Make Quilts Not War - By Arlene Sachitano Page 0,37
sitting around the house waiting for someone like him to ask for it. I tried to explain to him that, even if I did want to help him, which I don’t, no one has that kind of cash laying around.”
“Did he say what the scheme was?” Harriet asked.
“No, but then, I didn’t give him a chance. I told him I didn’t want to know.”
Beth reached over and patted Jenny’s hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “No one is responsible for how their kinfolk act, and if he’s that troubled, you did right by refusing to help him.”
“How’d things go at the show today?” Harriet asked, changing the subject.
“No one wants to come close to my quilt. I’m not sure why the committee still wants me to be there. I barely got to take a break, too. Sharon was afraid to stand on the stage by it, so she would only talk to people from the aisle in front of the stage.”
“Did you talk to Marjory?” Harriet asked.
“She came by and could see no one was stopping. I think Sharon might have said something to her as well.”
“What did Marjory say?” Beth asked and took another sip of her tea.
“She was going to talk to the Amish group and see if they would be willing to take over my platform and let me have theirs, but I haven’t heard what they said yet.”
Beth turned the conversation to the perils of preparing food in an outdoor food cart, successfully distracting Jenny for the next half-hour.
“We should get going and let you get comfortable,” she said when they’d exhausted the topic. “I hope you can go to bed early and get some rest.”
Harriet got up and handed Aunt Beth her coat before leading the way to the front door.
Chapter 16
“How tired are you?” Harriet asked her aunt when they were back in the car.
“I’d like to get back to Brownie. Why? What did you have in mind?”
“I want to see what Lauren has dug up on Jenny’s brother, and I’d rather talk it over in person.”
“Well, I gave Penny a key so she could walk Brownie in the evening when Rod’s off-duty, just in case something came up. Let me check in with her.”
“While you do that, I’ll call Lauren and see if she’s available.”
“Lauren said she can meet us at the Steaming Cup,” Harriet reported when Aunt Beth finished telling her neighbor about the goings on at the festival.
“Penny said she’s just taken Brownie out for a quick potty break, so we’re good to go. I didn’t know the Cup stayed open that late.”
“Lauren says it does, and she spends a lot of hours on her computer with her coffee cup in hand. I think she knows every late-night spot in town.”
“I’m usually in my jammies by now, so I wouldn’t know.”
“I can take you home, if it’s too late for you.”
“I think I can bear up,” Aunt Beth said with a grin.
Harriet parked next to Lauren’s car in the lot and led her aunt into the coffeehouse. Lauren was sitting in a large upholstered chair near the door.
“Where’s your computer?” Harriet asked.
“I finished my work and was about to leave when you called. I figured you two would like cushy chairs, so I moved over here. Get your drinks, and let’s talk.”
“Hot chocolate?” Harriet asked, and when her aunt nodded, she went to the counter to order. Beth sat in a purple chair with a matching ottoman and put her feet up. Her ankles looked swollen, and Harriet made a mental note to ask about it when they were alone.
“So, Bobby Cosgrove lives in the St. Martin de Porres Shelter on Alaskan Way in Seattle,” Lauren reported when Harriet had delivered her aunt’s chocolate and settled in a chair with her own cup. “My sources tell me the shelter specializes in homeless men over the age of fifty. They, of course, wouldn’t tell me anything about him other than to verify his address when I pretended to be a prospective employer.
“So far, I can’t find anything about him on the Internet. Either Bobby Cosgrove isn’t his real name, or it’s possible, if he’s been long-term homeless, that he’s just never done anything that leaves a trail out in the ether. I’ll keep digging, though.”
“We learned he’s Jenny’s brother,” Harriet reported. She described the tire-slashing incident.
“Wait a minute,” Lauren said, holding her hand up for emphasis.
Harriet had been about to take a sip of her chocolate but stopped.