“Go,” Tom said. “I’m sure we’ll still be here when you’re done.”
“Surely not,” Jenny said. “Slashed tires can’t possibly warrant that much attention.”
“I’ll wait with your car if you’re done before then,” Tom offered.
Harriet pressed the face of her phone again while Tom was talking.
“Are you in your jammies yet? You are? Can you please meet me in the parking lot in front of the exhibit hall? Jenny has had a little car trouble. I think she might appreciate the support.” She turned to Tom. “Aunt Beth’s back at the restaurant with Jorge, prepping food for tomorrow.”
“Did you have to call your aunt?” Jenny asked. “I was hoping we could just keep this between us.”
“Us and Tom and the tow drivers, Detective Morse and whoever she brings with her,” Harriet said. “Jenny, whatever is going on, you’re going to have to talk about it, and I suggest sooner rather than later, before anything more serious happens. I thought you might like the support of the Loose Threads when you do.”
Chapter 15
Jorge’s pickup stopped a discreet distance from Jenny’s car, and he got out, coming around and opening Aunt Beth’s door before helping her down to the pavement. Aunt Beth strode over to Jenny and pulled her into a silent hug. Jorge came to stand beside Tom and Harriet.
“The fun never ends around here, eh?” he said with a grim smile. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
“None at all. We went to one of the movies, and when we came out, there was a tow truck hooking up to Jenny’s car, and she hadn’t told anyone,” Harriet said in a quiet voice.
“Harriet thought Jenny might need some moral support, so she called her aunt. Jenny agreed to let us call Detective Morse instead of nine-one-one,” Tom added.
“This is getting to be a habit,” Detective Morse said as she got out of her car ten minutes later. She’d stopped behind Harriet and Tom. “Are there any crimes in Foggy Point you’re not in the middle of,” she asked Harriet.
“Not on purpose,” Harriet protested.
“So, what happened here? The Cliff Notes version, not the novel.”
“We came out after the movies, found Jenny here with all four tires slashed and a tow truck. We called you. That brief enough?”
Morse turned to Tom.
“You have anything to add?”
He held his hands up as if to protest.
“Nothing. It’s like Harriet said.”
Aunt Beth guided Jenny over to the group.
“Do you have any idea who would do this?” Morse asked Jenny. “Do you have any enemies? Anyone been bothering you recently?”
“Someone tried to shoot her,” Harriet said. “Isn’t that enemy enough?”
“I’m sorry, Detective Truman, I didn’t realize you’d joined the force,” Morse said sarcastically.
“Jane,” Aunt Beth said, “what’s gotten into you? You know Harriet’s just trying to help. You wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t insisted Jenny call.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s a lot of pressure to solve the murder before the big festival weekend events. The city council members have each come to the department and spoken to my boss.”
“This should help, then,” Harriet said. “Another try at Jenny should help focus the investigation, right? Weren’t you still investigating the victim’s background?”
“Quite the opposite, actually. The victim does have some issues, but this just clouds things. If Jenny was the target of the sniper, and he realizes he killed the wrong person, why would he slash her tires instead of shooting at her. If that person knew where her car was parked, he’d wait for her to come out here and take a second shot.”
“Oh,” Harriet said.
“Yeah, snipers are not tire slashers—ever.”
“So, what does this mean,” Aunt Beth asked.
“I don’t know,” Morse admitted. “It could be a complete coincidence, it could be related in some way we can’t see yet, or it could be that whoever killed our victim did hit the right target and is trying to muddy the waters by harassing Jenny.”
“So, if this is unrelated to the murder, it would be important to figure it out as quickly as possible, right?” Harriet asked, staring at Jenny the whole time she was speaking.
Jenny’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a big sigh.
“It was probably my brother,” she said. “I talked to him this morning, and we didn’t part on civil terms. It would be very like him to have a tantrum and slit my tires.”
“What did he want?” Harriet asked.
Detective Morse glared at her.
“Sorry,” she said and took a step back.
“What did he want?” Morse repeated.
“What he always wants,” Jenny said. “Money.”
“But he wouldn’t take your money,” Harriet said. “That’s what I saw in the parking lot, isn’t it?”
Morse glared at her again but then turned to Jenny to hear the answer.
“He wants—or needs—a lot more money than I could give him. He’s always one deal away from the big score, and he never has quite enough money to pull it off. I haven’t seen him in years, and I didn’t want to know what he needed the money for.”
“Do you want to take out a restraining order against him?” Detective Morse asked.
“I didn’t even want to report the tires, if you’ll remember. I certainly don’t want to take out a restraining order. I want to go home, put my feet up and forget that the last two days ever happened.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple,” Detective Morse said. “Unless we bring your brother in and talk to him, we won’t know for sure it was him. I can’t promise, but depending on what else I find in the system, and what we can prove or not prove, he can probably get out of this without doing any jail time.”
“I would appreciate it if you could help him. I know he slashed my tires and all, but he is my brother.”
“I take it he doesn’t live here. Did he tell you where he’s staying?”
“I have no idea. I don’t think he’s living in Foggy Point,” Jenny said. “I hadn’t seen him until this morning, and he’s hard to miss.”
“How so?” Morse asked.
Jenny described Bobby’s tattoo.
“Okay, I think we’re through here,” Morse said. She made a few notes in a tattered notebook she’d pulled from her pocket. “You can go ahead and bring the tow truck back.”
“My offer still stands—I’ll wait for the tow truck if you want,” Tom said.
“I’ll keep you company,” Jorge offered. “If Harriet will take her aunt and Jenny home, that is.”
“Of course,” Harriet said.
Tom pulled his phone from his pocket and began dialing the tow truck as Harriet led Jenny and her aunt to her car. They drove to Jenny’s house in silence.
“Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” Jenny asked when Harriet pulled into the driveway.
“I’d love a cup, if you’re not too tired,” Aunt Beth said. Harriet nodded in agreement, following her aunt’s lead.
“I’d appreciate the company.” Jenny ushered them inside. “Go ahead and sit in the den, and I’ll bring the tea,” she added and disappeared down a hallway to the back of the house.
Harriet took off her jacket then helped Beth out of hers, laying them across the arm of the chintz-covered sofa.
“Harriet, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the complete truth this morning,” Jenny began fifteen minutes later as she set a tray laden with a teapot and three cups along with a sugar bowl and small pitcher of milk on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I was taken by surprise when my brother showed up, and I guess I’m embarrassed by him.
“It’s not just how he looks, although that’s gotten more bizarre each time I see him. It’s the way he’s chosen to live his life. When he worked at all, it was usually as a gofer for some minor league drug dealer. Now I think he has so
me disability scam going, so we’re all supporting him and paying for his ‘medical’ marijuana.”
“Oh, honey,” Aunt Beth soothed. “That’s none of your doing.”
“Still, like I said, it’s embarrassing. He showed up today, and he had yet another get-rich-quick scheme, and all he needed was ten thousand dollars. I guess he thinks we’re made of money and have wads of it sitting around the house waiting for someone like him to ask for it. I tried to explain to him that, even if I did want to help him, which I don’t, no one has that kind of cash laying around.”
“Did he say what the scheme was?” Harriet asked.
“No, but then, I didn’t give him a chance. I told him I didn’t want to know.”
Beth reached over and patted Jenny’s hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “No one is responsible for how their kinfolk act, and if he’s that troubled, you did right by refusing to help him.”
“How’d things go at the show today?” Harriet asked, changing the subject.
“No one wants to come close to my quilt. I’m not sure why the committee still wants me to be there. I barely got to take a break, too. Sharon was afraid to stand on the stage by it, so she would only talk to people from the aisle in front of the stage.”
“Did you talk to Marjory?” Harriet asked.
“She came by and could see no one was stopping. I think Sharon might have said something to her as well.”
“What did Marjory say?” Beth asked and took another sip of her tea.
“She was going to talk to the Amish group and see if they would be willing to take over my platform and let me have theirs, but I haven’t heard what they said yet.”
Beth turned the conversation to the perils of preparing food in an outdoor food cart, successfully distracting Jenny for the next half-hour.
“We should get going and let you get comfortable,” she said when they’d exhausted the topic. “I hope you can go to bed early and get some rest.”
Harriet got up and handed Aunt Beth her coat before leading the way to the front door.
Chapter 16
“How tired are you?” Harriet asked her aunt when they were back in the car.
“I’d like to get back to Brownie. Why? What did you have in mind?”
“I want to see what Lauren has dug up on Jenny’s brother, and I’d rather talk it over in person.”
“Well, I gave Penny a key so she could walk Brownie in the evening when Rod’s off-duty, just in case something came up. Let me check in with her.”
“While you do that, I’ll call Lauren and see if she’s available.”
“Lauren said she can meet us at the Steaming Cup,” Harriet reported when Aunt Beth finished telling her neighbor about the goings on at the festival.
“Penny said she’s just taken Brownie out for a quick potty break, so we’re good to go. I didn’t know the Cup stayed open that late.”
“Lauren says it does, and she spends a lot of hours on her computer with her coffee cup in hand. I think she knows every late-night spot in town.”
“I’m usually in my jammies by now, so I wouldn’t know.”
“I can take you home, if it’s too late for you.”
“I think I can bear up,” Aunt Beth said with a grin.
Harriet parked next to Lauren’s car in the lot and led her aunt into the coffeehouse. Lauren was sitting in a large upholstered chair near the door.
“Where’s your computer?” Harriet asked.
“I finished my work and was about to leave when you called. I figured you two would like cushy chairs, so I moved over here. Get your drinks, and let’s talk.”
“Hot chocolate?” Harriet asked, and when her aunt nodded, she went to the counter to order. Beth sat in a purple chair with a matching ottoman and put her feet up. Her ankles looked swollen, and Harriet made a mental note to ask about it when they were alone.
“So, Bobby Cosgrove lives in the St. Martin de Porres Shelter on Alaskan Way in Seattle,” Lauren reported when Harriet had delivered her aunt’s chocolate and settled in a chair with her own cup. “My sources tell me the shelter specializes in homeless men over the age of fifty. They, of course, wouldn’t tell me anything about him other than to verify his address when I pretended to be a prospective employer.
“So far, I can’t find anything about him on the Internet. Either Bobby Cosgrove isn’t his real name, or it’s possible, if he’s been long-term homeless, that he’s just never done anything that leaves a trail out in the ether. I’ll keep digging, though.”
“We learned he’s Jenny’s brother,” Harriet reported. She described the tire-slashing incident.
“Wait a minute,” Lauren said, holding her hand up for emphasis.
Harriet had been about to take a sip of her chocolate but stopped.
“What time did this happen?”
“We’re not sure. Tom and I came out of the movie at eight-thirty. Jenny was at her car with its shredded tires.”
“Bobby didn’t do it.”
“But we don’t know when it happened,” Harriet said. “Most of the parking lot emptied at five when the exhibit hall closed. He could have slashed the tires any time after that.”
“Wasn’t Bobby,” Lauren insisted.
“How can you be so sure?” Aunt Beth asked.
“My guys had so much fun tracking him down they went into overdrive. They decided to follow him and see if they could find out where he’s staying locally. Before you say anything, they didn’t tell me until he went to ground. They’ve had eyes on him all night.
“He hung around Annie’s after we left, hitchhiked to the Catholic church, where they were serving dinner for the hungry or homeless and then he got a ride to Fogg Park, presumably to stay in the homeless camp. He was last seen walking into the woods in that direction. My watcher drove around the perimeter then took up a post just beyond the access road into the park. He hasn’t moved.”
“Then who slashed Jenny’s tires?” Beth asked.
“Don’t ask me,” Lauren replied. “All I know is, it wasn’t Bobby.”
“Detective Morse said it wasn’t likely a sniper would also be a tire-slasher. She said the shooter would likely have taken a second chance to shoot.”
“Sounds logical, but clearly, Bobby didn’t slash her tires, so who did?” Lauren asked.
“That’s the question,” Aunt Beth said thoughtfully. “Jenny made a good case for why it should be her brother. I guess it’s within his character.”
“I just wonder if Jenny is telling us the whole story yet,” Harriet said.
“Well, we aren’t going to solve this tonight,” Aunt Beth said. “And if Jenny is holding something back, I’m sure she has a good reason.
“You ladies going to the prom tomorrow night?” Lauren asked.
“No,” Harriet said at the same time her aunt said, “Yes.”
“Really?” Harriet asked, turning to look at Aunt Beth.
“Don’t sound so surprised. Jorge asked me, and I said yes.”
“I’d have guessed you’d be going with one of your many beaux,” Lauren said to Harriet.
“Aiden and I had planned on going, but after the other night, that’s not going to happen. Tom would probably go if I wanted, but my outfit matches Aiden’s, and somehow that doesn’t seem right, so I’m going to sit this one out.”
“What about you?” Aunt Beth asked Lauren.
“I’m going to be leading an antiwar protest at the entrance. Before you get on my case—the festival committee asked me to organize it. They thought it would add authenticity to the event. I don’t know if I’m insulted or flattered that they assumed I wouldn’t be going to the prom, but as a concession, they’re letting us protest inside the entrance so we don’t freeze to death, so I figured, what the hey, I wasn’t going to go, and this way I get to see everyone’s costumes.”
“This could be useful,” Harriet said and leaned back in her chair.
“What? You want to join ou
r protest?”
“I believe I do. I think it will be the perfect excuse to keep an eye on things.”
“Need I remind you that Foggy Point has a police force, and you’re not on it?” Aunt Beth said.
“You’re starting to sound like Detective Morse,” Harriet chided. “Besides, I’m not going to do anything but keep my eyes open.”
“I’ve heard that one before,” Aunt Beth said and drained the last of the chocolate from her cup. She stood up. “I’m going to need my beauty rest if I’m going to be ready for the big dance.
“Let me know if you hear anything interesting from your surveillance team,” Harriet said as she also stood up and zipped her coat.
“Will do, chief,” Lauren said with a mock salute.
“Do you know who else is going to the prom?” Harriet asked as she and her aunt walked to the car.
Aunt Beth filled Harriet in on the Loose Threads prom plans on the ride to her cottage on the Strait of Juan de Fuca. A chill wind swept in from the water as she got out of the car and hurried to her door. Everyone talked about the “Summer of Love” when they were discussing the nineteen-sixties, Harriet mused as she drove away, but there must have been winters, too, weren’t there?
Harriet’s headlights illuminated a dark figure sitting on the steps to her studio as she drove up her driveway, past the studio, and into her garage. She got out, dropping her purse and coat in the kitchen as she hurried to the studio. She unlocked the door.
It was Aiden. His cheeks and nose were bright red, and his fingers were like ice as she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.
“Are you trying to kill yourself? It’s freezing out there.”
He stood inside the door, rubbing his arms with his hands.
“Come into the kitchen and let me make you something hot to drink. Then you can tell me why you’re trying to commit suicide by hypothermia on my porch steps.”
He followed her without saying anything.
Make Quilts Not War Page 10