The Quilt Before the Storm

by Arlene Sachitano

  “He has a little combination lock on the zipper. I know it isn’t much, but we all lock up what we can. It won’t stop a determined thief, but it does deter the casual one.”

  “Did you look in any of the other areas? I understand you had some transient people who stayed here the first night of the storm.”

  “They may have had extra people in the restrooms, but the people who were camping here went to the church shelter that afternoon.”

  “Have you looked in Duane’s space?”

  “No, I haven’t. That young woman from the police went back and looked around, but she didn’t bring anything out that I could see.”

  “Do you mind if we look around a little?” Harriet asked.

  Joyce nodded her agreement.

  “Didn’t Duane have his quilt with him in the restroom stall?” Lauren asked.

  “He did, but remember, he didn’t take one at first so we left the extras with Joyce, and I specifically gave her one for him. It was one of the quillows. But you know, now I think about it, the one that was covering him in the restroom didn’t have a pocket on it. At least, not that I could see.”

  “Who knows what goes on when we aren’t here,” Lauren said. “Maybe they did something crazy, like trade their blankets. Perhaps the one you thought he was getting didn’t match his decor, so he traded it with one of the other inmates—I mean, residents.”

  “Would you lower your voice?” Harriet muttered through clenched teeth as they walked farther into the woods.

  Duane’s space looked much as it had when the Loose Threads had helped set it up several days earlier. His sleeping bag lay on the brush-pile bed covered by one of the tarps they’d made. There was no sign of a flannel quilt.

  “Let’s take a peek at Ronald’s area,” Harriet said and led the way deeper into the forest.

  “Not much to see here,” Lauren proclaimed when she came up beside her in front of the tent. As Joyce had told them, it was buttoned up tight, with a small luggage lock holding the two ends of the zipper system in its grip.

  Harriet turned to go, but Lauren didn’t join her.

  “You aren’t going to just walk away from this, are you?” she asked.

  “I most certainly am,” Harriet answered. “Just because his home is outside doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be breaking and entering.”

  “You’re no fun,” Lauren griped, but she backed away from the tent.

  Brandy was nowhere to be seen as they walked back on the trail, so Harriet stopped at the entrance to her area and listened for the sounds of someone breathing.

  “Is she in there?” Lauren whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” she answered in the same tone. “Let’s check it out.”

  They crept as quietly as they could into Brandy’s camping area.

  “What have we here?” Lauren asked in a normal voice.

  Piled on Brandy’s bed were three quilts, one with the distinct quillow pocket on its top.

  Harriet picked up the quillow, and when she did, a cell phone fell out onto the bed. She dropped the quilt and picked up the phone.

  “Jackpot,” Lauren said.

  Harriet pushed the power button, but nothing happened.

  “This probably ran out of juice a long time ago,” she said. “Let’s go back to Duane’s and see if he has the charger cord in his things. I’m not sure how it’s going to help us, unless it has a place for notes and he used it. But if he was doing something that got him killed, he probably didn’t spell it out for us.”

  “Geez, don’t you ever go to the movies?” Lauren asked. “There’s always some cryptic clue left behind at a crime scene. Are you going to take it with us?”

  “I probably should leave it and tell Detective Morse about it.”

  “With Brandy on the loose, we might never see it again.” Lauren pointed out.

  “You’re right. We need to protect the evidence.” Harriet tucked the phone in her jacket pocket, and they made their way back to Duane’s area. “We can give this to Morse when we pick her up.”

  “Speaking of which,” Lauren said looking at her watch, “we need to go.”

  “Hold on.” Harriet ruffled Duane’s bedding with her hands. Nothing there. She paced around the space, looking first down and then up into the tree branches. “Got it,” she said, and unwound the cord from a small limb that also held a damp washcloth and an equally damp towel. “We probably should leave the quilts and just tell Joyce where they are. She seems to know how best to deal with Brandy.”

  Lauren led the way through the forest and back to the common area of the camp.

  “We found the quilts,” Harriet told Joyce.

  “Brandy has them,” Lauren added. “They’re on her bed.”

  “Are you señoritas ready to go pick up the detective?” Jorge asked.

  They said goodbye to Joyce and assured her they would check in again the following day.

  “I don’t like those two women staying out here alone with a killer in the area.” Jorge said when they were on the way back to the parking lot.

  “They aren’t alone,” Harriet reminded him. “Owen and Kate are here, too.”

  “I didn’t see their truck,” Jorge said. “They may have decided to park in the church parking lot. There are a number of RVs there already.”

  “Or maybe they went for a drive,” Lauren said, “because they could.”

  “Did Joyce have anything to report?” Harriet asked as Jorge guided the truck out of Fogg Park and headed for the grade school.

  “Nothing to help your investigation,” he said with a smile. “She’s worried about Brandy. I guess the girl wanders out into the forest for hours at a time, and Joyce doesn’t really know where she goes or what she does, and she doesn’t want to follow her to find out.”

  “I think we can guess, based on the pile of bottles in her living space,” Lauren said.

  “Which kind of makes you wonder where she gets her supply,” Harriet mused. “I can’t imagine she could be walking to town and back in the hours she’s not accounted for, but she has to be getting it somewhere.”

  “It still boggles my mind that they all live out there without transportation of any sort except their own two feet.”

  “Chiquitas, you are selling our fine community short. We have public transportation. The bus comes right to the park at least twice a day, maybe more.”

  “Really?” Harriet asked. “I’ve seen them around town, but I didn’t realize they came out to the park. That adds a new dimension to our situation.”

  She heard the whoop-whoop-whoop of the helicopter before she saw it, lowering to the playground pavement like a giant insect and coming to rest on a large white X that had been spray-painted onto the black surface. Jorge parked the truck a safe distance away, and the trio got out to wait for the passengers to disembark.

  Harriet waved when Detective Morse climbed out the door, hunched over, one hand holding her hair away from her face, the other one gripping a large shoulder bag close to her side. She hurried out from under the rotor wash then walked to the truck.

  “Well, that was nerve-wracking,” she reported. “If anyone tells you the storm is over, don’t believe them.”

  “I’m glad you made it,” Harriet said.

  “And I’m glad you’re here, too,” Jorge said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into those two ladies who insist on staying in the park while someone is running around killing people.”

  “Thanks,” Detective Morse said to Harriet. “And as for the homeless people—I can’t make them leave the park if they don’t want to go. They have legal permission to camp there. And you know better than anyone that I don’t have any officers to spare to protect them. Frankly, at this point, they’re not cleared as suspects.”

  “You can’t believe either of those two women is the killer,” Jorge protested.

  “Maybe they’re a team,” Morse said with a grim smile.

  “Yikes,” said Harriet.

  “You gott
a admit,” commented Lauren, “if they are the killers, they’ve got a good cover act going on.”

  “But why would they want Duane and Richard dead?” Harriet asked. “One guy lived with them, and the other was just there by chance one afternoon.”

  “That’s why they call us detectives,” Morse said. “We get to figure that kind of stuff out. But I didn’t say they were the killers. I just said they haven’t been eliminated yet. No one has. I’m going to have to talk to everyone who’s been to the camp since this all started, including all of you.”

  “Let’s go back to my house and get you settled,” Harriet said. “Then, if you want, you can talk to all of us. If not, Jorge can probably drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “Sure,” he agreed.

  “Sounds good to me,” Morse said and climbed into the truck.

  Chapter 20

  “I really appreciate you letting me stay here,” Detective Morse said an hour later when she came back down from the attic space Harriet and Lauren had set up for her.

  “We’ve got some sandwiches in the dining room if you’d like to have a snack with us before you get on with things,” Mavis offered.

  “That sounds good. And maybe you can fill me in on what’s been happening here while we’re eating.”

  Harriet started by describing her visit to the homeless camp with Tom right after the discovery of Duane’s body and finished with Richard’s death.

  “I’m afraid we don’t know much more than that two men are dead,” she said when she was done. “Oh, and Tom mentioned that when he went to Owen’s truck with him, he noticed a spool of wire that looked a lot like the wire that was wrapped around Duane’s throat. We do know that Richard was in town because he was having money troubles and was trying to get money from Marjory.”

  “Our Marjory?” Morse asked. “Quilt store Marjory? Does she have the kind of money someone would come after?”

  “Yes, our Marjory,” Mavis explained. “And she has a small inheritance from their parents.”

  “So, I take it you didn’t identify or catch the serial killer when you met with the task force,” Harriet said.

  “No, ’fraid not. Everyone shared their information on killings in their respective jurisdictions, and we compared similarities and differences and came up with a list of what are almost certainly victims of the killer and eliminated a couple of others. We spent a lot of time talking about how we would share information. And we tried to figure out what our killer’s signature is. There is some disagreement, but we think we came up with a victim profile.”

  “Do Duane and Richard fit the profile?”

  “Duane’s not a perfect fit, but he does have some of the traits. Richard I don’t know enough about, but on the surface I’d say no. These victims tend to be vulnerable in some way—homelessness puts Duane in that category.”

  “Great,” Lauren said. “So, we didn’t learn anything.” Carter licked her face as if in sympathy.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Morse got up and crumpled her napkin before carrying it to the fireplace and throwing it in. “If you’re still willing, I think I’d like to go to the fire station and check in with the rest of my team,” she said to Jorge.

  “Sure. Anyone else want to go along for the ride?”

  “I’ll go,” Lauren said when no one else offered.

  “How would you feel about driving, honey?” Aunt Beth asked Harriet. Jorge and Lauren had been gone for half an hour, and Harriet had spent the time pacing between the kitchen and the fireplace. “You’re going to wear the carpet out if you don’t stop that dancing around.”

  “I’m not dancing,” Harriet said.

  “You’re not doing anything productive, either.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Mavis and I were thinking we’d really like to get up to the church and see how things are going.”

  “We realized that we’ve already started taking donations for the clothing drive,” Mavis said. “And we’re betting some of the people didn’t bring extra clothes with them.”

  “Plus we always buy new underwear with donated money, and we’ve already purchased them,” Beth continued. “We’re thinking people might be real happy to get a fresh set of those.”

  “We’ll suggest they donate a new set when things get back to normal.” Mavis finished.

  “Sure,” Harriet said. “I’d like to see if the Owen and Kate are there. They kind of disappeared.”

  “You don’t think someone killed them, do you?” Aunt Beth said, concern in her voice.

  “No. At least, I didn’t until you just mentioned it. That’s a horrible thought.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sure they went to the church for a hot meal or something like that. Or maybe they just wanted a change of scenery.” Mavis said.

  “One way to find out,” Harriet said. “The bus leaves in five.” She headed upstairs to brush her teeth and get a sweatshirt.

  “I hope the girls will be okay here by themselves,” Aunt Beth said as she climbed into the passenger seat of Harriet’s car.

  “They’ll be fine,” Harriet assured her. “You and Mavis spoil those two rotten.”

  “You just wait until you get Scooter home,” Mavis said from the back seat.

  Harriet was relieved to see the familiar semi truck in the church lot when she turned in and parked.

  “Well, that answers one question,” Aunt Beth said. “Let’s go inside and see what else is going on.”

  “How are the streets out there?” Reverend Mike Hafer asked Aunt Beth when they came into the church gymnasium.

  “Passable,” Aunt Beth said. “The Muckleshoot is still over the bridge to downtown, but folks are getting the streets cleared.”

  “How are you holding up?” Mavis asked.

  “We’re doing fine,” Mike replied. “We were pretty well prepared, and people keep dropping off food and supplies. The children are getting cabin fever, but we’ve got some teachers here holding classes of sorts, and we have board games and the church library to help them learn about how people spent their leisure time before the days of television and video games. I just thank the Lord there weren’t any serious injuries due to the storm.”

  Aunt Beth explained her intention to make up more newcomer kits in case anyone else came to the shelter. Mavis told him their plan to raid the clothing drive closet.

  “That’s a good idea,” Mike said. “We’re continuing to have people arrive as they run out of fuel and supplies at home. And I know we have people who arrived with just the clothes on their backs.”

  “If you think of anything else you’d like us to do while we’re here, let us know. Otherwise, we’ll get to it,’ Aunt Beth said.

  “Thank you for coming today. I know you’re living in less than ideal conditions yourselves.”

  Mavis and Aunt Beth headed toward the doors across the gym that led to the interior of the church and their destination.

  Harriet spotted Kate standing at a roll-up window that separated the kitchen from the gym. The church volunteers had set up a coffee station on the counter with multiple large thermal carafes with pump spouts.

  “Hey,” Harriet said as she approached her. “How’s it going?”

  Kate attempted a weak smile.

  “It’s going,” she said.

  “Is this a permanent move?” Harriet indicated the gym around them.

  “Nothing is permanent in our life,” Kate said and took a sip from the paper cup she clutched in both hands.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Harriet asked. “I mean, that must go with the territory when you decide to become long-haul truckers.”

  Kate squeezed her cup so hard the hot liquid spilled over the lip and onto her hand. She dropped it and grabbed for a napkin. Harriet handed her napkins from a nearby table and put several more on the spilled coffee.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she’d cleaned up the spill. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s not you,” Kat
e assured her as she took a fresh cup and poured it half-full of coffee. “It’s our situation. It’s just so frustrating. And it’s our own fault. Well, not our fault, really, but our stupidity.”

  Harriet waited for the woman to elaborate and began to think she wasn’t going to when Kate sighed.

  “This is so embarrassing, but…we live in our truck…because we lost our house. In fact, even the truck isn’t ours. It belongs to Owen’s brother. He has a trucking business, and if he hadn’t let Owen drive for him, we’d have been in a homeless camp somewhere, too, just like Joyce and Brandy.”

  Harriet wasn’t sure what the appropriate response was in this sort of situation.

  “Like I said, it’s our own fault. We had a custom cabinet business in Sequim. We weren’t rich, but we did okay. One of Owen’s suppliers told him about this financial fund that seemed too good to be true. He said he’d been investing his money there for ten years, and it was as near to bulletproof as a fund can be. He told Owen that not just anyone could put their money in it. You had to be nominated by a current investor and had to meet a rather high minimum deposit. To meet that minimum, we had to use all our money.”

  “I’m guessing things went bad when the economy tanked.”

  “As bad as it can go,” Kate admitted. “We lost it all. It turns out we had given our life savings to a Ponzi scheme. We later learned this sort of scheme always has a few people who actually are paid their earnings. The people who run it choose people who will be withdrawing money from their account. The investors are so amazed by the returns they’re willing to sell the fund to their friends. And of course, the company had all kinds of dummy reports and full-color glossy brochures.

  “So, for those lucky few, it was the deal of a lifetime. It’s the rest of us poor schmucks who got shafted. Owen and I were in that majority who had their money in the fund for the long haul. We marveled over how rich we were each month when we opened our statements, but we never tried to withdraw any of it.” She made a strangled noise that Harriet thought was supposed to be a laugh. “We were so naive.” Tears welled in her eyes.