Darcy opened the employee door, and Harriet was alone again. She stood up and paced the length of the small waiting area. She searched her pockets for a tissue. She looked on Clarice's desk, but if the woman used tissues, she didn't share them.
Behind the reception desk, she could see two open office doors. She turned away and completed another circuit of the waiting area. On her next pass, she circled the desk and peered into the right-hand open door. A brass nameplate on the dark cherry desk read “Bertrand de LaFontaine."
A brown print box on the matching credenza behind his desk showed promise. Harriet stepped in. The box was empty.
Bertrand, she decided, must be one of those executives who didn't leave work until every piece of paper had been dealt with-all the polished wood surfaces were bare. If he had a wife or kids, they weren't represented here by photos.
A small occasional table sat between two upholstered chairs. It held a two-month-old travel magazine and the previous day's New York Times. She turned to the back wall. A small framed oil painting leaned neatly on the floor. Above it, a slightly smaller metal door hung open. She looked inside, being careful not to touch the door. The chamber was empty. If there had been anything in the safe, it was gone now.
She crossed the room, backed out of the office and pulled the door partially closed with her toe.
The left-hand door out of the reception area had to be Avanell's office. Harriet looked around one more time then stepped in. Avanell's desk had stacks of papers lined up along the front edge. Gold frames holding an assortment of photos of three children in various stages of growth were scattered over the bookcases, desktop and hung on the wall. There were wedding pictures and baby pictures featuring the older two children, and one of Aiden standing in front of a small cement building, surrounded by smiling black children. Harriet picked it up. It must have been taken where he worked in Uganda. She held it closer. His eyes were different. She couldn't be sure, but in the picture they looked brown.
At the back of the office another door stood open. She could see her elusive target sitting on a vanity table in what must be an executive restroom. She helped herself to a tissue from a shell-covered box.
The bathroom was larger than the one in Aunt Beth's master suite. In addition to the vanity, Avanell had a tub, shower and commode, a clothes closet and all the supplies a person could ever need to freshen up. A loveseat-sized sofa in soft peach velvet sat in a niche between the closet and the shower wall. A hand mirror lay broken on the surface of the vanity. A pink plastic hairbrush lay beside it, crumbs of glass imbedded in its rubber coated handle.
Harriet stepped to the toilet to flush her tissue. The bottom of the bowl held an assortment of pills. She recognized the characteristic rusty brown of ibuprofen tablets. Small white pills that might have been aspirin were dissolving into the water. She looked in the waste basket beside the toilet. Several empty bottles were inside. She took a second, more critical look around the room. Nothing major was out of place, but clearly someone had rifled through Avanell's things.
On the floor, a pincushion shaped like a woman's summer hat held glass-headed pins and several pre-threaded needles. Harriet picked it up and set it on the table next to a ceramic mug that advertised a Las Vegas casino she'd never heard of.
Scraps of red backing fabric and a piece of print binding were scattered on the floor-Avanell had probably sat in here to finish stitching it on her quilt.
The quilts! she screamed in her head. She had until two this afternoon to deliver them. She instantly felt guilty for thinking of the show when Avanell lay dead in the warehouse. She had to think.
She heard the muffled sound of a door.
Harriet had just returned to her plastic chair when the patrolman returned to the reception area.
"Darcy said I should get your name and number so you can leave."
"Yes, I'd appreciate being able to wait somewhere other than here."
He handed her a pad to write her name and number on.
"So, what's happening in the back?” she asked.
"Nothing, really. Darcy and Ed will be taking pictures for a while. They'll gather all the evidence they need before the body is moved. Then the paramedics will move the body to the medical examiner's office. Until they finish, we all just wait."
"Who's notifying her family?"
"Well, Bertie's in the back. He's her brother. He's been in the next room on his cell phone. I assume he's calling everyone who needs to be notified."
Harriet turned to leave but was blocked by the bulky form of Mavis Willis.
"Come here, honey,” she said and pulled Harriet into another of her bear hugs. “Darcy called and told me what happened. You want to sit down? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine,” she said, but knew she'd never be fine again. “I need to get the show quilts to Tacoma."
"I figured as much. That's really why I came. You shouldn't be driving alone after a shock like this. I'll come with you."
"Thank you,” she said, grateful for the unexpected company.
They left the building; Mavis got her purse from her car and climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet's. She picked up the stack of entry forms.
"Oh, no!” Harriet said as she got in. “What do we do about Avanell's entry?"
"What's to do?” Mavis said. “She entered it in the show. In her mind, her quilt was there as soon as she handed it off. She deserves one last win."
"There's one tiny problem,” Harriet said. “Aiden brought the quilt, but he didn't give me the form."
"Well, we'll just have to go get it."
"But his mother just died."
"That boy knows how important his mama's quilting was to her. He's going to want her to have this win. You just drive over there."
Harriet didn't have the energy to argue. She drove to his apartment over the vet clinic. Mavis pounded on the door until a sleepy Aiden appeared. It was clear from his demeanor his uncle hadn't called him yet.
Mavis spoke for a minute and then followed him to his car. He leaned into the backseat and rummaged around, waving a sheet of paper when he stood back up.
"Here it is,” he said.
He came to Harriet's car and handed it to her through her open window. “I guess I forgot this last night,” he said. He gazed intently into her eyes. “What's wrong?” he asked and put his hand on her shoulder. She could feel it burn through the fabric of her T-shirt. She fought the tears that were building. Breathe, she told herself.
"We better get going,” Mavis said as she clicked her seatbelt into place.
Harriet backed out of the driveway onto Main Street and pointed her car toward the highway.
"I feel terrible just leaving him like that."
"It isn't your place to tell him about his mom. Bertrand will call Michelle, Aiden's sister, and she'll come take care of Aiden. She lives in Seattle. The news will keep until then."
"Why won't Bertrand tell him?"
"Bertrand and Aiden don't really get on well. Avanell tried, but Aiden resented anyone trying to take his father's place. Michelle and Marcel were older when their dad died. I wouldn't say it was easier on them, but they were old enough to be naturally separating from their parents. Besides, George had been so thrilled when Aiden was born. It was like a second chance for him. He'd been so busy building the business when the other two were born he made it all up with Aiden. He didn't miss a minute of that boy's childhood."
"I just feel so bad for him."
"Yeah, but what can you do? His mama's dead and you can't bring her back. Waiting a few more hours to hear the news isn't going to change anything."