Shear Trouble (10 page)

“Do you think that Frank could possibly have known who murdered Jason? He was at the retreat, bringing you the forgotten fabric. Could he have seen something when he went out into the store? Could he have been drinking because he was nervous about setting up a meeting with the murderer?” asked Beatrice. “Confronting him about Jason’s death?”

Martha shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t believe any of it. Frank’s death was obviously a terrible accident. Why would Frank know anything about Jason’s death?”

“Well . . .” Beatrice searched for the right words. “I’m only asking because I know that Frank was there with us at the quilt retreat that day. He might have seen something. Maybe he saw something that didn’t even seem important at the time, but that he realized was key to the case afterward. Maybe he decided to approach that person and confront him.” Beatrice decided to leave out the blackmailing part.

“Why would Frank do that, though? He wasn’t really a confrontational person. I don’t see him as some
sort of vigilante.” Martha held her hands out and looked bewildered.

No, Beatrice agreed with her. Frank was no vigilante. But she could certainly see him as a blackmailer . . . especially with a bit of alcohol in him to make him braver.

“It was all just a terrible accident,” murmured Martha. She looked blankly at a painting across from her that Beatrice assumed Frank had painted. Although it wasn’t the kind of thing that Beatrice ordinarily liked—it was very modern and had angry brushstrokes—she could see that he’d had talent.

“I was also wondering,” said Beatrice carefully, “if you knew what made Jason return to Dappled Hills. After seven years, I was just a little curious why he came back.”

Martha gave this a few moments of thoughtful consideration. “I think there were a few different reasons. His brother was here and he was his last living relative. I believe he wanted to improve his relationship with Eric, although I’m not sure that happened.” Her green eyes had a real sadness in them. “I also think that he genuinely liked Dappled Hills and wanted to return. Maybe he felt he’d left the town on bad terms and wanted to win everyone over.” She gave a rueful laugh. “He certainly won me over.”

“Here we are,” sang out Meadow brightly as she came in with a tray of refreshments. She suddenly
frowned as she saw Martha looking lost. “I’m sure some tea and cookies will make us all feel a little bit better.” She gave Beatrice a questioning look and Beatrice shook her head at her.

Martha seemed spent, so Beatrice and Meadow filled the quiet talking about quilting and admiring some of the quilts that Martha had carefully displayed on wooden quilt racks propped against a wall like a ladder. Martha gave short answers and nods for a while, but then seemed to get some strength back as Beatrice admired one vintage quilt in a log cabin pattern of dark blues and reds that Martha explained had been created by her grandmother.

Meadow was able to continue drawing Martha out from there as Beatrice collected their used plates and glasses, putting them back on the tray and walking into the kitchen with them. June Bug was in there, wearing a floral apron that was much too big for her. She was busily wiping down the outsides of the already-spotless cabinets, then started as she heard Beatrice and looked solemnly at her with her buggy eyes.

“I’ll put these in the dishwasher,” said Beatrice with a smile as June Bug moved as if to take the tray from her. She gave her a smile in return and picked back up with her scrubbing.

June Bug was hard to figure out. She was quiet and shy and had been mistaken by many to be rather dim-witted . . . but Beatrice believed that June Bug was
always busy thinking, just as she was always busy at work. In fact, she didn’t believe the little woman ever had an idle moment. She seemed to always be cleaning house, baking cakes, or quilting. Although June Bug was the newest member of the Village Quilters, Beatrice still rarely saw her—because her schedule was so hard to work around.

Beatrice said gently, “By the way, June Bug, I’ve enjoyed some of your cakes recently . . . at the quilt retreat and the funeral reception. You’re an amazing cook.”

June Bug kept scrubbing, but her round face flushed a little and her eyes danced as she glanced up at Beatrice.

“I was wondering if you could help me out a little. I know you’re here at Martha’s a lot.”

June Bug froze, staring at Beatrice in concern. “Oh! Sorry. No more openings on my schedule.”

“That’s okay . . . it’s all right,” said Beatrice quickly in a soothing voice. “I don’t need a housekeeper now, thanks. But I’m looking for some information about Frank—Martha’s son. I figured, since you’re here so often, that maybe you’d know something about him. Well, really, I wanted to know if you saw him on one particular day.” Beatrice felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied. But the little woman’s buggy stare was a bit unsettling.

“When?” June Bug’s face pinched as she focused.

“Yesterday, actually.”

June Bug trotted over to the door and peered toward the living room, as if making sure they couldn’t be overheard. Then she trotted back to Beatrice and gave her a solemn look. “You will find who is doing this.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.

“I’ll try.” June Bug kept looking at her, so Beatrice amended it to “I will. Yes.”

June Bug took a deep breath. “Mr. Helmsley was drinking here yesterday. Drinking Mrs. Helmsley’s liquor. Right here in the kitchen.” One of her eyes gave a small twitch of indignation, but she was moving on. “Then he got on the phone.”

“Frank got on his cell phone?” asked Beatrice.

“The house phone,” said June Bug, bobbing her head across the kitchen.

“Did you . . . did you hear what he said?” June Bug looked ashamed and Beatrice quickly added, “You could hardly help it, could you? He had no business being in here, anyway.”

“He was asking someone to meet him.” June Bug bowed her head and looked at her spotlessly scrubbed kitchen floor.

“Did he say where?”

“At the church.” June Bug moved her white-tennis-shoe-clad foot over the floor, a bit nervously.

Beatrice nodded. “You probably didn’t know this, but that’s where Frank was found. There at the church.”

June Bug looked even more startled. Although that
was difficult, considering that her protruding eyes always gave her that appearance.

“Ramsay is easy to talk with,” said Beatrice gently. “Meadow’s husband—you know him, right? He’s a very kind man. You might want to let him know what you overheard. And if you think of anything else, let him know, too.” She was about to rejoin Meadow and Martha in the living room but then remembered one other thing.

“June Bug, there was one thing I wanted to ask you about. Miss Sissy said that John Simmons was stalking Martha . . . uh, Mrs. Helmsley. Do you know anything about that? She said that you might.”

June Bug twisted her cleaning rag between her hands.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re talking about these things,” said Beatrice softly. “It’s up to you if you want to share them with Ramsay. But they will help me try to figure out who might be behind these crimes.”

June Bug nodded, as if making up her mind about something. Then she blurted out, “He loves her. Keeps coming over here on funny excuses for visits. Mrs. Helmsley has me shoo him away.”

The idea of little June Bug shooing away tall and spindly John Simmons made Beatrice’s mouth twitch, but she was able to suppress the smile. June Bug looked so earnest. “So he kept dropping by uninvited? Anything else?”

June Bug hesitated. “When he saw me out running
errands, he’d ask me about Mrs. Helmsley—if she was doing all right. Sometimes, lately, he’d say bad things about Mr. Gore.” June Bug looked sad. “I couldn’t get away from him sometimes.”

Beatrice gave her a smile. “Thanks so much, June Bug . . . you’ve been very helpful.” The little woman glowed with the praise. “I hope you’ll come to a guild meeting soon,” said Beatrice. “I hear your quilts are really remarkable. I’m still learning—I’d love for you to give me some pointers on the project I’m working on now.”

June Bug nodded shyly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If I can. If I’m not working. I’ll try.”

A few minutes later, Beatrice and Meadow climbed into Meadow’s van. “I know Martha has a big house, but did you get lost in her kitchen?” asked Meadow. “I thought you were never coming back.”

“I was talking to June Bug,” said Beatrice, carefully snapping on her seat belt.

“Isn’t June Bug marvelous? I mean, she hardly says a word and most of the time she stares at me with the most astonished look on her face, but those cakes! That cleaning! The quilts! She’s something else. Let me tell you what I did. After I went to June Bug’s house and saw those
magnificent
quilts everywhere—I snapped some pictures with my phone and sent them off to a quilt magazine.”

“How were you able to do that without June Bug seeing what you were doing?” asked Beatrice, holding
on to the door as Meadow pushed firmly on the accelerator.

“June Bug is very simple when it comes to technology,” said Meadow. “I believe she thought I might be texting with my phone instead of taking pictures. But, Beatrice! Her home is just filled with these incredible quilts . . . all made from scraps of fabric. I knew
Quilting Today
magazine would be thrilled to see them. She’s so insecure about her talent—tough to get her to the guild meetings, impossible to have her enter a quilt in a show. I figured this might be the best way to show her that she really does have some talent. If the magazine picks up on it. Hope they have the sense to do it. Anyway, tell me what June Bug told you in the kitchen.” Meadow veered slightly off the road as she glanced at Beatrice before hurriedly correcting herself.

“She told me Frank was drinking Martha’s alcohol when he visited her yesterday. And that she heard him arranging a visit with someone on the phone . . . at the church.”

“Really?” Meadow’s eyes grew wide. “Did she know who he was talking to?”

“She didn’t seem to, no. But she’s going to call me if she thinks of anything else. I tried to get her to talk to Ramsay about it, but she didn’t seem real excited about doing that.”

Meadow said glumly, “Great. Another person who
knows too much. Next thing you know, we’ll be going to
her
funeral. Did June Bug say anything else?”

“She said that John Simmons dropped by a lot at Martha’s house and that Martha would dispatch June Bug to dispense with him. He’d also say negative things about Jason Gore,” said Beatrice.

“I could have told you that Martha avoided John and that he never seemed to be able to take a hint. And of
course
he was going to say negative things about Jason. He was his romantic rival, after all. John probably wanted to challenge him to a dual or something. You know—for the fair lady’s hand.” Meadow squinted at the road ahead of her. “Is that Miss Sissy?”

Sure enough, the old woman was standing by the side of the road, next to her ancient Lincoln. She shook her fist at them as they stopped the car and got out, and then descended from there into muttering.

“Won’t your car start?” asked Meadow. Miss Sissy only glared at her as if not wanting to dignify that question with a response.

Beatrice climbed into the old Lincoln and tried starting the engine. It turned over but didn’t start. “You’ve got gasoline, don’t you?”

Another furious look from the old woman.

Beatrice said, “Meadow, I think the car is probably out of gas. If I stay here with Miss Sissy, could you grab a gas can at the station and bring it here?”

“Sure thing.” Meadow jumped back in her van and took off down the road.

Miss Sissy examined her under hooded eyes.

“Miss Sissy,” said Beatrice, “I was out to see Martha Helmsley. Meadow and I brought her some food since she’s just lost her son.”

“Frank. He’s Frank.” Miss Sissy gave her an exultant look, proud that she knew his name and Beatrice didn’t.

Beatrice bit her tongue. “Anyway, it sounded like you’ve been by the church a bit lately, Miss Sissy, and I was wondering if you might have seen Frank there. Yesterday.”

Miss Sissy’s eyebrows met. “Frank Helmsley doesn’t go to church. Wicked!”

“Yes, I know, but I was wondering if you
saw
him at the church, even though he doesn’t usually attend.”

“Never attends!”

“All right.” Beatrice scanned the road for Meadow’s car, even though she knew it was too early for her to be coming back.

“But I saw
him
there,” said Miss Sissy coyly as if trying to lure Beatrice back to the conversation.

“You did.” Beatrice stared at her. “Frank?”

“No. He doesn’t attend!”

“Then who?” This was taking more patience than Beatrice was sure she was going to be able to muster.

Miss Sissy seemed to be talking to herself now. “In the bushes. He was in the bushes. Hiding.”

“Who? Who was, Miss Sissy?”

Miss Sissy gave Beatrice a scornful look. “Boris!”

Beatrice threw up her hands in the air. “For heaven’s sake.” For a genius dog, Boris seemed to be running off a lot lately.

“Boris got lost,” said Miss Sissy. “But Tony found him.”

“Wait a minute. So Tony Brock was at the church, too?” Beatrice frowned.

“
Helping
. Tony was helping with Boris.” The old woman glared at Beatrice as if she’d dare to suggest that Tony might be doing more at the crime scene than rescuing lost dogs.

Meadow drove up to them, grinning. “Got it!”

Good. Because Beatrice was ready to find out more about Tony’s presence at the church yesterday.

*   *   *

Miss Sissy’s car purred to life and soon she’d zoomed off down the road, speeding to wherever it was that she needed to go. Beatrice filled Meadow in on her conversation with Miss Sissy.

“Are you sure Miss Sissy had her days straight?” asked Meadow doubtfully.

“Well, you’re never sure with Miss Sissy. But it was only yesterday. I’d never dream of asking her about something that happened a week ago. And Boris did get loose yesterday, didn’t he? I know he showed up at the church after we discovered Frank there,” said Beatrice.

“He’s been very determined to set out on adventures for the past week,” said Meadow, beaming at the thought of the dog. “With such a high intelligence level, I think he gets bored at the house.”

“Anyway,” said Beatrice through gritted teeth, “he was out of the house. How did he get back home again? Did Tony bring him back and he got out again later?”

“I’m not aware of Tony bringing him back, no. Do you think he might have taken Boris back home and just slipped him in the gate to our backyard? I wouldn’t have realized it, if he’d done it and not rung our doorbell.”

“Maybe. But even if he did, maybe he saw something at the church when he was there. I think I’m going to drop by the hardware store and pay a visit to Tony after I get back home.”

Which she was definitely going to do. But when she got home and let Noo-noo out, she found that the fact that she hadn’t slept last night was catching up with her. She decided to put her feet up for a few minutes and rest her eyes. Only for a few minutes.

Those few minutes stretched out longer than she thought, however, and when she sat up, flustered, to squint at the clock she saw that it was midafternoon already. Noo-noo was peacefully dozing beside her, never happier than when napping was a group activity.

She was going to see Tony; that was it. Beatrice hurried to get ready to leave the house again, trying to figure out how to phrase the question about Tony being at the
church. It definitely didn’t need to sound accusatory. What premise could she come up with for being at the hardware store? She glanced around, still patting her hair back in place. Lightbulbs. One could always use more lightbulbs.

There must have been, decided Beatrice as she walked into the store a few minutes later, many people in Dappled Hills who suddenly realized that they needed lightbulbs, because the store was crowded with customers. She could hear Tony patiently helping them as they searched for items and checked out. He smiled at her once and asked, “Need some help?”

She shook her head no and proceeded to peruse the lightbulbs for much longer than should have been required. Beatrice was hoping to catch Tony in a quiet moment. Surely there had to be one coming up soon.

Finally, to her immense relief, most of the customers had filed out. She grabbed her lightbulbs (she’d settled on an outdoor spotlight type of bulb, to justify the length of time she’d spent studying them) and headed for the cash register.

“Will this be all?” asked Tony with a smile. “You’re Mrs. Coleman, aren’t you? Piper’s mom. I don’t know that we really got all that properly introduced when I saw you last time. Of course, under the circumstances, that was understandable.”

Oh dear. Was Beatrice now going to be grilling one of Piper’s friends? She hadn’t realized that they were
friendly. Beatrice smiled back at him. He really had an attractive way about him, with his wide grin and his muscular frame. “That’s right. You can call me Beatrice, though. Good to meet you. You’ve certainly got your hands full with this shop. You’re the only one working today?”

They chatted for a moment or two about the popularity of hardware stores in small towns. Then Beatrice cautiously said, “Well, you certainly must be busy. I think you also help out Miss Sissy when you’re not working here. Is that right?”

“That’s right. I had an old granny that she reminds me a lot of. She was tough as nails, and funny. So I pitch in and help Miss Sissy out, every now and then. Visit with her, too.” Tony put her lightbulbs in a bag.

Beatrice said, “It’s funny because Miss Sissy ran out of gas earlier today and Meadow ran to get her a can while I stayed with her. Miss Sissy said she’d seen you at the church yesterday. Helping return Boris the dog, she said.”

She could have sworn that she saw concern flash in Tony’s eyes before he said steadily, “She might well have seen me. I do help Wyatt out some over at the church—do odd jobs for him, that kind of thing. And I did rescue Boris. Although he didn’t care if he were rescued or not. Anyway, I was over there yesterday.”

“Not at night, though?” asked Beatrice.

Tony shook his head.

“That must worry you to think that you were at the church around the time that the murderer must have been there?” asked Beatrice. “Did you see anyone or hear anything when you were there?”

“Not a thing,” said Tony. But now he was looking off to the other side of the store as if wishing some customers that needed lots of help would come in. And his words just didn’t seem to ring true.

*   *   *

As Beatrice was finally leaving the hardware store, clutching her lightbulbs and wondering if everyone in Dappled Hills had something to hide, she saw Piper walking in front of her. Actually, Piper was looking rather furtive herself. Maybe it was the influence of the town and all the secrets everyone seemed to have.

Trying not to scare her, Beatrice made a harrumphing coughing sound and Piper turned quickly to look behind her, nearly running into a streetlight in the process. “Oh,” she said with relief, “hi, Mama.” She glanced at Beatrice’s paper bag. “Been shopping?”

“Just some lightbulbs—nothing very exciting,” said Beatrice. “Want to have some fudge while we’re out? My treat.” They happened to be right next to a shop with fabulous homemade ice cream and fudge. Ordinarily, she’d be up for a little peanut butter and chocolate ice cream, but the chill in the air made her think that fudge might be a better choice.

Piper’s shoulders relaxed. “You know, some chocolate fudge would really hit the spot right now.”

Beatrice and Piper walked into the shop to the aroma of freshly baked fudge. The shop was very quiet with only the one employee working. She looked up from a book to help them. Beatrice got a peanut butter and chocolate fudge and Piper went with a mint chocolate chip fudge. The employee put the fudge on a bit of wax paper on a plate. Beatrice got some hot chocolates to go with them and also some waters, since she thought all the chocolate might make them thirsty.

They settled into a café table with two chairs near the window of the shop while the employee settled back into her book. A gusty wind blew against the window outside and Beatrice shivered, glad to be in the warmth of the shop.

The best tactic was to just wait and not push any topics. Piper obviously had something on her mind, but experience had taught Beatrice that it was better to let Piper bring up her worries herself. She tended to shut down if she felt like she was being interrogated. So Beatrice talked about visiting Martha and buying lightbulbs. Then she launched into the fact that she’d had to figure out where her winter sweaters were—and who would think it was possible to lose something in as tiny a cottage as she had? And Noo-noo had followed her around from room to room with such a worried expression on her face. Beatrice had been searching, in particular for a
cardigan sweater that she’d only recently worn. Finally, she’d realized it was underneath the curled-up, napping kitten. Noo-noo had once again been completely unimpressed with the kitten’s antics.

Finally, she was seeing a smile on Piper’s face. “Poor Noo-noo,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re going to do with that kitten. I guess you can’t really keep her for good, can you?”

“I don’t think Noo-noo would be excited about the kitten staying permanently with me,” said Beatrice with a smile. “But now I’ve gotten the kitten’s shots and I’ll try to find a good home for her.”

Piper nodded absently, as if she really hadn’t been listening to what Beatrice was saying. Then she sighed. “Oh, Mama, I don’t know what I’m doing with Ash. I saw him out today and it was just so awkward. He said hi, but he didn’t know where to look. I didn’t know how to react, either. I feel like I’ve really messed things up.”

Beatrice said, “No one’s perfect, sweetheart. I think the important thing is to know what you want before you talk with Ash again.”

Piper nodded. “It’s not fair to Ash otherwise. Like I said, I was so stunned the last time that I didn’t know how to react or what to say or what to even think. Now I’ve got to figure out what it is exactly that I want so that there won’t be any confusion between us.”

Beatrice said cautiously, “Have you figured out what it is that you want?”