Tying the Knot (18 page)

Meadow frowned. “Not really. I mean, we probably scared the life out of her, you know?”

“It seemed to me as if she wasn't simply startled to see us—she was really taken aback and didn't want to visit right then. Or that maybe she was hiding something,” said Beatrice.

“You're just being fanciful. We scared her, and she didn't want company because it was early in the morning and her house is still a disaster area. You're overthinking it, Beatrice.”

But the more Beatrice thought about it, the more convinced she was that she wasn't overthinking it.

After lunch, Beatrice got a phone call.

It was Meadow, speaking in a highly excited voice. “Have you heard? No, I guess you haven't heard. Why would you, considering that I'm the one living with the police chief, after all?”

“What happened, Meadow?” asked Beatrice with as much patience as she could muster.

“It's Patrick Finley. He's . . . dead.”

Beatrice took a deep breath. “Dead, as in, He's had a heart attack or died of some natural causes? Or dead as in . . .”

“
Dead
as in . . . we don't know. It's all very frustrating! Ramsay says they suspect foul play, but they don't know for sure,” said Meadow. “He either jumped or was pushed off the greenway trail that he usually runs on. He plummeted off the cliff and fell to his death. They found a note tacked onto a tree. It was a suicide note with a confession of Trevor's murder.”

Beatrice tried to take it all in. “So this happened at the greenway trail, but it could possibly have been murder? How would someone know where he was unless they followed him?”

“Ramsay spoke with Mrs. Finley, and apparently he had been walking three days a week in addition to the racquetball. He was pretty dedicated,” said Meadow wistfully. She was no doubt thinking that her own
exercise goal was difficult to maintain. “Anyway, he always took the same route, and he was always back at the same time each morning. So, she phoned Ramsay as soon as he deviated from that schedule and told Ramsay where to look for him.”

Beatrice said, “If it
was
murder, it sounds like the killer knew his pattern and followed him out there. Did the police get any evidence at all? Physical evidence, I mean? Or do they know what time this happened, exactly?” asked Beatrice.

“Forensics was going over the area, but evidence will be tough to come by, considering that the trail is used by most of the town of Dappled Hills. And, yes, they're thinking it happened during the time of our walk,” said Meadow meaningfully. “I mean, obviously
before
it really started pouring down rain and lightning.”

“So, Eleanor could have done it,” said Beatrice quietly. “If Patrick were murdered. Eleanor could have been returning back home when we saw her. It wouldn't have taken too much strength if she'd caught him off guard. Did you tell Ramsay?”

“I did. Although I reminded Ramsay, like I'll remind you: What reason would Eleanor Garber have to kill Patrick Finley? I can't figure out why she'd have done such a thing,” said Meadow in a distraught voice. “I can't see it. And I volunteered to help her with her clutter from now until the end of time.”

Beatrice said thoughtfully, “She might have done it out of revenge. If she thought that Patrick had been the one behind Trevor's murder. Or maybe
Patrick
knew that Eleanor was the one responsible for Trevor's murder, and he met her out there to try to blackmail her.”

Meadow's voice was doubtful. “Hmmm . . . I don't think so. Not him. He seems financially solvent to me. I can't see him pulling a Trevor and trying to squeeze money out of people.”

Beatrice said, “One other thing: If he was murdered and the killer made it look like suicide, then maybe the murderer's motive was to remove suspicion from himself and focus it on Patrick. Considering that a confession was found nearby. That could have been Eleanor or any of the suspects.” She paused, thinking. “Did Ramsay say if the confession note was handwritten?”

“He said it was a typewritten note,” said Meadow. “And, really, who types out a suicide note? I think that's one reason why the police think that it was murder. If you're feeling desperately guilty over having committed murder and you're considering suicide, do you really take the time to fire up your computer and type up and print out a note?”

“Good point,” said Beatrice. “No, you'd probably grab whatever paper was nearby and scribble something out. Did Ramsay mention whether Patrick Finley's wife commented on his mental or emotional state? Had he seemed worried or upset or anything lately?”

Meadow said, “His wife was in total shock. She couldn't believe that he'd kill himself. Denise said he'd been worried weeks ago, but he'd been very upbeat and much happier since then.”

“That could reflect a before-and-after attitude toward Trevor's death,” said Beatrice. “He was worried and feeling desperate that Trevor was going to reveal that he'd botched that operation. Then, after Trevor's death, he felt a sense of relief that he wasn't going to be exposed. And
Denise is right: that doesn't really reflect the mind-set of someone who wants to kill himself.” She hesitated. “I suppose Denise is a suspect? I know spouses are usually always suspects in these types of cases.”

“She's not, no. There was an early-morning prayer breakfast at the church, and she was there during the entire time during which Patrick could have died. It was when she returned and saw that her husband hadn't come home yet that she called Ramsay.” There was a pause. “There's something else.” Meadow sounded a bit uncomfortable.

“What's that?”

“While Ramsay was calling in the state police, he was checking the area for a possible witness. You know, a lot of people exercise in the morning on that greenway before work. Daniel Kemp walked into the parking lot a few minutes after Ramsay arrived at the scene,” said Meadow.

“Walked into the parking lot? He'd been exercising on the greenway?” Beatrice's heart sank.

“That's right. He told Ramsay he didn't see anything. But that was the second crime scene he was present at recently, so that wasn't very good.” Meadow hesitated. “It's not like he really had a motive. He didn't even know Patrick Finley. He only knew what Trevor had told him about him.”

“Yes, but remember: he could have made it look like suicide to deflect attention from himself as a suspect,” said Beatrice slowly. “And that ‘suicide' does seem pretty suspicious.”

“Well, we don't know anything
yet
. The police are still investigating. But I'd like to get this cleared up. I
don't enjoy being suspicious of my friends. Are you planning on asking another round of questions?”

Beatrice rubbed the side of her head, feeling a pounding headache coming on. “Yes, that will be my plan. And I'll try to do it in as unobtrusive a way as possible, considering that I've already gotten a warning one time.” She thought for a moment. “I guess Lyla and Daniel will likely both be at the spring festival, so that might be a good time to talk with them. I wonder if Posy could get Eleanor to go there with her.”

“I have a feeling that's going to be a no. After all, Lyla will be helping out in Posy's booth, right? For that ‘petting zoo' for quilting that she's doing. Those two probably need to be kept apart, or Lyla really
will
put a restraining order on her. Besides, we already know that Eleanor was out at the time that Patrick Finley was killed. It's not as if she could deny it,” said Meadow.

“Exactly. But I want to follow up with her, anyway, and see if I can get more information about why she was out. She acted as if she were hiding something. And it felt as if she really had something on her mind, too. Maybe I could get her to share it with me,” said Beatrice.

Meadow said, “Or I can dig and see what I can find over our cleaning-up session later on. I'll let you know.”

Beatrice hung up the phone and absently stared outside for a minute. Noo-noo looked up at her with worried eyes, and wagged the nubbin that was her tail. She reached out to pet the little dog. She felt as if she needed a bit of a break from the case. There had been so much to absorb the past few days—from the incident with the intruder to the odd visit with Eleanor and Patrick's
death. She looked over at the clock. She could always check in with Posy. Maybe she could even give her a heads-up about Eleanor's cat, and to tell her not to be surprised if she got a call from her. And Posy's sweet manner always made Beatrice feel more relaxed.

Fifteen minutes later, Beatrice walked into the Patchwork Cottage. She glanced around apprehensively, expecting to see the throng of new customers in Posy's shop that she'd seen the past couple of times she'd been in there. But the shop seemed quiet. Beatrice felt guilty over her sense of relief.

“Hi, Beatrice!” said Posy cheerfully, as if she wanted nothing more in the world than to have Beatrice walk in through the door. “Want to have some fresh-squeezed lemonade with me? I feel like sitting down for a few minutes, and you have perfect timing.”

“Yes! I'd love it,” said Beatrice fervently. The feeling of normalcy that she got from walking in the door of the quilt shop was wonderful.

Posy and Beatrice sat together on the sofa in the center of the shop with tall glasses of lemonade in their hands. “How is everything going?” asked Posy with a warm smile. “I haven't seen you since our nice visit at supper the other night.”

Beatrice's eyes opened wide at the thought that Meadow
hadn't
spread news of Beatrice's incident with the intruder all over Dappled Hills. But, then, Meadow had been very disturbed by the whole thing. Maybe she was trying to put it behind her. And she knew that Ramsay wouldn't talk about it, and that Piper had been very busy at school. So she took a deep breath and said, “Posy, if you don't mind keeping what I'm about to tell
you under wraps. Tell Cork, by all means, but I didn't want folks worried about me. Because I'm fine.”

Now Posy's bright blue eyes were alarmed. “Oh dear!”

Beatrice filled her in quickly, and Posy's eyes grew larger and larger. “But you see I'm just fine. I guess I've simply been asking a lot of questions around town and making someone worried. That's all. I'm going to keep going, but be more subtle. And a lot more aware of my surroundings.”

Posy said, looking a bit confused, “More questions?”

“Unfortunately, Patrick Finley was found dead today. The police are treating it as a suspicious death, since they don't know for sure that it was murder,” said Beatrice.

Posy frowned, thinking. “Patrick Finley. Do I know him?”

“You probably don't. I didn't at first. He does some volunteering at the church, but he works in Lenoir. He's a surgeon. So, now I do have more questions that I can ask. But I'll tread lightly, of course,” said Beatrice. “I'm thinking I might be casually able to ask some questions while I'm at the festival. By the way, how are your preparations going for that?”

Posy beamed at her. “For the quilting booth? Very well, thanks. I'll have a sewing machine and some basic supplies, and hope to show everyone that quilting can be an easy craft to learn. I'm excited about it.”

“That's wonderful, Posy.” Beatrice snapped her fingers. “I remembered one of the things I'd wanted to tell you about. Eleanor Garber was talking about giving away one of her cats to a good home—she wants to
downsize some. She said she'd probably be getting in contact with you soon about it.”

“She already has,” said Posy, eyes twinkling. “And thanks so much for the networking. Eleanor said that she had a mature cat who is a real sweetheart that she's thinking of for Miss Sissy and me.”

“Mature cat?”
asked Beatrice. “Is that code for
elderly
?”

“No, I think the cat is something like seven years old. But the best part is that she's supposed to adapt to change well—she doesn't mind if Eleanor changes out the cat food or the location of the litter box. Her name is Maisie, and she's supposed to be really laid-back.” Posy took a sip of her lemonade.

“Have you told Miss Sissy about Maisie yet?” asked Beatrice.

“No, I was scared to, in case something happened and our arrangement fell through. Miss Sissy would be so crushed if that happened,” said Posy.

Beatrice could easily imagine Miss Sissy kidnapping Maisie under cover of darkness. “That's probably a very good idea.”

The bell on the door rang, and Posy looked up as a customer walked in. “I'd better run and help her,” she said quickly.

“Of course,” said Beatrice. “I should head home, anyway. Noo-noo will be ready to be fed.”

The door rang again, and Harper came in. “Maybe I'll just say hi to Harper for a minute before I go,” Beatrice said quickly.

Posy hurried off to help the customer, and Harper raised a hand and smiled when she saw Beatrice. She walked over to the sitting area and gave Beatrice a hug.
“It's good to see you,” she said. “See, now that we know each other, we run into each other all the time.” She sat down on the sofa next to Beatrice. “And I'm glad you're here, because I've been meaning to call you. I know I sort of dumped a whole bunch of emotions and . . . stuff on you the last time I saw you. But I felt so much better after we talked.”

Beatrice nodded, and paused to pick exactly the right words. “Were you able to have a conversation with Daniel, then?”

Harper smiled at her and said, “Actually, it was Daniel who had a conversation with
me
. I understand that was your doing, and I'm very thankful.”

“Oh, he would have spoken with you about it,” said Beatrice quickly. “It was just a matter of when. I wanted to move things along a bit—that's all.”

“I'm so glad you did,” said Harper. She smoothed down an imaginary wrinkle in the crisply ironed black slacks she was wearing. Then she added in a thoughtful voice, “It explained a lot of things. Not everything, but a lot. Daniel is very protective of his mother in so many ways that it makes sense that he'd try to prevent something negative about her from getting out.”

“I could see it, too,” said Beatrice. But how far would he go to protect her?

“I only wish that he'd trusted me with the information. I told him that it couldn't matter less to me who his father was. After all, his father really is the man who raised him. Yes, it would have caused a scandal back in the day, and it's clearly something his mother wanted to keep hidden—probably to protect
Daniel
. But today, people likely wouldn't think twice about it. I know I
didn't. And I wish that Daniel had entrusted that information to me.” Harper looked wistfully at Beatrice.