Quilt or Innocence (7 page)

“Did you catch up with Cork?”

“I did, but by the time I got over to the shop, Cork was already stomping out, saying that there was nobody there. So, really, I was no help at all.”

Posy looked so miserable that Beatrice almost hated to prompt her. She said in a gentle voice, “You didn’t mention to Ramsay that you were near the park around the time of the murder.”

Posy shook her head. “I sure didn’t. I like to think that it was because I was so shocked by what I’d seen that I didn’t even remember to mention it. But maybe, somewhere deep in my subconscious, there was a little bit of self-protecting going on. And I wanted to cover for Cork, of course, and the fact that he’d gone out that night. I feel just awful about it. And now, if Meadow isn’t mentioning the shovel to Ramsay, she’s not being honest with her own husband.”

“Did you happen to notice anything out of the ordinary while you were out? Anything that could help us find out who murdered Judith?”

Posy thought hard, then said, “I wish I could say that I did. About the only thing that I did that night that was useful at all was find Boris. I was on my way home from the wine shop and I saw Boris sitting by the side of the road. When I rolled down my window, he whimpered. It really wasn’t like Boris at all—he was shaking and so sad-looking.”

Posy continued. “I asked him what was wrong”—Beatrice tried to ignore this part—“and he looked at me like his heart was breaking. Of course, I thought it was because he was separated from his family. I opened up the car door and he jumped in, still talking to me about his problems with little whines. The poor thing erupted into wagging when he saw his mommy. He was wagging his whole body as soon as he caught sight of Meadow.”

Great. So probably the only witness to the crime, besides the murderer, was Boris.

“Oh, and I saw Georgia out.” Posy didn’t look in the least concerned. “But she’s always out at night. Like Judith used to be.”

“I know that Judith needled everyone in earshot last night, Posy, but some of her barbs went over my head. I couldn’t figure out exactly what she was trying to say. Can you remember anything Judith said specifically? I was trying to think of information that might help with the investigation.”

Posy thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Beatrice, although you’re good to try to help with the case. I think as soon as Judith mentioned closing the Patchwork Cottage, I just sort of tuned everything else out.”

Posy reached out and softly stroked Noo-noo’s head. “Noo-noo, I’ve got to head on home to Mr. Cork. Heaven knows what I’m making for supper tonight. Maybe we’ll have breakfast for supper. That’s always fun.”

As Beatrice stood to walk her out, Posy gave her a quick hug. “Thanks again, Beatrice. I think you’re going to be such a wonderful addition to Dappled Hills . . . and the guild, too. And if . . . if I can remember anything important about last night, I’ll let you know.”

* * *

The next morning, Beatrice peeped out her front door and was relieved not to see a glass bottle there. Of course, there was also the fact that there wasn’t a real newspaper, either. The
Dappled Hills Dispatch
was just a slip of a paper, and she really didn’t know any of the people
in
it. But still, she’d paid for a subscription.

She fixed a strong cup of coffee and sat in the backyard with Noo-noo, reading
Whispers of Summer
while she woke up. After a few minutes of reading, though, the silence was almost overpowering. Of course, she’d moved to the mountains to get a change of pace and some quiet. But this was
really
quiet. Sounds of traffic in Atlanta had provided a sort of white noise for Beatrice in the background. She’d gotten to the point where she didn’t even notice it anymore. Maybe that’s how the quiet of Dappled Hills would be, after a while.

Giving up on her book, Beatrice walked back inside her cottage. Maybe if she put up Posy’s hummingbird feeder, she’d at least have the sounds of the little birds flying through. She held out the feeder directions to read the small print. Four parts water to one part sugar. Boiled to slow the growth of bacteria. Got it.

Soon the house smelled like cotton candy—not, actually, an unpleasant thing. The phone rang, and Beatrice was so deep in thought that the sudden noise made her drop the spoon she was using to mix the nectar.

“Mama?”

“Oh, hi, Piper.” She reached down to the floor to pick up the sticky spoon, then grabbed a paper towel to clean up the spatter.

“Did I startle you? You sound a little breathless.”

“I was in my own little world when you called. I’m making hummingbird nectar and I was thinking about a lot of different things.”

“Hummingbird nectar?
You’re
making it?”

Beatrice frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of making hummingbird nectar, Piper. Just because I haven’t made it before doesn’t mean I can’t make it now.”

“I’m thinking that Posy must have paid you a visit.” Beatrice could hear the smile in Piper’s voice. “She gave me a hummingbird feeder as a gift when I first moved to Dappled Hills, too. It’s actually been a lot of fun to watch them. I set up the feeder outside my kitchen window and the birds fly right up to it. They fight like crazy over that feeder sometimes.”

“That’s what Posy was saying—that they’re tiny but fierce.” Posy was tiny herself. But Beatrice still had a hard time picturing her having anything to do with Judith’s death, even with all she had to gain.

“I hate to ask,” said Piper, “but if you’re fitting making nectar so easily into your schedule, are you possibly a little bored?”

Beatrice repressed a sigh. Piper knew her well. Ordinarily she was juggling more than one thing at a time. Here in Dappled Hills, it was more like she was avoiding quilting, spending too much time thinking about a local murder and now making homemade bird food. It really didn’t compare to setting up a traveling exhibit, giving a museum tour to a well-heeled patron and attending opening nights for new exhibits.

“What you need,” said Piper thoughtfully, “is a jigsaw puzzle. That would keep you busy.”

“I already
have
a jigsaw puzzle! This quilt block—I’m having a devil of a time trying to figure out how to put all the pieces together. No, it’s really just frustrating me instead of keeping me entertained. I’ve decided that if I
do
end up working on it, I’m going to mess up a quilt of my own first before messing up a group quilt.”

“Really? I’d have thought that you’d really take to quilting, considering your background.”

“But I haven’t taken to painting, Piper, and I know a lot about Southern painters. I haven’t taken to folk art sculptures, and yet I dealt with a lot of sculptures.”

“You really haven’t given quilting much of a chance. You just bought your fabric and materials yesterday, so you couldn’t have spent much time trying to quilt. You should work on a couple of different quilts and really get the hang of it before you judge it,” said Piper.

Beatrice was opening her mouth to retort before she stopped. “You’re probably right, Piper. I always told you to hang with a hobby for a while before you made a decision about continuing with it. I’ll keep plugging ahead.” She looked morosely at the quilt block lying in a dejected pile across the room. If Piper was in a nagging mood, a change of subject was definitely in order.

“Is everything going okay with you?” Beatrice asked.

“Everything’s fine, Mama. It’s actually
more
than fine.”

Ahh. Beatrice remembered now—Piper’s date with Meadow’s son, Ash. “Did y’all have a good time out on your date last night?”

Piper’s smile came right through the phone line and warmed Beatrice’s heart. “Mama, it was
more
than a good time. I felt as if I’ve known Ash my whole life. Have you ever felt really simpatico with someone, like you’ve got the same sense of humor, the same way of looking at the world?”

“I sure have, honey, but it’s been a long time—since I met your daddy for the first time, probably.”

Piper said, “You’ll love him, Mama. Well, I know you met him, but you didn’t get a chance to really talk to Ash at the quilting bee. He’s got a great sense of humor and he’s the perfect gentleman all the time.”

“He sounds wonderful, honey. Are you planning on seeing him again today?”

“We’re going out for a picnic lunch! That’s why I wanted to go ahead and call you . . . I didn’t want you to wonder where I was, since there’s a murderer on the loose and everything. I’ll have my cell phone, but I’ll probably ignore it . . . unless you call. If you call me, I’ll know it’s something really important, since you’ll know I’m on a date.”

Beatrice felt happy and wistful at the same time. Yes, she’d felt like Piper before. But it’d been a long, long time.

As she hung up the phone, it immediately rang again. Thinking Piper had forgotten to tell her something, she picked right back up with a smile. But it was Savannah.

“Want to come along with Georgia and me to visit Felicity? Georgia called her earlier to give her the news about Judith, and she seemed really upset. We thought we’d pop by and make sure everything was all right. She had a rough time last night with Judith acting out, and then she seemed shaken up by the murder . . .” Savannah’s voice trailed off.

And Beatrice knew things wouldn’t get any better when Ramsay found out about the dispute over the antique quilt and wanted to talk to her about it. “Of course I’ll come,” said Beatrice.

“Would you mind picking us up?” asked Savannah in a brisk tone. “It’s supposed to rain soon.”

* * *

Savannah and Georgia lived in a small yellow, gable-front house that had a wraparound porch with two porch swings. Savannah sat in one of them, hands folded primly in her lap. When she saw Beatrice’s car, she jumped up. “Georgia is running behind,” she said with a
tsk
. “I do believe she lives in a different time zone from the rest of us. The sun is so bright out here. Want to come in for a minute while we wait?”

The inside of the little house was very tidy—almost to a fault, thought Beatrice. The wooden floors shone, and no dust dared settle on any surface in the house. Like Meadow’s house, Savannah’s and Georgia’s walls and backs of chairs and sofas were covered with quilts. “These are mostly my quilts,” said Savannah, noticing Beatrice’s gaze. “Georgia keeps hers in her bedroom.”

Beatrice could easily guess which of the quilts were Savannah’s. She recognized the familiar patterns from the quilts she’d had at the folk-art museum: pinwheels, Dutchman’s Puzzles, Windblown Squares, Pieced Stars, Flying Geese, Devil’s Puzzles. The careful order of the patterns all must appeal to Savannah. Several quilts didn’t seem to belong—they were covered with embellishments and boasted crystals and paillettes, beads and lace, buttons and ribbons. They were fanciful, dreamy, almost confectionary in nature. Clearly the daydreamy Georgia’s quilts.

“Did you get started with your block for the group quilt that Meadow assigned at the guild meeting?” asked Beatrice. “My art background made me curious—I love the idea of putting symbols of things that are meaningful to different quilters on the blocks.”

Savannah pressed her thin lips together tightly. “Not my favorite assignment of Meadow’s. I usually favor very orderly, geometric patterns.”

As if Beatrice didn’t see that.

“But I’m giving it a go,” said Savannah with a long-suffering sigh. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got started with my block. Actually, I finished it.” She walked over to a large notebook in a small bookcase. In it were three-holed plastic page protectors with finished squares in them. They seemed to be organized into sections with tabs. Beatrice blinked at the thought of the time involved.

Savannah carefully pulled out a block from one of the plastic pages and held it out for Beatrice to see.

There was a cat appliquéd on the block, although it looked like Savannah couldn’t quite keep the geometric look out of her work—the cat’s ears were Flying Geese.

“The little cat symbolizes Georgia, of course,” said Savannah briskly. Beatrice must have been looking a little blank, because Savannah added with irritation, “Because of her little pet-clothing business. You know.”

Beatrice said, “It must be nice for you to have your sister living here with you. I don’t get to see my sister nearly often enough.”

Savannah gave a vigorous nod. “Georgia needed a place to live after her divorce and this was the natural choice. It was hard at first because she and I have such different routines and habits. But it’s worked out really well, and now I can’t imagine her anywhere else.”

It sounded like Savannah wasn’t going to
allow
Georgia to go anywhere else. Maybe Georgia’s marriage was the one instance where Savannah had let up on her iron control of Georgia and it had failed miserably. “Does Georgia’s ex still live here in Dappled Hills? That must be awkward in such a small town.”

Savannah put her hands on her narrow hips. “Well, it surely wasn’t awkward for
Georgia
!
That’s what I kept telling her, anyway. I’d remind her that
she
wasn’t the one who was cheating.
She
hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. He was the one who’d disgraced himself, after all. And, sure enough, he got so uncomfortable with everyone knowing what a cheating husband he’d been that he slunk out of town with his tail between his legs.” Savannah looked quite ferociously pleased at the thought.

Georgia showed up breathlessly. “Sorry! Sorry! I’m all ready now.” She opened a small closet near them and stuck her feet into some slip-on shoes. She turned around and saw Savannah holding a block. “Is that for the new quilt? You’re so fast! How did you find the time to already finish the block?”

There was an indefinable edge to Savannah’s voice. “A couple of nights ago. The night of the bee, actually. Sometimes when I’m worried and can’t sleep, I quilt. And that was the least-peaceful quilting bee I’ve ever attended.”

* * *

Judith’s murder had clearly had an effect on Felicity. She wore none of the artfully applied makeup she’d had at the quilting bee and now she looked her age, which must be early seventies. Gone was the spunk and the strength. She wore a thick wool sweater and was covered up with a quilt, but was still giving little shivers as she clutched the covering around her, huddled on the sofa. Glancing around the room, Beatrice saw many other quilts that could be heaped on Felicity, if needed. The walls were covered with hanging quilts, and they were draped over sofas and chair backs, too. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she had a huge collection of quilts.