Quilt or Innocence (16 page)

“It’s all right,” said Beatrice briskly. “You’re doing enough just handling Miss Sissy’s
Little Orphan Annie
fixation. I’ve got a couple of errands to run after I leave here, anyway—I’ll pop by Miss Sissy’s on the way home. I’ll grab the phone, in case she wants it, and lock the door behind me.”

Posy smiled in relief and started hand-piecing again.

* * *

The
Sleeping Beauty
–like aspect of Miss Sissy’s yard had gotten decidedly worse. Maybe Daisy could send her new yard man over to give Miss Sissy’s house a haircut. Because that’s what the house looked like it had: hair. There were vines all over the roof and descending along the brick sides—thorny vines, flowering vines, vines of every description. Beatrice carefully edged her way through the unlocked door and into the dimness of the house.

Although the day was a hot one and Miss Sissy’s house had no outward signs of having an air-conditioning unit, it was surprisingly cool inside. Must be because no daylight could penetrate through the windows with all those vines covering the glass.

There was the spot where Miss Sissy had lain on the floor. There was that massive old table where the phone had been . . . Beatrice blinked. The phone was no longer there. But it
had
been there—Beatrice hadn’t dreamed it. Had someone come in and stolen it? Surely, though, a burglar would have taken other things? Not that the other things were modern, valuable . . . or even clean. The heavy layer of dust in the house played havoc with Beatrice’s allergies and her eyes watered.

Remembering back to that day, though, it wasn’t only the cell phone that was on the table—there had been a stack of papers there, too. In fact, it had been amazing that she’d even seen the phone with all the papers surrounding it. All fire-and-brimstone ramblings about the wages of sin or some such. Beatrice edged closer to the table. The papers were missing, too. Now she really was starting to feel like she was losing it. She’d
seen
the phone and the papers. Could the police have taken them? No, probably not. She had the feeling that Ramsay was determined to treat Miss Sissy’s assault as a break-in gone wrong. He certainly didn’t want a murder attempt on
his
watch. He wouldn’t have thought twice about seeing a cell phone there.

As she was standing, looking down with irritation at the spot where the papers and cell phone
should
have been, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and an ominous feeling grabbed hold of her. She twisted to look around behind her, but only got the sensation of some presence there before she felt a terrific blow to the back of her head and slumped to the floor.

As Beatrice lay on the floor, she felt a thin grasp on consciousness. She was aware enough to realize, though, that she needed to look as dead as possible. Her attacker leaned in close to her; she could hear the panting breath. Beatrice lay perfectly still. There was a strong, strange odor in the air. She couldn’t place it, but it smelled familiar. As the panting presence leaned in closer, Beatrice held her breath to seem as convincingly dead as she could. Apparently convinced, her attacker hurried out the door, and Beatrice closed her eyes . . . just for a minute. And completely blacked out.

* * *

Beatrice wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she groggily came to again. It could only have been minutes, she thought blearily. Or it could have been hours. When the house was as dark as Miss Sissy’s always was, who knew?

She shifted on the hard floor to reach a hand into the pocket of her slacks for her cell phone. It looked like about half an hour had passed. She clicked on her contacts list and poised her thumb over Piper’s name, then paused. No, she’d call Ramsay first. Especially since he’d not connected Miss Sissy’s attack with Judith’s murder.

Beatrice gingerly sat up, holding the cell phone to her head, and dialed Ramsay and Meadow. Meadow picked up, sounding cheery. Typical, thought Beatrice, closing her eyes briefly. “Meadow?” she said. “Is Ramsay there? There’s a problem . . .”

Minutes later, Meadow and Ramsay arrived. Meadow bustled around, arms flapping like an angry mother bird, burbling in concern while Ramsay surveyed the scene with a sour look on his face.

Beatrice said calmly, “Ramsay, I was attacked by Judith’s killer. There’s no other explanation. And I think it was probably by someone I know, too. I mentioned at the guild meeting this afternoon that I was going to run by Miss Sissy’s to get her cell phone and lock her door. I don’t think that cell phone I saw was Miss Sissy’s; I think it must have been the murderer’s. Whoever the murderer was didn’t want me to have that phone as evidence.”

Ramsay shook his head in an automatic no. “Beatrice, I hear what you’re saying. But it really doesn’t make any sense. If the murderer was in your quilt guild and knew you were going straight over to Miss Sissy’s, then why risk being seen? And how did she manage to get here first and swipe the phone?”

“Because I said that I was coming here after I ran some errands. Which I did.”

Ramsay said in a gruff voice, “I’m just not buying it, Beatrice.” Beatrice started a hot retort, and Ramsay blurted, “I’m not saying you weren’t attacked. But I don’t believe for a second that it was some crazed killer. I think it must have been this same burglar, coming back for more stuff.”

Beatrice’s head throbbed and she said more crossly than she would have liked, “For heaven’s sake, Ramsay!
What
stuff? More mildewed wooden chairs that need to be caned? A wobbly table? Whatever decomposing food is going rancid in the ancient fridge? This isn’t stuff that’s going to tempt even the most desperate thief. She was here to cover up her attack on Miss Sissy. And she attacked
Miss Sissy
because she thought Miss Sissy knew something about her involvement in Judith’s murder.” Just because Ramsay didn’t want crime to happen didn’t mean that it wouldn’t.

Ramsay rubbed his face tiredly. “It just doesn’t seem like something that could happen in Dappled Hills,” he said. “It’s so much more likely that we’ve got an unpremeditated murder because Judith drove someone to it. And then Miss Sissy’s attack was probably a burglar who came back for more stuff and was surprised by your being here. I can’t see Dappled Hills being the home of some homicidal maniac.”

Meadow clucked. “Let’s get out of here, y’all. It’s getting spookier in here by the minute, and Beatrice probably needs to run by the doctor’s.”

Beatrice shook her head, then winced at the sharp pain that resulted. “Oh no. Not me. I’m not heading out to visit the good doctor tonight.” The thought of spending time with Daisy’s pompous Harrison wasn’t making her headache any better.

Ramsay gently pushed her hair aside to look at the lump. “I don’t know who did this to you, Beatrice, but you’re a very lucky lady. If that blow had happened just a fraction of an inch to one side, we really
might
have been investigating another murder. And I do think you should have that lump looked at.”

Beatrice really just wanted to crawl under the covers and go to bed. “I know it’s not bedtime, but I’m exhausted,” she said. “The last thing I want to do is to drive out of town and go to an urgent-care unit and wait for hours to be seen.” She lifted her hand as they opened their mouths to protest. “And y’all know that’s what would happen. Dappled Hills doesn’t have an urgent care, does it?”

Meadow shook her head sadly.

“One thing I will insist on, then,” said Ramsay sternly, “is that we keep an eye on you for the rest of the night. In case you change your mind about that doctor. And because you’ve just been attacked, no matter the reason.”

“I could go to Piper’s house . . .” But then Beatrice stopped with a shrug. She’d moved to Dappled Hills to keep an eye on
Piper
, not the other way around. She was enjoying the mothering role too much to have the roles switched around. Besides, Piper lived in a one-bedroom duplex. It wasn’t the kind of togetherness that she liked.

Meadow clapped her hands. “A houseguest! Perfect! Boris will be so pleased,” said Meadow with a wink at Beatrice. “We’ll run by and pick up Noo-noo on the way so we can have a little sleepover soiree.”

Ramsay looked at Beatrice apologetically.

“What about Ash, though?” asked Beatrice, feeling as though she had lost control of the situation. “Isn’t he in the guest room?”

“We’ve got a three-bedroom barn, Beatrice! Plenty of room for all.” Meadow looked pleased with herself.

“I know one thing,” growled Ramsay. “We’re locking Miss Sissy’s blasted door this time.”

* * *

Beatrice was sure that sleeping the night in an unfamiliar place (and a barn, at that) would mean a restless night or a few disoriented awakenings. She was amazed when she woke slowly to the sound of birds chirping at the Downeys’ feeder and soft sunlight coming through the sheer curtains in the guest room.

Meadow was up and enthusiastically humming an off-key version of a
South Pacific
song. Her pajamas were as bright and mismatched as usual, and she was busily cooking enough breakfast to feed at least a dozen houseguests.

The eggs, bacon, grits, sausage and biscuits lured Beatrice into the kitchen, and her stomach growled to remind her that she hadn’t remembered to eat supper before she’d stumbled, exhausted, into the Downeys’ guest bed.

Meadow stopped humming as she spotted Beatrice. “There you are!” she exclaimed, pressing a mug of steaming coffee into her hands. “Here, have a seat.” Meadow shoved a cushioned kitchen chair her way and peered anxiously at Beatrice’s head. “How are you feeling? I very quietly tiptoed into your room a couple of times last night to make sure you were all right, and you seemed to be sleeping like a baby. And Noo-noo was, too, right at the foot of your bed. Guarding you well, the little furry angel.”

Actually, thought Beatrice, I’m feeling surprisingly good. Except for this unexpected vengefulness that’s welling up in me, that is. What
had
been an intellectual exercise for her was transforming into something very different. Yes, she was feeling a bit like Zorro this morning . . . She frowned at her flight of fancy.

“The throbbing has stopped,” said Beatrice. “Now my head is sensitive to the touch . . . so I’m keeping my hands off it.”

Meadow nodded, seeming to be only half listening. “Mmm. When will people learn,” she wondered aloud, “that violence is never the answer? Never! They should give peace a chance.”

Beatrice, fearing that Meadow might start rambling out some 1960s-inspired peace manifesto (or start singing some folk songs), quickly interjected, “Breakfast smells wonderful, Meadow. You’ve really outdone yourself!”

Meadow beamed and scooped heaping helpings of everything onto a large plate with an aggressive rose pattern on it. “If you have a full breakfast, then your day goes smoother. It does. Did you eat breakfast yesterday? Maybe you wouldn’t have even ended up getting attacked if you had, you know? Maybe you’d have had the ability to outrun or outthink your attacker.” Meadow mulled this over, absently stirring the eggs. Beatrice bit her tongue to keep from defending the biscuits she’d had for breakfast yesterday. Before Boris got to them. It wasn’t worth arguing with Meadow.

Ramsay trod heavily in on the old, creaking hardwood floor and looked around him, bleary-eyed. He looks to have a much worse headache than I do, Beatrice thought. Probably because the realization is sinking in that he really does have a dangerous person on the loose.

Meadow handed Ramsay a plate that was loaded down with eggs, sausage, grits and biscuits, and Ramsay shook his head. “Coffee?” he asked gruffly. “I only want some black coffee this morning.”

This was apparently unacceptable to Meadow. “Now, Ramsay, breakfast is the most important meal of the day! You need to gird yourself for a day of mental and physical exertion!” Ramsay was already at the coffeemaker, pouring a generous amount of coffee into a travel mug.

“Not this morning, Meadow. Not hungry.” As he headed to the back of the house to get ready for work, he had a clucking Meadow following behind him, still carrying the plate of food and insisting that she would foist it on him.

Beatrice jumped at pressure against her leg and looked down to see that Boris had placed his massive head on her lap and was looking into her eyes with a love-struck expression that Beatrice was fairly certain had to do with the slice of bacon on her plate.

Meadow trotted back into the kitchen, a look of satisfaction on her face. “There. Now we’re all going to have fuel to take on our day! Beatrice, I’m going to go out and weed the garden before the sun gets too hot. Take as long as you want over breakfast and eat as much as you’d like—there’s plenty of food on the stove, and Ash won’t eat but a little.” She picked up a children’s sand bucket with a spade and gardening gloves in it and hurried out the back door of the barn, humming a song from the musical again.

Beatrice gently moved her leg from under Boris’s head and took a deep breath of relaxation. It was quite peaceful in the barn without Meadow’s lively presence. Sunlight shone through the skylights and illuminated the cheerful colors of the assorted quilts below. The food
was
very good. Beatrice had always thought that there were only really a few ways to
make
breakfast, but somehow Meadow’s meal was delicious. Maybe there was cream cheese in the scrambled eggs?

As peaceful as the room currently was, Beatrice was restless to get back to her cottage and figure out what was at the bottom of these Dappled Hills attacks. What had yesterday evening been about? Had her attacker intended to kill her? Had she been at the point of discovering the murderer there in the room with her? Or was the attack simply intended as a warning, like Georgia’s notes in the soda bottles?

Could
Georgia
be behind something like that? She was such a gentle person that it seemed hard to imagine. But if she felt as if she were protecting Savannah, she might think she had no other choice. And she
was
behind the warning notes, after all. Beatrice frowned. She couldn’t picture it. But what if Savannah had attacked her? What if
Georgia
was behind Judith’s murder and Savannah was desperately trying to keep anyone from nosing around enough to find out? Beatrice could picture Georgia murdering Judith in the heat of the moment (it was difficult, but she could see it), but she sure couldn’t imagine Georgia sneaking up behind her in Miss Sissy’s house.

The ringing of the doorbell made Beatrice lay down her fork. Wasn’t it sort of early for a visit from someone? She felt an unfamiliar apprehension before brusquely dismissing the nervousness. Ash was somewhere in the house, after all, and surely would wake up if she started screaming. The chief of police was mere yards away, getting ready for work. Not to mention a tremendous beast who seemed to be deeply in love with her, as well as her own Noo-noo, who was at her heels at all times now. She should be safe to answer the doorbell.

When she peeked out the heavy wooden door and saw Georgia standing there, holding a plastic bag with quilting materials sticking out the top, Beatrice wavered for only a moment before unlocking the door.

Georgia blinked in surprise and then looked around her, as if making sure she hadn’t arrived at the wrong house. “Beatrice! I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said. “You must be an early bird like me. I knew Meadow and Ramsay would be up, so I thought I’d run by the quilting blocks for the new group quilt.”

“Why don’t you come on in for a few minutes, Georgia? If you have time, of course. Meadow is weeding out back, and Ramsay is getting ready for work. But Meadow cooked me breakfast and seemed to be under the mistaken impression that I am a three-hundred-pound body builder. There’s no way I can eat even a fraction of the food, and I know she’ll fuss.”

Georgia allowed herself to be led over to the kitchen table. Beatrice pulled out another of the rose plates and heaped it with food. “I’m sure you are surprised to see me here,” said Beatrice. “Especially considering I’m in my pajamas.”

Georgia nodded solemnly as Beatrice put the plate down in front of her. “I was sort of wondering about that. Although,” she said hurriedly, “it’s nice to be comfortable, isn’t it? That’s the first thing I do in the evenings is to get my pj’s on and my fuzzy slippers.”

“To tell you the truth,” said Beatrice, watching Georgia carefully for her reaction, “I was here all night. The Downeys thought it was a good idea for me to stay over because I was attacked yesterday when I went back to Miss Sissy’s house.”

The color drained from Georgia’s face. “No! Oh no!”

“I’m afraid so. You might remember that I told everyone at the guild meeting yesterday afternoon that I was planning on running by Miss Sissy’s house after I finished my errands. There was a cell phone at Miss Sissy’s house that we thought belonged to her, and I was going to get it and lock the door. But when I got there, the cell phone was gone—and someone hit me on the back of the head and knocked me out before I could do more looking around.”