Night of the Living Thread (A Threadville Mystery) (20 page)

O
kay, I got it. The zombies came out of the chapel because they couldn’t arise from fake graves. We’d all be richly entertained.

None of us would be eaten. None of us would become zombies.

When their retreat was over, the zombies would wash off their makeup, pack up their costumes, and go home to their families.

Mrs. Battersby smiled up toward the advancing zombies. She was obviously loving every moment of the haunted graveyard.

I mumbled to her and Haylee, “Stay together.”

I didn’t mean for Juliette and Patricia to hear me, but they sidled closer to us.

Floyd and Lenny switched direction and lumbered toward us. Those two hadn’t scared me before, and they were not going to scare me now. I was more afraid of Patricia and her long-standing grudge against Isis than I was of men playing dress-up. Perhaps Floyd and Lenny would protect me from her. Floyd shambled too close to me. He stretched his lips in a gruesome grimace. “Did you sic the police on me after that woman was murdered? They interrogated me about where I’d been.”

Remembering the 1950s housewife zombie’s words, I shined my light toward his mouth. “I hear you have to tell the truth when I shine a red light at your teeth.” I wished I could control the shaking of my voice. “Where
had
you been?” Nothing like asking blunt questions.

He answered, though. “At a party, here at the lodge. I went for a walk on the beach. Your police buddies discovered that a lot of zombies saw me at the party, and surfer boy here followed me along the beach.”

“I can’t help searching for my surfboard whenever I’m near a beach.” Lenny crooned like a wistful teen. “I wasn’t following anyone.”

With a broad smile, Mrs. Battersby turned her head back and forth to follow the exchange. I could have enjoyed her pleasure more if I didn’t sense undercurrents of anger between the two zombies.

Floyd growled, “You saw me on the beach, though.”

“I didn’t really see anyone.” Lenny spoke with care, as if he were making up a story as he went. Or, as Floyd might have put it, as if he were staying in character. “I was scanning the waves.”

Floyd pointed one finger at Patricia, “You saw me, though, right? Didn’t I walk with you for a while? We talked about treadle sewing machines. I said my mother had used one.”

Patricia licked her lips. “Yes,” she muttered.

Why did I get the impression she wasn’t telling the truth?

For a second, Juliette narrowed her eyes, and I remembered that Patricia and Juliette had been on the trail after the murder, but that had been an hour and a half later. Did Juliette know something about Patricia’s whereabouts at the time of the murder?

I asked Patricia, “Did you hear Isis scream?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t. I . . .” She crossed her arms over her chest in an attitude of awe. “I was
enthralled
by the waves, and that’s all I heard.”

I turned to Floyd. “But you heard Isis scream.”

He showed his teeth. “Yes.”

I shined my light toward Lenny’s mouth. “And you came running, too.”

He pulled his towel up over his shoulder. “Someone yelled, ‘Help!’ so I did.” He turned toward Floyd and added in boyish tones, “I saw you, then.” Even his smile seemed tentative.

I stepped closer to Mrs. Battersby in case I needed to guard her from these guys. “I was the one who shouted. Thank you
both
for rushing to my aid.”

Lenny only shrugged and glanced longingly toward the beach down the slope, beyond the Elderberry Bay Lodge. “I seem to have this thing for water.”

Floyd mumbled, “He has this
thing
, as he calls it, for pretending he’s not one of the undead.” Snarling, he tottered toward me.

I grinned and shined my light toward his mouth. Mrs. Battersby and Haylee stayed beside me, shining their lights at him.

Floyd turned and made a grabbing motion at Patricia. She shrieked and ran. He chased her.

Lenny feinted toward Juliette. She ran, in a different direction from Patricia. Lenny took off after her.

Acting undead with joints that didn’t seem to work well, neither Floyd nor Lenny ran quickly. Unless the two zombies didn’t stay in character, Patricia and Juliette would easily outpace them.

I said, “I don’t think Patricia was really on the beach that evening with Floyd right before the murder.”

Mrs. Battersby stated flatly, “That girl was lying.”

Haylee concurred. “Floyd’s statement that Patricia was with him did seem to surprise her.”

I folded my arms. “It certainly did. And Floyd seemed to think he needed to use Patricia as an alibi, especially after Lenny denied seeing Floyd on the beach after the party and before the murder.”

Mrs. Battersby asked, “Where are your two handsome
just friends
who said they’d be here?”

“Maybe some helpful zombies will herd them toward us,” I joked.

His towel out like a Superman cape, Lenny was still chasing Juliette. She was almost at the porte cochere.

Floyd lurched up the hill toward a clutch of tourists. Squealing, they ran toward the chapel.

Taking Mrs. Battersby with us, Haylee and I crept down the hill and peeked around a stand of rhododendrons. I wanted to see where Patricia was going. We watched for a few minutes, and then she came into view, pacing back and forth in front of the lodge’s front door.

I commented to Haylee, “I already told Vicki about the grudge, and I’ll also tell her about the waffling about that seemingly fake alibi. Maybe they’ll arrest her.”

Mrs. Battersby asked loudly enough for almost everyone on the hill to hear. “Who’s going to arrest
who
?”

Behind us, a lazy male voice drawled, “Yes, who will arrest
whom
?”

I
whipped around to see who had been eavesdropping.

Slightly uphill from us, Dare Drayton smirked. We should have checked to see if anyone was following us during our mission to spy on Patricia. We had allowed Dare—and Brianna—to sneak up behind us.

How much of our conversation had they heard?

Mrs. Battersby raised her chin and growled at Dare, “You don’t need to give me an English lesson. There are times when ‘whom’ sounds just plain stilted. You can be stuffy if you want. I choose to be with it.”

Dare sneered. “I hope you local yokels don’t think you have proof that the mousy treadle sewing machine woman murdered that Egyptian goddess wannabe. I saw that mousy woman sitting in an armchair in someone’s window about the time of the murder.”

I pounced. “How do you know it was the time of the murder?”

“Someone was screaming bloody murder, which was a pretty good hint. And your police friends asked me where I was at that time.”

Brianna clung to his arm. She was sort of smiling, too, and hers wasn’t what I’d call a nice smile, either.

Hardly believing my ears, I asked Dare, “You heard someone screaming and you didn’t try to help?”

He countered, “No, why would I?”

Because it would be the right thing to do?
I wasn’t about to get into an argument with Dare Drayton about right and wrong, though. His attitudes about them were obviously different from mine. Did that mean he could have killed another human?

Haylee asked him, “Where were you when you saw Patricia and heard screaming?”

Dare backed up the hill a step. He towered over us. “I was just walking around. I was in a parking lot at the back of some stores.”

Trying to imagine what he’d meant earlier, I repeated, “An armchair in a
window
?”

“The armchair wasn’t
in
the window. Sorry, I guess I have to spell it out for you. I was looking through a window. No, I
glanced
. No, I
happened
to glance through a window. I wasn’t a Peeping Tom, in case you’re about to run to your police friends with that information.”

Mrs. Battersby managed to look impressive in that bulky sweater. “If you weren’t a Peeping Tom, then what
were
you?”

He ignored her.

His superior attitude was infuriating me, but I asked as evenly as I could, “Which parking lot?”

“The one behind the post office. In case you can’t figure this out for yourselves, I had to be close to the river if I heard screaming. That mousy woman was in what looked like someone’s dining room in the back of a store. She was ensconced—is that too big a word for you?—in an armchair. She appeared to be reading. The chair was beside a fireplace.”

Mrs. Battersby flashed a message at me from those dark eyes as if she also recognized Opal’s dining room from the description.

If Dare was telling the truth, then Patricia and Floyd had been lying. But if Patricia and Floyd had told the truth, which hadn’t seemed likely based on Patricia’s demeanor at the time, then Dare was lying now.

On the other hand, it was entirely possible that all three of them were making up stories to provide themselves with alibis.

I half expected Mrs. Battersby to inform Dare that Patricia had said she was on the beach with Floyd at the time of the murder, but she only pursed her lips in disapproval, and Haylee and I didn’t say anything, either.

Dare heaved a fake sigh. “I hope you rustics don’t manage to get your friends to arrest an innocent person.”

I snapped, “We have no control over the police.”

“Ha,” Brianna said. “She nearly had that policewoman kick me out of my room.”

Mrs. Battersby’s eyes gleamed. She shook a finger at Brianna. “You sent those troopers to interrogate me in the middle of the night.”

Brianna only smiled up toward Dare. “And where would I have stayed if she’d kicked me out?”

Mrs. Battersby inhaled loudly. “Tsk,” she added.

I thought of about a million responses to Brianna’s allegations about me—like it wasn’t
her
room, and maybe guests shouldn’t accuse their hostesses of murder and attempted murder—but I was too interested in Dare’s response to her flirting.

He didn’t answer her. He looked out over our heads and said in a weary voice, “Uh-oh, looks like it’s time to flee from zombies again.” Arm in arm, Dare and Brianna sauntered toward the parking lot.

“You’re right, Willow,” Mrs. Battersby concluded loudly. “Those two deserve each other. And there are no zombies anywhere near us. That man is incapable of telling the truth.” She looked up the hill. “Let’s go see that chapel. It looks like an excellent replica.”

Zombies were still staggering around, chasing Rosemary and other Threadville tourists, who ran away shrieking in gleeful terror.

Mrs. Battersby, Haylee, and I climbed the hill. Mrs. Battersby showed no sign of flagging. Was this the same woman who had complained about a shorter slope on Thursday evening?

The front doors of the chapel were still open.

Mrs. Battersby admired the exterior, then aimed her little red beam around the interior. No zombies seemed to be hiding inside.

“The outside looks like stone or concrete,” Mrs. Battersby commented, “but the inside is plywood.”

“Clay’s clever with a paintbrush,” Haylee answered. “He probably faux-finished the outside to look like that.”

“Talented,” Mrs. Battersby said. “One of you should grab him before someone else does.”

“Willow has dibs on him,” Haylee told her.

I merely spluttered and changed the subject. “The floor slopes rather drastically.” Actually, it wasn’t a floor. It was grassy ground. A door was built into the lower part of one of the side walls.

Mrs. Battersby explained, “They made it look like the original chapel in Evans City, which has a side door like that. I think the Evans City chapel has a partial basement or crawl space.”

I guessed, “Maybe this chapel was too small for the number of zombies it needed to accommodate, so while some of them lurched out the front doors, others were coming in through that lower door.”

“One of them lost his jacket,” Haylee said. She picked up a black garment, which turned out to be a cloak, slashed and gory with fake blood. “Ugh.” She dropped it where she’d found it.

We could see the entire interior of the chapel, but Mrs. Battersby called Ben and Clay’s names anyway. No one answered. She poked her head outside. “They’ve stopped shrieking. Either all the humans have been turned to zombies or the Haunted Graveyard is over. Let’s go back to your place, Haylee. I need to make more sweaters and caps tonight.”

Haylee offered Mrs. Battersby an arm. “Yes, let’s. Even though this chapel is new, it freaks me out.”

Mrs. Battersby grasped Haylee’s arm. “I never expected to have a wimpy granddaughter.”

I’d have liked to have seen Clay again, but after a late night followed by an interrupted one, and both of them accompanied by loud music, I was stifling yawns. We headed for the path to the parking lot.

I wasn’t sure I believed Dare’s alibi for Patricia. He could have fabricated it because he had no way to prove he was somewhere besides the riverbank when someone—Patricia, probably—pushed Isis in.

The possible good news was that if Patricia had killed Isis, then Brianna had not.

That didn’t mean that Brianna wasn’t a threat to me, but perhaps the most harm she could do was cause my mother to scold me. In any case, I was going home to sleep. In a locked bedroom.

I drove home and parked near In Stitches. We got out.

Haylee asked me, “Is Brianna’s car here? I don’t see it.”

I didn’t either. Last we knew, Brianna had been with Dare. What—or who—was about to welcome Clay home?

Haylee and Mrs. Battersby said good-bye and headed toward The Stash. I went down the hill through my side yard to the patio door. My pets were very happy to be let outside, and just as happy to be let in again.

No music came from Brianna’s room. I texted Clay that I had no houseguests and he might have two.

Singing under my breath, I began emptying the dishwasher.

First, I thought that the scratching at the patio door was only the kittens.

Glowering at nothing and at everything, Brianna unlocked the patio door, stormed in, and slammed herself into her bedroom.

My pets stared at Brianna’s closed door as if bereft, but they must have figured out that Brianna never paid them attention. Brianna had acted angry, which seemed to be her usual state. Didn’t she know that sweet, furry animals could make her feel better about whatever was bothering her?

Music blared from her suite. Sooner or later, I’d learn to sleep soundly through it.

I finished putting the dishes away, ushered my pets into my suite, and locked us all in.

My smartphone rang. It was Clay. “I looked for you,” he murmured, “but it was late and I missed you. Thanks for the warning about the potential houseguest. Only my usual one arrived here.”

“You did a great job on the graveyard, and especially the chapel. Mrs. Battersby loved it. Too bad we didn’t see you and tell you in person. How did you create that flash of light and the rumble when the doors burst open? The ground shook.”

He laughed. “We did some fun pyrotechnics and had speakers all over the place. You may have only felt shock waves.”

“It was effective, whatever it was. Meanwhile, I was just about to text you again to tell you that my houseguest returned. Does yours seem angry?”

“No. Bored. Same as always.”

“Mine seems to be in a rage.”

“Is that unusual for her?” he asked.

I laughed, “No, but she seems more furious than ever.”

“Is that her music I hear?”

“You can hear it?”

“I’ll probably hear it after we hang up.”

He was joking. He lived miles away.

“Yes, it’s hers.”

“Be careful. Lock your bedroom door, and call me if you need help.”

That made me almost teary. I was tired. Maybe trying to learn to sleep through loud music was not a great idea. After telling me he’d pick me up the next night at seven for the rehearsal dinner, Clay ended the too-short call. I crawled into bed.

The phone rang again.

It was Haylee. “I just talked to Opal. Patricia arrived in her apartment a few minutes ago. Opal asked how her evening was, and she said it was okay, but Opal thought she looked worried, so she called me to find out what I knew.”

“Which was?”

“I told her that Patricia seemed to be fabricating an alibi without apparently knowing that Dare already had one for her.”

“And you have only Mrs. Battersby as a houseguest?”

“Yes. I think she’s planning to knit half the night and sleep all morning again. I told Opal to come sleep here, but she said a good hostess wouldn’t abandon her guest, and Opal wants to believe the best of everyone, so she’s accepting Dare’s alibi for Patricia. How about you? How many houseguests do you have?”

“I have one, and Clay says he has one. Mine’s not happy.
Definitely
not happy.”

“Lock your bedroom.”

“I did.”

“Better yet, leave her to her own devices and come over here. Edna’s mother is definitely not dangerous.”

I laughed. “Certainly not! She even used the word ‘granddaughter’ without reminding everyone around that you aren’t a
real
one.”

“Apparently I’m ‘wimpy,’ though.”

I smiled. “I like her.”

“So do I. So, are you coming over?”

“Thanks, but I’ll be safe here with my guard dogs and guard kittens.”

“You can bring them, too, you know.”

“If I have to, I will. Vicki would come in an instant, and Clay said to call him if I needed help.”

“In that case, tell him you need him right now!”

I grinned in the darkness. “Maybe another time, when I don’t have an enraged guest.”

“I suppose that could put a damper on anything resembling romance.”

“Definitely.”

“When’s she leaving Threadville?”

“I don’t know. After the craft show ends tomorrow afternoon, there’s nothing to keep her here.”

“Dream on. She thinks she lives at your place. Before long, she’ll decide that
you’re
the interloper.”

I was afraid Haylee could be right. “And Mrs. Battersby is going to take over Blueberry Cottage. If all that happens, I’m moving in with you or Opal or Naomi.”

Haylee laughed and said good night.

Brianna’s music was still booming when I drifted off.