Arlene Sachitano - Quilter's Knot

"I was going to tag along with you.” Carla twisted her hands around each other, her eyes downcast. “If that's okay with you, I mean."

"That's fine with me. Mavis did say we were supposed to go in pairs. Did you look at the list of lectures?"

"The one about thread seemed like it might be interesting."

"Thread it is, then,” Harriet said. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to Carla, then took one for herself and wiped her hands. “Shall we leave in five minutes?"

Robin caught up with Harriet and Carla on the porch of the fiber arts building.

"Have you seen Lauren?” she asked.

Harriet told her about her early-morning visitor.

"I'm getting worried,” Robin said. “That detective called me. They're looking for her. They want to know where she was when Tom's office was torn apart. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell him anything."

"I told him what I just told you,” Harriet said.

"Lauren is not doing herself any favors. The police automatically suspect people who run. Even if they don't believe you did whatever crime they're investigating, they'll start digging to see what you are guilty of."

"She won't listen,” Harriet said. “You can only do so much for her if she won't take your advice."

"If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her,” Robin said and pulled the door open. “I'm going to go see what I can learn about painting on fabric."

Harriet and Carla passed the room Robin entered and found places at the back of the classroom where the thread lecture was just starting. Carla crossed her legs and bounced her foot as Ray Louise Hanson started talking about thread weight or thickness. Harriet found herself watching Carla's foot swing and thinking about Lauren's predicament. Carla started picking at a hangnail on her thumb.

After fifteen minutes, Harriet leaned toward Carla and whispered, “Let's get out of here."

"Lead the way,” Carla agreed, and then followed as Harriet quietly slid out of her chair and headed for the door.

"I'm sorry, I can't concentrate today,” Harriet said once they were out in the hall.

"It's okay. I wasn't thinking about thread, either. I did have an idea about Lauren, though."

"I'm all ears.” Harriet said. She was fresh out of ideas herself.

"Why don't we follow her brother?"

"She said she wasn't going back to his place."

"Yeah, but did she say he wasn't going to help her anymore?"

"Good point. And you're right, there are all kinds of places she could be hiding here and who would know better than the janitor? Come on, I think I know where to start."

They went to the dining cabin. Because of the lecture format, the usual breakfast and lunch times had been replaced by a serve-yourself buffet.

"Les seems to have kitchen duties at mealtimes. Let's go in and get a snack and scout it out."

Les was nowhere to be seen when they arrived. Harriet made herself a cup of peppermint tea and Carla followed suit. She picked up a small plate from a stack, grabbed a pair of tongs and selected an assortment of fruits.

"Grab a couple of forks,” she said to Carla. “We can share this."

There were two slices of apple left on the plate when Carla stopped eating mid-bite.

"Listen,” she whispered. Harriet complied. “I think I hear him in the kitchen."

"Come on.” Harriet quickly picked up their dishes and carried them to the gray plastic bus tub. She led the way outside and around the cabin and past the compost pile.

"He's the compost guy. He'll show up out here to empty the compost buckets before lunch,” she explained.

The woods around the cabin provided plenty of cover for them to hide in. Harriet was careful to avoid stepping on a trillium flower. She tried to remember what Aunt Beth had told her about trilliums-something about their taking seven years to bloom. If she ever got out of here, she'd have to remember to ask her.

"Here he comes,” she said.

They watched as he carried two buckets of orange peels and apple cores and emptied them then went back for a third.

"Bet you didn't think you'd be hanging out at a compost pile when you signed up for classes at the folk art school. I feel guilty for dragging you into all this drama."

"This is so different from my real life. It's been nice even with Lauren's stuff.” Carla's cheeks turned red. “No one ever hung out with me before, not even at a compost pile,” she said with a shy smile.

"Here he comes again,” Harriet said, and motioned toward the dining cabin.

Les was carrying a bucket in one hand and what looked like a cardboard takeout box in the other. He set the box down then emptied the bucket and placed it upside-down on one of the posts that held the chicken wire that enclosed the pile. He turned toward the rhododendron bush they were huddled behind. They hunkered down and held their collective breath.

He turned away and picked up the box. With one last glance around, he started off down a trail that led away from the dining cabin.

The three main pavilions at the folk art school formed a rough triangle in the center of the school property. If you drew a line between the ceramics building and the fiber arts building, the pond and meadow and Selestina's workshop lay directly west. Les was headed in the opposite direction, between the ceramics and photography buildings. Thankfully, that side of the property was heavily wooded, which caused the path to twist and turn around the larger trees and made it easy to follow at a distance.

The path split, and Les chose the narrower, less-traveled branch.

"Is that a building up ahead?” Carla whispered.

Harriet stopped and stepped off the path, pushing the undergrowth aside.

"Looks like some sort of outbuilding,” she said.

Unlike Selestina's workshop, this building was clearly of more recent construction. It was at least two stories tall, with dark cedar siding and a moss-free composite roof. It had a white overhead door on the side Harriet could see.

"What's he doing?” Carla asked.

Les had his back to them, so Harriet took the opportunity to move closer. Carla followed.

He rose up onto his toes and looked through the small glass panes on the overhead door. He knocked once, and rattled the door handle. When he got no response, he went around the side of the building. Harriet mirrored his move, maintaining her distance. Les was standing at a white door rattling the doorknob.

"Lauren, come on, open the door.” He glanced left and right. “Quit messing around.” He pounded on the door, gently at first then harder when he got no response. “Lauren!” he called once again, a whine creeping into his voice. “Don't do this to me."

He turned his back to the door and leaned on it, sliding to the ground, his head in his hands, the take-out box falling to the ground beside him. He sat that way for several minutes then got up and started walking, this time taking another path. Harriet and Carla followed, creeping along the path, listening for his footsteps to be sure he was still moving.

He stopped at a smaller building that looked like the bathroom building behind the dining cabin. There were doors on two sides, presumably to accommodate both men's and women's restrooms. He went into each in turn, calling Lauren's name.

"Where are you?” he cried out when he was outside again.

"Let's go back to the Tree House,” Harriet whispered, and quietly stepped onto the path, going in the opposite direction from Les.

"Does this mean what I think it means?” Carla asked when they were out of earshot.

"If you're thinking Les doesn't know where Lauren is, you're right."

"Where could she go?” Carla asked. “She doesn't have a car or anything."

"We can't assume she doesn't have a car until we find out if Les has or had a car. What I don't get is why she would leave the place her brother had her stashed without telling him. She'll have a much more difficult time without his help."