Monkey Wrench (13 page)

He pulled his hand away as I tried to give him my plastic.

“I got this,” he said gruffly. He shuffled up front. “Lunch wagon,”
he called.

I brought my laptop out to the greeting table and settled there.

Jenn came back, holding our Twitter prize basket aloft. “You like?”

“It’s fabulous,” I said.

She’d taken the basket that Freddy had brought and gussied it up. Glittery silver ribbon wound through the handle. Lark’s book was featured prominently; the scissors were nestled on a bed of candy and silver confetti. She’d attached silver balls on matching pipe cleaners. If I’d done that, the result would have been Martian. Hers was chic.

Of course, if we’d had more business this morning, the basket would have remained unadorned. I would have been okay with that.

“Have you been checking the tweets?” she asked.

“I’m about to,” I said, opening the laptop.

Jenn pulled her phone out of her apron pocket. “This friend of mine is tweeting as she goes from shop to shop.” Jenn said, “She’s funny. Snarky.”

My heart did a little flip. This was the part of Twitter that was nerve-wracking. Instantaneous judging. “Has she been here? What did she say?”

Jenn looked down at her phone. “Not sure. She’s not specific. She probably doesn’t want to get sued. Listen to this, though. I bet you can tell which shop this is.
Expect puppies and rainbows to fall from the ceiling. Sweet overload. Specializes in twee florals.”

I had to grin. That was the perfect description of Barbara the Damp’s shop.

“How about this one?
Surf’s up, dude. If a quilt shop can be
righteous, this is it. Every fabric has a peace sign on it.
”

Ursula joined us. I looked behind her. I couldn’t see one customer on the shop floor. Business was slower than our slowest day this year. The Quilters Crawl had probably scared away our regular customers. And no one was crawling here.

“Oh, that’s definitely the Santa Cruz shop,” Ursula said.

“Type A. Not a speck of dirt anywhere. No fun either.”

We all said in unison, “Barb V!”

We laughed.

Jenn said, “She’s going to keep it up all day today. Her husband drives and she tweets.”

“Is she following the Quilters Crawl Twitter feed?” Ursula asked. I looked at her in surprise. Ursula was not known around here for her technological prowess.

“Hey, I’m figuring this out,” she said. “I signed up for an account myself last night. I’m following David Boreanaz, the guy from
Bones
. He tweeted a picture of his cool socks. Red and black argyle. Very hot.”

I looked at her in amazement.

“What?” she said. “It’s not rocket science.”

“Go, Ursula,” Jenn said, giving her a fist bump. Florence looked up questioningly from where she was straightening the bookrack, trying to follow the conversation.

I got up and gave her wrinkled hand a pat. “Nothing to worry about, Flo. Today, I only need you to cut fabric and chat up the customers, making them feel at home. Making them want to spend more time here. You’re the best at that. No wi-fi or plug-in required.”

I sat out front while Flo, Jenn, and Ursula ate lunch in the classroom. My father was telling them stories and I heard plenty of laughs and giggles. At least he’d found his audience.

The store remained quiet. I told myself the hoppers were all out to lunch.

Finally, it was time for our Twitter event. I had the laptop open and Jenn came back from lunch with her phone at the ready.

At the stroke of two, Freddy sent out his tweet. “Special prizes at these two Quilters Crawl locations, QP on the Alameda in San Jose and Quilts Up in Santa Cruz.”

“This is it, ladies,” I said to my staff who trickled back in from lunch. Dad frowned. “And gent. Get ready. Jenn and I will take the doors. We’ll give a special ticket to everyone who comes in. The winner has to be here at three o’clock when the prize is awarded, so all the participants should be mingling for the entire hour. Be sure to tell them there’s food in the classroom.”

I got their nods. “And point out the QP Originals, please.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Wait,” Jenn said. “We need a picture.”

Ursula said, “I’ll take it.”

Jenn handed over her phone. She and I stood holding the Twitter basket.

“Smile like you mean it,” Ursula said. “This is an historic moment. The first Twitter event in the history of the Quilters Crawl.”

Claudia and Florence clapped as Jenn and I posed. I didn’t have any trouble smiling genuinely. My staff was trying really hard to cheer me up. They wanted the best for me and that felt good.

I raced to the back door. Dad was at his station.

“Be ready, it’s Twitter time,” I said. “We are going to be really busy for the next hour.”

He cracked his knuckles in response. I stopped to give him a quick hug.

“Hey, what was that for?” he said, straightening out his Mr. Rogers-type sweater.

“I’m glad you’re here for the fun. This Twitter thing was my idea, mine and Vangie’s, and it’s happening.”

The wind had died down and the sun had heated up the afternoon. I stood outside on the tiny porch, ready to greet anyone who came by.

The back parking lot was small, only holding about a dozen cars. We shared it with Mrs. Unites’s burrito shop but her lunch crowd had come and gone, so there was plenty of parking. Customers had no excuses not to stop.

It was too bad Vangie wasn’t here. I pulled out my phone to call her. Not now. I’d wait until after the Twitter event and let her bask in the glow of the success. Maybe I’d call her when we pulled out the winning ticket. That would be perfect. She could be in on the big moment that way.

A bird sang heartily from the pine tree in the neighbor’s yard. People in this neighborhood loved their bird feeders, so the array of songbirds was always wonderful.

I wanted to hear a different kind of bird, though. The kind that tweeted online.

I paced. A car came around the corner. I took my place at the door, threw my shoulders back and smiled. The car continued past the driveway into the neighborhood beyond. Dang.

I walked some more and forbade myself from looking at my watch. Or the phone. I wasn’t going to check the tweets. I wouldn’t drive myself nuts.

I glanced in the back door even though I knew I couldn’t really see the shop floor from here. I could see Dad. He was reading the paper.

Jenn had to be doing better. People must have parked on the street out front.

Forty minutes went by without one customer coming in the back door. I went in and put the roll of special tickets next to my father.

“What’s this?” he said, folding the sports section.

“Make sure anybody that comes to get their passport stamped gets one,” I said, not pausing. I headed for the front door.

“I thought we were going to get busy,” he said after me.

Three customers holding pink tickets were gathered by the cutting table. They were looking through the prize basket.

“Pretty sweet,” an apple-cheeked blonde said. “This is Lark Gordon’s newest book.”

Her friend pumped a fist. “One of us is bound to win,” she said. “The odds are really good.”

“Do we have to hang around until three?” her friend whined.

Ursula said, “Those are the rules.”

My heart sank. I crossed the shop to skirt around them, avoiding eye contact. I couldn’t make small talk right now. I went out to Jenn.

“Is that it? Three people?” I asked as soon as the door had closed
behind me.

She nodded. “That’s all. What about you?”

I shook my head. “Nobody. Let me see your phone.”

She held it away from me. “Freddy followed up a minute or so ago.”

There was something else. Some reason she wouldn’t let me see her phone.

“What?” I demanded. “You know something. Tell me.”

She looked away. We were both hopeful as a PT Cruiser went past, but the driver didn’t stop.

“
Quiltsaplenty
is at the Santa Cruz shop. She says there are at least thirty people there.”

“Damn!” I said, kicking an empty soda can. It landed noisily in the gutter. I fetched it and put it in the recycling bin.

I looked up the street. “Do you think the freeway ramp is closed for construction again? Maybe there’s an overturned tractor trailer that we didn’t hear about.”

Jenn shrugged, without looking at me.

“Are we hard to find? I’m sure our address is correct on the map. Where are all of our customers?” I cried.

Jenn put a hand on my shoulder. I could tell she wanted to tell me something.

“Tell me,” I said. “What am I doing wrong?”

Jenn frowned. She suddenly looked like a mother about to give her kid some vile-tasting medicine. I straightened my back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer to that question.

“Do you really want to know?” Jenn asked.

Jenn and I had had a bumpy relationship. She had been Team Kym when I’d fired Kym. When I brought Ursula back with me from Asilomar, Jenn had nearly quit in protest. Ursula had been the one to bring Jenn back into the QP fold, with her gentle persistence. She’d informed her that she was counting on Jenn to teach her the ropes. They’d bonded over the correct way to fold a fat quarter and cash counting techniques.

But Jenn had always remained a little cold to me.

She found her voice. “You’ve been making a lot of changes around here. You don’t have the kinds of fabrics that your mother used to carry. I think your customer base has eroded somewhat.”

“Quilting is changing,” I protested. “Besides, sales are up.”

She held up a hand. “I’m not saying you’re doing the wrong thing. First of all, it’s your shop. You’re in a transitional phase. I think your new quilters are not the type that go on shop hops. They’re at work on Wednesdays. Maybe we’ll see them on the weekend. But today, it’s a lot of traditional quilters who have eleven other shops to pick from. They’ll get here eventually.”

“But I promised that this Twitter promotion would be a good thing for everyone. And here it’s sucking for me.”

“It’s a smart idea. You may be a little ahead of the curve. I guarantee you by next year, using Twitter will be the norm. Every other Quilters Crawl is going to copy you.”

I hugged Jenn and went back to my post in the back.

Right at three, Jenn took a picture of me with the apple-cheeked
blonde. She’d won the basket.

Twelve

I’d been closed for
at least twenty minutes when there was a knock at the back door. I heard the handle jiggle. Oh, no. Was it an errant shop hopper? I had the slowest day in QP history and now someone wants to come in?

I collapsed against the counter. The Quilters Crawl dictated the hours all the shops were open. I didn’t have the energy to deal with someone who thought the rules don’t really apply to her.

I wanted to go home. Home to Buster. And bubbles. I needed to erase this day from my memory bank.

The knock came again, louder this time.

I went down the back hall to see who was banging at the door, preparing a speech about how I had to obey the rules or I’d get thrown out.

Through the glass I could see Freddy smiling at me. He was holding a bottle of wine up like an Oscar.

“Got cups?” he said, when I threw the deadbolt and let him in.

“You bet,” I said. He followed me into the kitchen, collapsing on one of the retro red-vinyl-covered chairs.

I pulled out two of our best QP logo mugs, giving Freddy the biggest one.

“Ice?” I asked, pausing in front of the freezer door.

Freddy’s brow furrowed. Nice to see he was laying off the
Botox.
“Don’t be gauche. This is a robust red. Best at room temperature.”

“We’re drinking out of mugs, Freddy,” I said. “Gauche is something to strive for.”

He poured.

“What a day,” Freddy said, rubbing his scalp vigorously. He’d let his bald spot take over and cut the remaining locks short. I liked it so much better than the ponytail combover he’d been sporting.

“I’m telling you, if I had to give directions to Barb V’s shop one more time today, I was going to shoot myself right in the kisser. Every single hopper seemed to be going from my place to hers. Why do women assume I know how to get places? Number one, I just moved up here. And number two, I’m a dude. I navigate by the stars.”

I laughed and took a big swig of the wine. Freddy was like a straight hairdresser or ice skater. Always trying to prove his masculinity, he liked to err on the macho side.

I was glad Buster was at home.

“Number three, you hate Barb V,” I said. “Did you have a good day?”

He glanced at his phone. “I think so. It seemed busy. But I’m not in this for the daily numbers like you. I want these quilters to remember Roman’s Sewing Machines and find their way back when they need a new machine.”

I was hungry, so I pulled out some cheese and crackers and put them on the table. Freddy poked at a slice.

“Has this cheese been sitting out all day?”

“Geez, no!” I said. “Do you think I’m trying to kill you?”

Freddy smirked. “Don’t play like you never thought about it.”

“Who hasn’t?” I said. He stuck his tongue out at me. “Don’t worry, this is the cheese for tomorrow.”

“I’m honored,” he said, biting into the little sandwich he’d made
, spreading cracker crumbs everywhere. He pushed the rest in his mouth.

“So my Twitter thing was a total bust.”

Freddy had more free time than I did. I knew he would have checked in with the other shops during the day.

Freddy stuck his finger in the condensation puddling on the tabletop near the wine bottle. He drew little paisleys on the metal. “I heard.”

“Hey,” I said, punching his arm. “You don’t have to agree with me.”

“What did you think was going to happen? A flash mob? A couple of hundred quilters rocking out to Bon Jovi’s ‘You Can’t Go Home’?”

I could hear the song in my head. Now it would be stuck there all night.

Freddy liked the idea. His smile grew. “I can see it. We could film it in Cesar de Chavez Park next to the dog poop statue. Tons of middle-aged white women doing the Hustle, fist pumping.”

He sang a few notes.

I said, “Hey now, I’m not middle-aged, nor are my quilters. My customers are not all white, either. And you need to respect the Quetzalcoatl statue.”

Freddy wasn’t listening. “We should totally plan one of those. I’ve got a customer who’s a choreographer. She would help. I bet it would be great.”

Freddy drained the bottle of wine. I was surprised to see that it was empty. I hadn’t noticed him refilling my glass. I’d thought I was still nursing my first.

I didn’t care. The wine was relaxing. I felt the concerns of the day fade away.

“So my brother called,” Freddy said.

I sat up straight and felt the tightness return to my shoulders. I nearly got whiplash from the jolt. Has Zorn caught up with Vangie?

“And?”

“The police are looking for Vangie. She’s not at the hospital anymore, but she’s not at home either.”

At least she wasn’t in police custody. I relaxed a little, and shrugged my shoulders at him innocently.

“Larry’s concerned. He hasn’t heard from her.”

“Are you asking me if I know where she is?” I asked. I picked at the label on the bottle. It was an estate Cab from Duckhorn Vineyard in Napa. Freddy didn’t mind spending sixty bucks for a few drinks.

Freddy frowned. “Larry wanted me to tell you to tell her it would
be better for her if she returned his calls. He can’t protect her otherwise.”

I shrugged. “If I see her—which I’m not saying I will—I will pass on the message. I think Vangie should be talking to her lawyer, too. That would be the smart thing to do.”

Buster’s ring sounded on my phone, playing “Hammerhead Stew.” The Delbert McClinton song was the tale of a guy who protected his girl to the extreme of making mincemeat out of Jaws. Truthfully, it made me a little nervous that he’d picked that song as his ring tone.

Freddy reached for the phone. He’d had enough wine to make him think it would be a good idea to answer and say inappropriate things. I snatched it away from him, letting the call go to voice mail. I texted Buster instead, telling him that I was on my way home.

I stood. “Time to go,” I said.

I rinsed our mugs and the plate in the sink, and we walked outside together. Freddy waited as I locked the door from the outside, jiggling the handle to be sure.

“Here’s to a Twitterific day tomorrow,” he said with a jaunty wave. “If you hear from Vangie, tell her to call her lawyer.”

“Got it,” I said.

_____

“Dewey!” Kym yelled from the back of the store. She really had to holler to be heard. I took a breath. Kym was here because I didn’t have anyone else to work the table, I reminded myself. If we were going to be busy today, I needed her.

It was the morning of the second day of the Crawl. After yesterday, my expectations had definitely come down a notch. So far though, attendance had been steady and there were at least a dozen people in the store.

I walked back to where Kym sat at the greeting table. “Please lower your voice,” I said. “Don’t shout for me. It’s not cool.”

“You told me to stay put. How was I supposed to let you know you had a phone call? You can’t have it both ways, you know.”

“You can use the intercom feature …”

She thrust the portable store phone at me. “Did you find a purse?”
she asked. “This lady lost her pocketbook.”

“What?” I said, looking at the phone in my hand.

“I don’t know. Talk to her.”

Kym worked a nail file over her thumbnail, her business with me complete. I walked a few steps away, into my office. “This is Dewey,” I said.

“Dewey, thank goodness. Kym said you found my purse.”

I glared at Kym, but she had picked up a
Fabric Trends
. The latest edition, of course. I had plenty of older magazines on the sale rack, but she had to have a new one. I cringed as she licked her figure to turn the page. After she got done with it, I wouldn’t be able to sell it.

The woman was speaking rapidly “I was so afraid I’d lost my wallet. My credit cards are in there, my license. I don’t want to go to the DMV…”

“Hold on, I didn’t find anything. Start at the beginning. Who is this?”

“This is Lois Lane. I’ve called every other shop I went to yesterday. I should have started with you.”

Looking for lost items was a hobby of many of my post-menopausal customers. We kept a big box of stray eyeglasses, keys, and even a sex toy under the cutting table. No one had ever claimed the toy. Ursula had thrown it out.

“None of my employees have told me about finding a purse. Sorry.”

Lois said, “You don’t have it? You remember what it looks like? Remember that fabric I bought last week?”

“Of course,” I said, picturing the purse she’d brought in earlier in the week. “Lois, don’t worry. I’ll go look for it right now.”

I handed the phone back to Kym. I smiled at the five women who had just had their passports stamped. They were moving into the store. Yippee. I could see more people parking their cars out back. One was a large minivan. This morning was much busier than yesterday, thank goodness.

“Someone’s purse was stolen?” Kym said, her voice carrying. Panic colored her tone.

“Please lower your voice,” I said, whispering. The stamped Crawlers went into the classroom for a snack, but they were still within earshot.

Kym flipped a page of the magazine so hard it ripped. I bit my lip. Money down the drain. The cost of doing Kym business.

“I bet someone walked off with it,” she said.

“Kym, please.”

She looked up, eyes wide. “What? Think about it. The Crawl is purse-snatcher’s paradise. Distracted shoppers with cash. Crowded spaces, plenty of jostling.”

She was getting louder, not quieter. The back door was opening. I couldn’t have her scaring my customers. Even the rumor of a thief working the Quilters Crawl could affect business. No one was going to have fun if they were worried about their belongings.

I wanted quilters with their purse strings loosened, not tucked under their arms.

I leaned on the table, hoping to shut her up. “Lois probably laid her purse down somewhere and wandered off. Most likely, I’ll find it in a jiffy.”

Kym nodded her head knowingly. She couldn’t stop herself.
“I’d look in the dumpster if I were you. Her purse is probably there
. Of course, without her cash or her credit cards.”

I walked to the back of the table, and pulled on her chair, unseating her. “Kym,
take a break,” I said.

“I don’t need …”

The minivan had disgorged seven women. Each was carrying a large tote bag. These women meant to shop.

“Seriously, Kym. Take five. Now.”

She huffed up from the table and stomped to the bathroom. I prayed that five minutes repairing her eyelashes would put her in a better frame of mind.

“Welcome to QP,” I said, smiling brightly. “Everyone having a good day?”

I let Kym stew until a text came from the burrito shop next door, telling me lunch was ready. She wouldn’t look at me, but sat down when I asked.

“You need to use the bathroom?” Mrs. Unites called out when I walked in. She knew the work had finally been finished, but she loved to tease me.

I shook my head. “Maybe. For old times’ sake.”

She cackled and reached for the bag that held my order. I gave her the store credit card.

“How’s Mr. Handsome these days? You hiding him from me? You afraid he will like me better than you?”

She guffawed and ran my card through her reader. For someone who had been standing on her feet ten hours a day for the past thirty years, Mrs. U was cheerful.

“He’s been working a lot. He’ll be in for lunch next week, I promise.”

“Good. I feed him and make him so happy. What about Miss Vangie? You didn’t order her enchilada? Is she not working today?”

I shook my head. “School,” I lied. I didn’t have time to explain that Vangie was hiding out at Pearl’s.

Mrs. Unites beamed proudly. “She is a good student.”

“Yes, she is.”

Vangie had texted me several times. She was bored silly. I could have used her help today but Zorn was likely to find her here.

I checked my phone as I walked back. Vangie had stopped flooding my phone. Maybe she was napping.

Freddy’s tweets had started to go out. Special prizes. Don’t miss the excitement at Roman’s Sewing Machines. Fun starts at three sharp. Must be present to win.

He followed that up with
Come one, come all. If you’re short or if you’re tall. Roman’s Sewing Machines is the place to crawl.

I retweeted his exhortations to my followers and to the Crawl
followers. I hoped he’d have a better day than mine had been
yesterday.