“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.
Chapter 6
“Want to meet for coffee?” Mavis asked when Harriet answered her phone the next morning. “Beth and Connie are calling the rest of the Loose Threads.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, really, it’s just with the slide and all, it seemed like a good time to get one more good coffee break in.”
“What slide?”
“Haven’t you been listening to the radio, girl?”
“No, Fred and I were doing our yoga stretches Robin gave us, so I had on the new age music we’re supposed to play when we do them. What happened?”
“It turns out those ‘watch for slides’ signs have finally born fruit. The road out of Foggy Point is blocked in that wooded stretch before you reach the highway.”
“How bad is it?”
“The hillside slid all the way from the top and went across the road and into the river. It only partially blocked the Muckleshoot, but it isn’t good.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“One truck was hit, but they were mostly past so it just knocked them around.”
“Where are we meeting?”
“The Steaming Cup.”
“I can be there in about fifteen minutes,” Harriet said; Mavis told her that would be perfect.
Harriet wore a long-sleeved T-shirt, her gray hoodie and jeans under her hip-length Gore-Tex jacket, and she was still cold when she went outside. She’d slipped on the ankle-high rubber-coated boots her aunt had suggested when Harriet was catalog-shopping for winter wear-as usual, Beth had been right. The wind and rain combined with dropping temperatures was brutal, but at least her feet were warm and dry.
The Loose Threads who were still in town were already sitting around a big table in the coffee shop when she arrived. Carla’s toddler Wendy sat in Mavis’s lap drinking chocolate milk from a lidded cup with a straw.
“Does everyone still have power?” Robin asked. One-by-one the women nodded assent. “Well, at least that’s something.”
“Go get your drink,” Aunt Beth instructed Harriet. “We’ve got things to talk about.”
Like an obedient child, she did as instructed, returning a few minutes later with a large hot chocolate and a warm cinnamon roll.
“So, what do we have to talk about, other than the weather?” she asked when she sat down.
“Harriet and I finished the last two quilts in progress last night,” Lauren volunteered.
“There’s still a lot of fabric if anyone wants to start more,” Harriet added.
“Marjory’s in trouble,” Aunt Beth said, abruptly changing the subject. “I called her this morning on her cell phone. She’d left town early to drive her mother’s car to Seattle. Got out just in time before the slide, too.”
“What’s the problem?” Connie asked. “Does she need us to take care of the store?”
“I wish it were that simple,” Beth said. “It’s much worse, I’m afraid. I was talking to her, and then I heard a siren in the background. She said she had to go, that the police were pulling her over.”