When Chenille Is Not Enough
Chapter 6

Louise stood in the doorway of Susan’s office, phone in hand. “I’ve called Edna,” she said. “She and Scott will meet you at your house. Li-Ming is on her way here. Kyle and I will stay until she arrives. Gary, move your car to the back entrance. We’ll meet you there, and you can take her home.”

Susan blinked. “Okay. That’s good. Thank you.” She let Gary help her to stand. “What about Carolyn? And Margaret?” She turned to Louise. “They’ll worry if you don’t show up.”

“I’ll call them the first chance I get. If I know Carolyn, she’ll be on your doorstep as soon as she hears what happened.”

Gary maneuvered Susan to Louise’s side, who linked arms with Susan and held her steady. “I’ll only be a minute,” he said, and trotted away to the front door.

“Come with me,” Louise said, and walked Susan down the hall to the back door. “That’s right, one foot in front of the other.”

Susan watched her shoes move along the floor. The gold buckle across the ruby leather vamp glinted under the fluorescent lights. “This is a ridiculous shoe,” she said. “The heels are too high, the toes are too pointy, and I don’t even like the color.” She prepared to kick the shoe down the corridor, then stopped. “No, the shoe is fine. I’m ridiculous. Cecily is smart, and capable, and she’s going to be okay.”

Louise bit her lip. “Yes, she is. Now, do you really believe what you’re saying or is this just another stage of shock?”

Susan rotated her shoulder blades and lifted her spine. “I don’t know,” she said. “But the problem-solving side of my brain is kicking in, and it’s telling me that I’m no use to anyone if I’m hysterical.”

“That’s right.”

Louise withdrew her arm and Susan took the last few steps to the door on her own. Susan opened the door, waved to Gary in his car, then turned to Louise. “Thank you. Tell Li-Ming everything, as well as Carolyn. We were at our best last time when we worked together.”

Louise smiled. The tightness around her eyes ebbed, and the furrows on her forehead relaxed. “We did ourselves proud once. We’ll do it again.”

Gary leaned in the doorway. “Ready to go?” he asked as he placed his hand under Susan’s elbow and his other arm around her waist. He turned her in a gentle arc toward the car.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’ll be better when I’m home,” she said.

He settled her into the car and fastened her seat belt. She closed her eyes and sank into the plush upholstery. Before he closed the door, he grabbed a blanket from the back seat and tucked it around her.

Susan heard the engine turn over, and felt the car inch backwards. She kept her eyes closed and focused on her breath until she felt the car lurch over the uneven entrance to the parking lot and veer sharply to the right. “Traffic is light,” she said, her eyes still closed.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“You rolled out of the parking lot and didn’t floor it once you hit the street.” She let silence surround her.

At the stoplight, Gary said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t have a plan yet, but I promise I’ll move heaven and earth to get Cecily back.”

Susan opened her eyes. The light turned green. A puff of exhaust from a diesel-engine truck swirled around it. Susan caught her breath, reminded of the green smoke that had choked her the previous year, when the alien in fabric form had wrapped itself around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image from her mind.

Gary coughed. “I guess that sounded - ”

“It sounded perfect,” Susan interrupted. “My reaction time is off, that’s all. And thank you for saying it.”

The diesel truck rumbled through the intersection ahead of them. Construction crews jack-hammered pavement into bits and a dump truck beeped its intentions as it backed into place. Gary slowed for a Mini-Cooper to merge from the left.

Susan chewed her lip and waited until the noise faded behind them. “I don’t know what to tell the girls.”

“Olivia and Eleanor? They’re in school, aren’t they?”

“They’ll come home eventually.” She watched a young woman with a bright blue satchel slung over her shoulder run for an approaching bus.

“When does school get out?” Gary asked. “I could pick them up and take them someplace. A movie. Out to dinner. I’ll tell them the aliens are back and you have to deal with them. They don’t need to know about Cecily. Not just now, anyway.”

For a moment, Susan thought the sunlight skipped across the dashboard. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice quavered, struggling to push its way out of her throat. Then the tension in her neck eased, her jaw unclenched, and her fingers relaxed. “Thank you,” she said again, confident he could hear her now. “You have no idea how much that would help. If I don’t have to worry about the girls . . . ” The muscles at the base of her skull twinged, and panic sprinted up and down her backbone. She inhaled.

“I’ll take care of them for you. Just focus on Cecily.” He glanced at her, and his lips experimented with a reassuring grin.

The panic receded, and she dared a smile. “I love you.”

***

The screen in Bozidar’s transport glistened. Marsel chittered and squeaked, while Bozidar frowned. Cecily scanned the bench, patting the corners.

“Where’s that translator box thingy?” she asked. “You’re falling down on the job.”

“His rantings do not deserve translating,” Bozidar said. “But if you insist, I will change the settings.” He waved his hand over the console, tapped fuschia- and tangerine-colored squares that winked in and out, then leaned toward the screen. “Marsel, I have set the translator for American English. Do not dispute the issue, there is a difference.”

Cecily waved at the alien on the screen. “Hi, Marsel, I’m Cecily. Great pod you’ve got here. Comfortable benches.”

Smoke the color of molten lava swirled in front of Marsel’s image. “You are . . . and he should never . . . and . . .” He continued sputtering, but the syllables didn’t resemble English any more.

Bozidar stepped in front of Cecily. “Go sit on the comfortable bench,” he whispered.

“But I want to talk to him, too.”

“That would not be useful,” he said, and returned to the console. “Marsel, this is our new reality. Try to be helpful for once. Has the council of elders reached consensus? Revenge or respect, that is our dilemma.”

"Your dilemma,” Marsel said. “The mission was clear. If you had fulfilled it sooner, you would not now need a ruling from the council.”

“And my mother would be dead,” Cecily said. Her voice reverberated against the lime green walls. “My mother, the descendant of She Who Found You.”

“If we were not aware of her lineage, there would be no dishonor,” Marsel said.

“But we do know her lineage,” Bozidar said. He tugged on his ear. “Dishonor abounds now. It cannot be avoided, only mitigated.”

“The council agrees with you,” Marsel said. “The problem is the entire clan does not.”

“Not a surprise. I warned the elders about factions. For nearly an entire cycle, I told the elders and told the elders and they did not listen.”

Cecily leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on folded hands. She studied the alien on the screen. “Bozidar,” she said, “do all of you look alike?”

He whirled to face her, eyes flashing. “We most certainly do not!”

Marsel’s image rippled. Some of the folds took on the appearance of glowing eyes and flaring nostrils. His upper corners pulsed into jagged points.

Cecily flattened herself against the wall. “Sorry. It’s just that the other guys were disguised as bolts of fabric, and you look human. Marsel is the only one of your kind that I’ve seen in your natural state. Don’t jump down my throat because I’m curious.”

Bozidar ground his teeth. “Let us take time which we do not have to condense a thousand cycles of history into an entertaining story.”

“Oh, stop,” Cecily said. “You know about us, it’s only fair I know something about you. But I don’t need the entire history. No, wait, that’s not what I meant. I would love to know everything about you, but on camera. This would make a great film.”

Marsel and Bozidar both shrieked, a screech reminiscent of an old blender grinding too many ice cubes at too high a speed.

Cecily lifted her hands and shushed them. “You invade innocent quilt shops, I make movies. Get used to it.” She crossed her feet on the bench and intertwined her fingers under her chin. “Let’s stick to the basics for now. Are you all beige? You mentioned clans - how many are there? How big? And why do you guys keep coming here in secret?”

Bozidar dropped his head on his chest and leaned against the console. Marsel, his edges still pulsating, squeaked in time to the movements.

“To resist is useless, Marsel,” Bozidar said. “I have no doubt that these women spring from the same bloodline as She Who Found Us. They are just as annoying as She is in the stories. And as tenacious. To answer your questions, no, we are not all beige. There are blues and roses and plaids. Those are the bigger clans. The green clan is quite small, and I’m not sure any true yellows exist anymore. The beiges and the blues are the largest of the clans. And we keep coming here because - ”

“Enough!” Marsel shouted. “Do you want to add treason to dishonor?”

“What does it matter?” Bozidar asked. “You tell me the clan is breaking apart, the elders have no instructions for me, and my hostage has made me her prisoner!” He sank in a chair and draped himself over the console.

“Bozidar, are you crying - again?” Cecily asked.

“Yes,” he said in a voice like an exhausted child.

She levered herself off the bench and inched toward him. She patted his head, then squeezed his shoulder. “I have an idea. It won’t fix everything, but it could buy us some time. And get us an ally.”

“Us?” Marsel asked. “Who is us? You are not a beige. You are not even a rose.”

“Call me an honorary clan member,” she said, “as befits the great, great grand-daughter of She Who Found You. Now, if part of your clan is getting out of line, you need an elder with some power to make them behave, right? Well, I’ve got a grandmother who could make the devil himself beg for mercy. Bring me home, safe and sound, and let me talk to Grandma Edna. Or Elder Edna. She might like the sound of that.”

“How will that help me?” Bozidar asked.

“Well,” Cecily said, drawing out the syllable, “for one thing, it will show good faith. Yes, you kidnapped me, but only because of the revenge thing. Return me, and that evens things out, understand?”

Bozidar groaned and dropped his head back on the console.

“No, she has a point,” Marcel said. His rubbery beige body bent over, and appendages grew from the sides. He ran them over his own console. “I am accessing the rules of engagement now. Hold on, hold on.” Eye stalks grew from his head. “Yes, yes, here it is. Article Nineteen, Section Seven, Paragraph Forty-two, Debts of Honor, Repayment Without Death. I was just reading about this the other day. It is an obscure provision to the code, but still valid.”

“Marsel, we are not presenting an opinion to the High Council,” Bozidar said. “Get to the point.”

“The point,” Marsel said, “is that she might have a good idea. You can return her without disobeying orders if you then enlist her clan’s most senior member to negotiate with our elders.”

“Great!” Cecily said. “Now all we have to do is figure out how to get me to Grandma Edna without my mom killing you.”

***

Susan saw Edna’s tangerine Land Rover parked in her driveway as soon as Gary turned the corner. Like Edna, the car was bright, old, and a never-ending source of surprise.

“What is that thing?” Gary asked.

“Mom’s car,” Susan said. “From the way it’s parked, I’d say Edna was half-way to the front door before she realized she had left the engine on. I’m surprised she didn’t drive straight across the lawn and leave it under the flower box.”

“Do you want me to drive around the block?”

“No,” she said. For once her stomach didn’t clench at the thought of Edna in the house. The pain at the back of her skull faded. “No, I’m glad she’s here. I’m even glad she used the key I gave her to go inside.” She relaxed her fingers, which had clutched at her skirt the entire ride home. “With any luck, she made some tea.”

Gary parked on the street. He dashed around to help Susan disentangle herself from the seat belt and exit the car.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not panicking now. I can walk in under my own steam.”

Gary took her arm and matched his pace to hers as they walked across the lawn to the front door. “That may be, but I’ve seen Edna flatten the path in front of her when she’s in a good mood. I don’t want her knocking you over now, when she’s probably as upset as you are.”

They entered the house and were greeted with the smell of strong coffee, old leather, and cinnamon buns. Scott stood at the end of the hall, tall and authoritative as if he still commanded the local police force. He held an antique satchel that he placed on the floor in the living room.

“Edna, they’re here,” he said. He hurried to Susan and took her hands. His ice blue eyes showed a deep warmth and compassion. “We’ll get her back. That’s a promise.”

Edna emerged from the kitchen with a tray of buns and cups. “The coffee’s almost ready. Gary, would you mind getting it?” she said.

Gary obeyed, while Scott and Susan followed Edna to the living room. She parked the tray onto the coffee table and herself on the couch. She patted the cushion next to her. Scott steered Susan to the couch, then sat in a green wing-backed chair close to Edna.

Susan settled next to her mother, who put her hand on Susan’s cheek.

“I don’t know where to start, Mom,” Susan whispered.

Edna hugged her.

“Start at the beginning,” Scott said. “Tell me everything you noticed from the first day you met this man.”

“He isn’t a man,” Edna said, “he’s one of those sneaky, lint-shedding - ”

“Edna, let me do this,” Scott said. He pulled a notebook from his tweed jacket pocket and removed the pencil attached to it with a rubber band. “Susan, talk. Edna, don’t interrupt.” He crossed his legs, settled into the chair and waited, pencil poised.

Susan clasped her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. “The first time we saw him was at the movie showing in San Francisco. He said he wanted to promote Cecily’s film, and she wanted him to be telling the truth so much that she . . . ” Susan opened her eyes and glanced at Scott, who had stopped writing. “That isn’t important, is it?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “My experience has been that crimes unravel when I’m patient. Tell me your story, your way.”

Susan nodded. “Okay.” She took two short breaths. “Okay. He called himself Bozidar Cottonwood. He said he could help promote Cecily’s movie. I don’t remember whether he asked to see the quilt shop or if Cecily offered, but he showed up there. He looked around, and then he left. He came back the next day, looked around and left. He came back again, and took Cecily.”

“That’s not the whole story, honey,” Edna said. She shook her finger at Scott. “Yes, I’m interrupting, but she left out the crazy quilt. The minute he laid eyes on it he acted like someone pinched his bottom. Then he ran out the door like a stabbed rat. That was the first time he came. The second time he grilled me on the quilt, then skedaddled again.”

“I don’t remember that,” Susan said.

“You weren’t in the room,” Edna said. “You came in when he was giving me the third degree. That’s when he scrammed.”

“What did he want to know about the quilt?” Scott asked.

Edna crossed her arms and glowered at the ceiling. “Now isn’t that the oddest thing. I can’t remember exactly what he asked. It was something to do with the embroidery. Maybe the fabric, too.”

Susan grabbed her mother’s elbow. “The patterns. That’s what set him off. Cecily wanted me to see how the patterns on the computer matched the patterns on the quilt. And not just the embroidery, the way the blocks were constructed. That’s when he started to . . . to . . .”

“To what,” Scott asked.

She turned to him. “To melt.”

Scott scribbled notes. “Go on,” he said, without looking up.

“I said his face was melting.” She waited until he turned his attention to her. “You’re writing this down as if it makes sense.”

Scott tucked his notebook away and leaned toward Susan. “Last year, I helped fight a bunch of space aliens corralled in your storeroom. We saw them change their shape then, and if you’re certain this guy is one of them, it’s conceivable he could change his shape, too.”

“Except he’s different,” Susan said. Her hands trembled, and she shivered. “I mean, he reeked of lavender, like they did, but he looks human. And Louise attacked him with chenille and it didn’t stop him.”

“Did it slow him down?” Scott asked as he retrieved his notebook.

Susan bit her lower lip. “I think so,” she said after a moment. “Yes, it definitely slowed him down. But it didn’t stop him from grabbing Cecily.”

“Did he say anything before he left?”

“He didn’t leave,” Susan said. “He disappeared in kind of a twinkly blue light.”

Scott’s fingers stopped in mid-stroke. “A twinkly blue light,” he said. “Well, we’ll get back to that. Now think, did he say anything?”

“He said he was sorry.” She rose from the couch. “And he said it wasn’t supposed to be this way.” She walked around the couch and rested her hand on the back. “I’m remembering now. He was very upset, but not with us. He said something about beiges. And he grabbed Cecily, because she was the one talking. She was making a connection.” Susan paced, then whirled around and grabbed Edna’s shoulder. “He took her because she was going to tell us something about that quilt. Which we still have. Your turn, Mom. What’s the deal with that quilt?”

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