The Quilt Before the Storm (7 page)

“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.

“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?”