Quilt or Innocence (12 page)

“Yes, I know. That was very sweet,” said Beatrice, trying not to show her impatience.
Someone
at that bee killed Judith, but Piper seemed determined not to cast suspicion on any of the quilters. “But she also seems like she’s very gung-ho about quilting.”

“Everyone in the guild is,” said Piper with a snort. “That’s practically all they talk about.”

“For Daisy, though, it seemed like it was more than just an interest,” pressed Beatrice. “She put a lot of thought into the way she displayed her quilts at her home. Almost like I’d have done if I were setting up a show at the museum. That tells me she’s pretty serious about it and maybe about winning prizes, too.”

Piper shrugged. “I guess. She did seem sort of competitive with Judith. But Judith was always provoking people by bragging about her awards and quilts and stuff. It probably just got on Daisy’s nerves.”

“What I’m hoping,” said Beatrice quietly, “is that whoever the killer is, she’s satisfied with the outcome. If she’s not—or if she still feels threatened in some way—then she might feel like she’s got to kill again.”

* * *

After Piper and Ash finished their coffee and left for their hike, Beatrice showered and dressed and decided to walk to Miss Sissy’s house to see if she could find any evidence of crazed note writing or a pile of empty Nehi bottles. Noo-noo looked up at her hopefully. “No, Noo-noo. Usually I’d take you along, but I’m visiting Miss Sissy. I have a feeling she’s not a dog person.” Actually, Beatrice wondered if Miss Sissy was a person at all or just some cackling apparition.

A riot of thorny vines that blew menacingly about in the brisk breeze nearly obscured Miss Sissy’s house. The yard was choked by weeds, the trees were consumed by kudzu and the vines waved around Miss Sissy’s door, threatening to wrap Beatrice up and hold her hostage. She looked for a doorbell, didn’t see one, and rapped on the door. There was no answer.

She hit the door with even louder rapping, thinking that maybe the elderly lady was losing her hearing. But she remembered Miss Sissy’s comment about her hearing being just fine. She could have been bragging, though, thought Beatrice uneasily as she rapped again. Miss Sissy’s elderly Lincoln was parked right there in the weed-infested driveway, so she
should
have been at home.

Remembering how Miss Sissy had mentioned she knew who the killer was—in a roomful of suspects—made Beatrice leery. After giving another loud series of raps, she cautiously pushed the creaky, splintered wooden door open. “Miss Sissy?” she called. She had no desire for the old harpy to come running out at her, fists flying, berating her for trespassing. “It’s Beatrice. I’ve come over for a visit.” Still no response.

Now Beatrice felt a prickling of unease up her spine that had nothing to do with an angry Miss Sissy. She hesitated, then moved forward again, turning on overhead lights as she walked around the dark furniture crowding the small, dim house.

Finally she saw a small, huddled lump on the floor near the kitchen door. “Miss Sissy!” she cried out, hurrying across the room and hunching over the crumpled figure.

She was alive. Beatrice sighed with relief as she felt a steady, thumping pulse in Miss Sissy’s wrist. But she lay in a pool of blood and had a huge lump on her head. This was no natural fall. Beatrice was surprised to glimpse a cell phone on a nearby table, but instead pulled out her own with trembling fingers to dial 911.

After the phone call, Beatrice hurried to find a clean cloth to hold to Miss Sissy’s head until the ambulance came. Her attention was briefly diverted by a sheet of paper beside a thick Bible on a rickety wooden table. Miss Sissy’s favorite pastime was apparently penning dire, cryptic proclamations. But the handwriting looked nothing like the careful penmanship and uniform lettering on the anonymous notes she’d received.

Miss Sissy had scrawled
The Wages of Sin are Death!
in large letters and put a few of her favorite of the Ten Commandments underneath. Beatrice had just read “Thou shalt not steal” and “Thou shalt not kill” and an out-of-place “The love of money is the root of all evil!” among other scribbles before the sound of sirens signaled the arrival of the ambulance. Beatrice gave up her futile search for clean linens—that weren’t quilts or quilt fabrics, at any rate. There were many, many quilts in the house, and many seemed made of different fabrics. Beatrice was sure that Posy was kindly giving Miss Sissy extra scraps of fabric from the shop, gratis.

After the paramedics carefully lifted Miss Sissy’s stretcher into the ambulance, one of the paramedics turned to Beatrice. “You’re her friend? Are you riding with us to the hospital?”

“Yes, I’m coming along,” said Beatrice, getting into the passenger’s side of the ambulance. No one else was there, and she could at least offer the limited information that she had about Miss Sissy.

Fortunately, the regional emergency room had been able to take Miss Sissy fairly quickly. The ER doctor treated Miss Sissy’s wound, then told her she’d need to stay for a few hours for observation before they’d release her.

After the staff had settled her in a small room, Miss Sissy had a brief interview with Ramsay, during which Beatrice was allowed to stay in the room. Unfortunately, the interview wasn’t exactly illuminating, since Miss Sissy apparently remembered nothing about her attack. After Ramsay left, Miss Sissy surprised Beatrice with a wide, toothless grin. Beatrice leaned over and gently squeezed her hand.

“Feeling any better?” she asked softly.

Miss Sissy gave a small nod.

“Can I get you anything? I think Posy is throwing a couple of things in a bag for you. Probably a toothbrush and toothpaste and a change of clothes. And your Medicare card, I guess.”

Miss Sissy gave another smile.

Beatrice hesitated. Ramsay hadn’t gotten any information from her, but she wondered if it were possible that maybe the old lady knew more than she was letting on. Maybe she’d open up more to Beatrice. “Do you . . . do you have any idea who did this to you, Miss Sissy?”

Miss Sissy’s face grew thunderous and she nodded slowly. “Barbaric!” she barked.

“Who? Who did this, Miss Sissy?”

“The Russians!” she hissed.

Clearly, Miss Sissy was shaken by her experience. And, a nurse later told Beatrice, sometimes people will have a little temporary amnesia after a traumatic event. In the case of someone Miss Sissy’s age, the nurse said, it could take a while for her to recover. And she might
always
blame the Cold War Russians for her attack.

Beatrice had called Posy on the way to the hospital, knowing that of everyone she knew, she’d be the one who’d spent the most time with the old lady. Posy found someone to watch the shop for her, picked up some clothes for Miss Sissy to change into (since her own clothes had been covered in blood), and drove right to the hospital.

“I can’t believe this happened!” said Posy, her gentle face creased with worry. “Do you think”—she looked over to make sure Miss Sissy was still asleep—“that someone meant to
murder
her?”

“Yes, I do. If they’d only wanted to scare her, they wouldn’t have injured her so badly. No, I’m guessing the murderer believes she knows something and thought she was more fragile than she actually is. They left in a hurry, without waiting to see if she’d survived the blow. Remember how Miss Sissy was talking at Daisy’s dinner party? I think it makes her feel important knowing something that no one else knows. She’s probably been bragging about knowing information at other places, too.”

“I’m really getting worried, Beatrice. I sure hope the police can figure out who’s behind all of this,” said Posy.

Beatrice nodded. “I’ve been poking around a little bit, too. I’ve never been able to resist puzzles, and this one threatens all of us—our safety and our friendships.”

Beatrice saw Miss Sissy’s dark eyes pop open and she motioned to Posy, who abruptly stopped talking.

“Hi, Miss Sissy!” said Posy, gently squeezing Miss Sissy’s gnarled hand. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. Can I tell the nurses to get you something? Does your head hurt?”

Miss Sissy stayed very still, but moved her head slightly in what looked like a
no
. She opened her mouth and croaked, “It was the Russians!”

Posy looked at Beatrice worriedly. But Beatrice had noticed that Miss Sissy’s gaze looked brighter and more focused than it had earlier. She couldn’t help wondering if the old lady was trying to divert them. The canniness in her rheumy eyes made Beatrice think Miss Sissy knew more than she was letting on. Or maybe not. Maybe that bump on the head had made her even crazier than she’d been before.

There was a soft tap at the door and Wyatt Thompson poked his head around it. “Miss Sissy?”

The minister grinned when he saw Posy, and Beatrice felt a tingle when his grin widened at the sight of her. Then he strode over to Miss Sissy’s side and pulled up a chair to sit next to her. He reached over and squeezed her hand, and Miss Sissy gave him a rather simpering smile and batted her lashes at him.

Posy and Beatrice left to let the minister visit Miss Sissy without an audience. They walked down the hall to get a soft drink from the visitors’ lounge. Fifteen minutes later, Wyatt joined them.

“Miss Sissy was so appreciative of y’all being here.” He turned his gaze on Beatrice and his eyes crinkled. “She said that you even rode in the ambulance with her, Beatrice.”

Beatrice felt that tongue-tied sensation again and cursed herself for her clumsiness. “I did. I wasn’t sure if she had any family anywhere close by. I didn’t even realize she was really conscious during that ambulance ride.”

Posy knit her brows. “I didn’t think to ask if there was someone she wanted me to call. Since I’d never heard her mention any family, it didn’t even occur to me.”

Wyatt said, “Miss Sissy told me that she has a nephew who lives a couple of hours away—but she didn’t want me to call him. I think she considers all of us her family.”

Posy said sadly, “And she drives us batty most of the time. But she can be really funny, too. She’s definitely part of the Patchwork Cottage. A very
unique
part.”

Beatrice cleared her throat and was relieved to find that she had some control of her tongue again. “I’m worried about her living by herself right now. She’s already been attacked once. She’d been talking as if she knew something about Judith’s murder.” Wyatt frowned, and Beatrice added, “Remember at Daisy’s dinner party? She was saying that she knew more than the police did.”

Posy said, “She
could
have known something—and the murderer wanted to make sure she kept quiet. But now she’s rambling on about the Russians.”

“I don’t know if she actually has any information about the murder at all,” said Beatrice. “She reminds me of a child when she makes those statements—she
wants
to know something. Maybe it makes her feel a little superior to act like she knows something about the killer. But it’s obvious that whether she knows anything or not, she convinced the murderer that she did.”

Wyatt nodded. “The murderer must have decided to silence her for good. Luckily, he was unsuccessful. Miss Sissy certainly doesn’t seem like she’s a threat to anyone in her current condition. But, then, I guess if she
did
know something, then she’s more likely to come right out and say it. There’s no filter there at all now.” He looked thoughtful. “She also seems very worried about her safety. Which is, of course, only natural. She acted a little skittish even with me, which I hated to see.”

“I think Miss Sissy is clever enough to act crazy on purpose. She might be rambling about the Russians as a way of protecting herself and making herself look like she’s harmless. She could still know a lot more than she’s letting on. We could”—and Beatrice couldn’t believe that she was the one proposing this—“set her up on sort of a rotation for a couple of weeks. Just to keep an eye on her, you know. Each of her friends could host her for a few days and then she could go on to the next house.”

Posy and Wyatt both beamed at her. “That’s a wonderful idea,” said Wyatt. “Miss Sissy is going to pop with pride that she gets to go on a two-week sleepover.”

“I can make some phone calls,” said Posy. “With a rotation, she won’t be too much of a burden for one person. When she’s released in a little while, she can go home with me. She knows me the best,” she said, “and I can keep an eye on her in the daytime, too—she can come to work with me at the Patchwork Cottage like she usually does.”

Beatrice grinned. “I’m sure Cork will really
love
that!” Then she took a deep breath. In for an inch; in for a mile. “Miss Sissy can stay with me for a few days, for sure.” She only hoped she survived those days. . . .

When Wyatt left to go back to the church, Beatrice said to Posy, “He, uh, seems like a really nice man.” Beatrice knew that at least Posy wouldn’t be giving her any of the knowing looks she’d have gotten from someone like Piper or Meadow.

“He is. He’s a really
good
man. We’ve been blessed to have him as our minister.”

Beatrice hesitated. There really wasn’t another way to ask, so she said, “Does he have a big family? Is his wife very involved in the community?”

“Oh, he isn’t married. He was—a long time ago. But after she passed away in a car accident, he never seemed interested in dating again.” Beatrice was relieved that Posy sounded so matter-of-fact. If she’d asked
Meadow
, there would have been a whole game of Twenty Questions. And then the sly matchmaking. Beatrice shuddered.

Posy had piqued her interest in the minster even more. But she shook herself out of it. He’s obviously still mourning his wife, Beatrice told herself sternly. She tried to ignore the wave of warmth that she felt at the thought of him.

* * *

It was evening before Beatrice got back home. The hospital had quickly decided to release Miss Sissy, but the discharge process had taken longer than Posy and Beatrice had expected, as they wanted to give instructions on how to care for her wound. Finally, Posy left with both Miss Sissy and Beatrice, since Beatrice had arrived at the hospital by ambulance.

When Beatrice arrived home, she was completely exhausted. She tramped straight to her bedroom, put up her feet, and fell fast asleep without even changing into her pj’s or climbing under the sheets.

When her cell phone rang, she wasn’t sure at first where she even was. Then she scrambled for the phone, which she’d set down by her back door when she’d first walked in.

It was Piper. “Mama? Were you asleep already? It’s only eight o’clock!”

Beatrice filled her in on the events of the day, finishing with, “So I’m going to end up with Miss Sissy as my houseguest at some point soon. After Posy isn’t able to manage her anymore, I guess.”

“Boy, when you move to a new town, you start off with a bang, don’t you? Poor Miss Sissy! I’m glad that y’all are going to keep an eye on her until the police catch whoever is behind all this. It sure sounds like somebody thinks she knows something about Judith’s murder.”

Although Piper sounded concerned about Miss Sissy, there was still a lilt to her voice, as if she might break out in a smile at any moment. Finally Piper said, “Mama, is it okay if I come by for a few minutes to talk?”

Beatrice had a feeling she knew who the subject of this conversation was going to be. “Sure, sweetie. Come on over.” She got up and moved into the kitchen for a glass of water and to try to wake up a little.

Piper came in bubbling with excitement but also looking a little apprehensive. “I don’t know where to even start!” she said.

Beatrice smiled at her, but inside her heart was sinking a little. “Why not tell me how your hiking trip and picnic lunch went today?”

“Fantastic! We had the best time, Mama . . . We laughed over the littlest things, and the view from the top of the mountain was beautiful. And romantic. Our picnic was at a lookout point with an amazing vista—and he’d packed shrimp for an appetizer and this wonderful artichoke salad that had prosciutto in it that was the best thing I’d ever put in my mouth! There was Brie and fruit and this delicious chocolate cake. And wine.”

“So it’s fair to say you had a reasonably good time,” Beatrice said drily.

“Oh, Mama.” Piper’s eyes shone, and Beatrice felt a little moisture welling up in hers. This alarmed Piper. “You’re upset! I knew I should have brought Ash over to visit with you tonight.”

“No, honey, I’m not upset at all.”

“I’ve been so wrapped up with Ash that I feel like I haven’t even spent any time with you at all.” There was a guilty flush on Piper’s pixieish face. “I’d planned that when you moved in, we were going to go hiking and I was going to introduce you to different people and get you involved in clubs and groups. I haven’t done any of those things. I haven’t even offered to help you out with your quilting block or given you any pointers.”

The idea of having even
more
activity made Beatrice’s head swim. “Are you kidding? I’ve been crazily busy since I moved to Dappled Hills. I surely couldn’t handle more things to do. The quilt block has been a disaster, though. I’m not cut out for quilting.” Piper started to jump in and Beatrice held up her hand. “I can still
participate
in the Village Quilters, which is a great group. Meadow has mentioned a couple of times that they’d need some direction regarding design and planning for shows, and I’m happy to help with that. But I won’t be the one who contributes horrible quilt blocks to an otherwise beautiful work of art.”