Harriet drove past the vet clinic on her way home, and when she saw Connie’s car alongside Lauren’s in the parking lot, she turned around and pulled in. The rain beat a steady rhythm on her car’s roof as she parked, pulled her jacket’s hood up and made the run for the door.
“You here to see Scooter?” the receptionist asked.
Harriet nodded and went through the door to the back recesses of the clinic. Aiden had set up a socialization area in an unused storeroom with rocking chairs, a CD player and a coffee and tea setup for the volunteers. Most of the canine victims had spent their entire life in cramped cages stacked one on top of the other.
“Hey,” Lauren said as Harriet entered the room. “How’d the date go?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Aiden was here all day,” Connie said. “Wasn’t he?”
“As you both know,” Harriet said pointedly, “I had coffee with Tom Bainbridge. Just coffee. He wanted to compare our impressions of the homeless camp, if you must know. He has some interesting ideas for the new housing project he’s working on.”
“That Tom Bainbridge wants more than a coffee date with you. You mark my words,” Connie told her.
“What if he does?” Lauren said, apparently for the sake of argument.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harriet said. “With either of you. Before I went to coffee, I stopped by Pins and Needles and talked to Marjory. Things sound kind of crazy-her sister and brother-in-law are coming to visit even though Marjory told them not to.”
“In this weather?” Connie asked.
“Clearly they want something,” Lauren said. She adjusted the position of the small dog in her lap. “Ouch. This one’s got sharp little feet.”
“For once, I agree with Lauren,” Harriet said. “It sounds like her sister is trying to talk Marjory out of their mother’s estate.”
“Sounds familiar,” said Aiden.
Harriet hadn’t noticed him enter the room while she was talking. He reached over her shoulder and set Scooter in her lap. The little dog stood up and licked her face.
“I have to go,” Connie said. She looked at her watch. “My goodness, I’ve been here almost an hour.”
Aiden started to take the black dog she was holding.
“I can take her back,” she said. “Lauren, don’t you want to take yours back, too?”
“I’ve only been here…” Then, noticing Connie’s glare, she stood up. “Uh, yeah, I have to leave, too.”
When the two women were gone, Aiden sat down.
“I missed you this morning,” Harriet told him.
“I was busy,” he said without looking at her.
“How’d it go with your sister last night?”
“About how you’d expect.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” He was shredding the edge of the disposable puddle pad that had been in Connie’s lap when she was holding her charge. He still refused to look at Harriet.
“Are you free for dinner?” She leaned toward him, trying but failing to make eye contact.
“I have to meet with Michelle again. We’re going to go through some of my mom’s old papers. It will probably take all night,” he added before she could ask.
Harriet sat in silence, not sure what was going on.
“Look, I have to go back to work. I’ll come get Scooter in twenty minutes, if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” she mumbled and watched him go out the door.
“He’s acting like a jerk,” Lauren said, reentering the room a moment later.
“Were you outside listening?”
“Not on purpose,” she said, crossing the room and picking her scarf up from the floor where it had fallen beside the chair she had occupied earlier. “I didn’t want to barge in until you were finished, and there aren’t a lot of other places to wait.”
“Thanks for that,” Harriet said.
“I’m free.”
“What?”
“For dinner-I’m free. Want to go to Tico’s?”
“Why not?”
“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Lauren. Yes, I would like to go to dinner with you. What time?”
“I need to go check my computer. Can we meet there in two hours?”
“Sure. That’ll give me time to finish here and unload the new batch of flannel from Marjory.”
Fred was meowing at the studio door when Harriet came inside.
“What’s your problem?” she asked him. “I fed you both canned and dry food before I left.”
A gust of wind rattled the window behind her, and Fred made a plaintive yowl.
“I see. You’re not liking the storm.” She picked the cat up and cuddled him then carried him into the kitchen.
“Don’t expect this on a regular basis,” she said as she set him on the floor.
She took a can of people tuna out of her kitchen cupboard and scooped a spoonful onto his dish then put the rest in a plastic container in the refrigerator.
“There, that will help with your stress,” she said.
Fred only had eyes for his tuna.
She knew she should use the time she had left cutting fabric, but the pounding of the rain and wind was making her feel as restless as Fred. In the end, she went upstairs to the attic to look for the oil lamps she remembered being stored there.
Aunt Beth, who had given her the house when she passed along the quilt studio, had accumulated a variety of the lamps, both decorative and purely functional, over the years. Harriet chose two small models with hand-thrown pottery bases and put them in a bag. She and Lauren were eating early enough she could deliver the lamps to Aunt Beth afterward. Harriet had no intention of allowing her to stay in her cottage, located on the Strait of Juan de Fuca, if the storm did worsen, but she also was aware her aunt might have other ideas, so it was best to make sure she was prepared.
The thighs of Harriet’s jeans were soaked by the time she made it from her car to the entrance of Tico’s Tacos. Jorge held the door for her then handed her a clean bar towel to wipe her face with.
“Come in, mi’ja,” he said. “Your friend is waiting for you. And your aunt is in the back room.”
“My aunt is here?” Harriet asked, a little too loud. “What for?”
“What do you think I’m here for?” Aunt Beth shot back as she approached from the rear of the restaurant. “And lower your voice. I didn’t raise you to screech like a banshee.”
“I’m sorry. I just thought I had heard you say you were going to Connie’s for dinner tonight. I was surprised.”
“I am going to Connie’s. I’m here gathering intel from Jorge.” She exchanged a glance with the man.
Harriet held her hands up.
“Never mind, it’s clearly none of my business.”
“It’s about Sarah, if you must know.”
“What about Sarah,” Lauren demanded, getting up from the table Jorge had seated her at and joining them.
“I’m just a little worried about her,” Beth said. “I went by the senior care center to visit Millie from church, and Sarah was at the reception desk sewing the binding on a quilt she’d just finished. It was for that boyfriend of hers. He’s going south to visit his college roommate while she takes care of his place on the exposed side of Miller Hill.”
“Why isn’t she going with him?” Harriet asked.
“He didn’t ask her,” Lauren answered. “I had the same conversation with her the day before yesterday. He told her he doesn’t want to leave his place unattended with the storm coming.”
“I figured Jorge was the one most likely to have had a chance to observe this joker in person.”
“It is kind of weird that none of us has met the guy,” Harriet said.
“I was just telling your aunt the guy is a perfect gentleman-too perfect,” Jorge told her. “There’s nothing I can put my finger on, but his manners don’t seem natural. It’s like he’s acting a part. And there is something about the way she looks at him…” He shivered. “There’s something not right there.”
“I don’t like the idea of her being at his house all alone during the storm,” Aunt Beth added.
“And I don’t like the idea of you being at your place alone during the storm,” Harriet countered. “I noticed you didn’t say anything about your own plan when we were talking last night.”
“Who says I’m staying at my house? I don’t want to jump the gun, but don’t worry-at the first sign that a worse storm is really coming, I’m moving inland, and I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Mavis, too.”
“I already invited Mavis myself-and Lauren.”
“It’ll be a regular pajama party,” Lauren said without smiling.
“Be glad you have a place to go,” Aunt Beth said sternly.
“Yeah, I know, I appreciate it, etc. etc. Can we eat?” Lauren looked at Harriet.
“Sure, lead the way.”
Jorge brought a bowl of freshly made guacamole and set it on the table, followed by a basket of warm tortilla chips.
“You want your usual?” he asked Lauren, referring to his chicken burrito platter.
“Is there really a question in there somewhere?”
“You never know. This one ate enchiladas for a long time before I got her to try the special. Maybe sometime you’ll try the special, too.”
Lauren studied the ceiling silently while Jorge patiently waited.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Lay it on me.”
“I think you’ll like it.” Jorge smiled. “And you, chiquita?”
“How can I have anything but the special?” Harriet replied.
Jorge didn’t disappoint. When dinner arrived, it turned out to be chunks of pork cooked in a green tomatillo and chili sauce then drizzled with a creamy yet tart sauce of some sort.
“Okay, so the man knows how to cook,” Lauren said when she’d tasted the first bite.
“That he does.”
“I don’t like to stick my nose in Sarah’s business,” Lauren said when she and Harriet had both eaten enough to take the edge off their appetites. “But do you remember a few months ago when I told you about the bruises I saw on her neck?”
“Yeah, vaguely. But I’ve not noticed anything like that.”
“That’s because you’re too wrapped up in Aiden to notice anything else.”
“That’s not true.” Harriet was beginning to wonder why she’d agreed to go to dinner.
“Whatever,” Lauren said dismissing the protest with a wave. “Ever since I asked her about it, she’s worn clothes that conceal almost all her exposed skin. She never wore scarves wrapped so close around her neck before, and now she always wears those half-gloves, and dark tights, and-”
“It is winter,” Harriet interrupted.
“Is everyone in this town in denial?” Lauren said. “Just because Sarah is probably the most annoying person any of us knows, it doesn’t mean she can’t be in trouble.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right.”
“What was that? Could you say it again, just so I’m sure I heard you?”
“Very funny. But you’re right, it’s hard not to let my judgment be colored by her less-attractive behaviors. What do you think is going on?”
“At best, I think her boyfriend is emotionally abusive. At worst, he could be a real danger to her. She’s showing all the behaviors of an abused woman. Haven’t you noticed how she isn’t coming to meetings anymore?”
“She’s always been busy,” Harriet argued.
“She’s always talked about how busy she was but then never missed a lunch or meeting or anything. Now, we hardly see her.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right. She has missed almost everything lately.”
“Not almost,” Lauren said. “I started keeping track. She hasn’t come to anything in almost two months. We see her because we have business at the care center, not because she comes out. And she’s not wearing cute clothes anymore. She always used to wear short skirts and flaunt her pathetic cleavage, and now she’s wearing turtlenecks and ankle-length skirts.”
“I thought she was just growing up.”
“It’s more than that, and I think her new Mr. Wonderful is the cause.”
“What are you thinking we should do?”
“That’s your part in this. You’re the one with the dramatic past. I figured you’d probably encountered this situation before.”
“You give me too much credit,” Harriet said dryly. She thought for a moment. “I suppose we should talk to Robin, find out what we can do.”
“I don’t know why I thought you’d have an idea I hadn’t thought of already.”
“You didn’t. You’re human and wanted to share your worries. Don’t worry, I won’t let your secret out.”
They sat in silence as Jorge’s waitress cleared away their dinner dishes. When the table was clear, Jorge approached carrying two dishes of caramel-soaked flan.
“Don’t argue,” he said before either woman opened her mouth. “This may be the last good meal you get for a while if this storm keeps up.” He set the desserts on the table and left.
“I guess we wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings,” Lauren said, pulling one dish toward her and pushing the other in front of Harriet in the process.
“Just don’t let my aunt see this,” Harriet said and took a bite of the creamy delight.
“May I join you?” said a female voice from the table behind them. Harriet looked up and saw Detective Jane Morse standing in the aisle holding her own dish of flan.
“Sure, pull up a chair.”
“Are you ladies ready for the storm?” Jane asked.
“I’m ready to drive to Harriet’s,” Lauren said. “She has a fireplace, and a gas stove and water heater.”
“That sounds comfortable,” Jane said and took a bite of her flan. “I’m afraid my apartment has none of those amenities.”
“My house didn’t start out with all that. My aunt added the propane after a few too many lingering power outages.”
“The utility guys told me it’s hard to find the faulty power lines when they have to search the feeds that go through the woods,” Jane said.
The lights in Tico’s flickered but then steadied.
“That can’t be good,” Lauren said and looked out the window. “The streetlights flickered, too.”
“I’m supposed to be going to Everett tomorrow for a task force meeting,” Jane said.
“I don’t envy you that,” Harriet replied. “Will you be driving alone?”
“No, several of us have to go. I’m worried about getting back. We could be driving right through the worst part of the storm.”
“Are you meeting about the Interstate Strangler?” Lauren asked.
“I can’t really say, but you can draw your own conclusions.”
“I feel guilty that I take comfort we aren’t close to the interstate,” Harriet said.
“Don’t worry about it, I feel the same way.” Jane smiled. “I was going to call you,” she said to Harriet. “I have a quilt finished, and it needs quilting. It’s for my niece.”
“Do you need it before Christmas?”
“No, whenever you can do it is fine. She picked out the fabric three years ago, so she’s not holding her breath waiting. If the power goes out for any length of time, you probably won’t be able to quilt anyway. I have it in the car, if you don’t mind me handing it off here. I’m not sure I’ll have time to bring it to you tomorrow before I leave.”
“That would be fine, but eat your dessert first. We’re not in a hurry.”
“We aren’t?” Lauren interjected.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Harriet asked.
“No, but you didn’t know that.”
Harriet sighed and noticed that Jane was barely suppressing a smile.
The trio talked about the flannel quilts that had been made for the homeless while they finished their flan.
“I’ll go get my quilt,” Jane said. “Be right back.”
“Isn’t she just the chipper one when we aren’t involved in one of her murder cases,” Lauren commented when she was gone.
“Do you want a cup of tea before we go?” Harriet asked. She knew Jorge kept a good supply on hand in deference to the Loose Threads.
“My goodness, it’s wet out there,” a slender, middle-aged blonde said as the wind snatched the door from her hand and banged it against the entrance wall. A bearded man in an orange sweatshirt shut it as he followed her in.
“I parked my big rig in a couple of spaces around back,” he told Jorge. “Is that going to be okay?”
“Sure. Two for dinner?” He ushered them to a table and poured water into the clean glasses that were already set out. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That sounds wonderful,” the blonde said. “The heater on the truck broke, and we were going to try to make it all the way to the interstate, but the windows kept fogging up. We’ve been in that cold cab for hours.”
Jorge brought the hot coffee and took the couple’s food order.
“Is there a campground around here where we could stay in our truck?” the trucker asked him.
“Our campgrounds are closed for the winter,” Jane Morse said. She’d returned from her car in time to hear the last request.
The man introduced himself as Owen Hart and his blond companion simply as Kate. He explained they were long-haul truck drivers and were returning empty after a delivery to Kalaloch on the Washington coast. He explained their breakdown and his belief that, given some daylight and an open hardware store, he could fix their problem and get them on their way.
“There is a large parking lot at Fogg Park,” Jane explained. “We keep the restrooms open in the winter for the local homeless camp that’s nearby.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and scrawled a note on the back. “If a patrol car comes by, just show him this card, and you should be fine.” She proceeded to tell them how to find Fogg Park.
“That sounds miserable,” Harriet said when Jane returned to their table with her quilt. “I hope he really can fix their problem and get out of the area before the storm hits.”
“No kidding,” Lauren said.
“Speaking of that and cold people, I’m going to go home and work on rag quilts. There’s one that’s almost done and a couple of more in progress that could be finished before the worst of the weather hits.” Harriet stood up and put her coat on then took Detective Morse’s quilt. “Thanks for letting me come to dinner with you,” she told Lauren.
“Whatever.” Lauren gathered her purse and coat.
Harriet stopped at the table Jorge had seated the truck drivers at.
“My quilting group is making charity quilts for the homeless in Fogg Park. Could you use a warm flannel quilt for your night in the parking lot?” she asked.
“That would be wonderful,” the woman said. “Are you sure you can spare one? We’ll be okay once we get the truck fixed.”
“We’d be happy for you to take one. The only trouble is, I don’t have one in my car. My house isn’t far from here. Would you mind coming by to pick it up?”
“That’s the least we can do. And we’d be happy to give you a donation to buy more materials, if that’s okay,” Owen said.
Harriet wrote her address and brief directions on a napkin and gave it to them.
“Take your time eating. I’ll be sewing for a while tonight.”
Fred was waiting in the kitchen when Harriet came in through the garage door, carrying the bag of lamps she’d intended for her aunt. With the wind expected to increase, she’d parked in the garage-she didn’t need a tree falling on her car. She was trying not to think about the possibility of one of the tall old fir trees falling on her bedroom.
“Maybe we’ll camp out in the hall when the big storm comes,” she said to Fred as she scooped a spoonful of gelatinous nutrition onto his food dish.
Three sharp raps sounded on the outside studio door as she entered from the kitchen. The truck drivers must have taken their food to go, she thought.
The door pushed opened before she could cross the room.
“Lauren? What are you doing here?”
“Glad to see you, too.”
“I’m sorry, come in. I’m just wondering, did we have a plan?”
“Did we need one? You said you have a couple of quilts that could be finished, and my client still isn’t ready, so I thought I’d come help you.”
“Excuse me if I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take the help for whatever reason. You can either cut batting squares at the big table, or there’s a stack of blocks ready to be sewn together by the bigger of the two sewing machines.”
“I don’t know why I bother,” Lauren said as she took her coat off and opened her quilting bag.
Harriet was helping her change the bobbin on the sewing machine when another knock on the door interrupted them. She again started for the door expecting the couple.
“Hi,” Jane Morse said and walked past her and into the studio. She took her all-weather jacket off and laid it on the wingback chair in the reception area.
“I have your quilt. Did you forget to tell me something?” Harriet asked.
“It sounded like you could use another pair of hands to finish those last quilts,” Jane said.
“Come on. All three of us know you’re supposed to be getting ready to leave for an out-of-town meeting. Why are you really here?”
“You’re really dense for someone who’s supposed to be so worldly,” Lauren said. “The good detective is here for the same reason I am. You’re like a walking teen-age slasher movie.”
“What are you talking about?” Harriet demanded.
“You mean, apart from the fact you invited a pair of serial killers to your house where, if it wasn’t for us, you’d be home alone?”
“Is that true?” Harriet looked at Jane.
The detective started to say something then stopped, paused and started again.
“Okay, so I was a little concerned. You invited two total strangers to your home, at night.”
“I’ll be handing them a quilt, not inviting them in.”
“I hate to say it, but I agree with Lauren. I know this place must seem pretty tame compared to Oakland. Isn’t that where you lived before you came here?”
“Yes, there, and a lot of other places, and Foggy Point isn’t what I’d call tame. We’ve certainly seen our share of crimes in the nine-plus months I’ve been here, but I’m telling you, that couple just wasn’t giving off a danger vibe to me.”
“Unfortunately, not all criminals are snarling pit bulls. They come in all sizes, shapes and colors,” Jane said.
“I can’t believe you invited a truck driver to your house when it’s all over the news there’s a serial killer operating along the interstate who is probably a truck driver,” Lauren said.
“Okay, you’re both right. It wasn’t a smart move. They just didn’t look like criminals to me. I saw her French manicure, diamond earrings and Seven for Mankind jeans and thought ‘suburban mom.’”
“What are Seven for Mankind jeans?” Jane asked.
“They’re a designer brand that run two hundred a pop,” Harriet explained.
“Of course you’d know that,” Lauren said. She got up from the sewing machine and crossed to the door.
“That’s very observant of you,” Jane said. “It raises some questions, but in the future, don’t ask anyone you don’t know well to come to your house when you’re alone. Serial killers or even plain murderers are relatively rare, but robbers aren’t. Someone might come back and break in when you aren’t here.”
A knock on the door saved Harriet from having to make a response. Lauren opened it and let the truck-driving pair into the quilt studio.
“I hope this helps,” Harriet said and handed one of the flannel quilts to Kate.
“Thank you, this is great,” she said. “The camper part of the truck is pretty well insulated, so usually, we run the heater in there until we turn the lights off and it keeps us warm all night with just a comforter.”
“We really appreciate this,” Owen said to Lauren. “We were going to try to find a motel, but I hate to do that when we’re coming home without a load. We had something lined up, but it fell through, and now we’re going to have to pay for a repair, too.”
“I’m sure it’s tough,” Lauren said and eased him toward the door.
“Thank you again,” he said to Harriet. “We better get moving and let you ladies get back to your quilting.”
“There’s something strange going on there, if you ask me,” Lauren pronounced when Owen and Kate were gone.
“Since they’re not known and loved in Foggy Point, we’re probably safe,” Harriet said and laughed, thinking of the murders that had happened since she’d returned, all committed by well-known members of the Foggy Point community. “They’re gone now, so you two can be on your way.”
Detective Morse said her goodbyes and left, but Lauren went back to her sewing machine.
“I hate to admit it, but my social life really is so pathetic I have nothing better to do tonight but help you finish quilts,” she said.
Harriet tried not to smile at the admission, but her enjoyment of the moment was interrupted by a loud whoosh. A sustained gust of wind first sucked at the windows until she thought they would come out of their frames then hammered them back into place, pelting them with leaves and tree debris in the process.
“How’s Carter handling the storm?” she asked, referring to Lauren’s tan Chihuahua-dachshund mix.
“Not well,” she said. “He’s in his travel bag in the car right now. It seems to calm him to be in a small dark place. That big front window in my new apartment freaks him out when the wind hits.”
“You can bring him inside if you want.”
“I think he actually prefers the car right now. It’s quieter. Aiden told me about a hot pad I could put in his bed. You heat it in the microwave, and it provides heat for up to twelve hours. I’ll send you the link for Scooter.”
“So, besides thinking I was foolish to meet the truck drivers here alone, what did you think of them?” Harriet asked her.
“I have to admit, she doesn’t look like my idea of a truck-driving mama.” Lauren slowly stitched through the thick flannel layers. “He seemed a little cleaner than I expected. My image involved older men with big bellies wearing faded T-shirts with beer advertisements and low-slung jeans held up with suspenders.”
“That’s more like what I would have expected. When I was in boarding school, I used to hang out at the horse barn a lot, especially during holidays when the other kids were gone. Delivery trucks would come with hay and grain for the animals, and even adjusting for the fact that we were in Europe, the drivers were a much more rugged lot than the pair we met.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the jury is still out on them being serial killers, but even if they’re not, there is something going on with that pair besides delivery of goods.”
“We’ll probably never know,” Harriet said.
“Yeah, well, as long as they don’t murder me, they’re not my problem,” Lauren said, ending the discussion.
She finished off two more of the incomplete quilts before calling it a night.
“I’m going home,” she announced.
“Thanks for helping,” Harriet said. “And if we lose power, feel free to bring Carter and yourself over to stay.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
She gathered her quilting tools into her bag and put her coat on; Harriet walked out onto the porch with her. Rain hammered the driveway, drenching Lauren as she ran to her car. A heavy drop of rain fell inside Harriet’s collar, sliding like an icy finger down her spine. She shivered and went back inside.
Fred rubbed on her leg as she returned.
“You’re right. We need to check on Aiden.”
She went into the kitchen and dialed Aiden’s house number. Carla Salter, his young housekeeper and a fellow Loose Thread, answered.
“Hi, Harriet. Aiden’s here, but he’s been up in the attic with his sister for hours.”
“Don’t interrupt, then,” Harriet replied with a sigh. They talked about the storm for a bit, and she hung up.