Shear Trouble (13 page)

Clearly, he wasn’t going to be able to draw any conclusions. “The only reason that I could come up with is that someone thought that maybe I was figuring out who was behind these deaths and wanted to warn me to back off,” said Beatrice.

“That’s awful,” murmured John. “Who could do such a thing?”

“I was wondering that myself. Do you have any ideas, John? You’ve been in Dappled Hills for a long time. Who can you think of who would want Jason Gore and Frank Helmsley out of the way?”

John’s face flushed at Jason’s name. There seemed to be some unresolved feelings there. “Well, Jason—he was a bad guy. You might not have realized that, considering that you’re new in town. But he wasn’t what he seemed. He acted like he was Mr. Dappled Hills—everyone’s best friend. Like some kind of goodwill ambassador for the town.” John’s mouth twisted with scorn.

“I’m surprised that Martha would have spent so much time with him, considering how he was,” said Beatrice delicately.

His expression softened a bit at the mention of Martha. He said, “Martha is a wonderful, sensitive lady. But she hates to see the bad in people, and that causes her problems sometimes.”

Beatrice reflected that Martha seemed to very quickly see the bad in Phyllis. “So, if Jason was such a bad guy, you can probably think of some likely suspects. Anybody in particular?”

John gave her a curious look. “I’m starting to realize why someone might have wanted to give you a warning.” Then he looked down at his lap and at his long, spindly hands clasped neatly together. “Isn’t it usually family who are the first suspects in these types of crimes? I know Jason’s brother and he weren’t especially close. It seems like perhaps the police should consider him.”

“What makes you think they weren’t close?” asked Beatrice.

“I was actually around when Jason first returned to Dappled Hills a few months ago. I was having a coffee with Martha downtown and Eric was in line getting a muffin or something. Jason came through the door all smiles, acting as if he owned the town and Dappled Hills was going to be delighted to see him.” John snorted. “He didn’t exactly get a warm reaction from his brother, if that’s what he thought he was getting. Eric looked nauseated. He grabbed his muffin and got out of there without saying a word to his brother.”

“What did Martha say about it?” asked Beatrice. “Did she notice what was going on between those two?”

John held out his hands in a helpless gesture.
“Martha had a big blind spot when it came to Jason. The only thing she noticed was that Jason was back in town. Next thing I knew, she was putting on some lipstick and enthusiastically welcoming Jason. Which was a lot more of the kind of greeting he was looking for. He came over to our table and gave us a bunch of smooth talk. Acted as if we’d all be delighted to see him back in town . . . as if his own brother hadn’t given him the cold shoulder just a few minutes before.”

“Didn’t Martha know why Jason had left town to begin with?” asked Beatrice.

“If she didn’t before, she sure did when I filled her in after Jason finally left. But she acted as if I were making all that stuff up—because I wanted Martha all to myself. At that point, I could tell from the look on her face that she was interested in him.”

Beatrice studied John as he became lost in his memories. He muttered, as if almost to himself, “I just don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?” asked Beatrice.

“What she saw in him. He was all talk, all slick, insincere, toothy grins. Flashy. Nothing genuine about the man. His own brother wouldn’t talk to him after he’d been gone for seven years!” John gave Beatrice a bewildered look.

“Going back to Jason’s brother. How did he act after Jason left town? Why do you think he might be behind all this?” asked Beatrice.

“How did he act? How do you think he acted? He was completely humiliated. Plus, Eric was scraping by on this tiny salary and couldn’t come up with the cash to leave Dappled Hills. Not only that, but he was also left to care for his mother, who took a turn for the worse when the Golden Boy left town.”

Beatrice said, “So you’re saying that he was stuck in a town that he felt might associate him with his brother’s fraud.”

“Exactly. He was embarrassed by Jason but couldn’t move. And his poor mother went downhill fast. I was on the church committee to help bring food to her—she’d been a very loyal congregant. Every time I showed up at their door with a casserole, Eric could never bring himself to look at me. His mother passed away only a few weeks later. Jason didn’t come to the funeral—I guess he figured he might get arrested if he showed his face so soon after skipping town. What I remember about that funeral was Eric’s face. Most of the time when you go to a funeral, the family looks upset—they’re grieving. You could tell that Eric Gore was grieving, but that’s the emotion that was underneath it all. On the top was anger. He was furious about the whole situation. I almost felt as if he were mad at all of us, too—that Dappled Hills’ citizens were resentful about the entire situation and just putting up with the Gores to be nice.”

John shook his head and continued. “It wasn’t that
way at all. But that seemed to be how Eric felt about it because shortly after the funeral, Eric disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Not
really
. But for all intents and purposes. He stopped going to church, stopped going to town functions. Bolted in and out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Got a job in Lenoir. He stopped interacting with Dappled Hills,” said John.

“So you think Eric wanted to get rid of Jason?” Beatrice glanced out the glass door of the shop’s waiting room and saw a mechanic heading in their direction.

“Of course,” said John impatiently. “Why wouldn’t he? Eric has been suffering—he lost his mother, he’s lived on a shoestring, he’s been completely humiliated, and then his brother comes back into town as if nothing were wrong. It was bound to make him furious.”

The mechanic was pausing to pull out a towel to wipe off his hands. Beatrice said quickly, “But Eric was in Lenoir, working, when his brother was killed.”

John raised his eyebrows. “No, he wasn’t. Is that what he’s been saying? I saw him in downtown Dappled Hills myself. He was walking into the hardware store when I got out of my car that day. He was most definitely on the scene. I remember that day clearly. He was there.”

And so were you, thought Beatrice, remembering John’s anger at how undeserving Jason Gore was of Martha’s affection. She hesitated, and then said, “I
know you’re helping at the church a lot. Were you there the day that Frank died?”

John looked her right in the eye. “No. I was at home. Although I wish I could have been there for Martha during such a terrible ordeal.”

Beatrice stopped herself from correcting John by saying that Martha had suffered through
two
ordeals. She didn’t want to raise John’s blood pressure again.

Beatrice had optimistically sprung for a more expensive set of tires for the car and was pleased that they were guaranteed for nearly a hundred thousand miles. The mechanic said, “Yep, these should last you a good long time, especially seeing as how you’re mostly driving around town. As long as no punks go slashing them again.”

Beatrice didn’t think any punks were actually involved in the slashing. She hadn’t noticed any punks in the Dappled Hills area, as a matter of fact. She was pretty sure that the murderer had punctured her tires and that he, or she, wouldn’t do it again—he’d take his warning to the next level.

As she started up her car, Beatrice remembered that she needed some more needles and decided to run by the Patchwork Cottage on the way home from the garage.

She greeted Posy as she walked into the shop, and then noticed Savannah sitting on the store’s sofa, across from a napping Miss Sissy. Savannah was flipping idly through a quilting magazine in a most un-Savannah-like manner. She looked a little lost. Her face brightened when she spotted Beatrice.

“How’s it going, Savannah?” asked Beatrice.

Savannah seemed eager for the company and nearly spilled her cup of lemonade in her haste to scoot over and make room for Beatrice on the sofa. “Everything’s good! It’s all good, Beatrice.” Then, to Beatrice’s dismay, she burst into tears.

Beatrice reached over to squeeze Savannah’s hand. “It’s all right, Savannah. Everything will be okay.”

Savannah reached into her incredibly organized pocketbook for a tissue and scrubbed her tears away with a vengeance. “Silly!” Savannah muttered reproachfully to herself. “Silly to cry.” She took a deep breath and managed to regain control again. Then she said simply to Beatrice, “I miss Georgia. That’s all. I can’t seem to adjust to the change.”

Beatrice said soothingly, “I’m sure you must. But you know she’s just pet-sitting while her friend is away. She’s going to be back with you, soon.”

Savannah’s brow furrowed. “Do you really think so, Beatrice? Because she didn’t have to
stay
there to take care of Snuffy and Mr. Shadow. She could have simply gone over there a few times a day.” Savannah shook
her head. “I don’t think she’s coming back. She wanted a break from me and I think she’s liking it by herself. And it’s . . . very quiet at the house. I’ve spent almost as much time at the Patchwork Cottage lately as Miss Sissy.”

The sound of her name somehow reached through Miss Sissy’s subconscious, jolting her out of sleep. “Foolishness!” she spat, blinking in confusion. She looked sternly at Beatrice. “Thought I saw you coming out of the hardware store.”

Miss Sissy could certainly be stealthy when she wanted to be. Beatrice hadn’t noticed anyone at all when she’d left the store. “I did.”

“Talking to Tony?” The old woman’s gaze was sharp.

“Yes.” Beatrice hesitated before deciding she might as well bring up her concerns with Miss Sissy. She frequently seemed to know more about what was going on around town than she let on. “We were talking about him being at the church the afternoon that Frank died.”

“Tony is a
good boy
.” Miss Sissy’s eyes narrowed.

Savannah rolled her eyes in sympathy at Beatrice.

“He said that he didn’t see anything,” said Beatrice. She shrugged. “But it seems as if he probably would have seen
something
while he was there working and finding the missing Boris. Considering the timing of Frank’s death. I know you’re friends—if Tony tells you anything that might be helpful, could you let me know?”

Miss Sissy gave her an icy glare, turned slightly in her chair, and fell promptly back to sleep again.

This actually put a small smile on Savannah’s face. Beatrice cleared her throat. “Getting back to our conversation about Georgia. You clearly miss her very much. What do you think you could do to encourage her to come back?”

Savannah gave her a startled look, and then she frowned furiously as she considered the question. “I could try to give her more space,” she said slowly. “Not fuss as much at her disorganization. And maybe . . .” Savannah rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking that maybe I should let Georgia have that pet.” She sighed. “It’s just that they’re so messy when you’re trying to train them and everything.”

Beatrice felt a grin spread across her face as she was suddenly struck by an excellent idea. “What if you tried out a kitten for a while—to see if you liked it, while Georgia’s gone? That way, if being a pet owner really drives you up a wall, you can return it and she wouldn’t even have to know. She wouldn’t have an opportunity to get attached to it.”

Savannah said, “Well . . . I guess. It’s the house-training part. You know—the mess.” Savannah gave a small shudder at the thought. “I’d have to go find a litter box and clean up any messes. And worry about the furniture getting scratched up.”

“You probably don’t know this, but I recently took
in a little gray stray kitten. She came looking for me one frosty night and I let her in. Noo-noo isn’t delighted with her, so I didn’t want it to be a long-term solution, but I felt I could keep her for a while until I figured out what to do with her. She’s even had her shots. And I’ve never seen her scratch at the furniture. If you’d like, you can come home with me now and meet her.”

Savannah still hesitated. Beatrice added, “What’s more, she’s already been litter box trained. She seems like a very smart kitty. Come on, I’ll take you there. And I’ll drive you back to your house when you’re ready . . . are you on your bike?” Savannah ordinarily rode her bicycle everywhere.

Savannah nodded and then sighed. “All right, Beatrice. I’ll meet her. But that’s all I’m promising.”

Five minutes later, they walked into Beatrice’s living room. Noo-noo and Boris barked joyfully at their arrival, and Savannah made a face as the dogs leaped around the small space. “Now, remember, we’re not talking about dogs, Savannah. I know they’re a little formidable right now—they’re just excited that we’re here. I bet the kitty is curled up on my bed. She’s usually very sweet and wants to quietly cuddle. No jumping from her.”

Sure enough, that’s where she was. She was curled up in a fluffy ball on the end of Beatrice’s bed, tail wrapped around her face, sound asleep despite all the carrying-on from the dogs in the living room. She woke
up, sleepily revealing her cobalt blue eyes, and stretched on the bed, arching her back. Then the kitten flew into a frenzy of bathing, washing its face with vigor.

Savannah gave a little gasp. “Oh!” She seemed mesmerized by the kitten.

Beatrice pulled a cat toy out from her closet and dangled the feathery bird-looking contraption over the kitten. She crouched down like a miniature hunter, watching the toy intently before leaping up to box it with both paws.

“She’s the cutest thing!” said Savannah breathlessly.

And she was. The kitten acted as if she were a star performer. She sparkled and preened and tumbled around and was the cutest thing ever. It was almost as if she knew she was auditioning for a permanent home. What’s more—she seemed to really like Savannah. She purred and rubbed up against her, and Savannah uncertainly reached out her hand to pet her.

“Could I . . . maybe take her home with me?” asked Savannah. “Just for a while. Just to see how she does there. And how
I
do. You won’t miss her really badly?” she asked Beatrice, looking anxious.

“I’m sure I will miss her antics a little. But Noo-noo isn’t quite as fond of the kitty as I am. And Noo-noo came first. I can visit her at your house if I miss her too much,” said Beatrice with a smile.

Savannah reached out a little timidly and gingerly picked up the kitten. It immediately curled itself against
her chest and Savannah rested her cheek against its fluffy fur.

“I’ll drive you and kitty to your house. And I’ll send the litter box and some food with you,” said Beatrice.

“And the toy. Could we bring the toy, too?” asked Savannah. “She seemed as if she really liked that feathery toy.”

“Naturally. The toy, too.”

“Noo-noo won’t miss the toy?” asked Savannah with concern.

“Oh no. Dogs don’t like these types of toys,” explained Beatrice. It was obvious that Savannah had no experience with animals whatsoever. Who knew how this experiment might turn out?

“Does she have a name?” asked Savannah? “What have you been calling her?”

“You know, I haven’t even gotten that far with my little visitor. I’ve been calling her ‘the kitty’ or ‘the kitten’ whenever I’ve been talking about her to other people. She and I haven’t spent that much time together with everything going on. Besides, I had a feeling that whoever became her new owner might want to name her themselves.”

On the way to Savannah’s house, Beatrice made some small talk as she drove and Savannah cradled the kitten against her. “I guess the rescheduled quilt show will be coming up soon.”

Savannah said a bit sourly, “Yes. That Phyllis brought
by some flyers on the rescheduled date while I was at the Patchwork Cottage. Trying to advertise it, I guess.”

Beatrice said, “I believe you weren’t much in favor of Phyllis becoming part of the Village Quilters.”

Now Savannah made a face. “Certainly not. No. I don’t think she’d fit into our group at all.”

“Is there anything in particular that makes you feel that way?” asked Beatrice delicately.

Savannah hesitated and then said, “I’ve never been crazy about Phyllis. At first I thought I was simply being unfair because she was such a good quilter and she was with the Cut-Ups. But then I noticed all the subtle, mean things she did through the years. She isn’t very nice. And life’s too short to spend with people who aren’t nice. Our guild has such wonderful ladies in it that I didn’t want to see that changed.”

“Mean things,” mused Beatrice. “Was there anything in particular that you can point out? As an example, maybe?”

Savannah pressed her lips together in a thin line and then said reluctantly, “I spent a little time in the shop right before the quilting retreat started.”

Probably looking for small things to swipe. Poor Savannah.

“Anyway,” Savannah continued, “while I was in the shop, being very quiet, you know, I saw Phyllis deliberately set her shears down in the shop. She even glanced around her while she did it—she was being
very surreptitious, you know. Then, the next thing I know, Phyllis is blaming Martha Helmsley for stealing her shears! She’d set her up. It was very petty.”

“Why didn’t you say anything at the retreat? Why didn’t you call Phyllis out for it?” Beatrice pulled into Savannah’s driveway.

Savannah flushed and looked flustered. “I don’t know. I was surprised when she accused Martha. And I was confused about what she was doing. Plus, I didn’t want to publicly contradict Phyllis like that.”

And she likely didn’t want to admit that she was skulking around the shop, thought Beatrice.

Savannah said quickly, “I did confront Phyllis about it later . . . after the body was found and all. I talked to her after the funeral, as a matter of fact. I told her it was ugly what she’d done to Martha. A member of her own guild! I thought that was especially disloyal to a fellow sister quilter. It certainly seemed to show her true character.”

Beatrice put the car in park and turned in her seat to stare at Savannah. “What did Phyllis say in response?”

“She cried,” said Savannah a little scornfully. “She was very sorry she got caught being mean, is what I thought. Not sorry she did it. Not at all.”

“But did she say anything in her own defense?” asked Beatrice.

Savannah absently rubbed the kitten’s soft fur. “She said it was petty of her. But then, when it was used as
a murder weapon . . . she didn’t want to admit that she’d laid the shears down deliberately. She thought the police might get strange ideas. She’d only done it to try to make Martha look bad. Which didn’t succeed!”

Beatrice helped Savannah get the kitten and the kitten’s things settled in her house. Savannah kept cheerily remarking on the kitten and asking her questions about her, but Beatrice listened and answered automatically, her mind mulling over the information Savannah had given her. Why
had
Phyllis laid those shears down?

*   *   *

She drove back to her cottage on her springy new tires and pulled into her driveway to see Boris and Noo-noo peering out the picture window on the front of the house. Boris immediately started barking, with Noo-noo taking up the chorus. “Even though they clearly see it’s me,” muttered Beatrice. Still, she figured that no one would be sneaking up on the house in the middle of the night—not with those two around.

Beatrice was fumbling with her keys when she heard a car pull up. She turned around to see Piper and raised her hand to wave at her.

“Nice tires, Mama,” said Piper as she got out of her car with a plastic bag. She came over to give Beatrice a tight hug. “I hate that this happened to you. Scares me to death to think of someone sneaking over here in the middle of the night. However did they get past Noo-noo?”

Beatrice waved her hand. “It wasn’t Noo-noo’s fault—it was mine. She was growling like crazy and I looked outside, didn’t see anything, and went back to bed. But I sure will pay attention next time.” She finally got the right key in the lock and opened the front door. Boris leaped around as if he were a puppy and Noo-noo stood very close to Beatrice’s leg, as if claiming her territory.

“I’m hoping there won’t be a next time. Especially with two dogs over here putting up an alarm. You’ll call Ramsay, even if it’s the middle of the night, right? If the dogs start making another ruckus?” Piper followed her mother inside. “Or the kitten, maybe.”

“Of course I will.” Beatrice made a face at the thought, though. She really detested waking people up with phone calls. It was such a scary thing, hearing a phone ring in the middle of the night. No good calls ever came at three a.m. “Although I won’t get any kind of an alarm from the kitten. Savannah has taken her home with her.”

“What? Oh, that’s wonderful news! Georgia will be so excited to hear that. She’s been telling me nonstop about how terrific Mr. Shadow and Snuffy are—you know, the cat and the dog she’s pet-sitting.”