Arlene Sachitano - The Quilt Before The Storm

“You really know how to show a guy a good time,” Tom said when they had made their way to the studio door.

“I’m really sorry about all that.”

“Hey.” He put the tips of his fingers under her chin, turning her face toward him. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” she said. “I mean, Foggy Point was a peaceful place before I moved back. Now all of a sudden there’s a crime wave.”

“But you didn’t kill anyone. As near as I can tell, you didn’t even know these two victims until this week, which is when all the rest of us met them. You can’t possibly believe you have any connection to all of this.”

“No, I know I don’t. It’s just a weird coincidence, but I find it rather creepy.”

“I think you’re thinking about it too much,” Tom said and gently pressed his lips to hers. He pulled back and looked in her face. “You’re not alone here. None of this is your responsibility.”

He pulled her into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapped around her, his chin on the top of her head. She leaned her head on his shoulder. Without conscious thought, her arms went around his waist.

He smelled like freshly cut wood. She breathed deeply.

“You smell good,” she said in a husky voice.

Tom kissed her again, this time longer, deeper. Then, he pulled away, catching her hand in his and holding it.

“If I don’t leave now, I can’t be responsible for what might happen,” he said with a rueful grin. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it, and let it go. “See you tomorrow.”

He went out the door.

The ringing phone saved Harriet from having to explain the high color on her cheeks when she came back into the living room. She was pretty sure Lauren knew the score anyway.

It’s Detective Morse , Lauren mouthed when she handed her the receiver, as if there were dozens of people calling during the storm.

“Oh, where to begin,” Harriet replied to Morse’s query how things were going. She decided to start at the action point and gave the detective a concise replay of the afternoon’s events.

“Where’s the body now?” Detective Morse asked.

“Still at the homeless camp. He’s in a sleeping bag but otherwise in the open.”

“You did the right thing, leaving him there,” Morse replied. “I’ll call the fire station and see if they can get paramedics to go pick him up. They’re trained in how to preserve evidence. If I can raise them, I’ll get them to pick Duane up, too.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“No,” the detective said. “Staying safe is the best thing you can do. The Coast Guard thinks there might be a window between storms tomorrow that could let them fly us in by helicopter.”

“That would be great,” Harriet said.

They exchanged storm stories then rang off, with Morse promising to call again tomorrow.

Lauren had left the room while Harriet was talking to Morse. She returned a few moments later with a cookie in each hand.

“Here,” she said and handed one to Harriet. “Mavis cooked dinner, but I don’t think we get to eat until everyone else returns. Who knows when that will be?”

“I wish we knew how the other serial killer victims were killed,” Harriet said.

“I don’t. I don’t want to know anything about the serial killer. It’s none of our business.”

“If they were killed with electrical wire wrapped around their throats, it might explain Duane’s murder.”

“And make Owen and Kate killers.” Lauren handed a bite of cookie to Carter.

“Did you catch the bad blood between him and Richard?”

“You mean that stare-down when Jorge was handing out the food? Yeah, I noticed.”

“It doesn’t make sense. If Owen is the serial killer and he killed Richard, why didn’t he strangle him?” Harriet wondered. “And how on earth do they know each other?”

“Maybe he didn’t expect to run into Richard, who recognized him and therefore had to be killed. He saw an opportunity and took it.”

Harriet took a bite of her chocolate chip cookie and chewed thoughtfully.

“Owen’s truck was right there. He and Kate went back to it before Richard went missing. Why wouldn’t he get a length of the wire then?”

“You think the truck driver is the murderer?” Mavis asked

“I thought you were napping,” Lauren said.

“I couldn’t get to sleep. Curly kept squirming around trying to get under the quilt, and as soon as I let her under it, she was circling and digging until she worked her way out again. And then I was thinking about Marjory’s sister-in-law. I know she’s a difficult person, but no one deserves to have her husband killed like that. And then there’s that poor spoiled daughter.”

“I know,” Harriet said. “This is going to devastate both of them. They seemed pretty dependent.”

“Maybe they killed him,” Lauren suggested.

“Lauren,” Mavis scolded.

“What?”

“She has a point,” Harriet said. “Everyone is a suspect until we prove otherwise, and if they were as broke as Marjory thinks, and Richard had life insurance, he might be worth more to them dead.”

“I suppose there’s no doubt it was murder,” Mavis said. “Is there any chance he had an accident? Or even did himself in?”

“Tom said he’d been hit in the head,” Harriet reminded her. “I suppose it’s possible he could have fallen on something, but he was in Brandy’s bed.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mavis said. “At this point, anything’s possible.”

“I’m going to get my stitching,” Lauren said and stood up. “We might as well do something useful-we’re getting nowhere as crime solvers.”

Harriet followed her to the studio where they’d both stored their projects.

Lauren and Harriet were sitting in front of the fireplace, the candelabrum and two oil lamps arranged around them providing a warm light. Lauren was cutting more leaves for her appliquéd wreathes from a piece of hand-dyed green fabric. Harriet was using scissors to cut small flannel squares from the scraps left over from the rag quilts they’d made. Mavis was rattling pots in the kitchen.

“Okay, I give,” Lauren said after watching Harriet closely for a few minutes. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m doing an experiment. One of my customers showed me pictures she’d taken at the Quilt Festival in Houston. They had a category for doll beds with doll quilts.”

Lauren stopped working and stared at her.

“You know, with all that ‘poor me, I went to boarding school’ business you’re always making us listen to, I never pegged you for the doll type.”

“Who said anything about dolls,” Harriet said. “And I’ve hardly mentioned boarding school at all.”

“Yeah, but it’s the excuse your aunt uses every time she’s trying to explain away your bad behavior.”

Harriet took a deep breath. She was determined not to let Lauren bait her into an argument.

“I’m seeing if I can make a miniature rag quilt from the leftover scraps from the homeless quilts. Before his sister came to town, Aiden was going to let me look at the toys in the attic at his place. He said he thought there was some doll furniture his mother had brought with her from France.”

“Good luck with that. That shark that passes for a sister has probably sold off anything of interest or value.”

“I wish Carla would call with an update. I’d like to know what kind of head game Michelle is playing on him.”

“She’ll call. I’m sure she’s waiting for an opportunity when they won’t notice, which means when Michelle is unconscious because that one doesn’t miss much.”