Quilter's Knot (12 page)

"I don't have an assistant. I'm the low vet on the totem pole. Notice how I'm the guy being sent to pick up supplies."

"Okay, call her what you want, I'm telling you, your phone was answered by a woman. I told her what time, and she assured me she'd give you my message."

"When did you call?"

Harriet thought for a moment. “It must have been around five."

"I was in surgery until almost six. My phone was in my jeans pocket in the locker room."

"Wasn't your locker locked?"

He leaned back and frowned at her.

"We're not exactly in inner-city Detroit here. I don't think the lockers at the pet shelter even have places to put locks. They're more like kitchen cabinets."

"So anyone could have answered your phone."

"I suppose, but you said it was a woman. That narrows it a little. There is one woman vet, although her voice is pretty distinct, I think there are three female vet techs. After four, the receptionist is a high school girl, and I think there's at least one lady janitor. Take your pick.

"The point is, any one of them could have heard my phone ring, answered it and then forgotten to tell me.
The point is
,” he repeated with emphasis, “that although I technically did stand you up, I didn't know I was standing you up because I never got the message."

"Okay, smart guy, that explains why you weren't at the show with me, but that doesn't explain the blond arm candy you were sporting."

"That's Doctor Johnson's assistant—and his granddaughter, I might add. She asked me to join her at the pottery show, and given her relationship to the boss, I didn't feel like I could say no. And why am I explaining myself to you? I didn't do anything wrong."

Harriet kept silent.

"I think this is the part where you say, ‘Oh, Aiden, I'm so sorry I misjudged you ... again,’ and then we kiss and make up."

"That would be a lie. In my book, a guy who moves on with a blonde, boss's granddaughter or not, is not a guy to trust. And since we don't
have
a relationship, there's nothing to make up."

He sighed. “You are making this really difficult, and as much as I'd like to continue working on our relationship issues, I've got to get the drugs back to the clinic."

He jumped out of the truck and came around to Harriet's door before she could get out. He opened it and pulled her into a kiss before she could react—or at least before she could react the way she would have if she'd been able to think.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and felt the hard muscles of his back quiver under her touch. Her traitorous hands worked their way up his spine, and then her fingers tangled in his glorious black hair. He deepened the kiss and slid his hands down to her bottom and pulled her toward him. A part of Harriet wanted to know what was going to happen next, but a blue BMW started to pull into the parking spot next to Aiden's truck and they had to separate and move to the sidewalk to avoid being run over.

Two boys who looked like they were ten or eleven got out of the back seat and followed their mother into the UPS Store. As they passed Harriet they made faces and stuck their fingers in their mouths to simulate gagging.

"Hey, just wait a few years, guys,” Aiden said and smiled. He turned back to her and leaned in for another, quick kiss. “I'll swing back by here in about twenty minutes, and if you're done, I can give you a ride back down the hill,” he said then got back into the truck and drove away.

Harriet went into the UPS Store and, in a matter of minutes, had her e-mail open in front of her. True to her word, Aunt Beth had sent a full-page colored scan of a quilt that was almost identical to Lauren's exhibition piece.

"Wow,” Harriet said.

The young woman at the counter looked up from the forms she was studying.

"It's a good picture,” Harriet explained sheepishly and looked back at the computer screen. She pressed the print button and, when asked, selected eight copies—she knew the Loose Threads would each want a copy to study.

When the printing began, she forwarded the e-mail to each of them.

She looked at her watch. Aiden would be back by in about five minutes. She shut the computer off and went to the register to pick up and pay for her prints. The rain, which had let up when she'd entered the store, had begun falling in earnest again. She reached into her sweatshirt pocket for her purple hat and realized she'd left it in Aiden's truck, so she stood under the store awning to wait.

Five minutes passed. She felt the crumpled, germ-encrusted five-dollar bill in her pocket and remembered her aspirin mission. She looked at the other stores in the block and spotted a convenience store three doors down. She was back in front of the UPS Store in seven minutes, but there was no sign of Aiden.

If it hadn't been raining, she would have set out, but she waited another fifteen minutes, hoping for either Aiden or a break in the weather. She had just decided she was going to have to walk home in the rain when Darcy pulled into the parking lot in her county car.

She rolled down her window. “You better get in."

Harriet pulled the door open. “I'm glad to see—"

"I'm not here by chance,” Darcy interrupted.

"What's wrong,” Harriet asked, feeling the blood drain from her face. “Is it Aunt Beth?"

"No, Beth is fine, but there's been an accident."

"Who? What happened?” she said in a rush, instantly feeling guilty at her relief that it wasn't Aunt Beth.

"Aiden,” Darcy said, and rested her hand on Harriet's arm. “He's okay. He's bruised and shaken, but he was up walking when I found him. He asked me to find you."

"Take me to him.” Ice gripped her heart as memories of Steve's death came flooding back. It must have shown on her face.

"He's going to be fine,” Darcy assured her.

"But?” She turned to face her.

"His passenger didn't fare as well."

"His passenger?” Harriet said in a wooden voice.

"Apparently, he picked up an assistant from the animal hospital where he picked up the drugs and was giving her a ride back to the spay-neuter clinic."

"What happened?"

"His truck went off the road and rolled. The passenger side door was down when they hit a rock outcrop. Bad news for the passenger."

"But why did he go off the road?"

"Well, that's where it gets interesting. According to Aiden—and understand, I only spoke to him briefly before they took him to the hospital—he was run off the road. He says someone actually bumped him and forced him over the hillside."

"Why?"

"Everyone would like an answer to that one,” Darcy said, and pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the car toward the hospital.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Darcy filled in the details as she drove. She had gotten a call from the Angel Harbor PD about a preliminary toxicology report, and she was on her way to pick it up when she'd come across Aiden stumbling along on the shoulder of the road. She'd called an ambulance, but he would only agree to treatment if she would go pick up Harriet.

"They were still extracting the girl when I left to go get you,” she finished.

"How bad is it?"

"She wasn't conscious, and her leg was pinned. They were cutting the side of the truck apart to free her."

"That's horrible.” Harriet wondered if it was the blonde.

Darcy drove up to the walk-in door of the emergency room. “I'll park the car and come find you,” she said.

Harriet went to the information desk and was directed to cubicle three. Aiden sat in the bed holding an ice bag against his left temple. His eyes were closed, and he jumped when Harriet gently touched his shoulder. He dropped the ice bag and opened his eyes. The left was surrounded by red, giving his exotic white-blue iris an eerie look. His cheekbone was scarlet, and he was going to have a nasty shiner by morning.

He didn't say anything. Harriet put her arms around him, and he leaned into her. They were still in their silent embrace when the doctor came in.

"You're a lucky man, Dr. Jalbert,” he said—he had introduced himself as Dr. King. He was a tall, white-haired man with kind blue eyes and an easy smile. “Your cheekbone isn't broken."

"Good. Can I get out of here now?"

Harriet stepped back as he stood up.

"Not quite so quick there, young man,” Dr. King said. “Your cheekbone is okay, but I've called a specialist to come look at your eye.” He pulled a small white penlight from his coat pocket and shined it into the injured eye. “Look at the wall over there ... It's probably fine, but I'd like the eye guy to look at it and say he agrees.

"You do know that when we release you, we expect you to go home and rest for a few days,” Dr. King continued. “I know your patients can't follow that advice, but I expect you to hear me and follow my instructions.” He patted Aiden's shoulder and guided him back onto the bed. “Let your young lady here pamper you for a few days. I predict by this time next week this will all be just a memory."

"I don't know if I feel insulted that he spoke to me like I'm a possession or flattered that he called me young,” Harriet commented when the doctor was out of earshot.

"I liked the sound of both.” Aiden grabbed her hand as he leaned back on the bed. “I'm just going to close my eyes for a minute,” he mumbled. “Promise me you won't leave."

She pulled a chair over beside his bed and sat, holding his hand all the while. In a few minutes, his regular breathing told her he had escaped into sleep. She couldn't blame him. She'd had some recent experience with head injuries and knew sleep was the only thing that truly relieved the pain.

A full two hours passed before the specialist declared Aiden fit to be released. He'd taken extra time to convince himself Aiden didn't have any of the common congenital problems that were frequently associated with white-blue eyes. He'd also sent for two of his medical students to observe the rare eye color. Aiden finally offered to come back for a full eye study when his injuries had healed if they would let him go now.

"I need to stop and see how Cammie is on the way out,” he told the nurse who was pushing his wheelchair toward the exit.

The triage nurse overheard his request and answered. “She's in surgery. You might as well go get some rest. She's got hours yet to go."

Aiden buried his face in his hands.

"Hey,” Harriet said. She put her hand on his shoulder to try and comfort him. “Darcy will be here in a minute. Where are you staying?"

"We're at a bed and breakfast on Eighth Avenue. It's called Helen's House."

"Will you be okay there by yourself?” she asked, and swept a strand of hair out of his face.

"I could stay with you.” He looked up with a ghost of his usual impishness crossing his face. “I'm kidding,” he said before she could react. “Helen will take good care of me.” His face turned serious. “Besides,” he continued, “I've got a job for you."

"Sure, what do you need?"

He pulled her closer. “The police talked to me before you got here. I told them someone had hit my truck and sent us over the edge. I don't know if they believe me. They said people don't do stuff like that in broad daylight where anyone could have seen them. I know my truck didn't run off the road because of water on the road like they're saying. I don't care what they think—someone ran me off the road. They rammed me twice."

"What do you want me to do?” Harriet asked, unsure where this was going.

"I saw the vehicle. I couldn't see who was driving, but it was a black Ford Explorer."

She still wasn't connecting the dots.

"Just like the ones I saw parked at your school. I want you to see if any of them have damage or white paint on their front fender or bumper. Don't confront anyone, just look and tell me what you see. Can you do that?"

"Sure. There have to be lots of black Ford Explorers, though. Not just at the school."

"Indulge me,” he said.

She would check, but she was already thinking about the car that had taken her to dinner.

Darcy arrived before they could discuss it further. The B&B was less than a mile from the hospital, the house lemon-yellow with lots of the white lacy gingerbread Victorian houses are known for. The front garden was English and surrounded by a white picket fence. Darcy held the gate open, and Harriet guided Aiden into the yard and then onto the wide porch.

The foyer continued the Victorian theme. A collection of Blue Willow plates were displayed on a lace-edged shelf around the perimeter of the room. A blue floral pitcher and bowl sat on a lace doily on top of a dark cherry bookshelf.

Helen turned out to be a plump woman whose long white hair was twisted into a simple bun on the top of her head. She wore a faded floral shirt-dress topped with a white apron. Her beige shoes were the type nurses and other people who spend a lifetime on their feet sported. She assured Harriet she would treat Aiden as if he were one of her own—he seemed to bring out the mothering gene in women of all ages, even when he didn't have a black eye.

"I expect he'll be just fine, but I'll call you if anything happens,” she said. She'd gathered all the relevant phone numbers when they'd arrived.

"We do have a house full of doctors, you know,” Aiden reminded them.

"That would be great if you were a dog,” Harriet teased. “Oh, wait, you are,” she added, and grinned.

"Very funny. I'm supposed to be getting sympathy here."

"Enough,” Helen said. “You go get in your jammies, and I'll bring you a nice cup of tea and some toast."

"Hey, I hit my head, not my stomach,” Aiden protested as Helen put her arm around his waist and turned him to the stairs.

"He'll be fine,” she said, and waved over her shoulder as she followed him up.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Harriet sat in silence as Darcy drove back to the school.

"Could you stop by the office parking lot before we go back to the Tree House?” she asked when they turned into the main driveway. She quickly explained Aiden's request.

"Sure.” Darcy pulled onto the shoulder a few feet before the office lot. “Let me get a couple of things from the trunk. If we find something I'll take a couple of samples, just in case. Even if we do find something, we may not be able to get any kind of evidence that proves anything."