2 Knot What It Seams (15 page)

Wyatt glanced up and saw her. “Hi there, Beatrice.” He looked genuinely pleased to see her, giving a warm smile. “I guess you’ve figured out this is the place to run into everyone you know.” He focused again on the grocery shelves until he found a can of peaches and put them in his cart. “I understand that you’re investigating poor Jo’s death.” His voice remained as even as if he were asking her what she thought the weather would be like tomorrow.

Beatrice blinked. “How did you hear that?”

His eyes twinkled at her. “Meadow is apparently very proud of her friend. Or maybe she’s wanting to show Ramsay up or push him into doing more detective work and less reading.”

“That’s going to be a challenge,” said Beatrice.

“Maybe that’s why you’re interested in stepping forward,” suggested Wyatt gently. “You see a need there. And with your background—”

“In art history?” asked Beatrice ruefully.

“—I think you must have spent a lot of time investigating the history of different artworks. How much they were worth, their origins, their story. You were a detective, in a way.”

“I suppose art museum curators wear lots of different hats,” said Beatrice, smiling back at him. “It’s true that I like to dig deeper. Maybe I’m trying to make nosiness sound nicer. I don’t know. But people’s motives and actions are fascinating stuff. Take yourself, for instance.”

Wyatt blinked. “Me?”

“That’s right. I’m studying your cart and seeing a mystery there. Sardines? Canned peaches? Instant coffee? I’m going to make a deduction,” said Beatrice in a portentous voice.

“Go ahead,” said the minister, leaning his forearms on the cart handle and staring attentively at Beatrice.

“I deduce that this food can’t possibly be for you. It’s not at all ministerial. Or even like regular bachelor food. It seems more like . . . Miss Sissy food. Are you running errands for her today?”

Wyatt gave a laugh and some soft applause. “Bravo! Yes, I ran by her house earlier and she mentioned that she was going to the store after our visit. I offered to pick up some things for her.”

“Then you’ve definitely done your good deed for the day,” said Beatrice fervently. “Saving Dappled Hills residents from having Miss Sissy terrorizing the roads.” Every time she saw Miss Sissy behind the wheel of her boatlike old Lincoln, she took cover. Miss Sissy’s idea of driving was to get from point A to point B—it didn’t matter if you drove on sidewalks or over people to get there.

“Well, I’m always happy to help out,” he said with a smile. He turned toward the cash register and then said, “You haven’t happened to see Opal Woosley as you’ve been out running errands, have you? She asked me to run by her house this morning for a quick chat. And she wasn’t there when I rang her doorbell. That’s what made me visit Miss Sissy instead.”

“I sure haven’t,” said Beatrice, “but I’ve just left home myself. She probably forgot, don’t you think? Is she the sort of person who’s forgetful?” Opal certainly hadn’t given her that impression during the guild lecture she’d given, though. She’d been thoughtful, knowledgeable, and organized, despite her somewhat eccentric appearance.

Wyatt frowned, considering. “Not really. And it was only yesterday that she asked me to come by, so it’s sort of recent to forget. Never mind. Something probably just came up.”

“I was planning on doing a couple more errands before going back home. I’ll keep an eye open for Opal and get her to call you if I come across her,” said Beatrice.

* * *

She’d thought she didn’t need anything that needed to be refrigerated, but then Beatrice remembered she was out of eggs and she was very fond of having a little sunny-side-up egg on toast in the mornings. She dropped off the groceries at the cottage, then headed back downtown.

In the days following Jo’s death, the mail delivery had been even more erratic as the post office had scrambled to find a replacement for Jo. Beatrice mailed a small package at the post office before heading off to the Patchwork Cottage. Before she started on a new project, she wanted to do a little technique research. If there was one thing that made her nervous, it was the thought of embarking on something new and different without any kind of road map.

Another good reason to visit Posy’s shop was the gossip angle. The Patchwork Cottage was renowned as a Dappled Hills information hub.

Posy’s shop was full of customers again. Clearly, the Patchwork Cottage was becoming a magnet for shoppers all around the area. Posy gave her a quick smile when she came in, but had quite a line at the register as well as customers waiting to ask her a question.

Beatrice walked over to the bookshelf on the back wall of the shop and found several books that covered basic quilting techniques. She carried them to the sitting area to leaf through them until Posy had the chance to tell her which one she recommended. Posy might even recommend all of them, since she was the buyer, after all—she must have liked them all.

The sitting area was just as full as the store was. There was a heavyset lady with a large stack of quilting magazines beside her who was clearly in no hurry to leave. She glowered up at Beatrice and spread out her things a bit more on the sofa to discourage Beatrice from sitting next to her. Miss Sissy was successfully taking up most of the rest of the sofa while she enjoyed a noisy siesta.

In one of the armchairs facing the sofa was Opal Woosley, also fast asleep. No wonder she hadn’t been home when Wyatt came by. She’d probably come to buy fabric right when the shop opened, and had gotten seduced by the overstuffed armchair. Beatrice would remind Opal when she woke up to check back in with Wyatt.

There was a floral china teapot on the coffee table in the middle of the sitting area with several delicate teacups surrounding it. Beatrice opened the first of the quilting books and became absorbed a lot quicker than she thought she’d be. It was a huge help to read a clearly written explanation of different quilting techniques. Another of the books also had tips for daily, basic quilting techniques like cutting fabric.

Although she found the reading interesting, after twenty minutes the suggestive snoring of Miss Sissy was starting to lull even the alert Beatrice to sleep. The Patchwork Cottage door had kept opening and more customers had come in to replace the ones that left. Poor Posy could use a clerk to help her out. Maybe she’d have to draft her husband, Cork, from the wine shop.

After twenty minutes of leafing through the books, though, Beatrice had a good feel for which one was going to help her out the most. She stood up to just check out and avoid bothering Posy with her questions. Beatrice glanced over at the still-sleeping Opal and Miss Sissy. Opal seemed even more knocked out than the sprawling Miss Sissy. But Miss Sissy was known for her Patchwork Cottage marathon naps. Was Opal?

Hesitantly, Beatrice laid a tentative hand on Opal’s arm. “Opal,” she whispered softly. “Could you wake up a second?”

There was no response. The heavyset woman glared at her over the top of her magazine for disturbing the delicate ecosystem of the sitting area.

Beatrice was more persistent this time. “Opal,” she said, shaking her gently by the shoulder.

Beatrice peered closer at Opal and noticed she barely seemed to be breathing. In fact, her chest wasn’t moving at all. Reluctantly, Beatrice placed a shaky hand to the base of Opal’s neck to feel for a pulse—a pulse that wasn’t there.

Chapter 10

Beatrice hurried to the front of the store. “Posy,” she said urgently, “can I talk to you for a moment? It’s important.”

Posy bit her lip, then said, “Of course, Beatrice. Oh, I’m so sorry,” sighing at the line of customers still waiting to check out.

Beatrice glanced around. “Look, Georgia just walked in. She’s covered the register for you before, hasn’t she?” She waved her over and quickly asked her to step in for Posy and then pulled Posy over to a corner of the store. “Posy, Opal Woosley is dead. Over there in your sitting area. I don’t want to make a big show out of it, but I know the police will want everyone out of the way . . . out of the way, but maybe not gone.”

Posy put her hands up to her face. “How awful. Oh, poor Opal.”

“Why don’t I call Ramsay real quick and see what he wants us to do? If he wants us to clear out the store, or wait for him to question everyone, or what.” Beatrice was already pulling out her cell phone and calling Ramsay Downey’s number while she talked.

It felt as if she’d only just shoved her cell phone back into her pocketbook when Ramsay hurried into the Patchwork Cottage. He said in his authoritative voice, “Could I have your attention, ladies? If everyone could please step outside the shop? And make sure I’ve got your name, address, and phone number before you leave the premises.”

The quilters all gaped at him for a moment before hurrying to leave. They clearly weren’t sure if there had been some horrible disaster—a gas leak, cholera, a bomb threat?—but they were certainly eager to be on their way.

Ramsay asked Posy for the keys and she fumbled through her purse for them, handing them to him with trembling hands as she and Beatrice exited the building. Ramsay stayed in the shop for a few minutes, presumably to confirm Beatrice’s report, before grimly striding out and locking the door behind him.

The downside to being the police chief in a very small town would have to be these kinds of occasions—which, blessedly, didn’t happen in Dappled Hills very often. Ramsay was really hustling before his deputy finally joined him—he was calling the state police, securing the crime scene, and getting information from potential witnesses.

Beatrice was sure Opal was murdered. But she wasn’t so sure how it had happened. Had Opal’s tea been poisoned? Had she had some sort of knife wound she couldn’t see? Could she possibly even have been strangled or smothered? How could anyone have gotten away with it, as busy as that shop was?

Ramsay was asking customers if they’d been near the sitting area and if they’d seen or heard anything unusual while they were there. If they’d been near the sitting area, he asked, had they seen Opal Woosley awake? Beatrice, trying hard to listen in, thought that it sounded as if most of the women hadn’t seen her awake. Unless they were confusing Opal with Miss Sissy. Ramsay was trying to accurately describe Opal, however.

The process took a lot less time than Beatrice had thought. Most of the customers had apparently been intent on their shopping and on asking each other or Posy for their opinion. No one had seen anything unusual or suspicious—even the heavyset woman who’d settled into the sofa. She’d thought that Opal was sleeping, like Miss Sissy.

Once Ramsay spoke with Miss Sissy, Posy briefly left to drive Miss Sissy back home before returning to the store. When she returned, it was finally time for Ramsay to talk to Beatrice and Posy. He’d already let the rest of the women and a few assorted husbands go, and the state police forensics team was arriving at the scene. He spoke with a crime scene technician first, apparently filling him in on the basics. “Let’s go next door to the café and get a coffee,” he said in a weary voice. “At this point I need to stay out of forensics’ way while they take pictures and examine the crime scene. Sorry to make you two wait for so long, but I knew where to find you. A lot of the ladies in the shop had driven over to Dappled Hills from Lenoir or even Hickory, so I wanted to talk to them before they left.”

They ordered coffees and sat outside at a round table so that Ramsay could keep an eye on the proceedings at the Patchwork Cottage. “Beatrice,” said Ramsay, after taking a long sip from his cup, “did you have any other observations about Opal? Besides the fact that she was deceased, which made you a lot more observant than anyone else on the scene?”

Beatrice thought for a moment before shaking her head. “Not really. I came in, read for a while, then decided to leave since Posy was too busy to talk. I almost expected to see Miss Sissy sleeping so hard, but I was surprised that Opal was so deeply asleep. Wyatt Thompson was over at Bub’s Grocery earlier and he said she’d asked him to visit her this morning. Then she didn’t answer her doorbell when he’d arrived. I thought that was sort of strange. I was trying to wake Opal up to remind her that Wyatt was trying to connect with her.”

Posy’s eyes teared up. “I feel terrible about all of this. I should have been paying more attention to what was going on in my shop. I can’t believe that poor Opal passed away in the Patchwork Cottage while I was busy answering questions and checking people out.”

Ramsay became brusque. “Posy, I’m sure this would have happened regardless of how busy you were at the register. I don’t think there was anything you could do.”

“Was it a medical condition, then?” asked Beatrice. “A heart attack or a massive stroke? She looked so natural . . . peaceful.” Although she still had that strong feeling that there was nothing natural about Opal’s death.

“I don’t think it was related to a medical condition, no,” said Ramsay, sighing as if he would love to say otherwise. “She was probably murdered.”

Posy gasped, and Ramsay continued. “The medical examiner will tell us for sure. But I found it a little hard to believe, after what happened to Jo recently, that Opal Woosley simply died during a nap at the Patchwork Cottage. When I lifted her eyelids, her eyes were bloodshot. The skin around her mouth was very pale, which made me think she might have been suffocated while she was dozing. Of course, the pathologist will look for asphyxia—high levels of carbon dioxide in the blood.”

Posy said slowly, as if trying to digest this news, “Smothered. In my shop. How could this have happened? There were so many people there!”

“When did Opal arrive at the Patchwork Cottage?” asked Ramsay. “Had she been shopping for a while, or had she arrived shortly before Beatrice?”

“She’d been there for a long time. In fact, Opal arrived at the shop before I’d even opened up. She was driving by and saw that I was struggling to wrangle a couple of boxes into the store. When I dropped one, she parked her car and hurried over to help me.”

Beatrice said, “And she decided to stay?” Then she flashed Ramsay an apologetic smile for interrupting his interview.