“We can drive back by the police station if the bridge isn’t out,” Tom offered.
“Do you have any duct tape in the vehicle?” Harriet asked him. “We need to seal off the area to preserve the crime scene as best we can.”
“Sure,” he said and went to retrieve it. “Here.” He handed Harriet the roll when he returned. “I’m coming in with you. It’s probably not reasonable under the conditions to block people from the whole restroom. If he’s in the handicapped stall, maybe we can just tape it shut.”
Harriet agreed and led the way into the small building. The area smelled faintly of bleach and pine cleaner. She supposed either the park or the homeless people kept it cleaner than a usual public facility because of their daily use of the space. The outside temperature was running only a few degrees above freezing, so they wouldn’t have to worry about Duane’s decomposition for a while.
“We can tape the door shut without looking, you know,” Tom suggested.
“I’m sorry, but I need to have a look,” Harriet said with a weak smile.
She pulled her gloves from her pocket and put them on before carefully opening the stall door and leaning her head in. At first glance, you couldn’t tell anyone was under the pile of blankets next to the toilet. She recognized one of the Loose Threads’ flannel quilts on top. She stepped in and gently pulled the corner of the quilt away from the top end of the pile, revealing the remains of Duane.
In what she now realized was a bout of magical thinking, she had hoped Ronald had been so overcome he had exaggerated the situation, and that Duane was either asleep or perhaps had hit his head or had some other less fatal misadventure. One look at the cord wrapped around Duane’s neck beneath his blue face, and she knew there had been no mistake. Duane was very definitely dead.
“Come on,” Tom said and gently pulled her back out of the stall. “We’ve seen enough. He’s gone.”
He shut the door, took his gloves off and began sealing the door with the duct tape.
“Why on earth would anyone want to kill such a sweet old man?” Harriet asked.
“Why does anyone kill anyone? Besides, maybe he wasn’t a nice old man. You’ve only known him, what? A few days?”
“I guess. It’s still sad, though. At least he had a nice flannel shroud.”
“That’s something, anyway. My mother would have thought so,” he said.
“We probably should unload the food and get on to the police station.”
“If we can get there,” he cautioned.
Chapter 11
Tom pulled the red MUV to a stop on the approach to the bridge over the Muckleshoot River, facing downtown Foggy Point on the opposite side. Harriet took a deep breath. The air smelled of pine from all the broken trees and the associated debris.
The drive from the homeless camp had been more exciting than she had anticipated. Downed power lines lay across roadways, still tangled in the trees that had pulled them down. They’d passed workers from the Foggy Point PUD at one point, chainsaws in hand, trying to restore order to the mess. After cautioning Tom to give any downed wires a wide berth, they’d reported that, in reality, there wasn’t much danger until someone was able to locate the break in the main feeder line that provided electricity to the whole peninsula, which could take days.
“We can still turn back,” he offered as they watched the Muckleshoot River rush by, lapping at the edge of the bridge on both sides. “If we go across, there’s no guarantee we can get back.”
“I guess we better hurry, then,” Harriet said.
Without a word, he released the brake and crossed the bridge.
Driving in the downtown area was slightly easier, since there were fewer trees to drop broken limbs, but there was still plenty of debris on the ground. A few shopkeepers were out surveying the damage and clearing the sidewalks around their businesses. Tom quickly guided their small vehicle to the Foggy Point Police Department.
Harriet hopped out and went to the door as soon as Tom had stopped. Officer Hue Nguyen met her at the door. He was obviously leaving.
“I hope you’ve come to volunteer,” he said with a glance at the all-terrain vehicle they had arrived in.
“I’m afraid not,” Harriet told him. She had met the young Asian officer earlier in the year when she’d been assaulted.
His jaw tightened in preparation for what was probably going to be bad news of some sort.
“We’ve come to report a murder,” Harriet went on. “At the homeless camp.”
“Oh, geez. Who was killed? Do you know what happened? Was it a fight?”
“We don’t really know anything,” Tom said. He’d joined them after securing the MUV. “We went there to deliver supplies from my hosts, and the residents had just discovered one of their group dead.”
“You said murder,” Nguyen said. “Are you sure?”
“The guy has a wire wrapped around his throat, so, yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s murder,” Harriet told him. “We looked, just to be sure, and then we taped the bathroom stall he’s in closed and came here.”
Nguyen ran his hand through his short black hair.
“No one’s here but me. The detectives all went to what was supposed to be a daylong task force meeting about the killings along the interstate, and then the slide happened, and the last time we were able to speak, they were stuck there. I talked to them on the satellite phone, but they don’t have power yet either. No one is willing to pay for a helicopter to fly them back, so I guess we’re on our own for now.”
“Where are all the other officers?” Harriet asked.
“Stuck at home, I guess. No one has a satellite phone at home, and our cell phones aren’t working, so I came down here, hoping someone would show up.”
“Do you want me to run you up to the homeless camp?” Tom asked. “After I take Harriet home.”
“Thanks, but I rode my off-road bike down here,” he said and pointed to a muddy blue motorcycle parked near the door to the station. “I’ll go by the camp on my way to check on my mother. You should probably get back across the bridge before it floods out.”
“I want to go check the fabric store for Marjory before we leave,” Harriet said.
“Be quick about it,” Nguyen ordered. “I think most people have already left for higher ground. I wouldn’t want to see you get stuck here.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Tom said as he and Harriet turned to go back to their vehicle. “Might be fun,” he mumbled.
“What did you say?” Harriet said.
“You heard me. I said it might be fun being trapped alone with you.”
“You’re crazy.” She climbed back into her seat and strapped on her seatbelt.
It took less than five minutes to drive to the quilt store. Tom kept glancing nervously back toward the river, but he didn’t suggest turning around. As they turned the last corner, Harriet could see two figures huddled at the door to Pins and Needles.
“What are those people doing?” she wondered.
“Let’s find out.” Tom slid out of the driver’s seat. “Hey, what are you doing?” he shouted as he approached the pair.
They turned, and Harriet saw it was Marjory’s sister and brother-in-law.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Pat’s hair hung in limp curls on her neck. She was wearing the same clothes she’d had on the day before, now considerably more wrinkled.
“We wanted to make sure Marjory’s shop survived the storm,” Richard answered. A screwdriver dangled from his left hand. He belatedly looked for someplace to conceal it with no luck.
“So you thought you’d just break in?” Tom pulled out his phone as if to dial 911.
“Marjory’s not in any position to let the police know you aren’t common criminals, so I guess you’re on your own,” Harriet said.
“Now, wait one minute,” Richard said, pulling himself up to his full, not very impressive height. “It’s not like we’ve done anything, here. We just were looking in
the window.”
“You were here yesterday. You know we’ve already moved her inventory up to the attic,” Harriet pointed out.
“Okay, you’ve got us—we’re hungry,” Pat said. “We’re stuck here, and we’re hungry. We were trying to get in to see if Marjory had any food inside.”
“Didn’t you go to the church shelter?” Tom asked. “They have food.”
“No,” Richard answered. “We decided to stay in our car.”
“Lisa didn’t want to sleep in the same room with strangers,” Pat explained.
“So, she’d rather be hungry?” Harriet asked.
“We thought we’d be able to go to the church in the morning,” Pat replied. “We tried, but…” She spread her arms out to indicate the mess around her.
Harriet just shook her head.
“You’re going to have to get to a shelter,” Tom told them. “I haven’t seen any open stores. You need to get across the bridge before the river swamps it then see if you can make your way to one of the churches or schools.”
“What if we can’t get to one?” Pat asked, a real note of panic in her voice for the first time.
Harriet’s shoulders sagged, but before she could speak, offering Pat and Richard a place at her house, Tom said, “I have a nice plate of cookies to tide you over until you make your way to a shelter. Wait right here.”
“What are you doing here, anyway,” Pat asked, recovering her composure. “Didn’t Marjory tell me your aunt has a big house up on the hill?”
“Yeah, if the river is so dangerous, why are you here?” Richard said.
“If you must know, my friend and I were delivering supplies to the homeless camp. One of their members didn’t survive the night. We came to notify the police, and thought we’d check and see how Marjory’s store fared. As we all know, she’s not able to do it herself.”
“Was it one of the people who helped you pack up the shop yesterday?” Richard asked.
“What’s it to you? Why the sudden interest in the homeless people?”
“Was it?” He pressed, a steely tone entering his voice.
“As a matter of fact, it was—one of the men.”
“Which one?” He leaned toward her.
“The guy with the deep voice,” she said, stepping away. “Duane.”
Richard sighed and rocked back on his heels, his gaze far away from Pins and Needles.
“Did you know Duane?”
“Me?” Richard asked. “Of course not. I just noticed the two fellows in the shop yesterday.”
Harriet tried to think back to the day before to remember if she’d noticed any interaction between Richard and the homeless trio, but too much had happened since then.
Tom returned a moment later with one of the plates of cookies from his hostess, and it was as if Richard’s intense interest in the homeless man had never happened. He grabbed the cookies from Tom’s hands and barely let Pat have a crack at them. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so pathetic.
Tom took her firmly by the arm and started to lead her away, but she stopped and turned back to Pat and Richard.
“You’re wasting your time, you know.”
They looked up at her, crumbs trailing from both their mouths.
“Marjory doesn’t leave any cash in the shop when she isn’t there,” she lied. She turned away from them and hurried toward the MUV.
“What was that about?” Tom asked her when she was back in her seat.
“Oh, I was just trying to discourage Richard from his larcenous inclinations.”
“Good luck with that. He looks like he was born sleazy.” He turned the MUV on. “We need to get you home,” he said.
Chapter 12
“I’m starving,” Harriet announced as she came into the kitchen from the garage. She was carrying a bottle of water in each hand.
“Is Tom with you?” Aunt Beth asked, eyeing the extra water.
“No, he went back to check on the Renfros.” She looked down at the extra bottle she was holding. “I’m just really thirsty.” She sat down at the breakfast table and opened one of the bottles, nearly draining it before setting it down again.
“How was it out there?” Mavis asked as she joined them.
Harriet sagged back in her chair.
“It’s awful.”
“That bad, huh?” Lauren asked, as she, too, entered the kitchen. “So, spill,” she said and slid into the chair opposite Harriet. “What was the worst you saw?”
“That would be Duane.” Harriet sighed. She looked up gratefully as Mavis slid a plate with half of a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich on it in front of her.
Aunt Beth lifted the lid of a large pot that was simmering on the stove, and the room was filled with the spicy smell of chili.
“We’re having dinner shortly,” she said as she stirred it and replaced the lid. “We thought we’d eat before it gets dark.”
“Not that it ever really got light,” Mavis remarked, looking through the window at the gray sky outside.
“Come on, throw us a bone,” Lauren said. “What happened to Duane?”
“He’s dead.”
“What?” Aunt Beth exclaimed. “Did he have a heart attack or something?”
“It was more in the ‘or something’ category.”
“Don’t be a drama queen.” Lauren prompted. “Spit it out.”
“Someone strangled him during the storm.”
“Who?” Lauren asked.
“Do you think I’d have said ‘someone’ if I knew who’d done it?” Harriet snapped, more sharply than she’d meant to.
“Sorry,” Lauren said, dragging the word out in a way that indicated she was anything but.
“Settle down, you two,” Mavis said sternly. “Eat your sandwich, and then you can tell us everything.”
A half-hour later, Harriet was settled in front of the living room fireplace in a fresh set of clothes, a cup of tea clutched in both hands, a soft old quilted lap robe around her shoulders.
“First of all, the Muckleshoot was just starting to flow over the bridge when Tom and I came back. We barely made it across in time.” She paused and took a sip of tea. “Second, it took us more than two hours to get from here to the homeless camp. We cleared tree limbs and debris as we went, but there are wires down everywhere. We passed utility workers, and they said they’re doing repairs on the power lines in anticipation of the main feeder line break being found and fixed, but it’s anyone’s guess when that will happen.”
“Oh, dear,” Mavis said.
“We got to the homeless camp just as Joyce and Ronald found Duane. They thought he was sleeping in after being awake all night, but eventually, they checked and he was dead.”
“Was he in his camp?” Lauren asked, looking at Mavis the whole time to see if a reprimand was coming.
“No, he was in the handicapped stall in the men’s room. I guess several people rode the storm out in the bathrooms, but they took different stalls or corners for privacy. Joyce stayed out all night to keep an eye on Brandy, who was too out of it to come in, so she doesn’t know what happened indoors. Ronald said he slept through it all, but he knows the truck-driving couple and some other couple no one knew were in there, too. Joyce went to sleep after the storm broke, so Brandy was on her own during that time.” Harriet shook her head then shivered. “It was awful. And he was covered with one of our quilts after the fact.”
“You’re not suggesting our quilt had anything to do with it, are you?” Lauren asked.
“Of course she isn’t,” Mavis said. “It was just an observation, I’m sure.”
“We dropped the supplies Tom had and then went to the police station. Officer Nguyen seems to be the only law enforcement in town—I guess the detectives got stuck on the wrong side of the slide while they were at their task force meeting. Nguyen hadn’t been able to reach anyone else in town.”
“Wow,” said Aunt Beth. “I wonder who’ll investigate the murder.”
“Tom
and I used duct tape to seal off the bathroom stall, and I’m sure Joyce will do her best to keep people away. It’s certainly cold enough in the bathroom to preserve Duane for a while.”
“Well, that’s just terrible,” Aunt Beth said. “It must have been very upsetting.”
“It was a shock, that’s for sure. But that wasn’t the end of the fun on our adventure. Tom took me by Marjory’s shop so we could see if it had made it through the storm in one piece and…” She went on to describe their encounter with Marjory’s family.
“Richard reacted strangely when we told them about the death at the homeless camp. The fact that he reacted at all was strange,” Harriet said. “I think they slept in their car last night, and they were pretty hungry. I was going to cave and invite them here, but Tom wouldn’t let me. He gave them some cookies and told them to go find a shelter.”
“You’ve had an eventful day,” Mavis said.
“Anyone hungry?” Jorge called from the kitchen. The smell of cornbread greeted them as they made their way back to the kitchen.
“Did you make that on top of the stove?” Lauren asked.
“Yes, I did,” Jorge said. “There is only an electric oven under the gas cooktop, unfortunately.”
“Aren’t you tricky,” Lauren said. “And here I thought you only cooked Mexican.”
“I am a man of many secrets,” Jorge said with a knowing smile and scooped his spicy chili into ceramic bowls. “The grated cheese, sour cream and green onions are on the dining table with honey and butter for the bread,” he said.
“This is fabulous,” Harriet said as she took the bowl he handed her and made her way to the other room.
Everyone agreed, if the subsequent empty dishes were any indication.
Aunt Beth and Mavis insisted on washing the dishes, leaving Harriet and Lauren to sip their after-dinner tea in front of the fireplace in the living room. Jorge went outside to bring more firewood into the garage to dry, a task made more difficult by the elderly electric door opener needing to be operated manually using a temperamental pull cord.
“So, who do you think did it?” Lauren asked without preamble. “I mean, you were there. You must have some idea.”
The Quilt Before the Storm Page 10
