Harriet was silent. She tried to think of an alternative but nothing came to mind. She sighed.
"You're right. I just hate this."
Harold picked up his cup as if to drink but found only thick chocolate sludge in the bottom. He set it back down. “If you're ready, maybe we should go pick up your package at Myca's House and get you back to Mavis before she sends out a search party."
He pulled two dollars out of his thin lizard-skin wallet and laid them on the table. He picked up Harriet's bags from the thrift store and helped slide her chair out.
"Follow me,” he said as they reached the sidewalk. “I know a shortcut."
He led her to a narrow cement-paved alley between two buildings. It widened into an asphalt courtyard of sorts. He crossed the open area diagonally and entered another dark alley between buildings that faced on the next block. Once they reached the sidewalk there, Myca's House was two doors down.
"I'm impressed,” Harriet said. She wondered how a guy who wore pressed slacks and a bow tie everywhere he went learned about back-alley shortcuts.
"Would you like me to wait out here?” he asked.
"No, it's fine. I'm just picking up something for a friend."
She opened the door and stepped into a tired-looking lobby. Three scratched plastic chairs sat against the wall. Two six-foot-long folding tables topped with peeling plastic laminate separated the sitting area from the rest of the office. Cardboard boxes overflowed with papers. A grey-haired man with a short curled ponytail and sparse salt-and-pepper beard came into the office and asked if he could help her.
She explained why she was there. He asked to see her driver's license, but then looked up at Harold.
"I'll vouch for her identity,” Harold said. “Harriet, this is Joseph. He's the office manager here at Myca's House. Joseph, meet Harriet Truman. She's Beth's niece. Harriet here has just taken over Beth's business. Maybe once she gets settled, she'll join us at Rotary."
Harriet was a little annoyed with two men discussing her as if she were a small child incapable of speaking for herself.
"Oh, yeah, I heard you've had a little trouble up at your aunt's place."
She wondered if there was anyone in Foggy Point who didn't know her business. She didn't say anything, and the silence became awkward. Joseph picked up a white paper bag and handed it to her.
"Dr. Mason said to tell you there are three doses. He said that should be enough to get the patient stable enough to come in by herself. He said to make sure she gets in before the third dose wears off."
"Thanks,” Harriet said.
"See you next week,” Harold said to Joseph and followed her onto the sidewalk.
"I guess we better get you back to the quilt store,” he said. He led her around the block this time, and didn't speak until they'd turned the corner.
"I don't mean to pry, but it sounds like your young friend might be unbalanced."
"I couldn't say. She's more like a friend of a friend.” She held up the white bag. “This should help."
"Would you like me to go with you when you deliver the medicine? I mean, it's possible this person was involved in your attack, isn't it?"
"I doubt it. I don't think she's got her act together enough to do something like that. Besides, like I said, this is a friend of a friend kind of thing. It doesn't have anything to do with me. But thanks for offering."
She wasn't about to bring anyone, much less a man, to see Misty. Harold's sudden helpfulness was bothering her, too. He'd been quick to leave the first few times she'd seen him, and now suddenly he wanted to be her constant companion. It could be his awareness of Aiden's interest, but she wasn't sure.
"If you change your mind, call me. I'll be at the factory all day."
"Things must be strange there with Avanell gone."
"She will be missed. She was the spirit of the company, that's for sure."
"Well, here we are,” Harriet said and stopped one door away from Pins and Needles. She held her hand out for her bags.
"I'll call you Saturday night, and we can talk about our delivery plan,” Harold said. He turned and walked away before she could thank him for the hot cocoa.
She watched as he strode briskly down the block and wished she felt something-anything. Instead, images of another man came unbidden to her mind, and the butterflies awakened. She told herself Harold was the man she should be thinking about. He was the right age. He was considerate, and punctual, and he planned ahead.
Aiden was exciting.
Harold wasn't fat, but he had a soft, rounded look.
Aiden was lean and long, and had washboard abs.
She had to stop thinking about Aiden. She had to remember he was the one who had everything to gain when his mother died.
"Are you coming in or are you going to stand out here on the sidewalk all morning?” Mavis said from the door of Pins and Needles. “Marjory pulled a few bolts of fabric for you to look at for your Grandmother's Flower Garden. She has templates of various sorts and pre-cut papers for English paper piecing, too, if you want to go that route."
"Sounds great,” Harriet said and entered the shop. She put her bags by a chair at the table in the big classroom, where the group was meeting. She greeted the women and assured everyone she was feeling better and that the police still had no idea who had it in for her. As quickly as she could gracefully escape, she went to the back of the store and found Marjory.
"Bet you're getting tired of talking about your problems,” Marjory said.
"That's the truth."
"Looks like you got a little break this morning, though."
"Yeah, Harold Minter went with me to the thrift store and took me to the coffee shop."
"So, how was that?” Marjory asked.
"It was fine. He's a nice man. I mean, I don't know him that well, but he seems nice. Do you know him?"
"I've seen him around town.” She hesitated. “He participates in community events."
"So, what are you not telling me?"
"Nothing,” Marjory said. “He's always been polite when I've spoken to him."
"But? Come on, Marjory, don't hold out on me."
Marjory leaned across the cutting table and lowered her voice. “It's nothing I can put my finger on, but there's just something about the guy that leaves me cold. I don't know. It seems like he's a little too perfect, too polite. Every move he makes seems planned."
"Planning can be a good thing,” Harriet said.
"It can be boring, if you ask me. A person needs a little spontaneity. And a person needs to laugh. I can't imagine Harold laughing."
"He offered to help me deliver quilts from the show on Sunday."
"You wouldn't catch me being locked in a car with that man for hours on end. So, tell me about this Grandmother's Flower Garden project,” she said, effectively ending the discussion of Harold.
Harriet chose several dark blues, a cream-colored tone-on-tone print and a red print. She decided to make things easy for herself and bought a bag of pre-cut hexagonal papers. In only a few minutes, she was seated at the big table cutting pieces of her new fabric among a group of middle-aged women she'd never met before today. Mavis made the appropriate introductions, and Harriet was grateful when the women went back to their stitching without asking her any more about the recent events in her life.
She had just stitched her first complete flower when Mavis stood up and rubbed her back.
"I don't know about you, honey, but I'm starving. What do you say we go find us some lunch?"
"Sounds great.” Aunt Beth would have a cow if she saw how often Harriet was eating out in her absence. She was trying to make good choices, but she knew it didn't compare to the “all salad all the time” diet Aunt Beth had put her on when she arrived.
"I been feeling like Mexican food,” Mavis said. “What do you think?"
Harriet's heart skipped a beat. She reminded herself there was probably more than one Mexican restaurant in Foggy Point.
"I like Mexican food,” she said, her voice sounding strange in her ears.