A furry head butt woke Harriet up a half-hour before her alarm would have gone off at the ungodly hour of five-thirty a.m. Four hours of sleep had left her feeling as though wet sweatsocks had been stuffed into her head. Her eyes felt swollen, and her mouth was dry.
The night's excitement had apparently had the opposite affect on Fred. He was hungry and ready to start his day. She pushed him off the bed, but he jumped right back onto her chest and started licking her eyelids.
"Can't you be a normal cat and hole up somewhere for hours if not days to recover from your trauma?” she asked him. “Food is not the answer to everything.” She wasn't sure how well she could sell that one, since she tended toward chocolate ice cream and M &M's in a crisis. “Come on, let's go see if we can find your food."
She pulled the plaid flannel robe Aunt Beth had loaned her on over the Oakland A's T-shirt that doubled as a nightshirt in her wardrobe. Fred wove in and out of her legs as she headed for the stairs.
He was in luck-the food cabinets in the kitchen were untouched. His bowl proved a little harder to find. There was a puddle on the placemat where his water dish had been.
She finally found the dishes under the dining room table. She could imagine her thief kicking them in frustration. Good, she thought. I hope he was real frustrated.
Now that she'd had a little rest, she was mad. The beautiful quilts her friends had made for the show had been vandalized for no apparent reason, and her aunt's studio-her studio-had been trashed. And she hadn't done anything to deserve it.
She fed Fred then called the police station. She was ready for some answers. Unfortunately, no one was ready to provide them. The desk sergeant assured her no one knew anything more than they had last night, and that they were doing everything that could be done to find out who was responsible. He also suggested she might want to call her insurance person.
Harriet made a mental note to call Bill Young when she got back. She didn't know what kind of coverage Aunt Beth had, but in Foggy Point, if you had insurance you bought it from Bill.
She ate a quick bowl of cereal then went into the studio to box up the show quilts. She grabbed a can of Dr. Pepper from the six-pack she'd kept hidden in her car until her aunt had departed. She hid them behind the orange juice in the refrigerator, just in case the diet police had the box bugged. She was trying to cut back on caffeine, but she'd earned this one.
The Loose Threads had gotten the quilts repaired and put back in their various carry bags, but she needed to find the show entry forms each person had filled out.
It was a shock all over again to walk into the studio. Aiden had picked everything up off the floor, but books, papers, batting and scraps of fabric were piled on every available flat surface, waiting for her to make some sense of them. She picked up a pile of papers and sat in the wing chair and started sorting.
It took most of an hour, but she found forms for all the entrants save one-Avanell's was missing. She thought back over the sequence of events the night before. Aiden had brought his mother's quilt into the studio just before he left for the night. She couldn't quite remember if she had seen a sheet of paper with it or not.
She was reluctant to call Aiden before seven in the morning after keeping him up so late. Besides, she was beginning to feel a little guilty about hitting him in the head with the sprinkler. In the end, she decided that, after a quick shower, she'd swing by the Vitamin Factory and have Avanell fill out a new entry. Avanell had told her at lunch she'd made a practice of arriving thirty minutes before her factory workers, no matter what. She claimed it had curbed an epidemic of tardiness a few years back, and she'd found the quiet time at the start of her day so useful, she'd just kept it up. Harriet hoped she wouldn't mind an intrusion.
With the quilts safely stowed on the backseat of her Honda and the paperwork on the passenger seat beside her purse, Harriet locked the house and studio and drove through the grey light of dawn to the Vitamin Factory.
There were two cars in the parking lot when she pulled into a visitor spot near the door marked office. She recognized Avanell's silver Mercedes. Harriet was surprised there weren't more cars. She certainly wasn't an expert on manufacturing, and she was probably being simplistic, but if Avanell was having trouble finding employees and the factory was falling behind schedule, shouldn't there be some people here working overtime? And shouldn't there be some underling sharing the burden? And what about her business-partner brother? If only Aunt Beth were here, Harriet thought. She probably would have some answers.
It should only take a few minutes to get Avanell's signature on the form, and she could be on her way. She stepped through the door. A plain young woman with long sandy hair and freckles sat at a scarred wooden desk.
"Can I help you?” she said in a voice that made it clear she would rather do anything but. She chewed a tired wad of gum and slowly flipped the pages of a magazine.
"I need to speak to Avanell,” Harriet said.
"I haven't seen her yet today."
"Isn't that her car in the parking lot?"
The woman kept her eyes on the magazine that was clearly more interesting than Harriet's questions. “Silver Mercedes? Yeah, that's hers. Maybe she's in the back. Sometimes she helps out in shipping this time of the month."
"Could you check for me?"
"They're too cheap to have an intercom here. You're welcome to go back and check yourself if you want. Just go through that door and follow the smell of vitamins.” She pointed at a blue door marked “Employees Only."
"Thanks for your help,” Harriet said and knew her sarcasm was lost on the girl.
"No problem,” she said without looking up.
The door opened into a hallway. A large glass window on the right revealed an employee locker room; identical white smocks floated like ghosts on a garment rack. The shelf above it held what looked like fabric shower caps. On the opposite wall was a bank of grey gym-style lockers with combination locks hanging from their clasps. A wooden bench cut the room in half. Assorted pairs of white shoes were lined up underneath. She could almost imagine the workers who would inhabit the costumes within the hour.
She wondered if she would be contaminating their space if she walked out into the production area in her street clothes. She could have gone back and asked the receptionist but was pretty sure it would be a waste of time.
Another blue door led into the vitamin processing room. Large funnel-shaped bags hung over narrow conveyer belts full of brown bottles that snaked through the area. A metal contraption that resembled a giant stamp hovered over the end of the conveyer. A large box of white safety caps sat on the floor next to a table with three chairs around it. Open boxes of surgical gloves were scattered throughout. This was obviously where vitamins were bottled and sealed.
Avanell was not in evidence, so Harriet crossed the room and exited through the door opposite the one she'd come in. She was in a short hallway. Restrooms were to the left. The first room to the right held printing and labeling equipment. The lights were off.
She chose the second door on the right. It opened into the large, high-ceilinged room that was the packing and shipping area as well as warehouse space.
"Avanell?” she called.
A single light fixture illuminated a corner at the back of the building. Harriet headed toward it. The warehouse had a concrete floor, and the heels of her shoes made a loud clacking noise that echoed off the rafters.
"Avanell,” she called again.
She stopped. The silence was deafening. A compressor started. She resumed her path toward what she hoped was Avanell.
"Hello?” she said in a louder voice. “Avanell?"
She arrived at the lighted corner. A large worktable was surrounded by stacks of boxes. A single chair was pushed back from the lone workstation. She came around the end of the table.
"Avanell!" she screamed.
Avanell Jalbert lay collapsed on the cold cement floor. It was as if an unseen puppet-master had abruptly cut her strings. Harriet dropped to her knees, avoiding the red stain that extended like a dark halo around Avanell's head
"Oh, Avanell,” she whispered. “What happened to you?"
A thin thread of blood had trickled from the corner of her mouth and joined the congealed pool under her head. Harriet looked away and fumbled in her pocket for her cell phone. She dropped it, and when she picked it up again, her hand was shaking so hard she had to punch the numbers in three times before she connected to the 911 operator.
"You have to come to the Vitamin Factory now,” she said. “Avanell Jalbert is dead… Of course, I'm sure.” She reached toward Avanell; by sheer force of will, she touched the outstretched hand. She recoiled. It was cold, the fingers unbending. She fought to calm her lurching stomach. Avanell was definitely dead.
She told the operator to send the paramedics to the back of the factory and then hung up to wait. She stood and moved a few steps away. A horrible feeling of déjà vu washed over her. She wished she was a strong enough person to hold Avanell's cold hand until someone arrived, but all the therapy in the world wouldn't have made that possible.
It was while she was avoiding looking at Avanell that Harriet noticed her friend's purse lying on the floor. It was upside down, its contents in a pile on the floor. She looked back at Avanell, and saw the rayon lining of her left skirt pocket sticking out. Someone had searched her after they killed her.
For the second time in twenty-four hours, Harriet heard the sound of Foggy Point's police sirens approaching. The factory was soon engulfed by a rush of firemen, paramedics and police. Avanell was quickly pronounced dead and the warehouse declared a crime scene. Harriet was hustled back to the front office. She'd given a brief statement to the uniformed officer who had arrived first and been asked to wait for the major crimes detectives.
She was sitting on one of the three cracked vinyl chairs in what passed for a waiting room when a squat man in an expensive suit and fake tan arrived. The family resemblance was unmistakable. This had to be Avanell's business-partner brother, Bertrand de LaFontaine.
"What's going on here?” he demanded. His left forefinger nervously spun a heavy gold band on his ring finger. His graying hair was thin and styled in a comb-over. It was damp, as if he'd just gotten out of the shower. “Clarice said there was a problem and I should come right away."
Clarice must have been the helpful young woman Harriet had met on her way in. She was nowhere to be found now.
Bertrand de LaFontaine looked at her. She gestured at the employee door; and he went through it, opening it so fast it banged against the wall as he did.
She was still waiting for the major crimes detectives when Darcy Lewis arrived.
"Boy, you're keeping me busy tonight,” she said without humor. “Is it true that Avanell is the victim?"
A nod was all Harriet could manage. Tears filled her eyes.
"I'm sorry,” Darcy said. “It's just this job. Avanell was my friend, too. Did you find her?"
Harriet nodded again.
"That must have been awful for you, especially after last night. Do you want me to call anyone for you?"
"No, that's okay. Besides, Aunt Beth is still on her cruise. Do you have any idea how long I have to wait?"
"Are you waiting for the major crimes guys?” She looked at her watch. “They were just going out on a call when I got in last night. That's why I'm here this morning. There was a big drug bust over in Port Angeles that was some kind of interagency thing, so a bunch of our people are over there. I'll bet you can go. Just give your phone number to Briggs before you leave. I'll send him up here. He has to clear the area so we can get started anyway."
Darcy opened the employee door, and Harriet was alone again. She stood up and paced the length of the small waiting area. She searched her pockets for a tissue. She looked on Clarice's desk, but if the woman used tissues, she didn't share them.
Behind the reception desk, she could see two open office doors. She turned away and completed another circuit of the waiting area. On her next pass, she circled the desk and peered into the right-hand open door. A brass nameplate on the dark cherry desk read “Bertrand de LaFontaine."
A brown print box on the matching credenza behind his desk showed promise. Harriet stepped in. The box was empty.
Bertrand, she decided, must be one of those executives who didn't leave work until every piece of paper had been dealt with-all the polished wood surfaces were bare. If he had a wife or kids, they weren't represented here by photos.
A small occasional table sat between two upholstered chairs. It held a two-month-old travel magazine and the previous day's New York Times. She turned to the back wall. A small framed oil painting leaned neatly on the floor. Above it, a slightly smaller metal door hung open. She looked inside, being careful not to touch the door. The chamber was empty. If there had been anything in the safe, it was gone now.
She crossed the room, backed out of the office and pulled the door partially closed with her toe.
The left-hand door out of the reception area had to be Avanell's office. Harriet looked around one more time then stepped in. Avanell's desk had stacks of papers lined up along the front edge. Gold frames holding an assortment of photos of three children in various stages of growth were scattered over the bookcases, desktop and hung on the wall. There were wedding pictures and baby pictures featuring the older two children, and one of Aiden standing in front of a small cement building, surrounded by smiling black children. Harriet picked it up. It must have been taken where he worked in Uganda. She held it closer. His eyes were different. She couldn't be sure, but in the picture they looked brown.
At the back of the office another door stood open. She could see her elusive target sitting on a vanity table in what must be an executive restroom. She helped herself to a tissue from a shell-covered box.
The bathroom was larger than the one in Aunt Beth's master suite. In addition to the vanity, Avanell had a tub, shower and commode, a clothes closet and all the supplies a person could ever need to freshen up. A loveseat-sized sofa in soft peach velvet sat in a niche between the closet and the shower wall. A hand mirror lay broken on the surface of the vanity. A pink plastic hairbrush lay beside it, crumbs of glass imbedded in its rubber coated handle.
Harriet stepped to the toilet to flush her tissue. The bottom of the bowl held an assortment of pills. She recognized the characteristic rusty brown of ibuprofen tablets. Small white pills that might have been aspirin were dissolving into the water. She looked in the waste basket beside the toilet. Several empty bottles were inside. She took a second, more critical look around the room. Nothing major was out of place, but clearly someone had rifled through Avanell's things.
On the floor, a pincushion shaped like a woman's summer hat held glass-headed pins and several pre-threaded needles. Harriet picked it up and set it on the table next to a ceramic mug that advertised a Las Vegas casino she'd never heard of.
Scraps of red backing fabric and a piece of print binding were scattered on the floor-Avanell had probably sat in here to finish stitching it on her quilt.
The quilts! she screamed in her head. She had until two this afternoon to deliver them. She instantly felt guilty for thinking of the show when Avanell lay dead in the warehouse. She had to think.
She heard the muffled sound of a door.
Harriet had just returned to her plastic chair when the patrolman returned to the reception area.
"Darcy said I should get your name and number so you can leave."
"Yes, I'd appreciate being able to wait somewhere other than here."
He handed her a pad to write her name and number on.
"So, what's happening in the back?” she asked.
"Nothing, really. Darcy and Ed will be taking pictures for a while. They'll gather all the evidence they need before the body is moved. Then the paramedics will move the body to the medical examiner's office. Until they finish, we all just wait."
"Who's notifying her family?"
"Well, Bertie's in the back. He's her brother. He's been in the next room on his cell phone. I assume he's calling everyone who needs to be notified."
Harriet turned to leave but was blocked by the bulky form of Mavis Willis.
"Come here, honey,” she said and pulled Harriet into another of her bear hugs. “Darcy called and told me what happened. You want to sit down? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine,” she said, but knew she'd never be fine again. “I need to get the show quilts to Tacoma."
"I figured as much. That's really why I came. You shouldn't be driving alone after a shock like this. I'll come with you."
"Thank you,” she said, grateful for the unexpected company.
They left the building; Mavis got her purse from her car and climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet's. She picked up the stack of entry forms.
"Oh, no!” Harriet said as she got in. “What do we do about Avanell's entry?"
"What's to do?” Mavis said. “She entered it in the show. In her mind, her quilt was there as soon as she handed it off. She deserves one last win."
"There's one tiny problem,” Harriet said. “Aiden brought the quilt, but he didn't give me the form."
"Well, we'll just have to go get it."
"But his mother just died."
"That boy knows how important his mama's quilting was to her. He's going to want her to have this win. You just drive over there."
Harriet didn't have the energy to argue. She drove to his apartment over the vet clinic. Mavis pounded on the door until a sleepy Aiden appeared. It was clear from his demeanor his uncle hadn't called him yet.
Mavis spoke for a minute and then followed him to his car. He leaned into the backseat and rummaged around, waving a sheet of paper when he stood back up.
"Here it is,” he said.
He came to Harriet's car and handed it to her through her open window. “I guess I forgot this last night,” he said. He gazed intently into her eyes. “What's wrong?” he asked and put his hand on her shoulder. She could feel it burn through the fabric of her T-shirt. She fought the tears that were building. Breathe, she told herself.
"We better get going,” Mavis said as she clicked her seatbelt into place.
Harriet backed out of the driveway onto Main Street and pointed her car toward the highway.
"I feel terrible just leaving him like that."
"It isn't your place to tell him about his mom. Bertrand will call Michelle, Aiden's sister, and she'll come take care of Aiden. She lives in Seattle. The news will keep until then."
"Why won't Bertrand tell him?"
"Bertrand and Aiden don't really get on well. Avanell tried, but Aiden resented anyone trying to take his father's place. Michelle and Marcel were older when their dad died. I wouldn't say it was easier on them, but they were old enough to be naturally separating from their parents. Besides, George had been so thrilled when Aiden was born. It was like a second chance for him. He'd been so busy building the business when the other two were born he made it all up with Aiden. He didn't miss a minute of that boy's childhood."
"I just feel so bad for him."
"Yeah, but what can you do? His mama's dead and you can't bring her back. Waiting a few more hours to hear the news isn't going to change anything."