The Quilt Before The Storm

“Sure, pull up a chair.”

“Are you ladies ready for the storm?” Jane asked.

“I’m ready to drive to Harriet’s,” Lauren said. “She has a fireplace, and a gas stove and water heater.”

“That sounds comfortable,” Jane said and took a bite of her flan. “I’m afraid my apartment has none of those amenities.”

“My house didn’t start out with all that. My aunt added the propane after a few too many lingering power outages.”

“The utility guys told me it’s hard to find the faulty power lines when they have to search the feeds that go through the woods,” Jane said.

The lights in Tico’s flickered but then steadied.

“That can’t be good,” Lauren said and looked out the window. “The streetlights flickered, too.”

“I’m supposed to be going to Everett tomorrow for a task force meeting,” Jane said.

“I don’t envy you that,” Harriet replied. “Will you be driving alone?”

“No, several of us have to go. I’m worried about getting back. We could be driving right through the worst part of the storm.”

“Are you meeting about the Interstate Strangler?” Lauren asked.

“I can’t really say, but you can draw your own conclusions.”

“I feel guilty that I take comfort we aren’t close to the interstate,” Harriet said.

“Don’t worry about it, I feel the same way.” Jane smiled. “I was going to call you,” she said to Harriet. “I have a quilt finished, and it needs quilting. It’s for my niece.”

“Do you need it before Christmas?”

“No, whenever you can do it is fine. She picked out the fabric three years ago, so she’s not holding her breath waiting. If the power goes out for any length of time, you probably won’t be able to quilt anyway. I have it in the car, if you don’t mind me handing it off here. I’m not sure I’ll have time to bring it to you tomorrow before I leave.”

“That would be fine, but eat your dessert first. We’re not in a hurry.”

“We aren’t?” Lauren interjected.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Harriet asked.

“No, but you didn’t know that.”

Harriet sighed and noticed that Jane was barely suppressing a smile.

The trio talked about the flannel quilts that had been made for the homeless while they finished their flan.

“I’ll go get my quilt,” Jane said. “Be right back.”

“Isn’t she just the chipper one when we aren’t involved in one of her murder cases,” Lauren commented when she was gone.

“Do you want a cup of tea before we go?” Harriet asked. She knew Jorge kept a good supply on hand in deference to the Loose Threads.

“My goodness, it’s wet out there,” a slender, middle-aged blonde said as the wind snatched the door from her hand and banged it against the entrance wall. A bearded man in an orange sweatshirt shut it as he followed her in.

“I parked my big rig in a couple of spaces around back,” he told Jorge. “Is that going to be okay?”

“Sure. Two for dinner?” He ushered them to a table and poured water into the clean glasses that were already set out. “Would you like some coffee?”

“That sounds wonderful,” the blonde said. “The heater on the truck broke, and we were going to try to make it all the way to the interstate, but the windows kept fogging up. We’ve been in that cold cab for hours.”

Jorge brought the hot coffee and took the couple’s food order.

“Is there a campground around here where we could stay in our truck?” the trucker asked him.

“Our campgrounds are closed for the winter,” Jane Morse said. She’d returned from her car in time to hear the last request.

The man introduced himself as Owen Hart and his blond companion simply as Kate. He explained they were long-haul truck drivers and were returning empty after a delivery to Kalaloch on the Washington coast. He explained their breakdown and his belief that, given some daylight and an open hardware store, he could fix their problem and get them on their way.

“There is a large parking lot at Fogg Park,” Jane explained. “We keep the restrooms open in the winter for the local homeless camp that’s nearby.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and scrawled a note on the back. “If a patrol car comes by, just show him this card, and you should be fine.” She proceeded to tell them how to find Fogg Park.

“That sounds miserable,” Harriet said when Jane returned to their table with her quilt. “I hope he really can fix their problem and get out of the area before the storm hits.”

“No kidding,” Lauren said.

“Speaking of that and cold people, I’m going to go home and work on rag quilts. There’s one that’s almost done and a couple of more in progress that could be finished before the worst of the weather hits.” Harriet stood up and put her coat on then took Detective Morse’s quilt. “Thanks for letting me come to dinner with you,” she told Lauren.

“Whatever.” Lauren gathered her purse and coat.

Harriet stopped at the table Jorge had seated the truck drivers at.

“My quilting group is making charity quilts for the homeless in Fogg Park. Could you use a warm flannel quilt for your night in the parking lot?” she asked.

“That would be wonderful,” the woman said. “Are you sure you can spare one? We’ll be okay once we get the truck fixed.”

“We’d be happy for you to take one. The only trouble is, I don’t have one in my car. My house isn’t far from here. Would you mind coming by to pick it up?”

“That’s the least we can do. And we’d be happy to give you a donation to buy more materials, if that’s okay,” Owen said.

Harriet wrote her address and brief directions on a napkin and gave it to them.

“Take your time eating. I’ll be sewing for a while tonight.”

Fred was waiting in the kitchen when Harriet came in through the garage door, carrying the bag of lamps she’d intended for her aunt. With the wind expected to increase, she’d parked in the garage-she didn’t need a tree falling on her car. She was trying not to think about the possibility of one of the tall old fir trees falling on her bedroom.

“Maybe we’ll camp out in the hall when the big storm comes,” she said to Fred as she scooped a spoonful of gelatinous nutrition onto his food dish.

Three sharp raps sounded on the outside studio door as she entered from the kitchen. The truck drivers must have taken their food to go, she thought.

The door pushed opened before she could cross the room.

“Lauren? What are you doing here?”

“Glad to see you, too.”

“I’m sorry, come in. I’m just wondering, did we have a plan?”

“Did we need one? You said you have a couple of quilts that could be finished, and my client still isn’t ready, so I thought I’d come help you.”

“Excuse me if I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take the help for whatever reason. You can either cut batting squares at the big table, or there’s a stack of blocks ready to be sewn together by the bigger of the two sewing machines.”

“I don’t know why I bother,” Lauren said as she took her coat off and opened her quilting bag.

Harriet was helping her change the bobbin on the sewing machine when another knock on the door interrupted them. She again started for the door expecting the couple.

“Hi,” Jane Morse said and walked past her and into the studio. She took her all-weather jacket off and laid it on the wingback chair in the reception area.

“I have your quilt. Did you forget to tell me something?” Harriet asked.