Shear Trouble (14 page)

Beatrice said, “But Savannah is only
trying out
the kitty, so please don’t let Georgia know. The idea is that Savannah is going to see if she and the kitty get along and if she can tolerate the kind of chores that go along
with pet ownership. Then, if for some reason it doesn’t work out, Georgia won’t be the wiser.”

“I see,” said Piper slowly. “Great idea. It would be awful if Georgia got attached to the kitty and then Savannah realized that she just wasn’t cut out to be a pet owner. Although I have a feeling that the kitten is going to win Savannah over.”

“She seemed pretty smitten,” said Beatrice with a smile. “We’ll keep our fingers crossed. That sure would solve a couple of problems—I could find the kitten a great home, and Savannah and Georgia would be back on good terms again.”

“Right. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that it works out. Okay, I’ve got Boris’s special food, clearly.” Piper lifted the plastic bag over her head as the massive dog stood up on his back paws to sniff the bag. “And his favorite toys.”

“Does he have a dog bed or anything?” Beatrice took the dog food and carried it into the kitchen to put it on top of her fridge. It should be safe there. Maybe.

“He does, but Meadow says he never sleeps in it. And sometimes, apparently, he pushes his way into their bedroom to take up half their bed.” Piper shrugged. “So you might get a visitor in the middle of the night.”

“Oh no. No, I don’t think so. Unless Boris can turn door handles, I do believe that he’ll be camped out in the living room with Noo-noo.” Beatrice put her hands
on her hips and gave Boris a repressive look. He drooled at her, grinning.

“Maybe doorknobs aren’t a problem for Boris. Considering he’s a genius and all.” Piper winked at Beatrice and they both laughed as they relaxed into Beatrice’s cushy sofa. Boris trotted into the kitchen to sit at attention, staring at his dog food on the top of the fridge.

Beatrice watched him. “Maybe I should get a childproof lock and stick his food in a cabinet,” she said, frowning.

“The funny thing is that Meadow doesn’t seem like she thinks Boris has behavior issues at
all
. She’s only thinking of the fact that he’s helping you keep an eye on the cottage,” said Piper.

“So, was it Meadow who gave you Boris’s things?” asked Beatrice. She felt a small pang.

Piper took a sudden interest in her hands, which were folded on her lap. “Sort of. I mean—Ash opened the door originally. But he was on his way out, so Meadow was the one who put everything in a bag for me.”

“Did Ash . . . say anything?”

Piper put a determinedly cheerful smile on her face. “He did say hi. Then, after I explained why I was there, he called for Meadow.” She looked down at her hands again. “I think that I must really have hurt his feelings. But, by this time, I’d thought we’d be back together again as if nothing had happened.”

“I suppose that sometimes it takes a little longer to put things right,” said Beatrice softly. “And it does sound as if Ash has been busy. I guess he’s been trying to set things up here, right? A place to live? All the logistics that come with moving?”

“I guess,” said Piper miserably. “I really don’t know what he’s been doing, since he’s not actually speaking to me. Meadow would tell me, if I asked her.”

“Right. Although that would open up a whole other can of worms. I’m sure that Meadow is homing in on the fact that something is wrong between you two. She was getting a hint of it earlier. And you should know Meadow well enough to realize that once something like this is on her radar, she’s going to try to fix it. She’s a matchmaker extraordinaire.” Beatrice shook her head at the thought of Meadow trying to help with the problem.

“Her heart’s in the right place,” said Piper. She gave a short laugh. “At this point, maybe I do need that kind of intervention. Otherwise, Ash will end up flying back to California to get things straightened out on that end and we’ll still have this misunderstanding between us.”

“
Is
it a misunderstanding?”

“It is,” said Piper. “I do really want to continue our relationship. I want it to grow and see where it leads us. It was a shock, that’s all. It seemed like everything was suddenly a rush to a finish line that I hadn’t even visualized yet.”

“I’m sure it will all work out,” said Beatrice, leaning over to squeeze Piper’s arm. “Why don’t you call him and ask to meet him for coffee? You could mention that when you saw him today you realized how much you missed him. Something like that.”

“I think I will,” said Piper. “Otherwise, there’s no telling how long this might go on. But I won’t try to meet with him today—it looked as if he was heading out for a while.” Piper sighed. “I wish I could change the way I am. I know that I’m too set on a routine and that I don’t handle change well. I wish I could handle it easier somehow.”

“We’ll, it’s hard to adapt to change. And it’s also hard to change
ourselves
,” said Beatrice. She remembered her conversation with Wyatt and abruptly asked Piper, “Do you think it’s really possible for people to change?”

“Sure I do,” said Piper immediately. “Absolutely. You hear about it every day.”

“Do you?” Beatrice was pretty sure that she didn’t.

“Yes. Think about all the news stories for the area. Someone falls on hard times, develops an addiction or some other problem, and next thing you know . . . they’re breaking into cars or something. Maybe a few years before that, they were upstanding citizens who paid their taxes and drove carpools and cut their grass and were good neighbors.” Piper shrugged. “They’ve changed. Big-time.”

“Well . . . yes. That’s very true. Those are stories about people who adapt poorly to a situation, though. Their change is happening because of a change in their circumstances. I guess what I’m talking about is a change for the
better
. Can someone change their personality or habits for better ones? For the long-term?”

Piper gave her a thoughtful look. “You mean like my good intentions to be more adaptable?”

“Right. And that probably should be my goal, too—go with the flow and be more adaptable. And what about someone like Jason Gore? Maybe he resolved to be a better person than he’d been the last time he lived in Dappled Hills. Did he genuinely change?”

“If he was a better person, wouldn’t he still be alive?” asked Piper.

Beatrice leaned back on the sofa, resting her head on its cushiness, and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Maybe. But I don’t think we can say that for sure, Piper. Maybe the reason he was murdered has to do with his behavior two years ago. Maybe someone didn’t
like
seeing him happy, seeing him changed.”

“Or
was
he even changed?” said Piper. “After all, we’re talking about some pretty big changes. It could be that he was back in the game again—that he was being a con man. If it’s tough for me to master small changes, how hard would it be to completely change . . . from someone who is dishonest to honest?”

“I know what you mean. But I think . . . I’d like to
think . . . that Jason did change. And that it was something from his past that caught up with him. Although I’m the first to realize it’s tough to make any kind of personal change or even to develop a habit. You know how I can’t seem to sit still for more than a few minutes before leaping up to unload the dishwasher or do something around the house? Or check my e-mail? I made a resolution that I was going to try to relax more . . . not to be so restless,” said Beatrice, glancing sideways at her daughter.

“You did?” Piper looked startled. “I didn’t realize that.”

“See? That’s how successful that’s been.” Beatrice made a face.

After Piper left, Beatrice tried to make everything as ordinary and routine as possible. Well, despite the fact that a tremendous dog was shadowing her the entire time and a small, indignant one was trailing them.

She folded laundry, she washed and put away the few dirty dishes. She trimmed back the last of the Knock Out roses that were still evident in fall. She filled her birdfeeders. Doing everyday, normal activities made her feel a lot more relaxed. Apparently, it
was
upsetting to have someone slash all your tires. Expensive, too.

By the time it was midafternoon, she picked up her quilt to try to make some headway. She paused. The double wedding ring pattern was a real trial. But it was lovely. She hadn’t been sure she could do it justice, with her current skill level. The truth was, though, if she put some extra time into it and really focused, it wasn’t as
hard as she’d made it out to be. And really—it would be a work of art when she was done, worthy of handing down to any children that Piper and Ash might have. Beatrice frowned at herself. Putting the cart before the horse . . . heavens, she sounded like Meadow. Piper and Ash needed to start talking to each other first.

Beatrice turned on the lamp on the table next to her and worked until she’d finished one block. True, it was a block that she’d started a different day, but it still felt good to realize that she had
finished
something she started. Beatrice decided that she really liked the colors of the fabrics that she’d chosen for the quilt. The warmth of the jewel tones added to the comforting quality of the quilt. She hadn’t interrupted her quilting to do something else; she’d focused on the task at hand. Beatrice realized that she’d gotten multitasking down pat. . . . What she needed to learn how to do was
single
-tasking.

There was a light tap on her front door and Boris and Noo-noo immediately jumped into a cacophony of barking. She gave a small smile. No chance of anyone sneaking up on her with those two around. Still feeling the need to exercise some caution, though, Beatrice peered out the side window. There she saw an apologetic-looking Tony, who raised his hand in a small wave and a grim-looking Miss Sissy with hair coming pretty much completely out of her bun. Beatrice
unlocked the door. There went her quiet afternoon. But she’d accomplished so much she didn’t even care.

Miss Sissy trotted right in and headed for Beatrice’s kitchen. The old woman was about as bad as Boris when it came to kitchen raids. Tony scratched the side of his forehead with one hand—in the other he was carrying a plastic bag. “Ah, Mrs. Coleman. Sorry about this. I went over for my visit with Miss Sissy and she was bound and determined to come see you. Wouldn’t hear no for an answer.”

Beatrice sighed. “She could have just walked over—it’s not far. She didn’t have to make you come out of your way.”

“You know how Miss Sissy is,” said Tony in a low voice. “She gets things stuck in her head. For some reason, she wanted me to come along with her. Plus, she had something she wanted to give you.” He nodded down to the black garbage bag he was holding.

“Please have a seat, then,” said Beatrice, gesturing to her sofa. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

“I’m fine,” said Tony hurriedly. “I have a drink in the car that I’ve been drinking.”

Miss Sissy came back in from the kitchen with a plateful of pretzels, apple slices, and cheese crackers.

“Did you make us a snack, Miss Sissy?” asked Beatrice in surprise.

Miss Sissy glared at her.

“I think Miss Sissy planned on that being her snack,”
said Tony with a smile. “Which is fine,” he added quickly, putting his hand up to stop Beatrice from getting up to bring in some food. “I ate a big lunch this afternoon.”

“I do recall Miss Sissy being territorial over her food,” muttered Beatrice as Miss Sissy busied herself by putting the plate on the coffee table and spreading out a paper towel on her lap. Once she was done, she fixed Beatrice with an intense stare. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?” she barked at Beatrice.

Beatrice blinked at her. “They?”

“Bad guys. The ones who broke your tires.” Miss Sissy stuffed an apple slice and a couple of pretzels in her mouth.

“Hurt me? No, I never even saw them,” said Beatrice.

“Didn’t matter if you saw them or not. Tires still broken.” The old woman studied Beatrice as if trying to figure something out. Boris put his huge head against Miss Sissy’s spindly hand and she gave him a stern look before patting him.

“Well, that’s certainly true. I’m sure it won’t happen again. And now, as you see, I’ve got Boris here to keep an eye out for me. With Boris and Noo-noo, I should be in good shape,” said Beatrice. She was a little worried that Miss Sissy was planning to take up a guard post to look out for bad guys “breaking” tires. That wouldn’t do at all. Miss Sissy was a raging insomniac and would
wander around the cottage all night, eating. She’d rather take her chances with the murderer.

Miss Sissy gave her a canny look, then gestured to the black garbage bag that Tony still held. He silently handed it over to her. She opened it up and pulled out the most beautiful double wedding ring quilt that Beatrice had ever seen. Beatrice couldn’t hold back a gasp of admiration when she saw it. It was everything she felt her quilt-in-progress wasn’t—skillfully curved hand piecing, with beautifully coordinating arcs of multicolored and multipatterned scraps with perfectly scalloped edges.

“Thought you might be sad. About the people breaking your tires,” said Miss Sissy gruffly. “I wanted you to have this.”

“You made this? It must have taken forever to finish this, Miss Sissy.”

Miss Sissy ran a gnarled hand over the quilt. “It was supposed to be mine. When I got married. But I didn’t marry. Never. And maybe you’ll marry again.” The old woman looked curiously at Beatrice as if she was hoping to coax an admission from her.

Beatrice asked softly, “Are you sure you want me to have this, Miss Sissy?”

This earned her a glare in response. “Of course. That’s why I brought it over to you.” She continued frowning at her under beetling brows until Beatrice
said, “Thank you, Miss Sissy. I don’t know what to say. I’ll treasure it.”

Tony had been patiently listening to their conversation. Miss Sissy suddenly swung around in her seat and pointed at him. “He’s a
good
guy,” she said firmly to Beatrice. “A
good
guy! Fixes tires, doesn’t break them.”

Fortunately, Beatrice had known the old woman long enough to be used to her non sequiturs. And when Miss Sissy had a favorite, she’d hear nothing but good things said of them. It was exactly the same with Wyatt, who also came by for visits with the old woman.

Beatrice gave her a reassuring smile. “Oh, I know he’s a good guy, Miss Sissy.”

“He was at the church that day. That day that man died. Helping. He was helping at the church. Tell her.” Miss Sissy now pointed a long, crooked finger at Beatrice as she prompted Tony.

Tony sighed and said to Beatrice, “Miss Sissy is determined for me to clear my name. I was over at the church—probably when Frank died. Wyatt is a good man and he gives me odd jobs to do over there for extra money. I was there that whole afternoon. I did leave, though, when the police came.”

She nodded. “Did you see anything that day? Anything unusual?”

“Wish I had. But all I saw that was unusual was Frank. I mean, seeing Frank at church was really out of
the ordinary . . . the guy never set foot on the church grounds as far as I knew,” said Tony. They watched as Miss Sissy polished off the plate of food.

“Frank wasn’t talking to anyone at the time you saw him? He was just standing there? Surely that looked a little suspicious.” Beatrice frowned.

“Well, his cover story was probably that he was planning on painting a picture of the church,” said Tony. “Once he caught sight of me, he started busily taking pictures of the church from different angles. You know—like he was going to paint the scene later. I was trying to make sure he wasn’t up to anything strange, so the next time I walked by, I looked for him. It was twenty or thirty minutes later, though, and I didn’t see him.”

“He was probably at the bottom of the staircase by then.” Beatrice rubbed her forehead. Who had he met at the church?

“Well, Miss Sissy, I guess we should be heading back to your house. Was there anything else you wanted to ask? I know you wanted to check on Beatrice as well as have me explain what I saw at the church.” Tony stood up.

Miss Sissy fixed Beatrice with a solemn stare. “He was there. There! Not Tony!”

Beatrice gave Miss Sissy a moment to froth before she asked patiently, “Miss Sissy, who was there? Where? The church?”

“Church. The man. The man who likes going to church.”

Miss Sissy’s complete incapacity to learn names did get frustrating. Beatrice took a deep breath. “A man who likes going to church was at the church. I’m guessing when Frank Helmsley died?”

Tony squinted a little in concentration. “Do you mean John Simmons, Miss Sissy? Tall, skinny guy? Wears glasses? Older?”

Miss Sissy clapped her hands. “John Simmons! Yes! John Simmons. The one who stalks her. That June Bug knows.”

“John was at the church the day that Frank died?” Beatrice studied Miss Sissy. The old woman was very observant, but did she really keep track of the days? Most days she spent sleeping in a chair in Posy’s shop.

“He was. Careless man. Jumped in front of Posy’s car when she was driving me to the store.” Miss Sissy’s eyes were scornful.

“Well, it’s certainly good to know who might have had the opportunity to do such an awful thing,” said Beatrice in a soothing way. The last thing she needed was an agitated Miss Sissy in her house.

Miss Sissy glared at her. “Wickedness!”

Tony leaned forward in his seat and gently said, “Miss Sissy, I’ve got a few things to take care of at my house this afternoon. Is it okay if we go ahead and leave?”

She gave a birdlike bob of her head and moved spryly toward the door.

Beatrice said, “Well, I certainly appreciate your coming by. A . . . nice surprise,” she said a bit awkwardly.

Tony gave her a smile. He opened the door for Miss Sissy and then followed her out on the porch after saying good-bye to Beatrice.

Beatrice was reaching to lock the door when Miss Sissy popped her head back in and said sternly, “Nice boy!”

*   *   *

The sun always seemed as if it went down faster in the fall. One minute, Beatrice was wondering if she had the energy to go out and rake a few leaves out of a bed in the backyard. The next, she looked outside and it was already so dark that she decided it would need to wait for another day.

It wasn’t only the dark. Beatrice felt weary from the day. One of these suspects was lying to her. He or she was bent on scaring her away with a quick bit of vicious vandalism. And now she had Piper to worry about in addition to the case. Tony had been both at the church and near enough to the quilting retreat to easily run in, kill Jason Gore, and hurry back out again.

Beatrice turned on a small lamp behind her sofa and sat down, still mulling it all over. Yes, Tony could easily have committed both crimes—he was on the scene of both and certainly had plenty of motivation. He had his own, promising future stolen from him. What if that had been eating him up over the years until he felt he
had
to act when Jason carelessly came back into town? And then he’d been forced to act again when Frank let him know that he’d seen him?

Still, somehow she couldn’t picture it. Tony seemed so easygoing. If he was the killer, he was a real coldhearted one who wasn’t troubled at all by killing. He just didn’t seem to fit the bill . . . and Beatrice really hoped he didn’t.

What about John Simmons? Miss Sissy sure seemed to have it in for him. Again, he appeared to be a very upstanding man in the community. He volunteered frequently at the church. His only fault was that he had been blindly determined for too many years to woo Martha Helmsley, even if she didn’t want to be wooed.

Except—he was on the scene for both murders, as well. And he was so single-mindedly determined to end up with Martha that Beatrice could easily see him eliminating anything that got in his way—even if it meant murder. She remembered that anger in John’s eyes when he said that Jason didn’t deserve Martha’s love. Had that anger, that desperation pushed him to the limit? Maybe she could ask Wyatt if he knew if John had any legitimate business at the church that afternoon.

Beatrice leaned her head back until she was looking right up at the ceiling. Yes, thwarted love could definitely be a motive for murder. But John Simmons wasn’t the only thwarted lover. There was also Phyllis
Stitt. By all accounts, she’d been head over heels in love with Jason Gore a couple of years ago. Jason had jilted Phyllis in a spectacular manner . . . as he fled town after defrauding at least one of Dappled Hills’ citizens. Phyllis had to have been furious and humiliated. In a town this small, everyone would have known that Jason had dumped her. She seemed to be over it—but was that just an act? Martha Helmsley hadn’t thought Phyllis had gotten over it.

And—Phyllis hadn’t been alone in her anger and humiliation. Eric Gore had practically disappeared from town, he’d been so embarrassed by his brother’s behavior. His anger was certainly not over . . . nor did he seem to want to try to hide it. He’d clearly felt that he couldn’t show his face in his own town again—to the point where he’d found a job in another town. Eric also seemed to blame his brother for their mother’s death. That fury, coupled with Jason’s smiling, easy reentry into Dappled Hills, was certainly enough to motivate him to kill his brother.

There was something there, thought Beatrice, frowning up at her ceiling. Then she realized. The brief moment of interaction between Phyllis and Eric Gore that she’d seen at Jason’s funeral reception at Martha’s house. There had been a recognition between the two of them of some kind. Not only that—Miss Sissy had said something about Eric and Phyllis at the funeral reception, hadn’t she? Not that Miss Sissy was the most
reliable of witnesses. Of course, those two would have known each other fairly well a couple of years ago. . . . Phyllis was engaged to Eric’s brother. But surely there wouldn’t have been that glimpse of friendliness, almost of intimacy, there—would there? If Eric was the type to get so completely humiliated over his brother’s behavior, then wouldn’t he barely be able to look Phyllis in the eye? After all, his brother subjected Phyllis to the same treatment . . . or worse.