Harriet held her hand in front of her.
“None for me either, thanks.”
Sandra nodded toward the chair opposite Connie, and Harriet circled the table and sat down as well. Sandra sat at the end of the table between them. Before sitting, she pulled a small box of mints from her pocket, opened the lid and held it out.
“None for me, thanks,” Harriet told her.
Connie declined, too, then clasped her hands on the edge of the table.
“How are you doing? I’m sure this business with Molly Baker has stirred up some bad memories for you.”
While Connie was sympathizing with Sandra, Harriet took the opportunity to look around the house. The counters were clean, if dated. The linoleum was worn but shiny with wax. A bowl of fresh fruit sat in the center of the table. Pictures covered the front of the refrigerator, all of recent vintage. The beige carpet in the living room was free of stain or wear patterns, and the brocade drapes free of dust. Not at all what she’d expected when they’d pulled up.
“I’m sure you all didn’t come by just to see how I was doing,” Sandra said. She reached over and patted Connie’s hand. “I do appreciate your sympathy, but how can I help you?”
Harriet cleared her throat.
“Molly is, or was, the half-sister of one of the women in our quilt group. When she came back to town in advance of a benefit her organization is putting on, she stopped by and talked to us about helping her figure out what happened to her all those years ago.”
Sandra looked down and shook her head.
“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but that girl has plagued my life for the last ten years or more. As soon as she reached her teens, she started coming around here, asking if we could tell her anything about the time when she was kidnapped. Losing a child is the worst thing that can happen in this life, and then having to relive it year after year has been almost unbearable. At one point, I even talked to the police. I didn’t want to have to take a restraining order out on her, but she was upsetting my other kids.”
“Did she come here in the last couple of weeks?” Connie asked.
“She did. She’d left us alone for probably six months, but she came back…” She thought for a moment. “…Tuesday of last week, maybe. It might have been Monday. She wanted to know if I’d remembered anything new. Seriously, my daughter disappeared twenty years ago. I’ve wracked my brain for anything the police could use to help figure out what happened to Amber. If I knew anything I’d have told them then.”
She blew her breath out. “If I’d known she was going to be taken, maybe I’d have been able to remember better, but honestly, it was just a day like any other. I remember I was doing laundry, but I did laundry every day. I was in the basement folding clothes. Amber and Molly had been watching a cartoon on TV. I didn’t let my kids watch a lot of TV, so I’d set the timer and she would stay right there until the bell went off.
“Anyway, as I said, I was working downstairs, and I guess I didn’t realize that Amber hadn’t come down—when her timer would go off, she’d usually come to wherever I was and try to talk me into another show. I figured she and Molly were playing.”
Sandra got up and got a tissue from a box in a crocheted cover. She dabbed at her eyes then returned to her seat.
“I don’t know how long I was down there before I noticed she hadn’t come. I feel so guilty. If I’d just gone upstairs and checked on them, Amber might still be here.”
“I’m sorry we’re bringing this all back up again,” Connie said and looked at Harriet.
“Molly had asked us to try to figure out what happened to her back then, and now she’s dead, so we’re hoping to find some answers for her sister. What we wondered is if you could tell us what the police thought happened twenty years ago. I know lots of times the police have an idea what happened in a crime, but they can’t get enough evidence to prosecute anyone.”
“Honestly, they told us they thought she had been taken by a man who took several children in the Puget Sound area in that same time period. A man named Joe Kondro. They never found Amber.” She sobbed a little. “They put him in jail for killing a couple of other children. He died in prison in twenty-twelve. I have to tell you—for me and my sons, it’s over. I’ll always feel guilty about leaving Amber and Molly upstairs alone, but I believe that man killed her, and now he’s dead.”
“Did they say back then what they thought happened to Molly?” Harriet asked her.
Sandra shook her head.
“They said she was a lucky girl, that she somehow escaped whoever took them. Or maybe the killer had a plan that involved only one girl. Molly didn’t fit his pattern. God works in mysterious ways. Apparently, though, he wasn’t done with her.” She shook her head. “I tried to tell her she was the lucky one, but she didn’t believe me. My therapist said she had survivor’s guilt.”
“Diós mio. That poor girl suffered her whole life because she was the one who lived.” Connie pressed her lips together and shook her head, unconsciously mimicking Sandra.
Harriet stood up.
“Thanks for taking the time to talk to us. We’ll pass on what you told us to Molly’s family. I think it’ll help them.”
“I hope so. It’s time for all of us to stop living in the past.”
“Thanks again,” Harriet said.
She and Connie didn’t speak until they were in the car and driving away.
“So, what did you think?” she asked.
“I feel so sorry for that woman and her family. I can’t imagine losing a child.”
“That’s what I was thinking. And then to have Molly wanting to talk about it all the time must have made it worse than it already was.”
“Funny, Molly never mentioned the serial killer explanation.”
Harriet looked down at her hands.
“It’s terrible to say, but if Molly accepted it was a serial killer that would mean it was random, and she’d have to move on with her life. She wasn’t ready to do that.”
“It makes you wonder what happened in her head that she got stuck at that time and place in her life.”
“What it makes me wonder is who killed Molly if it wasn’t related to what happened when she was five.”
“We still have the abusive ex to track down, and we’ve got to see what Lauren’s found in her search of Molly’s past work situations.”
“Do you have time to drive us to Molly’s office? That’s our first stop in tracking Josh Phillips.”
“This is more important; what I need to do can wait,” Connie said. She turned left at the next corner and headed them toward the offices of the local missing children’s organization.
Harriet’s heart made an involuntary lurch when she saw a familiar vintage black Bronco in the parking lot of The Carey Bates Missing and Exploited Children Organization. Connie looked at her and reached a hand out to pat hers as she drove in and parked.
“Honey, it’s not Aiden.”
Harriet stiffened at the touch.
“I didn’t think it was.”
“Aiden asked Carla to drive each of the cars in the garage once in a while.”
A closer looked showed Wendy’s car seat in the back.
Connie turned to Harriet.
“I know this has been hard on you, but it’s been hard on Aiden, too. He’s still trying to figure out what it all means.”
“Avanell was your friend, and I understand that you and Aunt Beth and Mavis feel like you have to rally around Aiden in his time of trouble. The part I’m having trouble with is being cut out of the whole process. He’s all but stopped calling me, and when he does, we don’t have anything to talk about. There hasn’t been the slightest suggestion about the future. He talks about his work in Africa and how exciting it is and how it helps him forget what happened here. There hasn’t been any talk about us. None.”
Harriet had spent more than a few sleepless nights trying to convince herself that Aiden’s escape to Africa and his lack of commu
nication since was understandable, given his mother’s death and then his sister’s betrayal. But even with all of the tragedy he’d had to deal with, if he loved her the way he’d said he did, why did he insist on shutting her out? More important, did they have a future as a couple if he wasn’t willing to talk?
A tear slid down Harriet’s face and dripped down onto her folded hands.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. You didn’t do anything to deserve this, and we care about and support you, too. None of us is enjoying seeing you hurting.”
She handed Harriet a tissue from a box on the car’s center console.
Another tear followed the first down Harriet’s cheek, and she dabbed at it with the now wadded-up tissue.
“What if he never comes home?” she said her voice bleak.
“You will be just fine. You have me and your aunt and the rest of the Threads. Besides, I think you need to think more about what you’re going to do when he does come home.”
Harriet looked stricken.
Connie handed her another tissue.
“Come on, dry your eyes. This isn’t the time for this discussion. We can talk it out later when your aunt and Mavis are there. We need to find out about Josh and see what Carla has learned.”
The workers in the office were all wearing their own personal version of mourning. A girl who looked like she was still in her teens had on an orange tunic with black trim over black-and-white striped leggings. An older woman wore a plain white sari over salwar kameez, the pants and shirt often seen under a sari, although her skin was so pale it was hard to imagine her as East Indian.
A blonde in a gray linen suit came out to greet them.
“How may I help you?” she said automatically and then recognized Harriet. “I’m sorry, you’re Molly’s friend. She showed us your picture on the Internet from when you helped with a local murder.”
“Which one?” Connie muttered so only Harriet could hear. Harriet elbowed her.
Since Harriet didn’t respond immediately, the woman continued.
“We’re all so sorry about Molly’s death. Her organization has helped us so much. We were just a small local effort until Molly asked us to join her group. She connected us to national databases we didn’t even know existed. And she held meetings with other groups like us so we could pool our resources when an event happened. We’ve recovered four girls since we came under her parent organization.” She looked at the woman in the sari. “I hope someone continues her work.”
She paused a moment. It seemed like it was the first time she’d thought about the broader implications of Molly’s passing.
“She told us you were helping her find out what happened to her when she was young,” the woman finished, “and also helping to figure out what happened to little Amber Price.”
Harriet took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m afraid Molly greatly exaggerated our crime-solving abilities. Our quilt group has been involved in a few local crimes, but only when it impacted us somehow. We’re not detectives, we’re quilters.”
“So, if you’re not here to investigate what happened to Molly, how can I help you?”
Harriet looked at Connie for help.
“We came to see if you know how to get in touch with Josh Phillips. As you know, we’re making quilts for the three major donors at your fundraiser. We planned the quilts when it was just the two that were going to women. We were thinking we maybe should check with Josh to see if our color selections were going to be okay for him. If he’s keeping it, he might want a more masculine choice.”
Harriet kept her face carefully neutral and watched the blonde. She knew there wasn’t a chance on earth they would start over on Josh’s quilt. He was getting lavender and green whether he liked it or not.
“I don’t know if he’s still in town, but as of Monday he was. He came by in the morning to talk about the arrangements for wiring his donation to our account.”
“Do you know how to get in touch with him?” Harriet asked.
“He’s staying at the motel downtown. At least that’s what he said.”
Carla came in from an interior hallway. She looked at the girl in the orange tunic.
“Thanks, Sadie,” she said and paused only briefly to say bye to Connie and Harriet before hustling out the door.
“We’d better get going, too,” Harriet said and followed Carla before the blond woman could ask the questions that were clearly occurring to her, judging by the look on her face.
“Thanks,” Connie said over her shoulder as they exited.
Carla was standing beside Connie’s car when they were all clear of the building.
“Nice save,” Harriet told Connie as they walked up to the car. She filled Carla in on the deception.
“I was worried when I saw you in the reception area,” Carla said. “Sadie told her boss that I wanted to consult the psychic Molly had gone to, and that she’d let me check her calendar.”
Harriet smiled.
“Good going. Will your friend be in trouble for helping you?”
Carla’s mouth curled up on one side.
“No, the office manager is her aunt. She gets away with murder.” She paused, and her face turned pink. “I didn’t mean…”
Connie patted her arm.
“We know what you mean. Now, did you find a name?”
“I did.” She held out a piece of paper with a name and number on it. Harriet looked at the paper then folded it and put it in her purse.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll give her a call and see if she can meet with us tomorrow. Did you see anything else while you were in Molly’s office?”
“I wasn’t sure what might be important.” Carla pulled her smartphone from her pocket and tapped several buttons on its screen.
“I took pictures of her calendar on the computer and the paper appointment book on her desk.”
Harriet patted her on the back.
“Good going. You may have a future as a real detective.”
Connie looked back toward the office building.
“We should go. I don’t want that woman seeing we’re still here and coming out here to ask more questions.”
Chapter 17
Harriet checked her phone as Scooter sniffed at every blade of grass along the side of her driveway. She realized she’d silenced it before she and Connie went into Molly’s office and had forgotten to wake it up when they left. Jorge had left a voice message. She pressed the speaker button then activated the message.
“I’m making tacos al pastor for your aunt tonight. There will be plenty for you to join us, and bring Blondie, if you want.” said the disembodied voice. “No need to call, just come around six.”
Harriet looked at the time. She could stitch for thirty minutes or so and still make it in plenty of time.
“Want to go see your friend Brownie?” she asked her dog. He looked up at her briefly and went back to sniffing.
She called Lauren, and they arranged to meet at her aunt’s house in an hour.
They arrived at Beth’s house at the same time.
“Are you sure your aunt is up for this party?” Lauren asked as they started for the front door.
“I called her before I left home, and she specifically said to bring our dogs. She said Brownie is going stir crazy having to stay home and wanted company of the canine variety.”
“I think we know who’s the one going stir crazy,” Lauren said and tapped on the door before opening it.
“How are you feeling,” Harriet asked when she’d unleashed her dog and put her purse in the front closet.
Beth was sitting in her leather recliner, her foot elevated.
Harriet removed her shoes without thinking. The chair sat on a large hand-braided wool rug her aunt had spent years making. Beth didn’t care if shoes touched her rug, but Harriet knew how much work had gone into the gathering, cutting and dying of all the wool coats that went into the rug and didn’t want to chance soiling it.
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“I’m fine. I’ve been trying to tell everyone I’m fine. You don’t have to keep treating me like an invalid.”
“Until your doctor decides you’re good enough to start physical therapy, we’re going to make sure you follow his orders and keep your foot elevated and rest,” Harriet told her.
Aunt Beth pressed her lips together but didn’t say anything. Harriet guessed she’d lost this argument more than once in the last two days.
Jorge carried in a tray with an artfully arranged plate of meat, tortillas and vegetables and set it across Beth’s lap.
“I’m going to weigh a thousand pounds if you keep feeding me like this.” She smiled up at him.
“I trust you ladies can help yourselves in the kitchen,” he said without looking at them.
In the kitchen, Lauren handed Harriet an empty plate from a stack Jorge had set up on the counter and took one for herself.
“That Jorge’s a clever one.”
Harriet scooped meat onto her plate and picked two soft corn tortillas from a Styrofoam holder.
“You mean the way he lured us over here to entertain my aunt? I’m willing to do his bidding as long as he throws in a meal like this.”
They carried their loaded plates back to the living room and sat on the sofa.
“Eat your dinner, and then you can fill me in on what I’ve missed,” Beth instructed them.
“We haven’t learned much since we last saw you,” Harriet said when her plate was empty.
“Actually, we’ve learned a lot. It just isn’t very useful,” Lauren corrected.
“We met Sandra Price,” Harriet began. “Two things came of that. First, she was getting tired of Molly constantly reminding her of her loss. Second, there was a serial killer who was active in the area and specialized in small children. He was captured and subsequently died in jail. The police at the time told her that, while they had no physical evidence in Amber’s case, she fit the profile of the three other victims.”
Beth straightened in her chair.
“That’s interesting. It doesn’t tell us anything about Molly’s death, but it’s curious she didn’t tell us about it. And she must have known, as often as she says she checked in with the police.”
Disappearing Nine Patch (A Harriet Truman/Loose Threads Mystery Book 9) Page 12