Tying the Knot (21 page)

“There was no reason for Julian to know,” said Lyla expressionlessly. “Our relationship was going fine and suited me perfectly. Besides, I didn't want people all over Dappled Hills to start yapping about me and Trevor. And Trevor was starting to lose it.”

“I was thinking that it must have been really tough to slip sleeping pills into his drink, but it probably wasn't, was it? After all, no one was on the lookout for anything but normal wedding behavior. You were in and out some to get food—a normal occurrence at a wedding—and you
had
to pass Trevor to get to the food,” said Beatrice.

“It was completely necessary,” said Lyla in that same brisk, unemotional tone. “Trevor was a loose cannon. It wasn't a horrible death in any way. He simply fell asleep and didn't wake up.”

“It was a horrible death because it was unnatural and happened too soon,” said Beatrice sternly. She'd temporarily forgotten about the gun in her indignation over Trevor's untimely death. “And a tragic one, because he was trying to turn his life around at the time.”

Lyla snorted. She glanced around the dark parking lot as if suddenly realizing how exposed they were. She gestured to Beatrice's car with her pistol. “Get into your car, and no funny business, Beatrice. We only have Eleanor's word that Trevor wanted to change. How could I be expected to sit around and wait to see if he was going to suddenly stop stalking me at work and showing up at my house? Eleanor is about as nutty as a fruitcake, anyway. She stepped right into Trevor's shoes as soon as he was gone, following me to the office and showing up at my house.”

Beatrice reluctantly unlocked her car and got into the front seat, automatically putting on her seat belt as Lyla trained a gun on her and climbed into Beatrice's passenger's seat. “But Eleanor's motives were different, weren't they? She was convinced that you were responsible for Trevor's death. And she was right.”

“She was convinced that our
affair
was responsible for the whole mess,” corrected Lyla. “And in that sense, Eleanor was right. I wish I'd never become involved with Trevor.”

Beatrice took a deep breath. “You say that, but you obviously must have had feelings for him, too. I
overheard you say that you wished you and Trevor had loved each other at the same time.”

Lyla flushed. “That was actually the real tragedy. And the fact that Trevor was so unstable, which I'd had no idea about when we started seeing each other. I'd thought he was this upright, thoughtful anesthesiologist. That's what all appearances indicated. Who knew that he was going to go off the deep end like that?”

Beatrice was feeling desperate to gain more time. She wasn't sure where Lyla was planning on making her drive, but it couldn't have a good outcome. If she could only keep Lyla talking, maybe someone else would enter the parking lot. Unfortunately, the field the parking lot was in was huge, and the nearest car was Lyla's. It was also unlit by any type of streetlight. Still, anything had to be better than driving somewhere else.

Beatrice said, “So, after he'd ingested the drink, you walked back through the tent and made a point to help the caterers pick up discarded plates and glasses, including Trevor's. Although I'm not sure how you'd have picked up his glass without putting fingerprint evidence all over it.”

Lyla shrugged. “It was a cool evening. I had a long scarf that I'd thrown on over my dress. I wiped down the glass after I'd taken it. That's all.”

“A doctor that Trevor worked with was lurking in the background,” said Beatrice thoughtfully. “I saw him looking in on the proceedings a couple of times. It seemed as though he was waiting for a chance to talk to Trevor alone. So he was focused on Trevor, clearly. He must have seen you coming over to the table and doctoring Trevor's drink.”

Lyla shrugged. “Start the engine, Beatrice. We're going on a short drive. And, yes, he apparently either did see something or else he was able to fill in the blanks. Patrick Finley was a smart guy, but, then, doctors usually are.”

Beatrice's gaze desperately flickered around the empty parking lot. No one was there. Slowly she put the keys in the ignition and turned. “But Patrick wasn't smart enough, was he? He clearly talked with you about what he'd seen. He basically signed his own death warrant then.”

“That's a dramatic way of putting it,” said Lyla with a dry laugh. “He did arrange to talk with me about it. I'd thought at the time that he knew more than he did. I guess he only saw something out of the corner of his eye, although he pretended that he knew everything.”

“Was he trying to blackmail you with the information?” asked Beatrice with a frown. She really couldn't see it, although it had been such a focus in the murders, what with Trevor trying to get out of his financial trouble.

Lyla rolled her eyes. “Please. Not that guy. Whatever his vices are, I'm pretty sure that blackmailing people isn't one of them. No, he simply decided that he was tired of being a suspect in a murder investigation. He was giving me the opportunity to talk to the police before he did. He seemed to think that a confession would help the authorities go easier on me, or something.”

“When did he tell you to turn yourself in?” asked Beatrice. “Was it at the greenway trail?”

“He'd called me from the hospital and told me to meet him before his usual walk the next morning. I had
a pretty good idea what he wanted to talk with me about. I brought my gun along and printed out a handy-dandy suicide note to bring with me,” said Lyla.

“So, he tried to convince you to turn yourself in, and then he set out on his walk,” said Beatrice.

“That's right. And he was an unsuspecting lamb, I have to admit. He put his headphones on, turned on his music, and started walking. I walked right behind him, and he never knew I was there. I had my gun just in case something went wrong, but it was so much more convenient when Patrick paused to play a different song on his iPod—and I ran right at him and pushed him off the cliff.” There was a hard note of satisfaction in Lyla's voice.

Beatrice reminded herself to take a deep breath. Now she knew exactly what she was dealing with. Lyla wouldn't think twice about getting rid of her. “You made sure he was dead and then posted the suicide note.”

“Well, there was no ‘making sure he was dead' about it—the guy tumbled off a cliff. He was a goner, all right. But, sure—I put the suicide note up with the confession. I figured I might as well take some of the heat off myself, after all.” Lyla squinted to look into the distance. “Start driving, Beatrice. I don't want any sort of posse to come after you. Head out the gate and take a left.”

Left was near nothing. Left led out to the middle of nowhere. Beatrice really didn't want to turn left. There was that gun to think of, though.

“This gun,” said Beatrice. She cleared her throat as she slowly started driving toward the gate. “This must be the gun you were using the night you came up behind me when I was returning from dinner with Posy.”

“It's a good way to motivate someone to do what I want,” said Lyla dryly. “You were being far too nosy, Beatrice. It's really your downfall, if you think about it. You didn't have to get involved with all this. You didn't see anything at the reception. You didn't know what happened to Patrick Finley. You could have been free and clear. But you couldn't seem to stop yourself from digging.”

“What were you planning on doing that night you showed up at my house?” asked Beatrice.

“Well, I certainly didn't want to shoot you outside. Considering your closest neighbor is the police chief, that might cause more interest than I wanted. But I did want to get rid of you. I could tell you were getting closer to finding out the truth, and you weren't leaving it alone. I was hoping to scare you off the case. It felt like you were trying to find proof that I'd killed Trevor,” said Lyla. She thrust the gun a little closer to Beatrice. “Start driving.”

Beatrice shook her head and eased her foot off the accelerator as much as possible as they drove over the gravel of the parking lot. “I wasn't. I was definitely trying to learn who was responsible for killing Trevor, but I had no preconceived idea who that might be.”

“My mistake, then,” said Lyla with a harsh laugh. “But now you know the truth, and I've got to get rid of you, anyway.”

“The only reason I know that you killed Trevor and Patrick is because of what you're doing right now,” said Beatrice as calmly as she could. “I hadn't connected the dots before this.”

“Oh, I think you had, Beatrice. I heard you talking to
June Bug, remember? Whether you realized it or not, you'd connected the dots, all right. So, let's go.”

Beatrice suddenly stopped the car, putting the brake on.

“What are you doing?” Lyla's voice was more like a snarl.

“I've changed my mind. If you want to kill me, you're going to kill me right here, Lyla. No second location. Go right ahead and shoot me here in the festival parking lot. I'm not going to be a party to my own murder.” Beatrice glanced down at June Bug's bag. If she could just get her hands on that rolling pin.

But Lyla was paying too much attention. “Stop it right there, or I'm shooting you in that hand. I'm not going to say it again: start driving.”

So Beatrice switched to plan B. She started driving—fast. Beatrice stomped her foot on the accelerator, flooring it in the nearly deserted parking lot. She twisted the wheel hard to the left and hit the brakes just as hard. Lyla slammed into dashboard and was knocked unconscious, slumping over in the passenger's seat.

Beatrice grabbed June Bug's rolling pin in case Lyla started stirring and threw Lyla's gun far away from the car. With shaking hands, she pulled out her cell phone.

As luck would have it, Ramsay was still at the festival. When he got Beatrice's phone call, he came running to the parking lot, removed Lyla from the car, and put her in handcuffs in the backseat of his patrol car. Then he called the state police to report the arrest.

“What happened?” he asked grimly. Beatrice was sitting in the front seat of her car, feet on the ground, feeling a bit sick to her stomach. Ramsay was standing in front of her with his notebook and a grim expression on his face.

“Lyla came after me. She overheard me talking with June Bug about the fact that Lyla had helped the caterer clean up after the wedding. She decided to force me to drive out of here at gunpoint,” said Beatrice. She was amazed how calm her voice sounded. At some point tonight, she was sure this was all going to really hit her hard.

“But she'd tried to come after you before, right?”
asked Ramsay. “She was the one who approached you with a gun the other night?”

“That's right. Apparently, she thought I was getting too close to figuring it all out. Maybe I was and didn't realize it. She wanted to get rid of Trevor because he wasn't leaving her alone and she was worried about losing her job and husband and reputation around town. Lyla put ground sleeping pills in Trevor's drink, expecting we'd all think he'd just had too much to drink. She cleared away his drink and some others before anyone discovered Trevor was dead instead of drunk,” said Beatrice.

“And Patrick Finley?” asked Ramsay. “What did she tell you about that?”

“She said that he saw her at Trevor's table when he was lurking around at the wedding. He was tired of being a suspect and wanted Lyla to give herself up to the police. But Lyla had no intention of doing that. They met that morning at the greenway, right before his usual walk. He thought their conversation was over and started out on his walk, headphones in. But Lyla followed him. She'd planned to kill him all along, of course—she'd brought the printed-out confession letter with her.”

Ramsay said, “It sounds like things were starting to unravel for her. So, Patrick knew what she'd done. And she suspected that
you
knew what she'd done. Was she going to end up killing half the town of Dappled Hills, then?”

“I don't know about half the town, but I suspect there was going to be at least one more victim: Eleanor Garber. I'd heard from Lyla that Eleanor was basically
stalking her—following Lyla to work, following Lyla around town, trying to intimidate her,” said Beatrice.

Ramsay shook his head. “I don't know why Lyla didn't come to me. I could have talked to Eleanor and asked her to drop it. She probably would have. If she hadn't, we could have signed a restraining order.”

“I think Lyla was hoping it was going to go away. But what it meant was that Eleanor followed Lyla to the park that day that Patrick was killed,” said Beatrice.

“But why didn't Lyla see that coming? Seems like she'd have known that there was going to be a witness,” said Ramsay, eyebrows raised.

“I think either Lyla had become accustomed to it and was so focused on getting rid of Patrick Finley that she didn't even pay attention, or else it might be that Eleanor was being more surreptitious about following, since Lyla was getting more vocal about it. Either way, Eleanor put two and two together. But I think Eleanor was trying to figure out what to do with the information that she had. She was acting very strangely when Meadow and I arrived at her house the morning Patrick died. It seemed as though she had something on her mind. But by the time we left, it was almost as if she were trying to figure out a course of action. I don't know if she was going to turn Lyla in or if she was planning on picking up where Trevor left off with blackmailing.”

“I'll send an officer over to check on Eleanor, just to make sure everything is all right over there,” said Ramsay grimly. Then he squinted across the gravel parking lot. “What on earth?”

Beatrice looked in the direction he was staring in
and saw Meadow, mouth agape at the sight of Lyla in the back of the police cruiser, and Miss Sissy scowling at them and clutching the lavender gorilla that was nearly as big as she was.

*   *   *

The rest of the evening was a blur. Once Meadow had absorbed what was going on, she sprang into action. While Ramsay spoke to the state police, she assigned Posy the job of driving Miss Sissy and the gorilla home, connected June Bug with the tote bag of bakeware, and then sat protectively with Beatrice until Wyatt got there. “Trying to force you to drive to a remote location! Waving guns around! The very idea!” she kept bellowing, glaring at the police cruiser.

Then followed a longish period of time when Beatrice recounted much of what she'd already told Ramsay to the state police.

Finally, Lyla was driven away, and the state police finished questioning Beatrice. Meadow, still fuming, drove away. Wyatt said to Beatrice, “Why don't I drive you home? Are you feeling shaky?”

She smiled at him. “No. No, I'm all right now. Just suddenly very, very tired. I appreciate the offer, but I'm fine to drive myself home. Then I'm going to let Noo-noo out and then head straight to bed.”

Wyatt nodded. “I understand that, but I'm going to follow you back home and make sure you're safely tucked in for the night. And I'll plan on coming by tomorrow morning to check on you—not too early, though, I promise.”

The amazing thing, thought Beatrice as she finally dropped sleepily into bed thirty minutes later, was that
while Meadow's overprotectiveness irritated her, she found it oddly sweet in Wyatt.

*   *   *

Beatrice slept like a rock and was startled when she saw the clock read ten o'clock. Had Wyatt come by and she hadn't heard him? He should already be at the church by now.

She quickly got ready and ate a small bowl of cereal. The phone rang as she was washing out her bowl.

It was Eleanor Garber. “Beatrice!” she said. Her voice sounded as if she'd been crying. “Are you all right? Ramsay came by this morning to fill me in on the arrest and what happened last night. I feel so terrible.”

Beatrice said gently, “Everything is fine, Eleanor. You were right about Lyla, after all—she
was
responsible for Trevor's death.”

“And Patrick Finley's,” said Eleanor's voice, still sounding teary. “And the intruder at your house—Ramsay told me about that. And then last night. Everything could have turned out so differently.”

“But it didn't. I'm fine, and Lyla is behind bars. And everything can go back to normal,” said Beatrice calmly.

Eleanor gave a harsh laugh. “Or, in my case, I can try to make everything normal. Beatrice, I have a confession to make. I was still following Lyla that day that she pushed Patrick off the mountain. I was more careful—that was all. I decided that I was done trying to upset her by having her see me. I wanted to get something I could use against her, since I was convinced she'd murdered Trevor. I thought that even if I caught her doing something
immoral
, like having an affair with another man, that I could hold it over her.”

“When did you find out that it was more than something immoral?” asked Beatrice.

“Lyla was acting kind of strange. For one thing, she'd had this talk with Patrick Finley, and then she waited for him to walk away before she followed him onto the trail. The walk wasn't very long, which was odd. I knew it was about to rain, but it still seemed weird to me. Lyla wasn't dressed for exercising, either. She was dressed for work. It all seemed weird to me, so I hung out awhile,” said Eleanor.

“What did you see?” asked Beatrice.

“I saw it start pouring down rain. And I didn't see Patrick come back out of the woods. I waited longer, thinking that maybe he had gotten pretty far away and it was just taking him a while to walk back. But he was such a big guy—kind of heavy, you know. I knew that he wouldn't have been able to get very far. I didn't
know
anything, though. Now, however, I feel like there was something I should have done. I should have gone out on the trail myself to see if he needed help.” Eleanor choked up.

“You didn't know that anything had happened,” said Beatrice. “Even if you'd gone out to make sure he was all right, there was nothing you could do to help him. And the storm had really kicked into high gear around that time, right?”

Eleanor's voice sounded relieved at Beatrice's reassurances. “Yes, it was pouring rain at the time. I wasn't sure what I was going to do—I kept thinking about it on the way home. I did feel pretty certain that foul play had happened and that I'd witnessed something important. But, to my shame, I decided to keep it to
myself and not tell Ramsay about it until I'd decided what to do. After all, I'd
wanted
to catch Lyla doing something bad. Once I had, though, I wasn't sure if I wanted to send her anonymous notes about it or blackmail her about it or turn her over to the cops. What if you'd died last night because I hadn't reported what I'd seen?”

“Nothing happened,” said Beatrice firmly. “And now it's time for you to move on.”

Eleanor said, “You're absolutely right. Meadow is coming over in a few minutes to help me work through the clutter here. I've already found a small house across town that I'm going to rent. And I'm determined that this be a fresh start for me. Which reminds me of the other reason I called you: to ask if you could take Maisie over to Miss Sissy for me. Good-byes are tough for me, and I think it would be easier if I handed her over at home.”

“I'd be delighted to. And, judging from what I've seen from Miss Sissy and Smoke, I think Maisie will be very happy with Miss Sissy. Actually, she'll likely be spoiled rotten,” said Beatrice dryly.

“Good. Now if Miss Sissy doesn't really care for Maisie, let me know and I'll take her back in a heartbeat. I don't want to foist her on Miss Sissy.”

“I will, but I don't think that's going to be a problem. I'll drop by your house later this morning, if that's okay,” said Beatrice.

“Perfect.”

*   *   *

Beatrice was letting Noo-noo back in and looking for her keys so that she could head to Eleanor's house when Wyatt pulled into the driveway, waving cheerily at her.

“You're in a great mood,” she said, smiling at him as he strode down her front walk. She could wait a while before going over to Eleanor's house. They settled down in the living room on the sofa.

“That's because I'm finally taking a vacation,” said Wyatt with a grin. “I haven't actually taken a break for years. We don't have any assistant ministers, as you know, but we have a whole layperson team. I made a couple of phone calls this morning, and they were so excited by the idea of being able to rotate giving sermons and ministering to the congregation for the next month. I'd somehow thought that it would be a big burden for them, and I'd tried to avoid it. But, apparently, they'd been really hoping for the opportunity to put their training to use. And happy, they said, that I was taking a break.”

“Everyone needs a break,” said Beatrice gently. “Even from a good job. It's so important to be able to relax.” Then she laughed in surprise at herself. “Well, listen to me. Who knew that I'd ever be able to extol the virtues of relaxation? I think I realized last night how exhausted I was. So, what are you planning on doing during your sabbatical?”

Wyatt's eyes crinkled in a smile. “I was hoping that we could relax together. Not in an all-the-time-together way, just many more visits than we've been having. If that's all right with you.”

Beatrice felt her heart give a leap. “That would be perfect.”

“Maybe we could start today? I enjoyed the last picnic we had, although it's been so long ago now it's like
a distant memory. I checked the forecast, and the weather is supposed to be beautiful. I thought I could pack us a lunch,” said Wyatt.

“Oh, I can put some lunch together, too,” said Beatrice quickly, before Wyatt gently shushed her.

“No, I want you to genuinely take it easy today. I was so worried about you last night. I felt this wave of both stress and relief, all at the same time, when I heard what had happened. It was your quick thinking that got you out of that situation.” Wyatt's eyes were serious now. “It made me realize how valuable our time together was and how little we actually had. I decided to start making amends.”

Beatrice reached over to squeeze Wyatt's hand, and they sat enjoying the quiet of the living room for a few moments.

She asked, “Do you know how Patrick Finley's wife is doing? I enjoyed meeting her that day when we were putting casseroles together.”

Wyatt nodded. “Denise is doing about as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. I think the news that Ramsay has arrested the person responsible for Patrick's death will also help to give her some closure and put this all behind her.”

“And Daniel and Harper?” asked Beatrice quietly. “I know there was quite a bit for them to work through.”

“There sure was,” said Wyatt with a sigh. “I was sorry that they had to start their married life with so many sudden issues. I visited them this morning, as a matter of fact, before I came over here. I wanted to let Harper and Daniel know that Ramsay had made an
arrest in the murders. I thought . . . well, I thought it would help relieve their minds that Daniel was no longer under any sort of cloud of suspicion.”

Beatrice felt a momentary twinge of guilt as she reflected that she'd rather strongly suspected Daniel, and not very long ago. But that was all part of working through the case. And Daniel didn't know how suspicious Beatrice had been of him—a good thing. “I'm sure they were glad to hear that it was all over.”

“They were. Although they felt bad about Lyla. And, I think, surprised.” Wyatt paused, leaning over to rub Noo-noo, who put her head against his leg. “Daniel told me, as well, that he'd had a long talk with his mother at Mountain Vistas yesterday morning. I was so glad he did. I suspected that the reason his mother had hidden the information on his parentage from him was because she was worried that he'd be hurt. And Daniel was worried that
she'd
be hurt. In the end, they talked everything through, cleared the air, and ended the visit with a hug. It couldn't have gone any better.”