She crossed the room. From the opposite side, she could see the cove Aunt Beth's house looked onto, but from a different angle.
Aiden came up behind her. His proximity sent a warming shiver through her. He rested one hand on her left shoulder and pointed over her right with the other.
"See that dark area where the water disappears into the wood?"
"There where it looks like a river or creek or something?” she said, trying to focus on what he was showing her.
"That's where Cornelius kept his pirate ship. Or at least, that's the local legend."
"Do you believe the legend?"
"I believe anything's possible,” he said, and with a hand on each shoulder, spun her around.
Harriet was pretty sure they weren't talking about pirates anymore. She lingered a moment longer than she should have then broke away and escaped across the room.
Aiden retreated to the next room, and she heard what she imagined was the sound of folding tables being moved. She took one last look at the view and started to leave the tower.
Avanell's ornately carved dark cherry desk sat in the center of the room. It must have allowed her to enjoy the view without being so close she would be chilled by the draft off the single-pane windows. Harriet couldn't help glancing at the two neat stacks of papers on the blotter. The top one on the left looked like a balance sheet. She wasn't an accountant, but she knew what red ink meant.
The older women in the quilting group sat around the folding table sorting Avanell's fabric into piles. Harriet and DeAnn had carried box after box from the attic workroom down to the parlor, and they still hadn't touched half of Avanell's stash.
They used the center of each table to hold the sorted piles; Harriet's sticky notes came in handy labeling the various categories. One table held batiks, hand-dyed fabrics, Asian prints, Civil War reproduction fabric and other premium cuts that would be re-divided among the Loose Threads members. The second table held groups of fabric that would be donated to several charity quilt projects.
The end of the second table held what made up the dark underbelly of every stash-the “what was I thinking?” pile. Avanell had been old enough this last group not only included neon colors but polyester. These would be taken to the Goodwill store in Port Angeles. Harriet vowed to herself that, when this was all over, she and Aunt Beth were going to purge this category from the studio stash before their friends had a chance to see the extent of their mutual bad judgment.
DeAnn brought out a plate of tea cookies she'd made. Robin carried them around to everyone, Connie following her with the tea carafe, refilling cups as needed.
"Harriet,” Robin said, “was that you I saw last night in a black Cadillac heading toward Smuggler's Cove?"
Harriet flushed. “Yes, it must have been.” She stumbled over her words. “I went to dinner at Pirate's Treasure down there."
"Don't make us beg, chiquita,” Connie said. “Spill it. Who was the guy?"
"And what is Pirate's Treasure?” Mavis asked.
Harriet wasn't used to discussing her private life in a group, but then, she hadn't made enough good friends in California to comprise a group.
"The man was Harold Minter. He's some kind of finance guy at The Vitamin Factory. I went to a Chamber of Commerce dinner with him in Avanell's place on Wednesday. A friend of his opened a new restaurant called Pirate's Treasure, and he wanted to try it out. He'd noticed my appreciation for good food and asked me if I'd like to go with him."
"And?” Connie said.
"And nothing,” Harriet said. “We ate, he brought me home, end of story."
"Are you going to see him again?” Connie pushed.
"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it,” she lied. She had thought about it. She imagined going out to delicious dinners and then going home to Harold's house and working differential equations together. A small part of her was attracted to the scenario.
She and Steve had shared a love of fine food, and the Bay area had no shortage of options. Their evenings were spent at bistros and cafes, dining rooms and trattorias enjoying beef Wellington and chicken cacciatore, pad Thai and provolone, all followed by rich wines, liqueurs and chocolate in every shape and form you could imagine-and some you couldn't. They would return home talking and laughing and collapse into bed, where they would make love until dawn.
What they hadn't shared was the knowledge Steve had a terminal disease.
Harriet knew she and Harold would never share a passion like she'd had with Steve; but then again, he would never be able to hurt her as deeply.
She shook her head. What was she thinking? She'd been on one date with the guy.
"Are you okay, honey?” Mavis asked and glared at Connie. “You want some more tea, or another cookie?"
"I'm fine,” Harriet said stiffly.
An awkward silence fell over the group. The women returned to their work, heads down, focused on the piles they were sorting. Harriet went upstairs to retrieve another box, and when she returned, she had the distinct impression a discussion had taken place in her absence.
"Anyone feel like pizza?” Mavis asked.
DeAnn sat back and looked at the piles on the table. “I hate to stop now. I feel like we're just getting rolling,” she said.
"I could go down to Mama Theresa's and pick up pizza for us to eat here,” Harriet volunteered.
"Are you sure you don't mind?” Jenny said.
"Not at all. I'll just bring another box down from the workroom first so you won't run out while I'm gone."
"That sounds like a plan,” Mavis said. “I'll call in our order while you're doing that."
Harriet got up, went down the dark hallway and climbed the steep stairs one more time. She started toward Avanell's workroom but found herself drawn to the tower room. She looked around, as if someone might have sneaked up behind her, then entered the round room.
With one more glance over her shoulder, she went to the desk and picked up the first stack of papers. She quickly ruffled through them. They seemed to be some sort of monthly balance sheet. She scanned the categories.
There seemed to be the usual ones you might expect to be associated with running a vitamin business. Raw materials purchases, labor expenses, utility costs, transportation payments were in one column, and payments for deliveries received in the other.
What didn't make sense was a series of write-offs that were taken each month. One month it was damaged goods, the next it was depreciated equipment. Every month had a write-off, and they were all five- or six-figure amounts. With those added to the mix, The Vitamin Factory was losing money at an alarming rate. No wonder Avanell had seemed troubled.
Harriet quickly scanned the other stack of papers. They were receipts for goods shipped. Without knowing more about the business, she couldn't tell if they were significant or not.
She set the papers back on the desk and tried to remember if they had been neatly aligned or not. She heard a noise and quickly arranged each stack then went into Avanell's workroom to get another box. She had just started for the stairs with a large plastic tub in her arms when her load was suddenly lightened.
"I'll get it,” Aiden said. “Mavis thought you might be lost, so I came to check."
"Very funny,” she retorted, trying to think of a reason she would have taken so long. “I was in the bathroom."
She hoped he hadn't been close enough to notice the lack of plumbing noises.
"Jenny said you were going to pick up pizza for the group. I didn't see your car out front. Were you going to walk?"
"I rode with Mavis and assumed I could take her car."
"That boat? Do you have your captain's license?"
She couldn't help smiling.
"How about I drive you?” he offered. “I need to stop by the clinic and pick up my schedule anyway. It'll only take a minute, and it's on the way."