Arlene Sachitano - The Quilt Before The Storm

“Come on,” Tom said and gently pulled her back out of the stall. “We’ve seen enough. He’s gone.”

He shut the door, took his gloves off and began sealing the door with the duct tape.

“Why on earth would anyone want to kill such a sweet old man?” Harriet asked.

“Why does anyone kill anyone? Besides, maybe he wasn’t a nice old man. You’ve only known him, what? A few days?”

“I guess. It’s still sad, though. At least he had a nice flannel shroud.”

“That’s something, anyway. My mother would have thought so,” he said.

“We probably should unload the food and get on to the police station.”

“If we can get there,” he cautioned.

Tom pulled the red MUV to a stop on the approach to the bridge over the Muckleshoot River, facing downtown Foggy Point on the opposite side. Harriet took a deep breath. The air smelled of pine from all the broken trees and the associated debris.

The drive from the homeless camp had been more exciting than she had anticipated. Downed power lines lay across roadways, still tangled in the trees that had pulled them down. They’d passed workers from the Foggy Point PUD at one point, chainsaws in hand, trying to restore order to the mess. After cautioning Tom to give any downed wires a wide berth, they’d reported that, in reality, there wasn’t much danger until someone was able to locate the break in the main feeder line that provided electricity to the whole peninsula, which could take days.

“We can still turn back,” he offered as they watched the Muckleshoot River rush by, lapping at the edge of the bridge on both sides. “If we go across, there’s no guarantee we can get back.”

“I guess we better hurry, then,” Harriet said.

Without a word, he released the brake and crossed the bridge.

Driving in the downtown area was slightly easier, since there were fewer trees to drop broken limbs, but there was still plenty of debris on the ground. A few shopkeepers were out surveying the damage and clearing the sidewalks around their businesses. Tom quickly guided their small vehicle to the Foggy Point Police Department.

Harriet hopped out and went to the door as soon as Tom had stopped. Officer Hue Nguyen met her at the door. He was obviously leaving.

“I hope you’ve come to volunteer,” he said with a glance at the all-terrain vehicle they had arrived in.

“I’m afraid not,” Harriet told him. She had met the young Asian officer earlier in the year when she’d been assaulted.

His jaw tightened in preparation for what was probably going to be bad news of some sort.

“We’ve come to report a murder,” Harriet went on. “At the homeless camp.”

“Oh, geez. Who was killed? Do you know what happened? Was it a fight?”

“We don’t really know anything,” Tom said. He’d joined them after securing the MUV. “We went there to deliver supplies from my hosts, and the residents had just discovered one of their group dead.”

“You said murder,” Nguyen said. “Are you sure?”

“The guy has a wire wrapped around his throat, so, yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s murder,” Harriet told him. “We looked, just to be sure, and then we taped the bathroom stall he’s in closed and came here.”

Nguyen ran his hand through his short black hair.

“No one’s here but me. The detectives all went to what was supposed to be a daylong task force meeting about the killings along the interstate, and then the slide happened, and the last time we were able to speak, they were stuck there. I talked to them on the satellite phone, but they don’t have power yet either. No one is willing to pay for a helicopter to fly them back, so I guess we’re on our own for now.”

“Where are all the other officers ?” Harriet asked.

“Stuck at home, I guess. No one has a satellite phone at home, and our cell phones aren’t working, so I came down here, hoping someone would show up.”

“Do you want me to run you up to the homeless camp?” Tom asked. “After I take Harriet home.”

“Thanks, but I rode my off-road bike down here,” he said and pointed to a muddy blue motorcycle parked near the door to the station. “I’ll go by the camp on my way to check on my mother. You should probably get back across the bridge before it floods out.”

“I want to go check the fabric store for Marjory before we leave,” Harriet said.

“Be quick about it,” Nguyen ordered. “I think most people have already left for higher ground. I wouldn’t want to see you get stuck here.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Tom said as he and Harriet turned to go back to their vehicle. “Might be fun,” he mumbled.

“What did you say?” Harriet said.

“You heard me. I said it might be fun being trapped alone with you.”

“You’re crazy.” She climbed back into her seat and strapped on her seatbelt.

It took less than five minutes to drive to the quilt store. Tom kept glancing nervously back toward the river, but he didn’t suggest turning around. As they turned the last corner, Harriet could see two figures huddled at the door to Pins and Needles.

“What are those people doing?” she wondered.

“Let’s find out.” Tom slid out of the driver’s seat. “Hey, what are you doing?” he shouted as he approached the pair.

They turned, and Harriet saw it was Marjory’s sister and brother-in-law.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Pat’s hair hung in limp curls on her neck. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on the day before, now considerably more wrinkled.

“We wanted to make sure Marjory’s shop survived the storm,” Richard answered. A screwdriver dangled from his left hand. He belatedly looked for someplace to conceal it with no luck.

“So you thought you’d just break in?” Tom pulled out his phone as if to dial 911.

“Marjory’s not in any position to let the police know you aren’t common criminals, so I guess you’re on your own,” Harriet said.

“Now, wait one minute,” Richard said, pulling himself up to his full, not very impressive height. “It’s not like we’ve done anything, here. We just were looking in the window.”

“You were here yesterday. You know we’ve already moved her inventory up to the attic,” Harriet pointed out.

“Okay, you’ve got us-we’re hungry,” Pat said. “We’re stuck here, and we’re hungry. We were trying to get in to see if Marjory had any food inside.”

“Didn’t you go to the church shelter?” Tom asked. “They have food.”

“No,” Richard answered. “We decided to stay in our car.”

“Lisa didn’t want to sleep in the same room with strangers,” Pat explained.

“So, she’d rather be hungry?” Harriet asked.

“We thought we’d be able to go to the church in the morning,” Pat replied. “We tried, but…” She spread her arms out to indicate the mess around her.

Harriet just shook her head.

“You’re going to have to get to a shelter,” Tom told them. “I haven’t seen any open stores. You need to get across the bridge before the river swamps it then see if you can make your way to one of the churches or schools.”

“What if we can’t get to one?” Pat asked, a real note of panic in her voice for the first time.

Harriet’s shoulders sagged, but before she could speak, offering Pat and Richard a place at her house, Tom said, “I have a nice plate of cookies to tide you over until you make your way to a shelter. Wait right here.”

“What are you doing here, anyway,” Pat asked, recovering her composure. “Didn’t Marjory tell me your aunt has a big house up on the hill?”

“Yeah, if the river is so dangerous, why are you here?” Richard said.