Quilt or Innocence (15 page)

Posy carefully pulled the curtain over the door aside and looked through. “Miss Sissy, it’s just Wyatt. Is it okay if I open the door and let him in?”

Miss Sissy nodded reluctantly, but did come out of the kitchen, smoothing her dress a little.

Wyatt was dressed casually in a golf shirt and jeans. He gave Beatrice and Posy a wink when he saw them, but focused his attention mainly on Miss Sissy. “Miss Sissy, I’m glad to see you up and around again.”

She preened.

“I wanted to bring something by for you. I can only imagine how scary life might seem to you now after being attacked. I’m sure it’s one of those things that can make you jump at shadows or unexpected noises.”

Miss Sissy nodded and looked curiously at the paper bag he held.

“So I went by the hardware store, and they had this great selection of whistles in their camping section.” He reached into the paper bag and pulled out a shiny whistle on a bright red cord.

Miss Sissy’s eyes brightened and she reached out a gnarled hand, snatching the whistle away as quickly as she had the peanut brittle.

“So now you don’t have to worry,” he explained in a rush, apparently realizing that she could disappear at any moment. “Whenever you’re out and you don’t feel safe, you blow that whistle. Blow it as loud as you can and help will come running. That’s the nice thing about Dappled Hills, right? Help is never very far away.”

Miss Sissy glowed with appreciation. She put the red cord around her neck, stuck the whistle in her mouth . . . and blew as hard as she could.

Beatrice felt her heart leap into her mouth at the piercing blast, and saw that Posy and Wyatt looked equally shaken. Duchess, Posy’s beagle, barked frantically. Beatrice could only imagine how the noise must have hurt the dog’s ears.

Miss Sissy looked pleased at the noise she’d produced. Cork appeared in the kitchen door, his expression thunderous. He stared at the whistle, as if unwilling to believe his eyes. Miss Sissy bounded to the back of the house, cackling. Cork looked at Wyatt with narrowed eyes.

“Cork, Wyatt gave Miss Sissy a whistle so she wouldn’t feel so scared anymore. Isn’t that helpful?” Posy explained.

Wyatt smiled weakly at Cork.

“I suppose so,” drawled Cork. “Wouldn’t want Miss Sissy to feel scared, I guess. So long as she’s not blowing that whistle all the time—” The last bit was cut short by the shrill blast of the whistle and the beagle’s frantic barking in response.

Cork reached into a drawer, pulled out an iPod and earbuds, plugged his ears and disappeared.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure that as Miss Sissy gets used to the whistle, the novelty will wear off and she’ll feel more secure.”

He looked sheepishly at Posy and Beatrice, and Posy hurried to say, “I think it’s such a thoughtful thing to have done, Wyatt. She really has been in a state, and that whistle is the perfect way of handling it.”

As another piercing shrill of the whistle penetrated the house, Wyatt winced. “I hope so, Posy. At least we know she won’t be attacked. No one would be able to get within a couple of yards of her if she’s blowing that whistle.”

The sun shone cheerfully on Beatrice’s backyard as she and Noo-noo enjoyed a late-morning brunch. Noo-noo nibbled her kibble and looked hopefully at the fluffy, buttered biscuits Beatrice was having with her coffee. Beatrice dearly loved homemade biscuits. But why worry with baking your own when the refrigerated ones were practically as good?

It had been hard to wake up this morning. The soft quilt that Felicity had given her had formed a comfy cocoon, Noo-noo had snored gently next to the bed and the morning light bathed the room with a gentle glow.

There was something to be said for a morning ritual . . . and Beatrice loved the beginnings of her outdoor-breakfast ritual. She brought out a carafe of coffee, a china cup, sugar, cream, spoons and napkins on a tray with the biscuits, and set them out on the little wrought-iron table. Relaxation had definitely felt strange at first—she was so used to the fast pace of her life and job in Atlanta. But as she tilted her face up to feel the warmth of the sun and relaxed in the yard with the scent of magnolias filling the air . . . it all conspired to convert her to a simpler way of life.

With a happy sigh, Beatrice added an extra scoop of sugar to her coffee. Noo-noo gave up on the biscuits and rolled onto her back for a little nap. Beatrice took in a deep, cleansing breath, held it, breathed out, took a sip of her coffee . . . then froze as she heard a tremendous crashing through her bushes by an unseen intruder. Noo-noo rolled over, jumped up, and started furiously barking in the direction of the noise. Beatrice, thinking of uncaught murderers, snatched up the carafe of coffee, ready to fling the hot liquid at whatever perpetrator charged into the yard.

Then she saw Boris’s goofy grin and relaxed, even as Noo-noo got tenser. The huge dog bounded into the yard with delight, blue leash trailing along behind him. A moment later, there was more rustling in the bushes and Meadow appeared, leaves snagged in her braid and a beaming smile on her rosy face. “Boris!” she panted. “Bad boy! Shouldn’t run off.” Thoroughly winded, Meadow plopped down into the other lawn chair and seemed oblivious to Beatrice’s less-than-welcoming look.

Beatrice knew from past experience with people who trespassed on her time that you can only have your time abused if you
allow
it to be abused. Meadow, she reminded herself, was a likable person. But boundaries had to be set. Visits before breakfast just couldn’t become routine. For heaven’s sake, Beatrice was only now starting to get the hang of relaxing and enjoying her solitude!

“Meadow”—she used a firm but kind voice—“I would love to invite you to have coffee with me, but . . .”

Meadow, leaning over and fumbling for Boris’s leash, looked up at Beatrice with such tremendous gratitude on her face that it stopped Beatrice’s little speech more effectively than anything else could have done.

“Oh, Beatrice,
thank
you. I’ll take you up on your offer of coffee. Crazy morning. I swear, some days I can’t seem to do anything right. I couldn’t even hold on to Boris’s leash this morning! And I’m worried sick about the murder and the attack on Miss Sissy. I mean,
really
? Who attacks a helpless old lady like Miss
Sissy
? I was up half the night worrying over it all. And wondering who was behind it.” Meadow blinked at the tray. “Were you having a tea party, just you and Noo-noo? I’ll run in for another cup if you hold Boris.”

Somehow, Beatrice found herself clutching the huge beast’s leash and looking into his grinning face. Noo-noo stared reproachfully at her. She’d have to mend some bridges with her later today. And Meadow was clearly delusional. Miss Sissy, a helpless old lady? In what alternate universe? Miss Sissy was only slightly less alarming to Beatrice than the murderer. Boris drooled delightedly at the sight of Beatrice’s last remaining biscuit, and before she could anticipate his next move, he’d reached his massive head over and gobbled it up.

Beatrice gritted her teeth. “Peace, calm, kindness,” she grated out, using Piper’s mantra. Boris burped.

Meadow ambled up, humming off tune, with a china cup in her hand. She poured herself a generous cup of coffee from the carafe, put several teaspoons of sugar in her cup, and set it on the table before taking the leash from Beatrice. Winding it around her chair leg, she gave a deep chuckle at the fluffy biscuit crumb on Boris’s face. “Had some more breakfast, big boy? I was wondering where that other biscuit had gotten to. You should thank Beatrice for spoiling you with goodies. This is the second time she’s done it! Beatrice, it’s official—Boris is your number one fan. He runs over here every chance he gets. You can tell he loves you.”

Meadow took a gulp from her coffee with enough of a slurp to set Beatrice’s teeth on edge. Boris continued grinning at her lovingly. “Now,
this
is good coffee! You’ll have to give Ramsay some coffee-making lessons. He was up before I was this morning, and the coffee was absolutely ghastly. I think it was his revenge for my forgetting to tape
Wheel
again.”

Peace, calm, kindness. She was feeling a little prissy sitting so straight in her wrought-iron chair, scowling at the sprawling, slouching Meadow. Before she could try to move past her reserve, Meadow said in a quiet voice, “You have a gorgeous backyard, Beatrice. The magnolias, the azalea bushes, the Knock Out rosebushes. What a peaceful oasis.”

Beatrice hurried to speak before Meadow started spouting some mantras herself (and Beatrice had a feeling that Meadow’s might take a while). “It certainly is—I’m very lucky. You seem . . . stressed-out, Meadow. Is it Judith’s murder or Miss Sissy? Or something else?”

“It’s everything. I’m completely shocked about Judith and Miss Sissy. You’d think I’d be immune to trouble, being married to the police chief. But all Ramsay usually has to deal with in Dappled Hills is barking-dog complaints or bringing old Mrs. Towne her prescription, since she’s shut-in. And he has to help put up the Christmas lights downtown and take them down again. It’s not as if I’ve gotten hardened to some dark criminal underbelly of Dappled Hills. It doesn’t exist!” Meadow moved restlessly in her chair, and Boris laid his head on her leg with concern.

“I don’t
like
wondering which of my friends or neighbors might be some crazed killer, either. A murderer! In the Village Quilters!” Meadow shook her head.

Meadow gave a small sniff, and Beatrice realized with horror that she was on the verge of bursting into tears. “It might not be someone in the guild,” said Beatrice quickly. “Who knows? It could be anyone. No one liked the woman.”

Meadow’s lip quivered. “No, it’s someone in the Village Quilters. It has to be, Beatrice. I started out so angry with Ramsay for suspecting my friends in the guild. It makes me so sad to think of it. It’s taken all the fun out of the group for me. I’m not even looking forward to our meeting today.”

That was right—there was a guild meeting today. “You know, Meadow, since I’m sort of an outsider, maybe I can look at the situation with a better perspective and a little distance. Maybe I can help to solve the case.”

Beatrice blinked in surprise when Meadow leaped up, nearly upsetting the table in the process, and hugged her. “Would you? I was thinking that as guild president, maybe I had a responsibility to get to the bottom of it. Not that I don’t have faith in Ramsay and the state police, but I
know
these women. I should be able to pinpoint who might be capable of murder. But the fact that I
do
know them has put blinders on me. I
love
these ladies, even the ones who sometimes get on my last nerve. I simply can’t picture anyone as a killer or someone who’d beat up old ladies.”

“I’ll be at the guild meeting today,” said Beatrice. “I’m hoping that as I spend more time with the quilters, something might jump out at me that doesn’t seem right.”

Meadow smiled. “Will you be quilting at the meeting?”

“Well, I’m not so sure about that. You know, I tried to do a small quilt, just to practice, but Daisy saw it and was pretty appalled. I might decide not to give you a block for the group quilt. I think I need some more practice first.”

“Your quilt will probably end up a lot better than you think,” said Meadow. “I bet you’ll be an ace quilter in no time!”

Beatrice had her doubts, though. Her experience with quilts was of looking at them as works of art . . . and she knew that her quilting couldn’t measure up. It was frustrating.

“By the way,” said Meadow with a sappy grin. “Ash has loved spending time with Piper. They really seemed to hit it off! Wouldn’t it be fantastic if we weren’t simply neighbors and in the same quilting guild . . . but if we were family, too?” Boris grinned at her, as if agreeing with Meadow.

Peace, calm, kindness.

* * *

“If y’all don’t mind,” said Amber in a hushed voice, “could you keep the conversation off the murder? Mother hasn’t really been feeling well today, and I’m hoping she can relax this afternoon.”

It was Felicity’s turn to host the guild, and she’d insisted on going through with the hosting. Felicity and Meadow were in the kitchen, putting together a tray with snacks and drinks.

Daisy’s face puckered with concern. “Is your mama doing all right, Amber? It seems like Judith’s death has really shaken her up.”

Amber’s expression darkened and she shrugged.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Daisy kindly. “My husband always talks about how many of his patients’ problems are really just a side effect of stress. Maybe it’s the stress of the murder that’s taking a while for her to get over.”

Beatrice made a mental note to avoid being Harrison Butler’s patient at all costs. It would be highly annoying to go in for gout and be told her problems were all due to stress.

Amber pressed her lips closer together, apparently to keep any ill-advised words from popping out.

Minutes later, they were all sitting together in Felicity’s living room, pulling out their blocks and needles for hand piecing. And so far, Felicity seemed relaxed.

Daisy said, “Y’all, I’m going to make a pledge to you right here and now. I will never do yard work again. Ever! You’ve got my word on it.” She pulled up her sleeve a bit and there was a nasty rash on her arm. “Poison ivy. Right there in my yard! That’s the thanks I get for gardening.”

Meadow made a face and seemed to scoot away from Daisy on the sofa. “That’s a nasty rash, Daisy. Has it been bothering you?”

“It’s been giving me absolute fits!”

Posy’s face crinkled with concern. “Have you tried oatmeal on it for the itch? Poison ivy is so miserable!”

“I’ve been plenty uncomfortable, but Harrison has been such a doll. He’s fussed over me like a mother and promised that he’d get me a yard service starting immediately to take care of the yard. No more weeding or hedge trimming for me.”

Amber appeared deeply engrossed in her appliqué. Her block for the group quilt was a luscious square with sumptuous colors. It featured a sun with curled scarlet, amber, and crimson rays licking out from the curlicue base. She told Beatrice it symbolized the sun and vacation, but Beatrice wondered if it was more of a symbol of Amber’s passionate nature.

Meadow, who seemed grossed out by Daisy’s poison ivy, said, “Posy, give us all an update on Miss Sissy. Is she doing any better?”

Felicity frowned with concern, and Amber rolled her eyes. Beatrice guessed, though, that Amber was probably used to Meadow’s sticking her foot in it. Meadow had been in the kitchen with Felicity and hadn’t heard Amber ask them not to mention the murder.

Posy said, “She’s doing pretty well, I think. She’s still got a huge knot on her head, but other than that, she seems like she’s back to her old self again.”

Beatrice thought of the malevolent, elfish face and shuddered.

“So she’s walking around, quilting and doing all her usual activities?” asked Georgia with interest.

“She sure is. Except . . . well, she acts a little crazy.” Posy shrugged a thin shoulder. “She seems to think she’s back in the 1930s. Cork told her
Little Orphan Annie
had gone off the air and she tossed the radio in the trash can. Poor thing.”

Beatrice winced. “And you didn’t call me to say that Miss Sissy needed another place to stay? I’d have thought that would have been one of the final straws for Cork.”

“Oh no. Besides, that radio hasn’t worked for at least ten years. We use our iPods. Poor Miss Sissy just turned that dial and turned it . . .” Posy shook her head sadly as she made an expert stitch in her block. “She even called my cordless phone an instrument of the devil.”

Savannah said, “If she’s convinced she’s still living in the twentieth century, her house must be like a museum. I’ve never been in there. Does she even
have
a television? She probably has one of those rotary phones, too, right? Not that I have a cell phone myself, but it seems like everyone else does.”

“Actually,” said Beatrice slowly, “she did have a cell phone.”

“A cell phone?” everyone chimed in.

Beatrice paused with her stitching before she ended up missing even more stitches than usual in her distraction. “She did. She had a cell phone. I saw it sitting on the table but used my own phone to call for an ambulance.”

Posy knit her brows. “That’s so odd. She hasn’t asked me to fetch it for her. And, really, who on earth would she call?”

“Maybe,” said Georgia slowly, “it’s one of those things that someone told her she should have . . . in case of emergency. In case she’s driving around and that old Lincoln of hers breaks down and she needs to call for help.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “From what I’ve seen of Miss Sissy’s driving, the only person likely to need to call for help is any pedestrian who gets in her way.”

The others laughed, except for Posy, who still frowned. “In all the rush and worry for Miss Sissy, I don’t think I’ve done a good job looking after her house. When you called me on the way to the hospital, Beatrice, I put together a small bag of her things and hurried back out again. She seemed happy with the things I brought over and she hasn’t asked to go by her house and pick up anything else.” Posy blushed. “You know, Beatrice, I don’t think I even locked the door. I guess I figured I’d be going back over there again to get more things. But that hasn’t happened.” Her small face looked miserable.