Arlene Sachitano - Quilt By Association

Neelie got to her feet. She wobbled a little, then followed Carla out of the kitchen.

"Okay, why are you so agreeable about this stranger staying with our Carla? And what's wrong with that girl?"

"We need more information, and what better way to get more information than by having Neelie and the baby where we can keep track of them. Besides, from Carla's behavior, I'm guessing she doesn't think Neelie is taking care of the baby properly."

"I was getting that feeling myself. Neelie looks like she's not doing a very good job of taking care of herself, let alone a baby."

"She was looking pretty shaky before you got here. I asked her if she's diabetic, and she didn't answer, but she did perk up after I gave her some orange juice, so she either was starving or she is diabetic."

"Something about her story just isn't ringing true,” Mavis said. “And by the way, she is the one I saw arguing with the checker-minus the accent."

"I wish Aiden was here. He could clear this up in a minute."

"No sense dwelling on that. If he's not going to be home for a week or so, we'll just have to deal with it ourselves."

"Do you think Carla will be safe here with that woman under her roof?"

"It's a little late to be worrying about that now, isn't it? Besides, our meek little friend seems to turn into a tiger when a baby is involved."

"I wonder what Terry's up to these days,” Harriet said, referring to Terry Jansen, Carla's new Navy-investigator boyfriend.

"I asked Carla at our last meeting, and after much blushing and stammering, she told me he is still very present. I wonder if maybe we should put a bug in his ear about the current situation."

"Too bad I lost my contacts when my phone got crunched. I had his number."

"Fortunately, when he was questioning us all about what happened last month, he gave me his number, too. Being the hip yet old-fashioned grandmother that I am…” Mavis smiled. “…I not only put it in my cell phone, I also wrote it in my address book at home, just in case I lost my phone or something."

"Well, aren't you the smart one."

"I'll call him about Carla's situation when I get home. Maybe you could give Lauren a jingle and see if she can she can find anything out about Carla's new house guest."

"Sure. I haven't had a good dressing down by Lauren in, oh, I don't know, three days, maybe."

Mavis smiled. “I'd say you're due, then."

Carla came back into the kitchen, ending the conversation. She was still holding the receiver to Wendy's monitor.

"Did I just make a big mistake?” she asked Mavis as she collapsed into a chair. Her cheeks turned pink.

"No, honey,” Mavis said and patted her hand. “You were speaking from your heart."

"She's been starving that baby. Did you see how thin her little legs are?"

"It sounded like she's only had the baby for a few days,” Mavis said. “And they did come from Africa."

"But she's not in Africa now, and she's still not feeding the baby right."

"Now, honey,” Mavis soothed. “She isn't a mother herself. This is her sister's child. She might not know how to take proper care of a baby."

"Well, I do know how to take care of a baby, and as long as she's here, she's getting three squares."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that,” Harriet said. “As long as they're going to be here, try to find out what you can about them. Keep it friendly-don't make her suspicious, or we won't get anything-but keep your eyes and ears open."

"I can do that.” Carla's cheeks turned a darker pink.

"Not to change the subject,” Mavis said, doing exactly that, “how are the shower preparations coming along?"

Carla stood up. “Come see,” she said, and led the way across the hall to the formal dining room.

Mavis and Harriet spent the next twenty minutes admiring the pink streamers and balloons Carla had hung from the chandelier, checking the placement of forks, knives, spoons and napkins as well as Carla's choice of china teacups and saucers. Harriet was proud of her young friend, and knew she'd had a daunting collection of china and silver to choose from at the Jalbert house. Aiden's mother had been an avid collector of both.

"This looks great,” she said.

Carla looked down at her feet. “I got a book from the library to see how to set the table."

"You did a fine job,” Mavis agreed.

Carla lifted the lid of the delicate floral china sugar bowl. “I got that special turbine sugar."

"Turbinado?” Harriet said.

"Yes, and I got white cubes in case people don't like the brown kind.” She lifted the lid of a cut-crystal sugar bowl.

"Seems like you're all ready,” Mavis said. “It's a good thing, too, since now you're going to be playing host to Neelie and Kissa."

"I don't mind,” Carla said quietly. “I know how hard it is."

"Just don't let her take advantage of you,” Harriet cautioned.

"Don't you worry,” Mavis said and put her arm around Carla's thin shoulders. “It's a good thing you're doing for that baby, and I don't believe for a minute you can't handle Miss Neelie."

"I need to go stitch your quilt,” Harriet told Mavis. “Carla, call me if you need anything, and I do mean anything . I'll see you both tomorrow."

She understood why Carla was reaching out to Neelie, but she didn't like leaving her vulnerable friend with a stranger who seemed to have only a passing acquaintance with the truth.

Then she prepared to endure the abuse she was sure to get from Lauren-it would be worth it if she could find out who Neelie Obote really was and why she'd come to Foggy Point.

Harriet had planned to go straight home and back to her long-arm machine, but as she started to pull out of Aiden's driveway, she found herself turning the opposite direction, toward Lauren's place.

According to Aunt Beth, Lauren had joined the Loose Threads quilting group three years earlier. She'd been a beginner when she moved to Foggy Point and, unfortunately, had been taught by a quilter who had a very vague understanding of copyright as it applied to patterns and designs. It had taken the Loose Threads two of those three years to undo that bad early training and convince her that, if she wanted to create her own patterns, she couldn't start with someone else's copyrighted photo or drawing-rendering an image in fabric didn't erase the image owner's rights. Lauren had been convinced and was now attending classes in design and stitching at a folk art school in Angel Harbor.

In spite of her acerbic personality, and her tendency to blame Harriet for her quilting misfortunes, Lauren had high-level computer skills and, Harriet had to grudgingly admit, was good at crisis problem-solving.

Lauren lived in a large apartment over a wooden boat sale-and-repair business near the dock in Smuggler's Cove; she'd moved there the previous month. Harriet parked on the street and walked around the boat showroom to a flight of exterior stairs that led to an upstairs porch and Lauren's door. She savored the fish-tinged smell of the sea for a moment before reaching toward the wooden door.

It opened before she knocked.

"So, what do you want me to look up now?” Lauren asked without preamble. “Don't pretend this is a social call. You never come calling unless you want something. Let's have it."

"Are you busy?” Harriet asked while she tried to think up a reason for her visit other than the real one, which was, in fact, to ask her to look something up on her computer.

"I'm always busy. What do you want?"

"After the last Loose Threads meeting, Aunt Beth and I stayed to look at fabric for functional dog quilts."

"Can we move on to the part where I have to research something?” Lauren circled her hand to encourage Harriet to move along.