Quilt Trip: A Southern Quilting Mystery (20 page)

The gun went flying out of Dot’s hand, skidding on the icy ground. Dot cried out hoarsely, scrambling to get up, but slipping on the surface as she struggled to move.

Beatrice got a foothold in a melted area and bent down toward the gun, scrabbling in the melting ice to grab the weapon. Dot roared with anger behind her as she struggled, panting, to get to her feet.

Beatrice’s arm burned as she stretched out for the gun. She pushed harder with her feet, scooting across the ice and mud. Finally she felt the cold metal with her fingers and she pulled the gun close, then scrambled to her feet and pointed the gun at Dot.

“You wouldn’t use that,” said Dot, eyes squinting appraisingly at her.

But there must have been a touch of steel in Beatrice’s eyes, because, looking at her, Dot seemed to come to the realization that Beatrice would use it. Dot sank back down into the muddy slush, warily eyeing her.

Beatrice was too worried about the gun in her hand to try to fish her phone out and find the missed call. So she simply stood there shivering, holding the pistol in two shaking hands.

She’d never been so glad to hear Meadow’s booming voice. “Beatrice Coleman! What in the Sam Hill is going on here?”

Dot drawled, “I think Beatrice is holding a gun on me, Meadow. That’s what’s going on.”

Meadow stamped through the ice and slush, in complete disregard to its treachery. She gaped at Beatrice. “Is Dot our murderer, Beatrice?”

“She certainly is,” said Beatrice grimly.

“So what are we going to do with her?” asked Meadow, staring at Dot in horror.

“I’m thinking we’re going to stay like this until we’re rescued.”

“Won’t we freeze to death?”

“I don’t think so,” Beatrice said slowly. Her voice was still shaking, so she took a deep, calming breath. “You see, I got a signal on my phone here.”

Meadow gasped. “Did you? In this very spot?” She glanced around her as if on hallowed ground. “Who’d you call?”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Well, I was terrified I was going to lose my signal so I called the first person who came to mind.”

“Wyatt?” Meadow asked cannily. “How romantic of you, Beatrice!”

Beatrice said in a brisk tone, “This is hardly the time or place that, Meadow.”

Dot shrugged, not looking at all concerned about being held at gunpoint.

“Did he say anything about Boris? Oh, my poor dog!”

“No, I didn’t have time to chat, Meadow—the battery is nearly dead. I told him where we were and what had happened and that the police needed to come.”

“And that she knew who was responsible,” drawled Dot.

“I’m sure they’re all already on their way,” said Meadow. She shivered. “Hope they’ll get on with it. I’m freezing!” She turned toward the house and brightened. “Here comes Posy! Maybe we can send her back for our coats.” Meadow started inching toward Posy and the house.

“Have y’all seen Miss Sissy?” Posy called out.

Beatrice glanced her way for only a second, but that was all it took for Dot to lunge at her with both hands outstretched for the gun. Beatrice’s hands tightened on it a moment too late, and it fell to the ground. They both dropped down to grab it as Meadow hurried back toward them.

Suddenly, Beatrice heard a guttural cry from behind a row of trees and bushes. “Wickedness!” And Miss Sissy popped out from behind several large azaleas, wielding Dot’s cane, which she quickly used to whack at Dot’s right arm, which was reaching for the gun.

Dot yelled in pain and snatched her arm back out of the way and backed up away from Miss Sissy as far as she could. Miss Sissy continued wildly hitting the ground in front of her with the cane. “Found her cane inside!” Miss Sissy shouted. “Lied! Evil!”

Beatrice quickly picked up the gun and backed off slightly with it, keeping it trained on Dot. “Thank you for coming to investigate, Miss Sissy.”

“No cane! Not hurt!” Miss Sissy continued.

Beatrice gave a shuddering sigh of relief at the sound of sirens—still far away, but getting closer.

Dot slumped on the ground, this time looking defeated.

The police hadn’t known exactly what to make of the scene they encountered when they finally made it up the steep mountainside driveway to the house. They’d had to leave their cruisers at the bottom of the drive and hurried up to the top on foot. Beatrice was more than happy to relinquish the gun, of course, but not until she felt the police had the situation well in hand.

Beatrice beamed at Wyatt, who was behind the police . . . with Noo-noo. The corgi was overjoyed to see her and Wyatt appeared fairly happy to see her himself.

Posy’s husband, Cork, was close behind. For once, his usually grumpy face was creased with a smile at the sight of his wife.

Holly, Alexandra, and Winnie had come running out at the sound of the sirens and were amazed to see Dot in handcuffs. “
There’s
my gun!” Alexandra had frowned. “I’d just been wondering where it was. I was about to go search Winnie’s room again. I should have known it had been snatched . . . I’m not one to be careless with a gun.”

Dot gave a derisive snort. Understandably, since she’d twice ended up with the gun in her possession.

Winnie was flushed with anger. “Dot? You were the one who planted the gun in my room? But why? Why did you do that to me?”

“Just trying to throw everyone off the scent, that’s all.” Dot shrugged. “Don’t take it personally, Winnie.”

The police had put Dot into the back of a police car before questioning everyone. The questioning took a long time and the police officers kept raising their eyebrows at the talk of bodies, sleeping pills, suspicious deaths, secret passageways, and hidden rooms. It did all sound fairly unbelievable, but after some preliminary investigating, they listened a lot more carefully to their story.

Everyone was glad when they were finally released. However, the police told them they would be in contact for further questioning.

“But how are we going to get out of here?” asked Meadow, hands on her hips. “We’re really still in the same fix. The driveway is still too icy to drive down, particularly as steep as it is.”

Wyatt said, “Cork and I will escort y’all down to the bottom of the driveway and take you home. The lower section of the driveway has gotten a little more sun and isn’t as icy as the top part. I think we can hop from dry patch to dry patch. And we also brought a few ski poles to help us maintain our balance—I dropped them at the top of the driveway. We’ll come back later for your cars. They’ll have to get a crew to cut up those fallen trees that are blocking the driveway.”

“What about Holly, Alexandra, and Winnie?” asked Posy, her forehead wrinkling with concern.

One of the police officers explained that they would escort the ladies home and they could retrieve their cars later after the ice had melted.

Meadow started walking down the driveway. “Boy, am I glad to get out of here!”

Amen, Beatrice thought.

•   •   •

Piper’s voice was filled with relief when Beatrice called her on the way home from Muriel’s house. “Mama, I was so worried! The only thing that kept me from being completely frantic was that I knew at least you’d be with Meadow and Posy.”

“And Miss Sissy,” reminded Beatrice dryly. She filled Piper in as quickly as she could.

“Where are you going now?” Piper asked with concern. “Do you need to run by the doctor’s office?”

“I just want to go home,” Beatrice replied. “It’s amazing how much I’ve missed that little cottage.”

It was a wonderful feeling when the car finally pulled into her driveway and she walked into the small stone cottage.

Noo-noo was overjoyed at being back home with Beatrice. “Cute little guy,” Cork had admitted, in his grouchy voice. “Could tell he missed you, though.” Cork had brought Noo-noo and Boris over to stay with him while Beatrice and Meadow had been gone. Apparently Boris hadn’t been as good a guest as Noo-noo.

A week went by—a week full of catching up. She watered her parched houseplants, bought groceries, and worked her way through the mail and newspapers that Wyatt had thoughtfully collected for her while she’d been gone. Concerned friends from church and other quilters stopped by for a hug and a quick visit.

The police had questioned Beatrice a couple of times during the week, double-checking the timing of events and getting more details about what she’d discovered. When she’d tried to turn the tables and question the police, though, it hadn’t gone as well. They wouldn’t give her any information at all. She’d just have to wait for Dappled Hills police chief Ramsay to finally return from his trip and fill her in.

Which he finally did. Ramsay, with Meadow and their tremendous beast, Boris, in tow, knocked at her cottage door one morning. When Beatrice opened it, Meadow said, “Okay, Beatrice, let’s dispense with the pleasantries and have a seat. Ramsay wouldn’t tell me anything about what the police found out until he told you at the same time.”

“Hate having to repeat myself,” said Ramsay, quietly coming in and sitting down on Beatrice’s gingham armchair.

“Can I get you an iced tea or—?” Beatrice offered.

“No!” Meadow said. “Sit down and let’s hear what he’s found out, Beatrice. He had coffee before he came over here.”

Beatrice and Meadow settled down near Ramsay in the little living room. Boris promptly walked over to sit on Beatrice’s feet and sprawled his upper half over her lap. Beatrice’s Noo-noo decided that turnabout was fair play and leaned against Ramsay, who bent down to rub her tummy.

Ramsay cleared his throat, “First of all, Beatrice, you were right to assume these were murders. They were.”

Beatrice nodded. “I’d thought they must be.”

“Smothered and poisoned with an overdose of sleeping pills,” Ramsay confirmed.

“The poor things,” Meadow said with a gusty sigh.

“And Dot was responsible, I suppose?” asked Beatrice. “At least, she’d indicated to me that she was.”

“Yes. She didn’t even try to defend herself,” Ramsay explained. “Didn’t even ask for a lawyer. Just upped and confessed to both murders. Said she’d murdered Muriel Starnes out of revenge for past treatment and out of anger for the way Muriel seemed to think she could make everything magically okay again with a blanket apology.”

“And Colton for putting two and two together,” said Beatrice.

“That’s right. It was all pretty much the way you’d figured. The autopsy revealed that the number of sleeping pills in his system was enough to knock him out almost immediately. If it’s any comfort, it would have been a fairly easy way to go.”

Ramsay and Beatrice thought quietly on this for a few moments while Meadow wriggled impatiently. Finally, Meadow couldn’t shush herself any longer. “What about the rest of the story? What about the will? And the other people who were stuck at the house with us? I want to know how everything ended up.”

“That Colton was a cagey guy,” Ramsay said with admiration. “For all the apparent talk of updating the will the night Muriel died, she obviously never got the chance. But Muriel did have Colton draw up a will only a few weeks earlier that included several new provisions. It was witnessed by Colton and Muriel’s housekeeper, who she’d occasionally called to clean for her. Colton didn’t say anything about the will to y’all, did he?”

Beatrice and Meadow looked at each other and shook their heads.

“So why would she want
another
will?” Beatrice asked.

Ramsay shrugged. “Maybe Muriel really did plan to include a quilting foundation in her will. At first, it could simply have been a ruse to get everyone over to her house for her apology, but then she might have warmed to the idea and decided to include it in an updated will.”

“But then she died before they could make the changes,” said Meadow. “Pooh.”

“Where did you find the most recent will?” Beatrice asked. “Alexandra turned the house upside down searching for it. Although I don’t think she ever really got the chance to search in the attic.”

“Oh, the will wasn’t in the house. It was at Colton’s office. He had drawn it up at Muriel’s house, since she was unwell at the time, and then taken it to his office to file it. It’s all perfectly in order.”

“So what’d it say?” Meadow asked impatiently.

“I think you’ll be happy to hear that Holly ended up with the house,” Ramsay said. “But Muriel wasn’t totally awful to Alexandra—she gave her a very comfortable sum of money. Although I don’t think Alexandra saw it that way. She appeared angry over it all.”

“She certainly acted as if she thought she owned the house lock, stock, and barrel,” said Beatrice. “She expected to be the sole heir.”

“Until she found out about Holly,” said Meadow with a snort. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that Holly will inherit that house.”

“And money for fixing it up, too,” said Ramsay. “Which it desperately needs. With a few upgrades and with that nice view, the house will be a good nest egg for Holly with a nice resale. Muriel’s estate was worth over a million dollars, and yet she pinched pennies and didn’t keep up her home. She really was a miser.”

“But there was no money for a quilting foundation mentioned?” asked Meadow, ever hopeful that perhaps Ramsay had just forgotten to mention this detail.

“No quilting foundation,” said Ramsay. As Meadow’s face fell, he added quickly, “But you’ll be happy to hear that she did earmark a tidy sum to go to various area quilt guilds—Village Quilters included.”

Meadow clapped her hands, startling Noo-noo, who jumped to her feet looking alarmed.

“Although there were some provisos on the money. I think it had to be used to promote quilting in the community and schools,” Ramsay added in a cautionary tone.

“Oh, that’s fine—that’s what the whole foundation thing was supposed to do. So this is a onetime gift instead of an ongoing one, but we’ll take it.” Meadow had a big grin on her face.

“Was anyone else mentioned in the will?” asked Beatrice. “Anyone from the house, I mean.”

“You mean Dot or Winnie?” Ramsay asked.

“Or even Colton,” Meadow said with a shrug. “They were married once, after all.”

“Not a thing for Colton. But she did earmark some money for both Winnie and Dot. Along with an apology. I guess she felt a mere apology would be inadequate and she wanted to at least give them some form of reparation. It’s too bad that Dot won’t be able to inherit anything from Muriel now—since she’d be profiting from a crime. Winnie, though, was delighted to hear about the money that Muriel willed her. Although she was even more delighted about the cat.”

“What’s that about the cat?” asked Meadow.

“Alexandra didn’t want it and Holly is apparently mildly allergic. We naturally brought it to Miss Sissy, since she’d been so taken with it. But Miss Sissy insisted that we offer it to Winnie. I called Winnie from Miss Sissy’s house, because I just couldn’t see that sour old woman giving the cat a home, and I figured Miss Sissy would take it if no one else would. You could have knocked me down with a feather when Winnie said she’d take the cat in. Actually, she was delighted to.”

“I think she’s lonely,” Beatrice sad. “And that loneliness has made her bitter.”

“When I asked her about the cat,” Ramsay said, “she actually burst into tears.”

“The poor thing,” tutted Meadow.

“Was Alexandra spitting fire when she heard she wasn’t inheriting the house?” Beatrice asked.

Ramsay shook his head. “Nope. Guess she didn’t want to acknowledge that her feelings might be hurt. At first, she had this expression like she’d been slapped in the face. But after that, she said in this snide tone that the house was a money pit, anyway. ‘Good luck to Holly . . .’ That kind of thing.”

“Typical,” Meadow said with a snort. “Sour grapes.”

“That’s very cynical of you,” said Ramsay, eyebrows raised.

“I got to know Alexandra pretty well over the course of our ordeal,” Meadow said. “I wasn’t very impressed.”

“Well, this tidbit might surprise you. While the men were hunting around for a will, they came across a box full of mementoes. It had photos of Alexandra, blue ribbons she’d won at field days, locks of her hair, pictures she’d drawn when she was a kid, the papers she’d made A’s on . . .”

“You’re right.” Meadow gaped. “I
am
surprised.”

“Me, too,” said Beatrice, absently patting Boris, who was insistently laying his tremendous head in her lap. “Who’d have thought that Muriel was sentimental or maternal enough to create a keepsake box?”

“You’re not the only ones,” said Ramsay. “Alexandra appeared to be in a state of shock when the cops handed the box to her. Got kind of choked up, actually. She held it very carefully—cradling it, really.”

“Sweet,” said Meadow, although she still didn’t appear particularly convinced about Alexandra’s good side. “Now there’s one person I’m a little concerned about. Someone I ended up really being rather fond of.”

“Clearly not Alexandra,” Ramsay said dryly.

“Nope. Dot. I liked her. She was blunt and funny and always in a good mood.”

“When she wasn’t killing people,” Beatrice said.

“Right. So what’s going to happen to Dot?” Meadow asked.

“Well, Dot’s going to have to go to prison, naturally,” Ramsay said.