"My parents dragged me all over the world. When I was with them, life happened at an accelerated pace. There were dinners and openings and museums, and if I never see another university science department it will be too soon. I know I was lucky, but I've seen enough. I want to spend time in my studio, with my fabric and my quilting machine. Is that so terrible?"
"Hey, whatever you want to do is fine with me. I'd be happy if you stayed in Foggy Point making quilts all day and sleeping in my arms all night."
"But first we have to find Lauren, and prove she didn't kill Selestina."
"Is that all? No problem."
The two landscapers Harriet had seen in the school office were in the meadow, each carrying a large green plastic bucket. They wore thick gloves and were picking plants that had clusters of purple flowers on thin stems. They carefully put the plants into their buckets, tucking the stems carefully below the rims.
"Those are the guys Tom hired to get rid of the poisonous plants,” Harriet said. “It's kind of scary, thinking there were poisonous plants all over the place and any one of us could have accidentally come in contact with them."
"That's the same poison that was used to kill the Pakistani cricket coach at the World Cup a few years ago. At least, an anonymous caller said it was. I thought it grew in the mountains, though."
"I think it does, unless people get plants and put them in their wildflower gardens."
"Tom was telling me about his idea to build a couple of adult foster care homes in this meadow,” Aiden said, changing the subject. “He's put a lot of thought into it. His mom could have lived her life out surrounded by art as her memory slipped away. I don't know if she had dementia or not, but he really does believe she did."
"Either that, or he's a good actor.” She spotted the studio building in the distance. “We've been assuming someone wrecked his office, making him a victim. What if it was all a set-up? He could have trashed his own office, just like he could have run you off the road. When you think about it, he could be the one counterfeiting the student quilts. There's no reason a man can't be a quilter. And we know he does the shipping. Depending on how many he's selling, it could be a nice little income stream, and no one would be the wiser."
"I suppose he could have hired those landscape guys to reinforce the idea he couldn't recognize the poison plants,” Aiden said. “Geez, I was just starting to like the guy, too."
"Do you think Carla and Robin are in danger being with him?"
"No, I don't. He's trying to prove to us that he's an innocent victim in all this. If he's done something to Lauren, he may very well lead them to her. Then again, it may be more effective if he lets us find her."
"You think Lauren's dead?"
"I think it's a possibility,” Aiden said, his usual smile gone.
When they arrived at Selestina's workshop it was dark.
"Darn it,” she said. “I didn't even think about bringing a flashlight. I don't know if the lights in the workshop survived the fire."
Aiden unlocked the workshop door, and she flipped all the switches on the panel to the right of it. Nothing happened. They both looked at the lights, and she flipped them again.
"We should have brought a flashlight,” she repeated. “Carla and I searched the kitchen when we were locked in and all we found was a little penlight and a couple of birthday candles."
"There should be enough light from the windows to see if someone is in here,” Aiden said and started forward.
"Not in the basement. And if I were going to hide someone, that's where I'd put them."
He sighed. “I've got a flashlight in my bag in the rental car,” he said in a flat voice. “Come on, I guess we go back and get it."
"One of us could search the upstairs while the other goes to get the light."
"No, no and no. We do not split up for any reason. Let's just hurry back and get the light."
With him leading the way, they made a quick hike back past the Tree House and into the parking lot, where he quickly located the flashlight.
"As long as we're back here, I'm going to the ladies room,” Harriet said.
From the parking lot, it was about equal distance to the Tree House or to the restroom behind the dining cabin. She headed for the latter.
"I'll be right here,” Aiden said.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The restroom had a two-door set-up. The first one led into a vestibule with the second, which opened into the actual bathroom. The vestibule floor was covered with a piece of synthetic turf that caught the pine needles and debris that were everywhere in the forest. The left wall had a hinged chrome ring set flush to the surface. Harriet assumed it was the pull-out handle to a utility closet.
She pushed open the second door and entered the bathroom.
"Hi,” said Jan Hayes. “I wasn't sure you were still here. I haven't seen you around."
"I've been struggling with my half-rectangle project at the Tree House."
Jan gave her a long look. “I thought maybe you were investigating Selestina's death. People were whispering in class yesterday about the police thinking your friend Lauren was involved."
Harriet's impulse was to say she's not my friend, but that seemed childish. “The police did question her, but I'm sure they've talked to lots of people. As far as I know, they still don't have a suspect in Selestina's death."
"I heard you solved the murder of Avanell Jalbert a while back. I figured you'd be investigating Selestina's death."
"It was just a coincidence that I was involved in Avanell's murder. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Normal people don't really solve murders. That just happens in books."
"Whatever you say,” Jan said. “I better get back to the workshops. I'm making a sample using oil paint sticks on black satin. Good luck with your quilt.” She went out the door, leaving Harriet alone with her thoughts.
Harriet washed her hands when she had finished her business. She was impressed-the sink was equipped with small bars of French-milled soap and the faucets provided hot water as well as the usual cold most outdoor restrooms were notorious for.
She still had a paper towel in her hand as she opened the door to the vestibule. Later, she would remember the paper towel but not the scraping noise that must have accompanied the opening of the storeroom door. She fell as someone dragged her backward, covering her head with a coarse cloth. She took a breath, and her nostrils filled with dust and chaff, making her sneeze.
A cord tightened around her neck, and she grabbed at her throat, managing to slip the fingers of her right hand under the ligature before it cut her air off completely. She tried to cry out, but any noise she made was muffled by whatever was over her head. All she succeeded in doing was inhaling more moldy dust.
Then something was tied around the outside of the cloth, covering her mouth and effectively gagging her.
She was still being dragged backward, stumbling to keep from falling. She grappled around behind with her left hand, trying to grab whoever was forcing her backward, but she wasn't able to get a grip on anything and was unwilling to move her right hand from the rope at her throat.
She felt the soft surface of the artificial turf change to cement-like hardness as she was dragged through another door. She realized the storeroom must open to the men's room on its opposite side. The cool air when she stumbled through what felt like another door confirmed her suspicion. The storeroom connected the men's room to the ladies room, and she had just been forced through the men's-room door and was being pushed through the forest.
A berry vine slashed her where her jeans leg had ridden up, snagging on her sock and then pulling through her skin as she was half-dragged, half-pushed deeper into the woods. A rivulet of blood trickled down her leg, wetting the top of her sock. The cord around her neck was yanked tighter, and her vision dimmed. The last thing she heard was a grunting voice saying “You can wait here,” followed by a laugh.