Monkey Wrench Read online

  “So did I.”

  Now I was stumped. I’m sure it showed on my face. Smiley-face stopped packing up her stuff and looked at me, waiting for my answer.

  I didn’t hear anyone coming up the stairs but suddenly their faces brightened. I turned and Pearl was at my elbow.

  “Hi everybody. Sorry I’m late. I stopped at Costco for gas and the line was way too long, but I was on E-E-E and I never would have gotten here without filling up. You’d have found me on Santa Clara Street, thumbing it.”

  She grinned at her charges and mimed hitchhiking. “Not that I haven’t traveled that way before. Did I ever tell you how Hiro and I got to Woodstock?”

  Pearl looked good. Her hair was combed and shiny. Her jeans had a deep cuff and her stylish ballet flats were red. She was carrying her quilting teaching bag. I could see she had handouts ready for her students and had an assortment of her pieces for show and tell.

  Smiley-face grinned. She unrolled her pencil roll and sat down. The others sat back in their seats and waited.

  “Thanks, Dewey. I can take it from here.”

  Pearl waited for me to leave. I had to be sure she was okay. Still, she sounded fine. I looked over the classroom. These women were happy to see her. My job was to keep my customers happy.

  “Okay,” I said. “Enjoy your day.”

  I walked down the stairs slowly, listening to the voices in the loft turn happy and light. Before I reached the last step, Pearl had them laughing, telling them how she and Hiro had hitched a ride on the Hog Farm bus, and doing a dead-on imitation of Wavy Gravy.

  Jenn was straightening a row of blenders. “What happened?” She raised her eyes.

  “You hear that?” I said.

  She listened, then nodded. “Sounds like they took it okay.”

  I shook my head. “They were not happy. But Pearl showed up, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to teach.”

  “She seems like a new woman,” Jenn said.

  “Fingers crossed,” I said. “Let’s all try to keep our ears open, okay? Let me know if you hear anything I should know about.”

  A customer grabbed my attention. She was looking for a special gift for the friend who was the designated driver on the Crawl. We snuck around to the display of Jim Shore figurines and she picked out an angel. I wrapped the gift and was rewarded with a big grin. This day of the Crawl was so much more fun.

  Jenn called out, “Dewey, check this out.”

  Two women in matching jackets were smiling at me. I walked over and said hello.

  “Turn around,” Jenn commanded. They obeyed like models on a runway.

  The back of the jacket was a blow up of the Quilters Crawl map.

  “Nice!” I said. “You printed the map on fabric?” The sea otter was flying down the road.

  They nodded. “Do you like?”

  “Awesome,” I said. “I wish Sonya could see that. She’s the one who designed the map graphic, made it so cool.”

  “Someone call my name?”

  Sonya peeked around a large man in a blue polo. I grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her over.

  “Take a look at this,” I said.

  Sonya oohed and aahed. “How did you do that? That is too cool.”

  The jacket people explained their technique and were rewarded with hugs from Sonya. They moved on and I noticed Sonya was carrying a passport.

  I was surprised. “You’re doing the Quilters Crawl?”

  “What can I say? That map I designed really worked.” She laughed, and tossed her long hair back.

  I agreed. “So what do you think of the event?”

  Sonya tilted her head pensively. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? I mean, all these women—mostly, although I saw a couple of men—charging from store to store. There’s a great female energy. Sisters doing it for themselves. They seem to have left all their cares behind.”

  That was a pretty good description. Of today, at least. “How many stores have you been to?”

  “Yours is the fourth,” she said. “I think. It’s a bit of a blur.”

  She took out her passport and showed it to me. She’d started at Barbara the Damp’s shop in Fremont.

  “Each store has its own personality, don’t you think?” she said. She leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “I like the atmosphere here the best. You have all the funky modern fabrics, and your staff is really friendly. I feel welcomed here. I think that’s what’s important.”

  “Thanks.” Sonya had a trained artistic eye. Her opinion meant a lot. And she could be a valuable source. I could always use help with the displays. “After this is over, I’d love to pick your brain.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ursula about to grab a stack of four bolts. “Don’t lift that,” I admonished her. There was a lot of fabric that needed to be reshelved. I knew Ursula was trying to be efficient but she could hurt herself.

  I took the stack from her. “I’ll put them away.”

  Sonya followed me as I returned the bolts in their proper place. I slotted the latest Amy Butler with its matching coordinates. My customers liked the new fabrics in a collection to be kept together. Some made a quilt using every piece in a line.

  “Ursula still hurting, eh?” Sonya said, holding open a spot between two bolts.

  “I’m afraid she’ll always hurt,” I said. I didn’t want to say more. Ursula’s past was her business.

  Sonya’s big eyes widened. She tched in sympathy. “That’s not right. Listen, have you given any thought to me teaching?”

  A sound like a group moan came from the loft. Sonya and I both looked up. She glanced at me questioningly. The noise was quickly followed by a giggle. I’d been monitoring the class as best I could from down here. It seemed to be going okay.

  “There’s a class going on,” I said. “On color.”

  Sonya looked up as if she could see the students through the floor. “Color? See? There’s something I could teach. Man, what I wouldn’t give to have students who are actually interested,” Sonya said. “I’m so sick of entitled twenty-year-olds complaining about being awake at noon.”

  I started to protest on behalf of Vangie and other not-entitled students but a commotion in the back caught my attention.

  A backlog was forming at the stamping table again. Kym’s voice came through.

  “And then I told my husband …”

  I turned to Sonya. “Excuse me. I’ve got to go deal with someone.”

  Sonya looked up the stairway to the loft. “Mind if I go upstairs?” she asked “It would give me an idea of how you do things.”

  “Be my guest,” I said. I pushed the last bolt into place, and went to police Kym.

  She caught my gaze and lowered her voice. She stamped the books quickly, greeting the customers and encouraging them to go shop. As I stood there, I remembered I’d never looked for Lois’s purse. Poor thing. She was probably going nuts without it.

  I’d been so busy since she called, I hadn’t had a chance. I walked up front. The last customer went out the door and the store was empty. We’d hit a lull. At least I hoped it was only a lull.

  Ursula was refilling the small baskets near the register. I kept them stocked with low-cost items that might entice a buyer into an impulse buy. We sold fifty one-inch rulers a month that way.

  “One of our customers called. She lost her purse. Has anyone turned one in?” I asked.

  I was a little afraid that Kym was right. That I should start my search in the dumpster outside.

  She shook her head. “Not that I heard.”

  Jenn who was chewing on a granola bar piped in. “Nope.”

  “Did you get lunch?”

  They both shook her head.

  “Go now,” I said. “I’ll stay up here.”

  I scanned the floor next to the cash register and the cutting table. People stood in those spots the longest, waiting in line to get fabric cut and then waiting again to pay.

  No sign of a purse. Should be easy t
o spot.

  I got the carpet sweeper from the hall closet and poked underneath the toe kicks to make sure nothing had fallen behind. I ran the sweeper under the fabric displays. I might as well freshen things up while I looked.

  QP definitely had a slightly worn look now. The spit and polish of yesterday morning had been replaced by a limp atmosphere as if every bolt of fabric had been touched and moved out of place.

  I was glad. That meant we’d had plenty of action.

  Pushing the sweeper in front of me, I moved to the back of the store. The bookrack was a mess. We carried nearly two hundred titles, divided by subject matter and then alphabetical by title. I’d been wondering lately if that was a smart way to spend my inventory money. I’d noticed some of the shop owners on the Quilters Crawl carried very few books.

  Six copies of Lark Gordon’s appliqué book were in the paper piecing section. I grabbed them, smoothing down the covers. One had gotten bent, which would make it a tough sell.

  When I did, Lois’s patchwork purse dropped out of its hiding spot.

  I recognized it now. I loved the fabric she’d used. I opened the zipper. Inside as Lois had described, was her bejeweled cell phone and a small wallet containing her ID, a credit card, and her Quilters Crawl passport.

  I tucked the purse under my arm and continued straightening the books. I’d call her in a minute. I’d never get back to this mess if I left it now.

  My foot kicked something. A small white lid was at my feet. I picked it up. It was the childproof top to a prescription bottle.

  We used that type of bottle to contain our sharps—pins that were bent and unusable or old sewing machine needles from the classroom. It wouldn’t be good if the lid was missing. Sort of defeating the purpose.

  Jenn came on the floor, drinking from her neon-pink water bottle. She settled behind the cutting table.

  “Jenn, is our sharp trash container in the drawer there?”

  Jenn opened the drawer. She picked up the old prescription bottle and shook it. “Right here, boss.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I tossed the extra lid in the garbage.

  According to her passport, Lois had hit five shops before losing her purse. I called the number she’d given me the other day. Her phone went straight to voice mail. I left a message.

  “Did you find that lady’s purse?” Jenn asked.

  I held it up. “I did, but her phone is going straight to voice mail. She sounded so panicked. I’m going to call around to the shops and see if I can’t find her.”

  I struck out. I called Freddy.

  “You calling to wish me luck?” he asked.

  I glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to three. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I had missed fifteen tweets from him.

  “Yeah, go with that,” I said. I doubted he’d be able to find Lois Lane in his excited state anyhow. “Good luck.”

  “I’m getting lots of replies and retweets. People are really getting behind this.”

  “A day late for me,” I whined.

  “Put a cork in it. You’ll reap the benefits next year.”

  “It’s going to be off the hook,” Freddy crowed. If he ever gave up selling sewing machines, Freddy would make a great late-night infomercial host or a hawker of expensive blenders at Costco.

  “I’ve been sending out messages all day. And then when the first people arrive, I’m going to make such a big effing deal, that they’re going to be tweeting all their friends to join them. I want a crowd, baby.”

  “Don’t forget you only have an hour. From three to four. You’ve got to award that prize promptly.”

  “I will, don’t worry. But for that hour, I’ll be going bananas.”

  I laughed. “Not that I’d expect anything but.”

  Freddy let out a howl that sounded vaguely like a wolf. “Gotta go. Rebekah and Inez are freaking out.”

  “Call me when it’s over,” I said.

  I hung up. I had a sick feeling and realized I was jealous of Freddy. I shook myself. There was no point in envying Freddy’s success. It hadn’t even happened yet.

  I called Lois’s phone again. Calling the shops would be futile.

  _____

  Four o’clock came and went. I didn’t hear from Freddy. He must have a lot of customers still in his shop. Maybe he was selling a machine or two. Good for him.

  My business had slowed. I had faith that it would pick up again after Freddy released his share of the hoppers.

  Buster came in. “Hey, babe,” he said. “Need me to do anything?”

  “I could use a bank run,” I said.

  Buster scanned the shop. His cop eyes were always on the lookout for anything out of place.

  “You’re having a good day?” He knew I didn’t take money to the bank unless I’d had a very busy day.

  “Up until an hour ago, when Freddy had his Twitter event. He seems to have sucked every customer into his orbit.”

  “Kind of like a creepy vampire.”

  Jenn giggled from her post.

  “Not at all like a creepy vampire,” I said, handing him the bag full of money.

  He kissed me and headed out. He offered to pick up coffee and tea for Jenn and Ursula as he sallied out the front door. He never forgot anyone. No wonder they loved him. No wonder I loved him.

  As I headed back to my office, Sonya was coming out of the bathroom.

  “You still here?” I asked, surprised. I thought she’d gone hours ago, after she looked in on Pearl’s class.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, wiping her hand on a paper towel. “I’ve been having so much fun with Pearl and her students, I decided to hang around.”

  “I didn’t realize.” I felt guilty that I hadn’t been up to check on them. I’d meant to but every time I started up there, something or someone downstairs needed my attention.

  “I feel kinda bad. I mean, it’s not like I can pay you—” I stammered. I was grateful for the help but I couldn’t afford any more outlay.

  She waved off my concerns, turning to toss the paper in the trash behind her. “Are you kidding me? I’m having a blast. Your customers are so cool. Pearl’s a hoot.”

  I walked with her up the stairs to the loft. I waved to the students. “Everyone doing okay?” I asked.

  I was happy to get nods of agreement. Sonya looked over the work of the brunette who’d been so vocal earlier. I felt a rush of relief when she broke into a big smile as Sonya complimented her work.

  Pearl looked up from her notes. She was standing next to the wooden lectern. It was nearly as tall as she was. I could see her pages were in disarray.

  “You’re back?” she asked.

  “I’ve been here all along,” I said.

  She frowned at me. Was Pearl losing it again? She had to be tired, having taught now for several hours. Sonya caught my eye and smiled. I relaxed a bit.

  A noise went up from below. From the loft, looking down, I could see a crowd had gathered. A man and a woman had commanded the attention of several shop hoppers near the front door. I heard the timbre of harsh whispers flying back and forth. A hand flew up to a mouth and a woman emitted a small shriek. This didn’t look like ordinary gossip. I started down the stairs.

  I felt a hand on my arm and looked back to see Pearl. Her eyebrows were knotted and her lips tight.

  “I don’t need a babysitter, you know,” she said. She was angry. Oh dear. “First you stick Vangie in my house, now this witch.”

  “Sonya’s not your babysitter,” I said, working on sounding convincing. That’s sort of what she had been. I didn’t want to admit that to Pearl.

  “You shouldn’t have sicked that woman on me. She was so disruptive, with her comings and goings. I didn’t like it one bit.”

  “Pearl, I’m sorry. But this was your first class since Hiro died. I didn’t know if you could make the entire session.”

  She tched. “You have no faith in me. Get out of here. I’ve got to get back to class. Don’t bring me
any more sitters.”

  Before I turned away, I got a small smile from Sonya. Whatever Pearl thought, I was glad Sonya was here.

  I went downstairs. Just as I’d hoped, the store was getting busy again.

  As I got closer, I heard someone mention Lois Lane. I relaxed a little. This was about a lost purse, nothing more. Sometimes I was amazed by the amount of turmoil generated over the little things.

  “Do you know Lois?” I asked, glancing around the group to see who’d spoken. “Where is she? I’ve been trying to reach her. I have something she left behind yesterday.”

  The couple front and center exchanged a look. They were either brother or sister or long-time marrieds. They each sported a short spiked hairdo. They must buy hair gel by the bucket. Her hair was a bright yellow and his was gray. Both wore the identical grave expression, mouths drawn down in a U-shape.

  “Didn’t you hear?” she said, her hand, seeking her mate’s.

  “She’s dead,” he said.

  “Dead?” I asked. “She died? What happened? How?”

  “She got trampled to death at one of the quilt shops,” the woman continued, her eyes flashing a bit with self-importance when she read the shock on my face.

  I fought to catch my breath. Dead because of the Crawl? That couldn’t be. I was sorry I’d sent Buster away. I needed to lean on him right now.

  “Which one?”

  He answered. “That sewing machine shop on El Camino.”

  My heart plummeted. Freddy’s place. A cold chill settled on the back of my neck.

  I thanked the couple and pulled my phone out of my pocket and raced outside. I dialed Freddy’s cell but he didn’t answer. I tried the shop but no one picked up there either.

  I had to get to his shop. Freddy would be beside himself. I looked back at QP through the plate glass window. The crowd had dispersed. Jenn was packing a customer’s purchases into one of the special Quilters Crawl bags and Ursula was cutting fabric, her ears cocked to hear the story her customer was telling. Everything normal, except that Lois was dead.

  I could hardly believe it.

  I looked at the time. Four thirty. QP had to remain open until six. There were at least fifteen customers in the store. How could I leave now?

  I clicked off the phone and went back inside. I found Buster being cornered by a contingent of quilters in matching pink T-shirts and high heels. They seemed to be determined to prove that the Crawl could be done in six-inch stilettos.