A Quilt in Time (A Harriet Turman/Loose Threads Mystery) Read online

  The hostess cleared her throat discretely. Hannah looked at her and realized she was blocking access to the next table.

  “I guess I better go. Hope I don’t fall asleep on the way back to work.” She waved and left.

  Lauren glanced at Hannah’s back and then at the table she had just vacated. There were dishes for two people.

  “I wonder who she was lunching with.”

  Harriet took her napkin from beside her plate and unfolded it onto her lap.

  “Apparently, someone who left before her.”

  An hour and a half later, Harriet again guided her car into the drop-off area in front of the senior center. Jo unhooked her seatbelt.

  “I may never eat again,” she said. “I’ve had lunch and dinner there more than once and never were we given so much food.”

  “That’s the Harriet effect,” Lauren told her.

  Harriet opened her door.

  “I know one of James’s friends, and we went there when it first opened, before it was popular. He’s never forgotten my loyalty.”

  “Yeah, right,” Lauren muttered.

  “I’m going to run in and talk to Hannah for a minute,” Harriet told her.

  “I’ll help carry the fabric,” Lauren said.

  Jo and Violet thanked her for driving them then went with Lauren to their common room. Harriet watched until they were out of sight.

  “Hey, Hannah, how’s it going?”

  Hannah flipped the wand microphone she was wearing away from her face.

  “Peachy. Mr. Carrigan in the memory care unit broke out a window with a chair and tried to escape.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, the windows have safety glass, like in cars. It cracked into lots of little pieces, but the chair only made a small hole all the way through. The old geezer wore himself out swinging the chair, so he couldn’t climb out.”

  “What will they do about it?”

  “What they always do—up his meds.”

  “Can I talk to you about something else?” Harriet asked.

  Hannah stood and looked in all directions.

  “Sure, but if you see Howard coming, walk away.”

  “Okay…Are you not allowed to talk to the public? It seems like it would be part of your job.”

  “The public, yes. You? No. Howard’s no fool. He knows you’re not talking to me about a new place for your aunt to live. Anyway, you better get to the point before he shows up.”

  “I need to talk to Joshua.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Doesn’t he live at your dad’s?”

  “Yes and no. He stays in a converted garden shed on the property, but he isn’t there any more than he has to be. Personally, I think he’s got somewhere else he crashes most of the time.”

  “Back to my question. Do you know how to get hold of him?”

  “He doesn’t answer his phone, and I don’t know when we’ll cross paths at home, ‘cause, frankly, I try to spend as much time away from home as he does.”

  “So, what if it was an emergency?”

  “I guess I could text him for you. He doesn’t answer his phone,” she repeated. She thought for a minute. “I could leave him a voice mail. Meet him in a public place.”

  “Why? Do you think he’s dangerous?”

  “I’m not convinced he isn’t the one who killed Seth.”

  “Have you told the police that?”

  “Of course not. My dad is the family spokesman. I keep my mouth shut, my head down, and look forward to the day I can live anywhere but Foggy Point.”

  “What makes you think he killed Seth? Do you have proof?”

  “Joshua sees himself as Cinderella and Seth as an evil stepsister. He was always jealous of Seth and told anyone who would listen all about it.”

  “Was he treated differently?”

  Hannah was quiet for a moment.

  “I suppose. But he brought it on himself. He talked back to Dad all the time, and he got in trouble with the police. He wasn’t grateful at all for anything Dad did for him. And he and Seth didn’t get along at all.” Hannah glanced at the security monitors then back at Harriet. “Where should he contact you?”

  Harriet reached into her purse and pulled out a card for her long-arm business.

  “Here’s my business card. It has my phone number on it. He can call me.”

  “Okay. You better go now before my dad comes.”

  “Has he said something to you about me?” Harriet asked.

  “Nothing specific. He’s convinced you and your group know where Sarah is, and he’s not thrilled that no one will tell him.”

  “Good to know. Thanks, Hannah.”

  “Sure,” she said and repositioned the microphone in front of her mouth.

  Harriet went back out to the car. Lauren was already sitting in the passenger seat.

  “How’d you get out here without passing the reception desk?”

  “Jo’s room has a patio. Mickey called and said Howard was prowling the halls, so she let me out through her room, just as a precaution.”

  “I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t turn out to be ex-CIA. She certainly is paranoid.”

  “I wasn’t eager to encounter Howard. If what Violet said about him abusing Jill is true, I don’t want to run into him in a well-lit, antiseptic-smelling hallway.”

  “I got the same vibe from Hannah. She seemed really spooked when I stopped to talk to her. She checked the hallways and kept an eye on her monitors. She said Howard thinks we’re withholding information about where Sarah is—which, of course, we are.”

  Lauren leaned her head back against her headrest.

  “Maybe it’s time for us to lay it all on the line to Detective Morse, let her deal with the crazy man.”

  Harriet sighed. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s go talk to Aunt Beth and Mavis and see what they think.”

  Chapter 18

  Lauren swiped her phone and dropped it into the pocket of her messenger bag.

  “Your aunt and Mavis aren’t going to be available until dinnertime. One of them will arrange a dinner meeting for whoever is available and let us know. That being the case, can you drop me back at my place? I can get some work done between now and then.”

  Harriet turned in the direction of Lauren’s apartment.

  “Good idea, I can do some stitching, and we can both think about what we heard today.”

  The women spent the rest of the trip lost in their own thoughts.

  “Hey, do you have company?” Harriet asked and pointed to the nondescript beige sedan parked in Lauren’s designated spot as she pulled to the curb.

  “Yes. I mean no. I don’t have company, I do have a company car. Hallelujah, we have been loosed from our bondage.”

  Harriet looked at her.

  “It hasn’t been that horrible, has it?”

  “Getting rides from you? No. Not being able to drive anywhere, ever? Excruciating. I actually had to dig out a coffee pot and make my morning coffee at home a couple of times.”

  Harriet laughed. “Oh, the pain of it all.”

  Before the bombing, Harriet sometimes left her car in the driveway if she knew she was going out again. Since then, she locked it in the garage even if she was just going back into the house for five minutes. She had barely secured the door into the house and taken her coat off when she heard a soft knocking on her studio door.

  Scooter ran to it before her, jumping up and down and barking. Harriet peeked out the bow window before opening the door.

  “Joshua?”

  “Don’t act so surprised. Hannah said you wanted to see me. Here I am.”

  Not quite the public place Hannah had suggested, Harriet thought, but if she suggested meeting elsewhere at this point, she might lose him.

  “Come in,” She said and stepped aside. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Soda?”

  Joshua kept his hands in his jeans pockets, rhythmically jingling his change.

  “Water’s fin
e. Look, I’m here. Can we skip the happy hostess routine and jump to the part where you tell me why?”

  Harriet led him into the kitchen, filled a glass with ice and poured filtered water into it from a pitcher in her refrigerator.

  “What can you tell me about your mother’s death?” she asked when he was seated at her table.

  “She didn’t kill herself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “Do you?”

  “A woman I talked to today said an investigative journalist thought your father killed her.”

  Joshua took a sip of his water then set the glass back on the table.

  “And look where that got her.”

  “Do you think he killed her?”

  “What I think is Howard—who, by the way, is not my father—has a lot of power, and he’ll use it against anyone who even suggests my mom was anything but a depressed drunk who died from an overdose after several failed attempts at suicide.”

  “Have you tried to prove otherwise?”

  He studied her a long moment before speaking, as if he were choosing which version of the story he was going to tell her.

  “I was in high school when my mom died. There were no other close relatives, so Howard adopted me. I’m not sure why, other than he was afraid I might ask awkward questions.”

  “Did you?” Harriet asked.

  “When I graduated from high school, I made an appointment with the medical examiner. I just wanted to read her autopsy report myself. Before I could meet with her, I was arrested on some trumped-up charge. Howard claimed I stole a gun from him and was carrying it without a license or something like that.

  “It was completely bogus, but magically, a gun appeared in my car and, equally magically, a deal was struck and I had an ankle bracelet and was confined to home. My scholarship went out the window as well as any chance of getting a job in this town. I’m still on some never-ending probation, so I can’t leave Foggy Point. Since no one will hire me for anything but the most menial of jobs, I have no chance of hiring my own lawyer to contest it.”

  Harriet leaned back in her chair, and Scooter jumped into her lap.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, welcome to my world. I should have killed Howard the first time he hit my mom—you know, kill the head, and the body will die; it would have saved the whole family. I would have been prosecuted as a minor. A few years in jail, and I would be free and my mom would still be alive. And Sarah never would have met Howard Junior—that’s Seth to you outsiders.

  “Instead, Howard’s reign of terror continues, and the next generation is ruined. We’re lucky Seth died before he and Sarah had a chance to procreate.”

  “Why didn’t you kill him?” Harriet asked, watching his face for a reaction.

  “Despite what you may have heard from Howard or Seth, I’m not that kind of person. Even knowing he was hurting my mom, I couldn’t do something like that. I’d like to think that, if I’d known he was going to kill her, I’d have done something. I’ll have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.”

  “Is there nothing you can do about your current situation?”

  “Like I said, short of Howard falling dead, I’m stuck here as long as he wants me to be. If I had any money, I could buy a fake identity and get out of here, but between my criminal record and Howard’s connections, it’s going to take me years.

  “Howard is such a charitable guy, he charges me rent to live in the garden shed. He’s making sure I can’t escape. Personally, I think he’s biding his time before he kills me, too. There will be some convenient accident, and that will be that.”

  “Do you seriously think he’d harm you?”

  “Have you not been listening to me? The man has harmed me from the moment my mother took me to live with him. He’s a sadist. He killed my mother. I don’t think he’ll harm me, I know he will. It’s just a matter of when.”

  “Do you think he killed Seth?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s possible. He and Seth were working some angle at the senior center. That place is way too profitable. I know he made Seth go to pharmacy school. I think maybe they’re selling drugs on the Internet. I’m sure they’re defrauding Medicaid and Medicare. Maybe Howard’s fair-haired boy rebelled.”

  “Do you think they’ve killed patients?”

  “Anything is possible, but if they did, I don’t think it would be intentional. They need people in beds to rack up charges. If anything, they could be guilty of not sending a person to the hospital when the patient exceeded the level of care they can provide.”

  “So, what are you going to do about Seth’s death?”

  “It’s not up to me to do anything. You act like Seth’s a victim here. I realize he’s dead, but he’s not the hero in this drama, by any stretch of the imagination. He may have been planning to out Howard, but only if it meant he could take over the empire or inherit everything or gain in some other way.

  “I know you’re friends with Sarah. How can you feel anything for a guy who would do that to someone he supposedly cares about? Believe me, despite what Sarah says, the world is a better place without Seth Pratt in it. I’m spending my time trying to figure out how not to join him.”

  “If you didn’t blow up our cars, do you think Howard could have?”

  “He wouldn’t get his own hands dirty, but I’d say yes, it’s possible or even probable that he had someone bomb your cars. It’s the sort of thing he does. He intimidates without ever rising to the level that the police would investigate too hard, and keep in mind he has half the force in his back pocket. He makes a point of having dirt on all his employees and what pass for friends in his world. He can always find someone to do that sort of thing for him.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want something more than water to drink? I have some brownies my friend Mavis made, too.”

  “Do you have milk?”

  Harriet smiled.

  “Coming right up.”

  Joshua stayed for another half-hour, eating brownies and talking about his life before his mother died. Two things were clear—Joshua had been a bright child. He’d earned a full scholarship to the University of Washington. And his mother had buffered him from Howard before her death.

  Harriet was still sitting at her table pondering Joshua’s visit when she heard another tap on her studio door. From Scooter’s wiggling, yipping reaction, she was certain she knew who she’d find on her porch.

  Chapter 19

  “Aiden,” Harriet said and stood aside so he could come through the open doorway. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Can’t a guy stop by to see his favorite…”

  Harriet took a deep breath and was about to speak.

  “…patient,” he finished.

  She smiled. “Nice recovery.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to put any relationship pressure on you. My counselor reminds me every time we meet. But you are my favorite everything. When that’s my reality, it’s hard to keep it under wraps all the time.”

  “It’s my reality, too, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. Until we figure out this…this…thing with your sister, we’ve got to keep our distance. We’ve tried ignoring it, and we both know that didn’t work.”

  Aiden headed toward the kitchen, running his hand through his silky black hair as he went.

  “Have you got any coffee?”

  Harriet picked up Scooter and followed Aiden.

  “I don’t have any already made, but it will only take a minute. Do you have time?”

  “Sure. My afternoon surgery got canceled, and appointments were light, so we drew straws. Mac is spending the afternoon catching up on the latest journals in the office, the techs are taking care of our current inpatients and the rest of us are having some well-deserved time off.

  “By the way, speaking of my sister, she’s getting better. You know she was in residential treatment for a while.”

  “Are you sa
ying she isn’t anymore?”

  “She’s living in a halfway house and doing work for the public defender’s office.”

  “That was quick.”

  “While she was in the residential program, they put her on medication. I guess it’s working. She seems really different.”

  “Bad different or good different?”

  Aiden smiled. “Good, of course. And she’s been talking to Reverend Hafer. He’s setting up a meeting for her and Carla to talk. She really wants to make amends.”

  “Please don’t tell me she wants to talk to me.”

  She set Scooter in his foam bed and picked an individual pod of coffee from a rack that sat next to her new individual-cup coffeemaker, popped it into the machine and put a cup under the spout before pushing the go button.

  “Okay, I won’t tell you, but she’s going to want to talk to you. It’s part of her therapy.”

  Harriet turned her back on him and rolled her eyes skyward.

  “On a totally other subject, has Hannah said anything about her brother Joshua since the bombing?”

  “I told you before, she doesn’t usually talk about her family, but I did make a point of asking her after the police found him near your house when the bombs went off. She said he’s a psychopath and can appear more normal than normal if you don’t know him. She says he tortured small animals when he was a kid and set fires.”

  “Wow. Isn’t that textbook psychopath-in-the-making behavior? That must have been tough to live with growing up.”

  “I’m getting the idea the whole Pratt family was tough to live with. Look at Sarah.”

  “She may be self-centered, but Sarah’s not evil.”

  “No, but she definitely fell into the victim role easily enough.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Aiden drew back to look at her.

  “Since when did you become a Sarah fan?”

  She took his steaming cup from the machine and handed it to him.

  “Since she’s so hurt. She may be annoying when she’s feeling well, but you should have seen her the last time we visited. She’s a wreck, and I’m not sure she’ll ever recover.”