"Ouch!” he yelled.
Harriet ran for it. She might have gotten away, but he reached up and grabbed her wrist with his free hand. His other was pressed to his forehead, where blood was beginning to seep through his fingers.
"Harriet, it's me-Aiden."
"Aiden?"
"Why did you hit me?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I brought my mother's quilt,” he said. “Like I said I would. Wednesday night. I came earlier, but there was a note on your door that said to come back at nine."
"Aiden,” Harriet said, “I'm so sorry."
"What were you doing running up the driveway like that and then jumping into the hedge? Did you forget to take your medication?"
"No, I did not forget my medication,” she fairly shouted. “What am I saying-I don't have medication. And let go of me."
He dropped his hold on her wrist.
"Mom said you came here to recover,” he said. “Then I see you staggering up the driveway and hopping into a hedge-in a dress. What was I supposed to think?"
"I wasn't staggering. You should try to walk in gravel with heels on. You'd stagger, too."
He moved his hand from his forehead, and blood started trickling down his forehead and onto his nose.
"Oh, my God,” Harriet said. “I've hurt you. Let me look."
He took a step back, avoiding her touch.
"I'm not going to hurt you,” she said.
"I think I'll take my chances and drive home."
"You can't go."
"Is that why you hit me? To make me stay?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I thought you were a robber."
"Of course, you did,” he said, and turned to go.
"Can I at least use your cell phone before you go?"
"Are you serious? Use your own phone. I'm out of here."
She grabbed his arm. “Please,” she begged.
"Fine,” he said and pulled a flip phone from his pocket. He opened it and handed it to her.
She dialed 911.
"What are you doing?” he asked and grabbed for the phone. She turned away from him as she identified herself and described her problem.
"Yes, I came home from dinner a few minutes ago, and my door was open… Yes, I'm sure it was locked when I left for dinner… No, I didn't go inside. I wasn't sure if anyone was in there or not… Okay, I'll wait across the street. Thanks."
She flipped the phone shut and handed it back to Aiden.
"Someone broke into your house?” he asked.
"Yes, and I would have told you so if you hadn't been so busy accusing me of being mad."
"Sorry, I was a little distracted by being clubbed in the head with an oscillating sprinkler. Did they take anything?"
"How should I know? I found the lock had been forced and the door was slightly open. For all I know, the robber could still be in there."
"So, your door was ajar? That's your evidence of robbery? Maybe your aunt gave her house keys to one of her friends. That group does that, you know. Mavis scared me out of a year's growth when I was seventeen and thought I was home alone. I went downstairs after my shower to get a can of soda without bothering to get dressed, and… well, you can imagine. I haven't been able to find my mom tonight. Maybe she's in there using your aunt's big table or something."
My big table, Harriet thought, but didn't say anything. She could hear the siren drawing closer.
"Well, it's too late now,” she said. “The police are almost here, and I said I'd wait across the street."
"Do you always do what you're told?"
Harriet was spared from having to answer by the arrival of the police.
Chapter Ten
"Is anyone in there?” the police officer asked. He was young and Asian, and wore a black plastic tag that said Nguyen. Harriet took great comfort from the large gun strapped to his side.
"We don't know,” she said. “This is my aunt's house. I live here now. But she's gone on a cruise. I got home and found the door unlocked and open."
Another patrol car pulled up; two officers got out. The driver was a skinny blonde woman with leathery skin, her partner a chunky, red-faced guy. The Asian officer explained the situation to the two newcomers, and they drew their guns and headed for the house.
"So, what did the guy look like?” the Asian police officer asked Harriet.
"What guy?"
"The one that popped him,” he said, and hooked a thumb toward Aiden, who now had blood dripping off his chin. “Which way did he go?” He took a closer look at Aiden. “You want me to call an ambulance for you?"
Harriet and Aiden looked at each other.
"We haven't seen anyone,” Aiden said. “And, ah, this is unrelated to the robbery. I got here just after Harriet discovered the door was open."
The officer took a long look at each of them. Harriet blushed but didn't say anything.
"You need to get that checked, it looks like you might need stitches,” he said.
The three of them waited in silence until the other two came out of the house.
"There's no one in there,” the woman said. Aiden gave Harriet an “I told you so” look.
The red-faced guy joined the group.
"Somebody's sure been here, though."
Harriet bolted for the door.
"Wait,” Aiden said, but she was already out of reach.
She opened the door and stopped. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Aiden caught up to her. “Oh, my God,” he said.
What was left of the quilts lay in pieces on every surface. Wisps of cotton batting hung in jagged ropes from torn edges. Thread spools were strewn over the floor and the cutting table top looked as if someone had picked up the thread rack and thrown it in anger. The piecrust table was on its side by the window, its tea cups in shattered pieces on the floor.
"Don't touch anything,” the Asian officer said from behind them. “I've called the crime scene analysts. You'll need to stay out until they finish."
Harriet shivered.
"You can sit in the back of my car if you want. I can turn it on and run the heater."
"That won't be necessary,” Aiden said. “If it's okay, we'll go back to my place so I can get a bandage on this cut. I'm living in the apartment over the Main Street Vet Clinic."
"Vet clinic?” Harriet said, and then screamed. “Fred!"
Aiden clamped his hands onto her shoulders. The policeman looked at him, but he had no clue as to who Fred was either.
"My cat,” Harriet explained and started to cry.
"Your cat is fine,” the female officer said as she walked over to the group. “He's a little freaked, but he's on the top shelf of the bookcase upstairs. He looked totally okay, and I don't think he's going anywhere. We'll make sure the crime scene people keep the doors shut."
The criminalists arrived and got out of their car. Harriet was relieved Darcy Lewis was one of them. Darcy was a drop-in member of Loose Threads, a petite, thirty-year-old single mother. Her brown hair was cut in a short shag style that made her look like Peter Pan.
"Aren't you the quilt depot for the Tacoma show?” she asked.
Harriet nodded silently, the misery apparent on her face.
"I'll start in your studio, and then we can let you in while we do the rest,” Darcy said and joined her partner, an older man who carried two boxes of equipment into Harriet's workspace.
Foggy Point wasn't big enough to employ one criminalist full time, let alone the three they had, so they contracted their services to small communities all over western Washington. That meant Darcy got to do what she had always wanted to do without having to move to a big city, but in return she was on the road a lot. It was not unusual for her to get called out at night, which allowed her to use comp time and attend Loose Threads every now and then.
"You should be able to go into your studio in about an hour, give or take,” she said. “Quilts can be repaired. Just be glad you weren't here when these clowns showed up."
Harriet walked into the studio and flicked the overhead light on. She and Aiden had gone to his apartment, where she'd helped him clean up the cut on his head and then applied butterfly strips. He assured her he was a quick healer and that in a few days no one would even know he'd been beaten with a sprinkler.