"What time is it?” Harriet asked, looking at Mavis.
"He hasn't come yet, if that's what you're asking. Are you okay?” she asked Carla.
"I'm fine.” Carla collapsed onto the sofa beside Harriet.
Connie fetched two glasses of water. “Here, drink this,” she commanded.
Harriet took a sip and set her glass down. “Someone tried to kill us,” she announced.
"They burned Selestina's studio,” Carla said at the same time.
Mavis held her hand up. “One at a time."
Carla's face flushed, and she was silent as Harriet gave a recap of their discovery of the outbuilding, being locked in, trying to call Aiden without luck and then escaping through the root cellar.
"Oh, my gosh-Aiden!” said Mavis. She went to the phone and began dialing. “He called here looking for you. He said he'd gotten a cryptic message. I told him you'd gone to the meadow to look for Selestina's workroom."
She left a brief message stating that Harriet and Carla were back at the Tree House.
"I think we should pack up and go home,” Connie announced. “First Aiden's in an accident, and now Harriet and Carla are nearly trapped in a fire."
"What about Lauren?” Harriet asked. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but if we leave now, what's going to happen to her? I'm not saying I owe her or anything, but after the setup we saw, it's pretty clear she's, at the very least, a victim of plagiarism. If we leave, she's the number-one suspect in Selestina's murder with no one to defend her."
"Shouldn't we call the sheriff's office?” Connie asked.
"And tell them Carla and I were locked into a building we'd broken into, and then someone set it on fire? We don't even know for certain we were the target. Maybe whoever was burning the place locked the door out of habit."
"That makes no sense,” Mavis argued as she wedged herself between the two younger women. “Why would they bother to lock an interior door if they were going to burn the place down? I do see what you mean about breaking and entering, though."
"The door wasn't locked,” Carla offered.
"Well, I guess that's something, honey.” Mavis patted her leg.
Harriet closed her eyes and leaned her head back, listening to Connie and Mavis argue the merits of going versus staying. A sudden hammering on the front door interrupted the discussion. Mavis got up, but the door opened before she could reach it.
"Harriet,” Tom Bainbridge shouted.
"Tom?” Harriet took her foot off the table and stood up.
"Good afternoon, ladies.” He nodded to Connie and Mavis and ignored Carla. “If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Harriet."
"Go ahead,” Mavis sat back down on the sofa.
"Alone, please.” Tom remained standing.
"Not a chance,” Mavis said.
"It's okay, Mavis. We'll be right out front.” Harriet looked at him. His jaw was tight. He nodded once and stalked out onto the porch. She followed and pulled the door shut behind her.
"I'm really sorry,” she said as she turned to face him.
"You should be,” he snapped. “What did you think you were going to find, going through my files?” He ran his right hand through his hair and began pacing the length of the porch.
"Harriet!” Aiden took the porch steps two at a time, stopping when he reached her side. “Are you okay? Mavis said you and Carla were in a fire.” He held her at arm's-length, surveying her intently.
"I'm fine."
"You were at the workshop?” Tom grabbed Harriet's arm and spun her toward him.
"Get your hands off her,” Aiden said and shoved him away.
Tom shoved back, and Aiden stumbled down the first two stairs. He leaped back up and hit Tom with a right hook to the jaw. Tom stumbled and fell to sit on the floor.
"Stop it!” Harriet yelled. She pushed Aiden back and crouched down beside Tom.
The door banged open, and Mavis appeared.
"What is going on out here?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
"He grabbed Harriet,” Aiden said, sounding more like a spoiled eight-year-old than a grown veterinarian.
Tom stared at Aiden and Mavis but said nothing as he swiped at the trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
Mavis turned to Harriet.
"Take Tom into the kitchen and get him cleaned up. And you…” She turned to glare at Aiden. “You go into the living room with Connie, and then we'll get this sorted out."
The men withdrew to their appointed corners, and Mavis put the kettle on the stove. Harriet wet a paper towel and handed it to Tom.
"I should have the lot of you thrown in jail,” he muttered.
Harriet rifled through the drawers and found a sandwich bag. She pulled a strange-looking aluminum ice cube tray from the freezer. She tilted it from side to side, trying to figure out how it worked.
"Pull the handle,” Mavis said.
Harriet did as instructed, and the cubes loosened. She filled the bag, wrapped it in a towel and handed it to Tom. She could hear Connie's voice from the common room. She couldn't hear the words, but the former teacher's tone said it all. Aiden was getting a thorough tongue-lashing.
Mavis's kettle whistled, and she poured hot water into of mugs she'd prepped with tea bags. She put them on a tolework tray and carried them to the dining table.
"Now, everyone sit down, and we'll see what we've got here,” she ordered, and began distributing tea.
Connie brought Aiden in and sat beside him on one side of the table. Harriet and Tom sat opposite them, with Mavis at the head.
"I'll start,” Harriet said. “I'm the reason Tom's here.” She looked at him. “I'm sorry about this."
Aiden's face reddened, but Connie put her hand on his arm, silencing him.
"Tom found me searching his office this afternoon,” Harriet continued. She looked him in the face. “Our friend Lauren is a long-term student here. We went to her exhibition, and my aunt, who was visiting from Foggy Point, joined us. She's just returned from a cruise to Europe, and she noticed that Lauren's quilt was an exact duplicate of one she saw in a gallery over there. Lauren swears she didn't copy anyone else's work and asked me to help her figure out what was going on. We went back to look at her quilt again and discovered it was missing. Someone said you were the one who shipped students’ work to the other schools in your system for evaluation."
"You could have asked,” he pointed out.
"Yes, I could have, but if you were involved in the copying, why would you tell me the truth?"
"What you're saying makes no sense. You just said your aunt saw a copy in Europe. If I were masterminding a quilt-copying ring, why would I take your friend's quilt after the fact? What would I be doing with it? It had already hung in the exhibition."
"Hello! To destroy the evidence?” Connie suggested. “You might have realized we were on to you."
"And just exactly how did I figure that out? I've met Harriet exactly twice. The second time, we went out to dinner when that clown stood her up.” The last was accompanied by a smirk at Aiden.
"So, you're saying you don't know anything about Lauren's quilt being copied?” Harriet asked.
"That's what I'm telling you. I ship quilts a couple of times a year, but just to the other two folk art schools we work with. They ship students’ work to us and we do the same. Everyone evaluates the work independently, and then they all get together to see if they agree."
"Tom, someone is copying quilts. Carla and I saw the evidence. It was in the workshop on the other side of the meadow."
"That's convenient,” he scoffed. “That would be the workshop someone tried to burn down? Did you break in there, too?"
"The door was open,” Carla said softly from her perch at the end of the sofa in the common room.
"Wait, you said tried to burn down?” Harriet said.
"I'm not sure anyone was actually trying to burn anything down. One of the big garbage cans was filled with fabric then doused with something flammable and set on fire. The fireman said they would do some tests, but it looked like it was gasoline. It mostly just smoked the place up, though."