Shear Trouble (12 page)

“Not everybody,” said Eric quickly. “Somebody wanted him dead.”

Meadow opened her mouth and then shut it again. She couldn’t really contest that.

“But no,” he said to Beatrice, “I didn’t go to church the other day. I didn’t know Frank Helmsley. I didn’t know most people in town.” He looked at the clock. “And now I think you should see your movie. I need to get it started so we stay on schedule.”

Beatrice and Meadow walked thoughtfully into the theater and watched
A Funny Thing About Love
, which Beatrice found neither funny nor really about love—mostly about infatuation. Meadow made a face at her about a third of the way through the movie after all the popcorn was gone. “I think I’m done,” she said in her loud whisper. But this time the high volume of her whisper didn’t matter, since they were the only ones in the theater.

Eric’s anger somehow had the effect of making Beatrice exhausted. She could only imagine how
Eric
felt, carrying around that much pent-up anger and bitterness. Beatrice stayed awake as long as she could that night, hoping to make it to something like a regular bedtime. She really didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night again,
feeling as though it were time to wake up. Beatrice worked on her quilt a bit, but she was so tired that she kept making errors, so she finally stopped. She looked at the clock. Eight o’clock. That was too early to turn in, but she’d have to or else she’d nod off in her chair.

Hours later—she wasn’t sure how many—Beatrice awoke to the sound of Noo-noo giving a low growl. Beatrice sat straight up in bed, instantly awake. It was an ominous warning that made the tiny hairs on the back of Beatrice’s neck stand on end. She slid her legs out of bed into the chilliness of the room, instinctively grabbed her robe to wrap it around her, and hurried into the tiny living room.

Noo-noo was standing at the front door, giving that same low growl—and her hair was also standing on end. The kitten also started growling and backing away. Beatrice hurried to the door, paused, then switched on the outside lights and peeked outside, almost dreading what she might see.

And she saw . . . nothing. Beatrice peered around, looking for some sign of an intruder. All she saw was her quiet yard, her car, and shadows thrown from the trees in the weak light of a crescent moon. She turned off the lights and reached down to pet Noo-noo.

“Are you on edge, too, Noo-noo?” she asked, smoothing down the corgi’s fur. “It’s okay. Did you hear a deer, maybe? That could be a scary sound . . . all that crashing around.”

But Noo-noo stayed alert, intently staring at the door. Beatrice looked outside again. The little dog seemed so sure that something was out there that Beatrice felt bad about not giving it credence. Still, she saw nothing. She gave Noo-noo another pat and said, “Keep guarding for me, okay, girl? I’m going to try to get more sleep.”

After spending the next forty-five minutes tossing and turning, Beatrice walked back to the living room to retrieve the big book that Ramsay had lent her to read. That was sure to put her to sleep. Noo-noo still stayed sentry at the front door.

When Beatrice walked out to get her paper the next morning, she saw what must have made Noo-noo so upset the night before. Her heart pounded as she stared at the four slashed tires on her car.

Beatrice hurried back into her cottage and shut and locked the door behind her, trembling. Then she took a deep, steadying breath. She was fine. It was only a warning. And that’s what she felt sure it was—a warning. This was no teenage prankster out for a night of reckless vandalism. This was somebody who was letting her know she was getting too close to the truth—and to back off.

“Noo-noo, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” she said swiftly, bending down to rub the corgi. Noo-noo gave her a soulful look that informed her that gratitude was
best expressed in the form of a dog treat. She followed Beatrice into the kitchen, where Beatrice took a treat from the canister on her counter and tossed it to the dog. Then Beatrice dialed Ramsay’s number.

Minutes later, Ramsay and Meadow were both in her driveway. Meadow had insisted that Ramsay take her with him to Beatrice’s house. She was still in her plaid pajamas and bright green bathrobe and looked like a distressed Christmas ornament. “Beatrice, I can’t believe this. Who on earth would do such a thing?” she asked. Then she promptly burst into tears. Boris, whom Meadow had also apparently insisted on coming, looked sorrowfully at Meadow as he hung out the police cruiser’s back window.

Ramsay sighed and looked up at the heavens for strength. Then he put an arm around Meadow. “There, there. It’s all going to be fine. You’ll see. Let’s go in Beatrice’s house and pay Noo-noo a visit. Boris, too.” He raised his eyebrows at Beatrice, asking permission.

“I can make us all some coffee,” said Beatrice kindly. Which, for some reason, made Meadow cry even harder.

It took a few minutes, but finally Meadow settled down a bit and was able to drink her cup of steaming hot Guatemalan coffee—Beatrice’s favorite. The turning point was when an alarmed Noo-noo put her head on Meadow’s leg to comfort her. That made Meadow give
a small laugh through her tears and she reached down to scratch behind Noo-noo’s ears. The kitten watched them from her safe perch on top of a bookshelf.

“So, are you going out there?” Meadow asked Ramsay. “You’ll take measurements of footprints and fingerprints and look for clues as to who would have done such a thing to our Beatrice?”

Ramsay gave his wife a startled look. “Meadow, I can’t launch a full forensics investigation into what’s basically a prank. I’d have to call in the state police, and they’d think I’d lost my mind.”

Meadow frowned at him. “Of course you can. This is Beatrice. And it’s clear that whoever did this is also responsible for two murders. Maybe there’s something at the scene to tie the crimes together.”

Beatrice jumped in. “Meadow, it’s sweet of you to feel that way. The truth is, though, that Ramsay is right. This isn’t a murder—it’s vandalism. It’s costly, and I’m reporting it. But there’s no evidence that it’s anything other than that and Ramsay can’t spend a lot of time and energy on this when there is a murderer to remove from the streets.” Still, she shivered as she thought about the darkness last night and Noo-noo’s growling and her vigil at the front door.

“Well,” said Meadow, giving Ramsay an angry look, “I still say they’re obviously connected. And here you are, living all by yourself with killers surrounding you on all sides.”

Ramsay squinted at her. “On all sides? We live on that side, and Beatrice’s daughter lives just across the street. And Miss Sissy. Although I guess Miss Sissy could be considered a bit homicidal, if you take her driving into account.”

Meadow ignored him. “It’s dangerous. That’s what I’m saying. And Ramsay clearly hasn’t had enough of his coffee this morning or he’d agree with me. That’s why I want to lend Boris to you for a while. Until this investigation is through and the murderer is in jail somewhere far away.”

Beatrice tried to keep her expression neutral. But she was pretty sure the last thing she needed was Boris in her tiny cottage—knocking down small tables and scavenging for treats in her little kitchen. And what would the poor kitten think?

“It might be a good idea,” said Ramsay. “I’m not saying there’s necessarily malicious intent here, but you just never know. Noo-noo is a big help, too, of course, but Boris might make someone . . . well, think twice.”

Boris grinned, tongue lolling out. She could have sworn he winked at her. Beatrice had the strong feeling that Ramsay was simply hoping to keep Boris from being underfoot at the Downey household for the next couple of days.

“I guess it wouldn’t do any harm,” she said, somewhat ungraciously. Then, as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

Now that the guard dog assignment was settled, Meadow turned to say indignantly to Ramsay, “And shame on you for saying that there were pranksters in Dappled Hills when you know there’s no such thing! Aren’t murderers bad enough without having pranksters, too? Why don’t you accept that one person did all three crimes?”

Ramsay rolled his eyes at Meadow. Meadow was apparently taking the recent Dappled Hills crime wave very poorly. Instead of answering her, Ramsay said, “Beatrice, let me replace those tires for you. I can call over to the automotive shop and ask if they have your car’s size in stock. Then I can bring them here and put them on.”

“Or have Ash put them on,” suggested Meadow.

Beatrice said gloomily, “There’s no point in your lugging tires over here to put them on the car, Ramsay, although I appreciate the offer. It’s not far to get it towed. Then they can put them on for me while I wait.”

Ramsay said cautiously, “I’m not saying that this act of vandalism
is
connected with the recent murders, but if they
are
 . . . they clearly would function as a warning of some kind. Do you have any idea, Beatrice, why someone might try to warn you off this case? You’re not still digging around, are you?” His kind face was concerned. “You know my thoughts on that.”

“I—” Beatrice looked helplessly over at Meadow. She didn’t want to claim involvement in any type of
investigation, but she somehow didn’t feel capable of lying to Ramsay, either. Meadow was, rather unhelpfully, messing with Boris’s collar and determinedly looking away from Beatrice.

Finally, she continued. “I’m not digging, Ramsay. But as I’m going around town, doing my regular business, I’m asking questions. I can’t seem to help it. The puzzle underneath these crimes fascinates me somehow. I used to feel the same way when I was curator in Atlanta. We’d get some fabulous piece in and I couldn’t wait to uncover the story behind it.” Beatrice shrugged.

Meadow decided to pipe up. “She has a gift,” she stated stoutly.

Ramsay ignored this. He urged, “Tell me what you found out. Was there anything that you can think of that might have made the murderer uncomfortable enough to do something like this . . . if he
did
do something like this?”

“I wouldn’t have said that I knew very much,” said Beatrice, spreading out her hands in front of her. She frowned and considered the question. “No, there’s nothing that I feel that I know that’s particularly important or dangerous for me to know. The only thing that really stood out was Frank Helmsley telling me he knew who did it. But I told you about that—unfortunately, after he’d already been silenced.”

“Just be very careful, Beatrice,” said Ramsay, looking solemn. “Be aware of your surroundings when
you’re out and about. And stop digging around, since it’s possible you might be getting close to the killer.”

“And let Boris and Noo-noo work hard as the best guard dogs ever!” said Meadow fiercely, giving her massive beast a tight hug before they left to head back home.

*   *   *

After they left, Beatrice got ready and called the repair shop as soon as they opened. Before long, they sent a tow truck over and gave her a lift to the shop to wait for the tires to be replaced. She sat in a narrow wood-paneled room in a folding chair with old copies of car magazines offered as reading material on rickety card tables. She briefly considered the coffee and then realized that the slightly burned smell in the room came from the coffeepot. Since the shop just opened, Beatrice wasn’t sure exactly what this meant. Had the coffee been sitting on the burner since the day before?

Being that this was a small town, the mechanics asked Beatrice a lot of questions that she didn’t have the answers to. She had a feeling that news would quickly spread around Dappled Hills that she’d been the victim of a prank.

When her cell phone rang, she jumped. It was Piper.

“Mama! Are you okay? Were you scared to death this morning when you saw your tires? Where are you now?”

Well, she hadn’t expected the mechanics to spread
word
that
fast. “You know about the tires?” she asked weakly.

“Meadow called me.”

She should have known that Meadow’s network was a lot faster than anything at the auto body shop.

“I’m fine,” Beatrice said firmly. “And yes—it did shake me up at first. Last night was a little scary, too, with Noo-noo growling like that. Poor dog. I was convinced she’d been spooked by a deer, but she knew all along that someone was out there.” She gave a shiver and then sternly told herself to buck up.

“Do you want me to stay with you for a while? Maybe for the week? I’d be happy to do that.” Piper’s voice was still anxious despite her attempts to sound strong.

“Absolutely not,” said Beatrice, this time with a lot more authority. She had a picture in her mind of the two of them trying to share space in the tiny cottage with two dogs and a kitten. Pulling guard duty with a rolling pin. It didn’t bear thinking about. “Besides,” she said in a lighter tone, “didn’t you hear that I had a special alarm system put in? It’s supposed to be foolproof.”

Now there was a hint of a smile in Piper’s voice. “You mean Boris the Great? Are you sure Boris has time to be a guard dog? The way Meadow tells it, Boris might be busy writing a dissertation on molecular physics.”

“At least I’ll have two very bright dogs who are light
sleepers. I’ll be fine.” Something occurred to her, though. If she knew Piper, and she was sure she did, then she was probably avoiding the whole Ash situation. Hoping it would get better, but not doing anything to make it better. “There is one thing you could do for me, though. It’s a little backed up at the shop here,” she fibbed. “Could you run by Meadow’s house and pick up Boris’s dog food? I swear I remember that he was on a special diet now. Supposed to help him lose weight, I think.” Not surprising, considering how many times he raided Beatrice’s kitchen.

“Meadow’s house?” Piper’s voice sounded a bit faint. Beatrice didn’t think it had anything to do with their cell phone connection.

“That’s right. I could do it myself, but I’m just not sure how long I’m going to be here. . . .”

“No worries, Mama. I’ll run by there now.”

Beatrice could imagine that Piper was squaring her shoulders, preparing to charge into battle.

“I appreciate it, sweetie. See you soon.” Beatrice hung up and wondered if she should feel guilty for interfering and pushing the issue a little. She found that she didn’t feel guilty at all. Boris
did
need his special dog food. And Beatrice might be stuck here for a while at the shop. If she didn’t get that food over to the house, goodness knew what Boris might do in her kitchen in his desperation.

The door to the narrow room opened and a blast of cool air from the repair bays made Beatrice look up. John Simmons walked in. The tall, lean man gave her a small smile of greeting but didn’t seem to be able to place her as someone he knew. No wonder—whenever Martha was anywhere in the vicinity, John was always completely focused on her. A volcano could erupt in Dappled Hills and John would only be aware of Martha’s presence.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “I think you’re Martha’s friend. Is that right? I’m Beatrice Coleman—I’m also a friend of Martha’s . . . a quilting friend.”

John’s thin face creased in a smile that reached up to his startlingly blue eyes behind his rather scholarly-looking glasses. “That’s right. How are you, Beatrice? It’s probably been a very strange week for you, hasn’t it?”

“Even stranger than you know. I’m here at the shop because my car was vandalized. All four tires were slashed.” Beatrice grimaced.

John’s face registered shock. “I can’t believe it.” He held up a thin hand in apology and quickly added, “I mean, it’s not that I don’t believe you, Beatrice. Sorry, that came out wrong. It’s only that it’s so difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea of someone doing something like that here in Dappled Hills. I’ve lived here my entire life and I can’t recall any vandalism at all.”

“I know. Meadow Downey seems to take it as a personal affront that something like this could happen here. But it did.”

John leaned forward, studying Beatrice gravely. “Did Ramsay think it was some sort of teenage prank? I wouldn’t have said we even really had enough teens in town to carry out something like this.”

“Ramsay did mention that it could be a prank. Although I told him that it felt like a warning,” said Beatrice, carefully watching John for a reaction.

He drew in a shallow gasp. “A warning? For what? You think you’re in some kind of danger?” His bright blue eyes displayed a sudden doubt. Doubt for what? Was he beginning to think that Beatrice was a bit nutty?

“Well, I thought it might be the murderer trying to warn me off from figuring out who’s behind these crimes,” said Beatrice.

“Crimes?” John put a slight emphasis on the
s
. “You mean Frank?” His high forehead creased in concentration. “But Martha told me . . . that Frank’s death was an accident. An
awful
accident,” he hurried to add, as if he hadn’t expressed that enough the first time. “Martha said . . . well, she said . . .”

“That Frank had been drinking and fell down the stairs.” Beatrice nodded. “And that
could
have happened. But then you have to ask yourself why Frank Helmsley, with absolutely no religious interest, would be at the church.”

John Simmons’s eyes showed complete lack of creativity of any kind as they steadily looked into Beatrice’s.