Quilter's Knot Page 10

  He didn't say anything. Harriet put her arms around him, and he leaned into her. They were still in their silent embrace when the doctor came in.

  "You're a lucky man, Dr. Jalbert,” he said—he had introduced himself as Dr. King. He was a tall, white-haired man with kind blue eyes and an easy smile. “Your cheekbone isn't broken."

  "Good. Can I get out of here now?"

  Harriet stepped back as he stood up.

  "Not quite so quick there, young man,” Dr. King said. “Your cheekbone is okay, but I've called a specialist to come look at your eye.” He pulled a small white penlight from his coat pocket and shined it into the injured eye. “Look at the wall over there ... It's probably fine, but I'd like the eye guy to look at it and say he agrees.

  "You do know that when we release you, we expect you to go home and rest for a few days,” Dr. King continued. “I know your patients can't follow that advice, but I expect you to hear me and follow my instructions.” He patted Aiden's shoulder and guided him back onto the bed. “Let your young lady here pamper you for a few days. I predict by this time next week this will all be just a memory."

  "I don't know if I feel insulted that he spoke to me like I'm a possession or flattered that he called me young,” Harriet commented when the doctor was out of earshot.

  "I liked the sound of both.” Aiden grabbed her hand as he leaned back on the bed. “I'm just going to close my eyes for a minute,” he mumbled. “Promise me you won't leave."

  She pulled a chair over beside his bed and sat, holding his hand all the while. In a few minutes, his regular breathing told her he had escaped into sleep. She couldn't blame him. She'd had some recent experience with head injuries and knew sleep was the only thing that truly relieved the pain.

  A full two hours passed before the specialist declared Aiden fit to be released. He'd taken extra time to convince himself Aiden didn't have any of the common congenital problems that were frequently associated with white-blue eyes. He'd also sent for two of his medical students to observe the rare eye color. Aiden finally offered to come back for a full eye study when his injuries had healed if they would let him go now.

  "I need to stop and see how Cammie is on the way out,” he told the nurse who was pushing his wheelchair toward the exit.

  The triage nurse overheard his request and answered. “She's in surgery. You might as well go get some rest. She's got hours yet to go."

  Aiden buried his face in his hands.

  "Hey,” Harriet said. She put her hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. “Darcy will be here in a minute. Where are you staying?"

  "We're at a bed and breakfast on Eighth Avenue. It's called Helen's House."

  "Will you be okay there by yourself?” she asked, and swept a strand of hair out of his face.

  "I could stay with you.” He looked up with a ghost of his usual impishness crossing his face. “I'm kidding,” he said before she could react. “Helen will take good care of me.” His face turned serious. “Besides,” he continued, “I've got a job for you."

  "Sure, what do you need?"

  He pulled her closer. “The police talked to me before you got here. I told them someone had hit my truck and sent us over the edge. I don't know if they believe me. They said people don't do stuff like that in broad daylight where anyone could have seen them. I know my truck didn't run off the road because of water on the road like they're saying. I don't care what they think—someone ran me off the road. They rammed me twice."

  "What do you want me to do?” Harriet asked, unsure where this was going.

  "I saw the vehicle. I couldn't see who was driving, but it was a black Ford Explorer."

  She still wasn't connecting the dots.

  "Just like the ones I saw parked at your school. I want you to see if any of them have damage or white paint on their front fender or bumper. Don't confront anyone, just look and tell me what you see. Can you do that?"

  "Sure. There have to be lots of black Ford Explorers, though. Not just at the school."

  "Indulge me,” he said.

  She would check, but she was already thinking about the car that had taken her to dinner.

  Darcy arrived before they could discuss it further. The B&B was less than a mile from the hospital, the house lemon-yellow with lots of the white lacy gingerbread Victorian houses are known for. The front garden was English and surrounded by a white picket fence. Darcy held the gate open, and Harriet guided Aiden into the yard and then onto the wide porch.

  The foyer continued the Victorian theme. A collection of Blue Willow plates were displayed on a lace-edged shelf around the perimeter of the room. A blue floral pitcher and bowl sat on a lace doily on top of a dark cherry bookshelf.

  Helen turned out to be a plump woman whose long white hair was twisted into a simple bun on the top of her head. She wore a faded floral shirt-dress topped with a white apron. Her beige shoes were the type nurses and other people who spend a lifetime on their feet sported. She assured Harriet she would treat Aiden as if he were one of her own—he seemed to bring out the mothering gene in women of all ages, even when he didn't have a black eye.

  "I expect he'll be just fine, but I'll call you if anything happens,” she said. She'd gathered all the relevant phone numbers when they'd arrived.

  "We do have a house full of doctors, you know,” Aiden reminded them.

  "That would be great if you were a dog,” Harriet teased. “Oh, wait, you are,” she added, and grinned.

  "Very funny. I'm supposed to be getting sympathy here."

  "Enough,” Helen said. “You go get in your jammies, and I'll bring you a nice cup of tea and some toast."

  "Hey, I hit my head, not my stomach,” Aiden protested as Helen put her arm around his waist and turned him to the stairs.

  "He'll be fine,” she said, and waved over her shoulder as she followed him up.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harriet sat in silence as Darcy drove back to the school.

  "Could you stop by the office parking lot before we go back to the Tree House?” she asked when they turned into the main driveway. She quickly explained Aiden's request.

  "Sure.” Darcy pulled onto the shoulder a few feet before the office lot. “Let me get a couple of things from the trunk. If we find something I'll take a couple of samples, just in case. Even if we do find something, we may not be able to get any kind of evidence that proves anything."

  "Thanks for doing this. Aiden seemed pretty sure it was one of the Explorers from here."

  They walked up to the row of cars. The lot could hold eight, but only six were currently there: a Volvo station wagon, a small sedan of some sort, and four black Explorers. They stepped carefully to the front of the lot and, one-by-one, examined the cars.

  "Make sure you go all the way around,” Darcy whispered. “Sometimes the point of contact isn't where you think it will be. And don't touch anything."

  She looked at the first car, and Harriet took the second. Both were free of scars. They returned to the front of the row and started toward the next two.

  "We just hit the jackpot,” Darcy said. “I can see it from here.” Harriet came to stand beside her. “Geez, it's not subtle, is it."

  Darcy moved closer to the front passenger-side fender. A large dent creased the shiny metal. Or maybe it was shiny plastic; Harriet was never sure these days. Darcy pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, broke it open and removed what looked like a scalpel. She took a small white envelope from her other pocket and scraped the dent, catching the shavings in the envelope. She sealed it and put it back in her pocket.

  There wasn't a license plate on the front of the vehicle, so Harriet went around to the back. TomTom the vanity plate read. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  "I'll get a sample of the remains of the truck Aiden was driving and I can do the lab work when I get back to Foggy Point, but you do realize it won't be official, don't you? I mean, there won't be any chain
of custody. And I'm not officially on the job. On the other hand, maybe this will help convince those yahoo's at the police station Aiden didn't just hydroplane off the road."

  "I don't want to chance losing the evidence that Aiden was pushed—he thinks the police are pretty willing to write their report and close the books on the whole incident. I'd like to be sure that doesn't happen, whether it's official at this point or not. Besides, I may know who did it, anyway."

  "And who would that be, Miss Marple?"

  "Look at the vanity license plate."

  "It's TomTom. Does that mean something?"

  "Selestina's son is Thomas Bainbridge, and I happen to know he drives a black Ford Explorer. It fits, doesn't it?"

  "Solving crimes is rarely that neat. You need a few things like means, motive and opportunity."

  "I watched one of those reality crime shows with Aunt Beth, and they said you don't have to prove motive. They said juries like to hear a motive, but you didn't have to have one."

  Darcy led the way back to the car, and they continued the conversation as she drove to the Tree House parking lot.

  "Well, the cops I hang out with like to have a theory of the crime. So far, I'm hearing that an upstanding member of the local business community jumps in his car and runs a visiting veterinarian off the road for no apparent reason. Their only connection is that you're friends with one guy and you've—what?—met the other one?"

  "I did go to dinner with Tom the other night,” Harriet confessed.

  "Are you that good?” Darcy asked with a smile. “You want me to believe that after one dinner Mr. Bainbridge tried to kill Aiden?"

  "Okay, so there are a few holes in my theory. I'm just saying, on the one hand—black Ford Explorer, vanity plate that says TomTom,” She held her hands up as if holding an invisible ball in each hand. “On the other, a man named Tom who drives a black Ford Explorer."

  Darcy parked and turned to face her, her pixie's face serious. “I'll do your tests for you, but, Harriet, if someone did run Aiden off the road you need to let the police handle it. And if we show them this evidence, they will. This is nothing to mess around with. And just in case you are on to something, stay away from Thomas Bainbridge."

  "Okay, okay,” Harriet held her hands up in defense. “Aiden asked me to check, and I did. Besides, I've got more than I can handle trying to figure out what's up with Lauren's quilt."

  "Speaking of that, did you get the pictures from your aunt?"

  Harriet patted the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Right here,” she said, and got out of the car. “Let's go look at them with the rest of the group."

  "I'll be there in a minute. I've got a few calls to make."

  * * * *

  "How's Aiden?” Robin asked as soon as Harriet came into the Tree House. She was in the kitchenette arranging lemon-ginger cookie crisps on a blue pottery plate. She was always the first person in line for treats, but somehow the last to show the effects of eating them. It had to be all the yoga, Harriet decided.

  "He's pretty banged up, but he's going to be fine. The tech that was with him didn't fare quite as well."

  "Did you get the pictures from Beth?” asked Connie from her perch on the sofa in the living room. She was cutting dark-green leaf shapes from a piece of floral fabric and setting them in a pile on the table in front of her.

  Mavis was sewing sea-foam green batik triangles to brown squares with the quilting thread she favored for her hand stitching. She had explained to Harriet that quilting thread didn't tangle or fray as quickly as plain cotton sewing thread.

  "I did, but I haven't even looked at them yet.” She joined them and handed the folded pages to Connie. “I've got to go change into something more comfortable. You guys check them out; I'll be back in a second.” With that she turned around and headed up the stairs.

  She returned almost immediately, still dressed in her jeans.

  "Have you been here all evening?” she asked Mavis and Connie, her voice harder than she intended.

  "Yes, why?” asked Mavis.

  Connie stood up and came over to her. “Mija, what's wrong? Here, sit down.” She tried to lead Harriet to the sofa, but Harriet pulled free of her grasp.

  "Someone's trashed my room. My bags were all emptied onto the floor, and the beds are torn apart."

  "Can you tell if anything's missing?” Mavis asked.

  "It didn't look like it. I mean, my jeans and shirts are there. My sewing things are all over the floor, but I can't imagine anyone would bother to steal that kind of stuff."

  Mavis stood up. “Come on, we'll help you set it to rights. If you want, you can move down to our floor. Carla is in the alcove at the end of the hall and the bunk above her is empty. I know she won't mind."

  "As long as you don't get between her and that clawfoot tub, she won't care at all,” Connie added.

  "I'm not leaving my room. I lived in Oakland, for crying out loud. We have one of the highest urban crime rates in the country. I'm not going to be scared off by some backwoods vandal.” She paced across the room, running her fingers through her hair. “I have to say, in all my years in Oakland I never had my house robbed, my car prowled and certainly never was assaulted. I've been back in Foggy Point for what—two months? I've been whacked in the head, drugged and now this is the second time my stuff has been tossed.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she swept them angrily away with the back of her hand.

  "This isn't Foggy Point,” Mavis said gruffly. “Maybe there's a simple explanation.” She led the way up the stairs to Harriet's room.

  * * * *

  "So, do you want us to move you down to Carla's room?” Connie asked when they had picked up Harriet's clothes and sewing equipment. “If you're moving, we don't have to remake the beds up here."

  "I'm not moving,” Harriet answered emphatically. “Someone was looking for something. If they come back, they can go to Carla's room just as easy as this one."

  Connie unfurled the fitted sheet and stretched it onto the mattress. Harriet picked up the flat top sheet and helped her finish making the bed.

  "They must have done this while we were in the dining cabin,” Mavis decided.

  "Wait—I thought you said you'd been here all night,” Harriet said.

  "I thought you meant here at the Folk Art Center. We went to dinner at six-thirty and got back around seven-thirty."

  "Unfortunately, who ever it was had plenty of time to search,” Connie said. “You know, now that I recall, when we came in the magazines from the coffee table were on the floor. I didn't think anything of it. It was a little bit windy when we came back from dinner, and I assumed a gust of wind blew in when I opened the front door and blew them off."

  "So, someone is looking for something, but what is it?” Mavis wondered.

  "I don't know. Where are the others? I wouldn't put it past Lauren to leave my room like that if she was looking for something."

  "Oh, honey, Lauren wouldn't do that, and you know it,” Mavis scolded.

  "I wouldn't put it past her,” Harriet repeated. “She's pretty insistent about me owing her."

  "Robin and Carla were going to go look at the photography exhibit, and then they were going to see if they could help Lauren. She has to pull together another piece of her work to fill the space her missing quilt occupied. She had done samples of the various techniques she used in her final piece, so they were going to try to mount several of them on a piece of poster board. She said she doesn't have another piece as big as the one that's missing that fits the theme. Sarah met someone at the pottery exhibit the other night, and she went to dinner in town with them.” Connie left the room as she continued, “I'll go put the kettle on, and we can have a cup of tea and see if we can make sense out of this."

  "Come on, honey,” Mavis said, and put her arm abound Harriet's shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “You've had a rough day. Have you had anything to eat yet? Let me fix you a snack, and then we can put our heads together and figure this thing ou
t."

  They followed Connie down the stairs.

  "Go ahead,” Harriet told Mavis and went to get the phone. “I'm calling the office to report the vandalism in my room."

  * * * *

  "They didn't seem overly interested,” Harriet reported when she'd finished her call. Connie had brought out a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a plate with saltines and small slabs of cheddar cheese on it. She sat the tray on the table then handed Harriet the snack plate.

  "I agree with Beth.” Mavis picked up her copy of the quilt picture. “It looks a lot like Lauren's."

  "What we need is a picture of Lauren's,” Harriet said and set her now-empty plate back on the table. She was about to pull her copy of the picture from her pocket when she heard a soft tap followed by the Tree House door opening.

  "Hello?” called Patience.

  "In here,” Connie replied, and got up to meet the new arrival.

  "I heard Nancy leaving a message for Tom. She said someone's room in the Tree House was ransacked. I wanted to stop by and make sure everything was okay."

  Connie poured her a cup of peppermint tea. “Here,” she said, “sit down and we'll fill you in."

  Mavis looked at Harriet, and when the younger woman remained silent, she gave Patience a quick account of the event.

  Patience was silent for a moment.

  "And nothing was missing?” she finally asked.

  "I don't have that much here,” Harriet said. “I haven't combed through my sewing bag, but my hoop and scissors and ruler and all the big stuff is there. My clothes, my purse and ID are all here. I really don't have anything here worth taking. My cell phone was in my pocket. It makes no sense.” She looked at Patience. It was clear the woman was trying to decide whether to say something.

  "What? If you know something, say it."

  "I don't know if this means anything. I mean, you ladies would know better than I."

  "Patience,” Mavis said in a firm voice. “Take a deep breath, and then just tell us what you know, or suspect, or whatever."