"You're right,” Detective Morse said, “that would be the perfect thing to do with my fairy panel. Thanks for showing it to me,” she added.
Harriet wondered if this was some quilting variation of good cop/bad cop. It was clear which one she'd just met.
"We generally meet on Tuesdays,” Aunt Beth said. “Think about coming if you get a chance."
Chapter 19
"You invited her to the Loose Threads meeting?” Harriet asked when the detectives were back in their sedan and preparing to leave. “What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking here is a lady who likes to quilt and doesn't belong to a group. Besides, it can't hurt to have a detective where we can keep an eye on her."
"It could backfire big time."
"She seems like a good person."
"Yeah, well, he seemed like a total jerk bent on connecting Aiden to Neelie and her death."
"Honey, you know he's just doing his job. Someone has to ask the hard questions, and you know better than anyone they have to question everyone."
"So, what did she ask you?"
"Probably the same thing he asked you. She wanted to know if I knew anything about Neelie, and if I knew anything about her health. Of course I told her no."
"You didn't mention our suspicions about her being diabetic?"
Aunt Beth picked up the detective's used cup and carried it to the sink.
"I didn't mention it because it was your theory, based on your observations. Besides, I didn't want to give them anything to work with."
"Well, that ship has sailed,” Harriet said. “I spilled all about Neelie appearing diabetic, and I tried not to tell him about the baby, but I wasn't prepared to lie about it, and he pushed."
Aunt Beth was silent for a moment. “I better warn Connie,” she said and picked up the kitchen phone. She spoke quietly for a few minutes then hung up. “We're going to keep the baby moving while the detectives are doing their interviews. She's too little to speak, and we don't want them thinking about calling Children's Services."
"We should at least try to find out whose baby she is,” Harriet pointed out. “I need to call Aiden. He needs to know what to expect from the detectives."
She made the phone call, apologizing for waking him up, and gave him the short version of her interview. He reported he'd put in a call to Africa but reiterated he didn't expect a reply anytime soon.
"Aiden's calming down,” Harriet reported to her aunt. “Having the rest of the clinic help with the rescue dogs is reducing his stress level. I can hear it in his voice."
"Speaking of stressful things, what are we going to do about our auction quilts?” Aunt Beth asked.
"To tell the truth, I haven't given a thought to any of the quilts but my own, and I've barely thought about it."
"Have you had any breakthroughs with yours?"
"It's showing promise, I think my idea is going to work, but I need to find the right fabric combos. I think with tumbling blocks, the texture needs to match. Of course you have to have three intensities of color, but I think the prints need to be the same scale or feel or something. That's the part I'm struggling with right now."
"I'm afraid to say what I'm doing out loud, for fear it'll show up on the Small Stitches design wall before I even show it to anyone."
"Do you really think they're stealing our ideas?"
Aunt Beth looked over the top of her reading glasses.
"Of course they're copying our work. I talked to Glynnis at church. She didn't admit it, but she said Frieda was determined the raffle quilt was going to come from the Small Stitches this year."
She went to her canvas bag and pulled out a quilt block. She held it up for Harriet's approval.
"Very clever,” Harriet said.
Before she could continue, Beth cut her off.
"Don't say its name,” she cautioned. “Your studio may be bugged."
Harriet laughed. “I know we ate lunch at Tico's yesterday, but do you feel like going back today?"
"You know I'm always up for a meal there, but what are you up to?"
"I was thinking about what Jorge told us yesterday. He said Neelie was talking to a black man he didn't recognize. We don't get that many new people in Foggy Point, especially this time of year. Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that he showed up at the same time Neelie did? I'm wondering if they're partners in the baby scam. Maybe it's his baby. I want to ask Jorge a few more questions."
"When this business is settled, and we finish our raffle quilts, we're going to take a week and just eat salad and fruit."
"Really?” Harriet asked.
"Bet on it."
Chapter 20
"Two days in a row,” marveled Jorge. “Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see you two, but this is not like Se-ora Beth."
"She's making us eat salad all next week to make up for it,” Harriet said with smile. She ducked to avoid Aunt Beth's purse, which had been swung with mock fury.
"Come in,” Jorge said and put his arm around Harriet's shoulders. “You want a table or a booth?"
"A booth is fine,” she said and followed him as he led them to an unoccupied booth then went to the kitchen to fix their guacamole. He returned a few minutes later with the creamy green dip and a basket of warm tortilla chips.
"Do you remember the man you told us about, the one who was talking to Neelie? Have you seen him since?"
"Oh, sure.” He turned his head slightly to the right. “As a matter of fact, he's here now."
Harriet looked. She spotted the man, sitting by himself in the last booth in the row on the opposite side of the seating area.
"He's been sitting there for a couple of hours, drinking coffee and calling people on his phone. Judging by the look on his face, things aren't going well."
"I'll be right back,” Harriet said, and was up and out before Aunt Beth could protest.
She walked to the booth at the back where the man sat, cell phone pressed firmly to his ear. A dark-brown leather jacket covered the opposite seat. She waited at the end of the table until he realized she was there and abruptly punched the end button on his phone and laid it on the table. She waited, and when he didn't say anything, she did.
"May I speak to you for a moment?” she asked.
"It's a free country,” he mumbled.
Harriet looked pointedly at the jacket-covered banquette. The man sighed, straightened in his seat then used his foot to pull his jacket from the bench and into his hands. She slid into the seat.
"Did you know Neelie Obote?” she asked without preamble.
The man's jaw tightened. “What's it to you?"
"I know you spoke to her a few days ago, so don't even go there. The police questioned me earlier about her death. “
The man lowered his head into his hands and began to weep.
"She was my wife,” he said without looking up.
"What?” Harriet said it a little too loudly, and before she could stop herself.
"We hadn't been together lately, mind you, but she was my wife,” he repeated, and raised his head, looking like he'd aged ten years since she'd sat down.
"Maybe you better start at the beginning. Who are you, what was Neelie doing here and why did you follow her?"
The man sighed deeply, and Harriet wasn't sure he was going to answer.
"I'm Rodney. Rodney Miller.” He offered his hand across the table, and she took it.
"I'm Harriet Truman,” she said and waited.
He raised his eyebrows. “Like in Harry Truman?"
"Like in I have weird parents. We're distantly related to the Harry Truman but not in any way that matters."
"That's cold,” he said.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
Rodney leaned back in his seat.