Tying the Knot (7 page)

But part of her mind kept drifting over to the murder.

*   *   *

The morning of the funeral dawned. It was a somewhat dreary day, with an overcast sky and brisk wind that had enough bite to it to make Beatrice decide to don a light sweater.

Meadow picked her up to drive her there. She was wearing a rather un-funeral-like outfit composed of a white skirt and a festive chartreuse top. Meadow noticed the direction of Beatrice's gaze and made a face. “My funeral dress fell off the hanger in the closet, and Boris has made it into a bed. If I'd tried to resuscitate it, we'd have been desperately late.”

They weren't particularly early now. Beatrice asked, “You probably don't have a lot of navies or browns or blacks in your wardrobe, do you?”

Meadow took this as a compliment. “I certainly don't. It's good to be cheerful, right?”

Maybe a funeral wasn't exactly the place or time to be cheerful, but Meadow definitely had the ability to raise everyone's spirits.

“So, we're going to deliver the vases to Eleanor,
right?” asked Meadow with a jerk of her head toward the backseat where the vases were stored in boxes.

“Not today, though. She's probably going to be exhausted after the funeral,” said Beatrice. “Let's try to run by tomorrow instead.”

“It's a good thing you've got an excuse to stop by her house,” said Meadow, taking a curve too wide. “She's not being good about letting people come over and help her. She was discouraging people from bringing her casseroles and isn't having a visitation at her home, only the funeral home. It seems like she wants to be left alone.”

Meadow continued speeding along the mountainous curves, and Beatrice gripped her armrest. “The caring of others can be really overwhelming. There would be an army of church ladies bearing casseroles with heating instructions jotted on the top, maybe a well-meaning gentleman or two to cut her grass if she didn't use a yard service, and people coming by to sit and chat and comfort. They're being kind, but it's a lot of activity. Maybe Eleanor simply wants some quiet time to digest what's happened.”

“Maybe,” said Meadow. “Although it's definitely out of the norm here in Dappled Hills. The key to being able to talk with her are those vases of yours.”

They arrived at the cemetery and stood with the others for the simple graveside service. Eleanor had asked for the ceremony to be as basic as possible. Wyatt read a Biblical passage. There was one rather short hymn and a brief prayer, and then the service was over.

“No longer than a skinny minute,” Meadow said
huffily to Beatrice in her stage whisper. “For this I put panty hose on?”

“Meadow, I don't think it's really fair to rate funerals, do you? Considering that the person organizing them is the grief-stricken party,” said Beatrice mildly.

“This is why you allow the army of church ladies to come in your house!” objected Meadow. “They tell you your obituary is rather pitiful—which it was; did you see it in the paper? They tell you that you need to accept casseroles from people who'd like to feel as if they're helping you, and that you should have some sort of a eulogy at the service. This just doesn't look good,” said Meadow, shaking her head. “Especially under the circumstances. And I disagree that Eleanor is grief-stricken. She seems entirely too composed, if you ask me.”

Eleanor did look exceedingly calm. She wore a somber dress, and looked tired but not particularly mournful. A young woman about Piper's age whom Beatrice figured must be Eleanor's daughter, Anne, held her mother's hand. A slightly younger man in his early twenties sat on Eleanor's other side. Both of the adult children appeared exhausted and not nearly as calm as Eleanor. On the other hand, Lyla Wales was having a hard time maintaining her composure as she stood behind the tent. She clutched a handful of used tissues.

Beatrice was about to stress that people mourned in different ways when her attention was diverted by a man standing at the back of the group, under a small grove of trees. A shadow fell across his face, but she could see his height and a shaggy shock of gray hair. Before he could disappear again, Beatrice clutched
Meadow's arm, cutting Meadow off from giving more of her general philosophy on appropriate Southern funerals.

Meadow jumped, “What? What is it?” she hissed.

“The man over there . . . No, to the right of the group. See him? Standing at the back. He's tall and you can see his gray hair.”

Meadow said, “Yes, I see him. What about him?”

“That's that mystery man that I saw at the wedding!”

Meadow squinted. “That man there?” Then she frowned, focusing on the figure with great intent. “I know who he is,” she said thoughtfully.

Beatrice stared at her. “Who is he?”

“My doctor,” she said simply. “Dr. Patrick Finley. He's a surgeon in Lenoir and he took care of a gallbladder issue I had a couple of years ago. Pretty decent guy,” she said with a shrug. Then she drew her brows together. “Wait. So, you're saying Dr. Finley is the man you saw arguing with Trevor that night you and Wyatt and the Kemps went out to supper? The reason that Trevor was dumped as Daniel's best man? And you think he might have slipped a fatal dose of sleeping pills into Trevor's drink at the reception?”

Meadow's wheels were turning, but, unfortunately, her stage whisper was getting even louder than usual as she made her revelations.

“Shh,” said Beatrice. “And yes. That's the man. He
wasn't really the
reason
that Trevor was dumped as best man, though. Trevor's poor behavior was the reason. What do you know about him?”

“Well, he lives in Lenoir, but he has an office here with appointment hours. He was friends with Trevor and Eleanor, and he and his wife would have supper and do other things with the Garbers. And Wyatt should know about Dr. Finley, too, because he volunteers at the church quite a bit.”

Beatrice said, “He and Trevor must have had a falling-out of some kind. I guess they must have known each other from the hospital. Trevor was an anesthesiologist, and Finley is a surgeon. They might have worked together on various surgeries.”

“Why on earth would he have wanted to kill Trevor, though?” Meadow asked. “It doesn't make any sense to me. Especially since they've always been such good friends.”

“But everyone has said that Trevor's behavior has changed radically over the past few months. Doesn't it make sense that maybe Trevor's odd behavior created trouble in a lot of different ways?” asked Beatrice.

“I guess. I certainly don't think anyone believes Trevor changed for the better—that's for sure.” Meadow said, “People are starting to walk to their cars now. Weren't you hoping to try to talk to someone while you had the opportunity?”

“I'd like to talk to the mystery man—I mean, Dr. Finley. But he's already leaving.” Beatrice watched with frustration as the tall man climbed into a large SUV.

“How about Lyla?” asked Meadow, nodding in Lyla's direction. “Hurry! She's going to leave, too. And
we know she has no intention of speaking with Eleanor, since they're not getting along.”

Beatrice strode quickly to the parking lot and caught up with Lyla, who was fumbling to find the keys to her car. When Beatrice called to her and Lyla turned around, she saw that Lyla's eyes were full of tears, which probably hadn't helped in the search for her keys.

“Are you all right?” asked Beatrice with concern. “Sorry—I didn't realize you were feeling sad when I called out to you. I was . . . going to talk with you about your workshop and let you know that I'll be there.”

Lyla's tousled bob was windblown, and some wayward strands were sticking to the tears on her face. She brushed them away in irritation. “No worries . . . It's silly for me to have gotten so emotional. It's just that Trevor and I used to be friends once. Eleanor, too. I guess I'm feeling like there have been too many changes in my life lately—that's all. And thanks for offering to volunteer for the workshop. I really appreciate that.”

“I like the idea behind the workshop, and I think you could really help bring younger quilters to the craft. I know that sometimes when I mention quilting to a younger woman, her immediate reaction is that she doesn't have time for all the intricacy of quilting,” said Beatrice.

Lyla nodded, momentarily forgetting her sadness in her enthusiasm for the project. “That's right. I'm planning on giving information and demonstrations on machine quilting and basic tools that will help them starting out. And Posy and I are also making plans for
a booth at the spring festival that might help encourage younger people to try quilting.”

Beatrice hesitated and then said quickly, before anyone else could approach the parking lot and overhear their conversation, “You mentioned just now that you and Trevor and Eleanor used to be friends. What changed that, if you don't mind my asking?”

Lyla gave her a sharp look, as if she were thinking about refusing to answer. But then she slumped back, leaning on her car.

Beatrice said gently, “Were you and Trevor having an affair? Is that why you and Eleanor had a falling-out?”

“Who told you that?”

“Is it true?” asked Beatrice quietly.

Lyla said, almost to herself, “I guess it really doesn't matter if I tell you. My husband already knows, and Julian was the whole reason I was trying to keep it under wraps.” Her hazel eyes contemplated Beatrice for a moment before she said, “Yes. Trevor and I did have an affair. But I ended it. I realized it was foolish to jeopardize everything in my life that I cared about. I ended things with Trevor.”

Beatrice saw that several people were starting to move to their cars from the cemetery. “Trevor didn't want it to end, though, did he?”

Lyla ran a hand through her windblown hair, which did nothing to help smooth it down. “No, he sure didn't. I'd known he cared about me, of course. It was very flattering, actually,” she said, raising her chin. “I've been married for twenty years, so I was very
foolishly flattered by his attention. Trevor fell very hard, though, and I didn't realize it was happening. When I tried to break it off, he started making my life miserable.”

“In what way?” asked Beatrice.

“By being completely indiscreet. Somehow, he'd become totally obsessed with me,” said Lyla, shaking her head in bewilderment as she remembered. “He was ringing my doorbell during the day, when he should have been over at the hospital. He knew Julian would be gone at work then, so Trevor would skip work, show up at my front door, and keep banging on the door until I'd let him in.”

“Did you open the door to him?” asked Beatrice. “It almost sounds as if he was a little dangerous in those moods.”

Lyla said quickly, “He was. He certainly was. That's because he didn't care at all about anything but what he wanted and himself. He became completely absorbed with me and completely self-centered. He didn't care if I was afraid the neighbors were going to see this man pounding on my door and call the police. I let him in to shut him up and to try to keep our secret—the secret that he didn't care about anymore.”

“After you let him in, did he settle down?” asked Beatrice.

“Not a bit. I could always tell he'd been drinking, too, which definitely didn't help things. Alcohol made him aggressive and loud. It was a bad combination. As soon as I'd let Trevor in, he'd start begging me to continue our relationship. He'd promise that he'd leave Eleanor and assure me that I could easily leave my
husband. My answer was always the same: that the affair was over. That I needed him to leave, or else I was going to call the police.” Lyla pressed her lips together tightly.

“Would he leave?”

“My response to him would sort of take the wind out of his sails . . . for that day. He'd leave with this hangdog expression on his face. But the next day he'd show up at my house or my work and start harassing me again. He'd follow me around. He'd call the house and my cell number until I ended up having to block him. But then he'd call from another phone at a business or at a pay phone. He was driving me crazy,” said Lyla.

“And you think Eleanor found out,” said Beatrice.

“There was no way she
couldn't
find out,” said Lyla, spreading out her palms in front of her. “Trevor was acting so erratically. He was drinking, not going into work, spending all his time following me around Dappled Hills. She went from being my friend to giving me the most frigid looks you've ever seen. And you know what? I can't really blame her. I never meant to hurt Eleanor. I didn't think it through. I wish I had.” She gave a bitter laugh.

“You told all this to Ramsay?” asked Beatrice intently.

“I did once he started asking questions about Trevor and me. I don't know how Ramsay knew about it . . . Maybe the neighbors talked to him. Of course, I realized right away that this gives me a huge motive, doesn't it? Every day I was worried that my husband would find out about Trevor's and my . . . indiscretion.
Every day, Trevor's erratic behavior escalated. I had a lot to lose. Why
wouldn't
I have killed Trevor?” Lyla looked as if she were choking up again . . . this time with fear.

“But you didn't do it,” said Beatrice. She made sure there was a faint question mark at the end.

“Of course not,” she said crisply. “I really cared for Trevor. He was driving me nuts with his behavior, but I'd loved him once. And now Julian
does
know—the police had to ask their questions. Obviously, he'd have been a suspect, too. Luckily, he was out of town at a business conference for the past ten days, so he's out of the picture. And now he and I are having to work through this huge issue of trust.”

“Who do you think might be behind his death, then?” asked Beatrice.

Lyla looked at her in surprise. “Isn't it obvious? Eleanor. She's livid, Beatrice. Absolutely livid. She feels betrayed, angry, vengeful. Who can blame her? She clearly murdered Trevor . . . no doubt about it.”

After Lyla had finally driven away, Beatrice walked slowly back to the cemetery. Still thinking about what Lyla had said, she gave her condolences to a composed Eleanor. Harper and Daniel spoke quietly to Eleanor before giving her a tight hug. Harper looked as if she still hadn't caught up on her sleep, and Daniel looked a bit strung out himself.

“I still can't wrap my head around it,” he said, shaking his head. He continued walking toward the car as Harper walked slower, keeping pace with Beatrice.

“He's been in such a state over Trevor's death,” she
said, shaking her head. “I've honestly been glad that we've had all the moving in to do, in addition to that court case—at least he's had some kind of a distraction while he's at home.”

Meadow caught up with them breathlessly. “How long has Daniel known Trevor? It was ages, wasn't it?”

Harper nodded. “There was a break in the middle when Daniel moved away and was practicing law in Charlotte. But they'd grown up together and gone through school together. They always got along really well. It's a shame that the only time they've ever had words with each other was right before Trevor's death.”

Beatrice said, “But Eleanor thought that Trevor was planning to make some real life changes, though. It sounded as if they were in response to his being removed as best man. So, Daniel removing Trevor as best man could have worked as a good thing, right? At least Eleanor has the comfort of knowing that Trevor was trying to get on the right path again.”

Harper gave Beatrice a quick hug. “Thanks for that. And you're absolutely right. I'll remind Daniel of that the next time he brings up feeling guilty.”

Meadow fished out her car keys from her cranberry-colored straw purse. “Ready?” she asked Beatrice.

Thankfully, Meadow took the curves more gently than she had on the way to the funeral. “So, did you find out anything? I saw you talking with Lyla.”

“She confirmed that she and Trevor were having an affair. Lyla said that she was the one who realized she was making a mistake and broke it off. Trevor didn't accept that their relationship was over and basically
started stalking her and generally making her life miserable. She was worried her husband would find out,” said Beatrice.

Meadow snorted. “I bet he's found out about it now! Hard not to if the police are questioning you.” Beatrice raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Meadow said with a shrug, “Ramsay told me. He figured if there was some sort of love triangle, Julian Wales might be looking for revenge. But Ramsay said he had a rock-solid alibi. Apparently, he was on the other side of the country and speaking to hundreds of people at a conference.” She pulled into Beatrice's driveway. “Okay, so we're visiting Eleanor tomorrow, right? And you've spoken to Lyla. Who else is there?”

“I'd really like to speak with your doctor friend,” said Beatrice. “Although I'm not really sure how best to manage that.”

“Pity you don't have any problems with your gallbladder,” said Meadow thoughtfully.

“Ugh. I'll pass, thanks,” said Beatrice.

“Dr. Finley does volunteer at Wyatt's church pretty frequently, but I don't know when. We couldn't even really ask Wyatt about the doctor's church volunteering times if it meant we were going to ambush him with questions about a murder. Wyatt probably wouldn't go in for that,” Meadow said.

She was now so deeply in thought that she was no longer focusing on the road in front of her. “Meadow!” hissed Beatrice, putting a hand on the wheel to help yank the van back on their side of the road.

Meadow ignored this intrusion by Beatrice. She snapped her fingers. “I know. Dr. Finley was trying to convince
me to get more exercise.” Meadow looked down in exasperation at her solid shape. “Anyway, he said that if I set an appointment for exercise, I'd have an easier time keeping up with it.”

“An appointment? Like, with a personal trainer?”

“Well, yes. That, too. But he was thinking more of a casual setup. He said that if I made a set day and time to meet a friend for a walk or a swim at the indoor pool or an aerobics class, that would help me keep up with the exercising. And he
said
”—Meadow paused for maximum impact—“that he always meets a friend of his for racquetball at the community center every Friday morning.”