Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,34
sitting in my recliner with Curly,” Mavis said.
“Rod and I are going to a talk about the history of the war in Vietnam,” Connie said.
“I’ll be researching our friend Bobby, plus I have to do some work for my paying customers,” Lauren said.
“I haven’t decided what I’m doing.” Harriet glanced at her watch. “Thirty more minutes until closing. You all don’t have to wait with me. All I have to do is cover my tables.”
One by one, Connie, Lauren and Mavis took their leave. Harriet was alone straightening her samples when Tom stopped at her table.
“Are you doing anything tonight?” he asked.
“I’m torn between going home and seeing one of the movies.”
“Funny you should mention the movies. I was just going to see if you wanted to go with me.”
“What do you want to see? They’re running three double features at the same time in the exhibit hall conference rooms.”
“If I don’t choose the right movie, are you going to turn me down?” he asked with a grin.
“No, but I’ve been trying to talk someone into coming to see Psycho with me, and so far no takers. Hope springs eternal, though.” She raised her eyebrows up and down in encouragement.
“I would love to go see Psycho with you. Can we get a bite to eat first?”
“As it happens, Psycho is the second movie after The Graduate in Room A.”
“Do you mind if we eat somewhere besides here?” Tom asked. “The sixties fare is fun and all, but I need some real food.”
“Jorge brought us lunch from his restaurant today, but I agree.”
“Italian?”
“Sure.”
He drove them to Aberto’s, a mom-and-pop place on the far side of Miller Hill. Dinner was scallops with angel hair pasta and green salads, with a basket of warm crusty bread.
“I assume you’ve seen the movie at least once,” Tom said when they had finished their meals.
“Hasn’t everyone? I thought it was a rite of passage in America.”
“I think I saw it for the first time at a junior high school Halloween party.”
“It’s been so long I don’t remember all the details.”
Tom looked at his watch.
“Let’s go refresh our memories.”
A car door slammed loudly as they crossed the parking lot on the way to Harriet’s car after the movie. She jumped and leaned into Tom; he put his arm around her shoulders.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you,” he said and laughed. “Not that there are any crazy guys with big knives out here.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, the way things in Foggy Point have been going lately.”
He tightened his arm around her.
“If we’re going down, we’re going together.” He leaned in and kissed her lightly on her lips. “Isn’t that your friend Jenny?”
He pointed with the hand that was on her shoulder. She looked where he was pointing. Two men in dark coveralls looked like they were attaching chains under the front bumper of Jenny’s Mercedes. Jenny stood to one side watching.
“I wonder what’s going on,” Harriet said.
“Can’t be anything good if a tow truck is involved.”
“Do you mind if we check and see if she needs help?”
Tom sighed, and Harriet could tell he was seeing any hope of alone time with her slipping away.
“Sure,” he said and led the way across the empty lot.
“What happened?” Harriet asked, but then saw the problem when she looked at the tires. All four had been slashed multiple times and were very flat.
“Where are the police?” Tom asked. “Are they gone already?”
“I didn’t call them,” Jenny said quietly.
“What?” Harriet asked her. “Why not?”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
Tom looked at Harriet. She gave him a slight nod. Jenny had been unwilling to tell her anything so far; maybe she’d talk to Tom.
“One tire might be teenagers or a prank, but all four? Someone is angry. What might have happened if you’d come out when they were there with knife in hand, slashing? You might have ended up dead.”
“Especially after what happened opening night,” Harriet added. She paused a moment to let her words sink in. “Instead of nine-one-one, how about we call Detective Morse? If she thinks it’s not a big deal, that will be the end of it.” She knew that would never happen. Morse was going to be all over this like spray starch on appliqué grapes.
“Can’t we just drop it?” Jenny pleaded.
“’Fraid not,” Tom said. “You know the tow drivers are going to talk about it, and then the police will come for you anyway. Wouldn’t you rather control the situation by calling it in yourself? Or