2 Knot What It Seams (14 page)

Meadow waved her hands in the air. “Not to gossip, just to talk about their suitability for the group. How they might mesh with us, what they might have to offer us in terms of skills—that kind of thing.”

It was good that they hadn’t had this discussion when Beatrice was first joining the group. She’d had no quilting skills to speak of besides a good eye for art and years of curating at a folk art museum.

Savannah said briskly, “I was extremely impressed with Opal’s talk at the guild meeting. She was quite self-possessed and very knowledgeable.”

“And friendly,” added Georgia with a smile. “She acted like she was really happy to be spending time with us.”

“Maybe Posy, Beatrice, Miss Sissy, or Meadow can tell us more about Karen,” said Savannah, arching her rather severely drawn on eyebrows. “I don’t know her very well. And not all of us were invited to your dinner party for an opportunity to know Karen better.” This with a sharp glance at Meadow.

Meadow blushed. “Not enough seats at the table. You understand! But I will say that Karen also sounded very knowledgeable about quilting when I spoke with her about it. She even had some ideas about hanging up some of my quilts to display them a little better.”

Everyone kindly refrained from mentioning that Meadow’s quilts were really not being displayed at all—just sort of piled up everywhere.

“Although she did strike a couple of bad chords with me,” said Meadow in what passed for a murmur from her. It was completely audible, of course, and accompanied by a sideways, meaningful wink at Beatrice.

Posy said, “Karen is an excellent quilter. Oh, I’m sorry. You did want me to talk about Karen a little? Yes. She’s very talented and has many, many ideas. And she comes up with fresh ideas for techniques and color combinations all on her own.”

Savannah shook her head gravely. “She’s very talented, it’s true. It’s not only talent, though—she’s ambitious. . . . I’ve seen that from some of the quilt shows. I don’t think she’s getting that much pleasure from the quilting itself. I think she likes the buzz of getting ribbons and recognition.”

“Ribbons and wickedness,” cried Miss Sissy, briefly surfacing from her glass of wine.

“Aren’t you
lively
, today, Miss Sissy?” said Meadow, beaming at her.

Georgia said gently, “Well, of course Karen enjoys winning. She’s devoted a lot of time to quilting, and naturally she wants people to appreciate her art. It’s only natural.”

“I’m not so certain it
is
all that natural,” said Savannah, in a grumpy tone, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her stiffly starched long floral dress. “Karen comes across like she wants to mow down everyone who stands in her way.” She lifted a bony finger to make her point. “People like Jo.”

Beatrice and Meadow leaned in a bit. “Did Jo try to stand in Karen’s way?” asked Beatrice.

“She certainly did,” said Savannah with a bob of her head. “All the time, as a matter of fact. I don’t really
know
Karen, but I know what I’ve picked up about her. You know that I love quilt shows. I’m usually not entered in them, but it’s fun going to see all the quilts. I couldn’t bicycle to all the events because some of them are almost an hour away in the car. Jo knew that I enjoyed them, and sometimes she took me and Miss Sissy along to the ones she was either entered in or judging.”

“Which was quite a few,” said Georgia. “Sometimes there was a whole spate of shows in the area, and I didn’t see my sister for weekends in a row!”

“At almost every show . . .” Savannah paused and thought about her words, wanting to make them completely accurate. “Let me revise that. At all of the shows that I went to, Karen was there. She’d have at least one quilt entered. Sometimes she’d have a quilt in several different categories, and she’d win each one. And Jo talked about her in the car on both the way over to the shows and back.” Savannah’s sister gave her a sympathetic glance and Savannah said, “It did make me very uncomfortable.”

“What kinds of things did Jo say about Karen?” asked Beatrice.

“Mostly, she’d attack Karen’s ideas and approach and the way that Karen was cutting-edge with her design and technique. She thought that a lot of Karen’s quilts weren’t
pretty
.”

Posy nodded. “Jo always did like a pretty quilt. She was a bit of an old-fashioned judge, I think.”

Meadow said, “Judging should go beyond pretty, though. There are lots of other things to consider.”

“I got the feeling . . .” Savannah paused and pursed her lips as if the words weren’t easy for her to say. “. . . that Jo didn’t like Karen at all. It wasn’t just Karen’s quilts. She didn’t like Karen’s attitude or ambitions or personality. Jo acted very jealous of her.”

“So there wasn’t one particular incident,” said Beatrice, trying to get to the point where they could sum up Savannah’s impression of Jo. “This was an impression that you got over a period of time, because of things Jo would say about Karen.”

“There
was
one particular incident,” said Savannah. She puffed up with importance a little at having such an important story to tell. “It was a gorgeous day at the Patchwork Cottage. I was sitting in one of Posy’s armchairs and reading a new quilting book that had just come into the store.” She smiled at Beatrice and added earnestly, “It had an interesting chapter on paper piecing.”

It seemed important to Savannah that she get some validation for the precision of her storytelling. “Sounds fascinating,” offered Beatrice.

Savannah gave a brief nod and continued. “Karen left the shop and Jo must have been right outside the door, about to come in. I could hear them very clearly through the open window. Jo said something very cutting to Karen in this really snide voice—something like she was wasting her time getting fabrics and notions where there was no way on earth that Karen was going to walk away with a ribbon from any show that Jo was judging.”

“That was probably a given, wasn’t it?” asked Beatrice, suppressing a sigh. She’d heard a very similar conversation between Karen and Jo herself.

“Then she proceeded to explain how many shows she was judging. It was a huge list,” said Savannah. “It sounded like Jo was bound and determined to judge every quilt show in the southeastern United States!”

“Did Karen say anything to that?” asked Meadow, now very worried about her guild prospect.

“She certainly did. She said that she’d see her dead first.”

Chapter 9

Beatrice was leaving her cottage to run errands when she saw Glen Paxton at her mailbox. She squinted at him a bit. Was he sticking something in the box?

Glen glanced up, saw her, and waved. He held a bunch of fluorescent flyers in one hand.

Beatrice walked over to him. “Hi, Glen.”

“Hi, Beatrice. I was about to put a flyer in your mailbox, but I’ll hand it to you instead.”

Beatrice looked at it. “A food drive? I’m sure I can find some canned goods for you.”

“Great! If you just put them out at your mailbox, I’ll come by with Penny to pick them up. She’s the volunteer coordinator, you know.”

“Volunteering is something I was planning on checking into,” said Beatrice. Although she’d also made a vow to herself to try to take retirement a little easier and make time to relax. “Is there one organization that sort of spearheads it all for Dappled Hills?”

“Penny Harris runs the Dappled Hills Help Center. But she helps with more than just the town—she knows about all the needs for the whole county. And, believe me, there are plenty of needs. You wouldn’t think there’d be so many.”

“That was smart of Jo to hook you up with the group,” said Beatrice.

“She was a good woman,” said Glen. “Despite what people say or think about her. And I do know what people say about Jo.” His broad face darkened a little. “Sometimes she rubbed people the wrong way. Of course, living in a small town like Dappled Hills, you can’t help running into people you don’t get along with.”

“What people?” asked Beatrice, hoping she didn’t sound too curious.

“Opal Woosley for one,” said Glen, heaving a sigh and gazing blankly down at his food collection flyers. “She never did get over Jo accidentally running over her dog.” He glanced up at Beatrice. “You’ve already heard about it? Whatever Opal says, ignore it. Jo loved animals and wouldn’t even have run over a squirrel on purpose, much less a dog. That woman treated that little dog like a baby. She gave us the dickens of a time after that.”

“Opal was making trouble for you and Jo?” This was what Ramsay had mentioned to her, earlier.

Glen nodded. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble. It was all really juvenile stuff, too, like you’d think a kid would do instead of an older lady. Pranks and practical jokes. She taped our mailbox shut with duct tape, glued our newspaper together, toilet-papered our trees, put shaving cream all over Jo’s windshield . . .” He rolled his eyes. “She made life difficult for us for a while.”

Beatrice said slowly, “You don’t think that cutting brake lines would be placed in that category? Making your lives difficult?”

Glen looked startled by the suggestion. “That’s a whole different story. No, I can’t believe this batty old woman would cut brake lines just because of a dog. That would be crazy!”

But
batty
had been the word that Glen had used.

* * *

After Glen left to hand out the rest of his flyers, Beatrice finally made her way to downtown Dappled Hills for her errands. She decided to drive since one of her stops was the grocery store. Walking was usually her favorite way to travel in the little town, though. The place was remarkably beautiful, and you didn’t get the full effect in the car.

She pulled up in front of Bub’s. The ancient store was constructed entirely of stone and had stood for at least a hundred years. The oldest townsfolk explained to Beatrice that the establishment had originally been owned by a man so devilish that the town had dubbed him Beelzebub. Moss grew on the shady side of the building, and old men warmed the benches outside the store for most of the morning, drinking coffee and cutting up.

Beatrice was getting out of her car when Booth Grayson walked out of the store and headed to the car parked next to her. This was her chance to ask Booth what he was doing the morning that she saw him outside Glen’s house.

“Booth!” she called, shutting her car door. He stopped and fleetingly glanced her way. It seemed he almost pretended he didn’t hear her as he continued getting into his car. Then he wavered and gave her a perfunctory smile. “Mrs. Coleman, isn’t it? Can I help you with something?”

“Actually,” she said, “I had a question for you about something I saw.” He froze and she added quickly, “Since I’ve moved to Dappled Hills, I’ve found that most gossip can be easily explained. Many people don’t like easy explanations, though, so they come up with elaborate stories—which can be a lot more damaging in the long run.”

Booth’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses and he glanced swiftly around them to make sure no one was in earshot.

Beatrice took a deep breath and continued. “I was walking Noo-noo, my corgi, yesterday morning, and I saw you at Glen’s house. You let yourself in.”

Booth said in a tight voice, “The door was unlocked. It was hardly breaking and entering.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t use that term,” said Beatrice. He was getting quite defensive already, so she’d have to make it quick. “I was curious what you were up to and I stayed to watch until you left. You took something out of the house a few minutes later and I saw you shove it in your pocket. I wondered what you were doing at the Paxtons’ house and what you left with. It was easy to draw my own conclusions, after that town hall meeting, but I thought it would be better if I just asked you.”

Instead of appearing concerned, Booth Grayson looked almost relieved. He must be realizing that she didn’t know anything specific. What if she did? Would that mean she’d be next to go off a mountain cliff?

Booth said brusquely, “What you saw was nothing. I ran by to see Glen for some equipment that Jo had borrowed from me.”

“On the morning after her funeral?” Beatice’s voice rose disbelievingly.

“I know that sounds a little crass, but there was something I needed it for. Once I arrived, I was glad to see that Glen clearly wasn’t there, and even happier to find the door unlocked. I could find what I needed without bothering Jo’s grieving husband.” His voice now had a nearly pious tone. Booth Grayson, doer of good. Beatrice realized that she didn’t like Booth very much.

He opened his car door and slid in. “Now, if you’re curious about this murder—if it is indeed a murder, which I find hard to believe—you should consider talking to Opal Woosley. I’ll admit that I did go over to Jo Paxton’s house the morning of the quilt show to . . . try to retrieve my equipment then. I didn’t go inside their house because I saw another car nearby. That was the odd thing—the car was nearby and not pulled up into their driveway on such a nasty morning. I saw it was Opal—sort of skulking around in the bushes in front of the Paxtons’ house. She’s someone you ought to be talking to, not me.”

Beatrice opened her mouth to ask why he’d acted so suspiciously himself, scanning for witnesses the morning she’d seen him, but he lifted a hand to cut her off. “Now, if that’s all, I really do need to leave. I’ve got to take these groceries home before I go to the town hall. Good seeing you.”

She was sure that he hadn’t given her the full story on the mysterious equipment. Whatever he’d taken from the Paxton house, Beatrice would bet it hadn’t been borrowed. But Booth did have a point. What was Opal doing at Jo’s house the morning she was killed? Playing another practical joke on her? Or was she doing something more sinister? Could it be that the strange vision she’d mentioned at the quilt show wasn’t a vision at all—but something she’d actually
seen
?

When Beatrice finally made her way into the grocery store, she was surprised to see Wyatt Thompson in Bub’s, too. She chastised herself for being surprised. Ministers had to eat, too, didn’t they? For heaven’s sake, she was like a child staring disbelievingly at her teacher in the store. Although she did wonder about some of the items she saw in his cart. Sardines? Prunes? Was that liver in there, too? And instant coffee?