Quilter's Knot

by Arlene Sachitano

  They still didn't know why the copies were being made, but she and Carla were getting a clear idea of how they were doing it.

  "Let's see where the back door leads,” she called to Carla.

  Two doors were set in the back wall. Harriet turned the knob on the first and pushed, exposing a neat white-tiled bathroom. She leaned her head in and looked around.

  "Nothing in here,” she said.

  Carla turned the knob and opened the remaining door, exposing a large kitchen. A Formica-topped fifties-style table with red vinyl-seated chrome chairs sat in the center of the room. One wall contained typical appliances, including a full-size stove, refrigerator, microwave and an industrial-sized dishwasher. The opposite side of the room had two double utility sinks with wood-topped counter space on either side of the sinks. A bundle of dried flowers and branches lay on the counter to the left. A pair of garden shears was on the counter beside the flowers; a pair of worn leather garden gloves had been abandoned next to them.

  "This is quite the set-up,” Harriet said as she entered the room. Carla followed her.

  "Why didn't they fix up the outside?” Carla wondered. “I mean, the inside is really cool, but the outside looks like it's falling down."

  "I don't know, but sometimes when property or zoning laws change, especially if there's an environmental impact, you're only allowed to repair existing structures, not rebuild or replace. People leave old boards to try to prove they haven't really built something new. Maybe something like that happened."

  "Seems like it wouldn't be very safe to have that old siding and roof on a building this big."

  "Oh, I'd be willing to bet that between in here and the ramshackle outside is a bunch of engineering."

  Carla had come to stand beside her. She tilted her head and looked at the open-beam ceiling. A loud click sounded behind them.

  Carla grabbed Harriet's arm. “What was that?” she whispered.

  "I don't know.” Harriet went back to the connecting door. She twisted and pulled on the knob. “It's locked.” she said.

  "Are you sure it isn't just stuck?"

  Harriet pushed, pulled, twisted and rattled, but the knob didn't budge. She turned around and noticed two doors at the back of the kitchen. The one in the left-hand wall led to a screened porch. She went onto the porch, crossed and tried its door.

  "Locked,” she reported.

  The door in the right wall opened onto a dark stairway that led downward. She shut it again quickly.

  "I'm not going down there. We're going to find another way out of here that doesn't involve a dark, damp stairwell into the unknown."

  Carla took a thin spatula from the dish rack and went back to the door between the kitchen and the sewing room. She slid the flexible blade between the door and the jamb. It clicked as the blade hit metal.

  "Someone's turned the deadbolt,” she said, her eyes round.

  "Don't panic.” Harriet looked around for other possible ways out. She turned a full circle, noting the high clerestory windows. Her eyes came back to the door Carla was standing at.

  "Oh, jeez,” she said. A thin curl of smoke was seeping under the door. “Get away from the door."

  She went to the counter and started pulling drawers open. When she found dishtowels, she pulled a handful out and threw them into the sink. She turned the faucet on and soaked the towels then rolled them lengthwise and carried them back to the door, pressing them along the bottom crack.

  "See if you can get anything to open on the porch,” she called, but Carla was already there, rattling the storm windows and pulling on the door. Harriet heard a crash. She found Carla banging a ceramic flowerpot she'd found on the floor into the window. A fine pattern of cracks spread across the glass from the point of impact, but the window didn't give.

  "There's wire or something in the glass,” she cried, panic clear in her voice.

  Harriet took a closer look. “It looks like its some kind of safety glass."

  She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She dialed Aiden's number, and his phone went directly into his voicemail.

  "We need help,” she said, and her phone went dead.

  "What happened,” Carla asked, her voice rising. “Why did you stop talking?"

  "I lost the signal. And his phone went straight to his voicemail anyway."

  Carla pulled a drawer open on a hutch standing against the back wall of the building. She found a small common head screwdriver.

  "We can unscrew the hinges,” she suggested, but Harriet could see the screwdriver wasn't going to be up to the task.

  She looked back to the connecting door and could see smoke starting to once again curl into the room, this time around the edges of the rolled towels.

  "There has to be another way out of here,” she said. “We don't know what's in that basement. What if there's a body?"

  "Why would you think that?” Carla's eyes went wide.

  "No reason.” Harriet tried to mentally take herself to a peaceful place. She imagined a grassy meadow and herself riding bareback on a large white horse.

  She'd come home late one night after a movie with her girlfriends and crawled into bed in her dark bedroom beside her cold, dead husband, who had passed away in her absence. It had taken her several years of therapy, during which her counselor had taught her to imagine herself in a safe place, before she could sleep in a bed again. Even though Steve had died five years ago, she still hadn't conquered the dark-room thing.

  * * * *

  Carla looked at Harriet and straightened her spine. She went over to the cabinet drawers and dug around until she found a small penlight, a couple birthday candles and a book of matches. She clicked the penlight on and was rewarded with a wavering yellow beam that indicated a used-up battery. She flicked it off quickly. It would probably only be good for one quick flash before it died completely.

  "Come on.” She took Harriet by the hand and led her down the stairs, not mentioning the penlight's condition.

  She rhythmically swiped her toe across the next step before putting her weight on it, pulling Harriet along with her. Every two steps she reached up and felt for a low overhead, warning Harriet to duck when they reached one.

  Harriet stumbled, jamming her toe on the last step.

  "Ouch!” she cried.

  "Are you okay?” Carla whispered.

  Harriet assured her she was fine but limped when she tried to walk.

  "This way, I think,” Carla told her and led her slowly to the right, again feeling with her toe and sweeping every now and then with her hand, stopping when they came to a large sheet-metal box.

  "I think this is the furnace,” she said, and carefully felt her way around it, continuing around the perimeter of the room.

  "How is it you're so good at this?"

  "I've spent a lot of time in the dark,” Carla admitted with a sigh.

  They were silent for a few minutes as they continued their exploration.

  "My momma was very young when she had me. She's spent a lot of time trying to find a man who would make her troubles go away. My daddy took off when I was born. He said he was too young to be a father.

  "Then my momma took up with Danny. She said he beat us; I don't really remember that, though. After that, she was with Bobby Jo, and he liked little girls more than he liked my momma, so she started locking me in the basement or closet or toolshed or wherever she could to keep me away from Bobby Jo until she could get away from there. After that, I guess the closet turned out to be a good babysitter."

  * * * *

  Harriet was glad for once that it was dark; she knew she had to have a look of horror on her face. Carla was very matter-of-fact in her recitation. A thousand questions came to Harriet's mind, but she didn't want to upset the girl.

  "What did you do to pass the time?” she finally asked.

  "I pretended I was a princess. My dolly was my attendant. We were in the kingdom of dark and needed to search to find the prince and set him free."

/>   "And did you ever find him?"

  "No. I'm still looking. But I've met a lot of interesting creatures along the way."

  "You're a stronger woman than I am,” Harriet admitted. “I still sleep with a nightlight.” She knew if she could see Carla, the young woman would be blushing.

  * * * *

  Carla sneezed. They had just gone through an open doorway into another space. She sneezed again.

  "I have hay fever,” she said, apologetic. “There must be something in here.” She stepped carefully along the wall of the new room. Something rustled when she swept her hand overhead. She took a half-step and reached up again.

  "Feel this,” she said, and guided Harriet's hand up to what felt like a clump of dried flowers. She stepped forward and felt again. “I think someone is drying herbs or something in here. It feels like a series of bouquets or something hanging from the ceiling."

  "

  Harriet stepped around Carla and crept forward, moving her hand from one bunch to another.

  "I think you're right. Did you notice the dried flower arrangements in our rooms? Someone here seems to be into it. In my room they have dried lavender and eucalyptus in the arrangement. I guess it's a good way to keep the rooms smelling fresh."

  "Does eucalyptus grow here?” Carla asked.

  "I don't think so. But I bet they harvest wildflower seeds for the meadow. I've tried using those wildflower mixes, and the first year they look great but the second year only the ugly stuff comes back and it goes downhill from there until you have a big patch of weeds. I'd be willing to bet someone seeds that meadow by the pond. It looks too good to be natural."

  Carla sneezed again. “Come this way,” she said. Harriet moved toward her voice and bumped into her.

  "Sorry."

  "It's okay. I think I felt a little air coming from across the room. Hold my hand—we're going to take it slow."

  Harriet was impressed by how surefooted Carla was. She led them carefully across to the other corner of the room and then along the wall to the right.

  "There's a door here,” she said.

  "Let me see.” Harriet found the latch and opened the door. “You're right, there's a definite feel of fresh air in here."

  Carla once again led the way.

  "Stay close,” she said. She started carefully across the room then stopped. “There's a step here. I'm going to go up and see if there are more.” She moved, and Harriet heard a thump followed by an “Ouch!"

  "There are steps that go up, but the ceiling doesn't."

  Harriet stepped onto the first step and reached up. She patted the sloped ceiling. “Do you still have the little light?"

  Carla handed her the penlight, and Harriet turned it on, scanning the ceiling.

  "Yes,” she said, and held her hand up for a high five. Carla slapped it. She swept the small light around the space they were in.

  "This is some kind of root cellar, and if we can pry the latch open, it's our path to freedom."

  Carla worked her way to a wall shelf revealed by the dim light. Harriet heard the rustle of metal.

  "There are some old tools here.” She came back with a hammer and some kind of file or chisel. Harriet wedged the chisel under the latch and hit it. The latch popped out of the door on the first try.

  It took three tries and all the strength both women possessed, but finally the door swung open with a bang.

  "Let's get out of here,” Harriet said quietly and limped forward.

  They had come out on the west side of the building.

  "I think we should go into the woods and circle around the meadow, since we don't know where our tormentor is."

  "I like the dark,” Carla said quietly.

  Harriet shook her head and limped quietly into the woods. A last glance back revealed smoke seeping out of the high windows of the workroom.

  "How bad is your foot?” Carla asked. “Do you want me to go get help?"

  "It hurts, but I think it's just my toe. It'll be okay. Let's get back to the Tree House and call for help."

  Carla positioned herself next to Harriet and pulled Harriet's arm over her thin shoulders.

  "Here, lean on me."

  They were on the path to the Tree House almost a half-hour before they heard sirens. There wouldn't be much left for the firefighters to work with.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mavis pulled the door open as Harriet, leaning heavily on Carla, came onto the Tree House porch. She took over providing support and guided Harriet to the sofa.

  "Dios mio!” Connie cried, glancing heavenward as she pulled a pillow from the chair and put it on the coffee table. “What have you done?” She gently guided Harriet's foot to the pillow and began undoing her shoelaces.

  "What time is it?” Harriet asked, looking at Mavis.

  "He hasn't come yet, if that's what you're asking. Are you okay?” she asked Carla.

  "I'm fine.” Carla collapsed onto the sofa beside Harriet.

  Connie fetched two glasses of water. “Here, drink this,” she commanded.

  Harriet took a sip and set her glass down. “Someone tried to kill us,” she announced.

  "They burned Selestina's studio,” Carla said at the same time.

  Mavis held her hand up. “One at a time."

  Carla's face flushed, and she was silent as Harriet gave a recap of their discovery of the outbuilding, being locked in, trying to call Aiden without luck and then escaping through the root cellar.

  "Oh, my gosh—Aiden!” said Mavis. She went to the phone and began dialing. “He called here looking for you. He said he'd gotten a cryptic message. I told him you'd gone to the meadow to look for Selestina's workroom."

  She left a brief message stating that Harriet and Carla were back at the Tree House.

  "I think we should pack up and go home,” Connie announced. “First Aiden's in an accident, and now Harriet and Carla are nearly trapped in a fire."

  "What about Lauren?” Harriet asked. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but if we leave now, what's going to happen to her? I'm not saying I owe her or anything, but after the setup we saw, it's pretty clear she's, at the very least, a victim of plagiarism. If we leave, she's the number-one suspect in Selestina's murder with no one to defend her."

  "Shouldn't we call the sheriff's office?” Connie asked.

  "And tell them Carla and I were locked into a building we'd broken into, and then someone set it on fire? We don't even know for certain we were the target. Maybe whoever was burning the place locked the door out of habit."

  "That makes no sense,” Mavis argued as she wedged herself between the two younger women. “Why would they bother to lock an interior door if they were going to burn the place down? I do see what you mean about breaking and entering, though."

  "The door wasn't locked,” Carla offered.

  "Well, I guess that's something, honey.” Mavis patted her leg.

  Harriet closed her eyes and leaned her head back, listening to Connie and Mavis argue the merits of going versus staying. A sudden hammering on the front door interrupted the discussion. Mavis got up, but the door opened before she could reach it.

  "Harriet,” Tom Bainbridge shouted.

  "Tom?” Harriet took her foot off the table and stood up.

  "Good afternoon, ladies.” He nodded to Connie and Mavis and ignored Carla. “If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Harriet."

  "Go ahead,” Mavis sat back down on the sofa.

  "Alone, please.” Tom remained standing.

  "Not a chance,” Mavis said.

  "It's okay, Mavis. We'll be right out front.” Harriet looked at him. His jaw was tight. He nodded once and stalked out onto the porch. She followed and pulled the door shut behind her.

  "I'm really sorry,” she said as she turned to face him.

  "You should be,” he snapped. “What did you think you were going to find, going through my files?” He ran his right hand through his hair and began
pacing the length of the porch.

  "Harriet!” Aiden took the porch steps two at a time, stopping when he reached her side. “Are you okay? Mavis said you and Carla were in a fire.” He held her at arm's-length, surveying her intently.

  "I'm fine."

  "You were at the workshop?” Tom grabbed Harriet's arm and spun her toward him.

  "Get your hands off her,” Aiden said and shoved him away.

  Tom shoved back, and Aiden stumbled down the first two stairs. He leaped back up and hit Tom with a right hook to the jaw. Tom stumbled and fell to sit on the floor.

  "Stop it!” Harriet yelled. She pushed Aiden back and crouched down beside Tom.

  The door banged open, and Mavis appeared.

  "What is going on out here?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

  "He grabbed Harriet,” Aiden said, sounding more like a spoiled eight-year-old than a grown veterinarian.

  Tom stared at Aiden and Mavis but said nothing as he swiped at the trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

  Mavis turned to Harriet.

  "Take Tom into the kitchen and get him cleaned up. And you...” She turned to glare at Aiden. “You go into the living room with Connie, and then we'll get this sorted out."

  The men withdrew to their appointed corners, and Mavis put the kettle on the stove. Harriet wet a paper towel and handed it to Tom.

  "I should have the lot of you thrown in jail,” he muttered.

  Harriet rifled through the drawers and found a sandwich bag. She pulled a strange-looking aluminum ice cube tray from the freezer. She tilted it from side to side, trying to figure out how it worked.

  "Pull the handle,” Mavis said.

  Harriet did as instructed, and the cubes loosened. She filled the bag, wrapped it in a towel and handed it to Tom. She could hear Connie's voice from the common room. She couldn't hear the words, but the former teacher's tone said it all. Aiden was getting a thorough tongue-lashing.

  Mavis's kettle whistled, and she poured hot water into of mugs she'd prepped with tea bags. She put them on a tolework tray and carried them to the dining table.