Make Quilts Not War (30 page)

“It turned out there was one more thing Bobby’s group didn’t know about Cosmic’s uncle. He and his friend were both armed. The police breached the bank before everyone got out of the salon and a shootout ensued.”

“James was the acid thrower’s father, I take it?” Harriet asked.

“I guess so. We never talked about his family. I mean, why
would he talk to a fifteen-year-old about his personal life?

“Like I told you before, some people, my brother included, were captured and did jail time. Without James to identify the players,
they weren’t able to arrest some of the people. A few were
wounded, but James was the only fatality.

“As for me, I hid in the woods with Paisley. We climbed way up into a tree, and they never saw us.

“I’m not sure who, if anyone, else in the police knew my true identity. James always just called me Jonquil. Without him to back up my story, I was sure I would be arrested along with everyone else, especially since what I had told him wasn’t what had actually happened. I mean, if he’d lived, he could have arrested me for obstruction or something.

“In any case, Paisley and I hid in the woods until dark and then hitchhiked out of town. We drifted around, doing odd jobs and panhandling for six months, before we ended up in Georgeville at the commune. It was days before I opened the duffel bag—I took it with us assuming it was evidence that could be used against us and our friends.

“When we did open it, and saw all that money, we figured they could trace us through the serial numbers if we spent any of it. When we got settled in the commune, I hid it, and then when they taught me how to quilt, I put it in the batting. The center square of the quilt was made from the shirt I was wearing.

“Before we’d left town, I’d gone back to the car, which was still hidden in the alley. I grabbed somebody’s shirt, and Paisley took a jacket and some shorts. We wore the same clothes until we reached the commune. A lot of people were hitchhiking around the country in those days, so we didn’t have any trouble finding rides and places to sleep and things to eat.”

“The commune had a midwife, and she had a subspecialty of creating new identities. She was older and apparently had been doing this her whole career. Every month or two, she would file a birth certificate using names of people she knew, or sometimes she made names up for the parents. Later, she’d apply for a Social Security card, and even take out a modest insurance policy of the sort grandparents would buy for a grandchild. By the time we arrived, she had a fat file of valid identities just waiting for bodies to bring them to life. I became Jenny and Paisley became Donna.

“I was immersed in the commune for six years. The war in
Vietnam wound down, and the commune’s truck farm became successful—they were on the leading edge of the organic food movement. I realized I wanted more out of life than growing bigger radishes. They were very supportive when I wanted to get my GED and go on to junior college. When I got my associate’s degree, I got a job and an apartment.”

“So, how did you end up back on the West Coast?” Lauren
asked.

“That was a horrifying coincidence,” Jenny said. “I met my husband in Minnesota. He was in graduate school, and I worked in the registrar’s office. We got married after he graduated, and his first job was in Texas. His company eventually bought a small company in Foggy Point, and he was transferred here. It was a promotion, and how could I possibly argue that?

“He had no idea I had any connection here. We moved here, and I hoped Lynnwood was far enough away from Foggy Point, and that enough time had passed, that I wouldn’t run into anyone I’d known before. And until now, that’s been the case. Of course, that’s assuming that whoever is causing the problems now is one of the people from my old life.”

“I’d say that’s a pretty safe assumption,” Lauren said.

“So, all that stuff you told us about your dad leaving and your mother being in a commune was all a lie?” Harriet asked. “You really had two parents who lost their daughter at the age of fifteen?”

“I know it sounds awful, but believe me, Bobby was the only one who would have cared, and he had his own problems. If they’d paid any attention to us at all, Bobby wouldn’t have been growing and selling drugs, and I wouldn’t have been his drug mule.”

“Before, you said the robbers told Bobby’s group about the bank robbery. Now you say he didn’t know,” Lauren said thoughtfully. “Which story are we supposed to believe?”

“You were all pressuring me, and I was trying to rewrite history on the fly so that my part of it didn’t exist. Cosmic might have known, but believe me, his uncle would never have trusted the rest of the group with that.”

“And you’ve never told anyone?” Harriet asked.

“Not a soul,” Jenny said, and for once, Harriet believed her.

Lauren took the teacups downstairs and returned a few minutes with refills of fragrant orange spice tea. Jenny and Harriet sat, each lost in her own thoughts, while she was gone.

“I thought the spicy tea would go better with the gingersnaps,” she said.

“Given all that you’ve just told us, you must have some idea who’s been killing people,” Harriet told Jenny.

“Yeah,” Lauren chimed in. “And you must have some idea if you’re the target.”

“I think the shooting of Pamela Gilbert leaves no doubt Jenny was the target,” Harriet said.

“Who did the shirt belong to?” Lauren asked.

“I don’t know,” Jenny said. “And that’s the truth. All the guys
wore shirts that looked vaguely alike. Everyone used that car. It wasn’t
like it is today, where most of the kids get late-model cars when
they turn sixteen. The back seat of that old car had everything from jackets to bikinis, with bags of granola alongside Twinkies and cans of soda. I grabbed what was handy.”

“My guess is someone recognized their shirt. Your centerpiece is pretty distinctive,” Harriet said.

“Why would they wait so long for revenge?” Jenny asked. “All of them that got arrested would have gotten out decades ago.”

“With your change of identity, they probably didn’t know how to
find you,” Lauren suggested.

“I suppose,” Jenny mused. “Still, if even my brother had
cleaned up, surely, everyone else would have grown up and moved on by now.”

“If they haven’t, and they figured out you were the snitch, it
would be a pretty good motive for revenge.” Harriet said.

“Now you just have to figure out which one of the group it is,”
Lauren said. “I can help you with that if you can tell me the
names.”

Jenny clamped her lips shut and furrowed her brow.

“That could be a problem,” she said.

“How so?” Harriet asked.

“Remember I referred to people as Cosmic, Tranquility, and
Paisley? There was also a Cedar, a Sunshine and an Einstein. I never knew their real names.”

Lauren covered her eyes with the palms of her hands, tilting her head downward.

“You’re not making it easy to help you. I guess I can try to find more newspaper articles and public records regarding the robbery, although if any of them were minors, they wouldn’t print their names.”

“At least it would be a start,” Harriet said.

“Thank you so much for being willing to help me after all the lies I’ve told you,” Jenny said.

“You need to call Detective Morse and come clean,” Harriet
told her.

“I will, but I think I owe it to the rest of the Threads to tell them first.”

“As long as you tell Morse before anything else has a chance to happen,” Harriet said.

“Not to sound like your aunt,” Lauren said to Harriet, “but
you’re looking a little gray. I know you think you’re superwoman, but I think you need to do what everyone’s been telling you and take a nap.”

“I need to go get a pain pill, and then I promise, I will take a
nap.”

“Stay put,” Lauren said. Scooter and Fred got up to follow her. “I supposed I have to feed you two little wretches while I’m downstairs, too. I am turning into Beth.”

“Don’t forget,” Harriet said to Jenny. “This isn’t over yet. You
may have shared your past, but someone dangerous is still out
there. You and Lauren need to stay together until you can connect with Robin or DeAnn or somebody. And I’m guessing you get it that you can’t go home.”

“I’ll need to go get some clothes, but I promise—I won’t go
alone.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“Okay, Sicko,” Lauren said a few minutes later, “here’s your pill, here’s a glass of water. Your cookie plate is reloaded.” She looked around the room and piled the extra throws on the end of the sofa. “Here’s the remote control for your TV, although you are supposed to be sleeping. Your pets have been fed, and I took Scooter out. I’m done being a nursemaid. And yes, I won’t let Jenny go anywhere unless she has an escort.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lauren said, and left.

Harriet woke to find Mavis sitting in the upholstered chair next to her. She’d pulled a small needlepoint-covered footrest in front of the chair and had her feet up and her eyes closed. She woke with a start when Harriet sat up.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind I came over.
When I saw Lauren she said you were sleeping at home alone, and it worried me. I thought I’d come over and see if I could fix you a snack and keep you company for a while.”

“Sure, make yourself at home.”

“Let me go see what I can rustle up in the kitchen,” Mavis said and went downstairs.

Harriet’s cell phone buzzed, and she picked it up to check caller ID. It was Tom.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said after they’d exchanged greet
ings and he had asked her out to dinner. “But I’m housebound.”

She related the results of her doctor appointment. He suggested takeout.

“The idea of dinner with you sounds wonderful, but I think I need to follow doctor’s orders this time.”

She had barely ended the conversation when Mavis called upstairs, “Harriet? There’s someone here to see you. Can you come down?”

Colm Byrne stood in her kitchen.

“Oh, my gosh.”

“Did you forget our date?” he asked with a smile.

“I guess so. I wasn’t sure you were serious.”

“I was, but if this isn’t a good time…”

“When I went to get my bandage changed, the doctor wasn’t happy with my progress, so I’ve been grounded.”

“Harriet can probably handle a short visit,” Mavis said. “I was just going to fix her a snack. Would you like to stay and have a bite to eat?”

“I’m never one to turn down a home-cooked meal,” Colm said.

“You two can go sit in the dining room, and I’ll bring it out
when it’s ready.”

Harriet led him instead to her formal living room and sat in her Victorian rocking chair.

“This week has been a real trip, as they used to say,” he said. “I hope it did what the planners hoped for.”

“I haven’t heard a lot of the results because of the other stuff going on, but what I’ve heard has been positive.”

“We were shocked when that woman was killed,” Colm said
. “Re
gardless of what people think about rock singers, we’re just like
everyone else. In Ireland, we were raised with violence all around us.
My family lived in Belfast. We were raised Catholic. Every day,
there were riots or bombings or both.” He shuddered. “The lads and I used music as our way out. For a lot of years, we played clubs and parties, but eventually, we started getting bigger gigs, and finally, we made it out.”

“I can’t imagine how frightening it must have been to live in a war zone,” Harriet said. “How do the two sides get past their differences after decades of fighting?”

“You just have to want peace more than war,” Colm said. The lads in the band feel the same way. We swore that, if we ever made it big, we’d use our wealth and influence to support peace projects, and so far, that’s exactly what we’ve done.”

“Even if it was your friend that was killed?” Harriet asked.
“When my friend was killed earlier this year, I couldn’t leave it alone until justice was served.”

“I didn’t say it was easy,” he said in his lilting brogue. “The
peace project helps, but when that woman was killed, Sean had such an anxiety attack we had to take him to the emergency room.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is he okay now? Murder was the last thing our planning committee imagined they’d be involved in. In fact, they’d rather blame it on an unfortunate case of domestic violence and move on.”

“Does anyone have any idea what happened?” he asked.

“Not that I’ve heard. There was originally some idea it was the victim’s husband, but now they think my friend Jenny was the intended target. There were three quilters who were wearing identical costumes that night. It’s awful, but Jenny is hoping it’s the ex-husband, too.”

“But that’s not what you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know. With Jenny’s brother being killed, and everything else that’s happened, it’s hard to believe the ex-husband would coincidentally choose the same weekend to kill his wife.”