Marjory had followed Harriet's gaze to the display. “We try to change the quilts every month, but I'm a little late this time. Some months it's hard to think up an appropriate theme. When you get settled, you can join in if you want.” She'd looked hopeful, but Harriet didn't plan on being here long enough to make a theme-quilt for a display. Even if she did think it was a clever way to keep people engaged.
"I'd love to come to lunch,” Harriet said to Avanell, turning her thoughts back to the present. “I haven't been to The Sandwich Board yet, either. Is it good?"
"They have a roast pork tenderloin on focaccia with fresh basil and homemade mozzarella that's to die for,” Avanell told her.
"Let me get my purse.” She went through the connecting door to the kitchen, grabbed her purse and denim jacket from the closet by the back door and left with her aunt's friend.
"How's it feel to be home?” Avanell asked as she put the car in reverse, maneuvered it into a tight circle and then turned it down the driveway.
Home? Harriet thought. This wasn't home. Not her home, anyway. She looked out the car window. The pastel-painted Victorian houses that lined Aunt Beth's street could just as easily have been in San Francisco, or even some parts of Oakland. As they dropped down the hill toward town the larger houses gave way to smaller bungalow cottages, tucked behind neatly planted juniper bushes and dogwood trees.
The car gave a sharp bounce, and Harriet jumped.
"Sorry,” Avanell said. “Hot flash."
Her comment barely registered. The salt air rushed over Harriet. She held her breath but finally let it out with a gasp. She resisted with every fiber of her being, but it was no use-she was home. She could kid herself and try to pretend that her home was Oakland, but she'd felt it as soon as she'd driven into town, and waited while a doe and her twin fawns crossed Main Street unmolested and disappeared into a grove of pine trees. She'd been sure when she'd cruised past coffee shops with names like Human Beans and Lucy's Lattes-not a franchise business as far as the eye could see.
She ran her fingers through her close-cropped hair.
"We gave the Vitamin Factory a face lift a few years ago,” Avanell pointed out as the neighborhood gave way to a light industrial area. She slowed as she drove past her long, low building.
"I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't remember what it used to look like."
"No reason you should,” Avanell smiled. “You were a teenager. You had much more on your mind than industrial buildings. Just for the record, we removed the fifties style brick facade from the office area and replaced all the old pink siding with dark green Hardy plank."
"It looks nice,” Harriet offered.
Avanell laughed and turned the car left over the bridge that carried them across the Muckleshoot River and into the downtown area.
"Things look different here. What happened to the library?” Harriet asked.
"They built a new one two blocks over. Did a nice job, too. It looks Victorian, but without all the leaky pipes and crumbling plaster of the original.
Avanell guided her car to the curb in front of the restaurant and parked.
The food at the Sandwich Board was every bit as good as Avanell had promised. Harriet ordered the pork loin sandwich, while Avanell opted for egg salad on fresh-baked multi-grain bread with fresh basil and an aioli-style mayonnaise.
Harriet began to relax. They'd dispensed with the inevitable conversation about Steve, his untimely death and her resulting widowhood early in the conversation, with Avanell offering the usual condolences but not pushing for details.
Avanell then filled their lunch with stories of her own experiences with widowhood. She had raised three children who were now young adults. Her husband and brother had founded a vitamin distribution company at a time when America was just starting its love affair with supplements. Avanell's husband had died when her older children were in high school. With three sets of college tuition staring her in the face, she hadn't had a choice but to take his place in the company. She was self-effacing, but Harriet knew from her aunt that Avanell had turned the company from a modestly successful vendor of children's vitamins into a multi-million-dollar supplier of herbal supplements. Her natural cold remedy blend was taking the country by storm, and she was just introducing a line of herbal pet supplements.
Avanell was not only able to pay her children's college tuition, she also set up a scholarship fund that sent five deserving Foggy Point High School graduates each year to the college of their choice.
Harriet took advantage of Avanell's knowledge of the local residents and their buying practices. Avanell was more than willing to share what she knew about the other stitchers in the Loose Threads.
"Mavis Willis doesn't care a whit about competition. If she has a project that fits our theme for a particular show she enters it, but her main reason for quilting is to top the beds of her children and grandchildren with covers that suit their individual personalities,” Avanell said. “And you can pretty well count on Sarah Ness to ask you to do her project about two days after whatever deadline you set."
"Aunt Beth warned me about her. She said Sarah makes a lot of quilts and is willing to pay a lot of money to have them stitched, so it's worth the aggravation."
"That's the truth,” Avanell agreed. “She's on a mission to give everyone she's ever met a handcrafted quilt made with her own hands. She really cranks them out."
"Aunt Beth said something like that."
Avanell laughed. “I can imagine what Beth said. I'm sure the word quality was in there somewhere. Sarah's quite predictable, if you think about it. Your aunt Beth says that as soon as she hears Sarah's doing something for a show, she blocks out the last spot before the real deadline on her schedule and puts her name on it. Beth says she's never failed her yet."
Harriet laughed. The waiter brought the check, and Avanell had her wallet open and her card out before Harriet even had her purse open.
"Thank you,” she said. “Next time I'll treat."
"When you have yourself established as the new It Girl of machine quilters you can pay. In the meantime, don't look a gift horse in the mouth.” Avanell smiled.
She gave the waitress her card and was waiting to sign the receipt when a thin woman with long stringy hair and bad skin shuffled into the restaurant. The woman looked around and, when she spotted Avanell and Harriet, came over to the table.
"Can I talk to you?” she said to Avanell, and looked down. A line of sweat dampened her forehead.
Avanell's face lost its animation. “What's wrong now, Carla?"
Carla looked at Harriet and back to Avanell.
"It's all right, Carla. Tell me what's happening."
"Mr. Tony, he's got Misty in the office. He says she's been stealing vitamins and that's why we been missing inventory. He's called Sheriff Mason and says he's pressing charges."
"Is she stealing vitamins?” Avanell asked in a no-nonsense voice that was nothing like the friendly tone she'd used during lunch.
Carla looked at her feet. “Not exactly,” she said.
"Don't keep me waiting, Carla,” Avanell said. “Tell me the truth. All of it, now.” She signed the Visa receipt and picked up her purse and sweater.
Carla hesitated, looked at Harriet again and finally spoke.
"Misty is pregnant. Maryanne and me have been saving the broken and chipped prenatal blends for her. We just throw them out after we count them anyways. The sheriff is on his way now,” she finished.
"Go ahead and go,” Harriet said. “I'll just take advantage of this nice spring day and walk home. It isn't that far."
It was clear Avanell was torn.
"Really, I'm fine. The exercise will do me good after this lunch."
"Thanks, I'll make it up to you,” Avanell said and hurried after her employee, who was already shuffling out the door.