Tying the Knot (8 page)

Beatrice was impressed. “That's some memory you have, Meadow.”

“Not really. I remember because I realized that's why I could never get in to see Dr. Finley on a Friday morning. It annoyed me and stuck in my mind. So maybe you should accost him in the community-center parking lot on Friday,” suggested Meadow. “I could go with you, to explain that you assist Ramsay with his inquiries.”

“Is that what I'm doing?” asked Beatrice dryly. “I thought I was simply being nosy. Will we stake out the place and see if we spot him?”

“We can even stand by his car, if you want. He's got one of those vanity tags, so he's easily recognizable. Doctor Number 1,” said Meadow, spelling out the number abbreviation. “It does sort of stand out. And it's a Mercedes, I think.”

“Thinks rather highly of himself, doesn't he?” Beatrice shook her head.

“He's a great surgeon, so I guess he can get away with it. But, no, I wouldn't have said that he has an inferiority complex or anything. Okay, so that takes care of Dr. Finley and Eleanor. Were you . . . going to speak to Daniel?” Meadow asked delicately.

“Do you think I should?” asked Beatrice.

“Well, I know it's a touchy area—him being family and all.”

Beatrice gritted her teeth. It was most annoying when Meadow's matchmaking extended to the point where she made far-reaching and blanket statements on relationships. She'd gotten better about handling it, though. Beatrice took a deep breath and said, “But what makes you think I should talk with Daniel?”

“Because Ramsay and the SBI are talking to him. Think about it. Daniel pushed Trevor out as best man. There were hard feelings there, big feelings. It's worth the police pursuing and worth your pursuing, too. Besides, I get the feeling that Daniel is hiding something. I'd really like to know what it is. Wouldn't you?” asked Meadow as she pulled the van into Beatrice's driveway.

Beatrice found herself nodding in response. Yes, she thought Daniel was hiding something. He'd known Trevor for a long time—it would have been natural for the two of them to have shared secrets with each other. She remembered how Daniel had seemed to blame himself for Trevor's death and had avoided Wyatt's gaze. “I'll add Daniel to my list, then. But I'll have to make my questioning pretty gentle.”

Meadow and Beatrice were thinking that through when Beatrice laughed. Noo-noo, hearing a car in the driveway, had decided to check it out. At first, all you
could see were two big, pointy ears. But then she put her legs up on something, probably the little footstool in there, and her eager face was plainly visible as she grinned at Beatrice.

“Looks like you'd better head in,” said Meadow with a laugh. “Call me when you want to go see Eleanor. I guess you're driving, since the vases are already in your car, so I won't offer to help lug them around for you.”

And because Meadow's enthusiastically speedy driving on the mountain curves probably wasn't the best thing in the world for crystal vases.

The next morning was so foggy that Beatrice couldn't even see the road in front of her house. Noo-noo, however, didn't care a whit whether it was foggy or not. She stood by the door, looking expectantly at Beatrice as Beatrice finished eating her breakfast. “Is it that time again?” asked Beatrice, as Noo-noo grinned at her and then looked pointedly with her big brown eyes at the leash and collar hanging on the coatrack near the door.

Beatrice hadn't completely woken up yet and the idea of walking through fog and not even having any scenery on the walk wasn't particularly appealing. But some days, if she didn't fit that walk in first thing, it wouldn't happen at all.

Ten minutes later, she and Noo-noo were walking in the direction of Dappled Hills's little downtown, since they'd walked yesterday toward Meadow's house. The old gas station was hidden by fog until Beatrice and Noo-noo got right up on it. Beatrice squinted to see if
the two old fellows were sitting in front of the gas station as they did most mornings—drinking their coffee, cutting up with each other, and waving at cars. Finally, she spotted them and they waved to her and called out a greeting.

She passed Bub's Grocery and the row of shops that the Patchwork Cottage was part of. Then she made a loop around the park located right in the middle of the town, and headed back home, since Noo-noo looked as if her short corgi legs might not make it for a much longer trip. They were about to exit the park when she spotted another dog walker in the fog.

As the figure drew closer, Beatrice saw that it was Daniel with a golden retriever. She greeted him with a bit of surprise. “I didn't realize that y'all even had a dog!” Noo-noo and the golden retriever touched noses, and the golden gave Noo-noo a happy lick on the face.

“This is Sunny,” said Daniel with a smile. “Wyatt was good enough to watch her for us while Harper and I went away for that brief honeymoon. He also handled her the first day or so after we got back, since we were trying to get moved in.” Daniel reached down and patted Sunny, and the golden immediately flopped over so that he could rub her tummy.

“Sweet dog,” said Beatrice. “How's the moving in coming along?”

“You wouldn't even recognize the place, Beatrice. It's so much better than it was when you first saw it. Harper has done an amazing job pulling everything together. She's unpacked boxes like a veritable whirlwind. Pictures are hanging on the walls, the furniture is arranged, and there are even those homey touches
like picture frames on tables and quilts on the backs of the sofa. It looks beautifully lived-in. I've helped unpack and organize when I've been home . . . but, then, I guess I've been at the courthouse half the time.” Daniel stopped rubbing Sunny's tummy and scratched Noo-noo behind the ears so she wouldn't feel left out.

Daniel studiously avoided looking at his fellow dog walker. “Beatrice, I was wondering if . . . well, you spend a good deal of time with Meadow and probably Ramsay, too. If you're in their house a lot. I was wondering if you've gotten a sense of who the suspects are in this case.”

Beatrice hesitated. “I wouldn't say I know very much, Daniel. You probably know more than I do, with your court connections.”

“I know Ramsay pretty well, of course. I've known him from growing up in Dappled Hills, but I also know him from work—I've reacquainted myself with him since moving back here from Charlotte. But I wouldn't presume to ask him about a case that I'm so closely associated with. At least, I'd rather not.” Daniel's hands played with the leash he was holding.

Beatrice blew out a deep breath. “I have an idea about who might have had problems with Trevor, yes.”

Daniel's eyes met hers. “Do you know if I'm considered a suspect?”

Beatrice said, “Daniel, I have no idea. It seems to me that it would be hard to consider you a very serious suspect, considering all your duties as groom and all the people watching you.”

“I did sit at Trevor's table with him,” said Daniel stiffly. “At one point of the reception there was enough
of a lull in people coming up to talk to me that I was able to talk to Trevor. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry with the way things had worked out but glad that he was able to share such an important day with me, and indicate that I hoped we could work things out between us in the future.” His voice got a bit choked up on the last words, and he cleared his throat impatiently.

“I'm sure Trevor must have appreciated that,” said Beatrice gently. “When you were talking with him, did you notice how Trevor was doing? Did he seem intoxicated at all, or sleepy? I was wondering when his drink might have been tampered with.”

Daniel shook his head. “He seemed clearheaded for once. I thought that maybe getting bumped out as best man might have somehow jolted him enough to realize that he needed to make some changes in his life. I was delighted to see that he appeared completely sober.”

“It seems like the police would realize it would have been tough for you to slip sleeping pills in Trevor's drink with him sitting right there,” said Beatrice, frowning.

Daniel's stiff reserve returned. “I headed to Trevor's table as I saw him returning to his seat with another plate of food. So, technically, I suppose I did have the ability to stoop over his drink and very quickly tamper with it. But I didn't. I was completely dedicated to the prospect of starting over with Trevor. I certainly wasn't trying to enact any type of revenge on him—I wanted to move forward and be friends again.”

Beatrice said, “During your reception, I saw a man looking in the tent. He didn't appear to be invited. I wondered at the time if he might be the same man we
saw at the restaurant, and now I believe he is. I also saw him at Trevor's funeral, hanging back and watching the proceedings.”

Daniel pushed his black-rimmed glasses up his nose and regarded Beatrice seriously. “Who is he? Did you find out a name?”

“Apparently, his name is Patrick Finley, and he's a surgeon who may have worked with Trevor. At least, I know he knew him. I'm just guessing that he worked with him.” There was a spark of recognition on Daniel's face, and Beatrice asked, “Do you know who he is, then?”

“I do. I mean, I don't know him personally and had never seen him before. I'd only heard him mentioned by Trevor.” Lines of strain pulled from the sides of Daniel's mouth.

“What had Trevor said about him?” asked Beatrice.

Daniel sighed. “This was recently, when Trevor was really spiraling out of control. He wasn't being himself at all. Eleanor had called me, as a matter of fact. It was one morning where I didn't have an appointment at the office until afternoon, so I came over. Eleanor was upset that it was morning and Trevor was already drinking. When I arrived, it was clear that Trevor was in no shape to be able to go to work. The last thing he needed to do was be anesthetizing patients at the hospital—not in his condition.”

“Did he explain anything to you? About why he was drinking or what was going on?”

“Not really. As I mentioned before, he seemed to be keeping a secret—something that he didn't want to let me in on. The police asked me if I'd known that Trevor
was having an affair with Lyla Wales.” Daniel's face was bewildered. “I'd had no idea. I suppose this was the secret that he was keeping from me. He wouldn't have wanted to tell me about it because he'd have known I'd have disapproved. I'd gotten very fond of Eleanor and would hate for her to get hurt.”

“What did Trevor tell you?”

“He wasn't making a whole lot of sense. But he did tell me about his financial problems—that he was buried in debt. I reminded him that not going to work wasn't exactly the best approach in the world for getting out of financial trouble.” Daniel made a face. “He wasn't listening to me, though. Trevor was coming up with his own plan to get out of the mess, and it had something to do with Patrick Finley. That was the name he kept repeating.”

“Why would Patrick Finley help him?” asked Beatrice.

“Apparently, Trevor knew something about Patrick. Something pretty bad. He said that Patrick could lose his medical license or practice or whatever if people knew about it. I didn't really want to hear more than that. I cut Trevor off and asked him if he really thought blackmail was the solution to his problems. Because, to me, that's what it sounded like he was planning.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “That's a pretty big leap for Trevor to make, isn't it? First he's an upstanding doctor in the community. Then he becomes someone who gets intoxicated in the mornings and considers blackmail to escape a huge financial problem. Would you have said that Trevor was capable of acting like that?”

Daniel reached down and patted Sunny, who wagged her tail and looked lovingly at Daniel in response. “No, of course not. I'd never have thought he could behave that way.”

But when he straightened up, Beatrice saw a haunted look in his eyes.

*   *   *

Back at home, Beatrice reached for her phone, then hesitated as she was about to dial Eleanor's number. It was hard to know why she felt so reticent about phoning her, but she had the feeling that it had something to do with the fact that Eleanor clearly wanted privacy and time to grieve by herself. That was something that Beatrice would ordinarily respect. Eleanor hadn't hosted anyone at her house; hadn't been receiving at home. She hadn't lingered at the cemetery too long, either, after the funeral.

But Beatrice did have a couple of things she needed to accomplish. For one, she'd promised Harper she'd give those crystal vases back to Eleanor. The longer they rattled around in Beatrice's car, the worse off they'd be. For another . . . she really hoped that Eleanor would open up and, in an unguarded moment, provide Beatrice and Meadow with some useful information.

Beatrice released a deep breath and dialed Eleanor's number. “Eleanor? Hi. It's Beatrice Coleman. I know this can hardly be a
good
time, but I offered to bring the vases you loaned Harper back to you. Is it possible for Meadow and me to run by and return them to you?”

There was a pause on the other end, and then Eleanor's voice drawled, “Of course. Thanks, Beatrice. I appreciate it.” Another pause. “Do you want to leave them on the front porch for me?”

She was definitely avoiding them, then. Beatrice could hardly blame her, though. “I would . . . except they're so heavy. That's why I'll have Meadow with me—to help me carry them in. I don't think it's a one-person job.” Beatrice winced after she said it. She didn't mean to point out that Eleanor was on her own now.

Eleanor hesitated again. “Well, everything is a disaster inside the house. Anne and David decided to get hotel rooms in Lenoir instead of staying here with me at the house. I'd hate for y'all to think it was always that way.”

“Of course we won't! I can't imagine what you've been through the past week. Cleaning house would be the last thing on my mind, if it were me,” said Beatrice.

“All right.” Another pause. “Actually, if the clutter doesn't bother you, I could probably use the company.” Eleanor quickly added, “But not if you have somewhere you need to go.”

Beatrice had thought it would be like pulling teeth to arrange a visit with Eleanor. She made her voice as level as possible to conceal her surprise and said, “No, we don't have anything going on today, Eleanor. And we'd be happy to visit for a while.”

Twenty minutes later, Beatrice had swung by to pick up Meadow, and they were on their way to Eleanor's house.

Meadow said, “I'm shocked that she's letting us come in her house. The women of the church were telling me that Eleanor politely refused both their casseroles and their sympathy. Same with the garden-club ladies. What makes us so special?”

“I think,” said Beatrice, carefully navigating the
mountain curves, “that what got us in is my insistence that you and I don't mind a bit if her house is a little messy.”

Meadow raised her eyebrows. “Well, I'm glad you gave me a heads-up. My house is cluttered most of the time, but I'd probably have shown some sort of surprise at Eleanor's being that way. She always seems so organized. I mean,
my
house would be a wreck if I'd just lost Ramsay. In fact, I'd probably ask those women from the church to come in with their casseroles
and
do some cleaning on the side.”

“I've never seen your house less than lived-in-looking, Meadow,” said Beatrice.

“If you say so. Okay, so on to this visit. We're coming in with the vases . . . and I do think they're pretty heavy, right? So we'll be super careful with those. And then we need to sit down with Eleanor and be an ear, probably. Right? Because I'm imagining if we start grilling her with questions about her husband's murder, that's likely not going to go off so well.” Meadow pulled down the visor on her side of the car and looked at herself critically in the mirror. She tried to smooth down the errant strands of hair from her long gray braid, and then made a face at herself and pushed the visor back up.

“That's right. We need to try to elicit information in the gentlest, most sympathetic way possible,” said Beatrice.

“I certainly don't want to trigger an outpouring of grief,” said Meadow in a worried voice. “I didn't even bring any tissues with me.”

“I remember how hard it was for me when my
husband died,” said Beatrice. “It wasn't only the fact that I'd lost my soul mate. It was also that
everything
had changed. We'd been together for twenty years, and suddenly my entire daily routine abruptly shifted. It's a very, very hard transition.”

Meadow nodded, considering this for a moment. Then she gave Beatrice a sideways glance. “Thinking of relationships, have you seen much of Wyatt lately?”