Make Quilts Not War

chapter 28



Lauren looked at her watch.

“We need to get you home,” she told Harriet. “Or really, we need to get me home. I need check in with my client.”

“I’m ready.” Harriet looked around at the groups of people clustered around Carla, Wendy and Terry, making prolonged goodbyes to Carla and professing their thanks to Terry for producing such a swift resolution to the incident.

“We just need to find Mavis, and we’re out of here.”

Beth and Mavis were standing by the door into the dining room, deep in discussion. Lauren gestured to Mavis when the older woman looked up.

“You two ready to go?” Mavis said when she joined them.

“Lauren needs to check with her client,” Harriet said. “I think we’re done here anyway.”

“Beth said she can use Jorge’s truck to bring your booth stuff home. DeAnn is going to take the quilts down and pack the samples.” Harriet started to protest but Mavis cut her off. “Don’t even start. Your arm isn’t healing well, and the sooner you get some rest, the sooner that will change.”



“Those of us who are available at the moment are going to search for Jenny,” Mavis reported when the trio had settled in the car and she’d driven back to the main road.

“What do you think will happen to Michelle?” Harriet asked.

“Robin’s the one we need to ask, but my uneducated guess would be that she’ll be going to some sort of mental facility. What happens after that, I don’t know. Her life as a high-powered lawyer is over, I imagine.”

“Even though Aiden’s been a total jerk, I still feel sorry for him.”

Lauren had been typing on her smartphone.

“I have to go to my house and start a test run of my clients program,” she said. “Shall I come back to make sure Harriet rests? It sounds like they aren’t going to need my help with the booth.”

“I promise I’ll take a nap,” Harriet said. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’ll be over in a couple of hours.”



Harriet woke up from her nap on the TV room sofa with two fur-covered bodies clamped to her—one fuzzy and perched on the crest of her hip with a claw lightly hooked into her jeans for balance, the other short-haired and wedged into the bend of her knees.

“Well, boys, that would have been a little more restful without your help.”

She moved her companions, got up and went downstairs to feed them. Fred didn’t really need food again until nighttime, but she was trying to fatten Scooter up and Fred wouldn’t let the dog eat if he didn’t get something, too.

She tried to distract herself looking at the latest issue of The Quilter magazine, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her thoughts kept bouncing between Jenny and what she really knew about the murders, and Aiden and how he was dealing with the arrest of his sister. She finally dug her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.

“Carla?”

“Hi, Harriet, what’s up?”

“I was checking to see how you’re all doing.”

“We’re good. Wendy’s taking a real nap, and I can finally relax with that witch in jail where she belongs.”

“Have you heard from Aiden?”

She heard rustling, and then Carla sighed.

“He called, but I let it go to voicemail. I’m just not ready to talk to him yet. I know it’s not his fault, but I’m angry that he could be so stupid and that it ended hurting Wendy. I’m taking her to a counselor on Monday just to be sure she’s okay.”

Harriet thought that sounded a bit extreme, since Wendy had pretty much slept through the whole incident, but since she wasn’t a mother, she kept her opinion to herself.

“Has Aiden’s brother Marcel been to the house that you know of?”

“Not since Michelle came,” Carla said. “The kids called him when they first got there, after their mother went to the hospital. I think he’s the one that told them to call their father.”

“Do you need anything?”

“We’re good. Terry is still here, and Connie and Grandpa Rod are hovering.”

“Let me know if that changes.”

“The only thing we need is for Michelle to never come back,” Carla said. “But I guess she’s always going to be Aiden’s sister.”

“Yeah, that’s the kicker, isn’t it?” Harriet agreed and rang off.

She looked at the clock on the microwave; she’d slept an hour. Lauren probably wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. She phoned Marcel Jalbert.

Marcel answered on the first ring. Harriet asked if she could talk to him in person, and he agreed as long as she made it brief. He was working on a business plan at his home office, he said, and he needed to keep at it. Before Michelle came to Aiden’s, he’d told her his brother was planning to reorganize and reopen the vitamin factory that had been their mother’s.

“Thanks for agreeing to talk to me,” she said when Marcel opened the front door to his neat townhouse. She had made the drive to the Miller Hill neighborhood with her arm in a sling and steering one-handed, but the speed limit was low enough to not present a problem.

She could hear voices coming from another room, but they weren’t loud enough for her to identify. Marcel took her coat and hung it on a coat tree in the entry then led her to his upstairs office and offered her a chair opposite his at his desk.

The entryway, stairwell and Marcel’s office were all painted a soft celadon green, the wood trim was dark but modern, not the traditional style of Harriet’s own home. Classical music played quietly in the background.

“Are you aware your sister was arrested for kidnapping this morning?” she asked without preamble.

Marcel was silent for a moment. His face resembled Aiden’s, but his features were coarser, and his skin bore the residual scars of acne that had been professionally treated—probably with lasers or at least serious sandpaper. His eyes were blue, but not the nearly white color of his brother’s. Marcel’s were more of a robin’s egg.

“I hadn’t heard that, but I’m not surprised. She clearly has some sort of mental defect. She’s been troubled her whole life. I learned a long time ago that I can’t fix what’s wrong with her, but I can protect my family and myself by staying as far away from her as I can.”

“I wish Aiden would realize that,” Harriet said.

“The whole family protected Michelle all her life. My parents could have educated half the kids in this town for the money they spent on therapists, special schools and new-age treatments, but none of it made even a small dent in her problems. As I understand it, there is no effective treatment for narcissism and histrionic personality disorder. All you can do is stay far enough away to avoid being caught up in their web.

“And, if you were wondering, I’m not hiring her a lawyer, or aiding in her defense in any way. I hope Aiden will follow my lead for once.”

“I wish he would take that attitude. He tells me I don’t understand because I’m an only child. To me, it seems like she’s using him.”

“Trust your instincts. She’s sick, and she’s played on his vulnerabilities. Now that she’ll be out of the picture for a while, I’ll see what I can do to convince him to cut her loose. I assume that’s what you’re here for.”

Harriet felt her face turn hot.

“I don’t know if he talks to you about us, but it seems like everyone in town knows he and I have been having trouble in our relationship.”

“Cookie did mention she’d heard something about him standing you up at that new restaurant at Smuggler’s Cove.”

Cookie was Marcel’s wife, and Harriet suspected she had told Marcel every detail, but she appreciated that he downplayed it.

“We seem to do fine when Michelle’s not around, but I don’t exist when she’s here.”

“He’s a big boy, but she’s a pro. She has no conscience when it comes to manipulation. He was vulnerable when our mom died right after he came back to the States after his research in Uganda. He hadn’t had a chance to make new friends or reconnect with old ones, and you two were just starting to date. Michelle jumped in with both feet. After he got over her trying to steal the house out from under him, she wormed her way back into his life somehow.”

“I’m sorry to take up so much time when you’re busy,” Harriet said and started to get up.

“Sit down,” He said. “I can take another few minutes. You want something to drink?” He opened the door to a small refrigerator containing several types of soda as well as bottled tea and water. Harriet pointed to a Diet Coke, and he wiped it with a napkin he took from a holder on the credenza behind his desk and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, then opened it and took a sip.

“I’ve suggested he talk to a counselor or therapist, but my ideas have fallen on deaf ears. I can try again—as I said, now that she’s going to be out of the picture for a while there may be hope. I’ll try to be a better brother, too. I’ve been so busy trying to get things in place to open the vitamin factory again that I haven’t made enough effort to connect with Aiden.”

“I’ve suggested a counselor, but he won’t listen to me, either.”

“Don’t give up on him yet,” Marcel said. “But he’s stubborn, and if he refuses to cut her loose, you may have to weigh your options. I admit I didn’t get it myself at first, and Cookie’s been a great help in keeping my eyes wide open where Michelle’s concerned.”

“Thanks for listening to me,” Harriet said. “And now, I really will leave you to your planning.”

“Come say hi to Cookie before you go.” He led her back downstairs. “Look who’s here, Cookie,” he said as they walked into the kitchen.

Two women were sitting on stools at the center island.

“Harriet? What are you doing here? Did you follow me?” Jenny shrieked.