Quilt or Innocence (8 page)

Georgia was already clucking as soon as they walked in the door, her nurturing instincts in overdrive. “Let me make you some tea,” she said, scurrying to the kitchen. “
Hot
tea, not iced.”

There was some banging around in cabinets and then a crash as several things fell to the floor. “Sorry!” Georgia called out. Savannah muttered under her breath at her sister’s clumsiness.

Beatrice said, “Felicity, is there anything we can do? Are you actually feeling ill, or are you upset about Judith . . . ?”

Beatrice trailed off as Felicity knit her brows at the mention of Judith. Georgia hurried in and pressed the cup of warm tea into Felicity’s hands.

“Sorry,” said Beatrice, feeling that she’d made things worse by bringing up the murder.

Felicity shook her head. “No, Beatrice, it’s not your fault. This whole thing has put me in a state.”

Georgia said sadly, “I think what’s made me feel so terrible is how we left things with Judith. You’d like to think that your last words with a person before they die would be nice ones.” Georgia’s eyes grew misty and she rummaged in her pocketbook for a tissue.

“It’s hardly our fault, Georgia. Judith is the one who riled everybody up! She made us all furious with her, then waltzed out the door and got herself murdered.” Savannah sounded miffed at Judith’s thoughtlessness.

“And no one was angrier with Judith than Amber,” said Felicity quietly.

“You can’t think that
Amber
would have anything to do with her murder!” Georgia’s eyes were wide.

Felicity shrugged wordlessly, staring blankly across the room.

“Amber had absolutely
nothing
to do with it!” said Savannah, raising her penciled-in eyebrows to severe heights. “The very idea! Your daughter is no murderer, Felicity.”

Felicity took a tiny sip of her tea and didn’t answer.

“Why do you think,” asked Beatrice quietly, “that Amber could be involved with Judith’s death?”

Felicity looked down at the colorful quilt covering her, smoothing the fabric gently. “She was incredibly angry,” she said. She raised her hand at Georgia, who was about to sputter something in Amber’s defense. “No, you didn’t hear all of it. She wasn’t just upset at the quilting bee . . . She was absolutely furious while driving me home. She said hateful things about Judith . . . It wasn’t like Amber at all,” she said in a firm voice. “At least . . . it wasn’t like Amber, the way she is
now.
”

Savannah clucked. “Don’t bring up the past, Felicity. It doesn’t have any bearing at all.”

“But it
does
. The past
always
has a bearing on the present.” Felicity sighed and looked directly at Beatrice. “Amber was a very difficult teenager. Her dad died in an accident when she was fifteen. It really seemed to change her. She started hanging out with the wrong kind of kids—not Dappled Hills kids. She was angry over everything. It was a very bad time.”

“A bad time,” reminded Savannah in a stern voice, “that happened long ago.”

Felicity shook her head. “But Amber was so furious after the bee. It was just like when she was a teenager.”

“We all have our triggers,” Beatrice said.

“Well, this was clearly one of Amber’s. She hated the idea that Judith tried to take advantage of me.”

Savannah bristled with indignation. “As she should! It sounds like Judith planned to cheat you out of a good deal of money.”

Beatrice said, “I have to agree with Savannah—any daughter would be upset about that, Felicity. It doesn’t mean that Amber acted on her anger.”

Felicity paused. “It’s the second time that it’s happened, though. Judith was right when she said that a swindler duped me with a pyramid scheme.” There was a hard note in Felicity’s voice now. “It’s been five years now, but the whole episode still makes Amber livid. Plus, she was worried she was going to have to help me out financially, which is hard to do on a teacher’s salary, especially when you’re just starting out. I’d
been supporting
Amber
,
not the other way round. So I know that the thought of Judith cheating me out of money would be a trigger for Amber. I tried talking to Amber last night. I wanted to check back in with her because she was so upset. Terribly upset. And . . . she never picked up her phone.” She rubbed the soft border of the quilt between her fingers as she spoke.

Georgia waved a hand in the air, indicating the nebulous nature of Amber’s evening. “She could have been in the bathtub or something. Maybe she decided to go straight to bed and turned the ringer off the phone so she wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Maybe.” Felicity didn’t look convinced. There were deep circles under her eyes. Beatrice quickly changed the subject, since Felicity didn’t seem to have any other information to share. “Savannah was showing me her block for the new group quilt that Meadow is organizing.”

“You did get a message from Meadow, didn’t you?” Savannah cut in. “She was supposed to call everyone who wasn’t at the guild meeting.”

Felicity straightened in the chair a little. “Meadow did call me. I’ve got so much fabric already here at the house that I went ahead and got started. Quilting helps calm my nerves.” She pointed to a basket across the room. Georgia gently picked up a block from the top of the pile in the basket, and oohed over it. “I love it!”

Georgia held it up for everyone to see. Felicity had used romantic pastels in her block and had started appliquéing delicate roses on the front. She had also cut fabric in the shape of what looked like a large house in the Tudor revival style. “That’s Hampstead Columns,” Felicity explained. She shrugged a thin shoulder. “Apparently, that retirement home is my new obsession.”

“It makes for a beautiful block, though,” said Beatrice. “If it’s that pretty, I sure don’t blame you for wanting to move there.”

“It’s a lovely place. It’s not in Dappled Hills, but it’s not a long drive, either. I’ve got the money for the current monthly rent there,” said Felicity slowly. “But if any costs go up at all, I won’t be able to afford it. And we know that costs always go up. So I really can’t move there at this point, with no extra money to ensure against cost-of-living increases, because that would put Amber on the hook to help me out. I’ve got to get a cushion somehow.”

This line of conversation also seemed to be a worrying one for the older woman. Since Felicity mentioned that quilting was calming for her, Beatrice switched over to some guild conversation. “By the way,” she said, “Meadow has talked to me a little bit about taking the Village Quilters in a new direction—maybe accelerating the number of shows the group attends or focusing more on unique quilt designs. It would be really helpful if you could tell me about the kinds of things the Village Quilters have participated in in the past. Maybe that would give me some ideas about what direction to head in first.”

This was an area that Felicity knew a lot about, since she’d been part of the guild for the past thirty years. As she happily prattled about charity events and bazaars and different regional venues, the stress seemed to fall away from her a little. Savannah would intersperse her monologue from time to time with small corrections or additions.

Finally, Felicity stifled a yawn and Beatrice said, “Why don’t we let you get a little rest now? It looks like you didn’t sleep well last night.”

Felicity said drowsily, “Take some quilts with you as you go. Please. I really am trying to unload them, and I don’t think I’ve got anything else valuable here. And if I do, I’m sure you’ll let me know, Beatrice.”

Beatrice said, “By the way, I jotted down some quilt collectors’ names that I’m acquainted with from my work at the museum. Some of them might be interested in talking with you about your quilt, since you were thinking about selling it. Maybe Amber can help you get in touch with them.” The older lady gave Beatrice a grateful smile.

Felicity wouldn’t let her leave without a quilt in her hands—and she made Georgia and Savannah take one, too. Beatrice was able to assure her that they were
lovely
but not as valuable as the one she’d been planning to give Judith.

Beatrice had to admit that the new quilt looked beautiful on her bed. It inspired her to spend an hour struggling through some quilting herself. At first, the quilting was just as frustrating as usual . . . but then she discovered that she was actually improving. She wasn’t
good
, but she was getting better. This gave her a sense of peace—which was quickly dispelled the next morning when she found another note on her front porch.
Don’t be nosy
, it advised.

Whether it was the mysterious bottle appearing on her porch again, the beautiful summer day, the reminder of life’s sometimes untimely end that Judith’s death prompted, or perhaps a small yearning to see the handsome minister again, Beatrice decided that church was in order.

She looked in her closet and wondered what to wear. She finally decided on a basic royal blue dress. Beatrice had an inkling that it might be the kind of church where the congregation still got dressed up on Sundays.

Beatrice spent a few minutes rummaging around in the remaining boxes for her Bible before giving up. They’d have them in the pews. She found her favorite straw purse with colorful raffia flowers splashed across it and headed out the door. The weather was fine for walking and she had on comfortable sandals, so she left the car in the driveway.

Will I ever get used to the stillness and quiet here?
The silence was almost noisy. After a moment, though, she realized that there
were
sounds, just not the street sounds she’d gotten accustomed to in the city. One bird in particular was remarkable. It must have been a mockingbird, because the song jumped from one pattern to another. How many did the bird know? Beatrice started counting the unique songs.

Unfortunately, she became so engrossed with the mockingbird’s song that she didn’t notice the sound of a car engine behind her—until an old Lincoln came within about a foot of her and she scrambled off the sidewalk onto the grass.

She saw a fist waving on a skinny arm and muttered dark things under her breath. Miss Sissy was a public menace. How did she manage to keep a license? She must be paying Ramsay on the side.

Beatrice was relieved to finally make it safely to the church. Wyatt was at the huge wooden door, greeting worshippers as they came in. When she reached the door, Daisy was talking to Wyatt. She automatically put up a hand to smooth her hair and saw Daisy wink at her.

Daisy said, “So I designed that quilt to represent disappearing rural Americana. It’s a wistful, poignant tribute. At least, that’s what the judges said. Isn’t that nice? Now it’s going in a Southeastern juried competition among the best original designs in our region. I’m just pleased as punch—and feel so honored.”

Wyatt was quick to compliment her on her accomplishment and wish her luck in the competition. He actually
seemed
interested in quilting when she was telling him about it. An amazing man, really.

Daisy started talking again, and Beatrice tried to shift her attention back. “I’m glad you’re here, Beatrice, because I wanted to invite you to a dinner party I’m having tonight—in your honor.”

“Oh . . . Daisy. That’s really nice of you.”

Daisy smiled at her. “It’s just a small dinner with my friends, to welcome you to town and give you a chance to visit with some people I think you’ll enjoy. I’d do something larger, but I think it would be inappropriate under the circumstances. Wyatt, I’d love for you to come, too. You always have such interesting stories about Dappled Hills.”

“You’ve lived here a long time?” asked Beatrice with interest.

“All my life,” Wyatt said. “Actually, I’m a third-generation minister for the Dappled Hills Presbyterian Church.”

Beatrice was about to ask a little more about his family’s history with the church when a shrill voice to the side of them said, “I’ll come, too.” When they all blinked at her in confusion, she added, “To the party. I’ll come, too.” Thankfully, Miss Sissy was on foot and so they weren’t in any actual danger of being killed by her. Beatrice had to smile at Miss Sissy’s announcement that she’d be at a party to which she hadn’t been invited.

Daisy looked as if she had a sudden case of indigestion. There wasn’t much she could say, though, not in front of the minister and Beatrice.

“I’d be
delighted
for you to come, Miss Sissy! But I’m not sure you’d like my menu. Lots of exotic spices like cumin and saffron.”

Beatrice wondered if
she
was going to like the menu.

Miss Sissy’s lower lip stuck out and she looked even fiercer than usual.

Daisy gave a brave smile. “Of course you’re invited, Miss Sissy. Six thirty tonight, y’all?”

Beatrice felt cheerier about going to a dinner party with Wyatt planning on going, too.

“Sorry, but it’s time for me to go in for the service,” said Wyatt in his gentle way. “Thanks so much for coming to worship with us today, Beatrice.”

She could only beam in response.

* * *

Piper dropped in unexpectedly that evening as Beatrice was dressing for the party.

“You’re not wearing
that
, are you?” Piper’s face was scandalized.

Beatrice looked down at her black slacks and crisp white blouse. “What wrong with it?” she asked, fingering the strand of pearls she’d paired with her outfit. “And what are you doing here? I thought you were going out tonight.”

“I was just checking on you before Ash and I went out. And, Mama, absolutely nothing is wrong with your outfit—if you’re going to a nice lunch or a casual supper, or volunteering in the elementary school, or—”

“But this is supposed to be a last-minute, informal dinner party,” said Beatrice with an exasperated sigh.

“Informal for
Daisy
, maybe. Trust me, you don’t want to show up at her house unless you’re in a dress. She’s probably measuring the distance between place settings and putting out ten different forks and spoons.”

“She takes it seriously, then.” Beatrice frowned before hurrying to her pantry and peering in. “Somehow I didn’t really get that impression from her. She said something about a small group of friends—something like that. All right, I guess I’ll change.” She looked absently into the pantry, forgetting what she was looking in there for.

She heard Piper saying behind her, “Now, you don’t have any spectacular dresses hiding in
there
, do you?”

She finally remembered what she was looking for. “No, but I’m thinking I should take a bottle of wine, since she’s such a stickler. Aha!” She turned around with a slightly dusty bottle of red wine.

Piper looked relieved. “Good idea. It’s always nice to start off on the right foot, and Daisy is a great person to know—she’s just a little particular. I’ll dust off the wine bottle while you change.”

“I’ll put my black dress on,” said Beatrice glumly.

“And the diamond pendant that Grandma used to wear!” called out Piper behind her.

* * *

Unlike the cute bungalows and charming mountain homes Beatrice had seen, Daisy and Harrison’s house was an estate, a sprawling white mansion set in a tremendous, tree-filled yard with immaculate landscaping. The inside seemed a testament to Harrison and Daisy’s various successes: framed diplomas and awards for the doctor; blue ribbons for Daisy. Quilts were everywhere, but not in the haphazard way she’d seen at Meadow’s. These were carefully arranged, with lighting to display them to best advantage. Daisy was definitely showcasing the quilts as works of art. Beatrice couldn’t have done a better job herself at setting up the exhibit.

She was glad Piper had forced her into changing. Posy looked charming in a bright blue coat dress, and her husband, Cork, was wearing a suit (apparently under duress, since every so often he’d pull at the collar). Even former hippie Meadow had on a dress and a dab of makeup, and her long, gray braid was a little more orderly than usual. Miss Sissy looked rather witchy in a long black dress. Wyatt was in a suit (actually, he’d probably never changed from church), Harrison—Daisy’s husband—wore a suit that perfectly complemented his silvery hair, and Ramsay had on his uniform (clearly, he was ready to jump out the door at a moment’s notice). It seemed that Beatrice was the only one who hadn’t gotten the memo that dress wasn’t optional. Thank heavens for Piper.

The food was amazing and not, actually, spicy at all. Daisy must have been trying to keep Miss Sissy from crashing the party. The table was carefully set with old china and crystal and sterling silverware. A pretty centerpiece of what looked like flowers from Daisy’s garden adorned the table. And it was all for her? Beatrice felt touched. And, perhaps, a little envious of Daisy. Her home was perfectly decorated and immaculate. She had quite a flower garden, too. And—

“I wanted to point out that the vegetables we’re serving tonight are all organically grown from our very own gardens here at Ambleside.”

Oh. And an organic garden. Plus a named house. How manoresque.

Meadow was talking and laughing even louder than usual as her husband soberly drank ginger ale. “Are you on duty?” asked Beatrice.

Ramsay looked morose. “Possibly. If I get called. The North Carolina State Police are here, running the investigation. They’ll call me if they need any assistance or want me to help question anyone.”

Meadow patted her husband’s hand. “It’s been a rough time for Ramsay, y’all. He’d much rather be sitting around writing short stories than investigating a murder. Did you know he was a writer?” she asked Beatrice.

Beatrice shook her head. Meadow seemed oblivious to Ramsay’s glower at the mention of his writing. How could he handle living with Meadow, who seemed to have no filter at all for what came out of her mouth? Beatrice shuddered at the thought.

Posy said in a small voice, “Such a horrible thing for this town. And for you, too, Ramsay. You’re not any more used to dealing with murder than we are.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Ramsay looked intently at his ginger ale, as if hoping to transform it into something a little stronger.

“Do you know more about what happened to Judith?” asked Daisy. “I heard that it looked like she’d been struck over the head by something.”

Ramsay grunted. “It’s sort of early to know much. But I guess there’s no harm in saying that it does look like she was hit with some heavy object. The fatal blow was caused by a flat-surfaced object, nothing sharp. There are tons of things that fit that description. It could have been anything.”

“Could you tell anything about the angle of the blow?” asked Beatrice. “Could you tell if her attacker was taller or shorter than Judith?”

Ramsay said, “We think it was someone about her size or slightly taller.” There was a small murmur from Posy, and Ramsay smiled. “Yes, Posy, that takes you off the hook. Unless Judith was content to just stand there and wait to be murdered while you found a stepladder.”

Posy beamed happily with relief.

“It was probably somebody mugging her,” said Meadow with certainty. “Seeing a woman out by herself at night—they must have thought she was an easy mark. They just came up behind her and hit her over the head and took her money.”

“Except,” said Ramsay drily, “that her attacker was facing her. And there were no defensive wounds, so Judith wasn’t expecting to be attacked. Both of these things indicate to me that she knew and trusted her murderer.” Meadow sputtered an interruption, but Ramsay held up his hand to stop her. “Plus the fact that she had a fifty-dollar bill in her pocket that hadn’t been taken from her. I don’t see robbery as a motive.”

“So the weapon wasn’t found, then? And it could have been anything with a flat surface. Like a shovel?” asked Daisy. “Something like that?”

There was a gasp from someone at the table, but Beatrice didn’t see who. “Most decidedly
not
a shovel!” said Meadow. “The very idea! How could someone go into a park late in the evening, carrying a shovel, and not look conspicuous? Maybe it was a fireplace poker or a baseball bat, or something like that.”

Ramsay raised his eyebrows at his wife’s fervency. “Or maybe it was a shovel. The killer might not have thought that anyone would be out to
see
him or her at that hour. Dappled Hills
seems
like a sleepy little town.”

“But there sure isn’t much sleeping going on,” said Posy with a little sigh. “So many of my quilters say that they get most of their progress done on their quilts in the middle of the night. We all have trouble sleeping, I guess.”

“I sleep like the dead,” said Cork in a grouchy tone.

Daisy sat up a little straighter in her chair. “I know this isn’t very pleasant dinner-party conversation, but it’s probably inevitable that we’d want to talk about the biggest news story this town has ever seen. And I had a thought earlier today, Ramsay, which I wanted to tell you about.”

Ramsay’s face seemed to struggle to put a patient expression in place. He looked morosely again into his glass of ginger ale.

“I was thinking,” said Daisy, tapping her French-manicured nails on the table, “that Judith and I had a lot in common.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Meadow, as if a question had been asked. “You were both into quilting, of course. Both fairly competitive.” Meadow studied Daisy over the top of her red glasses. “You were both fond of heading up committees. You . . .”

“I meant,” said Daisy firmly, “that Judith and I
looked
a good deal alike. Especially since Judith dyed her hair to match mine. And I
did
tell everyone that I planned on taking a walk after the bee. I frequently walk in the park at night.”

Now that she mentioned it, she had said something after the bee about not wanting to run into Judith in the park while she was walking.

Harrison nodded sagely at his wife. “Exercise is good for you. For everyone. We’re just now finding out how it helps with a variety of different processes, including mental sharpness and our general mood and well-being.”

Daisy gave a fond laugh. “Always thinking of medicine, Harrison. Yes, it’s good for us. But as I was saying, it would have been easy in the park to mistake Judith for me. Especially at night.”

Ramsay said thoughtfully, “It’s true that the park doesn’t have much lighting.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. “It was overcast, too. I remember thinking that it might rain that night. I put a couple of my houseplants outside in case it did.”

“But it didn’t rain,” pointed out Ramsay, “or else all this late-night walking around wouldn’t have taken place at all.”

Daisy held out her hands. “You can see why I thought that perhaps someone mistook Judith for me. We were even wearing similar outfits that night.” It almost seemed like she was
pleased
that she was important enough to murder. She was being a little silly about the similar-outfit thing, though—that was a bit of a stretch. They were both wearing the same
color
, maybe.