The driveway that led into the heart of the Angel Harbor Folk Art School was carved through a stand of tall old-growth timber. The tree trunks were dark and bare, and the gravel on the road bed was barely discernible under the fallen needles, bark and fern leaves. The scent of Douglas fir and pine was released with every step Harriet took, but she was too distracted to notice.
She needed to talk to the Loose Threads and see if there were any new developments, and then she needed to talk to Lauren's brother. During her walk home, she had realized the only common factor among all the facts she knew was the school. Lauren was a student, Selestina and Tom the owner and her son and Aiden believed he'd been run off the road by an AHFAS vehicle.
Harriet's years at boarding school had taught her that if you want to know what's happening in any organization, ask the janitor. They were typically invisible, and yet they had access to everything. She was anxious to find out what Lauren's brother knew.
But first, she needed lunch.
The Loose Threads were seated together at the fiber arts table.
"How's Aiden?” Connie asked. She scooted to her left to make a place for Harriet.
"He's a little banged up, but mostly he's concerned for Cammi Johnson. He's at the hospital checking up on her now."
"Robin told us what happened at the police station,” Mavis said. “Do you have anything to add?"
"Not really,” she said, looking at Robin for direction. Robin didn't say anything, so she continued. “It doesn't seem like they have anything but gossip against Lauren. What did everyone do in class this morning?” she asked, changing the subject again.
Everyone in turn told what they'd worked on. Sarah and Robin had attended another class in fusibles, learning the technique of tracing their applique image onto paper-lined fusible material then using a sharp pair of scissors to cut the center of the image away leaving a narrow donut of iron-on material. This technique let you avoid the stiff image that most people associated with fusible applique.
Connie had spent the first half of the day covering postcard-sized pieces of foundation material with a variety of machine generated stitch patterns, until all you could see was thread. She had used her usual oranges, reds and yellows. Lauren's half-finished card was predominately purple and brown.
Mavis was still up to her elbows in dye, and Carla was using the half-square rectangle technique she and Harriet had learned to construct star blocks.
Lauren's brother brought out a tray laden with steaming bowls of soup. Today's selection was potato leek, served with dark slabs of Russian rye bread. The group was quiet as they ate their soup and then the fruit cups that followed. Harriet lingered with Mavis as the rest of the group went to either the Tree House or back to their classrooms.
"I've been going over this in my mind,” she said.
"And?” Mavis prompted.
"And… none of it makes sense. There is a major piece missing somewhere. I just can't make anything add up to Lauren being the center of things. I get closer when I look at Selestina's son Tom. He seems to be preparing to sell the property. And his car seems to have run Aiden off the road. I can imagine Selestina wouldn't want her property sold out from under her, but we don't know if that's the case. How Aiden ties in is still a mystery."
"Maybe Aiden doesn't fit in. He wasn't in his own vehicle. Who should have been driving that vehicle?"
"Good point, I'll add it to the list."
"I'm going to get out of here so you can get busy getting some of that information.” She stood up. “Let me know what you find out."
She left, and Harriet picked up their bowls and headed for the kitchen.
"Is Les around?” she asked the cook. The woman was bent over a deep sink, rinsing dishes with a stainless steel goose-necked sprayer then loading them into a rack.
"He's out at the compost pile. Through that door, down the stairs and follow the path-you can't miss it,” she said without turning around.
Harriet followed the path and found Les emptying the second of two metal buckets onto the compost heap. A wooden fork was propped up against the end of the chicken wire fence that enclosed three sides of the smoldering organic material.
"Les?” she called. “Do you have a minute?"
He took a long look at her before he spoke. “Yeah, sure. I guess. If it will help you fix things for Lauren.” He said it in a flat voice. Harriet found his enthusiasm underwhelming.
"The other night I saw you with an armload of files. Did they come from Selestina's office?"
He looked at her.
"So what if they did?"
"Hey, relax. I'm on your team."
"I doubt that."
"What did you find in the files?"
"A big bunch of nothing. It was shipping records. Angel Harbor has an arrangement with a couple of Folk Art Schools back east. They all give the same certification for their programs, and to be sure they stay calibrated they ship samples of student work to each other and they all evaluate it and see if they all come up with the same assessment.
"There were a couple of slips for shipments to England, but the descriptions weren't detailed enough to know what quilts they were talking about. And there was nothing that told why they were going. Other than that, there was a file of staff insurance forms. I tried to tell Lauren Selestina didn't keep much in that office."
"As janitor you can go into all the offices, right?"
"I have access to the whole school. Mostly, I work in the fiber arts building and its outbuildings."
"What about Tom Bainbridge's office?"
"Yeah, his office is in the ceramic arts building. I work there when we wax the floors or when Brett is on vacation."
"What can you tell me about him?"
"What do you want to know?"
Harriet wanted to smack him. If she were a detective, she'd have been the worst kind. She could see you had to be blessed with a lot of patience, something she didn't possess.
She took a deep breath. “The first day we were here, I saw Tom with some guys who looked like they were surveying the meadow. Is he selling some of the property?"
"I don't know if he's really planning on trying to sell it out from under his mother, but he's been talking to a couple of realtors.” He paused. “I guess things are probably different now."
"Is it possible he was just getting the property valued for tax purposes?"
Les set his bucket at his feet and looked her in the eye. “Anything's possible."
"Tell me about the vehicles here. Who has access to the Ford Explorers?"
"Senior staff, Tom. Selestina, of course, although she didn't really drive much. Nancy in the office."
"Did they have assigned vehicles?"
"Not exactly assigned, but people had their favorites."
"But could anyone drive any of the cars? Were the keys kept in a public place?"
"They didn't need to bother. All the keys are the same. You got one, you've got them all."
Harriet clenched her fists at her side. “You must know something that can help me prove your sister didn't kill Selestina,” she said. “Come on, throw me a bone."
Les rubbed the fine blond stubble on his chin as he thought.
"I don't know about the murder, but if you're trying to find her missing quilt, I'd check Tom's office and the workshop. He's the one that actually boxes and mails the stuff back and forth."
"Is the workshop in the center of the fiber arts building?"
"No, anyone can get into those rooms. There are some utility buildings in the woods, sort of hidden at the back of the property on the far side of the meadow. I think they were the original barn and outbuildings before they built the school. Selestina has her personal studio there. And Tom does the packing there."
"So, what am I going to find?"
Les spread his hands wide. “I don't know,” he said and when Harriet didn't say anything, he continued, “Really. It's the one place I don't have a key for. Selestina wanted her privacy when she was working on her own stuff. It's strictly off-limits."
"Are you sure you don't know anything else?"
"Look, don't you think if I had overheard someone talking about killing Selestina or even about setting Lauren up or stealing her work-don't you think I'd say something?"
"I suppose so. Thanks, anyway. And if you think of anything, let me know."
"You'll be the first,” he said in a tone that told Harriet the opposite would be the truth.