2 Knot What It Seams (18 page)

Beatrice nodded and watched Noo-noo perking up as Posy walked up to the house. The corgi quickly disappeared from view as she jumped down to greet her friend.

A few minutes later, Posy was back. “She’s such a happy dog. What a sweetheart!” Posy settled back down on the ground and started pulling weeds again. “Oh, and before I forget, I brought along a book from the shop. It’s my favorite one on technique. Remind me before I leave to get it out of my car.”

Beatrice said, “I’m guessing, judging from the fact that you’re here, that the Patchwork Cottage is closed today?”

“It is. For one thing, Ramsay asked me if I could keep it closed in case the police wanted to spend more time in the shop. For another, though, it didn’t seem respectful to Opal’s memory to open up today. I just drove over to put a sign on the door and to check back in with Ramsay to see if I could be of any help,” said Posy.

“Did they have any more information?” asked Beatrice. “Were they able to say anything more about when or how Opal died?”

Posy said, “Sadly, it does appear to be murder. Something about some discoloration indicating an object placed against Opal’s face. I’m afraid it was probably one of my cushy pillows that was the culprit. As far as the time of the death goes, they’re thinking that Opal was murdered while I was out of the shop . . . and that the timing was opportunistic. Someone saw Opal go in and saw me come out. For them, it was perfect timing.”

Beatrice shivered. So Opal had been dead for a little while when Beatrice had sat near her.

Posy said, in a baffled voice, “I can’t see why anyone would want to kill Opal. Or Jo, either, really. Although Jo, sometimes, could be a bit combative, Opal wasn’t. I don’t think I ever saw her being argumentative, except maybe with Jo. But that’s because she loved Skippy and missed him terribly. It was no wonder that she acted that way with Jo, since she blamed her for taking her little friend away from her.”

“When I was talking with Glen recently,” said Beatrice, “he said that Opal was playing some practical jokes on them before Jo’s death. Nothing really harmful, but the kinds of things that would really inconvenience the Paxtons or irritate them. Does that sound like something Opal would have done?”

Posy pulled out a weed from the bed. “I could probably see Opal doing that kind of thing. Practical jokes would be a way to get under Jo’s skin and feel like she was getting back at Jo for what she’d put her through. Yes, I could see that. She was . . . mischievous. And maybe that could have turned into malevolence under those circumstances.”

“But you don’t see her escalating it to the point where she’d cut Jo’s brake lines?”

“Of course not!” said Posy.

Beatrice thoughtfully pulled up one of the plants. “What if Opal
were
there the morning that Jo died? What if she were there to play another trick on Jo and Glen and she saw someone else at their house? Maybe that person was doing something that Opal didn’t completely understand at the time, but then she started wondering about it later. Something was on her mind—that’s why she made that appointment to talk to Wyatt. After all, Opal wouldn’t have wanted to be seen at the Paxton house—she was up to no good herself.”

“But if she were hiding, how would the murderer know that she’d seen him? It only makes sense if the murderer somehow knew and wanted to silence Opal before she could say something,” said Posy.

“Maybe Opal wasn’t exactly sure what she’d seen. She could even have confronted this person. Opal could have inadvertently alerted the murderer herself.” Beatrice sat back on her heels for a minute. Pulling plants was harder work than she’d remembered. “Opal spent a lot of time at the Patchwork Cottage. Did you see her talking to anyone in the last week or so?”

Posy said gently, “She spoke to just about everyone, Beatrice. You know how Opal was. And she loved to talk about quilting and wanted to see what everyone was working on.” She gripped a weed and yanked it out of the ground.

“Karen invited Piper and me over for supper tomorrow night. Maybe that’s something I can find out more about, then,” said Beatrice.

The sound of a roaring engine made Beatrice look up in alarm. “It’s Miss Sissy! Clear out!”

Chapter 12

Despite the fact that neither was a very young woman, Beatrice thought she and Posy sprang to their feet and scrambled into the yard with a fair amount of speed. Their efforts were for nothing, though, since Miss Sissy had clearly spotted Posy, who was one of her favorite people on the planet. She puttered into Beatrice’s driveway sedately and pulled the boatlike car up gently next to Posy’s.

Miss Sissy climbed out of the car and joined them. She glowered at Beatrice. “Shouldn’t play in the roads! Almost hit you earlier when I was heading out to town.”

Since it was pointless to argue with Miss Sissy, Beatrice bared her teeth in a smile. Anyone who thought she was young enough to play on streets was clearly demented, anyway.

Posy hugged Miss Sissy, then settled back down on the ground to pull up the last remaining plants while Beatrice scouted out a chair for Miss Sissy to sit in, since she seemed prepared to visit. At this rate, soon half the town of Dappled Hills would have stopped by her cottage by lunchtime.

Once Miss Sissy was perched in a striped beach chair that Beatrice was sure Posy and she would have to extricate her from later, Posy said in a musing tone, “You know, Miss Sissy, Beatrice and I were just talking about poor Opal.”

“Wickedness!” said Miss Sissy, bright black eyes shining.

“Yeeess,” said Beatrice, not sure whether the old woman was talking about Opal’s wickedness or the fact that she was murdered. Or maybe she was simply using one of her favorite words for no reason at all. “And that’s what I wanted to ask you about, Miss Sissy. You’re in the shop so much and you’re so observant.” Excepting the fact she hadn’t noticed a dead woman only feet away from her.

Miss Sissy preened at the compliment. Beatrice continued. “Had you seen Opal talking with anyone? Or, possibly, having an argument or discussion with anyone?”

Miss Sissy nodded vigorously, endangering the loosely gathered knot of wiry gray hair at the top of her head. “With the mailwoman! Arguing!”

Beatrice sighed. Hadn’t they all seen Opal arguing with Jo? “Was there anyone else you saw Opal arguing with or maybe just having a private conversation with? Someone in the last couple of days maybe?”

Miss Sissy assumed a thoughtful pose, drawing out her moment in the sun and the suspense. “Yes! With that young mayor.”

Who wasn’t particularly young. “She and Booth Grayson were arguing?”

Miss Sissy nodded again, pleased. “She was very mad. Very mad!”

Maybe Opal had been confronting him about why he was at Jo’s house. Or maybe she’d only been confronting him about the permit the mayor was planning on enforcing.

“And the other one she was talking to. Sneaky, she was,” said Miss Sissy, pantomiming someone being furtive.

“Which other one?”

Miss Sissy gave her a disdainful smirk. “The young one. The young quilter with the ugly quilts.”

“Karen?” asked Posy.

“Did you hear what they were talking about?” asked Beatrice.

Miss Sissy frowned. “No. Tried to. Couldn’t. They kept staring at me.”

Posy and Beatrice thought this through. “I suppose they could have been formulating a strategy for the Cut-Ups guild to win the next quilting competition,” offered Posy.

“Wickedness!” suggested Miss Sissy.

The flower bed was completely cleared out now. And Miss Sissy was about ready to start foaming at the mouth again. “Posy,” said Beatrice, “you’re starting to look tired. I’m sure it’s got to be stressful having this tragedy at the shop. Why don’t you go home and have a quiet lunch?”

Posy nodded wearily. “I think I might just do that . . . have a quiet day at home. That would be nice.” She hugged them both good-bye and got into her car, quickly leaving it again to hand the quilting book to Beatrice.

Miss Sissy was the one who somehow ended up with it. “Miss Sissy,” said Beatrice, “that book is far too basic for you. You could
write
a book like this one.” Of course, Miss Sissy’s version would likely be full of dire and cryptic proclamations.

Even though Posy was gone, Miss Sissy made no move to leave. The next thing Beatrice knew, the old woman had tromped through the cottage to her backyard with the book and Noo-noo and climbed into the hammock. At least that was easy enough. She’d keep out of the way there and Beatrice could make some progress finishing up her appliqué.

* * *

A couple of hours went by before Miss Sissy surfaced from the hammock. She’d apparently fallen asleep and frowned grouchily as if the nap or her dreams hadn’t much agreed with her. Noo-noo, however, had clearly enjoyed her own nap and was grinning doggily at both Beatrice and her unexpected guest.

“Can I fix you something to eat?” asked Beatrice politely, although she remembered that it never really paid to be polite to Miss Sissy. She’d almost always take you up on whatever you were offering.

Instead the old woman shook her head impatiently. “Got to get home.” She stopped a moment when she caught sight of Beatrice’s quilt. “This what you’re working on?”

Without waiting for an answer, she crouched down, squinting at the quilt and running her hand over the material. She grunted. “Not bad,” she allowed, before squinting again at a particular square. “Except this. Fix this.”

Although Beatrice ordinarily took anything Miss Sissy said with a grain of salt, she sure knew her quilting. And she was right—the square was sloppily stitched while Beatrice ruminated on the murders.

Miss Sissy’s beady eyes homed in on her keys. She snatched them off the table, grunted again as a good-bye, and scurried out to her Lincoln.

A few minutes later, she was back in the house. “Car is dead,” she said. She walked into Beatrice’s kitchen and pulled some grape juice out of the fridge.

“It won’t
start
?” asked Beatrice. Was she going to be forced to endure visitors all day long? “Here, give me the keys.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d thought the engine might turn over for her. It didn’t, choosing to make odd, clicking noises instead.

Beatrice walked back into the cottage and gazed thoughtfully at Miss Sissy. “I could drive you back home, Miss Sissy, since you were anxious to get back. Then I could call a mechanic and have him either tow your car or fix it in my driveway.”

The cronelike old woman was now eating a pimento cheese sandwich with gusto. She waved her hand to show she was busy eating, gulped down more grape juice, and said, “Can’t take me home. I’m blocking your car.”

“No, you’re not.” Beatrice looked out the window. “Oh. I guess it was Posy who’d pulled up next to my car. Well, then, I’ll go ahead and call the mechanic.”

About an hour later, the mechanic came. He got out of his truck, greeted Beatrice, then eyed the Lincoln. “Miss Sissy’s car, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I’m sure you’ve worked on it plenty of times in the past,” said Beatrice. She noticed Miss Sissy was glaring through the window.

“She’s usually pretty particular about her car,” said the mechanic. “Is she here? I’m surprised she’s not out reading me the riot act about being careful.”

On cue, the old woman opened Beatrice’s front door. She waved a gnarled fist at them.

“I’ll be very careful, Miss Sissy!” he called out to her. She disappeared back into the cottage, presumably to gobble up more of Beatrice’s food.

“Sorry you had to wait awhile,” said the mechanic. “We’ve been busy lately at the garage. People are holding on to their cars longer and they’re breaking down more. We had a couple of people waiting at the garage for their cars to be done, so I had to take care of them first.”

“No worries,” said Beatrice. “I totally understand.” She watched as the man listened to the car as he tried to start it, then lifted the hood. She cleared her throat. “I think I have a problem with my car, too—that little sedan over there. The alarm keeps blaring at unexpected times.”

The mechanic said patiently, “If you wouldn’t mind calling the shop and making an appointment, ma’am? It sounds like it’s got a short or something, but I won’t be able to tell unless you bring it in.”

“Of course. Sorry. It was just suddenly on my mind and I thought I’d bring it up, that’s all.” Beatrice watched the mechanic poke around under the hood for another couple of minutes, then said, “I guess the shop didn’t used to be as busy as it is now? I think I know someone who used to work for y’all.”

The mechanic turned around to face her. “You mean Glen? That’s right. It wasn’t ever really slow at the shop, but we needed to cut costs. We had one too many mechanics there. Glen is a good guy and a good mechanic, but the others were just a little better.”

But even a mediocre mechanic would know how to disable a car. Out of all the potential suspects, wouldn’t he best know how to cut brake lines? Especially when it meant making sure the lines weren’t
completely
severed so that there would be enough brake fluid for Jo to feel comfortable leaving her driveway and going out on her route? Enough so that the brake fluid would finally be depleted on Jo’s curving mountainous trek?

* * *

Unfortunately, the mechanic had needed to tow the car to the shop. Miss Sissy, also, was completely disinclined to offer any payment for the services rendered. The Lincoln needed to be removed from Beatrice’s driveway, so she ended up paying for the tow. But if Miss Sissy wanted to pick up her car from the shop, she was going to have to fork over the money for the repair herself.

Finally, Miss Sissy’s car was out of the way. “I’ll run you home, Miss Sissy.” Although it was an easy walk, at this point Beatrice just wanted to make sure she was actually gone.

“I have an errand to run!” announced Miss Sissy.

Was this day ever going to end? She said through gritted teeth, “I thought you were returning from errands when you dropped by.”

“I was going back out again later to run the other one. It’s later,” explained the old woman.

“Where is it that you’re needing to go?”