Make Quilts Not War

chapter 30



Lauren took the teacups downstairs and returned a few minutes with refills of fragrant orange spice tea. Jenny and Harriet sat, each lost in her own thoughts, while she was gone.

“I thought the spicy tea would go better with the gingersnaps,” she said.

“Given all that you’ve just told us, you must have some idea who’s been killing people,” Harriet told Jenny.

“Yeah,” Lauren chimed in. “And you must have some idea if you’re the target.”

“I think the shooting of Pamela Gilbert leaves no doubt Jenny was the target,” Harriet said.

“Who did the shirt belong to?” Lauren asked.

“I don’t know,” Jenny said. “And that’s the truth. All the guys wore shirts that looked vaguely alike. Everyone used that car. It wasn’t like it is today, where most of the kids get late-model cars when they turn sixteen. The back seat of that old car had everything from jackets to bikinis, with bags of granola alongside Twinkies and cans of soda. I grabbed what was handy.”

“My guess is someone recognized their shirt. Your centerpiece is pretty distinctive,” Harriet said.

“Why would they wait so long for revenge?” Jenny asked. “All of them that got arrested would have gotten out decades ago.”

“With your change of identity, they probably didn’t know how to find you,” Lauren suggested.

“I suppose,” Jenny mused. “Still, if even my brother had cleaned up, surely, everyone else would have grown up and moved on by now.”

“If they haven’t, and they figured out you were the snitch, it would be a pretty good motive for revenge.” Harriet said.

“Now you just have to figure out which one of the group it is,” Lauren said. “I can help you with that if you can tell me the names.”

Jenny clamped her lips shut and furrowed her brow.

“That could be a problem,” she said.

“How so?” Harriet asked.

“Remember I referred to people as Cosmic, Tranquility, and Paisley? There was also a Cedar, a Sunshine and an Einstein. I never knew their real names.”

Lauren covered her eyes with the palms of her hands, tilting her head downward.

“You’re not making it easy to help you. I guess I can try to find more newspaper articles and public records regarding the robbery, although if any of them were minors, they wouldn’t print their names.”

“At least it would be a start,” Harriet said.

“Thank you so much for being willing to help me after all the lies I’ve told you,” Jenny said.

“You need to call Detective Morse and come clean,” Harriet told her.

“I will, but I think I owe it to the rest of the Threads to tell them first.”

“As long as you tell Morse before anything else has a chance to happen,” Harriet said.

“Not to sound like your aunt,” Lauren said to Harriet, “but you’re looking a little gray. I know you think you’re superwoman, but I think you need to do what everyone’s been telling you and take a nap.”

“I need to go get a pain pill, and then I promise, I will take a nap.”

“Stay put,” Lauren said. Scooter and Fred got up to follow her. “I supposed I have to feed you two little wretches while I’m downstairs, too. I am turning into Beth.”

“Don’t forget,” Harriet said to Jenny. “This isn’t over yet. You may have shared your past, but someone dangerous is still out there. You and Lauren need to stay together until you can connect with Robin or DeAnn or somebody. And I’m guessing you get it that you can’t go home.”

“I’ll need to go get some clothes, but I promise—I won’t go alone.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“Okay, Sicko,” Lauren said a few minutes later, “here’s your pill, here’s a glass of water. Your cookie plate is reloaded.” She looked around the room and piled the extra throws on the end of the sofa. “Here’s the remote control for your TV, although you are supposed to be sleeping. Your pets have been fed, and I took Scooter out. I’m done being a nursemaid. And yes, I won’t let Jenny go anywhere unless she has an escort.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lauren said, and left.



Harriet woke to find Mavis sitting in the upholstered chair next to her. She’d pulled a small needlepoint-covered footrest in front of the chair and had her feet up and her eyes closed. She woke with a start when Harriet sat up.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind I came over. When I saw Lauren she said you were sleeping at home alone, and it worried me. I thought I’d come over and see if I could fix you a snack and keep you company for a while.”

“Sure, make yourself at home.”

“Let me go see what I can rustle up in the kitchen,” Mavis said and went downstairs.

Harriet’s cell phone buzzed, and she picked it up to check caller ID. It was Tom.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said after they’d exchanged greetings and he had asked her out to dinner. “But I’m housebound.”

She related the results of her doctor appointment. He suggested takeout.

“The idea of dinner with you sounds wonderful, but I think I need to follow doctor’s orders this time.”

She had barely ended the conversation when Mavis called upstairs, “Harriet? There’s someone here to see you. Can you come down?”

Colm Byrne stood in her kitchen.

“Oh, my gosh.”

“Did you forget our date?” he asked with a smile.

“I guess so. I wasn’t sure you were serious.”

“I was, but if this isn’t a good time…”

“When I went to get my bandage changed, the doctor wasn’t happy with my progress, so I’ve been grounded.”

“Harriet can probably handle a short visit,” Mavis said. “I was just going to fix her a snack. Would you like to stay and have a bite to eat?”

“I’m never one to turn down a home-cooked meal,” Colm said.

“You two can go sit in the dining room, and I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

Harriet led him instead to her formal living room and sat in her Victorian rocking chair.

“This week has been a real trip, as they used to say,” he said. “I hope it did what the planners hoped for.”

“I haven’t heard a lot of the results because of the other stuff going on, but what I’ve heard has been positive.”

“We were shocked when that woman was killed,” Colm said. “Regardless of what people think about rock singers, we’re just like everyone else. In Ireland, we were raised with violence all around us. My family lived in Belfast. We were raised Catholic. Every day, there were riots or bombings or both.” He shuddered. “The lads and I used music as our way out. For a lot of years, we played clubs and parties, but eventually, we started getting bigger gigs, and finally, we made it out.”

“I can’t imagine how frightening it must have been to live in a war zone,” Harriet said. “How do the two sides get past their differences after decades of fighting?”

“You just have to want peace more than war,” Colm said. The lads in the band feel the same way. We swore that, if we ever made it big, we’d use our wealth and influence to support peace projects, and so far, that’s exactly what we’ve done.”

“Even if it was your friend that was killed?” Harriet asked. “When my friend was killed earlier this year, I couldn’t leave it alone until justice was served.”

“I didn’t say it was easy,” he said in his lilting brogue. “The peace project helps, but when that woman was killed, Sean had such an anxiety attack we had to take him to the emergency room.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is he okay now? Murder was the last thing our planning committee imagined they’d be involved in. In fact, they’d rather blame it on an unfortunate case of domestic violence and move on.”

“Does anyone have any idea what happened?” he asked.

“Not that I’ve heard. There was originally some idea it was the victim’s husband, but now they think my friend Jenny was the intended target. There were three quilters who were wearing identical costumes that night. It’s awful, but Jenny is hoping it’s the ex-husband, too.”

“But that’s not what you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know. With Jenny’s brother being killed, and everything else that’s happened, it’s hard to believe the ex-husband would coincidentally choose the same weekend to kill his wife.”

“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.