Make Quilts Not War

chapter 4



The limo Aiden had promised arrived at seven sharp.

“What do you think, Fred?” Harriet asked her fluffy gray cat as she twirled in a circle and came to a stop in front of the mirror in her front hall. The sleeveless black crepe cocktail dress skimmed the top of her knees. “Are the earrings too much?”

She held her hand over one ear, blocking the sparkle of the diamonds as she turned her head from side to side, evaluating each option in turn.

The doorbell rang, ending the debate.

“Enjoy your night alone,” she called to Fred.

She’d taken Scooter, her little dog, to Connie’s house for an overnight visit. Scooter had recovered dramatically after being rescued by Aiden from a hoarding home. He’d been well enough to leave the animal hospital several weeks ago but still required medication several times a day.

Connie and her husband Rod had agreed to take him for an overnight visit so Harriet wouldn’t have to come home early to administer his nightly dose.

She opened the front door to a short middle-aged man with gray hair. He was dressed in some sort of formal livery. Harriet wondered if Aiden had paid extra for the costume.

“Ms. Truman?” he asked. “I’m Mr. Jones, your driver. Your car awaits.”

“Let me get my coat,” she said and grabbed her black dress coat from the antique rack by the door.

“May I pour you a glass of champagne?” Mr. Jones asked when Harriet was seated in the white leather passenger area of the limo. He’d picked up a chilled bottle from an ice bucket, wrapping it deftly with a white towel.

“No, thank you, I’m good.” Harriet’s palms were beginning to sweat. She was happy that Aiden was making an effort, and excited to see what came next, but at the same time, she worried this whole limo-and-champagne routine was a little over-the-top.

“Let me know if I can do anything to make your journey more enjoyable,” Mr. Jones said, and when no requests were forthcoming, he closed the door and got into the driver’s seat.

If the limo was taking her anywhere in Foggy Point, it would be a short ride, Harriet thought. It soon became clear that Mr. Jones was driving a serpentine route around town, finally arriving at their destination precisely thirty minutes later.

The limo came to a stop, and a moment later, Mr. Jones opened the door. Harriet recognized the location immediately. They were in Smugglers Cove at a restaurant owned by her friend Harold’s buddy James. Harold had brought her to the place when she’d first returned to Foggy Point.

She had known from the moment Aiden asked her on this date that whatever he had planned would happen someplace where there would be a good chance someone she knew would bear witness. Foggy Point just wasn’t that big, and its selection of event worthy restaurants was limited.

James not only owned the restaurant Aiden had chosen but was also the head chef. There would be at least one witness.

Mr. Jones led Harriet from the parking lot to the door of the eatery, opening it and then handing her off to the hostess.

“I hope you’re having a wonderful time,” the thin redheaded woman said with a smile. “Your table is ready.”

She picked up a leather-bound menu and led Harriet to a table that overlooked the cove marina. Harriet tried to interpret the meaning of the single menu. Either Aiden was waiting at the table or, more likely, hadn’t arrived yet. Being a veterinarian, it wasn’t unusual for him to have to deal with last-minute emergencies.

Her stomach clenched as the hostess seated her at an otherwise unoccupied table.

The woman offered to bring her a drink, and Harriet asked for sparkling water with lemon. When fifteen minutes had passed without any sign of Aiden, a waiter—Joshua, he said—clad in black trousers and vest and a white open-necked shirt, brought a small white plate with thin-cut carrots and celery and several small pieces of cheese.

“Compliments of Chef James,” he said as he set it in front of Harriet. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“No, I’m good,” she mumbled. Anyone with eyes could see she wasn’t good, but Joshua left without saying anything.

At thirty minutes, Joshua brought warm crusty Kalamata olive bread and fresh butter. Harriet went to the ladies room and splashed cold water on her face, hoping her absence from the table would cause Aiden to arrive but knowing in her heart that she was indulging in magical thinking.

Forty-five minutes brought James to her table.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you mind?” He pointed at the chair opposite hers.

“Please,” she said, waving absently at the chair.

“This is awkward,” he began.

“Oh.” Harriet sat straighter. “Do you need this table?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean to suggest…I’m sorry, what I meant to ask is, can I do anything? Call someone? Dr. Jalbert made the reservations, and I assume he sent the limo for you, which means you’re stuck here until he shows.”

“You’re assuming he’s going to show,” Harriet said, her face flaming red.

“I’m sure he’s just been detained at the animal hospital,” James offered.

“And he’s alone, without a phone or anyone who could call for him?”

“I’m sorry,” James said again, and looked down at his hands.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I didn’t bring my cell phone,” Harriet finally said.

“Would you like to use mine?”

“No. If he’s so busy he can’t call me, I’m not going to bother him.” A dark part of Harriet wondered if this had been the plan all along.

“I can take you home, if you’d like,” James offered.

“I can’t let you do that,” Harriet said. “You’ve got a restaurant to run. I’ll call my aunt or one of my friends. Do you mind if I sit here a few minutes to steel myself for the explanations?”

“At least stay long enough to eat. I cooked a special beef dish just for you.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t possibly eat dinner.”

“How about some Death by Chocolate?” he offered. “It might be just what you need.”

Harriet sighed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Be right back.”

True to his word, in less than five minutes, James came back with two dishes of the warm, dense chocolate cake.

“I hope it’s okay that I’m joining you,” he said.

“Thanks for not making me suffer through this alone.” She took a bite of cake.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” James started.

“Can we not talk about it?” Harriet took another bite of cake. “I’m going to have to go through all this until I’m ready to scream with the Loose Threads, and then I’ll still have Aiden to deal with whenever he surfaces. And frankly, at the moment, I can’t think of any excuse that’s going to make this okay.”

“Can you taste the hint of chili in the cake,” James asked her with a crooked smile.

“Tell me about it.”