When Chenille Is Not Enough

Bozidar sat at the end of a row near the middle of the hall. When the room darkened, he removed the black box from his pocket. As the movie started, he tapped the pad.

The movie froze on the first frame of the opening credits. The music continued to play, increasing tempo until the notes collapsed into a screech.

Cecily rushed to her laptop and keyed in commands. The screech grew louder and higher pitched. She jabbed the escape key three times. The screen turned blue, with a flashing cursor in the corner.

Susan said, “Sorry about that, everyone. Cecily will have the machine working properly in just a moment.” She leaned over and whispered to Cecily, “Do you want me to turn the lights on?”

“No, that’s okay, I can manage.”

Bozidar glanced at the woman next to him, who brought out her phone and started texting. He scanned the room and saw others on their phones. He smiled to himself and whispered into the black box, “We have a minute. I will key in the sequence for you to capture the electromagnetic pulses.” His index finger danced on the pad. “Now you should see what I see.” He put the box in his breast pocket and sat on the edge of his chair.

Cecily inhaled and pressed “enter.” The screen changed from blue to gray. The music began, soft and melodic. The opening credits rolled. Cecily exhaled.

Bozidar ground his teeth at the scene with Susan lobbing lavender sachets at the fabric beings. “Idiots,” he muttered, “they could not have done any research at all about this planet if they thought that disguise would succeed.”

His fists constricted into tight balls as the movie progressed. Laughter from the rest of the audience muffled his sob when a chenille-armored woman tackled a beige bolt. When the crowd applauded at the conclusion, he whispered into his jacket, “It seems the message we received was accurate. It was a slaughter, even if our cousins’ stupidity brought it on them.”

He wiped a tear from his eye. “The emotion translation program is working too well,” he said. “I dislike having saline solution dripping on my face.”

Cecily made her way to the front, shaking hands along the way. “Thank you again for coming to see quilting heroines save the world from space aliens,” she said, “and for laughing in all the right places. There are cookies on the back table, coffee and tea at the side, and DVDs available for sale. Relax, enjoy, and remember we take credit cards, checks or cash.”

Bozidar rose and was swept by the crowd toward the cookie table, where he saw Cecily greet three squealing women. The four of them bounced on their toes, hugging each other. He felt a hand on his elbow.

“Sorry, I was just reaching for a snickerdoodle,” said a young man wearing a knit cap.

Bozidar stared at the table, then the man. He stepped back and said, “Pardon me. Sorry to be in your way.” When he found a piece of unoccupied wall he whispered to the box in his pocket, “Tell the language department they are sabotaging the mission! What do you mean that is a real word? How can they eat something with such an obscene name? I know they do not realize what it means on our planet, but there is a logic to the universe that - fine, I will stop. Just tell me what it looks like so I can avoid it.”

Cecily approached him with her friends forming a wedge behind her. “Mr. Cottonwood, I was hoping you hadn’t slipped away. Let me introduce my friends - Darlene, Davita and Danielle.”

“We’re the 3D girls,” the thinnest one said as the other two giggled.

Bozidar bowed crisply. “Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

The thin girl said to Cecily, “Mom alert, two o’clock.”

Susan pushed between a couple devouring brownies and positioned herself between Bozidar and the exit. “Here you are.”

Bozidar bowed to Susan. “Forgive me for not greeting you properly earlier, Mrs. Morgan. My concern for the lateness of my arrival led to a lapse of manners.”

Susan cleared her throat. “No offense taken.” She pushed a stray lock of hair from her face. Her bracelets jangled as she dropped her hand.

“Mr. Cottonwood,” Cecily said, “you mentioned wanting to speak with me about the film. Did you mean this evening?”

Eyes darting from Cecily to Susan, he said, “As this is a matter of business, perhaps business hours would be more appropriate. I am certain you have plans with your charming friends.”

“I was - ” Cecily said.

“Business hours are perfect,” Susan interrupted. “Do you have an office in the city? We would be happy to meet you there at your convenience.”

“I am visiting here. But perhaps I could come to you? To the shop from your charming film? It is yours, yes?”

Susan crossed her arms. “Yes, that is my store. You’ve certainly done your homework on us.”

“One should always be prepared in these situations,” he said. “I have transportation. I only require an address.”

Cecily snatched the program from the thin girl and said, “Pen.” She wrote the address to Quilting Parade in the margin. “It’s pretty easy to find. Do you have a GPS?”

He took the paper. “Yes. Would tomorrow morning be convenient?”

“We open at ten,” Cecily said.

“I will be there.” He bowed. “Thank you so much for an enlightening evening.” He folded the program and put it in the pocket with the black box. Susan stepped aside, and he left the hall.

“See, Mom, he’s only interested in the movie.”

Susan drummed her fingers against her crossed arm. “We’ll see what he has to say tomorrow. If he shows up.” She turned to the girls. “Now, what’s this ‘we’ stuff? I open the shop at ten. You’re never there.”

“I will be tomorrow,” Cecily said. “Come on, girls, you promised to help me sell DVDs. Let’s start working the crowd before everyone leaves.” She herded her friends to a table in the corner piled high with discs.

Susan scanned the hall. Light bounced from recessed canisters against gleaming pine-paneled walls. Cheerful voices echoed from a dozen conversations, and the temperature rose as the heating system contributed its energy to the warmth thirty humans produced. All the same, she shivered as she searched for a switch for more lights.

***

Bozidar leaned against a recessed garage door and watched the front of the Norwegian Sailors building. He removed the box from his pocket and tapped the screen. “We are on voice-only again. Yes, I could feel the electromagnetic pulses between the woman and her daughter, too. My apologies, but I could not suspend the program in front of them. Oh, like your mother has never done that. I told you, there is a logic to the universe. Females with children fall into remarkably similar patterns, regardless of species. I was counting on her to behave this way. It will all work to our advantage. Now, transport me to the coordinates for the store, and make my sleeping unit comfortable. The transport here was cramped, and I will need to be refreshed tomorrow.”

***

Quilting Parade hummed like a well-maintained sewing machine. Although the doors had been open for a mere fifteen minutes, five customers trolled the shelves and one stood at the cutting table clutching a bolt.

“Let me help you with that,” Susan said, taking the green and peach batik. “What are you making, and did you find everything you need?”

“For the moment,” the woman said. “I’m making a basket quilt, and the piece I intended for the final border didn’t work. Luckily I remembered this batik from my last trip. I’m sure glad you had some left.”

“It is beautiful,” Susan agreed, “how much do you want?”

“Two yards should do it.”

As Susan smoothed the fabric along the marked lines on the cutting table, the bell above the door jingled. The aroma of cinnamon buns swirled in with the winter wind.

“Hi, Mom,” Cecily said, “told you I’d be here. I brought treats.”

“This is your daughter? The one who made the movie?” the customer wanting the batik asked.

Susan’s snippy response for Cecily found itself derailed. “Yes, it is. Thanks for the sweets, dear.”

“I brought lots,” Cecily said, “and I’ve got plates, too. Come on, ladies, there’s plenty for everyone.”

Linda emerged from the classroom, a partially-completed quilt top draped over her arm. “Do I smell cinnamon buns?”

“Yep. From that bakery in Berkeley you told me about,” Cecily said.

“You went to Berkeley and back already?” Linda asked.

“No, she spent the night there with friends,” Susan said as she folded the two-yard piece of batik and placed it on the counter. “Linda, would you please ring this up while I help Cecily?”

Susan shepherded her daughter to a low counter. She rearranged the display of pin cushions and metallic threads to make room for the buns.

“These are so big I thought I’d cut them in quarters,” Cecily said. “Are the knives still in the same place?”

“Yes, dear. So are the serving trays.”

“I’ll bring some napkins out, too.” Cecily hugged her mother and headed toward the back room.

The bell over the front door jingled again. This time the scent of lavender rolled in with the cold air. Bozidar stood in the doorway, scanning the room. He took one step inside and closed the door behind him. “Mrs. Morgan,” he said, “such a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you,” Susan said. “Traffic must have been light coming out of San Francisco.”

“I am usually blessed with a clear path,” he said as he turned around in a loose circle. “Such a lovely shop. I recognize it from the film, of course.”

The customers turned from their shopping and watched Bozidar. He strolled the length of the showroom, touching the cabinets and fabric. He paused here and there, sometimes kneeling, sometimes staring.

An icy ball of dread settle into the pit of Susan’s stomach. She stepped toward Bozidar, but stopped when Cecily appeared in the hall carrying a knife and tray. Then the bell jingled, and Susan’s mother Edna burst through the door, silver hair streaming in her wake.

“Good lord, look at all the busy bees loading up for a day of sewing,” Edna said in a voice loud enough to be heard in the shop two doors away. “And that really is the appropriate phrase. Worker bees are all female. Whole damn hive is female after the drones die.” She pulled her tangerine scarf from her neck and stuffed it in her tote bag.

“And a lovely morning to you, too, Grandma,” Cecily said. “Come and have a cinnamon bun. Your disposition needs sweetening.”

And the day just gets better and better, Susan thought. Aloud, she said, “Mom, what a surprise. I thought you and Scott were still in Montana.”

“You’ve seen one snow storm, you’ve seen ’em all. The bears can freeze their butts off without me.” Edna lifted her nose and sniffed. “Those do smell good. Gimme, gimme.”

Bozidar approached, hand extended. “And you must be the unforgettable Edna. Your granddaughter framed you so beautifully in her film. I am Bozidar Cottonwood, and I am delighted to meet you.”

Susan held her breath.

“You liked the movie? Good, then I like you,” Edna said, pumping his hand with such vigor that his joints crackled. “We had a blast with those critters. You know, I always thought we should have come up with a name for those things.”

“Well, Grandma,” Cecily said, putting her arm around Edna’s shoulders and steering her toward the pastries, “I told you the story didn’t call for that level of detail. We had this discussion during rehearsals, remember? Come on now, let’s get you some food.”

Susan edged between Bozidar and Cecily. “Good idea, sweetie,” she said over her shoulder. She turned to him and said, “Edna threw her heart into that project. Sometimes she forgets it was only a movie. Made up. Fiction.”

He looked over Susan’s shoulder at Edna, his eyebrow raised. “She did bring a sense of reality to her scenes.” His lips compressed into what could have been a smile. “And that is what we all want in a film, correct? To believe that what we see on the screen actually happened?”

The ice in Susan’s stomach moved up toward her lungs. Her breath froze in chunks inside her. She raised her hand to her throat.

Li-Ming strode into the showroom, shoving a pen into her silky black chignon. “Susan, it’s a go!”

Susan gasped and spun to face her. “What?” she said. Her voice sounded more like a frog’s than her own.

“The fundraiser. For flood relief in Nebraska. The hotel agreed to donate half the cost of food, and throw in some publicity money.” She waved a notepad at Susan. “What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be dancing a jig with this news.”

Susan patted her chest and coughed. “Sorry, something caught in my throat.” She took the pad and read the message. “Yes, great news.” She glanced at Li-Ming and said, “I’ll e-mail the committee right away.”

Cecily returned carrying a paper plate piled with pastry. “Can I tempt anyone?”

Li-Ming skittered back and said, “Not today. And I’m going to barricade myself in the office before I cave.”

“How about you, Mr. Cottonwood?” Cecily asked.

Susan took a bun between her thumb and index finger. “Cecily, the hotel agreed to help with our fundraiser. I’d love your input. Would you mind taking a few minutes to go over some ideas with Li-Ming? I will show Mr. Cottonwood the store.”

“He came all the way out here to talk about the film, Mom.”

“My schedule is quite free this morning,” he said. “I have no difficulty in delaying our meeting for the sake of helping others.”

Susan took the plate with one hand and spun Cecily in the direction of the office with the other. “There, it’s settled. Off you go.” When Cecily disappeared down the hall, she put the plate by the cash register and folded her arms. “So, what exactly interests you about my daughter’s movie?”

“An honest question.” He reached into his jacket, tapped a code into the black box, then removed a small leather card case. He opened the case and handed her a robin’s egg blue business card. “I represent a small but effective distribution company. If the film does as well at the festival as I expect, my company could put it in theaters throughout Europe.”

“Why?” Susan asked as she examined the card. “What’s in it for you?”

“Profit.”

Susan narrowed her eyes. “I may not be in the industry, but even I know there isn’t much money to be made on Death by Chenille. It was fun to make because Cecily is my daughter - ”

“Which is precisely why you distrust my motives,” he said. “Concern for family is something I understand very well. So, my question to you is what must I do to ease your mind?”

Susan rocked on her heels. Surprise, suspicion and a tinge of embarrassment crawled up her face in the same rosy blush. She smoothed her hair with one hand, then put both hands to her ears as she heard Edna’s booming voice.

“Susan, come look at what Linda’s making!”

“I’m in the same building, Mom, you don’t need to shout.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said, and sped to the sewing room.

Bozidar leaned against the counter. He watched the women in the store as they forgot his presence. The customers returned to hunting through the fabrics, the employees to their tasks. He moved the plate of pastry, pretending interest in the food, while sliding the black box from his pocket. Tapping in a code, he whispered, “Sending the virus into their system now. We may have an easier time tracking down their accomplices than we expected. A charity project of some sort is scheduled soon, and undoubtedly she will call upon the same people to assist her.”

A low hum emanated from the box, punctuated by a short series of beeps and buzzes. When the hum ceased, he slid the box back into his pocket. He tucked his chin to his chest and whispered. “Yes, it is done. No one noticed. Did you hear the conversation? She is very suspicious. We may need to change the plan. I think I should stay here. Here, in this town. Of course there is risk involved, but we must punish everyone involved in the massacre.”

He straightened at the sound of footsteps from the classroom. He stuffed a piece of cinnamon bun in his mouth as Edna strode across the room, followed by Susan.

“Mother, you’re putting words in my mouth. Of course you can have the quilt. I only said we should get a professional to take it out of the frame.”

“We paid quite enough - ”

“I paid quite enough,” Susan said.

“Fine, you paid a fortune and a half for this express purpose. You knew I’d ask for the quilt - and want it immediately - and they told you I could just yank it out of the box.”

“No,” Susan said, her voice a study in controlled breathing, “they said we could remove the quilt without damage if we did it properly. Which is why the professionals should do it. I’ll send them an e-mail today.”

“No, you won’t,” Cecily said as she stomped from the hall. “How long have I been telling you to upgrade that piece of crap you call a computer? It just crashed again. I can’t even begin to fix it.”

Susan closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and stretched her fingers like tiger claws. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said in a throaty growl. “I’m going to the back. Alone. And I’m going to stay there, alone, for five minutes. No one bother me, even if I scream. Especially if I scream.” She squared her shoulders, smoothed her skirt and left. The clicking of her heels against the floor sounded like a chicken’s wishbone splintering in a tug-of-war.

When Susan disappeared into the hall, Edna said, “I want it noted that I didn’t make things worse this time.” She turned to Cecily. “You wouldn’t know how to get my quilt out of that steel and glass cage your mother had made for it, would you?”

“Um, maybe.” She tugged on a purple curl. “I can look at it, at least. Mr. Cottonwood, would you like to see a piece of history? My grandmother’s crazy quilt survived the earthquake that flattened San Francisco in 1906. Mom’s had it in the showroom since the store opened, but it’s in her office now.”

Bozidar said, “Would that be the same office with the malfunctioning computer? Perhaps it would be best to avoid that room.”

“That’s what Susan will be doing,” Edna said as she strode toward the office. “Should be the safest place in the whole building with the mood she’s in.”

“I left Li-Ming in there,” Cecily said, “and she’s pretty good with computers. She might even have it running again by now. Follow me.” She motioned Bozidar to accompany her down the hall.

He covered his smile with his hand and trailed Cecily until his cheek muscles relaxed. His pace quickened, and he entered the office in time to see Edna taking a large object from the wall.

“Ack, Grandma, wait for me,” Cecily said as she dashed to Edna’s side. They settled the clear box, which was nearly as large as Edna, on the floor. “Li-Ming, have you met Mr. Cottonwood? He’s with the film festival in Brno.”

“Welcome to Quilting Parade,” Li-Ming said as she shook Bozidar’s hand. She pivoted and slid back into her chair in one fluid swoop. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ve got the internet connection back.”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Cecily said. “Keep working before Mom gets back.” She knelt next to the frame and examined the fastenings. “I never looked at this before. It’s a clever design.” She clicked her tongue as she slid her fingers around the edges of the frame.

“It’s steel and glass, not the Hope diamond. Just whack it and get my quilt out,” Edna said.

“Patience, grandmother.” Cecily tapped the edge of the frame. “It’s actually plastic and aluminum, which is why you didn’t break a bone getting it off the wall.”

“Watch it, Purpli-locks. I’m a tough old bird and don’t you forget it.”

Li-Ming snorted. “You’re an inspiration to us all, Edna.”

“My point,” Cecily said as she opened the back of the frame, “is that this is light, air-tight, and UV-protected. And cleverly designed.” She lifted the quilt from its backing and passed it to her grandmother.

Edna curled her arms around the fragment of antique velvets and silks. It was the size of an afghan that one might cuddle under for an evening of popcorn and TV, but Edna carried it as if it held the Declaration of Independence, the Magna Carta, and a signed poster of the young Elvis Presley in one precious package.

“Let’s take it out front,” she said, and led a three-person parade back to the cutting table.

There were only two customers in the store now, but both of them drifted toward the table. Edna eased the bundle onto the smooth wooden surface while Cecily moved the cutters, notepads and random pieces of fabric out of the way.

Edna took the unbound edges of the folded quilt and opened it. “This is only half of the quilt,” she said. “The part that was passed down to my mother. The original was divided between two sisters. Lucky for me, girls were scarce in my branch of the family, or I would have ended up with a potholder. As it is, we’re missing some interesting motifs. There’s a butterfly applique that was sliced down the center. And there’s a silk square that may have had an image of the USS Maine on it. Or it could be the back side of William Randolph Hearst’s yacht. And who knows what this embroidery was supposed to be.” Edna pointed to the appropriate areas of the quilt like a well-rehearsed tour guide.

“It’s still beautiful,” Cecily said to the approving murmurs of the two customers. She stroked a velvet trapezoid the deep blue color of the horizon as day finally releases to night. “What do you think, Mr. Cottonwood?”

She lifted her eyes to see Bozidar swaying. He steadied himself against the cutting table. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his skin glowed with a pale green tinge, like algae in a neglected fish tank. His fingertips trembled, giving the impression that the edges of his hands were rippling.

“Are you okay?” Cecily asked as she reached her hand to steady him.

He recoiled before she could touch him. “Yes, I am fine,” he said. He gulped, and shook his head. His shoulders shuddered, his eyes closed and opened. “Forgive me. Perhaps the rigors of travel are catching up with me.” He took a step back, then glanced at the front door. “It occurs to me, Miss Morgan, that today is not the best day to discuss our business. Your mother has many issues with which to contend, your grandmother may require your assistance, and I myself have just become aware of complications that must be addressed.” He lifted his hands as Cecily’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Forgive me again. My tone is more dramatic than the events. It is simply that I expected this to be a short trip, but now discover I will be in the area for some little while. Since time is no longer an issue, perhaps we could reschedule our meeting?”

“Of course,” Cecily said, relief and dismay competing over her words. “Let me give you a card for the shop.” She trotted to the counter, took a Quilting Parade card from a gilded holder by the cash register and a feather-topped pen from a cut-glass pencil holder. She scribbled some numbers on the back of the card and handed it to him. “That’s my cell and the house numbers. And you can always reach Mom here during business hours.”

He accepted the card, slid it in his pocket and bowed. “I will be in touch.” He turned to Edna and bowed again. “Delighted to meet you, madame. Thank you for showing me this treasure.”

The ladies watched him leave, his stride a cross between a march and a rout. As the door closed behind him and he disappeared from view, Edna said, “Cecily, honey, that is one odd duck.”

***

Bozidar bit his lip and willed his feet not to run. He walked across the parking lot to the Chinese restaurant at the end of the shopping center. A waitress unlocked the door as he passed, but took no further notice when he continued on his way. He angled to the far edge of the lot, next to the outbuilding for the dumpsters. The gate across the front was unlocked. He looked twice, saw no one watching him, and slipped inside the enclosure.

The outbuilding was a covered brick corral for three dumpsters. Each metal box was painted a different color according to the intended contents. Despite the color-coding and abundance of signs, trash and recyclable materials were mixed in equal proportions in the blue and gray boxes. The green box was the largest of the three, as long as a sofa and twice as wide, and it reached as high as Bozidar’s chin. It smelled of overheated oil and old chicken.

Bozidar headed straight for the green box and worked his way between it and the back wall of the enclosure. He crouched in the corner and removed the black box from his jacket. Had anyone else been around, they would not have heard the crackles and beeps from the box, or Bozidar’s squeaky responses. They would barely have noticed the acrid smell emanating from him with all the other smells, although they would have paid attention to the green smoke drifting out of his ears.

“Yes, I tell you I saw it with the eyes you programmed for me,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice low. “It is just as the histories describe it, down to the colors in the embroidery and the pattern of the fabrics. The design is too similar to our own language to be a human creation.”

He jerked the box away from his ear. Sizzling screeches filled the air until he finished tapping a code on the pad that silenced it. He counted to seven, then tapped in another code. A steady hum rewarded him.

“Do not shout,” he said. “I can hear you perfectly, even with these ears. Well, of course I understand this compromises the mission. I was the one who pushed the whole blood feud vote through committee! Justice demands that we take our revenge, and we will. For now, we have to consider each move very carefully. Yes, I agree, we should consult with the elders. If those morons had done the same before they tried invading this planet we would not be in this situation.”

He took the card Cecily had given him from his pocket. “We should have seen this before. I blame our cousins. Fine, they were too stupid to live, much less file adequate reports. But you would think that any clan member with even one functioning brain cell would recognize a daughter of She Who Found Us.”