Quilt or Innocence (20 page)

Beatrice’s mind was whirling. So Daisy
hadn’t
been at home the night that Judith was murdered. And what about Felicity’s cell phone being missing? Miss Sissy had insisted that greed was the motive behind the murder. Felicity didn’t seem a bit greedy to Beatrice, but she
was
financially strapped. She was bound and determined to move into Hampstead Columns, too. Determined enough to kill? The quilt was worth a good deal of money, and, with Judith out of the picture, Felicity might be able to persuade Judith’s daughter to join her in selling their lots to the developer. Looking at Felicity, it was all hard to believe. But maybe her being so upset was simply a cover. And blaming her own child for a murder she’d committed? It could be that she’d somehow known that Amber had an alibi for Judith’s murder.

But
did
Amber really? Yes, she’d been with the doctor that night. She might not have been at his house for very long, though. And it wasn’t entirely certain exactly when the murder took place.

Beatrice said, “Posy was up late the night of Judith’s murder and saw your car drive by, Felicity. I guess you must have been heading over to Amber’s house.” It sounded a little bit more like a question than a statement.

Felicity sighed. “I did. I did go past Amber’s house. I’d told y’all before that I’d tried to call Amber and she didn’t answer. I didn’t give up there—I decided to go out and look for her, because I couldn’t sleep for worrying. But when I didn’t see her car there, I also drove by Judith’s house. I thought that Amber might be over there, hashing things out with her. But I didn’t see her car there, either. I parked in Judith’s driveway, got out and rang the doorbell. She didn’t answer, though.” Felicity rubbed her forehead. “I guess she was at the park.”

“Why did you go over there, Mama?” asked Amber, frowning. “You weren’t going to give her that quilt, were you?”

“Don’t sell me short, hon,” said Felicity sharply. “I could tell how much she wanted that quilt and I was ready to make a deal with her. I was going offer to give her the quilt for free if she’d reconsider selling her property to the developer. It would have been worth it to me. But she wasn’t home, so I couldn’t ask her. I didn’t want to say anything about it after Judith’s murder, because I knew it would make me look suspicious, especially after our argument. But nothing happened.”

Meadow said, “Felicity, it’s a good thing
you
didn’t end up getting murdered, wandering around that late at night with a killer on the loose. Did Amber hear what happened to Beatrice after the guild meeting?”

She hadn’t. And her face was shocked as Meadow recounted, with as much melodrama as she could muster, Beatrice’s scare from the day before.

“Absolutely terrifying,” said Felicity somberly. “Amber, now I’m scared to death over you . . . You gave me your phone and you’ve been wandering around with a murderer on the loose and no way to call for help if you encountered him. I ended up finding mine this afternoon, so you need to have yours back in case you meet up with some attacker.”

“You
found
it?”

Felicity looked shamefaced. “Actually, yes. Right before coming over here. I was in the driver’s seat and noticed there was an odd lump under the floor mat. It was the phone.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. At the very least, you could call for help if you came across whoever is behind these attacks.”

“I hate to break this up,” said Beatrice with a tight smile, “but I was actually about to climb into bed before Meadow came by. Long day of quilting,” she said, ignoring the fact that Meadow was clapping her hands in delight.

The next morning, Beatrice woke up much later than usual to the aroma of frying bacon and scrambled eggs. She climbed out of bed and padded into the kitchen. Miss Sissy was wielding a spatula with great authority. “Here! Put the bread in the toaster,” she said, stirring the eggs.

After breakfast, they spent another quiet morning quilting. They sat in companionable silence most of the time, which was occasionally punctuated by Miss Sissy’s grunts of approval as she checked Beatrice’s work.

Sometime later, though, Miss Sissy grew restless. She put down the block she was working on. She wandered into the backyard and stared around for a minute before coming back in. She poured herself a glass of tea, but took only a couple of sips before abandoning it. Then she spotted Beatrice’s key ring and grasped the keys in her arthritic hand. “Mind if I go for drive?” she asked gruffly.

Mind it? In
her
car, since Miss Sissy’s old Lincoln was still parked outside her house? When Miss Sissy’s perception of what qualified as the road was so dramatically skewed? Her answer must have been written all over her face, because Miss Sissy scowled at her, dropping the keys to the counter with a clang and grouchily retreating to the back of the house.

Beatrice guessed their happy idyll was over and the old Miss Sissy was back. To her relief, though, she resurfaced later and asked to go to the Patchwork Cottage. Beatrice drove her there before heading back home for several more quiet hours.

By midafternoon, Beatrice realized that there probably wasn’t anything much to cook for supper. And she felt like
she
wanted to cook the next meal. It was all very nice to be cooked for, but sometimes it was nice to show you actually
could
cook.

The weather was beautiful outside, so Beatrice set off on foot toward town. Puffy white clouds drifted across an impossibly blue sky. A playful breeze tickled Beatrice as she walked down the main street. Somewhere in the distance was the chug-chugging sound of someone’s aging mower . . . the only sound she could hear besides the birds calling to each other. In Atlanta, the sounds of the city had blended into almost a white noise for Beatrice—so much so that she got to the point where she didn’t even hear them anymore. But here, anything interrupting the peaceful quiet was remarkable.

Tweet!

The shrill bleat of a whistle and the various howling, baying, and barking of dogs that followed made Beatrice’s heart lurch in her chest. Finally realizing it must be Miss Sissy and her whistle, Beatrice relaxed. She wondered if Miss Sissy were turning into the boy who cried wolf. If she really
did
need help, would anyone listen if she blew her whistle? Or would they just figure it was another false alarm? Miss Sissy was sort of like a car alarm going off: when they happen enough times, no one really pays attention to them.

“Beatrice?”

Her heart gave a happy thump this time instead of a startled one, because the minister, Wyatt Thompson, was there. He wore a rueful expression. “Do you mind if I join you? I’m on my way over to the church. Are you still speaking to me? I have a feeling most of the town isn’t.”

“Why? Over Miss Sissy’s whistle, you mean? Have you become a social pariah, minister?”

He nodded with a sheepish smile. “I think so. I’ve seen a few eye rolls and head shakes pointed in my direction.”

“But your
intention
was good. You were trying to protect one of your flock. Or at least make her feel a little more confident. You didn’t know that she was going to turn into a whistle-blowing maniac. And it worked, didn’t it? Miss Sissy doesn’t seem like she’s worried about being alone at all.” In fact, Miss Sissy didn’t seem worried about
anything.
She was taking a childish pleasure in scaring the pants off everyone in town.

“Thanks,” said Wyatt. He grimaced at another piercing tweet and series of barks. He quickly changed the subject as they walked along. “Have you settled into town? Gotten everything unpacked?”

“I think I’ve gotten most of the important things unpacked. I’m starting to think that if I haven’t needed or looked for any of the things in the rest of the boxes, I might as well give them away to charity. I don’t have enough space in the cottage to keep things that I really don’t need.”

“I’d love to take the boxes off your hands, if you find that there are things you don’t need. There are a few Dappled Hills residents that could use some help—or else we can sell your things at the next yard sale and raise some money for different church activities.”

“Makes sense to me. Obviously these are things I don’t really need, after all.”

“You were on my list of people to check in with today,” Wyatt said as they walked along the quiet road.

“What? Oh, because of the attack. It’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “Thinking back on it, I really shouldn’t have gone over there by myself. I guess I just didn’t think there’d be somebody in there.”

Wyatt shook his head slowly. “Who
would
think that? And you were in there trying to get some things together for Miss Sissy, right? That was thoughtful of you.”

Beatrice’s heart sang. She tried to keep it out of her voice as she said with careful calm, “I thought she might want her cell phone back.”

Wyatt’s forehead wrinkled. “Miss Sissy has a cell phone?”

“No, actually, she doesn’t. But I’d seen one at her house—and it wasn’t there when I went back. I think the person who attacked me was also the person who murdered Judith. She probably went back to get the phone.”

“She?”

Beatrice nodded. “The murderer’s almost certainly a woman—and most likely someone in the Village Quilters. At our guild meeting the afternoon I was attacked, I mentioned the cell phone. And Posy mentioned that she was worried she’d left Miss Sissy’s door unlocked. Next thing I know, the cell phone is gone and I’ve got a nasty bump on my head.”

“This,” said Wyatt in a quiet voice, “is one of the most peaceful and beautiful places in the world. I’m so sorry you haven’t had a chance to see that side of Dappled Hills since you moved here.”

Without thinking, Beatrice reached out and put her hand on the minister’s arm. He’d sounded so regretful that she really couldn’t help it. “I know you love this town a lot. And I promise that I’m falling in love with it, too. I’m not holding the sins of one person against the whole town. I’ve never lived anywhere more beautiful or with such friendly people.”

“That’s a relief. I’d hate for you to have a negative first impression of the town. It really is a special place.” He smiled that slow, spreading smile of his that made Beatrice feel warm.

“But I do feel like the sooner this murder is solved, the better it is for everybody in this community. Right now everyone is suspicious of everyone else,” said Beatrice.

Wyatt said, “Exactly. I checked with Ramsay yesterday, and he said there hadn’t been any breaks in the case yet. It’s still early, though.”

“Was there anything you saw that night, Wyatt? After you left the bee?”

“Actually, I spent a long time at the church after I greeted the quilters. Our church custodian wasn’t available that night, so I stayed behind—working in the office—to lock up after everyone left.”

“So, you were actually the
last
to leave. I thought you’d left right after the bee started. You must have been out around the time of Judith’s murder, then. Did you happen to notice anything?”

“Well, I did see Meadow out near the park, but that’s not exactly unusual. She’s frequently on the hunt for Boris. One funny thing I saw,” said Wyatt slowly, “was on the
other
side of the park, as I kept on driving. I saw Judith
leaving
the park.”

“Leaving it? What time was it?”

“By this time, it must have been eleven thirty—pretty late.”

As Wyatt made his departure and entered the church, Beatrice wondered over the new information. It was indeed perplexing. Had Judith finished up her walk, started heading home, then met up with someone who persuaded her to go back into the park? Was it Meadow? Had Judith left and then gone back to the park for something she’d forgotten?

* * *

When Beatrice returned home, she saw that Miss Sissy was taking a very thorough nap in the backyard hammock. It seemed like a good time to try out the tomato pie recipe. With a little salad on the side and some fresh watermelon, it would make a light supper for them.

This time Beatrice really focused on the recipe—and, luckily, the recipe was detailed—even down to squeezing some of the juice out of the tomato to keep the pie from being too soggy.

When the timer went off, Beatrice opened the oven door and looked hopefully inside. The pie was golden brown and perfect—not sunken at all.

There was no way even Miss Sissy could take exception to that pie, thought Beatrice as she sliced up the watermelon and rinsed some spinach for the salad. Things were definitely looking up. The quilting was starting to click. The cooking was coming along. Maybe she could even keep a houseplant alive now.

There was a thumping and a “Hello?” outside Beatrice’s front door, and she peered out a little anxiously. Surely murderers don’t announce themselves at the front door, she told herself sternly.

It was Meadow, trying to juggle a bag, a cake and a bowl and simultaneously reach out for Beatrice’s doorbell,.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” said Meadow a bit breathlessly. “I guess I’d have had to go tripping back home, dropping everything as I went.”

Meadow barreled in with her bags and laid everything down on the kitchen table. She saw the food and exclaimed loudly, hands on her hips, “Would you look at that! Isn’t that the prettiest little pie you’ve ever laid your eyes on? I should have called ahead—it looks like you won’t be needing my cake after all.”

Beatrice said quickly, because Meadow was, she reminded herself, an extraordinary cook, “It’s a tomato pie, so I still need a dessert.”

“Perfect! I’ve got a bowl of salad, some homemade bread and a cake. It’ll be the perfect meal.”

Beatrice was so happy to see the food that she was just opening her mouth to invite Meadow to stay for a little while when Meadow plopped down on her sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table. “I’m so worn out!” she exclaimed. “For some reason, this group quilt has been the devil to keep straight.”

“But we’re all doing our own thing, aren’t we?” She was doing
her
own thing, anyway.

“We are. But the idea is to keep
some
kind of continuity in there with the background and some of the patches. I guess it’ll turn out fine. It seems like everybody has been calling me up to consult with me about it this time.” Meadow shrugged. “Maybe everyone just is feeling a little scared with a killer running around—and they’re wanting to connect a little more than usual. But enough of that. You look so intense, Beatrice! You remind me of Ramsay when he’s getting all interrogational. What
is
it?”

“I was talking with Wyatt a little while ago . . .”

Meadow clapped her hands in delight and Beatrice impatiently shook her head. “Meadow! We both happened to be walking into town at the same time.”

“He’s something special, though, isn’t he? Those eyes. That smile.” Meadow beamed.

“
Anyway
, he mentioned that he had seen you, Meadow, the night of Judith’s murder. Very near the park.”

“Ohhhh . . . that. Yes, I might have gone farther than I thought looking for that naughty Boris. Always causing trouble. He took it into his head this morning to pull all the clothes off the clothesline. They plopped right into the mud. Now tell me: does your Noo-noo ever do things like that?”

Noo-noo looked appalled at the very idea. Or maybe she was just appalled by Meadow in general, and the loudness of her. It seemed almost like Meadow was trying to change the subject. Meadow
did
have a disjointed train of thought, but this seemed even worse than usual. They looked absently through the back window. A bee that was flying from one azalea bush to the next took a sudden detour and lit on Miss Sissy, who leaped up with alarm, nearly capsizing the hammock and blowing her whistle. As if on cue, Meadow shoved herself up from the sofa. “Well, I’ve got to be going now. Otherwise I’ll start feeling guilty again that you’re saddled with Miss Sissy.”

Miss Sissy pushed open the back door. The startling finale of her nap had evidently put her in a crabby mood.

“Hi there, Miss Sissy!” said Meadow cheerily.

She got a suspicious scowl in return. “It isn’t time to turn in the quilt blocks!” said Miss Sissy in a defensive tone.

With determined patience, Meadow said, “No, ma’am! I’m just bringing some goodies for you to have alongside your supper.”

Miss Sissy perked up a bit at the mention of supper.

“Meadow and I were discussing Judith’s murder again,” said Beatrice, hoping to catch Miss Sissy off guard.

Her wizened face darkened. “Liar! She’s not part of the DAR!”

Meadow seemed to take this all in stride. “But, Miss Sissy, I never claimed to be a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. My grandparents stowed away on a boat from Ireland.”

Miss Sissy scowled.

“I think Miss Sissy was thinking about someone else,” said Beatrice. She reached out for the old lady’s hand. “Were you out the night that Judith died?” Miss Sissy looked startled. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, but did you
see
or hear anything? The entire town was wandering around at the park after the quilting bee.”

Miss Sissy’s other hand gripped tightly at the whistle around her neck, as if she were hanging on for dear life.

Meadow said kindly, “Did you see Posy? I know Posy is a great friend of yours. I saw her, too, but it wasn’t anything—I know she was out to check on her shop or something. Can you imagine Posy killing anyone? I sure can’t.”

A look of great relief passed over the old woman’s face as she nodded.

“Did you notice anybody else?” pressed Beatrice.

Miss Sissy grunted. In a hard-to-hear voice, she said, “Georgia. I saw Georgia out, too. On her bicycle.”