A Quilt in Time (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery) Page 14

  “I have to admit, it was ingenious,” Lauren said. “Sarah took the bait—she can feel superior to the others and she’s behind helping make money to buy more creature comforts for the place.”

  “I guess we can make that work,” Mavis said.

  “Anyone need a ride to go car shopping tomorrow?” Harriet asked. “Mine is safe and sound in the garage,” She looked at her aunt. “I started Uncle Hank’s truck last week. If you want, I can drive that, and you can take my car.”

  “That’s very sweet of you to offer. I may take you up on it, though I hate driving something that big.”

  Morse looked around the kitchen table at them.

  “I’m sure anyone who had a car out in the driveway is going to be car shopping tomorrow. One of you should probably call Bill Young and warn him he’s about to get a bunch of insurance claims.”

  Harriet held up her cell phone.

  “Anyone?”

  Aunt Beth took the phone and called Foggy Point’s most popular insurance agent to tell him to brace himself.

  It was another forty-five minutes before Terry entered from the garage, followed quickly by Aiden, Jorge, Connie’s husband Rod, and Robin’s and DeAnn’s husbands.

  “Your driveway and yard are clear,” Terry said. He stood with his arm around Carla. “The forensic people are collecting samples and printing what’s left of your cars, so they’re off-limits for a little while longer. We’ll know more when the lab guys are finished, but it looks like someone put a pipe bomb made from fertilizer and motor oil under each car.”

  “So, they weren’t trying to kill us?” Harriet asked.

  “Doesn’t look like it. They could have waited to detonate until you were in your cars if they’d wanted to hurt you. They could have built bigger bombs or filled them with nails or other shrapnel, too, but they didn’t. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say they were trying to give you people something else to think about besides the murder of Seth Pratt.”

  Robin threw her paper cup into the wastebasket under the sink.

  “I’d have to say they succeeded. All I’m thinking about right now is how I’m going to get my kids to school and practice until I can replace my van.”

  “You and me both,” DeAnn agreed. “My SUV was our only vehicle big enough to carry our whole family.”

  The rest of the Threads lamented the hardship their lack of a car would create.

  Harriet took the wastebasket from under the sink and carried it to the garage to empty into her larger trash can. Aiden followed her out and, the instant the door was closed, pulled her into his arms.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. My car was in the garage. I feel bad for everyone else. If they hadn’t been at my house, they’d still have cars.”

  “I doubt it. The police would just be going to a lot more houses to pick through the debris.” He rubbed her back as he held her body against his. “This isn’t your fault.”

  “It’s all such a mess. My friends are car-less, and meanwhile, Sarah is hidden away by herself, mourning the death of the guy who beat her senseless on more than one occasion while her loving stepfather is by all accounts willing to let the police believe she did the killing, just so he doesn’t lose any business.”

  “Where did you hear all that?” Aiden asked. He held her at arm’s-length so he could look at her face while she answered.

  “Lauren and I talked to Sarah when we were at the shelter hanging curtains. The rest I got from people who live at the senior center.”

  “Sarah’s going to need major league therapy no matter how this all sorts out,” Aiden said and pulled her back into an embrace. He rested his chin on her head. “Are you sure you can believe what the people at the center are telling you? They might have their own agen-da.”

  “I’m sure they do, but I’m not sure why they’d lie about Howard’s treatment of Sarah.”

  “Be cautious,” he warned her. “Listen to what they have to say, but don’t take it as gospel. I’ve made a few house calls in the independent living wing, and some of the residents say they feel like they were forced by their family to move there. I’m sure they see Howard as a coconspirator.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, did you see a young man being held in a squad car at the bottom of my driveway or the bottom of the hill?”

  “Yeah, it’s Hannah’s brother Joshua. He brings her to work sometimes. Do they think he had something to do with this?”

  “No one said that, exactly, just that he was lurking around in the bushes at the bottom of the drive. Morse had him held for questioning. What does Hannah say about him?”

  “Not much. I get the feeling he’s here because he has to be, not because he wants to be. I don’t know if he’s on probation or some sort of diversion program or what. Like I said, she doesn’t talk much about her family.”

  Harriet tightened her arms briefly around his waist then pushed away from him.

  “We better go in before they send a search party.”

  Aiden followed Harriet to the door.

  “How did Scooter handle the noise? Do I need to check him?”

  “I’m sure he’d love a checkup from his favorite doctor, but I think he’s fine. He might make a watchdog yet. He barked before the explosions started.”

  “We were about to send the detective after you,” Mavis said as they came back into the kitchen.

  Jorge loudly cleared his throat.

  “You ladies won’t be able to rescue any remains from your cars for a while, and some of you are going to need rides home. How about I treat you all to pizza at Mama Teresa’s? Maybe the good detective can join us, too.”

  “It might be a while, but I’ll try,” Jane Morse said before leaving the kitchen and going outside.

  DeAnn looped her arm through her husband David’s.

  “Thanks for the offer, Jorge, but we’ve got to pick the kids up from my mom’s. We’re going to have to make two trips, so we need to get started.”

  “I’d like to go home and hug my kids, too,” Robin said. “Thanks for the thought, though.”

  The rest of the group decided that a nice gooey pizza with a side of cheesy bread was just what they needed to return some normalcy to their lives.

  Chapter 15

  Harriet wheeled her Honda MVP to the curb in front of Lauren’s apartment like a seasoned school bus driver. She felt like one, too; it seemed like all she’d done for the last few days was drive between Mavis’s cottage on the strait, Lauren’s place on the cove and Aunt Beth’s in the middle, with a few cycles to Robin’s and DeAnn’s thrown into the mix.

  Connie’s husband had a hobby car he’d restored but not yet traded for a new project, so Connie was able to use his truck while he drove his baby. Aiden simply picked another of the many cars he’d inherited from his mother for Carla to drive. Driving vintage luxury cars was one of the perks of her job.

  Lauren opened the passenger side door and got in.

  “When does your aunt get her new car?”

  “Not sure. They had to order it, which means she has to wait until they have enough cars to fill a truck to come to Foggy Point. When do you get yours?”

  “The broker hasn’t found one yet. He said it could take a couple of weeks. Don’t worry, one of my clients has a company car they’re willing to loan me. They said I could pick it up in a few days.”

  “That’s lucky. DeAnn and Robin get their new cars today.”

  “I guess.” Lauren stared out the window as they headed for Mavis’s cottage. “What are we doing at the senior center today?”

  “Sabrina called and said she talked to Josephine and Violet, and then they talked to the others about making a raffle quilt in conjunction with the shelter to raise money. They suggested the two groups share the profits. She’d like to use their cut to buy a few used sewing machines they can keep set up permanently. She told me she realized they wouldn’t be able to keep Marjory’s loaner forever.”

  “Go
od to know, but I was thinking more in terms of what are we doing there today.”

  “We don’t have a plan,” Harriet braked at a red light and turned to look at Lauren while they waited. “If the residents are right about Howard wanting to blame Seth’s death on Sarah, I’d like to know the real reason. I mean, I’m sure Seth’s death isn’t something they’ll put in their marketing brochure, but he wasn’t killed on the premises, so I doubt it would cause anyone to move out, or even to not move in.”

  “Do you believe the old people? About him blaming Sarah for Seth’s death, I mean.”

  “I don’t know why they’d make something like that up. And they may be eccentric, but these folks seem pretty sharp, especially compared to the memory care bunch. If they think Howard is going to blame Sarah, they’ve got some reason, and it’s probably a good one.”

  “So, back to my original question. What’re we going to do?”

  “As much as I’d like to get into Howard’s offices and take a look around, I’m not going to do anything but quilt.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. If someone is willing to blow up our cars, what else might they be willing to do? I don’t want whoever it was to get ideas about doing anything to our senior citizen friends.”

  The light changed and Harriet pulled away from the intersection.

  “You think they would hurt the geezers?”

  “I don’t know, and that’s the point. I wouldn’t have guessed someone would blow up the Loose Threads’ cars in my driveway, but they did.

  “Connie and Rod are convinced someone at the center killed his aunt. It’s within the realm of possibility that a medication mistake happened. Since Seth was in charge of medications, Howard might have blamed him. Maybe he’s that intolerant. On the other hand, Rod’s aunt might have discovered something else going on there and been silenced for it.”

  “Hard to believe he’d kill his son over a medication mistake,” Harriet argued. “Or for that matter, that something worth killing Rod’s aunt over was going on. And in that case, why is Seth dead?”

  “I didn’t say it was a perfect theory. Someone wants to keep us from digging into Seth’s death. The car bombs are proof of that. They tell me there’s something to be discovered.”

  “Maybe there was something to be found, and the bombs gave someone the time to bury it.”

  “That might be, but it’s up to the police to figure it out. I just worry they’re going to be looking for the easy answer—Sarah killed Seth because he beat her. And if the senior center bunch is right, Howard is going to encourage them to believe it.”

  “Seth may have been a creep, but no one deserves to die like he did. If we want to have any hope of getting the old Sarah back, we need answers. I worry, too, that if she moves out of the woman’s shelter and avoids getting arrested, someone may come after her. Whoever needed to shut Seth up might worry that Sarah knows enough to be dangerous, too, and if they were willing to bomb our cars just to distract us, who knows what they might do to Sarah.”

  “Do you think?” Lauren asked.

  “I don’t know, but Sarah was unconscious when Seth was shot. She thinks Seth hit her, because Seth always hit her. But what if the killer is the one who knocked her out? What if they think she’s dead and then find out she isn’t? She wasn’t in the hospital very long, but I’m sure the nurses aren’t going to tell anyone she was there or where she is now. I really do believe she could be in danger.”

  Lauren leaned back and ran her hands over her hair.

  “Maybe we should let the police handle this one.”

  “I plan on keeping a low profile.” Harriet’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I just wish we had an idea of which direction the danger is coming from.”

  “What are you going to tell the rest of the group?”

  “I’d like them to keep their eyes and ears open, but that’s all. Personally, I’d like to know if the police found out why Joshua was hanging out in my bushes. I’m assuming he wasn’t the bomber, or he’d be in jail, and I haven’t heard that anyone’s been arrested.”

  “I haven’t done a background check on him; I’ve been working on Sarah’s mom and stepdad and her biological father. I can check him out and see what comes up.”

  Harriet pulled up in front of Mavis’s cottage.

  “Let me know if you find anything,” she said and got out to fetch Mavis.

  “Is everyone else coming on their own?” Aunt Beth asked when she was safely belted into the middle row of seats, next to Mavis.

  Lauren recited the Loose Threads’ car status as Harriet drove toward the senior center. Mavis turned slightly to face Beth.

  “Did you ever get a chance to do the research you were going to do on our new friends at the center?”

  Beth pulled a small notebook from her purse.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I went to the library and the newspaper and read a ton of old documents, all of which were on microfiche.”

  “I would have thought that would all be on computer by now,” Mavis commented.

  “That’s what I thought, and I said as much to the librarian, but she just sighed and said the library would be happy to update its system and if I wanted to bestow a large grant on them, they’d get right on it.”

  Lauren leaned into the space between the front seats.

  “That’s all very interesting, but could we get to the point before we arrive? What did you learn?”

  Beth looked at Mavis and then cleared her throat.

  “To start with, there was absolutely nothing in the paper or anywhere else about Josephine. I checked the old phone books, church registries, every community organization that had filed their annual directory with the library and came up with a big zero.”

  “I suppose that makes sense if she really is ex-CIA,” Harriet said.

  “Mickey, on the other hand,” Beth continued. “He was all over the legal section of the paper. He was also all over the charitable page and in their newsletters. Several generations of district attorneys attempted to make their career by busting Mickey Brown, none successfully. At the same time, numerous defense attorneys owe their expensive educations to his scholarship fund.”

  “That’s interesting,” Harriet said. “Not sure how it helps, but good to know.”

  “There’s more,” Aunt Beth said. “The most interesting information I found was about Janice.”

  “Do tell,” Lauren encouraged.

  “She was not alone when she had her car accident. She was a passenger in a car driven by none other than Howard Pratt.”

  “Whoa, that was worth the price of admission,” Harriet said.

  “Or a day spent in the musty basement of the library,” Beth said with a grin. “It seems like it was quite the scandal.”

  “Which was when?” Lauren interrupted.

  “September fifteenth, nineteen ninety-seven.”

  “So, how old is she?” Harriet asked.

  “It says she was twenty-one at the time of the accident, so she’s not forty yet,” Beth told them.

  Lauren leaned back in her seat.

  “Wow, I wouldn’t have guessed that. I’d have put her at least ten years older.”

  “So, what was she doing with Howard?” Harriet asked. She did a quick calculation in her head. “He was at least twice her age but probably older than that, judging by Seth and Sarah’s ages. I wonder what their relationship was.”

  She pulled to a stop in the senior center parking lot and undid her seatbelt.

  “Wait,” Beth said, “there’s more. Nineteen ninety-seven was a busy year for Mr. Howard Pratt.” She paused for effect. “His wife Jill died under mysterious circumstances earlier that same year.”

  “Wow,” Harriet said and looked at Lauren. “That is a bombshell.”

  Beth gathered her purse and quilting bag and opened her car door.

  “We’ll have to mull over what this all means later.”

  Sabrina was waiting for them in
the lobby. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held in place with a clip. She blew at a strand that had fallen over her eye then swept it back with her hand.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve changed the order of things. We’re going to have you working with the memory care folks first. Mr. Pratt has reporters from AARP coming to tour in an hour and a half.

  “I thought you could work there for forty-five minutes or so, and then we can clean up the quilting supplies and get the residents back to their rooms so the aides can get them ready for prime time.” She laughed. Harriet wasn’t sure what was supposed to be funny, but she smiled.

  Violet met Harriet at the junction of the memory care hallway and the main lobby forty minutes later. The rest of the Threads were helping the nurse’s aides clean up the quilting debris and load the sewing machine and supplies onto a wheeled cart to take them to the other side of the building.

  The dementia quilters had been surprisingly proficient at cutting the required hexagons from the flowered fabric once the Threads got them started, and the time had passed quickly.

  Violet glanced left and then right.

  “Hurry,” she whispered. No one was in sight, so she grabbed Harriet’s arm and hustled her across the dining room and then the lobby and back to the independent living common room. “We don’t have time to wait for the others.” The thick soles of her flesh-colored oxfords made a squeaking noise as she hurried across the linoleum. “We need to talk before the others get here.”

  Mickey and Jo stood on either side of Janice’s wheelchair in the middle of the room as Harriet and Violet approached.

  “We need you to search Howard’s office,” Mickey said.

  “Mickey,” Janice scolded, “we agreed we were going to lay out our facts in a logical fashion.”

  Jo held her hand up.

  “We don’t have time for argument. We have a key to Howard’s office, and we have reason to believe he’s doing something to the drugs that are being given to the patients in the other wings. We think Seth suspected the drugs weren’t right and confronted his dad. You need to go into his office and find proof.”