Quilt or Innocence (17 page)

“No!” said Georgia again, in her broken-record fashion. She paused. “You’re all right?”

“Well, I
could
be better. But at least I’m not dead.” Beatrice sniffed.

Georgia stared down at her eggs. Beatrice scooted her chair a little closer to Georgia’s, looked up to make sure Ramsay wasn’t about to come out from the back of the house and said softly, “Georgia, you look like you have a lot on your mind. Wouldn’t you like to tell someone what’s worrying you?” She hesitated, then continued. “I know you’re the one who’s been leaving notes on my porch at night.”

Georgia’s round eyes opened wide; then she raised her hands in front of her face to cover them. Beatrice said gently, “Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on? I know you couldn’t have had anything to do with Judith’s death. And I don’t think you could have attacked Miss Sissy or me, either.”

Georgia lowered her hands, and Beatrice saw her eyes were full of tears. “Beatrice, I’ve been so worried.”

“About Savannah?”

Georgia nodded. “She’s always been a little . . . well, different. But I didn’t really understand
how
different she was until recently. She was
so
angry with Judith. When we went home that night, she was fussing the whole way. I couldn’t hear all that she was saying, but she was
not
happy. She went straight into her room, and I figured she was worn-out with being upset and went right to bed. She says that she was quilting like crazy because she was anxious and worried after the bee. But what if she
wasn’t
quilting? What if she went out and murdered Judith?” Georgia paused, swallowing hard. “It’s all that’s been on my mind.”

“Do you have any reason to think she might have gone out? Because that quilt looked pretty complete to me. When else would she have squeezed in that much work on it?”

“When I came back that night—” Georgia hesitated. “You know why I was out?”

Beatrice nodded. “You mean when you came back after leaving a note on my porch.”

Georgia turned a splotchy red. “Yes. Yes, I left you a note. Well, when I came back, Savannah’s bedroom door was open. I called for her, but she didn’t answer.”

“You weren’t worried enough to go looking for her?” asked Beatrice.

“Not really. I figured she was in the bathroom or something like that. That maybe she just couldn’t hear me. Besides, I was so exhausted by that time that all I wanted to do was to lie down and sleep. Lately, though, I’ve been wondering where she
was
.”

“But she might just have been sound asleep in her room, right? Or brushing her teeth in the bathroom. It might have been something very innocent,” said Beatrice. Georgia looked so concerned that it was impossible to keep from comforting her. Georgia slowly nodded.

“About the notes. You were worried I was being too nosy, weren’t you?” asked Beatrice.

Now Georgia looked a little wary. “That’s true, Beatrice. But I never would have attacked you in order to stop you. Yes, I left the notes for you. I was trying to distract you,” said Georgia, looking down again. “Folks who’ve been in town for a while just overlook things. Maybe they don’t even see what’s happening in front of them. But someone new to town, they might be more curious. You seemed to be very interested in the investigation and were asking a lot of questions.” She looked up at Beatrice, then glanced down again.

“I got my first note the night of the bee—
before
Judith’s murder was discovered. What did I do to make you leave me a note?”

Georgia didn’t meet Beatrice’s eyes. “You were making Judith all riled up, Beatrice. You pointed out that she was trying to cheat Felicity. Then once Judith got mad, she started saying all this awful stuff . . . about Savannah, too. I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to keep being an instigator.”

“What is it about your sister that you’re trying to hide, Georgia?” asked Beatrice. “I know that Judith was hinting at something at the quilting bee about Savannah.”

Georgia gave a deep sigh. “My sister has . . . a problem. It’s not
always
a problem,” said Georgia in a hurry. “But when she gets really stressed-out or deals with changes . . . she borrows things.”

“Borrows things?”

Georgia said with a studied carelessness, “You know. She goes into a shop and might come out with something. Something small,” she added quickly. “Something that . . . she didn’t pay for.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” said Georgia insistently. “I know all the shopkeepers and we have a special Savannah account with them. Most of the time when she’s taking things, it’s just a small thing that’s hardly worth a dollar. They know to keep an eye on her when they see her come in the shop, and they put the item’s cost on our tab. If I find the merchandise at home, then I’ll return it and get a refund. Otherwise, they just send me a bill for the outstanding tab once every couple of weeks.” She shrugged, but Beatrice could see the strain on her face. She didn’t feel that casual about it.

“Has Savannah always been a . . . Well, has she always borrowed things?” asked Beatrice.

Georgia said, “Oh no. At least, not as far as I’m aware. I’d have been more on top of things if I’d thought she was doing it. No, I think this is something that’s just come up in the past five or six years. At least, that’s what the shopkeepers were telling me. It’s not like she was doing this when she was a teenager or anything. I talked to Dr. Butler about it and he said it’s a manifestation of stress.”

Beatrice had a difficult time picturing Dappled Hills as stressful. Unless trying to avoid getting murdered qualified. “What kind of stress does Savannah have?”

“The doctor said it isn’t that she has a very
stressful
life, just that she doesn’t know how to
handle
the stress she comes across. She finds interacting with people stressful, for instance. But she loves quilting, so she’s spending time with other people who enjoy it. Maybe she doesn’t handle personal relationships very well. Plus, well, it seemed to start when I got married and moved away. She and I had always been very close up to that point. We’re twins, after all.”

“But she bicycles everywhere. How would she
physically
be able to leave with these things she’s . . . borrowed.”

“It’s always small things,” said Georgia in a hurry. “And, well, she does have her backpack with her on her bike. You know.”

“Was Savannah’s borrowing,” said Beatrice slowly, “something that Judith found out about?”

“She did,” said Georgia in a hard voice. “But I guess it was inevitable, since she owned the building where some of the shops were located. Posy wouldn’t have said anything to Judith, but some of her other tenants would have. She held it over me. I don’t think Savannah even realizes that she’s
doing
the borrowing. Maybe on some level she does; she was upset at the bee. But, really, Judith was picking at Savannah to get at
me.
She knew exactly how to get under my skin.”

Beatrice said gently, “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you? Your divorce must have really unsettled you—for good reason. So you moved in with your sister, thinking finally you’ve got a little stability in your life . . .”

“Exactly!”

“And you find out that your sister isn’t quite as stable as you thought.”

Georgia shook her head. “No, she
is
stable. She’s fine. And we’ve been happy and
will
be happy, as long as everything stays the same. But what if Judith had decided to tell Ramsay about Savannah?”

Beatrice remembered Ramsay’s stress when faced with a tough problem. “You know,” she said, “I’m not sure Ramsay would have done anything about it.”

“He would have if Judith had been making a big stink about it. If she said she didn’t like having someone stealing on a regular basis from her tenants. Think about it—he really wouldn’t have had a choice if she’d lodged a complaint.” Georgia stared blankly out the barn window, completely oblivious to the sight of Meadow vigorously weeding the garden and singing to herself.

“Well, but he wouldn’t have arrested her. Not for something like that.”

Georgia turned her head and her tired eyes looked directly in Beatrice’s. “No. But he would have had to take her for a mental-health evaluation. And what if it was determined that she needed to go to some kind of hospital or a group home or something?”

That seemed really unlikely. Savannah certainly hadn’t become any kind of public menace—unless she
had
murdered Judith. She decided not to pooh-pooh this idea, though, since Georgia was clearly worried about it.

“You don’t think that Savannah had anything to do with Judith’s death, do you?” she asked quietly instead.

Georgia looked down at the wooden floor. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But Savannah was so upset—she seemed to know exactly what Judith was hinting at, so I guess maybe she
does
somehow realize what she’s doing. But I know she just can’t help herself—she feels driven to doing it. I could tell how upset she was when we went back home. She didn’t even answer me when I was talking to her.”

“Do you see your sister attacking Miss Sissy?” asked Beatrice. “Or me?”

Now Georgia looked a little more confident. “No. No, I really don’t. Unless.” Georgia stopped talking and chewed her bottom lip for a second. “Unless she was doing it to protect
me
. If she thought
I’d
killed Judith to keep her from telling Savannah’s secret.”

Georgia looked a little sick at the thought. But it seemed like a distinct possibility to Beatrice. After all, Georgia was trying to protect Savannah, and Judith had made what amounted to a threat. She could picture Georgia moving to eliminate a threat and protect the status quo. And she could certainly see Savannah returning the favor by trying to scare off or eliminate Miss Sissy and herself.

“So these notes you’ve been leaving, they’re just your way of trying to protect Savannah. You were trying to warn me off so that I wouldn’t find out about Savannah’s problem and you’d be able to keep things as they are.”

Georgia gave a vigorous nod and said eagerly, “Yes, that’s exactly it.
That’s
my way of warning someone off . . . not by hitting them over the head. You just seemed to be goading Judith, and she got in more and more of a foul, retaliating mood. I just hoped that you’d stop poking around.” Then she spread out her hands. “But lately, I realized that you weren’t goading Judith that night . . . you were being kind. And I think you’re investigating because you’re being kind and trying to spare us all from suspecting each other. I’ve just been worried about what you might find out. And now I guess you’ll have to go to Ramsay and tell him what you know.” She looked anxiously at Beatrice.

Beatrice blew out a sigh. Kind? She thought of herself as a bit cranky, a little impatient. Eager to keep to herself and stay out of others’ business. Was she really this person . . . someone who investigated things? Who was . . . kind?

“I wouldn’t dream of saying anything about it,” said Beatrice finally. Georgia’s face relaxed.

Beatrice now realized that Boris’s loving display was motivated not by the bacon but by his desire to get closer to the plate of biscuits. Beatrice scowled as he grabbed one with his teeth and scampered off with it to the other side of the room.

“Have you always done this kind of thing, Georgia? Left anonymous notes?” asked Beatrice.

Georgia shifted uncomfortably and had a forkful of scrambled eggs before answering. “I’ve never been one who liked confrontation. To me it was a good way to get my message across without having to come right out and discuss it with someone. But I haven’t sent one for at least a year before I started sending yours.”

“I noticed at the bee that you were playing a peacemaking role when Judith started acting out.”

Georgia said, “I do try to smooth things over when I can. I could tell that Judith was getting really fired up about Felicity’s quilt—and when Judith got angry, then she’d always start throwing out accusations. Like that hint she made about Savannah.” Georgia flushed, then asked quietly, “Are we still friends, Beatrice? I’m sorry that I scared you.”

“Of course we are,” said Beatrice.

“Thanks,” said Georgia, smiling. “Actually, I have something for your little furry friend here. I carry everything around in my backpack . . .” She rummaged through the bag, finally pulling out a little bandanna with a whimsical corgi patch stitched to the back. “Hope you like it,” she said shyly.

Beatrice stooped and tied the bandanna around Noo-noo’s neck as the corgi grinned at her. “I love it!” she said truthfully. “And I think Noo-noo does, too.”

Ramsay trod heavily into the room, putting on a watch. He looked a little bemused by Georgia’s presence there. “So you’ve got some quilting blocks for Meadow?”

“She’s going to hand them out at the next guild meeting. It’s for the new group project. I guess you’ll be getting a block, too, Beatrice?”

Ramsay looked at Beatrice with interest. “Somehow I don’t see you as a quilter, Beatrice.”

For some reason, this made Beatrice feel defensive. “Why not?”

“I don’t know exactly. Maybe the fact that you don’t seem very patient. I know
I
couldn’t quilt,” he said. “I’d never be able to get past threading the needle.”

How could Ramsay possibly handle living with Meadow if he was such an impatient person? Maybe all his patience went toward not killing Meadow.

Remembering the way that each quilter’s different blocks gave her little insights into their characters, Beatrice said, “Georgia, did you bring your block with you? I know y’all seem to go everywhere with them. I’m still trying to get some ideas for mine.”

Georgia pulled out a frothy-looking block embellished with lace and shimmering crystals around a very distinctive face. “It’s Mama,” she said, choking a little as Beatrice looked a little desperately for a tissue, and Ramsay looked longingly at the door. “It’s a photo transfer that I did for the block.”

“Is that hard to do?”

“Not a bit. You can scan old pictures like this one and then print it right onto treated fabric with an inkjet printer. I don’t like colored pictures as much, but you can put any picture in grayscale and make it look like a classic picture.” Georgia seemed to recover a little from her sentimental journey as she talked about the technique.