Quilter's Knot Read online

  "We decided to come back and get started on our blocks,” Connie added. “After a little snack."

  She pushed the platter of cookies toward Carla, who politely took one.

  "By the way,” Mavis said, “we found a note taped to the door when we got back. Beth sent a fax to you at the UPS Store, and someone from the school picked it up for you. It's in the front office.” She fished the note out the pocket of her plaid shirt and handed it to Harriet.

  "Thanks. I guess I'll go see what Aunt Beth's got for us."

  Carla put her cookie down.

  "You don't have to come. I'm just going to the office, and there are people going back and forth on all the paths."

  "I think it'll be okay,” Mavis agreed. “Harriet's right. You have your cookie, and when Harriet's back we'll see what Beth's dug up."

  Connie poured a glass of milk and handed it to Carla—Harriet wondered if she noticed how the two of them worked at adding nutritious foods to her diet. She had to admit, Carla's skin was clearer for their efforts. If they knew she lived in a car they'd both have strokes, right there on the floor.

  "See you in a few,” she said, and left.

  Tom was in the office when she arrived.

  "Hey,” he said.

  "Hi, I came to pick up a fax from my aunt. Someone brought it here from the UPS Store."

  "Yeah, that was me. I was shipping some stuff, and Bill asked if I'd bring you a fax. I left it with Nancy. She stepped out for a minute, but it should be right here."

  He started ruffling through the papers on Nancy's desk.

  The outside door opened, and two men dressed in jeans and plaid flannel shirts entered the reception area. Harriet moved aside to make room for them. The larger one pulled off his leather work gloves and took a business card from his shirt pocket. He reached across the counter and handed it to Tom.

  "We're from Angel's Wing Landscaping. The boss said you have some monkshood you need removed."

  "So I've been told,” Tom said. “We've found some in a bouquet of cut flowers in one of the residence buildings. We usually get the flowers from our wildflower meadow, so I assume there must be some there. I don't know what it looks like, so I hoped you could check the meadow and, if you find it, remove it. And while you're here, check the rest of the grounds and see if it's growing anywhere else."

  "I'm going to be surprised if it turns out you have any here. It's not something that usually grows down this low on its own. Someone would have had to plant it."

  "I don't care how it got here,” Tom said, a hard edge creeping into his voice. “Someone used it to kill my mother, and I want it gone—now."

  The man looked down, avoiding Tom's glare. “I'm sorry for your loss,” he said. “Miz Bainbridge was a fine woman.” He nudged his partner toward the door. “We'll get right on it."

  Tom turned his back to Harriet and continued searching Nancy's desk.

  "Here it is,” he said and handed it to her. She took the envelope and started for the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.

  He looked up. “Sure,” he said. “Anything."

  "Why do you need to hire guys to identify monkshood for you?"

  "Because I don't know what it looks like. Why?"

  She turned back to face him. “It just seems a little odd that a guy with a degree in botany would need to hire people to identify a plant."

  "What are you talking about?” His voice rose. “Why on earth do you think I have a degree in botany?"

  "Patience mentioned it the other day. She said you worked for the forestry department before you came here. I thought she said you had a degree in botany."

  "She was right. I did work for the Department of Forestry. As an architect. I still do work for them. I design buildings that are compatible with the forest. Visitor centers, fire lookout structures, that sort of thing."

  "I was sure Patience said you were a botanist."

  "She probably did. My mom and Patience were obsessed with quilting and this school. I told them a hundred times what I did, and it just went in one ear and out the other. They didn't really listen unless I said something about this school. My own mother couldn't have told you what I did before I came here. I mean, she had a vague knowledge that I graduated from architecture school, but beyond that, not so much."

  "Okay, I guess I'll see you later,"

  "Wait a minute.” He came around the counter and stood toe-to-toe with her. “You think I poisoned my mom, don't you?"

  Harriet felt heat creep up her neck to her cheeks. “When Patience said you had a degree in botany, it sort of fit. Who better to condense a poisonous plant than a botanist?” She smiled an embarrassed smile.

  "If this weren't so ridiculous I'd be insulted.” He clasped her arms just below her shoulders, but before she got to find out what more he was about to say, the door to the office banged open and Aiden appeared.

  "Oh, geez, not you again,” Tom growled.

  "Stop!” Harriet ordered.

  "Get your hands off her."

  "Aiden, stop—he didn't do anything. We're just talking."

  "It doesn't look like ‘just talking’ from here. Your face is red, and he's got his hands on you again."

  Tom dropped his hands and stepped back.

  "We just had a misunderstanding,” Harriet explained. “Not that it's any of your business. You're not my bodyguard."

  "Somebody needs to be."

  "Come on, let's not do this again."

  He continued to glare at Tom.

  "What I need from both of you is help,” she said. “Lauren's missing."

  "Didn't we already know that?” Aiden asked.

  "We knew she was dodging the police, but I think she's really missing now.” She explained her observation of Les, who had obviously expected to find Lauren in the equipment garage, leaving out the part about her and Carla tailing him.

  "What do you need from me?” Tom asked.

  "I'd like to search the grounds. Not the classrooms but any other outbuildings that might make good hiding spots. I hoped you could identify those places and maybe let us into buildings if they're locked. And if either of you is going into Angel Harbor this afternoon, I'd like to check out Lauren's brother's apartment. She said she'd been staying there but wasn't going to anymore, but I'd still like to check just to be sure."

  "You don't ask for much, do you?” Tom said.

  "I know, and I'm sorry for what I said earlier, but I'm really starting to worry about Lauren."

  Tom looked at his watch. “I have to go meet with a guy about security. The soonest I could look for Lauren would be around one o'clock."

  "I have to go, too. I was just stopping by on my way to the hospital. I've got two more hours of surgery when I get back. I can come back after that—probably around two or two-thirty.” Aiden took the key to the rental car from his pocket. “Should I meet you back here?"

  "Sure, thanks.” Lauren could be dead by then, but sure, she thought.

  "I can check Les's apartment when I go into Angel Harbor,” Tom offered. “I'm not a breaking and entering kind of guy, but I'll knock and see if anyone answers."

  "Okay, I guess that's better than nothing."

  "We could tell Detective Ruiz our concerns and let him search for Lauren,” Tom said. “If you really think she's in danger, that might be the best thing to do."

  "Detective Ruiz believes Lauren killed your mother. Somehow, I don't think he's going to be concerned about her welfare."

  "I just wanted to put it out there,” Tom said with a sigh. “I've got to go. I'll see you later.” He nodded at Aiden and left the office as Nancy came back in.

  Aiden walked Harriet back to the Tree House. “I still don't like that guy, but he does have a point about calling the police."

  She stopped in the middle of the path. “Detective Ruiz wants to put Lauren in jail. With her attitude and big mouth, she's liable to resist arrest and end up in jail even though she didn'
t do anything."

  "Okay, I guess I'll be back for the big search, then."

  Harriet went up the steps to the Tree House without looking back.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Mavis, Connie and Carla were seated at the dining table when Harriet came in. Fat quarters of fabric, the quilters name for a half-yard of material that has been cut in half to make two eighteen-by-twenty-two-inch squares, sat in color-coordinated piles on the table top. Each pile had a swatch of the background fabric they'd been given for the memorial quilts next to it.

  "Have you got it figured out?” she asked as she joined them.

  "Not quite,” Mavis admitted, “but we're getting there. We need a green option. Do you have anything with you that we could try?"

  "I have a Kelly green piece with my half-rectangle stuff. Let me go get it.” She dropped the envelope with the fax from Aunt Beth on the table and went upstairs, coming back down a few minutes later with her canvas project bag on her arm. She pulled out a handful of green fabric and laid it next to the nearest pile of fabric.

  "Hmmm,” Mavis said. “This might work."

  "Help yourself, I've got plenty."

  "What did Beth send?” Connie asked.

  "I don't know. I haven't even looked."

  Mavis stopped moving piles of fabric and looked at Harriet over the top of her reading glasses.

  "You haven't looked?"

  Harriet explained about Tom being in the office and Aiden's arrival. Connie picked up the envelope and handed it to her.

  "So, let's find out."

  There were several pages in the packet. The first was a cover sheet and the second a handwritten note from Beth.

  I called the museum and said I was interested in commissioning a quilt that would be similar to the copy of Lauren's. I asked if they could take a couple of pictures, including one of the quilt label. I thought you might find that one useful. I asked for more information about the artist and I've included what they sent me. Let me know if you need anything else."

  It was signed, Beth.

  Harriet pulled the pictures out and found the one of the label.

  "Whoa,” she said and began reading. “Wildwood, created by Patsy Jackson in September 2007 in Angel Harbor, Washington, USA."

  "Who the heck is Patsy Jackson?” Mavis asked.

  "Let me see here.” Harriet flipped through the papers and pulled one to the top. “'Patsy Jackson is a teacher who comes to England four times a year to do workshops at the guild. She lives in Angel Harbor, Washington, and has been doing fiber arts for twenty-five years.’ There's a handwritten addition that says they've been handling her work for five years and have many satisfied customers who would be willing to provide recommendations. It goes on to say that, for the protection of their artists, they don't give out phone numbers or addresses, but would be happy to have Mrs. Jackson contact Aunt Beth if she decided to go forward with her commission."

  "I don't remember seeing a Patsy Jackson offering classes here,” Mavis said.

  "Me, either,” Connie agreed. “I wonder what she teaches."

  "Maybe she doesn't teach here,” Harriet said and flipped through the papers again. “It only says she teaches in England. She lives in Angel Harbor, but it says nothing about her teaching here."

  "How could she live here and be a quilt teacher and not teach at the Folk Art Center?” Connie asked.

  "Politics, maybe,” Mavis offered. “The question is, how did she get access to Lauren's quilt in order to copy it?"

  "Maybe she's a student here,” Carla suggested.

  "Good point,” Harriet said, and Carla blushed. “Or maybe more than one person is in on it. Maybe she has a partner here. How else could you explain the obvious copying that Carla and I saw? Maybe Patsy and Selestina did it together."

  Aunt Beth had included another picture of the quilt, but it didn't reveal anything they didn't already know. It was a really good copy.

  "The second round of lectures should be getting out in a few minutes. I think I'll go see if I can borrow a copy of the quilt block encyclopedia from one of the teachers,” she decided. “We can look and see if there are any traditional pieced blocks that have the word mother in them. And I'll have a chance to ask about Patsy Jackson."

  Carla gave her a questioning look.

  "Carla, if you want to come with me, while I'm talking to the teachers, you can hang out with the students in the lobby and see if you hear any interesting gossip."

  "If you aren't back in a half-hour, we're coming to look for you,” Connie warned.

  "Let's go,” Harriet said.

  Students were trickling out of the building when she and Carla arrived. A larger group was clustered around the table in the lobby that had the quilt information on it; Carla sidled up to them. Harriet continued on to the classrooms without saying anything. She found Ray Louise Hanson still in the room she lectured in.

  She quickly determined that the school did have several quilt block books that could be loaned to students.

  "Come with me back to the teachers’ room and you can decide which one you want,” Ray Louise said. She gathered her notes and put them in a pink rip-stop nylon bag.

  "Do you know a teacher or artist named Patsy Jackson?” Harriet asked as she followed the teacher through the series of doors and short halls. “My aunt is thinking of having her make a wall hanging."

  "I don't know anyone by that name.” Ray Louise stopped abruptly and turned around. Harriet barely avoided running into her. “I do know your aunt Beth, though, and she could easily make any kind of quilt she could ever want. Whatever you're up to, you need to come up with a better cover story. Too many of us know Beth, and don't try to say it's not Beth. She's been very worried about you the last couple of years."

  "Great,” Harriet said with a fake smile.

  "So, what are you up to?"

  She explained about Lauren's missing work, Aunt Beth's discovery of the copy and Lauren's comments to anyone who would listen that resulted in her becoming suspect number one in Selestina's death. She finished up with Lauren's disappearance.

  "Aunt Beth just faxed us a copy of the label, and it said the quilt was made by Patsy Jackson of Angel Harbor, Washington."

  "That has to be an alias,” Ray Louise said. “This community is too small for an art quilter of that level to exist here without some of us knowing her.” She silently studied her shoe for a moment. “Tell you what,” she said when she looked up again. “I'll ask all the teachers at lunch. Inessa Follansbee has been doing a workshop on stash management. She owns Angel Harbor Quilts, the local quilt store. If this Patsy exists, she has to buy fabric. Even if she's one of those people who buy their fabric online she would have to go in there sometime. I'll check with Inessa and let you know. Which residence are you staying in?"

  Harriet gave her the particulars and thanked her for her help. Once more, Aunt Beth's big mouth had paid off.

  "I have one more question,” she said. “Is there a lot of pressure on the staff of the school to keep producing new work?"

  "If you're asking if Selestina copied Lauren's work, she wouldn't need to do that as head of the school. Her teachers are a different story. Once most of the students have taken a class on a particular technique, the instructors can't fill a class anymore—there aren't enough new bodies coming in for that. Teachers have to continually come up with new and different projects and techniques to keep our base of repeat students coming back. And I'll tell you, it's hard.

  "So, yes, I could see a teacher getting desperate and maybe copying a student's work, but they would have to teach it at a different school. Here people might recognize it. Then again, most teachers teach at multiple locations. Someone could copy work here and teach a class on the technique in a quilt store in Kansas and no one would ever know."

  "Thanks,” Harriet said.

  "Good luck finding your friend's work."

  Harriet came back out to the l
obby and found a group of women still clustered near the table of instructions. Someone was speaking loudly, and as she got closer she recognized Sarah's voice.

  "I don't see why we have to use the theme of motherhood. There aren't any good blocks with motherhood in the name. If it's a gift from us to whoever, why can't we make what we think is meaningful? I'd like to make a block that represents the school. I've had such a great time here, I think an applique of the fiber arts building would be a better memorial. This is his mother's school, after all."

  "It is hard to think of a motherhood block,” a skinny blonde with thin lips said.

  "And I don't think we should be limited to techniques we learned here for the other one, either,” Sarah continued. “I took a class in Seattle and we made a paste out of flour and cornmeal and ginger ale and spread it on muslin and when it dried we shook it off and then we sprayed dye over the top and when it dries you wash it and the results are very cool."

  The blonde asked a question about what, if any, fabric prep Sarah had done. Harriet looked around the entrance hall for Carla, and finally spotted her on a small hand-carved bench near the door to the outside. She crossed the space, and Carla stood up.

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't take any more of Sarah. She isn't really letting other people talk anyway."

  "Well, it was worth a try."

  "It was kinda interesting before she showed up. That blonde in the tight jeans was riling people up about leaving. She said she never liked Selestina and ... let me think ... she said, ‘I merely tolerated her so I could take classes from her teachers.’ And then she said she would feel like a hypocrite going to her memorial service on Sunday."

  "So, what did the other people say?” Harriet pulled the door open and ushered her out.

  "They didn't get a chance to say anything. Patience came up and basically calmed everyone down. She told them that, in spite of Selestina's public persona, she was a real nice lady and only wanted what was best for the students, and after all was said and done, didn't they all have great memories of their time here? And then she said that although the school would continue and they would make many more memories, change was inevitable, and Selestina's passage marked the end of the era and surely that was worth celebrating."