Tying the Knot (11 page)

“At least none of it took place in front of the new quilters,” said Beatrice. “And Lyla handled it really well, I thought.” She paused. “I really need to talk with her again. Eleanor is so sure she's responsible for Trevor's death.”

“Well, catch up with her as she's loading her car, or something,” said Meadow. “No time like the present.”

After they'd taken everything down and put away the sewing machines, Beatrice spotted Lyla about to take her leave. Meadow made a shooing motion at Beatrice as she saw Lyla heading out the door. Beatrice gathered up the quilt she was making for Piper and her pocketbook, and hurried to follow her.

Lyla's car was only a couple down from Beatrice's, which made approaching her a lot easier. Deep in thought, Lyla didn't hear Beatrice calling her name the first time. Finally, she turned, and Beatrice said, “You did a nice job at the workshop. Posy looked so excited that this new group of quilters was so enthused. I overheard a couple of them talking about starting their own guild—a beginner's guild.”

Lyla smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Beatrice. I appreciate that.” Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears, and, as she fished for a tissue in her purse, Lyla made a face as if irritated with herself. “Sorry. It's been a long day.”

“I'm sorry, too. You did especially well with the workshop, considering you'd just been attacked by Eleanor moments before. You really recovered from the shock of that quickly.”

Lyla gave her a more genuine smile now. “Until now, I suppose. Now it's all starting to set in.” She gazed absently across the empty parking lot. “Not that Eleanor's take on Trevor's death
was
a shock. It's simply the fact that she was accusing me in a public place, where I was trying to be organized and professional and give a class.
That
was the shock.”

Beatrice said carefully, “Showing up where you were trying to be professional—that was more like Trevor, wasn't it?”

Lyla unlocked the passenger's-side door and placed a basket of materials and a quilt that she was carrying onto the seat. She straightened up and looked Beatrice in the eye. “It sure was. Look, I don't know what people in town are saying about me. But here's the truth: I made a mistake. I'm human. Unfortunately, I'm having to pay and pay for that mistake, and I don't see it ending anytime soon.”

“You're saying it was a mistake having an affair with Trevor,” said Beatrice quietly.

Lyla nodded. “Clearly. Eleanor's right about that part . . . I pursued him. He was funny and smart and was flatteringly attentive to me. After so many years
with Julian, I guess that's what attracted me to Trevor—just the attention. But it didn't take long for me to realize that I was jeopardizing a life that was important to me. When I tried to end our relationship, Trevor absolutely flipped.”

“Flipped?” asked Beatrice.

“That's right. He wasn't ready for the relationship to be over. He said it was a lifeline for him.” Lyla shook her head, as if not comprehending how Trevor could have felt that way.

But Beatrice, remembering what Trevor's situation at home with Eleanor might be like, did understand it.

“He basically started stalking me all over town. Trevor stopped trying to be discreet. And I didn't want Julian to know anything about my . . . indiscretion. Trevor was making that impossible. And Eleanor clearly already knew, because she was looking at me with tremendous hostility whenever she saw me around town. But how
couldn't
she know once Trevor's behavior went haywire?” Lyla was almost musing to herself now, working out what happened as if she'd practically forgotten that Beatrice was there.

“By Trevor's behavior, you mean his drinking?” asked Beatrice.

“His drinking and everything that resulted from it,” said Lyla with a nod. “He wasn't going to work, and from what I knew of their financial situation, that wasn't a good idea. I
had
to get him to stop,” she said, her fingers tightening on the sides of the purse she still held. “He was going to destroy both of our lives.”

“But you had nothing to do with the sleeping pills in his glass,” said Beatrice slowly.

Lyla's head jerked up and she stared at Beatrice with alarm. “Is that what people are saying? I know it's what Eleanor is saying, but it's not true.” She started speaking faster and said harshly, “The police should be looking at
Eleanor
. She's the one who was bent on revenge. She's the one who felt humiliated by Trevor's behavior.” Lyla glanced around to make sure that she and Beatrice were still alone and then said, “You know Eleanor is unstable. I told Ramsay to make sure to talk to her at her home. Trevor's unbalanced behavior tipped her over the edge . . . and she was already unstable, even years ago.”

“So you think Eleanor murdered Trevor?” asked Beatrice, raising her eyebrows.

“I'm sure of it,” said Lyla hoarsely. “She's a very dangerous woman. Eleanor approached me at the wedding reception—while I was helping guests sign the quilt blocks—and threatened me.”

“In what way?”

“She told me to back off from Trevor, and I told her that maybe she needed to rein Trevor in a little, because I was
trying
to back off and couldn't seem to get away from her husband. The next thing I know, Eleanor told me that I'd better leave Trevor alone or else she'd kill me. She opened her purse, and there was a large knife right there in her pocketbook.” Lyla shivered.

“A knife? But you didn't see any loose pills or a pill container or anything like that?” asked Beatrice.

“Beatrice, I can promise you, I only had eyes for that knife. It was an ugly weapon, let me assure you. All I wanted was for Eleanor and Trevor to leave me alone. After Eleanor walked off, I was standing there at the
guest table, helping guests sign the blocks, and all I was doing was thinking about how I could get out of my situation.” Her eyes became sad. “And then the next thing I knew, Trevor was dead.”

Beatrice said softly, “When you and I were standing over Trevor's body, I heard you say, ‘Why couldn't we have loved each other at the same time.'”

Lyla made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “That's the irony of it all. First, I was chasing Trevor and he wasn't really all that into me. The next thing I know, I'm coming to my senses, and then Trevor is chasing
me.
Life is unfair sometimes.”

Beatrice tried to move the conversation back to the murder before the rest of the Village Quilters joined them outside. “So, you think that Eleanor slipped the sleeping pills into Trevor's drink at some point during the reception—and that now she's trying to make you take the blame.”

Lyla said, “Doesn't it make perfect sense? Eleanor had the opportunity to tamper with Trevor's drink. She was furious with Trevor—don't let her fool you if she acts like she wasn't. She was bent on revenge, believe me. It gives her a tremendous motive. And then she gets sort of a bonus out of it, because if I go to jail for the crime. And she gets rid of me, too. Besides, we already know she was homicidal, since she was carrying a knife around at a wedding, for heaven's sake. And she's in a pretty fragile mental state, too.”

Lyla sighed and looked at her watch. “Sorry, Beatrice, but I've really got to run. I'm getting a headache, and I think it's because I really haven't had anything to eat. Thanks for your support today, and, please, if you
hear rumors about me—and I'm sure you will—if you could correct whatever lies are circulating, I'd appreciate it.”

As Lyla got in her car and drove away, Beatrice considered Lyla's allegations against Eleanor. Yes, Eleanor was unstable, as evidenced by the huge stacks of hoarded goods at her home. Yes, she was clearly furious with Lyla and might have had similar feelings against Trevor. But would Eleanor have killed her husband and set up Lyla as the killer? She'd have to pay another visit to Eleanor's house to see if she'd talk about threatening Lyla at the wedding.

The next morning, Beatrice had just gotten dressed and was on the point of taking Noo-noo for a stroll when the phone rang.

It was Harper, and she sounded especially cheerful this morning. Actually, it sounded more like Harper was trying to fake cheerfulness. “Beatrice? Hi. It's me, Harper. I was thinking that I'd love to catch up with you over coffee.” Some hesitation, and then Harper's voice didn't sound quite as cheerful. “Unless— Well, I know you're probably busy.”

“Oh no, I'd love to have coffee and a visit,” said Beatrice.

“Great! Um . . . we could meet at the coffee shop downtown. Or, well, there's a breakfast place over on the state highway—have you been there? It's pretty good, although it would be more of a drive.” Harper sounded very unlike her usual confident self. “Or we
could meet somewhere else, if you want. There's the doughnut shop.”

Beatrice said quickly, “Why don't you just drop by here? I've got a good French-roast coffee that I can perk for us. If you don't mind the fact that the newspaper is all over the living room, I'd love to have you come by.”

“Perfect.” Harper's voice sounded relieved. “I'll be there in a few minutes.”

Beatrice made another pot of coffee and set out the coffee cups, half-and-half, and sugars. “I promise we'll walk in a little while,” she told Noo-noo. The corgi seemed to understand, because soon she gave up her post at the front door and curled contently near Beatrice on the floor of the kitchen.

The knock at the door sent Noo-noo into startled barking. When she saw Harper, though, she apparently judged her as nonthreatening and immediately flopped over on her back to ask for a tummy rub.

Harper laughed and crouched over to rub the corgi's belly. “Quite the guard dog you have here, Beatrice.”

“Oh, Noo-noo's talents lie in being a
watch
dog. She watches and barks. The guarding? It's not really her forte.”

The two women settled into the living room. Noo-noo was so impressed with her new friend that she lay on top of Harper's feet.

Beatrice could see that Harper was reticent to talk about whatever was on her mind, so she asked how the house was coming along and filled Harper in on the workshop. Harper looked directly at Beatrice and nodded at intervals, but Beatrice could tell that her mind was miles away.

Finally, at a break in the conversation, Harper said, “It's been so nice visiting with you, Beatrice. I've been in such a state the past couple of days, and I was really looking for some perspective. I spoke with Wyatt briefly, and he suggested that I might want to talk things over with you. He said that you were such a good listener and so levelheaded and thoughtful. I decided I'd run this problem by you. You can tell me whether I'm off in left field or not.”

Beatrice nodded encouragingly at her. Harper took a deep breath and continued. “Daniel has been acting kind of funny since that night when we had supper and saw Trevor arguing with that other man. I figured at first that it simply upset him that he had to remove Trevor as best man. Daniel was so preoccupied after that night at the restaurant. He's always been really good about texting me back or returning my calls, but after that?” Harper shrugged a slim shoulder.

Beatrice said, “Why do you think he became so removed after that?”

“I didn't have a lot of time to think about it, honestly. We were so close to the wedding date then, and I was frantically busy. I think part of me wondered if Daniel was sad about losing his bachelor status after so many years. You know?” Harper gave a short laugh.

“And now you've had more time to think about it,” guessed Beatrice.

“Right.” Harper took a sip of her coffee and seemed to be considering her words carefully. “I don't know, Beatrice. Sometimes it seems that Daniel is holding something back from me. Of course, I know he's a very private person. I understand that. I can be private, too.
But I'm his
wife
. I thought he might open up to me more after we were married—or, at least, I hoped that he would.”

Beatrice frowned. “Is there a particular subject that he usually shuts you out of? Like his childhood or friendships or work?”

Harper nodded. “His mother. Or his family, I guess I should say. Whenever I start asking questions, it's like a door closes shut. It's immediate.”

“What kinds of questions are you asking? Are they very personal?” asked Beatrice.

“Not at all. Very general questions. You know, just making conversation: ‘How old was your mother when you were born?' Things like that.” Noo-noo, who seemed to sense their guest's pain, stood up so that she could lean against Harper's leg in a show of solidarity. Harper absently rubbed the corgi.

“As I recall, Daniel's mother lives locally, doesn't she? I think I met her for a few minutes at the wedding.”

Harper said, “Yes, she lives in Mountain Vistas retirement home, outside of Dappled Hills. I've met her several times and she seems very nice, but rather reserved. I could tell that Daniel dotes on her . . . Well, a lot of mother-son relationships are like that. He's obviously very protective of her, and that's great. But I think he's hiding something. I hate to say that,” she said quickly. “It's just that he closes up at her name, and then for him to have been acting so oddly after that night he talked to Trevor—it's almost as if those two things are connected.”

Beatrice said slowly, “Do you think Trevor might
have known something about Daniel? Or his mother? Something that maybe Daniel didn't want to get out?”

“Yes,” said Harper quickly, sounding relieved. “That's exactly what I was wondering. At first I told myself that I must be imagining things, that it was only the stress of the wedding getting to me. But the more I thought about it all, the more I wondered. I know Trevor was in debt. I know he was making bad choices. What if he knew something about Daniel—even some information from long ago—and was using it as leverage to get money from Daniel? What if . . .” But Harper broke off, clutching her coffee cup until her knuckles turned white.

Harper's hands started shaking, and she carefully placed the coffee cup on Beatrice's coffee table. “I know this must sound crazy to you, Beatrice. Trevor was having problems, but what I'm talking about is criminal. It's quite a leap to getting into criminal behavior, even if you are in debt.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Daniel may not have told you that he and I met up when we were out walking the dogs. I told him that I'd learned that Trevor was extorting money from the mystery man that I'd seen at the wedding and the funeral. Remember? I thought he resembled the man that we saw arguing with Trevor that night at supper.”

“Was that who it was?” asked Harper. The fine lines etched on the sides of her eyes stood out in sharp relief against her features, pale from the stress.

“It was,” said Beatrice. She paused and then added, “The thing was, Daniel didn't seem very surprised to hear about it. He said that Trevor had mentioned that
he knew something about Patrick that would cause Patrick Finley to lose his medical license. And he didn't seem at all surprised about the blackmail.”

Harper briefly closed her eyes. “Maybe the reason he wasn't surprised is because Trevor was trying to pull the same trick on him.” Her expression grew more calculated. “So, this Patrick was at the reception, too. Maybe he was the one who murdered Trevor. It would make sense. Why else would he have been there?”

Beatrice gave a small shrug. “It could be that he was there to persuade Trevor to stop blackmailing him. Maybe Trevor was avoiding him, and he was simply looking for a time to be able to connect with him in person. It seemed like he was trying to talk to Trevor at that restaurant, but he was too far gone to make any sense that night. Or, yes, maybe Patrick was behind Trevor's death. That would certainly have eliminated the blackmail.”

Harper said in a hollow voice, “Or maybe Daniel was behind his death. That would have solved Daniel's problem, too.” She covered her face with her hands.

“Have you asked Daniel about this?” asked Beatrice. “Have you pointed out that you know he's keeping things from you and you're worried about him?”

“Beatrice, I'd love to have that conversation with him, but I feel like our marriage is so young . . . I don't want him to feel that I don't trust him.” Harper sighed. “It sounds like I really
don't
trust him, but I certainly don't want him to get that impression. It's simply so early in our marriage to have the issue of trust looming over us.”

“Would you like me to talk with him?” asked Beatrice. “I wouldn't even have to mention you at all. I
could say that I'd gotten the feeling that Daniel might be holding something back. Honestly, I'm not sure
what
I'm going to say, but I can definitely tread softly there.”

“Maybe the next time you run into him?” asked Harper, eyes worried. “I don't want him to feel as if you made a special trip over to ask him about it. That will seem like an interrogation, I think.”

“I'll wait until we accidentally meet up, then. And, Harper? Try not to worry. I'm sure there's a very logical explanation for this. Daniel is, after all, a lawyer. Maybe Trevor did try to see if he could somehow pressure Daniel for money. Maybe Daniel blew him off and didn't want to bring the episode to the police because he felt it might make him look bad.”

“And he
already
looks bad because he dumped Trevor as his best man,” added Harper.

“Right. So he wouldn't want to appear any more suspicious. Besides, think about it: it would have been very tough for him to pull this off at his own wedding. I'm not going to say that it
couldn't
happen, just that it would be a real feat.” Beatrice smiled at Harper, and slowly she smiled back in return.

Beatrice wished she could only convince herself.

*   *   *

After Harper left, Beatrice was mulling over Daniel's possible involvement in Trevor's death when there was another knock at her front door. Noo-noo cocked her head to one side in surprise, which was mirrored by Beatrice. Had Harper left something behind? Beatrice quickly scanned the room, seeing nothing, as she walked to the door.

It was Meadow, wearing binoculars and a camera
around her neck and a dark, un-Meadow-like top and pants. “Ready to spy on my doctor?” she asked. Then Meadow frowned and looked at Beatrice's white button-down and khaki pants in dismay. “Do you call that the kind of outfit that an undercover operative would wear?”

Beatrice groaned. “Is it Friday already? I've been losing track of the days. I could have sworn today was Thursday. And then Harper and I had coffee together, and I guess I got distracted and never looked at my calendar.” She blinked at Meadow. “Meadow, I don't think that's the kind of operation we were talking about, was it? We're not trying to be private eyes catching Dr. Finley in any wrongdoing or illicit relationship. We're just hanging out near his car in the community-center parking lot, right? So we can ask him questions when he finishes playing racquetball.”

“You're correct, Beatrice, but I think it's very important that we get into the mind-set of a stakeout. Having all the right equipment and dressing the part will help us feel more confident and ultimately obtain more information from the good doctor. Who may not
be
a good doctor.” Meadow looked at her bulky wristwatch. “By my calculations, though, we need to be leaving . . . now.”

Beatrice picked up her pocketbook and gave a rather sad glance into the kitchen. “I never did have a chance to eat breakfast.”

“What? Beatrice, that's the most important meal of the day. You know that,” said Meadow, waving her hands around.

“Well, my morning sort of got hijacked,” said Beatrice dryly.

“Lucky for you,” said Meadow archly, “that this stakeout happens to be the highlight of my week. So I put a lot of thought and planning into it. I packed us a picnic basket full of breakfast foods and other goodies, in case we wanted a snack. Oh, I packed thermoses of coffee and lemonade, too.”

Meadow grinned with pride and took a bow as Beatrice applauded her.

“Sounds like the morning will be a success even if we
don't
see Patrick Finley's car in the parking lot,” said Beatrice, smiling at Meadow.

But they found, as they pulled into the community-center parking lot, that a Mercedes with the license plate DOCTOR#1 was indeed parked outside the recreation building. Meadow didn't even have to use her binoculars to spot it.

Meadow's voice was smug. “See? How easy is this? Like taking candy from a baby. So let's hang out in the van, eat some muffins and breakfast pastries, and wait for him to finish exercising. I've even got
bacon
, Beatrice. We're living the high life here.”

Meadow was never one to skimp on food. She had filled the basket with egg-salad sandwiches, muffins, pastries, fruit, croissants, and the promised bacon. Beatrice and Meadow could have probably survived in the community-center parking lot for at least a week.

“So, how exactly are we planning to carry this off?” asked Beatrice slowly as she helped herself to some of the mixed fruit. “If we go running toward him, we're going to look like investigative reporters attempting gonzo journalism or something.”

“Oh, I don't think so,” demurred Meadow. “It'll just
be like we're so eager to get into the community center and start exercising that we can't contain ourselves.”

“I think we should make it seem like a chance encounter,” said Beatrice, fishing out a fork from the huge picnic basket. “Then maybe I can look thoughtful and say, ‘Didn't I see you at Harper and Daniel's wedding reception?'”

“You
always
look thoughtful, Beatrice, so that's not going to be a stretch for you. Then I can follow up quickly and say, ‘I think I spotted you at the funeral, too, Doctor Finley,'” said Meadow.