Quilt As You Go (13 page)

His face turned a pink color that matched his shirt. “Of course I'm concerned about your arm.” He was obviously stalling as he shuffled his feet and then studied their new positions.

"But you'd like to ask me to do something?” Harriet prompted.

"Well, now that you mention it, the city council is having a meeting tomorrow and wondered it we could provide some information about our event. I was hoping you could put a few figures together for me."

"Are you sure you don't want me to just come to the meeting?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly ask such a thing while you're wounded."

Of course not, Harriet thought. People might realize who'd really done the work, and that would never do.

"I'll see what I can come up with,” she said. “I'm not promising anything—after all, it's hard to work with my arm like this.” She already had the information, but she wanted to watch him squirm. “Now,” she continued, “I have a couple of questions for you."

"Sure, ask away. I have no secrets."

"This isn't that sort of question.” Harriet led him to the sitting area near the front door and gestured for him to sit down, then took the wing back chair opposite him. “Think back about twenty years, to the time just before your dad's company became Foggy Point Fire Protection."

"You mean when Gerald disappeared?” he asked.

Maybe he was sharper than she was giving him credit for.

"Yeah, around that time. Do you remember what products were under development?"

He was silent for a few minutes. “Nothing stands out. Back then they made a lot of low-volume products. They were trying to make a fabric shielding sleeve that could be used to fireproof cable bundles, but I don't think they got very far with it. I could try to look in the company archives, but I'm not sure we kept the data on products that didn't go anywhere."

"That would be useful,” Harriet said. “I'd like to see a list of everything Gerald was working on, successful or not."

"Sure, I'll get my secretary right on it.” He pulled a smart phone from his pocket and keyed in a reminder note.

"Oh, and one more thing,” she said. “Do you remember an employee during that same period named Terry Jansen? I don't know what sort of position he held."

Carlton appeared to be thinking. Finally, he shook his head. “No, it doesn't ring a bell. That's not to say there couldn't have been, but one of my jobs was to sign Christmas and birthday cards from my dad for each employee. There weren't a lot of employees back then, you see. Dad wanted people to feel like the company was their extended family. When we got bigger, we had to do away with the personalized stuff."

It must have really made the people feel great to get a card from the company owner that hadn't even been signed by him, Harriet thought, but then focused on the task at hand.

"If you could check the employee rosters I'd appreciate it."

Carlton looked skeptical about adding another task to his list.

"Perhaps you could give me that information when I bring you the information for your meeting?"

His shoulders sagged, and he tapped on his phone again, adding the additional request.

"What time is your meeting?” she asked.

"After lunch,” he said.

"I'm coming downtown for a Loose Threads meeting,” she said. “I'll swing by on my way."

"See you tomorrow, then.” He stood and turned toward the long-arm machine. “Good to see you as always, Beth,” he said, and let himself out.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?” Harriet asked her aunt when Carlton was gone.

"I can't think of anything you could do left-handed that would help.” Beth said. “Your job is to rest up and heal."

"How about I walk downtown and get us some dinner?"

"Are you sure you're up to it?” Aunt Beth asked. She looked at her closely.

"I'm fine, really. I've had lots of rest."

"Okay, but take your cell phone with you, and if you're not back in an hour, I'm coming looking."

"I'll be back, don't worry. If I get too tired, I'll call and you can come get me, but I won't need to."

She went into the kitchen and picked up a thin brown flowered nylon shopping bag that folded up in a small pouch she could carry in her pocket until she needed it. She took money from her purse, wrestling left-handed with her wallet until she finally was able to extract enough bills to cover the anticipated cost of dinner.

"Do you have any preference?” she asked Aunt Beth when she'd returned to the studio.

"Honey, if I don't have to fix it, anything sounds great."

Harriet headed out of the studio and down the driveway. She still was undecided about what dinner would be.

"Hey, doll,” came a male voice from behind her. A familiar vintage Ford Bronco cruised into view, inching forward, keeping pace. “Want a ride?"

"Sure,” she said.

Aiden stopped and jumped out to open the door. She was still on a neighborhood street, so no traffic was in sight.

"I'm on my way to California,” she told him.

"I'll go anywhere with you,” he said. “Let's go."

"Don't you need to pick up Randy?"

"Nah, Carla will feed her eventually."

"You're impossible,” she said with a smile. “Actually, I'm on my way to pick up dinner for my aunt and I. Would you like to join us?"

Aiden was silent. Harriet looked at him. It was unusual for him to not have a ready quip. “What?” she finally said when he continued to stare out the windshield. “Do you have a date?” She was joking ... until he didn't answer. “If you have a date, just say so. It's okay."

"I don't have a date,” he said. “Not like you think, anyway. It's just...” He broke off, obviously choosing his words carefully.

"Just what?"

"It's just that I promised I'd be a guinea pig for Carla tonight."

"That's okay,” Harriet said. A deep stab of pain knifed through her stomach; or maybe it was her heart—she wasn't sure. “Carla needs you."

"She wants to have Terry over for dinner, but she's afraid her cooking isn't up to snuff. I've tried to tell her what a great cook she is, but she wants to try the dinner menu first, just in case."

A great cook, Harriet thought. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Carla was his housekeeper, after all. But now she was his cook. His “great cook,” she amended.

"That's fine. I realize I was inviting you at the last minute."

"You don't have to give me notice,” he said. “You know that. I'd rather eat with you, but Carla was so worked up over having Terry over, I agreed. If I'd known you were going to ask me, I'd have said no."

"It's no big deal,” she said. “It's my pain meds talking. Of course Carla needs your support. Are you going to be there when Terry comes to dinner?"

"I told her I'd take Wendy to Tico's Tacos and introduce her to Mexican food."

Harriet looked out her window. Aiden reached over and turned her face toward him.

"I can get one of the vet techs to babysit. I'm sure Carla wouldn't mind."

"It's not that,” Harriet said. “I'm actually worried about Carla being alone with that guy so much. There's something off about his genealogy story. He claims he's trying to get to know his father by retracing his past. He says his dad used to work for Carlton's dad, but Carlton doesn't remember him."

"And that surprises you?” Aiden asked.

"Actually, it does. Carlton's dad made him write out the birthday and Christmas cards for all the employees back then. He wrote every name at least twice every year for some number of years. I realize he could forget someone after twenty years or more, but when I told him the name, it didn't trigger anything."

"Carlton's a weasel—I wouldn't put faith in anything he remembered or didn't remember. I can guarantee you the only thing he thinks about these days is Bebe."

"Still, I don't trust Terry."

"They're just having dinner. They're not even leaving the house."

"Unless they go for a walk by the strait. Then he could kill her and dump her in the water and we might never find her."

"You have been watching way too much television,” Aiden said. “Terry is not out to kill Carla."

"Maybe not, but he's lying about
something
—I can feel it."

She sank back in her seat, and Aiden drove in silence.

"Have you decided where you want to get food?” he finally asked as they approached town.

"Tico's sounds good and easy to carry, too."

"I'm going to drive you home when you get your food,” he said. “I don't have to be home for a while.” He looked down when he said the last part.

"It's okay, really,” she said and put her hand on his arm.

Aiden guided the Bronco into the small parking lot at the side of Tico's. He got out and came around to Harriet's door, opened it and pulled her carefully into his arms, making sure he didn't jostle her collarbone.

"I'm sorry I can't come to dinner. I really want to."

"Look,” Harriet said as she leaned back and gazed into his ice-blue eyes. “I just overreacted there for a minute. Like I said, it was the pain meds talking. I really do want you to help Carla, and more important, I want you to protect her."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive,” she said, and almost meant it.

She leaned toward him. Aiden steadied her face with his hand and gently brushed his lips over hers. She smiled against his mouth, and he kissed her more deeply, being careful still of her wounded shoulder.

"Please, amigos, get a room,” came a booming voice from the back door. “You're going to drive my business away."

Jorge laughed and waved the dish towel he was holding at them. Harriet laughed, too.

"Busted."

"I guess we better go in,” she said.

"Yeah, he's probably on the phone with your aunt already."

"
What?
"

"You heard me. Jorge is as big a gossip as any of the Loose Threads."

Harriet finished getting out of the car, pushing him out of the way.

"I don't need them talking about me any more than they do already."

"Do you two want food today, or are you just here to make out?” Jorge asked when they came into the restaurant.

Harriet's face burned, and she took a deep steadying breath before she spoke.

"I actually came to order take-out for my aunt and I."

"What? No food for the señor?"

Jorge couldn't have missed the look that passed between Harriet and Aiden. He clapped his large hands together.

"Well, then, mija, what did you have in mind for dinner? You want to try something different? How about some nice barbacoa burritos?"

"Sounds good,” Harriet said.

There were more than burritos in the bag when she unpacked it. Aunt Beth came through the studio door into the kitchen as Harriet was pouring a glass of lemonade for each of them. She glanced at the two place settings on the island bar, and her eyebrows rose.

"No Aiden?” she asked.

"He had to be home for dinner,” Harriet said, and busied herself dividing the generous carton of guacamole into two smaller bowls. She pulled out a small bag of tortilla chips from the main package and poured them into a basket she placed within reach of both places.

"Are you regretting sending Carla to be his housekeeper?"

"No,” she said, too quickly. “No. I couldn't in good conscience let her continue living in a car with a baby.” She set a container of salsa by each plate—mild for Aunt Beth, medium for herself.

"You didn't have to suggest Aiden. She could have stayed here.” Aunt Beth settled at the bar, and Harriet handed her a plate with a foil-wrapped burrito.

"Aiden does need a housekeeper. It works for both of them. He would have had to pay someone anyway. It might as well be Carla. It's a win-win.” She knew her response lacked the enthusiasm usually associated with such words. She set her own plate and burrito on the counter.

"But..."

"No but,” Harriet said and sat down beside her aunt. She unwrapped her burrito and carefully folded the used foil with one hand. “It's just that I'm starting to feel like the other woman. They have all kinds of plans, and I have to fit in around the edges."

"It's only natural for people who live together to have to coordinate their schedules."

"How many times did Avanell have to miss dinner out with the Threads to be home to eat with Rose?” Harriet asked, referring to Aiden's mother and their family housekeeper.

"That was different. Rose came to Avanell and George when they had their first child. She helped with the baby and took care of the house. They were both working, and she had to contend with their schedule initially. Then, as the kids got bigger, she had to work around their classes and activities, too."

"A big part of me totally gets it. I want Carla living there where she and Wendy are safe and Aiden can keep an eye on her new boyfriend. I just liked it better when she was living at his house and he still had the apartment over the vet hospital. I was getting used to having him around all the time."

"Are you sure it isn't that you liked having everything your way?"

"Thanks for your caring support,” Harriet said and dipped a tortilla chip into her bowl of guacamole.

"What good would I be if I only said what you wanted to hear?"

"You're right. It's one more reason why Aiden and I don't belong together. I got used to having things my way. I'm not used to accommodating anyone else's needs anymore."

"That's not true,” Aunt Beth said around a bite of burrito. “You can be a very flexible person. Look how you helped Lauren through her tough spot. And you don't even like her."

"You're right. I can be. It's just hard. Aiden and I are still figuring out our relationship. Adding another person or persons makes it harder."

"I'm going to be going over there tomorrow after Threads to see how the changes she and I talked about are working out, housekeeping wise. She feels so grateful—she thinks she has to work constantly to earn her keep. She may be using the time we freed up from cleaning to cook. I'll see what I can do."

"Don't tell her I said anything."

"Don't be insulting,” Aunt Beth said and then smiled. “I'll feel Marjory out, too. She cut back Carla's hours at the quilt shop when the girl moved to Aiden's so she could get settled. I'll put a bug in her ear about restoring the old schedule. If Carla doesn't have so much time on her hands, it'll be easier for her to stick to a reasonable housekeeping schedule."