"Come on,” he said, and stood up. He stepped down in the dark then guided her. He took her hand and led her back to the car.
They drove in silence until he turned away from the coastline and started up an incline.
"Bertrand said the police think my mom was killed during a robbery,” he said at last.
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know what to think. No one wants to believe their mother was killed because she got in the way of some petty criminal for a few hundred dollars. But I don't have a better answer. Face it. I missed the last three years of my mother's life."
"Don't even go there. Believe me, I've gone down that road, and there's nothing there."
Aiden turned his head to glance at her but didn't ask.
"I don't believe it was a simple robbery,” Harriet said. “Something was bothering your mom for several days before…” She trailed off.
"Like what?"
"I'm not sure, but my aunt noticed and asked me to check on her. And she did look like something was going on. I went to lunch with her on Monday, and one of her employees came and got her just when we finished. It was something about a girl getting fired for stealing vitamins. Nothing that seemed like something anyone would get killed over."
He sighed.
"I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you more."
They fell into silence again.
The road rose steeply.
"Do you recognize where we are?” Aiden asked.
"We have to be on my hill. It's the only place this steep on the strait side of the peninsula. But I don't think I've ever been up this side before."
"This road might not have been here when you lived here before. Some developer in Portland had the idea he was going to build a group of McMansions up at the top of the hill."
"Why didn't he?"
"Same reason no one else has ever built there. If that hilltop were build-on-able, you can bet some of the old Foggy Point pirates would have done it. It's too steep."
"Can you get to Aunt Beth's house from here?"
"That's what we're going to find out. I went to your house just after six last night. I read your note, and then I decided that while I was waiting for you to get back, I'd go door to door and see if I could find out who owned the dog I'd carried off. I finally found the family in that pink-and-blue gingerbread house down the street. I talked to them for over an hour, assuring them their dog was fine and talking about aftercare. As I was going back to my car, I saw a buddy of mine from high school. I talked to him for about forty-five minutes. I saw you and your friend drive up your hill, and then saw him come back down, so I went up.
"The point is, no one else went up your hill in all that time. And obviously, no one parked at the bottom and walked in, either, or I would have seen them. I'm guessing trashing your studio took more than the few minutes that must have elapsed between your leaving and me arriving."
"So, they had to have come from the back side of the hill,” Harriet deduced. “There are four houses besides Aunt Beth's on our street. After the last house, the street terminates with a guard rail, with a wooded area beyond it."
"Well, let's see how far we can get from this side."
The road narrowed as they climbed the hill. The pavement was riddled with potholes and, eventually, gave way to gravel. They bounced on until the road ended in a small rocky parking area. A trail marker announced an overlook in one-tenth of a mile.
Aiden picked up his MagLite and got out of the car. “You coming?"
Harriet had seen too many slasher films in her youth to be willing to sit in a car alone in a dark, wooded parking lot. She followed him up the path.
The woods opened onto a clearing at the top of the hill. Under other circumstances, she might have stopped to take in the panoramic view of Smugglers Cove and downtown Foggy Point beyond it. Tonight she was more interested in the clearing itself, and what other paths might lead from it.
"Look,” she said. “Over there.” She pointed to a shadowy area on the opposite side. A gust of wind rattled the old fir trees overhead. Harriet shivered. When she was young she had believed the trees were fighting when they rattled together like that. It still seemed sinister.
Aiden joined her at what appeared to be a path leading down the hill. He shined the light into the dark tunnel in the trees.
"Come on,” he said. When Harriet hesitated, he took her hand in his firm grasp and led her down the path.
"Oh, my gosh,” she said when a short time later they popped out of the woods at the end of her street. Aiden had pushed a large, low-hanging tree branch out of the way to create the final opening. “So anyone could come and go freely from this street, and the people living here would be none the wiser."
"I'm not sure this helps much. We still don't know who came and went this way, but at least we know how they did it."
"And we know it wasn't a spontaneous act. Someone planned it."
He looked at her. “You didn't really think it was a random act, did you?"
"No, I guess not. That one policeman had suggested it was drug users looking for something they could turn for a quick profit. But they probably would have taken the computer and television if that was the case. I wanted to believe him, because I don't want to think about someone coming back if they didn't get what they were looking for the first time."
"Have you had any ideas about what that might be?"
"Not a clue."
They stood together looking down the street, each lost in their own thoughts.
Aiden snapped the flashlight back on. “We should get back. As much as I don't want to, I've got to face the family."
Harriet wished she could tell him things would be okay but she knew better than anyone the damage lies could do.
Chapter Sixteen
Harriet spent the following day cleaning and organizing her studio. In the morning hours, she folded fabric and quilts and matched them up with their work orders. The afternoon went slower. Thread, pins, chalk pencils and other small notions had been scattered all over the room, as if the thief had thrown a temper tantrum and hurled the containers against the walls. The big spools of thread for the long-arm machine were hopelessly tangled. She cut out the tangles where she could, but in the end several spools had to be thrown out.
She'd spoken to Aunt Beth's insurance man, Bill Young, and he'd asked her to do an inventory of what was missing and damaged, so she dutifully wrote down each lost item.
For his part, Fred chased bobbins around the floor, rolling on his back and tangling his legs in the thread. The third time she had to stop and cut him loose, she picked him up and shut him on the other side of the kitchen door.
She was about to give up and join him when the phone rang.
"How is the clean-up coming?” Mavis asked.
"I've got the big stuff organized, but now it's going a lot slower. I'm down to picking up pins and untangling thread."
"Do you feel like a change of pace?"
"Yes, please, anything."
"Well, if you're up to it, Michelle asked if the Loose Threads could come over and deal with Avanell's stash."
An important part of the quilting process is the collection of a stash. Every serious quilter will make a practice of gathering pieces of fabric for undefined future use. Stash building can be a regular part of their weekly trip to the local quilt store, or can be done scavenger hunt-style by taking tours to various other communities in groups or alone. It's also a critical part of any vacation trip, usually to the dismay of husbands, children or other non-quilting companions. People vary in their approach. Some people collect in half-yard quantities, some in multiple-yard cuts, just to keep their options open. Harriet could only imagine how large a stash someone who had been quilting as long as Avanell would have.
"It's kind of soon, isn't it?"
"Honey, Avanell is dead. Michelle needs to take care of things while she's here. In Loose Threads, we joke about taking care of each other's stash if something happens, but it really isn't a joke. Avanell told her daughter if anything ever happened to her we were to take care of hers. Michelle called me an hour ago and asked if we could come tomorrow. If this is too much for you, just say so and I'll understand."