The Quilt Before the Storm (16 page)

“I asked, and they said something about needing privacy.”

“So, they’d rather be killed in a storm?”

“Hey, I’m just the reporter here,” Harriet said.

She heard Morse sigh.

“Some days I’m amazed the human race has survived all these years. Speaking of survival, are you ladies doing okay?”

“We’re fine. My aunt has been through a lot of storms, so we were prepared. And Jorge couldn’t get home, so he’s here cooking for us.”

“Oh, good. I just wish there were some way for me to get there. The Coast Guard said the water is still too rough for us to come by boat, so we’re stuck here going over and over the slim facts we have on the serial killer. At least I brought an appliqué project with me.”

“I’d be happy to talk to the folks at the camp for you,” Harriet offered, “if that would help.”

“Let’s leave the police work to the professionals. You just make sure your aunt and the rest of the Loose Threads are okay. I’ll try to check in with you all again if this continues. On this end, they’re saying it’s going to be days before they can clear the slide. The news said they’re looking for a break in the power transmission lines, but it’s somewhere in the forest and the going is slow.”

“We appreciate the contact with the outside world,” Harriet said.

They chatted for another few moments then said goodbye.

“Okay, what was that all about?” Lauren demanded.

“Let’s get Aunt Beth and Mavis so I don’t have to say this all twice,” she said.

“Get us for what?” Aunt Beth asked as she and Mavis came in from the studio.

“We thought we heard the phone,” Mavis added. “You heard correct,” Lauren said. “Detective Morse just called, and sometime in the next decade, Harriet is going to tell us about it.”

“Morse is still stuck on the other side of the slide along with the other Foggy Point detectives. Apparently, Officer Nguyen reached her on his satellite phone after we saw him. By the time he got done doing whatever she told him to do to secure the office, he couldn’t get back over the bridge, so he’s holed up in the upstairs of the building. One of the other officers came in while he was there, so there are now two of them trapped there. She says the office is current on all its disaster planning, so they have food and water available.”

Harriet went back to her chair by the fire. Lauren sat on the stool she had pulled as close to the heat as she could stand.

“She said she got hold of that skinny blond officer we met that one time, but she had a tree fall on her house and her leg. Apparently, there’s a doctor on her street who was able to put a splint on her leg, which is broken, but she can’t do anything but sit with it elevated.”

“And?” Lauren prompted. “Get to the punch line.”

Harriet started to say something, but Aunt Beth put a hand on her arm, silencing her. She took a deep breath.

“The upshot is, the only officers Morse can get hold of are out of commission. She asked a lot of questions about what Tom and I saw at the homeless camp. I think her concern, along with the task force group she is with, is that the highway serial killer is trapped here with us. All indications are that the killer—or killers—drives a semi.”

“Oh, honey, don’t tell me she wants you to get involved in
those
murders,” Mavis protested.

“No, not exactly,” Harriet said choosing her words carefully to avoid having to tell an outright lie. “I could tell she was reluctant to ask us to go anywhere near the homeless camp…” That part was true, Harriet thought. “…but she can’t raise anyone else.”

“What does she want us to do?” Lauren asked, leaning toward her.

“She wants to know where the truck-driving couple was on three dates—the last week of August, September seventeenth and Halloween. If they were any distance from Highway One-oh-one or Interstate Five then they can’t be the serial killers Morse and company are looking for.”

“How does that help us with Duane’s murder?” Lauren asked.

“Morse said before that most murder victims know their attacker. The likelihood of a second serial killer operating in our area is slim to none, so if the couple is eliminated as possible suspects than our danger level drops dramatically.”

“And if they are the serial killers?” Lauren persisted. “What’s that do for our danger level?”

“I’d like to hear the answer to that one myself,” Mavis said.

“It sounds like a terrible idea to me,” Aunt Beth stated.

“I’m sure we’ll be safe if several of us go. She didn’t seem to think Duane was a serial killer victim, and according to the paper, those victims were always alone when they were last seen.”

“I can’t believe a police detective would make such a request,” Aunt Beth said.

“Believe me, she needs this information. She said they’re all getting antsy sitting there at their hotel. The task force has a limited budget, and the non-Foggy Point members don’t want to spend the money to get a helicopter so they can interview the couple themselves, and it’s not guaranteed they could even
get
a helicopter. The Coast Guard won’t bring them.

“She said the task force members from Seattle are sure ‘their’ serial killer couldn’t possibly be someplace as mundane as Foggy Point. They’re still working on other possibilities, but it would help Jane if she could eliminate our pair.”

“So, ‘eliminate’ sounds like she doesn’t think they’re the killers,” Mavis said.

“She said they’ve been operating under the assumption they’re looking for a lone killer, but she said the profiler on the team says they can’t rule out the possibility the killer has taken on a partner. I guess it’s rare, but it does happen,” Harriet reported.

“We need to make a plan,” Lauren said. “You know, figure out who is going to say what when we go up there.”

“I think we should decline her request,” Beth said. “I can’t imagine what she’s thinking, suggesting we put ourselves in harm’s way.”

“I ran into her at the Steaming Cup a couple of weeks ago, and we had coffee,” Mavis said. “I think the male detectives aren’t giving her the kind of support they would if she were also a man. She didn’t come straight out and say as much, mind you—it’s just the feeling I got.”

“That might explain it,” Aunt Beth said. “If she’s being left out of the loop, she might need to come up with something—you know, to prove she’s as good as the guys are.”

“Morse said the victims so far were last seen traveling alone at night on either Highway One-oh-one or the interstate. If we go as a group during the day to the camp, where there are additional people, we’ll be fine.”

“Easy for her to say,” Mavis said. “I’m with Beth—good reason or not, I don’t like it.”

“Would you feel better if we took Jorge or Tom with us?” Harriet asked. “I’m sure either one of them would be up for the adventure.”

“I think it’s none of our business,” Aunt Beth said.

“I’m sure Detective Morse wouldn’t want us to do this if she felt there was any risk,” Harriet insisted. “You know how conservative she is.”

“If you gals are determined, I guess we better work on our story,” Mavis said with a sigh. “Anyone want a cup of tea?”

“I think we should bring up Halloween first,” Harriet said for what seemed to her like the hundredth time. The women had been suggesting and rejecting scenarios for more than an hour. “We don’t need them to have alibis for all three dates. If they were elsewhere for any one of the dates they can’t be the killers. Halloween is an easy date to talk about.”

“Harriet’s right,” Mavis said. “We can talk about the quilts we made for Halloween.”

“I still think it’s like poking a hornet’s nest with a stick,” Beth said when they’d all agreed on a plan.

“And what would that be?” Jorge asked. The four women had been so intent on their plan no one had noticed that he’d come into the kitchen from the garage. “I can tell from the look on Señora Beth’s face I’m not going to like this.”

“Detective Morse called, and she wants this bunch to go questioning people at the homeless camp about the murder up there,” Aunt Beth explained in an exasperated tone.

“Don’t worry, Señora, I’ll keep them safe.” He looked at Harriet. “Do not even think about going without me there to protect you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Harriet said with a sigh. “I was hoping you were going to offer to drive anyway.”

“I saw you have a bag of pinto beans in your pantry. I can make some bean-and-rice burritos for the people.”

“I don’t have that many tortillas,” Harriet protested.

“Please do not insult the cook,” he shot back. “You have a large bag of flour—that’s all I need.”

“That will give Jorge a good reason to be there and maybe give him a chance to poke around a little,” Mavis pointed out.

“I’ll put the beans in to soak,” Jorge said and turned toward the pantry to get the ingredients he’d need.

“You’ll probably want the canning kettle to cook that quantity,” Beth said.

“I’ll get it,” Harriet offered and got up.

She had just returned to the kitchen carrying the large pot when the phone rang in the living room. She set the kettle on the counter and continued on to answer it.

Lauren and Mavis followed her and stood expectantly in front of the fire.

Harriet listened for a few minutes then said, “Good work…No, that’s great. We can’t expect they’ll tell all just because we started listening. Keep up the good work, but don’t put yourself in jeopardy. Okay, talk to you tomorrow.” She turned to the group. “That was Carla.”

“No joke,” Lauren said, and Mavis poked her.

“What did she say, honey?”

“She hasn’t heard much yet. Aiden said he wished Michelle had some proof to back up what she was saying, but neither one of them said what that was.”

“That’s it?” Lauren said.

“She hasn’t been able to place her second set of monitors yet. She said she’s waiting until everyone goes to bed; then she can put the two wireless remote units in play.”

“I’m going to take the dogs out and head up to bed,” Mavis said. “You want me to take Carter?”

“No, I’ll come with you.” Lauren jostled the little dog out from her sweatshirt.

“I’ll see you ladies in the morning,” Harriet said. “I’m going to go read.”

She truly had intended to read, but she couldn’t concentrate on her novel and instead lay awake in bed going over and over the events of the day in her mind. When she finally fell into an exhausted sleep, Duane was still dead, and she had no idea who was responsible.

It was after nine o’clock when Harriet came downstairs the next morning. She had gotten up and done what she hoped was an adequate rendition of her exercise routine. It was an activity she usually did with the guidance of a muscular young man named Lars who slept in her DVD player, awaiting the summons of the remote control to spring into action.

She’d followed her workout with a warm shower, thankful that someone else must be up and feeding Fred—he’d left her during sit-ups, an activity he normally felt required his supervision.

“Where is everyone?” she asked Mavis, who sat alone with a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

“Your aunt is taking her shower, and Jorge went for a drive to see how the roads are and whether the Muckleshoot is down enough for him to cross the bridge and get to his restaurant. Lauren and Carter went with him.”

The aroma of cooking pinto beans filled the air, and a stack of handmade tortillas sat waiting on a plate at the side of the stove.

“Jorge’s been busy,” Harriet said.

“He does like his cooking. And he’s a bit of a ham, I’d say.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been practicing his questions for the truckers. He’s changed clothes twice, an activity that was hindered by the fact he’s limited to the ones he had in his truck and we don’t have the means to either wash or iron them. He’s redone his hair three times and might have gone for a fourth, but Beth told him to stop wasting water.”

“If he goes too overboard he’s going to blow it for us. They aren’t going to talk to us if he goes in like some sort of beggar from
The Threepenny Opera
.”

“You can try to talk to him if you want, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Mavis returned to reading the week-old newspaper that lay on the table.

“I’m sure Lauren wouldn’t mind if you used her wind-up radio to hear something a little more current.”

“It’s not the same,” Mavis said and readjusted her glasses before returning to her reading.

“Okay, fine,” Harriet muttered to herself.

She was about to get her jacket and go outside when the phone rang. She dashed for the dining room and managed to pick up the receiver before it quit.

It turned out to be Carla.

“It sounds like she’s trying to talk him into going back to Africa,” she reported. “She told him that going far away was the only real way he could start over. I don’t get it. Why does he need to start over? He’s barely gotten settled here.”

“Think about it,” Harriet said. “If he goes back to Africa on a permanent basis, he won’t need his big house and cars.”

Carla gasped. If Aiden didn’t live in his big house, he wouldn’t need a housekeeper.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but I’m thinking this is Michelle taking another run at getting her hands on Aiden’s money.”