Shear Trouble (15 page)

Beatrice thought back to the day of the retreat. Those
had
been Phyllis’s shears that were used for the murder weapon. Phyllis had been a central figure that day. She’d lost her shears. Actually—she
hadn’t
lost her shears, according to Savannah. Phyllis had purposefully laid them down. She’d blamed Martha. She’d wanted to look for the shears with Beatrice. Because of Phyllis losing her shears, she’d been responsible for both the fact that the murderer had a weapon and that the body was discovered.

Beatrice was having a hard time remembering how often Phyllis had left the back room, though. If she’d had time to murder Jason, it sure hadn’t been very much time. And then to calmly go back into the retreat without so much as labored breath? She wasn’t that young a woman.

Beatrice felt as if there were something else that she was missing. She cast her mind back to the day of Frank’s murder and thought again about the canceled
supper plans. Hadn’t Wyatt said there’d been something odd about the visit he made that evening?

She reached for the phone and dialed Wyatt’s number. He picked up and she talked with him for a few minutes about the rescheduled quilt show and possible dates for them to have a coffee or dinner out. Then Beatrice said, “I actually wanted to ask you about the dinner we were going to have the evening of Frank’s death.”

“I’m sorry I had to cancel, Beatrice. It was just that I got that phone call—”

“Oh, I know. Of course you had to go . . . that’s not what I was worried about. It’s simply that when I met up with you at the quilt show, you said that it had been an odd visit. I was wondering what you meant by that,” said Beatrice.

Wyatt said, “It was a prank of some kind, I guess. When I arrived at the lady’s house, she was completely confused and said that she’d never called me. I was thinking that maybe there was a real rash of pranks going on in Dappled Hills—what with your tires being slashed and that phone call. But then, as I was pulling away from her house, I got a
genuine
phone call from someone who needed a hospital visit. That’s why it took me so long to get back to the church.”

Beatrice said slowly, “Do you think it’s possible that someone made that call to lure you away from the church so that they could meet privately with Frank Helmsley?”

Wyatt’s voice now sounded startled. “I hadn’t thought about that. She could have, I guess.”

“It was a woman’s voice, then?”

“That’s right,” said Wyatt.

“Did you recognize the voice?”

Wyatt said slowly, “No. It was sort of hoarse, gruff. Thinking back, I suppose the woman must have been trying to disguise her voice.”

“Also—one other thing I wanted to ask you. Was John Simmons at the church on legitimate business the day that Frank Helmsley died?”

Wyatt considered this. “He was, actually. He was in the church office that afternoon to work on a computer problem we were having. He’s pretty good with computers and he doesn’t mind helping us with ours from time to time.”

Then Wyatt sighed. “Beatrice, I’m sorry—it looks like I’m getting another call in. I’m going to try to talk with you later and we can plan our meal out.”

Beatrice was just putting the phone down when it suddenly rang, jarring Beatrice from her thoughts and startling her. “Hello?” she asked.

“Hey, uh . . . it’s Meadow.” The voice on the other end actually didn’t sound much like Meadow.

“Oh, hey. Listen, I was thinking about something with the case and—”

Meadow blurted, “Do you know what’s going on with Ash and Piper? I swear to goodness, what’s wrong with
those children? Here they were, acting all grown up, developing a nice relationship, and then they blow it!”

“I don’t know if they’re
blowing
it, per se. I think they’re having a minor misunderstanding, that’s all,” said Beatrice in as calming a voice as she could muster.

“I want to wring my Ash’s neck,” said Meadow. She sounded about as angry with Ash as Beatrice had ever heard Meadow get mad.

“The foolishness!” Now Meadow was starting to sound distressingly like Miss Sissy. “Piper acted like she was trying to set up time to talk with Ash and all he could do was come up with excuses.” Meadow said in a deep, Ash-like voice, “‘I’ve got an appointment with my Realtor. I’ve got a human resources meeting at the college.’ Pooh!”

“I’m sure he does have all those things to do, Meadow. After all, he’s about to move clear across the country. Think of what a logistical nightmare that would be. He’s probably simply trying to spare Piper from getting involved in that mess. It’s all very important business for him to be working on.”

“What’s more important than our future grandchildren?” bellowed Meadow, sounding wounded.

Beatrice took a deep breath. “Now, Meadow, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. It’s just a spat. Spats happen. Give it time. Listen—I’m glad you called because I was thinking about the case and was trying to figure something out.”

“How is my sweet Boris?” asked Meadow. “Are you feeling more protected over there now? During your investigation?”

Beatrice glanced over at Boris, who was sprawled out on his back, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Definitely. Much more protected. He and Noo-noo are doing a great job protecting the house. But what I wanted to ask you about was the retreat. Can you remember back to that day and tell me what Phyllis’s actions were?”

“Phyllis’s actions were most annoying that day, that’s what. Losing the shears, making us all look for them, picking on Martha. Trying to bulldoze her way into the illustrious Village Quilters guild. It was all a pain.”

“That’s the part I remember. But I’m talking about the times she went into the shop area. Do you remember much about that?” Beatrice remembered that Phyllis said later that she’d gone out to use the restroom or to get something to eat. Had she, though?

“As I recall, Phyllis never left the room,” said Meadow. “That got on my nerves, as a matter of fact. I kept thinking, ‘Hey. If you lost your scissors, go out and look for them.’ I thought she’d likely left them in her car or something. The only time she actually left the room was to finally go looking for the things with you. Or join you after you’d left to find them. Whatever.”

“You’re sure about this?” asked Beatrice.

“Of course I’m sure. That’s why I was annoyed.” Meadow sounded annoyed even now, but Beatrice realized that she was still distressed over the Piper-Ash problem.

“This isn’t what she told me,” said Beatrice thoughtfully.

“What?”

“It’s not what Phyllis told me happened on the day of the retreat. She told me that she got refreshments or went to the restroom or something. I can’t remember exactly what she said, but the upshot was basically that she left the room.” Beatrice rubbed the side of her face as she tried to remember exactly what was said.

Meadow sounded impatient. “Does it matter? So she didn’t leave the room. Maybe
she
didn’t even remember exactly what happened that afternoon. After all, she was obsessed with her silly shears. Maybe all she could think about was where the scissors were.”

“If she didn’t leave the room, then why didn’t she say so, though? Surely that would have provided her with more of an alibi and put her under less suspicion. What if she
knew
what was going on out there, didn’t want to see it taking place or interrupt it, and then lied because she knew that it was more natural to have left the room during that time? Everyone left at some point or other except for Phyllis. Think of all the delicious food out there.”

Meadow said, “But if she
didn’t
leave the room, then
how could she be involved in Jason’s murder? It’s not as if Jason’s body were found in Posy’s back room.”

“She could be involved with the murder if she had a partner. If Phyllis had a partner, she could even distract us all in the back room with her allegations and her arguments—glue us to her, so to speak, to see what crazy thing she’s going to throw out there next. We’re distracted, her partner kills Jason Gore, and then she leads me to the body.” Beatrice felt breathless again. It was starting to make sense to her.

“Who would this partner be?” Meadow’s voice was baffled. “Are you saying she hired a hit man or something? Here in Dappled Hills?”

“No, definitely not a hit man. I’m thinking that her partner was Eric Gore.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then Meadow said, “Beatrice, you haven’t been sipping the cooking sherry, have you? That doesn’t even make any sense. We just saw Eric at the theater. . . . You know how he is. He wants to pretend he’s on a separate planet from everyone in Dappled Hills because he’s so incredibly embarrassed over his brother’s deceptions. And that includes Phyllis! For heaven’s sake. Jason jilted Phyllis—I’m sure Eric can’t even be in the same room as Phyllis without wanting to escape. Didn’t you see him at the funeral reception?”

“I did. I did see him at the funeral reception. That’s the whole point. The two of them seemed to have a real
connection. And even Miss Sissy commented on it—we just didn’t understand what she was talking about. We thought she was saying that Phyllis and Jason had gone out with each other, but she meant
Eric
and Phyllis were a couple.”

“Well . . . but this is Miss Sissy we’re talking about. You know how befuddled she can be,” said Meadow.

“Look, never mind. I’ll keep mulling it over. Thanks,” said Beatrice. Her head was starting to pound.

“What are we going to do?” Meadow’s voice was agitated again.

“Do? Well, there’s no real evidence that Phyllis had anything to do with this.
Or
Eric. We can’t go to Ramsay at this point, because he’d think that we were nuts. But maybe, if we can somehow surprise them? Trap them into a confession somehow . . . ?”

“No, no, Beatrice! I mean do about Piper and Ash. The heck with Phyllis and Eric!” Meadow spluttered in her fury.

“We’re going to do nothing at all, Meadow. Nothing. They’re two grown-ups, trying to work through a temporary speed bump in their relationship, and that’s all it is. We’ll sit tight and when they work things out, as I’m convinced they will, then you and I will share a bottle of wine and celebrate.” Beatrice got up and walked into her kitchen, peering into her refrigerator. How long had it been since she’d last eaten? It must have been a while.

Meadow was making grumbling mumbles on her end of the line.

“Now I probably need to go. The sun is getting ready to go down and I have no idea what I’m going to eat for supper.” Beatrice surveyed the contents of her fridge. “At this point, it’s looking like baked beans and cheese on crackers.”

“The very reason I gave you that food processor and the other equipment, Beatrice!” fussed Meadow before hanging up.

Cheese and crackers was, in fact, the very supper she was sitting down to eat, ten minutes later, when there was a knock at her door. Beatrice sighed, wondering if there was some sort of conspiracy to keep her from having a full meal that day. And the number of visits and phone calls. They were certainly extraordinary. Then it struck her that it might be Piper out there, coming to tell her that things with Ash hadn’t gone well. Beatrice was headed uneasily to her front door just as there was a second tap.

Phyllis stood on her front porch and smiled when she saw her peeking out. She held up a hand with papers in them and said, loud enough to be heard through the door, “I’ve got flyers on the rescheduled quilt show, if you could hand those out to the Village Quilters and around town. Meadow thought you’d help out. And I
brought by a pie for you, too—I heard what happened to you last night. Frightening!”

Beatrice hesitated. She had no proof that Phyllis was part of these murders, no matter how much sense it made. She’d come by on quilt show business, after all. Beatrice slowly opened the door.

Phyllis stepped in. She was bundled up in a big coat and gloves. Beatrice said in surprise, “Is it getting that cold out there, then? I know it’s windy.”

“Oh, I’ve always been cold-natured,” said Phyllis a bit carelessly.

Beatrice turned to look curiously behind her at Noo-noo and Boris. Usually, whenever people came to the door, the dogs would be cavorting around them in delight, practically knocking them down in their enthusiasm. Now both dogs crouched on the door, staring intently at Phyllis. Noo-noo made a low growl in her throat, which Boris echoed. Boris showed his teeth and a chill went up Beatrice’s spine. Now she just wanted to get Phyllis out of there as soon as possible. Phyllis must have been the one responsible for slashing her tires. It was the only possible explanation for Noo-noo’s unusual behavior. And Boris had been on the scene when Frank’s body was discovered. Had Boris seen Phyllis there? Or possibly smelled her scent?

“I’d ask you to sit down, but I’m actually about to go out,” said Beatrice. Noo-noo’s growls got louder and Beatrice turned to see the corgi’s fur standing up on the
back of her neck. Boris was so focused on Phyllis that he was completely ignoring the fact that there was a pie within easy reach of his tremendous head. “Sorry about the dogs,” she said with a small laugh. “They’re not feeling friendly today, I guess. Thanks for bringing by the flyers and the pie, though. That’s very kind of you.” She kept standing and made a slight gesture to the door.

“Well, dogs are like people, aren’t they?” said Phyllis in her cheerful voice. “They’re entitled to an off day, too. I just love dogs.” She reached out a hand and Noo-noo gave a sharp warning bark. Phyllis drew back her hand, looking startled. Her eyes narrowed.

“Sorry,” repeated Beatrice. “It’s probably better if we cut our time short. Thanks for coming by, though. Maybe we can visit another time.” She fidgeted with the flyers that Phyllis held.

“Is that the quilt you’re working on now?” asked Phyllis, completely ignoring Beatrice’s attempts to move her toward the door. “It’s beautiful. That’s a very tough pattern, you know. The double wedding ring. I really struggled the first time I tried to do one. Were you working on this quilt the day of the retreat? Because I don’t remember it.”

Beatrice said slowly, “It’s the same one. But I have trouble remembering that day, too. For good reason, I guess, right? After all, it was a very stressful day. I was trying to remember your movements that afternoon. You
mentioned that you’d left the back room for refreshments or a drink or the restroom, or something. But Meadow staunchly states that you never left the room. And, come to think of it, I don’t remember your doing so.”

Phyllis’s cheery smile disappeared and she rapidly put her hand into her coat and pulled out a knife. “Back up,” she said darkly. “Get away from this door.” She opened Beatrice’s front door and the dogs ran out, as if Phyllis was leaving. As soon as the dogs were out on the porch, Phyllis slammed the door shut.

Noo-noo and Boris were barking and whining outside the door. Beatrice raised her hands up and looked levelly at Phyllis, backing toward the kitchen as Phyllis was gesturing for her to do. “You don’t want to do this.” Phyllis advanced slowly toward her until they ended up in Beatrice’s small kitchen. A better place for Beatrice, since at least there was a shot at getting her hands on a knife at some point.

“What am I doing?” she asked saucily, but there was a combination of fear and fury in her narrowed eyes.

“You’re wanting to get rid of me. And the way the dogs are acting makes me think that you were the one last night who slashed my tires. As a warning.” Beatrice swallowed, feeling the dryness of her mouth.

“Which, clearly, didn’t work.” Phyllis frowned. “Was Boris here last night?”

“Boris is picking up on Noo-noo’s signals.” Beatrice paused. “And he may also be aware that you were
responsible for Frank’s death. After all, he would probably have been able to place your scent at the scene of the crime. You know . . . you can’t get away with this, Phyllis. Are you seriously thinking of murdering me with a knife? Think of all the evidence you’ll leave behind in the process. Here you are in my house. And I’ve just gotten off the phone with Chief Clover,” she fibbed. “Giving him all the reasons why I thought you were behind this.”

“Did you?” Phyllis made a fake surprised look. “That’s funny. Because I don’t hear any police sirens. I don’t believe you called him at all. After all, there’s absolutely no proof that I had anything to do with it. You stated yourself that I was in the back room the entire time during the retreat, except when you and I left to find my shears.”

“Your conveniently missing shears. You didn’t leave the room on purpose . . . because you didn’t want to see a murder in action. Jason Gore still must have had at least a small hold on you, even after all this time. You worked with a partner. Jason’s brother, Eric.” Beatrice’s legs felt weak as she looked at Phyllis’s knife, but she tried to look strong and confident.

Boris and Noo-noo were scratching at the front door, whining, and giving small, frantic barks. Maybe Miss Sissy or Piper would notice the dogs out there and call the police. Probably not, though—they weren’t being that loud. The sound might not carry that far.

Phyllis blinked at the mention of Eric. She gave a breathless laugh. “Eric Gore? He’s practically a hermit. He’s never even around town. . . . How are you figuring that he and I would partner up in anything?”

Beatrice spread out her hands in front of her, trying to make sure they didn’t shake in the process. “It really makes a lot of sense. There seemed to be a connection between the two of you at the funeral reception, which is what made me think of it. As a matter of fact, Miss Sissy even alluded to the fact that you two were seeing each other—not that anyone really listened to her. And it makes sense. After all, you were both deceived by Jason. You would have known each other pretty well as future brother- and sister-in-law. Jason’s actions would have felt like a betrayal to both of you, and it’s only natural that you would have sought each other out to talk about it.”

“No one has seen me together with Eric. No one!” Phyllis’s fingers gripped tighter around the knife and Beatrice felt her heart pound harder. Glancing around, she couldn’t see any knives lying on the counter or in the sink.

“There’s no point in really denying it now, is there? Not to me, anyway. I also noticed that there seemed to be an attempt to make Martha a suspect in Jason’s murder. I kept hearing rumors that Martha might be mad that Jason flirted with other women. Finally, though, I realized that all the rumors came from the same
source.” Beatrice looked levelly at Phyllis. It wasn’t as if Phyllis was going to let her walk out of this situation and just promise not to tell. She started mentally canvassing her kitchen, trying to think what she could possibly use to either knock Phyllis out, or at least to knock the knife out of her hand. “I had seen Jason being friendly with a woman in front of the Patchwork Cottage the day of the retreat, but I would have said he was only being attentive . . . not flirting. I’m sure the two of you felt pretty vengeful to Jason, considering how he’d treated you a couple of years ago. Even if he’d changed.”

Phyllis’s face was furious now. “You’ve got it all wrong. After I found out the way he was, I didn’t
want
him back. He hadn’t changed a lick, believe me.”

And then Beatrice realized she
had
gotten it all wrong. “You and Eric fell in love, didn’t you? It’s not just that you were partnering with Eric to enact revenge on Jason. You and Eric started a relationship after Jason left town. But Eric has never had the money to have Jason’s lifestyle.”

“Neither did Jason,” said Phyllis quickly. “He just scammed people to get money. I should know—he scammed me out of mine, too. I bought Jason a car, I bought him clothes, furniture, art. It put me into terrible debt and I’ve never recovered. Can you imagine Eric and me getting married? We wouldn’t have had two pennies to rub together. He’d be working at the
movie theater and I’d be a wedding coordinator, like . . . once a month. Not enough money to really even live on and we’d never see each other.”

“So your idea was to kill Jason. Eric, as Jason’s only living relative, would inherit his money. Then the two of you could be comfortable. But didn’t you think everyone would be suspicious? You’d have even more motive than if you were merely trying to take revenge on an ex-fiancé,” said Beatrice.

“Don’t you guess we’d have thought that through? Eric and I are
already
married, by the way. We got married in South Carolina a couple of weeks ago. We weren’t going to stick around Dappled Hills and have everyone’s suspicious eyes on us until our dying days, no. We were going to leave town separately, and no one would have been the wiser.” Phyllis stopped short. “What am I saying?” she said with a short laugh. “We
are
going to leave town separately with no one the wiser. That’s still the plan. I just have to shut you up first.”

Beatrice’s heart pounded so loud that she felt sure that Phyllis should be able to hear it plainly. She quickly changed the subject. Boris and Noo-noo continued scratching and jumping at the front door. Noo-noo gave a sharp, alarmed bark. “What I don’t totally understand is what happened with Frank Helmsley. It sounded to me like he knew something about what happened to Jason. Did he try to blackmail Eric?”

Phyllis said, “Frank was in and out of the Patchwork Cottage. I guess he was smoking or something. Why on earth was he sticking around? Maybe he was waiting for the chance to ask his mother for money . . . again.” She snorted at her own joke. “Whatever it was that he was doing, he seemed to be nosing around like he knew something was up.”

There was a noise behind them and Eric was suddenly in the kitchen with them. “Wanted to make sure everything was okay in here. You were supposed to let me know when it was over. What’s up?” He only briefly glanced at Beatrice. It was as if she were already gone to him. Beatrice felt a chill going up her spine.

“It’s taking longer than I thought. The dogs.” Phyllis’s eyes were huge in her pale face. “How did you get past them?”

Eric held up his hand, which had hot dogs in it. “I came prepared. At least, I was prepared against the corgi. That big dog . . . well, lucky it was hungry.”

“What are you doing here, Eric? It’s going to look weird—our two cars being here. No one even knows anything about us . . . except for her.”

“I told you—I was worried about you.”

“You don’t think I can hold my own against an old woman?” Phyllis asked indignantly.

Beatrice gritted her teeth. Phyllis must only be a decade younger than she was. Let her believe what she wanted.

“Just go, okay?” pleaded Phyllis. “Nobody probably saw you come here. If you stick around, that might change. I’ll let you know when I’m out of here. Promise.”

While they were debating the point, Beatrice’s gaze latched onto the clunky food processor that Meadow had given her. She’d put the container up in the cabinets, but the bulky processor wouldn’t fit in there with the top. It would hurt to be hit by that thing. Really hurt. But she had no hope against both Eric and Phyllis.

“Okay. Be careful,” said Eric, reaching over to give Phyllis a small hug. You’d think Phyllis were about to go on a long road trip instead of about to commit murder.

Eric made his way past the barking dogs, with some difficulty this time, if the scuffling sounds were any indication.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “So Frank actually witnessed Jason’s murder.”

“No, he saw Eric leaving the shop, though. And then he found out that Jason was dead, not long after, and drew his own conclusions. What other business would Eric have had in the quilt shop?”

“And he tried to blackmail Eric.”

“It must have been the first time in his life that he ever motivated himself to make money.” Phyllis gave an unpleasant laugh.

“And you met him at the church.” Beatrice looked at her levelly.

“Me?” Phyllis looked startled that Beatrice had figured it out.

“Sure, why not?” Beatrice tried moving imperceptibly sideways toward the counter. “You made a prank call to Wyatt to lure him away from the church. Eric spoke to Frank on the phone that afternoon, right? He must have been able to tell that Frank was completely intoxicated. According to Martha’s housekeeper, Frank was even drinking Martha’s alcohol. Frank demanded to speak to Eric late that afternoon, didn’t he? Knowing how Frank was, he probably didn’t listen to reason, either. Eric wasn’t even in town, was he?”

“Working,” said Phyllis, eyes narrowed. “In Lenoir.”

“The day that Meadow and I were at that theater, it was so quiet that Eric was the only employee we saw. He took our ticket money, helped us at the concession stand, and started our movie for us. It’s not as if no one would notice if he left. And it would be obvious he had no alibi during the time of the murder if he’d locked up the movie theater and driven off to Dappled Hills. So you offered to meet Frank in Eric’s place—and silence him,” said Beatrice. She leaned back against the counter in her narrow kitchen.