Quilter's Knot

by Arlene Sachitano

  "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.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  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.

  * * * *

  When Harriet regained consciousness, the hood had been removed from her head and the rope from around her neck. The painful bruises were still firmly in place.

  Wherever she was, it was dark—the sort of dark that prevents you from locating your hands when held in front of your face. She swallowed, and a spasm gripped her throat, making her cough. Which made her head hurt.

  She stayed very still and took a couple of deep breaths through her nose. The air was stale, with a slight sour smell.

  When she'd regained her equilibrium, she attempted to stand, and was immediately jerked back to the floor, banging her chin painfully on its wooden surface. Her ankles were bound together, her wrists tied behind her back.

  A scratching noise interrupted her struggle. It sounded like a large rodent dragging a bag of rocks across the floor.

  "Please don't be a rat,” she said out loud. “Anything but a rat."

  "Always the drama queen,” a hoarse voice said from the dark.

  "Lauren?"

  "Who were you expecting, Brad Pitt? He's busy with Angie and the kids."

  "Where are we?"

  "How should I know? It's dark. I'm tied up, as I assume you are."

  "How did you get here?"

  "Stop with the questions already. My head hurts."

  Harriet heard her retching, which was followed by a strange swooshing sound.

  "Sorry,” Lauren rasped. “Whoever put us here hit me in the head. I've been retching ever since I woke up."

  "Thanks for sharing that."

  "Your sympathy is overwhelming."

  "Besides your head, how are you?"

  "Oh, I'm just peachy. I'm tied here to my couch, and hey, now I have company. And if my life is going to end here, I can't think of anyone l like to see go down with me more."

  "Do you have any other injuries? Assuming I can figure a way out of here, can you walk?” Harriet asked, but she was thinking, She has a couch? I'm here rolling around on the floor, and she has a couch and is still complaining?

  "I'm fine,” Lauren said with a groan.

  Harriet scooted backward until she located the wall behind her. The floorboards were rough, and her knuckles burned as she scraped the skin off of them in the process. She bent her body into a sitting position and, by pressing her back to the wall, was able to worm her way upright.

  "Where are you going?” Lauren asked. “You're not leaving me here."

  "Of course I'm not. I'm tied up, remember?"

  With the wall for balance, and moving her feet in tiny shuffles, Harriet was able to inch along the perimeter of the room. She stopped and listened. She could hear the muffled rustle of wind in trees, b
ut the structure they were in was silent save for the occasional creak of the floorboards.

  "What are you doing?” Lauren asked.

  Harriet sighed. “If you weren't interrupting me every minute, I'd be exploring my environment and trying to find something useful for getting us out of here. It might help if you would do the same thing."

  "There's a smelly couch that I'm lying on and a large dead potted plant I've been retching into. Do you think you're the only clever one here? I searched as soon as I came to."

  "Did you get off the couch?"

  "Of course not, I'm tied up."

  The wall behind Harriet became what felt like a doorway. She slowly turned her face toward the wall and began rubbing her cheek up and down where a switch plate should be. What's a little more lost skin, she thought, and promised herself a facial if she got out of this place alive. She'd even invite Lauren to join her.

  She realized she was losing her touch with reality after that last thought. If she got out of this place alive, she was never going anywhere with Lauren Sawyer for the rest of her life.

  Her search efforts were rewarded, and with a dull click weak yellow light illuminated the space. She looked around. The ceiling had open beams, and the walls were covered with a mismatched combination of plywood and drywall, with some sections not covered at all. Long wisps of cobweb coated with thick dust drooped in loops overhead while dust bunnies scampered along the floor.

  Across the room, Lauren was slumped on a gray sofa with a broken leg that caused it to tilt at a crazy angle. Harriet began the slow shuffle across the plank floor to that corner, the rope around her ankles biting into her skin, sending burning pain up her calves with each step.

  The closer she got the worse Lauren looked. The back of her straight blond hair was matted and dark. Her face was streaked with a combination of blood, dirt and tears. Her complexion was pale on a good day, but it now had a gray pallor.

  "Tell me what happened to you,” Harriet said as she got closer.

  She noticed blood on the sofa where Lauren had been resting her head. Her stomach lurched, and she took two slow breaths through her nose. When her stomach steadied, she began again.

  "Start with your morning visit to my room."

  "What difference does it make? We're here now."

  "Please, humor me. Have you got something better to do?"

  "I was busy dying until you interrupted."

  She was being sarcastic, but a closer look at her face suggested her comments might be closer to the truth than she intended.

  "I don't know what good it will do until you tell me. If we can figure out who did this to us, maybe we can figure out where we are. If we know where we are, we can figure out how to get out."

  "That's a lot of if-ing and figuring,” Lauren said but began anyway. “I left your room and went to my brother's apartment. He had to go back to the school, and he was all worked up about those files he'd taken from Selestina's office. He was afraid the police would find them and think he'd killed her. He wanted to get rid of them, but he doesn't have a shredder, so I sat there with my scissors and cut each and every page into little tiny pieces."

  "What was in the files?"

  "I don't know. I was cutting, not reading. They were forms of some sort. Probably insurance. There were a few typed pages with signatures on them. It looked like it was employee benefits stuff. It took hours to cut it all up.

  "When I was finished, I took the garbage bag full of pieces to the kitchen and put it under the sink, which is where Les keeps his recycling. He had nothing good to eat, so I made a piece of toast, ate it and then I lay down on his bed and took a nap.” She laid her head back down on her arm.

  "Don't stop. How did you end up here?"

  "If I knew that don't you think I'd tell you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Do I have to spell it out? One minute I was sleeping on my brother's bed, the next I'm tied up in this dungeon with a giant headache."

  "So, you didn't hear anyone, see anyone, nothing?"

  "Hello, didn't I just say that? Now, stop talking, you're making my head hurt."

  Harriet reached the sofa and knelt on the seat at the opposite end, facing the wall. A spring poked her knee through the threadbare upholstery. The wall behind the sofa was covered with hinged shutters. If she could pry them open, there just might be a window. A small brass latch held the shutter panels together.

  "What are you doing?” Lauren asked.

  Harriet looked at her and could see fresh tears streaking her face.

  "It looks like this might be a shuttered window. I'm going to see if I can reach the shutters and try to get them open. If I can do that, and then if there's a glass window, I'll break the glass and hopefully get a piece of it and use it to cut your ties and then you can cut mine."

  Lauren closed her eyes. “Let me know how that goes."

  Moving around when your hands are tied behind your back and your feet tied to each other is a lot more difficult than it seems when you watch people on television do it. Harriet fell down onto the couch several times before she was able to balance on the back and press her face to the shutter. She turned it sideways so her cheekbone took the force of the fall as she propelled herself forward and into contact with the hinged pieces of wood.

  Tears filled her eyes, and her nose ran when she hit, but she knew if she stopped she wouldn't start again. She worked her mouth into position and used her tongue to poke at the latch. The brass tasted terrible, and she had to stop and spit before she could continue. The hinge pinched her tongue; and when she slipped, it hit her teeth, sending sharp shards of pain into her skull, but she kept working at it until the hook piece finally flipped off the peg that held the two halves together.

  The momentum it took to pull the shutters open knocked her back to the seat of the sofa. Lauren moaned when Harriet accidentally jostled her in the process.

  "Sorry, but I got the shutters open."

  "Could you see where we are?"

  "There's a window, but it's boarded up on the outside, but that's a good thing. When I break the window, the glass will all stay within reach. Hopefully."

  As she talked, Harriet worked her way around until she was balanced on the back of the sofa on her side with her feet in position to kick the window glass.

  "Here goes nothing,” she said, and kicked as hard as she could.

  She fell back onto Lauren's legs, causing the prone woman to yelp, but the glass broke with a satisfying tinkle as broken pieces hit the sofa and floor. She spun around and looked at her handiwork. Several large shards remained in the window frame, held in place by the putty.

  "I'm going to need your help for this next part,” she said to Lauren.

  "What do I have to do?” Lauren gave a world-weary sigh.

  "I'm getting a piece of glass, and then I'm coming down beside you. You need to sit up, and I'll cut the rope around your wrists and then you can cut mine."

  "Oh, no, sister. I'll cut yours first. If anyone's going to slip while they're sawing with a piece of glass, it's going to be me. I'm not having my hand sliced off by your ineptitude."

  "Fine, just sit up, turn your back to me and get ready to be handed the glass."

  Harriet wiggled around until her bound hands were able to reach the broken window. She pulled out a chunk of glass that was about the size of her fist and dropped back down to the sofa seat beside Lauren. She handed the glass off and with only minor slicing of her wrist, Lauren cut her bonds. Harriet immediately turned around and cut the rope binding Lauren's wrists.

  Both women rolled their shoulders and then rubbed their wrists before they reached to their ankles to untie their feet.

  "My knot won't move,” Lauren whined. “It's hard as a rock."

  "Someone was very clever. They saturated the knot with some kind of glue, probably the instant-drying kind.” Harriet picked up the piece of glass again and sawed through the ropes on first Lauren's and then her own ankles.

&nb
sp; "Can you stand up?” she asked.

  "I think so,” Lauren said. She rose and fell immediately back to the sofa.

  "Take it slow,” Harriet advised. She knew from her own experience with head injuries that slow was the only way to take it. She put her arm around Lauren's shoulders and helped her to her feet. They stood still for a moment and let Lauren's head stop spinning.

  The door was locked, but the knob assembly was old and loose. Harriet leaned Lauren against the wall then jerked, twisted and rattled the brass knob. When it didn't yield, she went back to the sofa, retrieved the glass shard, wrapped it in the hem of her sweatshirt and used it carefully to pry the knob plate from the wood. The metal pieces fell away, leaving only a hole in the door.

  She pulled the door inward and cautiously looked out. There was a landing of some sort that led to a narrow flight of stairs. The air outside their prison was cool and smelled fresh.

  The stairway was dark, but the light from the room they were leaving gave enough illumination for them to descend. She retrieved Lauren and, once again putting her arm around her shoulders, guided her to the first step.

  "Here, hold the rail,” she whispered, and helped Lauren brace herself on the banister. “I'll stay ahead a few steps and make sure it's safe."

  "I think I'm going to be sick,” Lauren whispered.

  "No, you are not. Your stomach is empty. Just stay there while I look ahead.” She went down a few steps, crouching to see where they would come out. “Come on,” she said, and continued to the bottom.

  The stairs ended in a dark hallway. Harriet could see the top of another, wider flight at the opposite end of the hall. The one she and Lauren were on continued down.

  "These must be servant's stairs,” she whispered. “Tom and Aiden are searching the grounds looking for you, so hopefully we'll run into them once we get outside."

  "What makes you think we're on school grounds?” Lauren whispered back. “This place doesn't smell like the forest, and it doesn't smell like dried flowers. Think about it—every room at the school had dried wildflowers in it. The place reeks of dried eucalyptus. And the Tree House smelled like the woods."