Quilter's Knot (15 page)

"What attorney? Are you telling me that all of a sudden you're an attorney?” He glared at Harriet. “Are you trying to pull a fast one? I only let you come in here because Miss Sawyer seemed upset. If this is how you thank me, you can go back out to the waiting room."

"I'm her friend, just like I said. We talked to her attorney, and she said not to say anything else and that she'd be here shortly."

"You do realize this is just an informal chat we're having here. Miss Sawyer isn't under arrest or anything.” His voice softened. “We could clear things up and have you out of here before lunch if you could just explain a few things.” He looked at Lauren. “I'm sure it's a simple misunderstanding."

The door to the small room opened without warning and Robin charged in.

"Are you arresting my client?” she asked Ruiz.

Harriet held her breath as he remained silent, pondering his options. The muscle in his jaw twitched, but finally, he shook his head.

"Come on, Lauren,” Robin said, and almost pulled Lauren out of her chair in her haste to hustle her new client out of the interrogation room. “Here's my card,” she said as she pulled an ivory card from her purse and handed it to Detective Ruiz.

"You better give me a dollar,” Robin said when they were out of the building. “Call it a retainer. If you do get arrested you can decide then who you want to represent you, but in the meantime, that will make you my client and prevent the police from being able to question me."

"You're an attorney?” Harriet asked, her amazement clear in her voice.

"Yeah, well, we all have our tawdry little secrets. I haven't really practiced since before my first baby was born, but I've kept my license and stayed current on law, just in case...” She looked at Lauren. “...my friends need something.” She looked at the black plastic sports watch on her wrist. “It's quarter to ten. If we hustle, we can get back to class before coffee break is over."

"Actually, if you don't mind, could you drop me off on Eighth Street?"

Robin pulled to the curb but put her hand on Harriet's arm, stopping her from getting out. She looked at Lauren while she spoke.

"Both of you listen carefully. I only want to say this once.” This new Robin was nothing like her carefree, yoga-teaching alter ego, but Harriet found her strangely fascinating. “Number one, this is not over. Until they have someone convicted and on their way to prison, it will not be over. Number two, because of number one, keep your mouth shut. Don't complain about anyone or anything. Lauren, I know that means a major personality transplant, but you have no choice. This is a small town. If they can't find the real person who killed Selestina, they could very well make you the scapegoat. People have gone to prison based on less evidence.” She looked at Harriet. “And number three, leave this to the professionals. No snooping, no sneaking around, no confronting people. Nothing. This is strictly a defensive game. Let the police catch the killer.” She looked at Lauren again. “And let your legal counsel protect you. Understood?"

Lauren grumbled a yes, and Harriet nodded as she opened the car door.

"Okay, I'm going back to class. Call if you want me to pick you up at lunch break."

Robin pulled away from the curb and out into traffic. Since traffic in Angel Harbor consisted of one car and a mail truck, Harriet waited until the car had disappeared down the block before she walked the rest of the way to Helen's House. There was no real reason for her to conceal her destination, but after Robin's warning, she was feeling paranoid.

"Hey,” Aiden said, opening the door before Harriet could knock. He pulled her into a crushing embrace. “I cried myself to sleep last night, I missed you so much."

She pushed him away, but not until his hug softened and he'd kissed her. “You're a liar,” she said. “I happen to know Helen planned on waking you every two hours all night just to be sure you were okay. She told me before I left last night."

"She was a regular Florence Nightingale.” Aiden stretched his left arm in a circle, his right hand on his left shoulder. “My head hurt so much last night, I didn't even notice my shoulder."

"Let me see.” She pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt up. “You have a nasty bruise at the top of it. It probably hit the window when your truck rolled."

"A lesser person would be in the hospital, but I think I'll make it. Did you have a chance to check out that thing I asked you about?"

"If you mean the Explorer—"

He put his hand over her mouth.

"Don't say it,” he said. “Until we know what's going on, we have to be careful. Don't use names."

"Oookay. I checked out that ... thing ... and I did find ... something, but I'm not sure it tells us much.” She didn't plan on mentioning Tom's name until she knew more. The last thing she needed was a wounded Aiden confronting a Tom who had not only run him off the road but quite possibly was a murderer.

"By the way,” Aiden said, and grabbed her hand, pulling her to him again. “Why is it that when my mother was killed I was the number-one suspect on everybody's list, but this woman's son you go to the pottery show and dinner with?"

Harriet coughed to conceal the small gasp that had escaped her lips. Had he read her mind?

"If you'll recall,” she said, “I went to dinner with Tom before his mother died. And furthermore, if you remember, I went to dinner with you, buddy boy—and more than once—while you were a suspect."

"Well, I don't like the idea of you dating a potential axe murderer.” He put his finger under her chin and turned her face to his. “I'm not kidding. Until we know what's going on here, you need to be careful. I can't keep my eye on you all the time, so you need to be cautious. Stay away from Tom Bainbridge and all the other crazies at that school. Stick with Mavis and the Threads."

"Hey, Aiden, you ready to go?” said a slender sandy-haired man dressed in khakis and a blue Angel Harbor Spay and Neuter Clinic T-shirt. He had entered the hall from the staircase, pulling on a navy-blue fleece jacket as he came.

Aiden turned to Harriet. “Jim and I are going to the hospital to check on Cammi and see if we can do anything for Dr. Johnson.” He turned back to the other man. “Hang on while I get my coat."

"I'm Jim Park,” the sandy-haired man said, extending his hand.

"Harriet Truman,” she said, meeting it with her own. His hand was warm and his grip firm but not unpleasantly so.

"That must have been tough growing up,” he said. “Are your parents politicians?"

"No, we're relatives. To the former president,” she added.

She hated having to explain her parent's naming choice. Her parents were international scientists, currently residing in the Far East, if the latest news magazines were accurate. She'd spent her youth bouncing between boarding schools across Europe and Aunt Beth's house in Foggy Point. Her dad had explained to her when she was six that her name was intended to inspire her to greatness.

"Aiden was really lucky,” Jim said, interrupting her journey through self pity. “Or maybe I should say Cammi was
un
lucky. That was a big rock outcrop the truck hit as it rolled down the embankment. It was her bad luck the passenger side was down when they hit bedrock. If they'd made it a few more yards down the road before they skidded off, they would have missed the outcrop completely."

"Do you really think he could have slid off the road? It was raining pretty hard yesterday."

"I doubt it. It wasn't that wet at the time. Besides, Aiden told the police someone had sideswiped him. I drove over to the hospital when I heard about the accident, and they were questioning him. When Aiden pushed them, they did say there wasn't anything that would contradict his version of the event. They just didn't think it was the kind of thing that would occur in daylight on a relatively busy road.” He shook his head. “It's just hard to say, one way or the other. The police are right that people often don't remember events clearly that happened right before they hit their heads. We'll probably never know."

I
know, Harriet thought. And Tom's car had the scrape to prove it.

Aiden came back downstairs, and the two men left. They offered her a ride back to the Folk Art Center, but she declined. She needed to think. Maybe the walk back would help her clear her head. Thankfully, it wasn't raining.

Eighth Street was paved, but Helen's block was the last one with sidewalks. Harriet had to focus her attention on her feet as she walked along the gravel road edge until she reached a pedestrian path that skirted the woods on her right and was a safe thirty feet from the traffic on her left. She picked up her pace, going over the events of the last few days in her mind as she went.

She started with Lauren's situation, trying to list what she knew for sure. She realized quickly that if she questioned everything Lauren had said all she knew for sure was that Lauren's quilt was no longer on display and Lauren had been questioned about the death of Selestina Bainbridge, her advisor and the owner of the Angel Harbor Folk Art School. She had also learned that Lauren's brother was a janitor at the school, and she had seen Lauren going into her brother's apartment building at night. Her brother had been carrying an armload of papers, which may have come from Selestina's office. Harriet wasn't sure if the search of her own room was related or not. She hoped it hadn't been Lauren, but she couldn't be sure.

If she included information she
thought
was true, she could add the fact that Selestina seemed to have made a quilt that was a copy of Lauren's and then hung that quilt at a show in England.

With regard to facts related to Selestina, Harriet knew the woman was dead; everything else was speculation. It appeared Selestina's son was preparing to sell at least part of the Angel Harbor Folk Art School property. What Harriet didn't know is if he was doing that
for
Selestina or in spite of her. As for enemies, it seemed that to know Selestina was to hate her; the field was wide open. DeAnn had publicly stood up to Selestina, and Carla had cowered under her wrath, and that was just among the Loose Threads. Most of the students Harriet had spoken to during coffee breaks and meals had similar stories about Selestina.

Added to the list of unknowns was Aiden's accident. He clearly believed one of the black Ford Explorers from the school had run him off the road. The damage to the vehicle that sported the “TomTom” vanity plate seemed to support his theory, but why would Tom want to harm Aiden? Could Cammi have been the intended target? Tom hadn't seemed to recognize Cammi at the pottery exhibition. It made no sense.

She looked up, and was surprised to realize she was nearing the drive to the school. She looked at her watch. Good, it was lunch-time.

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The driveway that led into the heart of the Angel Harbor Folk Art School was carved through a stand of tall old-growth timber. The tree trunks were dark and bare, and the gravel on the road bed was barely discernible under the fallen needles, bark and fern leaves. The scent of Douglas fir and pine was released with every step Harriet took, but she was too distracted to notice.

She needed to talk to the Loose Threads and see if there were any new developments, and then she needed to talk to Lauren's brother. During her walk home, she had realized the only common factor among all the facts she knew was the school. Lauren was a student, Selestina and Tom the owner and her son and Aiden believed he'd been run off the road by an AHFAS vehicle.

Harriet's years at boarding school had taught her that if you want to know what's happening in any organization, ask the janitor. They were typically invisible, and yet they had access to everything. She was anxious to find out what Lauren's brother knew.

But first, she needed lunch.

The Loose Threads were seated together at the fiber arts table.

"How's Aiden?” Connie asked. She scooted to her left to make a place for Harriet.

"He's a little banged up, but mostly he's concerned for Cammi Johnson. He's at the hospital checking up on her now."

"Robin told us what happened at the police station,” Mavis said. “Do you have anything to add?"

"Not really,” she said, looking at Robin for direction. Robin didn't say anything, so she continued. “It doesn't seem like they have anything but gossip against Lauren. What did everyone do in class this morning?” she asked, changing the subject again.

Everyone in turn told what they'd worked on. Sarah and Robin had attended another class in fusibles, learning the technique of tracing their applique image onto paper-lined fusible material then using a sharp pair of scissors to cut the center of the image away leaving a narrow donut of iron-on material. This technique let you avoid the stiff image that most people associated with fusible applique.

Connie had spent the first half of the day covering postcard-sized pieces of foundation material with a variety of machine generated stitch patterns, until all you could see was thread. She had used her usual oranges, reds and yellows. Lauren's half-finished card was predominately purple and brown.

Mavis was still up to her elbows in dye, and Carla was using the half-square rectangle technique she and Harriet had learned to construct star blocks.

Lauren's brother brought out a tray laden with steaming bowls of soup. Today's selection was potato leek, served with dark slabs of Russian rye bread. The group was quiet as they ate their soup and then the fruit cups that followed. Harriet lingered with Mavis as the rest of the group went to either the Tree House or back to their classrooms.

"I've been going over this in my mind,” she said.

"And?” Mavis prompted.

"And ... none of it makes sense. There is a major piece missing somewhere. I just can't make anything add up to Lauren being the center of things. I get closer when I look at Selestina's son Tom. He seems to be preparing to sell the property. And his car seems to have run Aiden off the road. I can imagine Selestina wouldn't want her property sold out from under her, but we don't know if that's the case. How Aiden ties in is still a mystery."