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, but 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.'
