Shear Trouble (4 page)

“You’d think. Although Phyllis did dote on Jason. She was always giving him things. But remember, we all thought he was really well off. Who knows—maybe he was taking her gifts and selling them,” said Meadow. “I’d never thought that Phyllis was all that well off until she started giving Jason all those presents.” She gave a small gasp as a thought occurred to her. “Do you think that maybe Jason bankrupted her? Or ran through most of her money? Maybe that’s why he didn’t go through with the wedding—because he knew she didn’t have any money anymore.”

“It’s possible,” said Beatrice. “But what about Tony? Where does he figure into all of this?”

“The way that I understand it,” said Meadow in a hushed voice as if someone were listening in right there in Beatrice’s living room, “Jason got to be friends with Tony’s grandfather. Tony’s grandfather trusted Jason and decided to invest in some kind of scheme that he was promoting. But the only savings he really had was the account he’d set up for Tony’s college education.” Meadow shook her head sadly. “Tony was always a very bright kid. Everybody said he had a lot of
promise. When Jason skipped town seven years ago, he took that money with him, and that was the end of all of Tony’s dreams. His grandfather died soon after Jason left. Such a pity.”

“Why didn’t Tony’s grandfather press charges?” asked Beatrice. “He didn’t pass away
that
soon, did he?”

“He was just too embarrassed, I think. I only heard about it through the grapevine and then only in whispers,” said Meadow, shaking her head. “But the Phyllis thing—that was a lot more open and gossiped over. Jason’s family never recovered from the shock of having him skip town like that. His mother died very soon afterward and then his brother . . . I never even saw him around town after Jason left. It’s almost as if he didn’t want to show his face around Dappled Hills.”

Beatrice asked, “Do you think that Phyllis could have killed Jason, Meadow?”

Meadow vehemently shook her head, making her long gray braid sway. “I certainly do not! After all, Phyllis
loved
Jason. Why on earth would she want to kill him?”

Why indeed? But love could be very close to hate sometimes . . . and how might Phyllis have taken it when Jason started dating Martha? Her fellow quilter in the Cut-Ups? Wouldn’t it have felt like a double betrayal?

“I wonder why he came back to Dappled Hills after being gone for seven years,” said Beatrice. “Doesn’t
that seem a little strange to you? After all, he’d basically gotten away with a crime. Why would he want to come back to town and possibly face charges? It seems really risky to me.”

“Maybe he wanted to try to make up to the town for what he’d done,” said Meadow with a shrug. “I haven’t heard of any bad behavior from him since he returned a few months ago. He could have wanted to make amends. And he certainly seems to be head over heels over Martha.”

Beatrice wasn’t convinced about Jason’s ability to change. It seemed likely to her that he might have needed more money and thought that Dappled Hills had made an easy mark in the past. And she wasn’t at all surprised that he’d focused in on Martha Helmsley. After all, she did seem to be very financially secure—plus, she was a lovely woman. Even if she did seem like a jealous one.

“Speaking of love,” said Meadow, batting her eyes. “How are things going between you and Wyatt? I saw the two of you at the grocery store the other day—looking like you were sharing an intimate moment.”

“An intimate moment? At Bub’s Grocery?”

“Well, when you’re in love, everywhere is romantic.”

Beatrice said, “No, there was no romantic moment at the grocery store.”

“But maybe there was . . . at the Dappled Hills
Eatery?” Meadow looked as innocent as she possibly could.”

“For goodness’ sake. Were you in there, too? It seemed like half the town was in that restaurant and staring at Wyatt and me,” said Beatrice, exasperated.

“So it
is
true! No, I wasn’t there. But Emily Sue was there and she said that she saw the two of you having a nice lunch.” Meadow clapped her hands. “Oh, Beatrice! I couldn’t be more thrilled!”

Beatrice gave a weak smile in return. Was the whole town talking about their date?

“Have you cooked Wyatt a meal yet? That’s one of the most romantic dates you can have, you know,” said Meadow earnestly.

“Ah . . . no. No, I haven’t gotten around to that yet. Besides, I think Wyatt and I have a more—well, cerebral relationship.”

Meadow stared blankly at her. “Cerebral? See, that’s why this relationship has been so slow to get off the ground. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, remember?” Meadow suddenly jumped up and started opening Beatrice’s cabinets and rooting around. The kitten hunched down on the top of the cabinet, staring down at Meadow as if she were thinking about jumping down on top of her head. “Where’s your food processor? And your cake tin? Where are all the tools you need to create your culinary masterpiece?”

“Meadow, as a reminder, I’ve been cooking for one
for about the last ten years. Plus, I downsized to this cottage. I don’t have the space for kitchen tools,” said Beatrice, trying to sound firm. Really, she’d gotten very used to cooking herself very simple meals. Or picking up a sandwich at the deli. “But, since you’re asking, here they are.” She walked across the kitchen to open a small cabinet. There lay a glass casserole dish, a cookie sheet, a frying pan, a mixing bowl, a measuring cup, and a covered pot.

Meadow stared at the equipment in amazement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such few things to cook with.” She opened her mouth and then shut it back again. “Beatrice, this is serious. If Wyatt sees this, he’ll realize that you really don’t cook.”

“Meadow, as I was saying . . .”

Meadow was shaking her head and continuing on as if she hadn’t heard Beatrice interrupt. “I know. I’ve got a few duplicates in my kitchen. Especially the food processor. How can you cook your masterpiece with no food processor? I’ll bring them over later.”

Beatrice was about to talk this point over with Meadow when there was a tap on her door. Noo-noo quickly started barking and the forgotten Boris came galloping out of Beatrice’s kitchen. His mouth was covered in peanut butter.

“How did Boris get into the peanut butter?” asked Beatrice. She clenched her teeth as she walked to the front door.

“Pure genius,” said Meadow in satisfaction, reaching out to grasp Boris’s collar. She watched as Beatrice turned the door handle. “Hey, check the window first, Beatrice. Since we have a murderer running around and all.”

Beatrice cautiously peered out the side window. “It’s Wyatt,” she said with a small smile.

Meadow gave her a hug. “Okay,” she said in a conspiratorial manner, “we’re going to work on your cooking stuff. All right? I’ll come back another time with the kitchen equipment.”

“Beatrice,” he said, giving her a warm smile and reaching down to pet Noo-noo. “Are you all right? I heard about what happened yesterday evening. . . .” At that point, though, Boris couldn’t be restrained any longer and pulled away from Meadow and galloped to Wyatt, sticking his massive head in the way so that Wyatt had to pet him instead of Noo-noo. Beatrice sighed.

Wyatt scratched Boris behind the ears. “Oh, you’ve got company,” he said.

“It’s only me,” said Meadow, “it’s not company.” She
was already glancing futilely about her for Boris’s leash. “And I should be going,” she added hastily, giving Beatrice a broad wink.

“Don’t leave on my behalf,” said Wyatt. “I’m about to head to the church office to do some work, so I won’t be but a minute.”

Meadow settled back into the sofa with a sigh. “In that case, I’ll hang out.” Her gaze settled on Beatrice. “Beatrice was just going to change, weren’t you?”

Beatrice looked down and realized she was still in her robe and slippers. Perfectly respectable garments, but . . .

“Sorry,” said Wyatt, “I’m here pretty early.”

“Not as early as Meadow was,” said Beatrice wryly. “I had a slow start today.”

Meadow apparently thought she needed to improve her appearance a bit. “Boris, Noo-noo, and I will entertain Wyatt while you get ready,” she said in a rather bossy voice.

Beatrice hurried to her bedroom to change into khaki pants and a pale blue button-down shirt. When she returned, Meadow had already poured Wyatt a cup of coffee and he was protesting that he didn’t need any more muffins. Meadow was always determined to feed people—even if she wasn’t in her own house.

Meadow said, “So, I’m sure you’ve heard by now what happened at poor Posy’s quilting retreat, right?”

Wyatt nodded and gazed sympathetically at Beatrice.
“And, Beatrice, you were the one who found Jason? I’m sorry—that must have been so awful for you.”

Beatrice said, “It was, actually. I didn’t sleep so well last night, which is why I hadn’t gotten out of my robe and slippers yet this morning. But, of course, it was a lot more upsetting for Martha and Phyllis.”

Meadow sighed. “Believe it or not, those two used to be good friends in the Cut-Ups. That’s another reason why I want you to get to the bottom of this, Beatrice. Right away, they started blaming each other for Jason’s murder. Jason created discord between them in life and he’s going to do it in death, too.”

Wyatt cleared his throat a little. “I’m actually officiating at Jason’s funeral service.”

Meadow’s eyes opened wide. “What? You want to do that for him? After all he’d done?”

Beatrice said, “Meadow was explaining before you arrived, that Jason had used the church to help build up his position of trust in the town.”

“Before he ran away with some money!” added Meadow. “He acted like he really cared about people at church, but he used that trust to lure them in and steal from them—like he did with Tony’s grandfather.”

Wyatt nodded, but his eyes were tired. “Jason has been working hard to repair ties with the church since he returned a few months ago.”

“I should hope so,” grumbled Meadow. “He had plenty of ties to repair.”

“It wouldn’t have been right for me to hold his past against him,” said Wyatt gently. “Besides, Martha has been active in the church for years and she personally asked me to perform the service. It’s an honor, as it always is.”

Wyatt did seem a bit uncomfortable, though, despite what he was saying. Beatrice said, slowly, “It seems as though Jason must have been very optimistic about his return to town. After all, he started settling right back into life here. He started dating someone, he returned to the church. And it was only seven years ago that he left. He seemed determined to return, get on good terms with everyone, and perhaps repair some of the damage he’d done. Do you think that people can change? I’d really like to believe they can, but I’m not sure.”

Meadow gave a hooting laugh. “Well, don’t ask Ramsay that question. He’ll start muttering about tigers never changing their stripes. But he’s looking at it from a law enforcement perspective and not a faith-based one.”

Meadow and Beatrice waited expectantly for Wyatt to answer.

Wyatt said, “Yes, I do believe people can change. I’m in the wrong business, if I don’t. I’ve seen change throughout my years as a minister. Although . . .” He paused. “I do feel as though it’s very
difficult
for someone to change.” And his face was troubled.

*   *   *

After Wyatt, Meadow, and Boris left, Beatrice figured out a plan for casually interviewing suspects in Jason’s murder. She decided that she might as well start with Phyllis. Phyllis had, after all, made herself central to the case. She drew attention to the love triangle by trying to leave the Cut-Ups. She’d once been engaged to Jason. And the murder weapon was her very own pair of shears.

Of course, she didn’t have an excellent reason to just drop by Phyllis’s today. It wasn’t as if she and Phyllis were good friends—she barely knew the woman. Beatrice hoped that if she just went over and rang the doorbell, Phyllis would invite her in.

And, surprisingly, that’s nearly what happened. Beatrice had parked in the driveway in front of Phyllis’s small brick house with black shutters. The little yard had obviously been cared for and had meticulously trimmed bushes and fall-blooming flowers. Phyllis even had a small pumpkin on her porch for an autumn decoration.

Phyllis, in a wide-brimmed hat, was deadheading late-blooming roses. Beatrice saw that her eyes were exhausted, though, and figured that Phyllis had slept as little as she had.

Phyllis gave her an immediate hug. “I’m tickled pink you came by, Beatrice! How incredibly kind of you. I could tell right off the bat that you’re a really
sensitive person. You obviously picked up on how isolated I’m feeling right now and knew to come by and be a friend. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

Beatrice felt a twinge of guilt, although she was also relieved that Phyllis was so eager to invite her in that she wasn’t asking a lot of questions.

Phyllis took her inside, sat her down in a room that was small and rather sparsely furnished with some threadbare antiques, and scurried off for lemonade for both of them. While she was gone, Beatrice glanced around her modest living room. Then she swiftly got up to take a closer look at a picture that was on her tidy desk. It was a photo of Phyllis with Jason Gore. In the background was a luxurious Cadillac. They were both giving wide grins in the photo and she noticed that Phyllis looked very happy.

Beatrice knew that Phyllis no longer drove a luxurious Cadillac. As she recalled, she drove a small, older-model sedan with a few dents in it. Maybe Meadow was right. Maybe Phyllis had spent most of her money on Jason.

Beatrice heard footsteps coming back toward the living room and hurried to sit back down. Phyllis handed a glass of lemonade to Beatrice, exclaiming as she did, “Oh my. Beatrice, you must have slept as badly as I did. I’m so sorry. It would have been traumatic finding poor Jason that way.”

Phyllis gulped hard as she said Jason’s name as if it
were difficult to get the words out. Beatrice, fearing tears, quickly said, “It was a terrible day for all of us, wasn’t it? What a shock for everyone.”

Phyllis nodded, taking a sip of her own drink. “Maybe I should have poured some alcohol in these lemonades,” she said with a strangled laugh.

She stared blankly out the window at her tiny backyard for a moment. An angry flush colored her cheeks. “I think the shock is quickly turning to total fury,” she said quietly. “Somebody set me up.”

“I think you’re right,” said Beatrice. “Someone wanted to make it look as if you’d killed Jason. What’s more, whoever is behind this murder has a lot of gumption. After all, they committed a terrible crime only yards away from a roomful of quilters. It was a very brazen murder.”

Phyllis eagerly added, “And they swiped my shears from right under my nose, apparently.”

Beatrice actually doubted this. There was brazen, and then there was crazy. Who would lean over and take Phyllis’s scissors from right in front of her? To use in a murder? Why take that risk, even if you were setting someone up? “I’m not so sure about that, Phyllis. After all, we were all in that room together, talking. Couldn’t you, a bit absently, have laid them down when you walked into the shop? You’d have had your arms full and probably set them down for a moment to adjust your load.”

“Maybe,” said Phyllis, excitement rising in her voice. “Then anyone could have gotten them. Someone could have seen the shears lying there as they came through the door, and then gone back into the store later and taken advantage of the fact that they were there.” She took a thoughtful sip from her drink. “I can’t understand why I’m getting blamed for this. I really can’t. After all, my relationship with Jason was over. I wished him well. Why would I want him back after what he did to me? He humiliated me in front of the entire town of Dappled Hills. He wasn’t the kind of beau I needed.”

“Perhaps,” said Beatrice delicately, “people aren’t thinking that you wanted to continue your relationship with Jason. Perhaps they think you wanted revenge.”

A flush spread across Phyllis’s face and she turned again to better look out the window. “That’s silly,” she muttered. “What’s done is done.” She stared broodingly out at the goldfinches on the nearby bird feeders. “I moved on. It’s important to move on.”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “I’ve had a bit of success in the past in poking around in these cases. I guess it gives my brain something to do,” she said with a slight shrug. “I thought I’d try to ask some questions and see what I can find out about Jason’s death. See if I can clear your name.”

An unreadable expression passed across Phyllis’s face, but then it vanished and she smiled at her. “Would
you? Oh, Beatrice, that would be wonderful! It’s fantastic living in a small town—until it isn’t fantastic.”

“What I need to know from you, then, is what you were doing while the retreat was going on. That will really help to clear your name, naturally. Of course, I was in there with you for some of the time, but I wasn’t exactly tracking your movements or anything.” Beatrice smiled at Phyllis. “I was trying to get a handle on that double wedding ring quilt that I’ve been working on.”

“I was mainly in the back room with all of you. But I left the room briefly a couple of times. For food and something to drink,” said Phyllis.

“And you didn’t see or hear anything while you were in the store?”

“I sure didn’t,” said Phyllis regretfully, after thinking for a moment or two. “Of course, it was pretty noisy in the back room, wasn’t it? We were all chatting and the sewing machines were running. It wasn’t the quietest place in the world.”

“I meant, though, while you were in the
store
, not the back room,” said Beatrice.

“I didn’t. But I was so focused on those cakes that I don’t think I’d have noticed if a pink elephant stampeded through the shop,” said Phyllis. She made a rueful face and patted her stomach as if it were chubbier than it was.

“Have you got any ideas who might be behind
Jason’s death?” Beatrice took a last sip of her lemonade and set it gently down on a rather rickety antique coffee table.

“A few ideas,” said Phyllis. “Well, one idea in particular. I thought it very convenient that Martha’s son, Frank, showed up. Why on earth would he be hanging out at a quilting retreat?”

“I believe he had a legitimate excuse for being there,” said Beatrice with a frown. “As I recall, he was bringing some sort of forgotten item to Martha. Fabric or something.”

“True. But he could have delivered it to her and been gone in a few minutes. He was still there, though, when you made that awful discovery. Frank could have had a genuine reason to show up, and then could easily have taken advantage of the setup. Jason was in the shop, perhaps even had his back to Frank. My shears may have been lying on top of a nearby display. It would have been easy for him.”

“Why would Frank have wanted to kill Jason?” asked Beatrice curiously.

“Because he hated him, of course!” said Phyllis in surprise. “Didn’t you know? You see, he depends on his mother for absolutely everything. Martha supports him completely. That’s fairly scandalous right there—a grown man who sponges off his mother to survive. Ridiculous!” she snorted.

“He’s an artist, isn’t he?” asked Beatrice, remembering the Van Dyke beard and the dramatic black clothing. And the moodiness.

“That’s what they say. He certainly tries to look the part, although I think he looks silly. You know, I’ve never seen any of his art for sale or seen anything that he’s done. I think he’s probably loafing around all day instead of painting, or whatever it is that he’s supposed to be doing. I kept hearing from other quilters that Frank and Martha were arguing with each other all the time—he told her not to have anything to do with Jason. I’m sure he was terrified that they’d end up getting married and that Jason would persuade her to cut him off—Jason did seem to have remarkable influence over Martha.” Phyllis shrugged and took a sip of lemonade.

“So you think that Frank is the most likely suspect,” said Beatrice.

“Or maybe Martha herself,” said Phyllis.

“Martha? But you were saying that Martha was so taken with Jason that she would even consider siding with him against her own son.”

“Well, yes. But Martha has also been troubled lately by Jason’s behavior. You see, Jason was a tremendous flirt. I wasn’t irritated myself by it when he and I were engaged . . . because that’s just how Jason was. You could tell that it bothered Martha, though. He’d be flirting with some woman and she’d be stewing nearby.”

“Maybe,” said Beatrice doubtfully. Murdering
someone like that, though—she couldn’t really picture Martha doing it.

“Or maybe,” said Phyllis in a pointed tone, “Martha killed Jason in order to set me up and make it look as if I were responsible. She might very well have. After all, she absolutely loathes me. It might be exactly the kind of mean thing she’d have done—implicate me in murder.”