In the end, though, she had to concede that images painted in dye and combined with art stitching were, in fact, art quilts.
They moved on to discuss various hand-piecing styles, and by the time they got into the car, Harriet was pretty sure she was going to try doing some Grandmother's Flower Garden blocks using English paper piecing style, where hexagonal images were cut out of paper, a circle of fabric hand-stitched around the paper piece and then the edges of the hexagons whip-stitched together, removing the paper from the back when all the stitching was done.
Mavis had shown her a picture of a Civil War-era quilt using the technique that was made in navy blue and tan with just a touch of red. Harriet decided if she could find the right fabric she'd give it a try.
Wisps of fog swirled close to the pavement as Mavis parked at the curb across the street and halfway between Pins and Needles and the thrift store.
"I really think I could go to the bank and the thrift store without an escort,” Harriet said. “I promise I'll come right back to Pins and Needles when I'm done."
She could tell Mavis was having a debate with herself. Harold emerged from the bank before she'd decided.
"Good morning, ladies,” he said. “What brings you to this fair city?"
"Mavis has a stitching group this morning, and I was just trying to convince her I could go to the bank and the thrift store without her. She doesn't need to babysit me in downtown Foggy Point in the middle of the morning."
"I'm sure she's trying to look out for your best interests, but might I suggest an alternative?"
They both looked expectantly at him.
"What if I follow along while you do your errands and then we go to Annie's Coffee Shop for some hot cocoa?"
"Okay,” Harriet said immediately.
Mavis looked skeptical but agreed. Harold held the door for Harriet.
He was gracious enough to stay outside the thrift store and make phone calls he probably hadn't needed to make so she could shop in peace. She found a serviceable pair of flannel pajamas, three long-sleeved T-shirts in neutral colors, a black long-sleeved Flax shirt-jacket, a pair of Calvin Klein khaki pants and a dark-green lightweight jacket. She got the whole collection for twenty-five dollars, which seemed like a pretty good deal. She came out of the store in just over fifteen minutes.
"That was quick,” Harold said. He put his hand on her elbow and guided her to the left. “Annie's is around the corner on Ship Street."
They discussed the fog and whether it was expected to lift later or not until they were seated at a dark wooden table with matching chairs that had calico fabric seat cushions. A young woman with a blond braid that brushed her waist brought them steaming cups of cocoa.
"I don't remember this place,” Harriet said and looked around the small book-lined room.
"I think it's been here about three years or so.” He nodded toward a middle-aged woman on the other side of an antique library table that served as a counter in the small shop, “According to Bertie, Annie used to be the head librarian at the Foggy Point branch of the Calallam County Library. He says she got tired of busting people for sneaking food and drink into the library. She decided folks wanted a place to do both, so here we are.” He spread his arms to indicate their surroundings. “She has a swap party a couple of times a year, so her stock of books gets freshened."
"It seems like a good idea.” Harriet looked around at the half-filled space. “It looks like she does okay."
"We're between crowds right now. The working crowd has left and the stay-at-home moms and senior citizens haven't arrived yet."
"Speaking of Bertie, what's he like?” she asked. “I knew Avanell when I was young, since she and my aunt were friends, but I didn't know the rest of her family."
"What do you want to know?” Harold countered.
"I don't know. It seems like Avanell was such a big part of this community, I guess I wonder if Bertie will be able to fill that role."
Aiden clearly didn't think so, but she wondered how much of that opinion had to do with his father's death and the aftermath.
"It's true Bertie prefers to stay in the background. I'm sure he'll do whatever's necessary."
Clearly, he wasn't going to give up any information. She wondered if he didn't like to gossip or if his evasion was more purposeful. What would he have to hide?
"Would you mind walking over to Myca's House on our way back? One of the young women in the Thursday night group needs me to pick something up for her."
Harold agreed, and they sipped their cocoa.
"I assume the fact you're still living with Mavis and she's not letting you out of her sight means the police haven't caught whoever attacked you."
"They haven't said a word, so I interpret their silence as meaning they aren't getting anywhere."
"You can't keep living with Mavis forever, can you? I mean, if it were me, I'd be going crazy living with anyone else under those conditions. And what about your business?"
"You've pretty well summarized my life. I have to go back to work. Mavis is nice, but I'm not used to living with anyone, and Aunt Beth isn't due home for two more weeks. And that's no guarantee of my continued safety. The whole thing makes no sense. I haven't done anything to anyone, I don't have anything anyone would want, I don't know any big secrets. There is absolutely no reason for someone to break into my house, destroy my clients’ work or hit me in the head."
"Maybe you know something but don't know that you know it."
"This just goes in a big circle, Harold. If I know something, then whoever it is didn't need to trash my aunt's place. If they're looking for something, they didn't need to hit me on the head down by the docks.” She covered her face in her hands. “Could we just not talk about this for a while?"
"Of course. How did the show go? Did Foggy Point represent itself well?"
"Actually, with all that's been going on, I don't know who won what. Everyone's assuming Avanell won the best of show, but other than that it's anyone's guess. I suppose Lauren's quilt wasn't up long enough to have been judged. But I wouldn't be surprised if there were a few prize winners in the group."
"When is it over?"
"Tomorrow's the last day. Mavis and I are going to Tacoma to bring them all home."
"What happens to the quilts after that? Do they go on to other shows or do they retire to the linen closet and a life of service?"
She smiled. “Some of both, I suppose. A few people enter their work in other shows, but I think most of the women in our group will just take them home and either put them on a bed or give them to the grandson, niece, sister or friend they were intended for.
"That brings up a good point. They're supposed to collect them from my house on Monday. The people in the group I go to know about my relocation, but some of the ones I took were from other people. I need to call them so they don't show up at my aunt's house. I hate to ask Mavis to let me have people collect them at her house. I feel like I've been such an intrusion on her life as it is."
"Could you deliver them to people? If there aren't that many and since Foggy Point isn't that big?” Harold suggested. “At least, I assume there aren't that many,” he corrected. “I could help you on Sunday if you want. You will be home Saturday night with them, won't you?"
"Hmmm.” You know, I think that could work. But you don't need to spend your Sunday driving around with me."
"I hate to point out an unpleasant reality of your life, but in fact, no one is going to let you go anywhere by yourself. And I don't mind-really."