Arlene Sachitano - Quilt As Desired

It was while she was avoiding looking at Avanell that Harriet noticed her friend's purse lying on the floor. It was upside down, its contents in a pile on the floor. She looked back at Avanell, and saw the rayon lining of her left skirt pocket sticking out. Someone had searched her after they killed her.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Harriet heard the sound of Foggy Point's police sirens approaching. The factory was soon engulfed by a rush of firemen, paramedics and police. Avanell was quickly pronounced dead and the warehouse declared a crime scene. Harriet was hustled back to the front office. She'd given a brief statement to the uniformed officer who had arrived first and been asked to wait for the major crimes detectives.

She was sitting on one of the three cracked vinyl chairs in what passed for a waiting room when a squat man in an expensive suit and fake tan arrived. The family resemblance was unmistakable. This had to be Avanell's business-partner brother, Bertrand de LaFontaine.

"What's going on here?” he demanded. His left forefinger nervously spun a heavy gold band on his ring finger. His graying hair was thin and styled in a comb-over. It was damp, as if he'd just gotten out of the shower. “Clarice said there was a problem and I should come right away."

Clarice must have been the helpful young woman Harriet had met on her way in. She was nowhere to be found now.

Bertrand de LaFontaine looked at her. She gestured at the employee door; and he went through it, opening it so fast it banged against the wall as he did.

She was still waiting for the major crimes detectives when Darcy Lewis arrived.

"Boy, you're keeping me busy tonight,” she said without humor. “Is it true that Avanell is the victim?"

A nod was all Harriet could manage. Tears filled her eyes.

"I'm sorry,” Darcy said. “It's just this job. Avanell was my friend, too. Did you find her?"

Harriet nodded again.

"That must have been awful for you, especially after last night. Do you want me to call anyone for you?"

"No, that's okay. Besides, Aunt Beth is still on her cruise. Do you have any idea how long I have to wait?"

"Are you waiting for the major crimes guys?” She looked at her watch. “They were just going out on a call when I got in last night. That's why I'm here this morning. There was a big drug bust over in Port Angeles that was some kind of interagency thing, so a bunch of our people are over there. I'll bet you can go. Just give your phone number to Briggs before you leave. I'll send him up here. He has to clear the area so we can get started anyway."

Darcy opened the employee door, and Harriet was alone again. She stood up and paced the length of the small waiting area. She searched her pockets for a tissue. She looked on Clarice's desk, but if the woman used tissues, she didn't share them.

Behind the reception desk, she could see two open office doors. She turned away and completed another circuit of the waiting area. On her next pass, she circled the desk and peered into the right-hand open door. A brass nameplate on the dark cherry desk read “Bertrand de LaFontaine."

A brown print box on the matching credenza behind his desk showed promise. Harriet stepped in. The box was empty.

Bertrand, she decided, must be one of those executives who didn't leave work until every piece of paper had been dealt with-all the polished wood surfaces were bare. If he had a wife or kids, they weren't represented here by photos.

A small occasional table sat between two upholstered chairs. It held a two-month-old travel magazine and the previous day's New York Times . She turned to the back wall. A small framed oil painting leaned neatly on the floor. Above it, a slightly smaller metal door hung open. She looked inside, being careful not to touch the door. The chamber was empty. If there had been anything in the safe, it was gone now.

She crossed the room, backed out of the office and pulled the door partially closed with her toe.

The left-hand door out of the reception area had to be Avanell's office. Harriet looked around one more time then stepped in. Avanell's desk had stacks of papers lined up along the front edge. Gold frames holding an assortment of photos of three children in various stages of growth were scattered over the bookcases, desktop and hung on the wall. There were wedding pictures and baby pictures featuring the older two children, and one of Aiden standing in front of a small cement building, surrounded by smiling black children. Harriet picked it up. It must have been taken where he worked in Uganda. She held it closer. His eyes were different. She couldn't be sure, but in the picture they looked brown.

At the back of the office another door stood open. She could see her elusive target sitting on a vanity table in what must be an executive restroom. She helped herself to a tissue from a shell-covered box.

The bathroom was larger than the one in Aunt Beth's master suite. In addition to the vanity, Avanell had a tub, shower and commode, a clothes closet and all the supplies a person could ever need to freshen up. A loveseat-sized sofa in soft peach velvet sat in a niche between the closet and the shower wall. A hand mirror lay broken on the surface of the vanity. A pink plastic hairbrush lay beside it, crumbs of glass imbedded in its rubber coated handle.

Harriet stepped to the toilet to flush her tissue. The bottom of the bowl held an assortment of pills. She recognized the characteristic rusty brown of ibuprofen tablets. Small white pills that might have been aspirin were dissolving into the water. She looked in the waste basket beside the toilet. Several empty bottles were inside. She took a second, more critical look around the room. Nothing major was out of place, but clearly someone had rifled through Avanell's things.

On the floor, a pincushion shaped like a woman's summer hat held glass-headed pins and several pre-threaded needles. Harriet picked it up and set it on the table next to a ceramic mug that advertised a Las Vegas casino she'd never heard of.

Scraps of red backing fabric and a piece of print binding were scattered on the floor-Avanell had probably sat in here to finish stitching it on her quilt.

The quilts! she screamed in her head. She had until two this afternoon to deliver them. She instantly felt guilty for thinking of the show when Avanell lay dead in the warehouse. She had to think.

She heard the muffled sound of a door.

Harriet had just returned to her plastic chair when the patrolman returned to the reception area.

"Darcy said I should get your name and number so you can leave."

"Yes, I'd appreciate being able to wait somewhere other than here."

He handed her a pad to write her name and number on.

"So, what's happening in the back?” she asked.

"Nothing, really. Darcy and Ed will be taking pictures for a while. They'll gather all the evidence they need before the body is moved. Then the paramedics will move the body to the medical examiner's office. Until they finish, we all just wait."

"Who's notifying her family?"

"Well, Bertie's in the back. He's her brother. He's been in the next room on his cell phone. I assume he's calling everyone who needs to be notified."

Harriet turned to leave but was blocked by the bulky form of Mavis Willis.

"Come here, honey,” she said and pulled Harriet into another of her bear hugs. “Darcy called and told me what happened. You want to sit down? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine,” she said, but knew she'd never be fine again. “I need to get the show quilts to Tacoma."

"I figured as much. That's really why I came. You shouldn't be driving alone after a shock like this. I'll come with you."

"Thank you,” she said, grateful for the unexpected company.