Selestina has been running this school very successfully for a lot of years, and I know she has very high standards, but she didn't use to be mean. I came years ago, and now I've come for the last three short sessions, and I have to tell you, Patience, she's crossed the line. If she keeps up this approach, she's going to lose more than just our tuition.'
'You're not all leaving, are you?” Patience asked. She had pulled a wadded-up tissue from her jeans pocket and began rolling the edge between her thumb and forefinger, causing small white shreds to fall on the rug at her feet.
'I don't know,” Robin replied honestly. “We were just talking about things when you got here.'
Harriet got up. “I'll go check on DeAnn,” she said.
If they called for a vote right now there was no question, she would be the first one on the bus home. She didn't need to learn how to hand stitch bad enough to deal with this drama all week.
She climbed the stairs and called out to DeAnn from the last landing. She wasn't sure what she was warning her for-it was unlikely the woman was sobbing on her bed. But you never knew about these things, and Harriet wasn't familiar enough with her roommate to know if she might be prone to throwing things when she was angry.
She needn't have worried; when she stepped into the room, it was empty.
'DeAnn?” she called again. She went back into the hallway and to the bathroom. The door was open, and the room was empty. “DeAnn?” There was still no answer.
She went back into their shared room. This time she noticed what she hadn't seen before-a folded piece of pale-blue paper rested against the pillow of her twin bed.
Harriet sat on the bed and quickly read the note. She looked around the room and confirmed what the note had explained. DeAnn was gone.
Chapter Five
'She's gone,” Harriet said as she returned to the common room. She held up the note. “This was on my bed. It says she got a ride into Angel Harbor and will catch a ride home with Aunt Beth.'
Beth was coming that evening to see the the long-session students’ fiber exhibition. In addition to actual technique classes, the folk art school taught students how to solicit and fulfill commissioned works, how to book gallery showings and how to hang an exhibition of their work. Lauren's class was doing the latter this week.
'That was quick,” Lauren commented. “We weren't that far behind her. I wonder if she had this all planned.'
'Don't be ridiculous,” Robin told her.
Lauren glared at her, but kept quiet.
'Here's what I think we should do,” Mavis said. “We don't have any more meetings today and classes don't start until tomorrow, so we eat dinner, we go to Lauren's exhibit, get a good night's sleep and then see how we feel about it in the morning.'
'That will give us a chance to talk to Beth about it, too,” Robin added.
As one of the founding members of the Loose Threads quilting group, Beth's opinion would carry weight even if she hadn't been present for the original incident.
The rest of the group agreed.
'We'll let you know what we decide in the morning,” Mavis told Patience.
'That's fair enough.” Patience carried her teacup to the kitchenette and went to the door. “I hope you won't let one unfortunate experience color your opinion of our very fine school,” she said and left.
'Anyone want to go for a walk?” Harriet asked when Patience was gone. “It's too early for dinner, and I don't think I can sit and stitch right now.'
'I'll go with you,” Robin said. Mavis and Connie declined.
'I'm going to check on my display,” Lauren announced. “Selestina is inspecting our hanging in an hour and a half, and from what I've heard, I won't feel like joining you for dinner afterward, so I guess I'll just see you at the show.'
'I'll bring you something you can eat after,” Connie offered.
'Thank you,” Lauren said as she went out the door.
'There's a loop trail around the perimeter of the school,” Robin said. “It goes by a little duck pond down below the painting pavilion.'
Harriet put on her gray hooded sweatshirt, and Robin pulled on a hip-length yellow jacket whose bottom edge curved up at her hips. The jacket was the same obscure athletic brand as her black yoga pants and pale blue form- fitted top and was a fabric that was undoubtedly the latest in technical sportswear.
In the months since she'd returned to Foggy Point, Harriet had learned that Robin was a popular yoga teacher; she'd also avoided having to take a class with her.
The two women strolled through the woods in silence, each lost in her own thoughts. They had just come into the clearing that contained the painting pavilion when they spotted three men ahead of them. Two were dressed in jeans and denim shirts. The third was taller and thinner and wore tan wide-wale corduroy slacks and a dark-brown sweater vest over a pale-blue oxford shirt.
'The boundary stake should be somewhere around the base of that taller pine tree.” He pointed to the center tree in a cluster of pines then, when he turned back to the path, discovered Harriet and Robin. “Hello,” he said. “I hope you're enjoying the grounds.'
When they didn't respond, the man stepped toward Harriet with his hand outstretched.
'I'm Tom Bainbridge. My mother owns this place.'
Harriet shook his hand and found it warm and firm. “I'm no one of consequence,” she said.
'I find that very hard to believe,” Tom protested with a smile. He leaned back and looked her up and down. Harriet blushed. “A quilter, I'd guess. Am I right?'
'What gave it away? Am I covered in thread clippings?” She brushed at her pants.
'No.” He laughed. “With quilters, it's all about what's missing. Potters’ hands tend to be chapped and red. The painters usually wear their art. Even when they clean up, there are telltale paint signs-you know, under their fingernails, specks in their hair.'
'We could have been photographers,” Robin pointed out.
The man spread his hands in front of him. “Not possible,” he said. “No photographer could walk through those woods and into this beautiful meadow without clicking off at least a dozen pictures.'
'Okay, you got us.” Harriet conceded.
'If only that were true,” he said, a bit wistfully.
'Hey, don't look at me,” Robin said. “I'm married.'
He spread his hands wider. “A beautiful meadow, perfect weather and two beautiful women-a man can dream, can't he?'
'Do you want us to identify each tax lot or do you just want the outer perimeter?” one of the denim-clad workers asked Tom Bainbridge, interrupting his flirtation.
'I'm going to need the individual tax lots. I should be able to infer the outer boundaries from those, right?'
The man nodded and turned back to his partner, who was stomping the ground around the pine tree.
'I better go help find that stake before he tramples the whole meadow. If you're looking for the duck pond, keep on this path and it will come up on your left after you get past the pavilion.” He bowed slightly from his waist. “And, ladies, it's been my pleasure.'
'He's a charmer,” Harriet said when he was out of earshot.
'Not quite as striking as a certain vet we know.'
'But a bit more age appropriate,” Harriet noted, and began walking again. “I wonder why he's surveying the property.'
