Shear Trouble (11 page)

“Time. I think I want a little time—to spend time with Ash in bits and pieces. Usually, when we’re visiting, it’s all in a big chunk of time and then one of us gets on a plane for a month. It’s not that I’m not interested in marrying Ash.”

“Was that what he was asking?” asked Beatrice. She knew it wasn’t, but she also knew that the underlying reason that Ash was moving to the area was that he was very serious about his relationship with Piper.

“No, no, of course not. And that’s the thing—I was reacting to it as if it were a marriage proposal. But really, all that Ash was doing was trying to move back to North Carolina so that we
could
get closer. It was a big step for our relationship, though, and I felt it had really been sprung on me. I was worried that he’d move all this way for me, take a completely different type of job, make all these sacrifices, and then I wouldn’t want the relationship to go any further.” Piper shrugged. “That would be awful.”

“I wonder,” said Beatrice, “if Ash is still planning on moving, even though your relationship is stressed right now.”

Piper looked startled. “I don’t know.” She looked down at her fudge. “I hope so. That would make things easier. At least, I guess it would.” She looked hopelessly at Beatrice.

Beatrice took a deep breath. Her overwhelming instinct, whenever she was faced with a crisis of any
kind, was to try to fix things. She’d learned, through the years, that some things were easier to fix than others—and that some things should actually be left alone, even if she felt she
could
fix them. She carefully said, “It mostly sounds like a misunderstanding, doesn’t it? He thought you’d be thrilled by his surprise, but you’ve never been one for surprises. Ash took your reaction as a sign you weren’t interested in making your relationship more permanent.”

Piper nodded. Then her eyes filled with tears.

Beatrice started digging earnestly in her pocketbook. Why wasn’t her pocketbook as well stocked as other women’s purses she saw? Other women would have tissues, ibuprofen, and a water bottle. She seemed to have only an empty peppermint wrapper, a lipstick, and some loose change. Beatrice pulled off a couple of napkins from the table dispenser and thrust them at her daughter. “Piper, I’m so sorry. But I believe if y’all had a long talk, everything would be cleared up—if you wanted it to be.”

Piper scrubbed at her face with the napkins as if she were impatient with the tears. “That’s a very sensible idea, Mama, as always. But I want to let things cool off a little. You know? Sometimes it’s easy to make things worse when you’re trying to make them better. If I start apologizing and try to act excited about his new job, but he’s still hurt and thinks I’m not being genuine . . .” Piper trailed off with a small shrug.

Beatrice realized, not for the first time, that she and
Piper could be a bit too analytical. “Okay, sweetie, if you think that’s best.”

Piper was suddenly eager to change the subject. “How are things with you and Wyatt? I’d like to think that at least one of us is having a successful relationship right now.”

“Oh. It’s fine. Everything is fine.” Beatrice nodded but didn’t meet Piper’s gaze.

“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement, Mama.”

“It
is
fine, it’s just that he and I haven’t really been able to spend any time together. We had a nice lunch, as I’d mentioned, but it was cut short by something he had to attend to at the church. Then I was going to cook an amazing supper for him, but
that
didn’t go well, so I had to forget about asking Wyatt over for dinner.” Beatrice gave an exasperated sigh.

Piper hid a smile. “It’s not your fault that you’ve been out of the practice of cooking for a while.”

“I know. But then I offered to help Wyatt set up at the quilt show. We were going to have supper then—but he got a phone call from a church member and had to cancel.” Beatrice frowned. There was something funny about that, too, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

“Oh no! And then when you met him at the church to help with the setup, you found a body. An evening together couldn’t get much worse than that.” Piper shook her head in amazement.

“So it’s all fine . . . it’s just that we really can’t find
any time to see each other. And, naturally, he’s been busy ministering to Martha because of the two deaths,” said Beatrice.

“Was Martha okay today when you and Meadow saw her? She’s always seemed so devoted to Frank. How awful that he had this accident right after Jason’s death,” said Piper.

Beatrice said very quietly, “It might not have been an accident at all. In fact, it almost certainly wasn’t. Frank arranged to meet someone at the church yesterday—probably to blackmail him. Although he’d been drinking, it’s also very likely that the person being blackmailed would have wanted to get rid of him.” She glanced over at the shop employee, but she was deeply engrossed in her book. She’d have to get that title before she left.

Piper frowned at her. “You’re not poking into these murders, are you? You know how incredibly dangerous that is. Remember what happened last time? And the time before that? And—”

“Yes, I remember,” said Beatrice quickly. “I’m only interested, that’s all.” Very interested.

“Okay, as long as that’s all it is. I can understand being curious. Here we are in this peaceful little town and suddenly we have this rash of violence.” Piper paused. “What if Frank died for another reason, not blackmail? What if someone knew that
Frank
was the murderer and they killed him for revenge?”

Beatrice considered this. “I could see something like that happening in a fit of rage, maybe. But wouldn’t it make so much more sense to simply tell Ramsay what you knew and have justice take its course? Not that I don’t think Frank had motive to kill Jason—I do think he did. But . . .” Beatrice shook her head. “Besides, the only person who would have gotten that angry over Jason’s death would have been Martha—and she wouldn’t have hurt a hair on Frank’s head.”

“You know, I wonder if Eric Gore, Jason’s brother, is on Ramsay’s suspect radar,” mused Piper.

“What would his motive be?” asked Beatrice. “Unless you’re saying that he might have been upset enough over Jason’s death to kill Frank. Was the family relationship complicated?”

“Isn’t it always?” drawled Piper, giving her mom a mischievous smile. “I think Jason’s actions really embarrassed Eric. It’s hard to ever see him around town—it’s almost like he’s hiding.”

“I don’t know if he’s
hiding
. It sounded to me as if he had a good excuse not to be around—a job in another town.” Beatrice took a final bite of her fudge and immediately wished she had more.

“I guess that’s true. I don’t remember what he does for a living, but he couldn’t make too much. The poor guy always seems to be wearing the same outfit whenever I see him and drives a really old car.”

Beatrice said thoughtfully, “I believe Meadow said that he was an usher at the movie theater in Lenoir.”

Piper frowned. “You’re not thinking of going over there to question him, are you? It’s not—”

Beatrice hurried to interrupt Piper before she heard again about the danger surrounding murder investigations. “Oh no. No, of course not. Only, I was just thinking that Meadow and I had mentioned wanting to see that new film. I’ll have to check back with her and see if she still might want to go.”

“What movie was it?” Piper looked rather suspicious.

“Hmm. Well, I can’t remember the name of it, offhand.”

“What type of film was it?” Piper’s eyebrows were raised.

“I think it was a drama. Yes, I’m pretty sure it was a drama.” Beatrice gave her daughter a weak smile.

“A movie? When?” Meadow’s voice boomed down the other end of the line. “What movie?” There was some howling in the background and Meadow said excitedly, “Did you hear that, Beatrice? Here, Boris, have a treat. I’m teaching Boris to sing! Have you ever seen videos of those singing dogs around Christmas? I thought I could make Boris go viral!”

Beatrice hadn’t seen the videos, wasn’t one hundred percent sure what
going viral
meant (although it sounded germy), and felt they were perhaps weaving off topic again.

“It doesn’t really matter what movie we pick. I figured it would be a good time to talk to Jason’s brother, Eric, since he’s never really in Dappled Hills all that much. Whatever you want to see would be fine with me.” Beatrice was already planning how to gingerly
discover whether Eric had been in the vicinity of the church when Frank died.

“Well, usually I like costume dramas. Maybe something historical. Or even an adaptation of an Austen novel—something like that. Anything likely to be nominated for an Oscar for best costumes. Is there anything like that playing?” There was more howling in the background. “Good boy, Boris! Here’s another treat.”

Beatrice was starting to wonder if Boris was perhaps howling because his tummy hurt from all the treats. “I don’t remember any costume dramas listed.” She peered at the newspaper again, squinted, and then put her reading glasses on. “There looks to be a horror film, an animated children’s film, a romantic comedy, and a documentary of some sort on global warming.” She made a face at the paper. “I guess we can always leave a movie if we hate it.”

“It’s a lot of money to spend on something just to ask a question,” said Meadow reasonably. “Especially for a movie we don’t want to see. The
only
redeeming quality of such a field trip would be if we had a tub of buttered popcorn and movie candy.”

Looking at the newspaper, Beatrice had to reluctantly agree with her.

*   *   *

Unfortunately, upon arriving at the theater in Lenoir, they found that Eric Gore didn’t seem to recognize them. It was probably one of those things where you
have trouble placing someone if he’s not where he ordinarily is. He’d stared at them a bit when they introduced themselves until finally he said, “Oh, sure. Yes, I know y’all.” He had a doubtful look on his face that contradicted his words.

Apparently, either there were no good movies out, or any new movies out, or else the citizens of Lenoir had no interest in seeing movies today, because Beatrice and Meadow appeared to be the only people at the theater. This must not have been considered out of the ordinary, either, because once Eric had sold them their tickets for
A Funny Thing About Love
, he courteously asked, “Will you be needing any popcorn or other concessions?” Apparently, Eric did everything at the movie theater on slow days—from selling tickets to starting the film. He possibly even cleaned the theater after the movie was over.

Meadow, who hadn’t been excited about anything on this trip to the theater besides the food, gave an enthusiastic yes and Eric left the ticket booth, carefully locking the door behind him, and led the way to the concessions counter, where he fixed Meadow a bucket of popcorn so large that Beatrice was sure it could double as a bathtub for Noo-noo. They’d gotten to the theater in plenty of time before the start of the movie, so they loitered at the counter, getting napkins and straws for the equally mammoth-sized soft drinks they’d received.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Eric, I just wanted to say again how sorry I was.” When Eric looked momentarily confused, she hurried to add, “About your brother’s death, I mean.”

A swift and unfathomable look crossed his face. “Thanks. Although my brother and I weren’t all that close, you know.”

Beatrice blinked. There were people who liked to share information with people they barely knew. Beatrice knew this. But she was always amazed when she ran into one. She said, “It still must have been a shock.”

“Not really,” said Eric, with an unreadable expression on his face. “I mean—it wasn’t a natural death. If he’d suddenly fallen over from a heart attack . . . now,
that
would have been a shock. But the fact that he finally annoyed someone enough to want to get rid of him for good? No, I can’t say that surprises me at all.” He took a bottle of cleaning solution and spritzed the counter with it, scrubbing at invisible spots with a paper towel.

Meadow, who seemed genetically designed not to be able to keep her thoughts to herself, coughed on a bit of popcorn. She took a few gulps of her drink and said, “You aren’t surprised that your brother was murdered?” Her face was quite pink, either from the shock or from practically asphyxiating on the popcorn.

Eric said, “Think about it. And I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know—the whole town
knew what my brother had done before he left Dappled Hills seven years ago.”

Meadow turned even pinker. She liked to pretend that Dappled Hills wasn’t a gossipy town. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What?”

Beatrice didn’t want to dance around the issue, which was what Meadow would do. Meadow would take twenty minutes to argue that Dappled Hills had
not
talked about Jason Gore’s fraud and that she was completely oblivious about the reasons he’d left town seven years earlier. “You mean about the fact that your brother committed fraud. And then left town right afterward.”

Eric looked relieved. “You know, I’m glad to have somebody actually talk about it to me. For years people have crossed to the other side of the street to avoid talking to me because they didn’t know what to say. It’s been a little lonely.” And standing there in his ill-fitting theater uniform, he seemed almost unbelievably awkward and insecure for a grown man.

Meadow seemed scandalized again. “Not in Dappled Hills! No one would do that—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Sure they would, Meadow! Sometimes it’s easier to avoid a situation if you aren’t sure how to handle it or what to say. Although,” said Beatrice, turning to look at Eric thoughtfully, “you probably didn’t help things, Eric, by spending most of your time here in Lenoir. Did you choose to work here
because you knew you could avoid seeing people in Dappled Hills?”

His eyelashes fluttered several times in a row. “But I knew I’d run into Dappled Hills folks here,” he said, looking away from Beatrice. “There’s no theater in Dappled Hills. Everyone has to come here.”

“But you’d be spared the daily, constant interaction with them that you’d have had if you’d worked at the grocery store there or the hardware store. If you worked in Dappled Hills, you’d see Dappled Hills people all day, every day. Working here was a way to escape, wasn’t it?” asked Beatrice.

Meadow gaped at them, waiting for Eric’s answer. Beatrice was sure she couldn’t fathom someone hiding from Dappled Hills.

“But there was no reason for me to hide. I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said quietly in an unconvincing voice.

“I’m not saying that you did. But did you
feel
as if you had? Did you feel responsible for Jason’s actions, even if you knew that you weren’t?”

“I was embarrassed by him. And angry,” he said. He took in a deep breath. “Dappled Hills was this great little town. Jason was always talking about it. Then he got greedy and decided to pull a scam. He ruined everything. I should have known,” he said, almost to himself. “I should have known that he hadn’t changed. He
couldn’t
change.”

“You followed him down to Dappled Hills, right?” asked Beatrice.

“He’d talked so much about it to our mother and me. It sounded like such a great town. The mountains, the people, the quaint downtown. Even the weather. I didn’t have a job at the time and I remember what Jason said. He told me, ‘Just as easy to be unemployed in Dappled Hills as it is in Lexington.’ So I moved down here. He even helped me find some temporary work around town.”

Meadow said, “When you say that he couldn’t change—had he done something like this before, then? Had he . . . cheated people?”

Eric snorted and gave Meadow a disbelieving look. “Are you kidding? Jason was a con man. He’d always been a con man. Even when he was a kid. He could trick you out of a pack of chewing gum and you’d feel lucky for the privilege. That’s the kind of guy he was. Everybody liked him—he could make people like him without any effort at all on his part. It used to drive me crazy when I was a little guy. He’d never study, never do his homework. I’d be working so hard, trying to memorize facts or learn vocabulary. Jason would charm the teachers and somehow he’d never get bad grades, even if his stuff was incomplete. He wouldn’t make an A, but he’d have a good solid grade. And Mom would end up fussing at me because my grades would be lower than his.” Eric gave a bitter laugh.

“Was it always kind of innocent stuff like that, then?” asked Beatrice.

“You mean instead of out-and-out fraud? There was some that was innocent. There was some that was just Jason trying to take advantage of a situation—usually with wealthy women and getting them to pay for various things for him. Sometimes he’d cheat at cards—and that could get dangerous because he was messing with the wrong people. Sometimes it would be more serious. He never seemed to get caught. I guess that’s because people were too embarrassed to press charges. Mom always, always acted like everyone else was to blame. It was never Jason’s fault. She’d never hear anything bad said about him.” Eric knocked over the spray bottle of cleaner and roughly set it upright again. He glared at the bottle as if it were all its fault. “He was a charmer. Maybe that’s how he got me to come down here.”

“Did you think he’d changed, then? Did it seem like he had? He’d come to Dappled Hills, he’d met somebody, he was trying to be a regular guy?” asked Beatrice. “Someone who didn’t con people?”

Meadow still gaped at Eric. She was always surprised by the dark side, the secret side of people.

Eric flushed. “I wanted to believe it. You don’t know how great it was—it was somehow kind of flattering when he turned all his attention on you and tried to persuade you to do something. Yeah, I wanted it to be
true. Mom and I both moved down here from Virginia. Maybe even
Jason
thought he’d changed. Maybe he thought that having Mom and me in town might help him keep on the straight and narrow. I mean—he was part of a church! I wanted to believe it was true. I bought in to it.”

“And he hadn’t changed,” said Beatrice.

“He hadn’t. At some point, I guess he started feeling that same old itch again. He needed to pull a con. That’s what he was. He saw a mark and he couldn’t help himself.”

“That was Tony’s grandfather?” asked Beatrice.

Eric nodded, looking tired and suddenly much older. “He convinced the old man that he could take his savings, invest them for him, and make him so much more money that Tony could go to the best colleges and he’d still have money left over for his retirement. He’d completely duped him. Tony’s grandfather was dying to give him the money by the time Jason had worked his charm on him. Then Jason skipped town.”

“How did you find out about this?” asked Beatrice. “I understood that Tony’s grandfather was too embarrassed to talk about it or to press charges.”

“Tony, of course,” said Eric. He leaned his elbows on the counter as if he’d gotten too tired to really stand up. “Tony was a friend of mine, even though I’m older than he is. He told me all about it—and then he wasn’t my friend anymore. He was incredibly hurt, desperate.
Couldn’t believe his opportunity to get an education had been stolen from him. His grandfather never recovered . . . and neither did my mother. She was there when Tony told us what Jason had done. Mom—who never could hear bad things about Jason. She finally understood what he was and what he’d always been.” Eric stopped and shook his head. “Mom never recovered from it and died a few months later. I think she died of a broken heart. And Jason didn’t even come back for the funeral.”

Meadow snorted. “Probably thought he’d go to jail if he came back.”

“Right. But finally he caught on that nobody was going to charge him with anything and he comes waltzing back into town as if nothing has happened.” Anger flared in Eric’s eyes. “He returns to Dappled Hills like the conquering hero. Acting as if he hadn’t done anything wrong . . . like he hadn’t dumped a fiancée or stolen money or broken our mother’s heart.”

“Did you get in touch with him at all?” asked Beatrice.

“Are you kidding me? I was trying to keep my distance from him because I knew he’d pull some kind of con again. Now I knew that he was really incapable of change. The first time I saw him, I was in a restaurant downtown. I pretended I didn’t even hear him when he greeted me. But yeah—he showed up at my door one night soon after he’d come back to town. He was
all smiles, excited to see me. Gave me a huge hug. He was acting like he’d been away because he was off saving the world or something instead of letting the dust settle. When I told him I wanted nothing to do with him, that I’d felt like a pariah in the town since he left, he acted like he was hurt and shocked. Shocked!” Eric’s face was scornful.

“Why do you think he came back after being gone for seven years?” asked Beatrice. “Doesn’t it seem a little strange that he returned?”

Eric shrugged. “Not really. I’m sure he needed some money. Probably figured he could make some pretty easily here.”

“Did he keep trying to get in touch with you?” asked Beatrice.

“A couple of times, he did. Called me on the phone—I hung up. Knocked on my door once—I didn’t answer it.” Eric shrugged. “It took him a while, but he got the message. Or maybe he was just busy . . . cozying up to the rich lady.” His face was splotched with anger.

Beatrice said, “Were you anywhere around the church a couple of days ago? In the afternoon or evening?”

Eric said, “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t go near the church if you paid me. Couldn’t stand having half the town staring at me like I was one step away from Evil Incarnate.”

Meadow couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “They
wouldn’t have done that! You didn’t do anything, Eric. It was Jason. And he was already helping out at the church and doing things in the community. Everybody had welcomed him back to town.”