Quilt or Innocence (5 page)

Amber trembled with fury. “At least we have the quilt back. She was scheming to cheat you, Mother, I’m sure of it. She knew exactly how much that quilt is worth. Now she’s saying you don’t live up to your word. She’s nasty.”

“This is really the final straw. It’s past time for Judith to be expelled from our group,” said Meadow, arms crossed. “She managed to insult half the people at the bee—and this is supposed to be a charity event! She’s stirred up trouble once again, and it’s time to put a stop to it. I’m going to talk with her tomorrow.” Meadow rubbed her eyes. “Tonight has positively exhausted me, y’all. It really has. And it makes me feel so dispirited.”

The quilters murmured in concern. Meadow said, “I’d like to make some big plans for the guild, you know? More shows, different kinds of quilts. But on nights like tonight, I feel like I’m swimming against the current. What does any of it matter if we can’t even get along with each other?”

Beatrice noticed that Piper was looking at her pointedly. Then she remembered that Piper had wanted her to help Meadow with some of the administrative side of things—and some of the brainstorming. She cleared her throat. “Meadow, I’m not up to par yet with the quilting, but I’m happy to help you out with planning a direction for the group. It sounds like you want to maybe change course and start doing more shows. Maybe after I get settled in a little I can help you with that.”

Piper beamed at her as Meadow nearly squeezed the life out of Beatrice with a bear-sized hug. As Meadow started excitedly babbling about possibilities for the guild, Beatrice was already regretting that she’d spoken up.

* * *

The next morning when Beatrice got up to get her paper, there was a glass Nehi Orange Soda bottle on her front porch. She stooped, frowning, to pick it up. Stuck in the bottle was a message in a very careful, up-and-down, uniform print:
Don’t push it!

She looked around but there was no sign of anyone anywhere around. Don’t push . . . what? Beatrice stomped back inside in irritation and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin. What wasn’t she supposed to push? Was the note referring to the way she’d brought up the whole antique-quilt issue? The fact she’d volunteered to help spearhead the effort to change the direction and purpose of the guild? Or did the anonymous person mean something else entirely? Beatrice shivered. She couldn’t tell if the note had been left with malicious intent, or as a friendly warning. And, really, were
any
warnings friendly?

She looked down at her corgi, Noo-noo, who was lying on her back, sound asleep. “Some guard dog you are,” she scolded. Noo-noo opened her eyes halfway before drifting back to sleep.

The incident last night at the bee, compounded with the anonymous note this morning, left Beatrice more shaken up than she wanted to admit. She tried reading the tiny local newspaper before giving up completely. The
Dappled Hills Dispatch
was full of names she didn’t know going to places and events she hadn’t heard of. She blinked in amazement at stories written about a seven-year-old girl’s birthday party, a family reunion, and extensive and somewhat rambling coverage on the winning streak of a Dappled Hills Little League team. There was also an odd column where residents could trade unwanted goods with each other. She had a sudden and intense longing for the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
.

A walk was what she needed. She’d clear her head a little and get some feeling of control over her day. She needed it and she had a feeling her tubby corgi did, too. She quickly dressed in her usual uniform of khaki capris and a button-down shirt and ran a brush through her platinum hair. “Where’s your leash?” she asked Noo-noo, and watched as the dog exploded into action, scrambling to get off her back as Beatrice found the leash and collar for their walk.

The morning mountain air was crisp, and Beatrice pulled her light jacket up around her neck as a breeze blew by. Noo-noo, whose regular walks had been disrupted by the moving and unpacking, pulled eagerly at her leash. Clouds of misty fog covered the ground in patches as Beatrice and the corgi headed briskly toward the park.

A tiny figure approached them, walking an equally small dog. As they walked closer, she recognized Posy, the quilt-shop owner, with a beagle trotting ahead of her. Noo-noo joyfully jogged toward the dog to greet it.

“Beatrice?” said Posy with a smile. “It’s such a pleasure discovering other early-morning walkers. Maybe we can make this a regular date!” She reached down to stroke Noo-noo’s head, and the corgi eagerly flopped over for a tummy rub.

The two women chatted as they strolled into the park. The beagle soon interrupted their small talk, though, lunging against her leash and giving an insistent, baying bark. Noo-noo joined in, figuring something must have been wrong, even if she couldn’t suss out what it was.

Posy frowned as the dog persistently pulled at the leash. She knelt down next to the dog and put a comforting hand on her. “Duchess! What’s going on, girl?” She looked into the beagle’s eyes, as if waiting patiently for her to tell her what was upsetting her.

Now the beagle whimpered. Noo-noo’s fur stood up on her back and she growled, as if suddenly realizing the source of the beagle’s concern.

“Beatrice, there’s something lying on the ground over there. Near that group of trees,” Posy said in a quiet voice.

Beatrice handed Posy Noo-noo’s leash and walked cautiously up to the object, forcing her suddenly weak limbs to move forward. She saw Judith splayed unnaturally on her back, with blood pooled behind her head and her eyes staring blindly into the trees.

She croaked, “Oh, my Lord, Posy, it’s Judith. We need to call the police.”

“Not an ambulance?” asked Posy.

“I don’t think so.”

With some difficulty, Posy pulled the still-barking dogs over to a bench as, with shaking hands, Beatrice fumbled with her phone to dial 911.

A police car soon drove up and Ramsay Downey stepped out, looking grim. He strode quickly to the figure on the ground, then back to Beatrice and Posy. “Are you ladies all right?” he asked. “This must have scared the life out of you.” They nodded, and he sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Beatrice. I promise you that violent crime is a most unusual occurrence in Dappled Hills. In fact, I can’t ever recall us having a murder here.” He rubbed his head. “The very lack of crime is the whole reason I chose to do police work here to begin with!”

He looked wearily toward Judith’s body. “I’ll call the state police and get a forensics crew. Let me check the scene and make sure it’s secure, and then I’ll let y’all go as soon as I can.”

Minutes later, the women explained how they’d discovered Judith’s body, while Ramsay, wearing a pair of reading glasses that looked circa 1950, took notes in a messy scrawl. Ramsay’s gaze narrowed. “Meadow mentioned to me yesterday that y’all had a quilting bee last night. Right?” He winced, as if thinking of all the different women he’d need to talk to about Judith’s last few hours.

Beatrice cleared her throat, and Ramsay raised his eyebrows at her. “I was just wondering what happened to Judith, Ramsay. It looked like she’d been hit over the head with something really heavy or hard,” said Beatrice. She pinched her lips shut, realizing that Ramsay probably couldn’t talk about it.

But Ramsay seemed to have no problems talking about the case. “Looks like blunt-force trauma to me,” he said thoughtfully. “A hammer or a crowbar or something heavy like that.”

Beatrice shivered despite the fact that the early-morning crispness of the mountain air had turned warmer.

* * *

The black coffee Piper handed her didn’t help a
lot
, but it sure didn’t hurt. Beatrice stirred in extra sugar. They were in Beatrice’s kitchen, but Piper had efficiently located both the coffeemaker and the Ziploc bag of coffee that Beatrice hadn’t yet unpacked, and made a pot.

“I’m so glad you didn’t find Judith’s body all by yourself,” said Piper. “Although I’m not really sure what you and Noo-noo were doing out so early in the morning. I know you’re used to getting up early to get ready for work, but I kind of thought you might have already made the adjustment to retirement time.”

“Actually, there was a reason behind the walk.” She explained about the anonymous note she’d found on her front porch that morning.

Piper’s gray eyes widened. “Anonymous letters? You’ve been in Dappled Hills for three days and you’ve already made enemies?”

Beatrice gave Piper a quelling look. “I think it has less to do with me and more to do with whoever left it for me. Maybe it was Judith. If I messed with anyone’s plans, it was hers. Felicity and Amber would never have known that quilt was so valuable if I hadn’t said something. Judith could have dropped off the note before she was murdered in the park. Maybe she wanted to spook me a little as punishment for ruining the deal she’d made with Felicity.”

There was a jaunty series of raps on the door, and Piper peeked out. “It’s Meadow,” she said with a sigh of relief, as if instead there might have been a crazed, note-leaving killer lurking on the porch.

Meadow wore a rainbow-colored housecoat over purple-and-yellow plaid pajama bottoms, and her eyes were huge behind her red glasses. “What’s happening? I heard sirens a little while ago and then I saw Piper walking over. Kinda early for a visit, isn’t it? Is something wrong? Ramsay was patrolling all night, but I was expecting him home for an early breakfast. When he didn’t show up, I phoned him, and he said he had a new case to work.”

Beatrice was proud of herself for not pointing out that Meadow herself was out visiting at seven a.m. Instead she and Piper filled Meadow in on the recent events. Meadow alternately gasped and cried out in dismay throughout the retelling.

“It’s karma,” she said, sitting back in her chair and waving her hands around in the air to simulate cosmic order, or perhaps disorder. “What goes around comes around. Judith’s wickedness finally caught up with her. But it’s still so hard to take in since she was just as alive and mean as anything mere hours ago. So we were all arguing heatedly with her one minute at the quilting bee, and then a few hours later she’s dead as a doornail. Could it have been some sort of an accident? Maybe Judith just fell and knocked her head. Or maybe she had some kind of medical problem and keeled over.”

Beatrice thought of Judith’s unusual sprawl, her lifeless eyes and the blood covering the ground around her. “There wouldn’t have been that much head trauma from a mere fall. It looked to me like she’d been struck hard by a heavy object.” She shook her head. There was no way Judith’s death could have been natural. “I’m sure Ramsay will be talking to some of the quilting group from last night,” she said. “Considering we were probably the last people to see her alive—and were arguing with her.”

Meadow looked concerned. “Especially Amber.” She shifted uneasily in her chair. “And I was the one who wanted to throw Judith out for being disruptive. Oh, and then she was ugly to Savannah and Georgia, making some sort of nasty inference about Savannah. And Posy! She was threatening to close the Patchwork Cottage. Oh, heavens. Posy and Amber will look the most suspicious, for sure.”

Piper mused, “This will be really rough on them.”

Meadow was thoughtful. “Daisy has never gotten along with Judith, for that matter. They squabbled all the time. And Judith was trying to insinuate something ugly about Daisy, too, as I recall. Something about Daisy not being what she seemed.” She turned to Beatrice. “Did you meet Daisy last night? She’s the doctor’s wife. She and Judith always butt heads because Daisy has really put a lot of time into her quilting and is making the rounds to all the regional shows. Judith was always really jealous of Daisy’s talent and all her blue ribbons. Judith always wanted to be the best at
everything.
Maybe Daisy murdered Judith before Judith could murder
her
.”

Meadow suddenly looked even more uncomfortable, then saw Beatrice staring at her and plastered on a fake smile. Beatrice’s eyes narrowed a little. “Meadow, was there something else that you’ve thought of?”

Meadow made a noise like a balloon deflating. She shrugged. “You mentioned a hard object. It just made me remember something. I saw Posy.” Meadow opened her mouth again, then snapped it shut.

“
Posy?
What was she doing?”

“I don’t really remember,” said Meadow slowly. When Beatrice made a scoffing noise, Meadow raised her eyebrows and said, “No, I really
don’t
remember. The main thing was that she was returning Boris to me. You know how my sweet Boris loves going on adventures. He had run off and Posy had found him while she was out and was bringing him back to me. I know she said something about the reason she was out—maybe about the shop—and I thought perhaps she was heading over there because she’d forgotten to lock up. At the time it wasn’t really important, since I didn’t know anything about the murder.”

“Did Posy seem like her usual self?”

Meadow nodded. “Pretty much. There was only one kind of funny thing. She had a shovel up in the front seat of her car.”

“A
shovel
?”

“She’d pulled way up in my driveway so that she could lug Boris to my door without him running off again. I saw the shovel up there in the passenger seat when I opened the door. But Posy is a huge gardener, you know,” said Meadow quickly. “If she’s not piecing a quilt then she’s out in her yard, filling the birdfeeders and planting flower beds or weeding. It’s really not that weird that she had a shovel in her car.”

Maybe it wasn’t weird, but it made things complicated that Posy, who had much to gain from Judith’s death, was out the night of the murder with a heavy object.

Meadow suddenly leaped out of her chair, startling Beatrice. “This is horrible. Horrible! Sitting around, thinking the worst of our friends. So we should go shopping . . . immediately. Quilt-shop therapy time.” She squinted over at the clock. “Or maybe in three hours, since it’s only seven a.m. and the stores aren’t open yet.”

Beatrice felt a little torn. She hadn’t planned on going shopping for quilting supplies yet—she hadn’t even decided what she was going to quilt. But she did want to find out a little more information, and Posy’s shop sounded like it might be a hub for Dappled Hills gossip.

“I guess I could come along,” she said slowly. “But, Meadow, I’m not feeling confident about submitting a block for the group quilt. I think I’m going to play around with making my own quilt first. Probably something that I’ll burn after it’s done,” she said with a short laugh. “But I’m happy to help with figuring out a strategy or a new direction for your group, or to help organize the guild.”

Meadow’s plan was apparently to ignore any mention of Beatrice not participating in the guild’s group project. “Beatrice, you’ll feel much more comfortable with quilting when you have a chance to practice with your own tools. We’ll make a shopping list for you. I’ll do that after I get back home. We’ll go to the Patchwork Cottage and get templates, patterns, rulers, fabric, cutting mats . . . the works!”

Piper shrugged helplessly at Beatrice. Meadow seemed to be an unstoppable force.

Meadow continued, “Besides, we should check in on poor Posy. I hope Ramsay and the state police haven’t been too hard on her. He gets so grouchy when he hasn’t had any sleep. Or food, I guess, since he didn’t make it home for breakfast. He was grumpy, anyway, because I forgot to tape
Wheel of Fortune
last night. He’s probably trying to behave himself, though, since it’s Posy. So, let’s go ahead and get ready and then we’ll shop! And maybe I can squeeze some information out of Ramsay.” She looked doubtful. “If he comes home.”

Piper said, “By the way, Meadow, I enjoyed meeting Ash last night.” She flushed a little. Beatrice felt that slight sinking feeling again. She wanted Piper to be with someone who made her happy. But did it have to be someone who lived clear on the other side of the country?

Meadow beamed. “He’s the smartest, nicest, handsomest man. You’re still planning on going out tonight, aren’t you?” she asked in a concerned voice. “I know there’s been a . . . well, a tragic event . . . but life must go on! Besides, he’ll only be here for the week. There’s not much time.” She answered her own question. “Of course you are. When I get back to the house, I’ll tell him dinner is still on. If he’s awake. It’s still super early! Okay, chop-chop! Let’s get ready!” And she was gone.

* * *

Beatrice passed through the door and into the Patchwork Cottage, a quilter’s paradise. Soft, up-tempo music played, comfy chairs and sofas invited you to sit and visit for a spell, and there were bolts of colorful cloth and more supplies than you could possibly imagine.

Beatrice saw quilting hoops, quilting books, specialty threads, buttons, rotary cutters and selections of different-sized needles. Posy draped quilts for display over antique washstands and an old sewing machine in the corner. There were quilts on every available spot on the walls and even the ceilings. The shop looked to have all kinds of nooks and crannies to it, including a consignment corner where quilters could sell their quilts. The whole shop had a welcoming, homey feel. There were even rocking chairs at the front of the porch with
Field & Stream
beside them, to occupy husbands while their wives shopped. No wonder the quilters had been so adamant about keeping the shop open.

Posy didn’t look nearly as serene as the atmosphere in her shop. Daisy Butler, wearing a very tight lavender track suit with a cleavage-revealing V-neck, was trying to console her. Daisy shook her head at Meadow and Piper as if to say that Posy wasn’t in great shape.

Posy greeted Beatrice with a hug, tears glistening in her bright eyes. “I’m so glad you were with me this morning. I know that’s an awful thing for me to say. I’m really so sorry you had to find Judith, but thank goodness I wasn’t alone. I think poor Duchess took some comfort in having Noo-noo there, too.”

Beatrice nodded. “I feel the same way. It’s been a rough morning, hasn’t it?”

There were shadows of exhaustion around Posy’s eyes. “Oh, y’all. Ramsay thinks I murdered Judith.”

“What?” asked Meadow in outrage. “Stuff and nonsense. Ramsay thinks no such thing, Posy. You’re our friend.” Meadow’s thunderous expression didn’t bode well for Ramsay’s off-duty hours. She clearly thought she was going to force him to cross Posy’s name off his list of suspects.

Posy smiled gently. “You’re a wonderful friend, Meadow, but this has nothing to do with friendship. Ramsay is just doing his job.”

Daisy said quickly, “Clearly, though, Judith’s death is a mugging gone horribly wrong.” Her words rang hollow, though, as if she knew better.

Posy shook her head sadly. “That’s not what the police think, Meadow. They think someone followed Judith to the park and murdered her. Or lured her out there to kill her. And I’m the one who had so much to gain from her death, after all. She told me last night that she was going to force me out because she’d found another tenant who’d pay more rent. I was going to lose my shop, which is so much more to me than simply a business. And now?” She held out her hands helplessly. “Problem solved. In the worst way possible.”

Daisy knit her brows. “Is it really solved, though? Wouldn’t Judith have left the shop to someone in her will?”

Piper said, “Judith has a daughter who’s a little younger than I am. She doesn’t live in Dappled Hills, though. I met her the last time she came to town to visit Judith.”

Meadow made a shooing motion. “Judith’s daughter won’t want to bother with selling or tampering with real estate! Especially not from a long distance. I’m positive she’ll be delighted to get a rent check in the mail every month.”

“Besides,” Daisy said, smoothing down her track pants with a plump hand, “gobs of people wanted Judith dead. Yes, Posy had a motive. But I never saw Posy seem
mad
at Judith. She never got all that angry. And, really, can we imagine mild-mannered Posy clubbing anybody over the head and killing them?”