Harriet sat in silence as Darcy drove back to the school.
"Could you stop by the office parking lot before we go back to the Tree House?” she asked when they turned into the main driveway. She quickly explained Aiden's request.
"Sure.” Darcy pulled onto the shoulder a few feet before the office lot. “Let me get a couple of things from the trunk. If we find something I'll take a couple of samples, just in case. Even if we do find something, we may not be able to get any kind of evidence that proves anything."
"Thanks for doing this. Aiden seemed pretty sure it was one of the Explorers from here."
They walked up to the row of cars. The lot could hold eight, but only six were currently there: a Volvo station wagon, a small sedan of some sort, and four black Explorers. They stepped carefully to the front of the lot and, one-by-one, examined the cars.
"Make sure you go all the way around,” Darcy whispered. “Sometimes the point of contact isn't where you think it will be. And don't touch anything."
She looked at the first car, and Harriet took the second. Both were free of scars. They returned to the front of the row and started toward the next two.
"We just hit the jackpot,” Darcy said. “I can see it from here.” Harriet came to stand beside her. “Geez, it's not subtle, is it."
Darcy moved closer to the front passenger-side fender. A large dent creased the shiny metal. Or maybe it was shiny plastic; Harriet was never sure these days. Darcy pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, broke it open and removed what looked like a scalpel. She took a small white envelope from her other pocket and scraped the dent, catching the shavings in the envelope. She sealed it and put it back in her pocket.
There wasn't a license plate on the front of the vehicle, so Harriet went around to the back. TomTom the vanity plate read. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach.
"I'll get a sample of the remains of the truck Aiden was driving and I can do the lab work when I get back to Foggy Point, but you do realize it won't be official, don't you? I mean, there won't be any chain of custody. And I'm not officially on the job. On the other hand, maybe this will help convince those yahoo's at the police station Aiden didn't just hydroplane off the road."
"I don't want to chance losing the evidence that Aiden was pushed-he thinks the police are pretty willing to write their report and close the books on the whole incident. I'd like to be sure that doesn't happen, whether it's official at this point or not. Besides, I may know who did it, anyway."
"And who would that be, Miss Marple?"
"Look at the vanity license plate."
"It's TomTom. Does that mean something?"
"Selestina's son is Thomas Bainbridge, and I happen to know he drives a black Ford Explorer. It fits, doesn't it?"
"Solving crimes is rarely that neat. You need a few things like means, motive and opportunity."
"I watched one of those reality crime shows with Aunt Beth, and they said you don't have to prove motive. They said juries like to hear a motive, but you didn't have to have one."
Darcy led the way back to the car, and they continued the conversation as she drove to the Tree House parking lot.
"Well, the cops I hang out with like to have a theory of the crime. So far, I'm hearing that an upstanding member of the local business community jumps in his car and runs a visiting veterinarian off the road for no apparent reason. Their only connection is that you're friends with one guy and you've-what?-met the other one?"
"I did go to dinner with Tom the other night,” Harriet confessed.
"Are you that good?” Darcy asked with a smile. “You want me to believe that after one dinner Mr. Bainbridge tried to kill Aiden?"
"Okay, so there are a few holes in my theory. I'm just saying, on the one hand-black Ford Explorer, vanity plate that says TomTom,” She held her hands up as if holding an invisible ball in each hand. “On the other, a man named Tom who drives a black Ford Explorer."
Darcy parked and turned to face her, her pixie's face serious. “I'll do your tests for you, but, Harriet, if someone did run Aiden off the road you need to let the police handle it. And if we show them this evidence, they will. This is nothing to mess around with. And just in case you are on to something, stay away from Thomas Bainbridge."
"Okay, okay,” Harriet held her hands up in defense. “Aiden asked me to check, and I did. Besides, I've got more than I can handle trying to figure out what's up with Lauren's quilt."
"Speaking of that, did you get the pictures from your aunt?"
Harriet patted the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Right here,” she said, and got out of the car. “Let's go look at them with the rest of the group."
"I'll be there in a minute. I've got a few calls to make."
"How's Aiden?” Robin asked as soon as Harriet came into the Tree House. She was in the kitchenette arranging lemon-ginger cookie crisps on a blue pottery plate. She was always the first person in line for treats, but somehow the last to show the effects of eating them. It had to be all the yoga, Harriet decided.
"He's pretty banged up, but he's going to be fine. The tech that was with him didn't fare quite as well."
"Did you get the pictures from Beth?” asked Connie from her perch on the sofa in the living room. She was cutting dark-green leaf shapes from a piece of floral fabric and setting them in a pile on the table in front of her.
Mavis was sewing sea-foam green batik triangles to brown squares with the quilting thread she favored for her hand stitching. She had explained to Harriet that quilting thread didn't tangle or fray as quickly as plain cotton sewing thread.
"I did, but I haven't even looked at them yet.” She joined them and handed the folded pages to Connie. “I've got to go change into something more comfortable. You guys check them out; I'll be back in a second.” With that she turned around and headed up the stairs.
She returned almost immediately, still dressed in her jeans.
"Have you been here all evening?” she asked Mavis and Connie, her voice harder than she intended.
"Yes, why?” asked Mavis.
Connie stood up and came over to her. “Mija, what's wrong? Here, sit down.” She tried to lead Harriet to the sofa, but Harriet pulled free of her grasp.
"Someone's trashed my room. My bags were all emptied onto the floor, and the beds are torn apart."
"Can you tell if anything's missing?” Mavis asked.
"It didn't look like it. I mean, my jeans and shirts are there. My sewing things are all over the floor, but I can't imagine anyone would bother to steal that kind of stuff."
Mavis stood up. “Come on, we'll help you set it to rights. If you want, you can move down to our floor. Carla is in the alcove at the end of the hall and the bunk above her is empty. I know she won't mind."
"As long as you don't get between her and that clawfoot tub, she won't care at all,” Connie added.
"I'm not leaving my room. I lived in Oakland, for crying out loud. We have one of the highest urban crime rates in the country. I'm not going to be scared off by some backwoods vandal.” She paced across the room, running her fingers through her hair. “I have to say, in all my years in Oakland I never had my house robbed, my car prowled and certainly never was assaulted. I've been back in Foggy Point for what-two months? I've been whacked in the head, drugged and now this is the second time my stuff has been tossed.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she swept them angrily away with the back of her hand.
"This isn't Foggy Point,” Mavis said gruffly. “Maybe there's a simple explanation.” She led the way up the stairs to Harriet's room.
"So, do you want us to move you down to Carla's room?” Connie asked when they had picked up Harriet's clothes and sewing equipment. “If you're moving, we don't have to remake the beds up here."
"I'm not moving,” Harriet answered emphatically. “Someone was looking for something. If they come back, they can go to Carla's room just as easy as this one."
Connie unfurled the fitted sheet and stretched it onto the mattress. Harriet picked up the flat top sheet and helped her finish making the bed.
"They must have done this while we were in the dining cabin,” Mavis decided.
"Wait-I thought you said you'd been here all night,” Harriet said.
"I thought you meant here at the Folk Art Center. We went to dinner at six-thirty and got back around seven-thirty."
"Unfortunately, who ever it was had plenty of time to search,” Connie said. “You know, now that I recall, when we came in the magazines from the coffee table were on the floor. I didn't think anything of it. It was a little bit windy when we came back from dinner, and I assumed a gust of wind blew in when I opened the front door and blew them off."
"So, someone is looking for something, but what is it?” Mavis wondered.
"I don't know. Where are the others? I wouldn't put it past Lauren to leave my room like that if she was looking for something."
"Oh, honey, Lauren wouldn't do that, and you know it,” Mavis scolded.
"I wouldn't put it past her,” Harriet repeated. “She's pretty insistent about me owing her."
"Robin and Carla were going to go look at the photography exhibit, and then they were going to see if they could help Lauren. She has to pull together another piece of her work to fill the space her missing quilt occupied. She had done samples of the various techniques she used in her final piece, so they were going to try to mount several of them on a piece of poster board. She said she doesn't have another piece as big as the one that's missing that fits the theme. Sarah met someone at the pottery exhibit the other night, and she went to dinner in town with them.” Connie left the room as she continued, “I'll go put the kettle on, and we can have a cup of tea and see if we can make sense out of this."
"Come on, honey,” Mavis said, and put her arm abound Harriet's shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “You've had a rough day. Have you had anything to eat yet? Let me fix you a snack, and then we can put our heads together and figure this thing out."
They followed Connie down the stairs.
"Go ahead,” Harriet told Mavis and went to get the phone. “I'm calling the office to report the vandalism in my room."
"They didn't seem overly interested,” Harriet reported when she'd finished her call. Connie had brought out a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a plate with saltines and small slabs of cheddar cheese on it. She sat the tray on the table then handed Harriet the snack plate.
"I agree with Beth.” Mavis picked up her copy of the quilt picture. “It looks a lot like Lauren's."
"What we need is a picture of Lauren's,” Harriet said and set her now-empty plate back on the table. She was about to pull her copy of the picture from her pocket when she heard a soft tap followed by the Tree House door opening.
"Hello?” called Patience.
"In here,” Connie replied, and got up to meet the new arrival.
"I heard Nancy leaving a message for Tom. She said someone's room in the Tree House was ransacked. I wanted to stop by and make sure everything was okay."
Connie poured her a cup of peppermint tea. “Here,” she said, “sit down and we'll fill you in."
Mavis looked at Harriet, and when the younger woman remained silent, she gave Patience a quick account of the event.
Patience was silent for a moment.
"And nothing was missing?” she finally asked.
"I don't have that much here,” Harriet said. “I haven't combed through my sewing bag, but my hoop and scissors and ruler and all the big stuff is there. My clothes, my purse and ID are all here. I really don't have anything here worth taking. My cell phone was in my pocket. It makes no sense.” She looked at Patience. It was clear the woman was trying to decide whether to say something.
"What? If you know something, say it."
"I don't know if this means anything. I mean, you ladies would know better than I."
"Patience,” Mavis said in a firm voice. “Take a deep breath, and then just tell us what you know, or suspect, or whatever."
Patience did as instructed. “Everyone here has heard Lauren say that Harriet owes her. The teachers have been speculating what Harriet could have done to get in debt to Lauren.” She pulled her ever-present crumpled tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her nose.
Harriet looked at Mavis with an “I told you so,” expression on her face.
"That's not Lauren's style,” Mavis protested. “Think about it. When have you ever known Lauren to be sneaky? She's an in-your-face kind of gal. If she thought you had something of hers, she'd demand you give it back.” She sat back.
"I hate to say it, but I have to agree,” Harriet conceded.
"So, that leaves us back at the beginning,” Connie said.
Patience stashed her tissue in her sleeve and drank her tea. She asked polite questions about Connie's applique and Mavis's hand piecing.
"Would you like a refill?” Connie asked and pointed at the green mug.
"No, I need to go back to my cottage and review my class notes. I'll be teaching in Selestina's place. Not that anyone can really take her place, but the students have paid and the material must be presented.” She looked like she had the weight of the world on her thin shoulders. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything."
"Thank you,” Harriet said. “As you can see, I'm fine."
Patience set her hand on the door latch, and then stopped and looked back at the three women. “I did call the handyman and asked if he could drive around the grounds and watch for any suspicious activity.” She left without waiting for any comment.
"So, what's that supposed to do?” Harriet asked. “No one needs to break in around here-nothing's locked. And we know the handyman doesn't live on the property. And everyone knows who he is. It would be pretty easy to avoid detection."
"What'd I miss?” Darcy asked before anyone could respond. She'd come in the door as Patience went out. She looked around. “What did Patience want?"
"She was just checking on us,” Mavis said. “We were just about to look at Beth's pictures when she arrived."
Connie and Harriet picked up their copies and resumed their study of the images.
"It's hard to come to any conclusion without having pictures of both, side by side."
"Let me see,” Darcy said, and took Mavis's copy. She turned it sideways and then upside down. She held it at arm's length and then propped it on the twig rocker and stepped back to look at it.
"What do you see?” Mavis asked.
"See the curved lines of stitching?"
"The ones that look sort of like topographical lines on a map,” Connie asked.
"Yeah, only they're not topo lines. They're the ridge lines of a fingerprint. A thumbprint, to be exact."
"I could have told you that,” Lauren said. Everyone turned as she joined the group. Robin and Carla went upstairs without saying anything. Harriet didn't blame them; they'd probably had their fill of Lauren.
"Why didn't you tell us that to begin with?” Harriet demanded.
"What difference would it make? I told you I made my quilt from scratch. What else do you need to know?"
"Now, honey,” Mavis said. “If you want Harriet here to restore your reputation and help you find your lost quilt, you're going to need to cooperate just a little."
"What else does she need to know?” Lauren asked. Harriet could see she was truly perplexed. She really did live in another world.
"I'm not sure what else you can tell us, but let me take your fingerprint, and we can get the lady in the office to make an enlargement of it. Then we'll sort-of have proof that your quilt is the original. I mean, if this were a real criminal case, they would say Lauren's fingerprint could have been captured off any number of public surfaces and then used. But that would be bizarre."
"So, let's assume you take the print, we make a copy, we all swear that Lauren's print matches the shape on her quilt, and it's more detailed than what could be accounted for by random chance.” Harriet paced as she spoke then turned to face the group. “What difference does it make?"
The cords in Lauren's neck tightened, and Harriet could see her chest rise in preparation for an outburst. She held her hand up, and Mavis put a hand on Lauren's arm.
"Let her finish,” she urged in a hushed tone.
"What I'm saying is, as a student of Selestina's it wouldn't be unheard-of for Lauren's work to look like her teacher's. The real question is why Selestina would copy Lauren's work. Think about it. She's an acknowledged expert in her field. She's been making art quilts for years. She makes class samples; she's won awards.” She looked at Lauren. “I'm not saying your quilt isn't great. It is. But why would an established artist copy the work of a second-year student?"
Lauren's mouth moved, but no words came out. Her anger deflated like a balloon.
"Come on, let's sit and have another cup of tea and think about that,” Connie suggested.
"If I drink anymore tea I'm going to be up all night,” Mavis announced. “But we do need to talk about this."
Lauren sat down on the couch. She opened her quilted shoulder bag and pulled out a foil-wrapped package.
"Here,” she said, and began opening the foil. “My brother made us some brownies."
"Now you're talking,” Mavis said. “Bring that pot back, Connie. Maybe I could choke down another dribble of tea with my brownie."
The women sat in near-silence, the only sound the munching of possibly the best brownies ever created.
"These are incredible,” Harriet said, and reached for another one. “He's hit just the right balance of chewiness and cakeness."
"Yeah, well, he fancies himself a chef,” Lauren said. “I keep telling him he's never going to get anywhere if he won't leave this backwater place. But he says he's learning a lot from that witch in the dining hall."
Carla and Robin rejoined the group, and the quilters brought them up to date on their discovery about Lauren's fingerprint. They all discussed the situation, but no matter how they looked at it, it just didn't make sense. Lauren's piece was nice, but her work still lacked the maturity of a trained artist, so why would a woman whose work sold for thousands of dollars copy it?
Eventually, one by one, they drifted upstairs to their rooms, the problem unsolved.