Elm Creek Quilts [06] The Master Quilter (20 page)

“At least the kids are grown.” Bonnie picked up a stack of fabric diamonds and set them back down. “If they were still living at home, this would be a hundred times worse.”

Agnes figured things would rapidly become a thousand times worse if Bonnie didn’t take care. Agnes took her by the shoulders. “I know this is an enormous shock. I know divorce would be a drastic change and you don’t want to think about it. But right now you have to do what’s in your own best interest. You can be sure Craig is.”

Bonnie blinked, then frowned, hard. “I wouldn’t doubt it. That’s what he’s always done.”

Finally
, Agnes thought with relief. A bit of well-deserved anger. Bonnie would need that if she were to shake off this wounded bewilderment and steel herself for what was likely to be an unpleasant fight. Agnes could see it coming, even if Bonnie refused to look.

Agnes knew that until Bonnie found her bearings, what she needed most was companionship and activity, so she enlisted Bonnie’s help in assembling the split LeMoyne Star border. Over the weekend they cut fabric and assembled the four-pointed half stars, taking turns at Agnes’s sewing machine. They worked uninterrupted except for meals and sleep, and, without consulting Bonnie, Agnes arranged for Diane to cover at Grandma’s Attic. They spent the hours working in tandem, at first conversing little except to discuss the progress of Sylvia’s bridal quilt. But as the weekend passed, Bonnie broke the silences more frequently with other dismaying revelations about the Markham marriage—and surprising confessions about the financial status of the quilt shop. Revenues were down, debts were high, and the rent was going up. The building’s new owner seemed as unscrupulous as Craig, and Agnes concurred with Bonnie’s suspicion that they intended to arrange the condo’s sale with or without her consent. Agnes was not sure how that could happen since Bonnie’s name was on the deed, but that was all the more reason Bonnie ought to consult a lawyer without delay.

To Agnes’s consternation, Bonnie seemed as unwilling to confront this Gregory Krolich fellow as she was Craig. Her friend seemed deflated, skittish; on Sunday evening she sounded reluctant when she told Agnes she planned to return to work in the morning. Agnes quickly assured her she thought that was an excellent idea. Grandma’s Attic had been Bonnie’s favorite place from the day of its grand opening, and Bonnie’s former confidence and optimism were more likely to be restored in familiar, beloved surroundings.

Indeed, early Monday evening Bonnie returned to Agnes’s house in better spirits and was more resolute than she had been in weeks. Agnes even managed to persuade her to go to Craig’s office and refuse to leave until he allowed her back into the condo. “You need it more than he does,” Agnes pointed out, “since he enjoys staying away so much.” Bonnie agreed, and on Wednesday morning, after arranging for Diane to open the shop, Bonnie headed for the Waterford College campus. Agnes was so proud of her that she resolved not to let her fight alone.

First she phoned her lawyer herself and told him about Bonnie’s situation. He recommended a divorce attorney named Darren Taylor, describing him as smart, honest, and relentless. “Call him soon,” her lawyer advised. “He’s the best in the county, and you don’t want your friend’s husband to retain him first.”

Uneasy, Agnes decided not to wait for Bonnie to return home from work. She phoned Darren Taylor herself, left a message with his assistant, and worked on Sylvia’s bridal quilt impatiently while she waited for him to return the call. At noon the phone rang, and Agnes told the attorney as much of Bonnie’s story as she could remember.

“Your friend’s husband sounds like a real louse,” said Darren. “It’s too bad Bonnie had to leave the property, but it’s obvious he left her no choice. We’ll have a strong case against him if she can document his actions.”

“So you’re willing to take the case?”

“I’d prefer to speak to your friend first, but I see no reason why not.”

“Considering how her husband has frozen her assets, I’d be happy to send you a check myself if it’s a matter of your retainer.”

“Thanks, but what I really want to know is if your friend truly wants to go through with a divorce.”

“She does,” said Agnes firmly, thinking,
She will
.

“Then have her call me and we’ll set up a meeting. In the meantime, tell her to secure any assets her husband might not have thought of yet—investment accounts, properties, autos—and to go over their bank records very carefully to see if there were any other unexplained withdrawals before the one that all but closed the accounts. He could have been siphoning off money from their joint accounts for years and concealing it somewhere. He acted so quickly I bet he’s been planning this for some time.”

Agnes quickly took notes as he spoke. “I’ll tell her.”

“I’m afraid this next business is rather ugly. You said he’s spent a lot of nights away from home. Ask your friend if she knows where he’s been staying, and with whom. If we can sue on the grounds of infidelity, any claim that she abandoned the property will lose its impact.”

“I’ll ask,” said Agnes, but she doubted Bonnie knew or she would have mentioned it.

“This business with University Realty might prove a difficult knot to untie. Some of my colleagues have dealt with them before, and while they’re unscrupulous, they always manage to keep everything nice and legal. If your friend can get me copies of her lease for the store and purchase agreement for the condo, I’ll pass them along to our property law specialist.”

Heartened by Darren Taylor’s confidence—and the fact that they finally had some steps to take—Agnes assured him that everything would be taken care of, and that Bonnie would call him soon.

“The sooner the better,” Taylor emphasized.

When Bonnie returned from work, she glowed with accomplishment: She had refused to budge from Craig’s office for three hours until he had finally appeared. “And that’s not idle boasting,” she said with a laugh. “That old furniture in his waiting room is uncomfortable. Craig bought it because it looks like some antiques he saw at Penn State once, not because he cares about the poor visitors who have to use it.”

Agnes sniffed. “How typical.” Craig’s reputation as a cheapskate was well earned.

“I think he would have stayed away even longer except he had to get some papers from his desk for a meeting.”

Agnes smiled, proud of her. “Did he agree to move out and let you return home?”

Bonnie’s face fell. “No, he didn’t. But he did say I could come home to pack a suitcase.”

“Well, he’s become quite the altruist, hasn’t he,” said Agnes, and insisted that she accompany Bonnie. She was neither strong nor intimidating enough to defend Bonnie if Craig tried to harm her physically, but experience had taught Agnes that often the presence of an older woman encouraged younger men to be on their best behavior. Furthermore, her conversation with Darren Taylor had put her in a litigious frame of mind, and she thought it prudent to witness Bonnie’s visit home. Heaven only knew how Craig would describe it later.

As they walked to the condo, Agnes summarized her phone conversation with Darren Taylor and urged Bonnie to contact him first thing the next morning. Bonnie hesitated and said, “I’ll think about it.”

What more was there to think about? Agnes wanted to ask, but determined to be a supportive friend, she linked her arm through Bonnie’s and nodded.

Having some of her belongings back and wearing her own favorite clothes brought about a marked change in Bonnie’s attitude, even greater than her triumph of facing down Craig at his office. Three days after her return to the condo, Bonnie came home from work bearing two grocery bags and a bottle of wine, and announced that she intended to prepare Agnes the best meal she had ever eaten. Agnes was too pleased by her friend’s good cheer to ask how she could afford such a feast and instead tied on an apron and offered to help. They had a delightful evening preparing and indulging in a crown roast, sweet potatoes, salad, and a luscious chocolate soufflé for dessert. Agnes even finished off a glass of wine, but what made the occasion truly worth celebrating was that Bonnie announced her intention to contact Darren Taylor and begin divorce proceedings. “I can’t be afraid of being alone,” she said. “The wrong man is much worse than no man at all.”

“Oh, Bonnie.” Agnes reached out and touched her hand. “You have so many friends, you’ll never be alone.”

Tears filled Bonnie’s eyes. “Now I just have to explain things to the kids.”

“Do they have any inkling of what has been going on between you and Craig?”

“Who knows? I doubt it. To them we’re just old mom and dad, fixtures, a unit.” Bonnie sighed and swirled the last drops of wine in her glass. “They’re old enough to understand the reasons why couples divorce, but I can’t imagine they ever thought their own parents would. I wish for their sake Craig and I could keep things amicable, but I think once you’ve crossed over into hostility, you can’t go back.”

“You don’t have to be nasty, regardless of what Craig does,” Agnes assured her, and was rewarded with a grateful smile.

Agnes would take care of the nastiness herself.

On Monday morning after Bonnie left for Grandma’s Attic, Agnes waited a suitable interval before setting off on the same route. Rather than enter the quilt shop, she circled around behind the building and ducked into a shallow alcove at the rear entrance of a drugstore just across the alley. The hiding place provided a good view of the back door to Bonnie’s building, but no one leaving the building would see her unless they knew to look.

She had arrived just in time; within ten minutes the door banged open and out came Craig, clad in his blue Penn State coat and blaze-orange knit hat, whistling, his hands in his pockets. Agnes sighed with relief as he walked past the car without a glance—she would not have been able to follow him driving—and continued east down the alley. She waited a few moments to see if an overnight guest would emerge a discreet few moments later, but when the door remained closed, Agnes hurried after Craig.

From the mouth of the alley Agnes spotted Craig jaywalking north across Campus Drive and turning east again down Main. She pursued him for several blocks, dodging students and professors hurrying to class, until he pushed his way through the revolving door of The Bistro, a favorite breakfast and lunch spot for locals and faculty, a popular student hangout after six.

Agnes pretended to study the menu posted in the window. She glimpsed Craig inside as he removed his hat and finger-combed his hair. She frowned and sniffed. Primping for his lady friend, no doubt, for all the good it would do him. No amount of grooming would conceal the flaws in Craig’s character for long.

As Agnes watched, a man clad in a black wool coat and carrying a leather briefcase joined Craig in line and clapped him on the back. Craig seemed glad to see him, but not surprised; they shook hands like fond colleagues and waited together to be seated. “My,” breathed Agnes as she watched, but unless she had completely misread Craig all these years, this particular breakfast companion was not the reason for Craig’s nights away from home.

The hostess appeared, menus in hand, and led the two men through a doorway and out of sight. Agnes hastened to a window farther down the sidewalk, but although she rose up on her tiptoes, she could not see where they had been seated. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the glass—and then became aware of the curious and pointed stares of the couple eating pancakes at the table on the other side of the window. Agnes felt her cheeks grow warm. “Sorry,” she mouthed, backing away. Then she retraced her steps and entered the restaurant.

She sidestepped the hostess’s stand and headed into the main dining area, pretending to be in search of the ladies’ room. Suddenly she spied Craig and the man, who had removed his coat to reveal a suit of equally fine quality, chatting up the pretty young waitress as she poured their coffee. The man had opened his briefcase and set a thin sheaf of papers on the table, promptly distracting Craig’s attention from the waitress. Agnes strolled by, heading for the
REST ROOMS
sign on the far wall, but stealing quick glances at the papers as she passed. They were clearly legal documents of some sort; she knew this not because she could read the small print, but because the man uncapped a silver pen and passed both pen and papers across the table to Craig as they spoke. She caught snatches of conversation from the man—“property under contention,” “sole resident,” and “closing”—and confident assurances from Craig consisting mostly of “No problem.”

Agnes reached the hallway to the rest rooms and ducked around the corner. No problem indeed! She would bet her last spool of silk thread that the man in the well-tailored wardrobe was that despicable Gregory Krolich, and the property under contention must surely be the condo. She peered around the corner and watched as Craig capped Krolich’s pen and returned it to him. They shook hands, and Krolich gathered up the papers and filed them in his briefcase.

Agnes did not linger to observe what coldhearted snakes ate for breakfast. She marched home, indignant. If she recalled correctly, Sylvia had met with that Gregory Krolich years before, when she still intended to sell her estate. She might be able to confirm his description.

To her disappointment, when Sarah answered the phone at Elm Creek Manor, she reported that Sylvia and Andrew were out running errands. “Oh, dear,” said Agnes. “I have a rather urgent question for her. Could you have her call me back as soon as she returns?”