Foggy Point, Washington, sat on a rocky peninsula that protruded into the Strait of Juan de Fuca just east of Port Angeles. Harriet hadn't paid enough attention in geography class to know if the right-angle bend in the middle of the town's land mass disqualified it from the peninsula category or not. She thought it looked more like the head and claw of a Tyrannosaurus rex, with her own house sitting on a hill at the base of the claw. Rumor had it that the cove formed by the bend had been a favorite hiding spot for pirates back in early Victorian times, when Europeans first discovered Foggy Point's unique charms.

She heard Avanell coming up the drive. She gathered her purse and hand-stitching bag and Avanell's quilt and met the older woman at her car, putting the carefully wrapped quilt in the backseat.

"Are you all right?” she asked. “You look a little pale."

Wisps of grey hair trailed from Avanell's usually tidy bun. Lint clung to the lap area of her navy wool skirt. Dark circles smudged the area under her eyes.

"I'm fine,” Avanell replied. “Things have just been a little hectic at work. One of our key employees left this week, and it's just getting harder and harder to find quality replacements. And… never mind, let's not drag this nice morning down talking about work problems,” she said, trying but failing to lighten her tone. “Tell me how the quilts are looking."

"Yours is ready to bind, of course,” Harriet said. “I'm done with all the show quilts that have been scheduled, and I still have a couple of days for Sarah Ness."

"Good for you,” Avanell said and really did smile.

They discussed all the show entries they had seen as they walked. Each woman made her own predictions about who the winners would be for each category. Some would be judged by a panel of local quilting arts luminaries while others would be in categories that were voted on by the show attendees. They were still arguing the merits of Avanell's own quilt when they arrived at Pins and Needles.