Tying the Knot (15 page)

“That's certainly true. Although I do love having her here. She keeps the place lively. So, a cat. If y'all could keep a lookout for one, I'd sure appreciate it. Otherwise, I'll find a day to take Miss Sissy down to the animal shelter and we'll pick out a cat there,” said Posy.

Savannah glanced down at the fabric that Beatrice was still holding. “I really love those colors. What kind of quilt are you doing?”

“A kaleidoscope pattern,” said Beatrice.

Savannah beamed at her. “One of my favorite kinds!”

“Savannah does so well with those geometrics,” said Posy. The truth was that Savannah was an excellent quilter, and was very fond of precise geometric patterns, which greatly appealed to her sense of order.
“Will you put one of your quilts in the juried show at the spring festival?”

“I sure will. I've had a very good reception from judges for my quilts in past years,” said Savannah proudly.

“You certainly have,” said Posy with a smile. “I think you placed last year, didn't you?”

“I did.” Savannah smiled at the memory and then said, “What we really need to do is persuade June Bug to enter something in the show. She's still so insecure about her quilting.”

Posy nodded. “Very true, even though she's certainly been getting recognition for her quilts. I feel that if she can get more awards and attention, she might start feeling even more confident about experimenting.”

Savannah peered at her watch. “I suppose I should be getting back, if Miss Sissy is waiting for me.” She sighed. “The last time she came to visit, she stayed for hours, playing with Smoke. The poor kitty slept for days afterward.”

“She does have a present for him,” said Beatrice. “I think you'll like it. She almost didn't even let me see the gift, she was so fiercely protective of it.”

Savannah brightened. “Really?”

And in a moment, she'd hurried out the door to head home.

Beatrice snapped her fingers. “I need to go home, too, before I meet you for supper. But I know what I wanted to ask you. Posy, I was wondering if you knew of any tricks to keep my sewing machine's foot pedal
from sliding. It keeps trying to escape, and I feel like I'm chasing it all day.”

Posy said, “Lyla shared a good tip with me the other day. She said to use a nonslip silicone pot holder—the pedal will stay exactly where you want it to. She said it was one of her favorite quilting secrets.”

“I think I have one of those at home,” said Beatrice thoughtfully. “I didn't really like it as a pot holder, but it would be the perfect size to use under the foot pedal. Thanks.”

“These tips make life a lot easier for us quilters,” said Posy. She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe it would be fun to put up a bulletin board in the shop with paper blocks on it. Quilters could write down their favorite tips to share them with others.”

“You're just full of ideas today, Posy,” said Beatrice. They headed over to the register, and Posy checked out her fabric.

“See you at six thirty?” asked Posy.

“I'll be there.”

*   *   *

Posy was an excellent cook, and her simple supper was more like a feast. Her husband, Cork, who always seemed a bit severe, with his dour expression and bald head, was actually a lot of fun to spend time with. They'd eaten outside in Posy's tidy backyard, Cork entertaining them over a bottle of wine by telling stories of unusual customers he'd had over the years. As the sun went down, the birds were still flying to the feeders on the edges of the yard and singing from the rhododendrons and birch trees. After spending so much time
thinking about Trevor Garber's murder, it was a pleasant break to while away a couple of hours with good friends, great food, and engaging conversation.

When it had grown dark outside, Beatrice helped clear their plates and glasses from the table and bring them inside Posy and Cork's small ranch house.

“I should be getting back home,” she said a bit reluctantly. “Noo-noo will be wondering where I am.”

“Next time let's make it a couples' dinner,” suggested Posy warmly. “We'd love to have Wyatt over here, wouldn't we, Cork?”

Cork nodded. “It would be a pleasure to have him over. As it was hosting you, Beatrice. Somehow, lately, it seems like we only ever have Miss Sissy over here.” He made a face. “And she invites herself, comes in the middle of supper, and then spends much of the time hissing at me.”

“Oh, Cork, you know you love having Miss Sissy over. She only hisses when she thinks you're being unfriendly. Besides, if it weren't for Miss Sissy, where else would you get so many colorful stories to tell your customers?”

Cork shook his head in denial, but reached over and gave Posy a fond hug. “We'll set up that supper. Good to see you, Beatrice.”

On the short drive home, Beatrice thought again how fortunate she was to have such good friends. It had been an adjustment moving from Atlanta to Dappled Hills, but she was so glad she had. Life here was in many ways so much easier, with a slower pace. Friendships seemed to grow faster and stronger here.

Beatrice pulled into her driveway and gathered her
purse from the passenger's side. She looked for her phone, frowning. She patted the pocket of her slacks and turned on the car's interior lights to see if her phone had slid off the seat or if she were sitting on it. Then she rifled through her pocketbook. No phone. Beatrice sighed. She must have either left it at Posy's house or at the Patchwork Cottage earlier in the afternoon. Beatrice tried to remember when she'd last checked it or used it, and couldn't. She'd just call around tomorrow on the house phone and see if she could find it.

Beatrice got out of her car and walked up to her front door, fumbling with the keys as she tried to remember where she might have put her phone. As she was putting her key in the lock, she gave a startled cry as someone jabbed what felt like the steel barrel of a gun into her back.

Beatrice's scream alerted Noo-noo, who started frantically barking inside the house. Now a gruff voice that she couldn't place and could barely hear over the barking said, “Get inside!”

With shaking hands, Beatrice tried again to insert the key into the lock. Then, suddenly feeling much calmer, she took a deep breath and purposely dropped the keys to the ground with a startled exclamation. The intruder jammed the gun harder into her back, which she took as a cue to pick up the keys. As she started to bend over, she made a backward kick with her right leg and slammed her foot into the intruder's shin.

The intruder cried out in pain, crouching over the hurt leg. Beatrice used the opportunity to swiftly grab the keys, shove the house key into the lock with shaking hands, push open her front door, and lock it behind her. She ran into the kitchen to grab the house phone
and dialed the Downeys' number as quickly as she could.

Beatrice peered out the kitchen window, concealing herself as much as possible by looking out the side. She saw no one. Ramsay answered the phone, and Beatrice said breathlessly, “It's Beatrice. Someone with a gun is here at my house and surprised me at my front door.”

“I'll be there in a second,” said Ramsay grimly.

Beatrice could hear Meadow talking anxiously to Ramsay in the background and said quickly, “Meadow worries too much about me as it is. You can tell her about this, but please don't mention the gun.” Then she hung up.

There was a knock at her front door, and Beatrice froze. Unless Ramsay had the secret power of teleportation, she doubted that he could have arrived at her door that quickly. But would an attacker knock?

Beatrice hurried to the door and peered out the side window. Exhaling in relief, she saw Piper there. She quickly opened the door, “Come in! Hurry!”

“Mama, what's wrong? What is it?” But she darted inside as instructed.

Beatrice locked the door behind her. “There was someone out there a few minutes ago.” She paused. She hated to worry Piper with the details. “They . . . tried to force me into the house . . . I guess they were trying to intimidate me.” She filled Piper in quickly.

Piper gaped at her. “What? Mama! How terrifying for you.” Piper gave her mother a long, tight hug. Then she pulled back slightly, searching her mother's face in concern. “Let's get you to the sofa. You're trembling. I'll pour you a glass of wine.”

“And Ramsay's on his way.” Another sharp rap at the door, and Piper glanced out before opening it to a stern Ramsay.

Meadow had come, too, but this time she was unusually quiet as she heard Beatrice once again explain what had happened. Meadow gave Beatrice a tight squeeze and then gave Piper one, too . . . just because she was crazy about Piper. Beatrice carefully left out mention of the gun so as not to alarm Meadow. Otherwise, Meadow might try to foist Boris on her for protection. As it was, she kept shaking her head, as if she couldn't believe such a thing could happen in Dappled Hills.

“The whole reason I'm here,” said Piper slowly, “is because you didn't answer your cell phone. Or the house phone, either.”

“I think I left my cell phone at the Patchwork Cottage. And I would have been at supper with Posy and Cork when you called the house phone,” said Beatrice. She shivered uncontrollably. “I'm so thankful you didn't come over a few minutes earlier and encounter that intruder.”

Ramsay said, “Beatrice, you're sure you didn't see or hear anything that could give us a clue who was behind this? Did you have the impression that it was a short or tall person behind you? Or whether it was a man or woman speaking?”

Beatrice shook her head in frustration. “That's the thing. I had no impressions at all. The intruder was careful not to give anything away, I guess in case I'd somehow manage to get away. The voice I heard was gruff and was clearly disguised, and Noo-noo was
being a good watchdog and barking up a storm. And I used the moment of injury to get away. I had an impression of someone dressed in black, but that was all. It was dark outside and I didn't see anything else.”

“Why do you think the intruder wanted to force you inside the house?” asked Ramsay.

“I'm assuming that he or she was trying to intimidate me,” Beatrice swallowed, her throat feeling desperately dry as she realized again how lucky she was.

Ramsay gave her a knowing look that said that he knew it was more than just intimidation if her intruder had brought a gun.

Meadow's eyes opened wide at the thought, shaking her head in disbelief. “What on earth is this town coming to?”

Piper gave her mother a tight hug. “I'm so glad you got away.”

Ramsay asked intently, “Do you have any idea what he was after or why he might have wanted to intimidate you, Beatrice? Do you have any information about this case?”

A frown creased Piper's forehead. “You haven't been trying to poke around in this murder, have you? You know how that always worries me, Mama.”

“It worries me, too, even though you're good at getting to the bottom of things,” said Ramsay.

Meadow shot Beatrice a guilty look.

“I honestly have no idea what made the intruder think I was onto him. Maybe it's the fact that I've been asking questions that's made him nervous.” Beatrice fought the uneasy feeling that it was Daniel who'd seemed most upset by her questioning. Who else might
be thinking that Beatrice was getting too close to finding out some answers?

Meadow said, “Ramsay, don't you think someone should look after Beatrice tonight? To make sure whoever was here doesn't come back?”

“I really don't need. . . .” started Beatrice.

Piper quickly said, “I'll stay here.”

“Piper, there's not even a guest bedroom here!”

“I can sleep on the sofa. I'll be perfectly comfortable on this sofa.” Piper gave a small bounce on the sofa to emphasize its softness and complete suitability for sleeping.

“There's absolutely no need . . .”

Meadow brightened. “Boris! We can lend you Boris tonight. Not that Noo-noo isn't a wonderful watchdog, of course, but it seems as if your intruder tonight wasn't as concerned about Noo-noo's potential for ferocity. Boris has size on his side.”

“I'd be happy to lend Boris out,” said Ramsay with alacrity.

Beatrice decided that a marauding Boris was the last thing she needed that night. Thank heaven she hadn't mentioned the gun to Meadow, or her home would have turned into the Beatrice Coleman Home for Wayward Dogs.

“Listen, everyone. I really, really appreciate your concern. But there's no need to worry. No one is coming back here tonight. This intruder is probably nursing a very sore shin. All I need is some sleep, and tomorrow morning I'll be fine.”

They all finally reluctantly left, Ramsay last. He said in an undertone to Beatrice, “You and I know that
someone with a gun was probably intending on using it. Intimidation is one thing, but I think this was something else. This person wanted to get rid of you. Please think about what you know and what you may know that you don't know you know.”

Beatrice gave him a bemused look, and Ramsay sighed. “I know that didn't make much sense. But you get my drift, right? Let me know if you have any information that could implicate someone. The sooner I make an arrest in this case, the better. Your safety is at stake.”

Beatrice swallowed hard and nodded. “And thanks for keeping this under your hat, Ramsay. I appreciate it.”

Beatrice slowly got ready to turn in. But she was awake until the wee hours—listening to every creak of the house and small sound outside.

*   *   *

The next morning, Wyatt called her early. “Is it all right if I drop by? I talked to Piper when I was out getting coffee. I'd like to see with my own eyes that you're okay.”

A few minutes later, Wyatt was sitting beside her on the sofa, holding one of her hands and studying her with his kind, concerned eyes. “You didn't sleep last night, did you?”

Beatrice smiled at him. “You're much too observant, Wyatt. No, I didn't sleep. I think I had so much adrenaline pumping through me last night that sleep was completely impossible. But I'm fine—I promise. Except that now I'm even more determined that this person should be behind bars.”

“I can understand that,” said Wyatt. “Of course you'd be angry. It must have been terrifying.”

“It was. And I'm not one who deals well with terror,” said Beatrice with a sigh. “It's making me most remarkably vengeful.” She shook off the unwelcome emotions and said, “Want some coffee? I know you said you had some earlier.”

“No, no, I'm fine.” Wyatt was still studying her. “I hate the thought that something could have happened to you, Beatrice. Please, please be careful.”

She nodded. “Of course I will. I promise. No more fumbling in my pocketbook for lost phones. I'll be aware of my surroundings. I will allow nothing else bad to happen to me, or else Meadow will follow through with her threat to loan me Boris for protection. And now”—she gave Wyatt a beseeching look—“can we move on to more pleasant topics?”

“Like the spring festival?” he asked with a grin. “We're still going together, right?”

“Absolutely. And I plan on beating you at the horseshoe competition.”

“Oh, I see—a challenge! I'll take you up on that, Beatrice. I fancy myself a master at the art of horseshoe throwing.” He puffed up his chest.

“It's an art now, hmm? All right. I haven't actually been to this festival before, but I have heard about the horseshoes. But tell me this: is this the kind of event where I need to eat before we go?” asked Beatrice.

Wyatt blinked at her. “Eat before we go?”

“You know. Does it have the typical fair food?” asked Beatrice.

“If you mean cotton candy, fried pickles, and hot dogs, then yes. And they always have the best hot-dog chili I've ever tasted—you definitely don't want to miss
out on the hot dogs. So
naturally
you won't want to eat before you go, or you'll completely miss out.”

“On the stomachache, you mean?” asked Beatrice wryly.

“Well, if you're determined, at least save room for the boiled peanuts. They're amazing and my personal favorite,” said Wyatt.

“I guess I could make boiled peanuts the exception,” said Beatrice with a smile. “And you still don't have to help out with the church booth, right?”

“That's right. Except for the fact that I really should support the women of the church and buy a cake, but that's not exactly a hardship. And I'll help them with cleanup after the festival.”

“So separate cars,” said Beatrice. Then she reluctantly realized that this was exactly the type of activity that Meadow was so insistent that she should help with to spend more time with Wyatt. “Unless you need help with the cleanup. Then we could go in the same car.”

Wyatt gave her a quizzical look. “That's nice of you to offer, but you know how the bake-sale booth goes. It should be pretty quick cleanup. We'll load up the unsold cakes and the table and chairs, and that's it. But I appreciate it. You know, if you're looking for a way to help out at the church, there's actually something we do need help with this afternoon.” He hesitated. “If you're up to it, of course. You had a fairly harrowing experience last night.”

“I'm up to it,” said Beatrice quickly. Then she smiled. “So, what have I signed myself up for?”

Wyatt laughed. “You didn't even ask. I could make it some really heinous activity involving polishing the
church silver. But, actually, it's not so bad. There's a group that's assembling casseroles to freeze for the funeral and new baby ministries. We had a couple of regulars cancel, so that would be a huge help. I'll be there, too.”

Beatrice laughed. “Will you be showing off your cooking skills again? You'll really make me feel inadequate if you do.”

“No cooking skills required for this ministry! All the ingredients are in separate zipper bags, and we all put them together in an assembly line. It takes no time, and we end up with a freezer full of food when one of our families needs some extra help,” said Wyatt. “We're meeting at the church kitchen at two o'clock.”

“Now,
that's
the kind of cooking I think I can handle,” said Beatrice. Wyatt squeezed her hand in thanks.

They sat quietly for a few moments, enjoying the peace of the room together. Then Wyatt said in a soft voice, “Beatrice, I can tell you've had something on your mind lately. Other than Trevor's death. You've been lost in your thoughts whenever I've spoken to you. It seemed like it started when we were visiting at the retirement home. Did anything happen then? I know you spoke to Daniel for a while as I visited with Mrs. Kemp.”

Beatrice felt the muscles in her neck and shoulders bunch up. The last thing she wanted to do was to give Wyatt something to worry about—especially when there really might not
be
anything to worry about. But by now, Daniel surely should have told Harper about his parentage and Trevor's attempt to extort money from him. Not to tell Wyatt felt somewhat dishonest.

She took a deep breath and told Wyatt what she'd learned from Daniel. That his father hadn't been the man who'd raised him, that he wanted to ensure his mother didn't suffer any discomfort at this stage of her life. That he'd told Trevor as a friend in order to try to work through his feelings—and that Trevor had betrayed his trust by attempting to blackmail him. Wyatt sat very still and listened intently as Beatrice spoke.

Finally, at the end, he remained silent, considering Beatrice's words. “Have you told Ramsay this?” he asked.

“No. Not yet. Daniel wanted to tell Harper first. That's why I didn't tell you earlier—he thought Harper should be the first to know.” Beatrice hesitated. “Wyatt, I'm sure that Daniel couldn't have anything to do with Trevor's death. And could you even imagine his attacking me last night? It really seems outside the realm of possibility.”