“Sounds like it’s still raining out there,” Harriet said when she reached the bottom of the stairs for what felt like the millionth time.
Tom came up behind her and pointed toward the kitchen window.
“It’s getting worse,” he said as rain sheeted against the glass.
Before Harriet could look, she heard the jingle of the front door bells and turned to see who’d come into the store. A gust of wind tore the door from the hand of the visitor, slamming it hard against the wall. A large form covered from head to toe in wet yellow oilcloth lurched through the opening, a dark blue plastic bin held with two hands.
Whoever it was set the box down and scraped the hood from their head. Jorge’s black hair was plastered against his forehead and his face was wet, but his smile warmed the room.
“I heard you all were rescuing Marjory’s inventory from the coming flood, and I thought you could use some sustenance.”
“You are a godsend, my man,” Duane boomed as he edged closer to the food box.
“Where do you want to eat?” Jorge asked.
“Let’s go to the bigger classroom,” Robin suggested.
Carla brought paper cups from the kitchen then a pitcher she’d filled from the tap. Jorge unloaded pork tacos, beef taquitos, chicken and cheese quesadillas and a big container of guacamole.
“This is a real nice thing you’re doing for Marjory,” he said when he’d finished laying out the food. “That river looks real angry. There’s a group of people at the Sandwich Board moving stuff. They’re hauling tables and chairs away in a truck.”
“We appreciate the food,” Aunt Beth said.
“It was the least I could do. Robin stopped in to order take-out for her husband to pick up later, and she told me what you were doing. If the power goes out, I’ll lose all the fresh stuff anyway, so I might as well let you folks get some good from it.”
As the group continued thanking Jorge for the food, Carla tugged on Harriet’s arm and glanced toward the kitchen.
“I’m going to make some tea,” Harriet said and stood up. “Would anyone like some?”
Several hands went up.
“I’ll help you,” Carla said.
“Come to tia,” Connie said to Wendy and pulled the toddler into her lap.
“Me, too.” Lauren got up before Harriet could protest. “Okay, spill,” she said to Carla when the trio was safely out of earshot in the kitchen.
Harriet filled the electric water kettle and pushed the on button. Carla looked at her, and when she received an affirmative nod, she spoke.
“I came into the front room to get some paper and a pen for Wendy to play with. Miss Beth was in the bathroom, and everyone else was in the hallway or on the stairs or something.”
“And?” Lauren prompted.
“And I saw that guy in the purple sweatshirt trying to get into the cash register.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t just looking for a pen or something?” Harriet asked.
“He was definitely trying to get into the register,” Carla insisted, her cheeks turning red as she said it. “He was turning the key and pulling on the drawer.”
“Marjory leaves the key in the register?” Lauren said.
“Yeah,” Carla replied. “You have to hit a number code to be able to turn the key from locked to unlock.”
“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised,” Harriet said. “He is homeless. He’s probably desperate.”
“It was weird, though. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I watched him for a minute, and the other guy saw what he was doing and came over and made him stop. Course, that guy seems like he has better clothes and stuff. Maybe he can still afford a moral compass.”
Harriet looked at Carla for a moment without speaking. Her young friend’s insights surprised her sometimes.
“When we get back to work, I’ll tell my aunt to keep and eye on him,” she said. “Thanks for telling me.”
Carla looked at her feet.
“It was weird, so I thought you should know.”
“You did the right thing,” Lauren said and patted her on the back in a rare show of support. “So, who wanted what tea,” she asked as the water started boiling.
“What did you find out about Marjory?” Jorge was asking Robin when Harriet, Lauren and Carla returned to the classroom carrying two mugs of steaming tea each.
“Nothing new,” Robin said. “I have a call into her assigned social worker, but when you’re on a seventy-two-hour hold they cut you off from the outside world. I called a colleague in Seattle, and if we’re still stuck in seventy-two hours, he can go to her hearing with her.”
“What a nightmare,” Tom said. “And you have no idea what happened?”
Robin recounted what they knew, which was not much beyond the fact that Marjory had been stopped for driving a stolen car and had then been taken away on a seventy-two-hour mental health hold.
“Mavis and I are going to stay at Harriet’s house tonight for the duration,” Aunt Beth announced when everyone had finished eating. “Does anyone else need a more secure place to stay?”
Ronald looked like he was going to speak, but a glare from Joyce silenced him.
“Believe it or not,” Joyce said. “Our camp is well-placed. We’re sheltered from most of the wind, and thanks to you people, we have tarps to keep us dry and quilts to keep us warm.”
“I’m bunking in the restroom when the wind picks up,” Duane said. “Didn’t the three little pigs find that brick was best in the face of wind?”
Harriet laughed.
“I think you’re right.”
“Carter is freaking out as the wind picks up, so we’ll be joining the party, if the offer is still on the table,” Lauren said.
“Of course,” Harriet told her. “Connie?”
“Rod has our house sealed up tighter than a drum,” Connie replied. “And we have a generator in the garden shed.”
“Same here,” Robin said. “My kids are ready for a grand adventure. I heard from DeAnn this morning, and we’ll check on her house while they’re gone.”
“Let’s get back to work so we can get to those cozy homes,” Aunt Beth said.
More than half the fabric in the store had been moved upstairs when the bells on the front door of Pins and Needles jingled again.
“The store is closed,” Aunt Beth said without turning to see who’d come in.
“We’re not here to shop,” said a large woman with short curly gray hair covered with a plastic rain bonnet. She was accompanied by an equally portly man and a sullen-looking younger woman.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, then.” Aunt Beth turned to face the visitors. “Oh,” she said when she recognized the woman and her companions. “It’s you.”
“Are you twins?” Lauren asked. “Believe me, I know twins, and you’ve got to be Marjory’s twin.” In fact, Lauren was a twin-Harriet had met her brother Les in Angel Harbor when she and the Loose Threads attended the folk art school.
“No, we aren’t twins,” Pat said, spitting the last word out as if it were a piece of spoiled food she’d eaten by mistake.
“She is your sister, though.” Aunt Beth said. “And I’m guessing you know where she is better than we do.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Pat said, her spine stiffening and her cheeks coloring.
“You did report your mother’s car as stolen, didn’t you?”
“I did notice it was missing from the driveway. What was I to think, her living near that park and all? The car was missing, I assumed it had been stolen.” She stared rather pointedly at the homeless trio.
The looks that passed among the homeless group and the new arrivals were dangerous. Even the usually mild-mannered Joyce was glaring. Carla’s eyes widened, and Lauren’s jaw tightened. Harriet gently tugged on both their sleeves.