve on suitcases and backpacks. It belonged to one Robert Cosgrove, who lived at 1561 Alaskan Way S, Seattle, Washington, zip code 98134, and listed a phone number with a Seattle area code.

“I’m impressed,” Harriet said when Lauren returned from ordering and paying for Bobby’s drink.

“That’s how it’s done. Does it look useful?”

“Assuming it’s his, it’s a start,” Harriet said in a quiet voice, watching Bobby the whole time to see if he was paying attention to them or his backpack. He wasn’t

“Assuming it’s his?” Lauren whispered in a tone that was more like a hiss than a whisper. “Are you crazy? This is a major clue. Why would he have someone else’s name and address on what is probably his only possession? Of course it’s him. Besides the fact that he told you his name is Bobby and this ID card belongs to a Robert.”

“Let’s wait until we get back to the show, and then we can look up his address and phone,” Harriet said. “We need to look casual and finish our coffee so he doesn’t get suspicious.”

“I know how to research a person, and it’s more than looking up his address and phone number. Those are just starting points. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but the man is barely conscious.”

“Even so, we need to be careful.”

“Whatever,” Lauren said and picked up her now-tepid mocha. “I suppose I have to drink this.”

Harriet rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.