"Angel Harbor is a small place,” he countered. “We don't have a lot of crime. And when we have an open homicide investigation, well, we tend to take notice of a lot of things. We also tend to notice when an ordinary citizen keeps inserting herself into our investigation. Ordinary citizens don't do that, so that makes us wonder why this one does."
Harriet sighed and looked at the ceiling, silently counting to ten. She handed Detective Ruiz the pink note. “Nancy in the office gave me this note. I thought it was legitimate so I came here. The door was open, and the room looked like this."
"And I got a text message to meet Harriet here,” Tom said. “It turns out it wasn't really from her."
"So, what's going on here?” Detective Ruiz asked, looking at Tom and then Harriet.
"I wish I knew,” she said.
"I don't understand why anyone would do this to my office,” Tom said. “There's nothing of any value here. I mainly have the correspondence between us and our affiliated schools, and the shipping records of materials we send back and forth. The school's tax records and business incorporation papers and that kind of thing are at my home office. And all the financial transactions take place in the school's main office. It doesn't make any sense."
"Someone wanted you two here together,” Detective Ruiz speculated. “Perhaps they even timed it so you would think Miss Truman did it."
Tom gave Harriet a guilty glance.
"Maybe it's a smoke screen,” Harriet offered.
"Yes,” Ruiz concurred. “Your friend Miss Sawyer might be foolish enough to think this would distract us from looking for her."
Harriet raised her eyebrows, her eyes wide. Would Lauren do this?
"You haven't seen your friend, have you?” the detective asked.
"She was in my room this morning when I came back from my shower,” Harriet said. Her shoulders sagged. She didn't like giving up a friend, even Lauren, but lying to the police wasn't going to help anyone.
"And you didn't think to let us know?"
"It was six o'clock in the morning, and I was meeting someone for coffee. I didn't really think about it. She told me not to bother trying to find her, and frankly, I put it out of my mind."
"You're so anxious to help us solve this crime. Can't you see that the best way you can help is to tell us everything you know, and when I ask you to let me know if you see someone, call me? Don't go snooping around, don't question people, don't search rooms—just call. Is that clear?"
"Okay,” Harriet said, and a very small part of her meant it.
Detective Ruiz looked around the office. “At least your coffee-shop story provides an alibi of sorts.” He looked back at Harriet. “If it checks out.” He waved his hand to encompass the room. “This took some time."
"When can I start cleaning it up?” Tom asked.
"Not yet,” Ruiz replied. “We probably aren't going to get anything, but we need to process the scene just in case our perp got careless.” He looked at his watch. “Give us a couple of hours."
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Chapter Twenty-five
Tom walked her back to the Tree House. “I'm going to the business office and call my attorney,” he said. “I'm thinking I need to do something about security here. I don't know what my liability is, but for my own peace of mind I feel like I need to do something. I don't even know where you look for reputable security people—certainly, not anywhere in Angel Harbor."
"Good luck with that. I'm going to go to the lectures today and try to pretend I'm a regular fiber art student.” She went up the steps onto the porch.
Mavis pulled the door open. She shivered and pulled the two sides of her plaid wool shirt closed, wrapping her arms across her chest.
"Where have you been, young lady?” she demanded. “You weren't here when we got up, and no one knew where you'd gone."
"I'm sorry. I went to coffee early with Aiden, and when I came back, I got a message to meet Tom at his office. Things went sideways from there.” She described the tossing of Tom's office and the false message that led her there, finishing with Detective Ruiz's appearance. “Tom was on his way to the office to try to hire some private security when I left him."
"That's it,” Connie said from the kitchenette, where she'd been toasting bagels and eavesdropping. “I think it's time to pack up and go home."
"I'm not leaving early,” insisted Sarah from the dining table. “I paid for a whole week, and I'm staying a whole week."
"It's not safe,” Connie argued, her voice rising. “Didn't you hear? They're hiring security guards. They don't even think it's safe, and they run the place. For crying out loud, someone's been murdered."
"Get a grip. That doesn't have anything to do with us. I'm going to my first lecture before all the good seats are taken.” Sarah went upstairs to get her coat.
"Don't forget, we've still got Lauren to deal with,” Mavis reminded Connie. “We can't just leave her here. And Tom is going to hire security. We just need to be extra-careful, not go anywhere alone.” She looked at Harriet. “And I mean everyone."
Connie was wearing her thick pink terrycloth robe over brown polyester pants and a salmon-colored tunic style shirt. Harriet's aunt Beth wore her robe over her clothes on chilly mornings, too. A wave of nostalgia swept over Harriet. For a moment, she wished she was still twelve and watching Aunt Beth bustle around her yellow kitchen in Foggy Point.
"I think we should go home, too” she muttered. “Trouble follows Lauren; it doesn't matter what we do."
"Did you eat breakfast?” Mavis asked.
"No, we just had hot chocolate."
Connie picked up a toasted bagel half, smeared it with cream cheese and handed it to her. She spread the second half and handed it to Carla, who had come downstairs during their discussion. Then she poured two glasses of orange juice and handed one to each of them.
Mavis glanced at the clock. “I'm going to go get my notebook. We should leave pretty soon."
Connie put the juice and cream cheese away and followed Mavis upstairs.
"What are you going to do?” Carla asked.
"I'm trying to figure out which lecture to go to. Honestly, I'm so distracted by everything that's been going on I'm not sure I'm going to learn anything."
"I was going to tag along with you.” Carla twisted her hands around each other, her eyes downcast. “If that's okay with you, I mean."
"That's fine with me. Mavis did say we were supposed to go in pairs. Did you look at the list of lectures?"
"The one about thread seemed like it might be interesting."
"Thread it is, then,” Harriet said. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to Carla, then took one for herself and wiped her hands. “Shall we leave in five minutes?"
* * * *
Robin caught up with Harriet and Carla on the porch of the fiber arts building.
"Have you seen Lauren?” she asked.
Harriet told her about her early-morning visitor.
"I'm getting worried,” Robin said. “That detective called me. They're looking for her. They want to know where she was when Tom's office was torn apart. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell him anything."
"I told him what I just told you,” Harriet said.
"Lauren is not doing herself any favors. The police automatically suspect people who run. Even if they don't believe you did whatever crime they're investigating, they'll start digging to see what you are guilty of."
"She won't listen,” Harriet said. “You can only do so much for her if she won't take your advice."
"If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her,” Robin said and pulled the door open. “I'm going to go see what I can learn about painting on fabric."
Harriet and Carla passed the room Robin entered and found places at the back of the classroom where the thread lecture was just starting. Carla crossed her legs and bounced her foot as Ray Louise Hanson started talking about thread weight or thickness. Harriet found herself watching Car
la's foot swing and thinking about Lauren's predicament. Carla started picking at a hangnail on her thumb.
After fifteen minutes, Harriet leaned toward Carla and whispered, “Let's get out of here."
"Lead the way,” Carla agreed, and then followed as Harriet quietly slid out of her chair and headed for the door.
"I'm sorry, I can't concentrate today,” Harriet said once they were out in the hall.
"It's okay. I wasn't thinking about thread, either. I did have an idea about Lauren, though."
"I'm all ears.” Harriet said. She was fresh out of ideas herself.
"Why don't we follow her brother?"
"She said she wasn't going back to his place."
"Yeah, but did she say he wasn't going to help her anymore?"
"Good point. And you're right, there are all kinds of places she could be hiding here and who would know better than the janitor? Come on, I think I know where to start."
They went to the dining cabin. Because of the lecture format, the usual breakfast and lunch times had been replaced by a serve-yourself buffet.
"Les seems to have kitchen duties at mealtimes. Let's go in and get a snack and scout it out."
Les was nowhere to be seen when they arrived. Harriet made herself a cup of peppermint tea and Carla followed suit. She picked up a small plate from a stack, grabbed a pair of tongs and selected an assortment of fruits.
"Grab a couple of forks,” she said to Carla. “We can share this."
There were two slices of apple left on the plate when Carla stopped eating mid-bite.
"Listen,” she whispered. Harriet complied. “I think I hear him in the kitchen."
"Come on.” Harriet quickly picked up their dishes and carried them to the gray plastic bus tub. She led the way outside and around the cabin and past the compost pile.
"He's the compost guy. He'll show up out here to empty the compost buckets before lunch,” she explained.
The woods around the cabin provided plenty of cover for them to hide in. Harriet was careful to avoid stepping on a trillium flower. She tried to remember what Aunt Beth had told her about trilliums—something about their taking seven years to bloom. If she ever got out of here, she'd have to remember to ask her.
"Here he comes,” she said.
They watched as he carried two buckets of orange peels and apple cores and emptied them then went back for a third.
"Bet you didn't think you'd be hanging out at a compost pile when you signed up for classes at the folk art school. I feel guilty for dragging you into all this drama."
"This is so different from my real life. It's been nice even with Lauren's stuff.” Carla's cheeks turned red. “No one ever hung out with me before, not even at a compost pile,” she said with a shy smile.
"Here he comes again,” Harriet said, and motioned toward the dining cabin.
Les was carrying a bucket in one hand and what looked like a cardboard takeout box in the other. He set the box down then emptied the bucket and placed it upside-down on one of the posts that held the chicken wire that enclosed the pile. He turned toward the rhododendron bush they were huddled behind. They hunkered down and held their collective breath.
He turned away and picked up the box. With one last glance around, he started off down a trail that led away from the dining cabin.
The three main pavilions at the folk art school formed a rough triangle in the center of the school property. If you drew a line between the ceramics building and the fiber arts building, the pond and meadow and Selestina's workshop lay directly west. Les was headed in the opposite direction, between the ceramics and photography buildings. Thankfully, that side of the property was heavily wooded, which caused the path to twist and turn around the larger trees and made it easy to follow at a distance.
The path split, and Les chose the narrower, less-traveled branch.
"Is that a building up ahead?” Carla whispered.
Harriet stopped and stepped off the path, pushing the undergrowth aside.
"Looks like some sort of outbuilding,” she said.
Unlike Selestina's workshop, this building was clearly of more recent construction. It was at least two stories tall, with dark cedar siding and a moss-free composite roof. It had a white overhead door on the side Harriet could see.
"What's he doing?” Carla asked.
Les had his back to them, so Harriet took the opportunity to move closer. Carla followed.
He rose up onto his toes and looked through the small glass panes on the overhead door. He knocked once, and rattled the door handle. When he got no response, he went around the side of the building. Harriet mirrored his move, maintaining her distance. Les was standing at a white door rattling the doorknob.
"Lauren, come on, open the door.” He glanced left and right. “Quit messing around.” He pounded on the door, gently at first then harder when he got no response. “Lauren!” he called once again, a whine creeping into his voice. “Don't do this to me."
He turned his back to the door and leaned on it, sliding to the ground, his head in his hands, the take-out box falling to the ground beside him. He sat that way for several minutes then got up and started walking, this time taking another path. Harriet and Carla followed, creeping along the path, listening for his footsteps to be sure he was still moving.
He stopped at a smaller building that looked like the bathroom building behind the dining cabin. There were doors on two sides, presumably to accommodate both men's and women's restrooms. He went into each in turn, calling Lauren's name.
"Where are you?” he cried out when he was outside again.
"Let's go back to the Tree House,” Harriet whispered, and quietly stepped onto the path, going in the opposite direction from Les.
"Does this mean what I think it means?” Carla asked when they were out of earshot.
"If you're thinking Les doesn't know where Lauren is, you're right."
"Where could she go?” Carla asked. “She doesn't have a car or anything."
"We can't assume she doesn't have a car until we find out if Les has or had a car. What I don't get is why she would leave the place her brother had her stashed without telling him. She'll have a much more difficult time without his help."
"Maybe someone else is helping her,” Carla suggested.
"Who would help her, though? Her charming personality doesn't attract many admirers. No, I think it's something else. Something spooked her."
"What are we going to do now?"
"Let's go back and put in an appearance at our lecture. If we hurry, we can slip back in and maybe no one will know we were gone. At lunchtime, I'd like to go check out Les's apartment."
"I thought she said she wasn't going to be there,” Carla said, hurrying to keep up.
"She said she wasn't going to be there, but that doesn't mean she won't be."
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Chapter Twenty-six
Ray Louise Hanson finished her lecture and encouraged everyone to come back to her classroom after lunch, when she would have a sample of each of the threads she'd discussed for them to try.
"Oh, and before I let you go,” she said, and picked up a piece of paper from the lectern. “It is our custom at the Angel Harbor Folk Art School, and I know at many of your own quilt groups, also, to make a quilt for any member who loses a loved one. This case is special, since it was our founder who died. We are going to make two quilts. One will go to our business manager, Selestina's son Tom, in remembrance of his mother. The second one will be hung in the entry to the fiber arts building and will be a memorial to our founder, Selestina Bainbridge.
"If you would like to make a block for either or both, we will have instruction sheets and pieces of background fabric for you to use available on a table in the entrance hall."
Robin was waiting in the hall when class got out. She was holding three packets of fabric, each with paper folded around it.
"I picked up the fabric and instructions for the memorial quilt
s,” she said, and handed a set to Harriet and another to Carla. “I figured you'd want to do them. I got the background fabric for both of them."
"Thanks,” said Carla. “What kind of blocks are we supposed to make?"
"For Tom's quilt, the theme is motherhood. Any way you want to express it. The one to be hung in the entrance is to represent what you've learned here at the school."
Carla looked doubtful.
"Don't worry,” Harriet said, “We'll help you figure it out."
"Are you going to another lecture?” Robin asked.
"No, I can't concentrate, I try to listen, but I find my mind wandering to Lauren."
"I'm having the same problem."
"Me, too,” Carla said. “I got a real bad feeling about Lauren."
"Has something happened since I talked to you earlier?” Robin asked.
Carla looked at Harriet.
"We ducked out of our lecture and followed Lauren's brother when he left the dining cabin after breakfast cleanup,” Harriet said.
"And?"
"It looked like he was carrying a box of food. He went to some kind of garage structure on the other side of the photography building. We were sure he was leading us to Lauren's hideout."
"He was,” Carla interrupted. “She just wasn't there."
"It was pretty clear she had been hiding there,” Harriet agreed. “He beat on the doors and called to her."
"This just keeps getting better and better. If her brother didn't expect her to have moved, we have to ask ourselves if she moved on her own, or if someone moved her,” Robin said. “I don't like this. If we can't find her pretty soon, we may need to get the police involved. From what you're telling me, she may be in real trouble."
"Let's go back to the Tree House,” Harriet suggested. “We need to tell the rest of the group and get everyone looking for her."
* * * *
Mavis and Connie were in the kitchenette when Harriet, Carla and Robin got back. Connie was arranging molasses cookies on a green ceramic tray. Mavis was cutting apples into quarters and removing the cores.
"Guess you ladies couldn't sit through another lecture, either, huh?” she said.
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