"Okay,” she said. “I'm there. When do I need to be ready?"
"Harold will pick you up at six. Dinner will be at seven."
"How fancy do I need to dress?"
"No blue jeans but leave the elbow-length gloves and tiara home,” she said. “Thanks, gotta go."
Harriet went upstairs and tried on the little black dress she'd brought with her from California. It was loose-days of lettuce and water did that to a person. She looked in Aunt Beth's closet. Her aunt was shorter and wider than she was, but a good scarf could make up for any bodily shortcoming. She knew Aunt Beth must have a stash of the things somewhere.
She opened the middle drawer of an oak chest and wasn't disappointed-it was crammed full of scarves of every size, texture and color. She picked a purple-and-blue bit of froth and tied it around the waist of her dress. You'd never see the look on the runways in Paris, but she had to admit it wasn't bad.
She changed back into her jeans and turtleneck and went back downstairs. She had a full day of stitching ahead of her-Aunt Beth booked long-arm stitching appointments months in advance. People often reserved spaces without even knowing which quilt they would bring when the time came. Harriet wasn't going to lack for work while she waited for her aunt to return.
She finished her last quilt of the day at five-thirty. That only gave her a half-hour to get ready for her not-a-date, but that was more than enough. She dashed through the shower again, ran a comb through her short damp hair and got into her dress and scarf. She went down to the studio to wait. Since this wasn't a date, there was no reason to invite Harold-or anyone else, for that matter, into the private part of the house.
Aiden had said he would bring Avanell's quilt by this evening, and six o'clock could barely be considered that. But she had still hoped he would arrive before she left. Besides Sarah's, which she assumed she would get at ten tomorrow morning, Avanell's was the only one she didn't have. She had called the cleaners this morning as she'd promised, and they hadn't anticipated any problems cleaning it, but you never knew. She couldn't call Avanell, and Aiden had said he would be on the road most of the day.
In the end, she wrote a note and said she'd be back by nine. She admonished him to not leave the quilt on her doorstep, pinned the note to her door and hoped for the best. She really didn't want the quilt in his hands any longer than absolutely necessary, but it couldn't be helped.
Harold arrived, wearing sharply creased navy blue flannel pants with a crisp white shirt and red bow tie. Harriet gave him points for having his hair cut short enough he didn't have to deal with the possibility of a comb-over. His face was fleshy enough it was hard to determine his age.
He came to the front door in spite of her instructions to Avanell to the contrary. He took the purple pashmina shawl she had found in Aunt Beth's closet from her and draped it over her shoulders. It probably made her look old, but he didn't seem to notice. She glanced at his expectantly crooked elbow and brushed past him, leading the way down the steps to his car.
She nearly fainted at the door to the meeting hall as she inhaled deeply the rich aroma of food-really good, clog-your-arteries, high-calorie food. The scents of beef and garlic and roasted vegetables filled the air; tendrils of fragrance following her as she moved into the room. It was every bit as good as she had hoped. There were mushroom caps filled with a bread crumb-and-cheese mixture with toasted Parmesan on top, and crostini with pork liver pate with tart cornichons. There was a whole table of cheese that featured a wheel of baked Brie covered with dried cranberries, and an unusual goat's milk feta with herbs. And both bread and crackers.
And that was just the snacks. A succulent prime rib was the main course. It was served on warm plates with mashed garlic potatoes and a creamy horseradish sauce that was blended to perfection. The meal was topped off with a rich crème brûlée. It was a clever ploy-when the Chamber president asked for donations for the new playground equipment for North Park, donors were so satiated they opened their wallets wide in appreciation. Harold presented a check for a thousand dollars from the Vitamin Factory. For a non-date, it could have been a lot worse.
Harold pulled his black Cadillac El Dorado into her driveway at precisely nine p.m. She didn't want to make any snap judgments, but based on how quickly he had hustled her out to the car after the last speech was done he either had a hot date or a curfew. He drove just over the speed limit all the way home and had backed out of the driveway before she had her key in the door.
"Well, good night to you, too,” she said out loud.
She had automatically gone to the studio entrance, since it was the nearest door to where he let her out on the circular driveway. She climbed the two steps to the small landing. She was still marveling about her evening as she reached for the doorknob with her key.
If she hadn't been distracted, she probably would have noticed sooner that her door wasn't locked. In fact, the door itself wasn't all the way shut.
She remembered locking it right after she turned the long-arm machine off.
She backed up slowly. She stepped down the two risers backward, reaching into her purse at the same time.
Damn, she thought. Aunt Beth had a collection of small decorative purses left over from an earlier attempt to combine her fiber arts projects with commerce. Harriet had helped herself to a purple-and-blue one. When she transferred the contents of her shapeless black everyday bag into it, her cell phone had made a bulge no matter how she positioned it. In the end she'd tossed the phone onto her dresser.
The crunch of tires on gravel shocked her out of her paralysis. She looked over her shoulder but couldn't see anything in the glare of the headlights coming slowly toward her from the downhill end of her driveway. The robber must have come back.
The small hairs rose on the back of her neck-she knew she couldn't run far in her black dress pumps.
She looked up the other side of the driveway. It was dark. If she could get around the curve, she just might be able to push through the hedge into Mrs. Morse's yard. She turned and started up the drive.
She heard a car door open then footsteps crunching in the gravel. The hedge was a few feet in front of her. The footsteps were getting closer. She reached the hedge and forced her way into the sharp branches. It was an old hedge; and once she was through, the leafless branches closed around her, giving the illusion of safety.
The footsteps stopped then started again. She couldn't see through the wall of leaves. She could envision the robber searching the driveway to see where she went. If he looked closely at the hedge, he would surely see the broken branches where she'd plunged inside.
He stopped again.
Harriet moved the branch in front of her face. She could see his form right in front of her hiding spot. She had to think. She felt around her for something she could use as a weapon-a large branch would have been handy. She carefully bent down and patted the ground by her feet. Her left hand closed over a cold metal pipe. She slowly lifted it. It wasn't a pipe at all. It was an oscillating sprinkler. Probably not the best weapon; but if she swung it with both hands, it should give her enough time to dash back to the house.
The man leaned toward Harriet's hiding place. He must be looking at her point of entrance. She raised the sprinkler as high as she could. Any minute now he would push the branches aside, and she'd have a clear shot.
A hand appeared on her side of the branches, quickly followed by a dark head. Harriet sprang. She hit the man hard.