Quilter's Knot (16 page)

"Maybe Aiden doesn't fit in. He wasn't in his own vehicle. Who should have been driving that vehicle?"

"Good point, I'll add it to the list."

"I'm going to get out of here so you can get busy getting some of that information.” She stood up. “Let me know what you find out."

She left, and Harriet picked up their bowls and headed for the kitchen.

"Is Les around?” she asked the cook. The woman was bent over a deep sink, rinsing dishes with a stainless steel goose-necked sprayer then loading them into a rack.

"He's out at the compost pile. Through that door, down the stairs and follow the path—you can't miss it,” she said without turning around.

Harriet followed the path and found Les emptying the second of two metal buckets onto the compost heap. A wooden fork was propped up against the end of the chicken wire fence that enclosed three sides of the smoldering organic material.

"Les?” she called. “Do you have a minute?"

He took a long look at her before he spoke. “Yeah, sure. I guess. If it will help you fix things for Lauren.” He said it in a flat voice. Harriet found his enthusiasm underwhelming.

"The other night I saw you with an armload of files. Did they come from Selestina's office?"

He looked at her.

"So what if they did?"

"Hey, relax. I'm on your team."

"I doubt that."

"What did you find in the files?"

"A big bunch of nothing. It was shipping records. Angel Harbor has an arrangement with a couple of Folk Art Schools back east. They all give the same certification for their programs, and to be sure they stay calibrated they ship samples of student work to each other and they all evaluate it and see if they all come up with the same assessment.

"There were a couple of slips for shipments to England, but the descriptions weren't detailed enough to know what quilts they were talking about. And there was nothing that told why they were going. Other than that, there was a file of staff insurance forms. I tried to tell Lauren Selestina didn't keep much in that office."

"As janitor you can go into all the offices, right?"

"I have access to the whole school. Mostly, I work in the fiber arts building and its outbuildings."

"What about Tom Bainbridge's office?"

"Yeah, his office is in the ceramic arts building. I work there when we wax the floors or when Brett is on vacation."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"What do you want to know?"

Harriet wanted to smack him. If she were a detective, she'd have been the worst kind. She could see you had to be blessed with a lot of patience, something she didn't possess.

She took a deep breath. “The first day we were here, I saw Tom with some guys who looked like they were surveying the meadow. Is he selling some of the property?"

"I don't know if he's really planning on trying to sell it out from under his mother, but he's been talking to a couple of realtors.” He paused. “I guess things are probably different now."

"Is it possible he was just getting the property valued for tax purposes?"

Les set his bucket at his feet and looked her in the eye. “Anything's possible."

"Tell me about the vehicles here. Who has access to the Ford Explorers?"

"Senior staff, Tom. Selestina, of course, although she didn't really drive much. Nancy in the office."

"Did they have assigned vehicles?"

"Not exactly assigned, but people had their favorites."

"But could anyone drive any of the cars? Were the keys kept in a public place?"

"They didn't need to bother. All the keys are the same. You got one, you've got them all."

Harriet clenched her fists at her side. “You must know something that can help me prove your sister didn't kill Selestina,” she said. “Come on, throw me a bone."

Les rubbed the fine blond stubble on his chin as he thought.

"I don't know about the murder, but if you're trying to find her missing quilt, I'd check Tom's office and the workshop. He's the one that actually boxes and mails the stuff back and forth."

"Is the workshop in the center of the fiber arts building?"

"No, anyone can get into those rooms. There are some utility buildings in the woods, sort of hidden at the back of the property on the far side of the meadow. I think they were the original barn and outbuildings before they built the school. Selestina has her personal studio there. And Tom does the packing there."

"So, what am I going to find?"

Les spread his hands wide. “I don't know,” he said and when Harriet didn't say anything, he continued, “Really. It's the one place I don't have a key for. Selestina wanted her privacy when she was working on her own stuff. It's strictly off-limits."

"Are you sure you don't know anything else?"

"Look, don't you think if I had overheard someone talking about killing Selestina or even about setting Lauren up or stealing her work—don't you think I'd say something?"

"I suppose so. Thanks, anyway. And if you think of anything, let me know."

"You'll be the first,” he said in a tone that told Harriet the opposite would be the truth.

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Harriet went back to the Tree House and picked up her bag of tools and fabric. It was hard to think about her half-rectangle project when thoughts of Tom's office kept creeping into her mind.

None of the Loose Threads was in the Tree House, so she went into the kitchenette and helped herself to three chocolate chip cookies; Darcy had picked them up the day before at a little bakery when she was in town. Harriet knew none of the Threads would begrudge her the dose of chocolate, but she also knew Aunt Beth would grill them about her cookie consumption and none of them would stand up well to the pressure. She wiped her face and hands with a damp paper towel to insure she wasn't wearing any evidence and set off for the fiber arts pavilion.

She reached the fork in the path that led to the fiber building, and with thoughts of Robin and Aiden's warning ringing in her head, she went on past it and toward the ceramics pavilion and Tom Bainbridge's office.

When she reached the porch, she stashed her bag under a rattan bench then looked carefully each way before pulling open the large carved-wood door. She strode briskly toward the exhibition area, the one legitimate destination for a person outside the ceramics program. She wandered past a display of mugs without seeing anything; she could hear the grinding of potters’ wheels coming from behind her, and a voice delivering a lecture off to her left.

Suddenly, she heard Tom Bainbridge's voice approaching. She stepped into the women's restroom, keeping the door cracked open so she could observe him when he walked past.

His companion turned out to be a cell phone, one with a strong signal, she guessed, given how poor the service was here. He was telling someone he would “be right there.” Good, she thought. Wherever
there
was, it should give her enough time to see if Lauren's quilt was in his office. If it wasn't, perhaps there would be some useful shipping information.

She counted to sixty after the door closed behind him—she wanted to be sure he wouldn't come back for forgotten keys or a jacket or anything that would cause him to discover her rifling through his stuff. She went to seventy-five just for good measure then stepped out of the restroom, hurried down the hall and ducked into the room she'd attempted to hide in a few nights earlier.

The octagonal shape of the pavilion made for some unusual interior room shapes, especially since an attempt had been made to create rectangular classrooms wherever possible. Tom's office was one of the rooms that had absorbed a number of oddly angled walls. His desk sat diagonally across a narrow point where two walls came together. The table he'd been sitting at on her previous visit was in the middle of the room. Several sheets of paper were laid out side-by-side on its surface.

Harriet went to the table and picked up two of the papers. They appeared to be real estate documents. She quickly scanned them. They were competing offers for a piece of property that had to be the meadow.

"Find what you were looking for?"

She dropped the documents and turned to the door. Tom stood just behind a handsome gray-haired man carrying a black briefcase.

"If you'll excuse us, Miss Truman?” Tom said, and held the door open.

Harriet felt her cheeks burning. There was nothing she could say. She started out the door, but he grabbed her arm in a none-too-gentle grip.

"I've got a meeting that can't wait, but we aren't through. I will call for you...” He looked at the stainless steel Rolex on his wrist. “...in one and a half hours at the Tree House. Do not disappoint me."

He released her, and she left, not stopping or taking her gaze from the floor until she was back out on the porch. She picked up her bag and headed back to the Tree House.

Mavis was in the kitchenette munching on a cookie when Harriet came in.

"What's wrong, honey,” she asked around her mouthful. She reached out, putting the back of her hand on Harriet's forehead. “Your cheeks are pink, are you feeling okay?” she asked. “Do you feel feverish?"

"I'm fine—at least, for now, anyway.” She explained her encounter with Tom.

"He can't just barge in here and demand that you go with him,” Mavis said indignantly.

"I was trespassing, don't forget, and, actually, apart from my embarrassment, I'd
like
to speak to him. According to Lauren's brother, Tom is the one who ships quilts around from school to school for evaluation. He could have the answers about how a quilt that looks like Lauren's ended up in England."

"Oh, honey, do you think that's wise?"

"If we're going to help Lauren, we need answers.” Harriet ticked off the points on her fingers. “One, Selestina copied Lauren's quilt—maybe—and, two, now Lauren is accused of killing Selestina. Three, we know Lauren didn't kill Selestina, but, four, the quilt copying has to be connected. I can just feel it."

She clenched her fists in frustration. “It's just too big a coincidence that as soon as we discover the plagiarism the person most likely to be doing it dies suspiciously. And now we find out that her son was selling her property out from under her, which gives her a good reason to want him dead, not vice versa."

Mavis took her by both hands, pulled her to a wooden stool and pushed her onto it.

"Take a deep breath, honey, you're turning red again."

Harriet did as instructed.

"All we really know,” Mavis said, “is that someone killed Selestina and the police believe it was our Lauren. We know it wasn't, so that means a very dangerous person is still out there, someone willing to kill if you get in his way."

"I'll be careful. I'm telling you, when we figure out what's going on with the quilts, we're going to know who killed Selestina.” Harriet picked a Braeburn apple from a bowl of fruit that had appeared on the counter since the last time she was at the house and put it in her pocket. “Besides, killers rarely do in strangers. We're in the most danger when we're with our loved ones."

"Well, that's a happy thought,” Mavis said.

Harriet looked at the wall clock. She still had an hour before Tom arrived.

"Les also told me about some studio space Selestina has—it's farther back in the woods. If Selestina was copying student work, maybe the answers will be there. And I've got some time to kill before Tom comes back."

"I don't think going off in the woods by yourself to go snooping in a studio that is obviously private is a good idea,” warned Mavis.

"I'll go with,” Carla volunteered. She was just coming down the stairs and had apparently heard the last part of the conversation. She laid a sheaf of papers on the counter in front of Harriet.

"Do you even know where I'm talking about?"

"I heard you say it was Selestina's private studio."

"We'll be trespassing,” Harriet reminded.

"I think Selestina's beyond caring,” Carla replied, surprising Harriet. The girl was starting to show glimpses of a dry wit that might become wicked with the right guidance. “And if we can get things sorted out for Lauren that would be good, right?"

"I'd feel better if you had someone with you, honey,” Mavis said as she picked up the tea kettle and started filling it with water.

Harriet looked from Carla's hopeful face to the worry lines on Mavis's wrinkled one.

"Okay,” she surrendered with a sigh. “We better go if we're going to do this."

Carla opened the door and found Patience on the porch. She stepped aside to let the teacher in.

"You two look like you're going somewhere."

"We're just going out for a walk around the meadow,” Harriet said.

"Yeah, we been sitting all day,” Carla added.

Patience looked over the rims of her glasses. “Apparently not in the classroom."

Carla started to say something, but Harriet nudged her and the words died on her lips.

"At least,
one
of you didn't show up. Ray Louise said Harriet wasn't in class today. She asked me to check and make sure nothing was wrong."

"A friend of mine from Foggy Point is here in town, and he was injured yesterday, so I went to visit him this morning. You know, to make sure he was okay."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you were playing hooky. We just...” She stopped and thought a minute, then began again. “Selestina always wanted to make sure students got their money's worth when they were enrolled here, and between our lovely setting and the rigors of our curriculum, students have a tendency to start skipping class as the week wears on. Some of the teachers get overwhelmed with students coming to them at the end wanting notes and materials from the class sessions they missed, and unfortunately, some dealt with the issue by refusing to give notes out except in class."

"So, you're the truant officer,” Harriet said with a half smile.

Patience smiled back at her. “I suppose I am."

"I got the handouts for Harriet,” Carla said, and then looked at her feet. Harriet realized she hadn't seen her do that lately.