Tying the Knot (19 page)

Beatrice said, “Daniel didn't entrust it to me, either—not in that way. I knew what to ask, unfortunately, because of what I knew about Trevor and his habit of blackmail. You know, of course, that's why Daniel was so reluctant to share his secret with you: he shared it once with someone he trusted, and Trevor turned on him.”

Harper nodded. “Daniel told me that Trevor had tried and failed to blackmail him over his parentage. But he should know that I'd never betray him like that.” She hesitated. “And I know the fact that Trevor tried to blackmail him also makes him a fairly strong suspect in the case.”

“I haven't talked to Ramsay about Daniel's parentage,” said Beatrice. “Although I did encourage him to tell Ramsay about it himself. I thought it would be better coming from Daniel, instead of Ramsay or the state police finding it out themselves, the way that I did.”

The fine lines on Harper's face looked deeper as she thought it through. “I'll see if there's anything I can do to encourage him. But it seems like he considers this such a deeply private matter that it almost physically hurts him to share it with others. And he'd know better than most that it would only add to his motive for murder. Right now, the police simply think that Daniel was angry at Trevor for his behavior. Adding blackmail to the mix?” She shook her head.

Beatrice added cautiously, “I understand that Daniel was at the scene this morning, too.”

Harper stared at her, a frown creating a line between her eyebrows. “This morning? Daniel was off so quickly
to his office. I mean, he went out to exercise on the greenway, as he usually does. Then he came home to take a shower and rush to the office. He did say that there'd been an accident there. Is that the accident you're talking about?”

“It wasn't an accident. The police aren't sure if it was a suicide or a murder,” said Beatrice.

Harper drew in a deep breath, her eyes focused on Beatrice's. “Who was it, Beatrice? Who did they find out there?”

“It was Patrick Finley. The doctor I mentioned—the one I'd seen at the wedding reception and at the funeral,” said Beatrice simply.

Harper put her fingers to her temple, massaging it as if trying to absorb the information Beatrice was giving her. “Why? What did the note say? Do you know?”

“Apparently, the note was a confession. But there's some question as to whether Patrick Finley wrote it. It was typewritten—a somewhat unusual choice for a suicide note. And his wife stated that he wasn't feeling depressed or anxious at all, that he'd been behaving normally for the past couple of weeks,” said Beatrice.

“And Daniel was there,” said Harper, her voice sharp. “He was at the greenway.”

Beatrice said, “Harper, I know it doesn't look good. But you know Daniel. Does this really seem like the kind of thing he'd do? Kill someone to cover up a murder? Plant a fake confession near a body?”

Harper's voice was strong. “No. The Daniel that I know would never do something like this.” She paused, and her voice was more uncertain. “But do I know the real Daniel?”

The next day was fairly quiet. Beatrice, trying to keep her promise to take her investigation slowly, stayed inside. Piper came by with spaghetti, garlic bread, and wine, and regaled Beatrice with particularly amusing stories from school, making sure to keep everything light and fun and stress-free. “We had a first-grade field trip to a farm in the middle of nowhere,” said Piper. “The little girl who sat next to me on the bus told me knock-knock jokes the whole time. The situation got even more dire when the bus broke down and we had to wait for another bus from the school to take us to the farm.”

Beatrice laughed. “What about Georgia? Was she on the bus, too?” Georgia also taught first grade at Piper's school.

“She was. But she apparently knew about Becca's knock-knock addiction, because she chose to sit many seats away. The forty-five-minute bus trip turned into
a two-hour odyssey.” Piper paused, eyes mischievous. “Knock, knock.”

“Who's there?” asked Beatrice, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Broken pencil.”

“Broken pencil, who?” asked Beatrice.

“That's what I'd like to know! Becca, as usual, couldn't remember the punch line.”

There was a light rap at the door. “Must be Meadow,” murmured Beatrice, standing up from the small wooden table. “She has an unerring ability of knowing when I'm finally starting to relax.”

Piper laughed. “You know you love her. Even if she does drive you crazy sometimes.”

Beatrice opened the door and broke into a smile. Ash Downey, with his handsomely dark features, rugged build, and crooked grin, stood there with his mother. He was casually dressed in dark track pants and a gray zippered sweatshirt. “What a nice surprise! I haven't seen you for a while, Ash.” She stood back and let Ash and Meadow walk by her into the small dining area off her tiny living room.

Meadow caught her arm and gave it a squeeze. “I saw Piper's car in the driveway and couldn't resist dropping by! You don't mind, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she said, “The children are just so darling together, and Ash was in Dappled Hills, helping me lug some furniture around at the house. Ramsay likes to pretend he won't pull something if he moves furniture, but he
will
, and men are so stubborn. Best to let the young move heavy things, right?”

Beatrice was only half listening as she watched Ash
and Piper give each other a tight hug and light kiss on the cheek. Piper's gray eyes lit up when Ash walked into the house, her whole being focused on him, as if everyone else in the world had disappeared. It was then that, more than from anything Piper had told her, Beatrice realized that these two were clearly destined to be together.

“Ash, how is the teaching going?” asked Beatrice. “Piper was just entertaining me with tales from her school. Of course, you're teaching on the opposite end of the spectrum.”

Ash was an adjunct at Harrington College, about thirty minutes away. He was a marine biologist who'd lived and worked in California before moving back to North Carolina months before to be closer to Piper. At first, Piper had been surprised by his abrupt move, and worried that he'd sacrificed too much for a relationship that was still in the early stages. But now, as Beatrice watched Piper reach out for Ash's hand as he sat down at the table next to her, she saw that her daughter had overcome that emotional hurdle and was completely content and relaxed in Ash's company.

Ash's bright blue eyes twinkled at Beatrice. “Sometimes I think that college freshmen and first-graders
do
have a lot in common.”

Piper said, “Except you don't have to hear knock-knock jokes on a broken-down bus, maybe.”

Ash grinned. “I wouldn't put it past some of them.”

“Have y'all eaten?” asked Beatrice.

Meadow said, “We have, although we both usually have room for more. Don't we, Ash?”

Piper stood up. “You know, when I was getting
some ice, I thought I spotted a large container of ice cream in Mama's freezer.”

Beatrice arched her brows. “The remarkable thing about that is it's unopened! Usually, eating ice cream is my stress relief.”

Meadow raised a hand in alarm. “Now, now, Beatrice! None of that! No talk of stress or of
the case
tonight. We're here to distract and amuse!”

And they did, until they were all startled to see that the time on the clock was nearly midnight.

*   *   *

The next morning, Beatrice decided to keep with the nonsleuthing schedule and plant some flowers in the backyard. Wyatt had called once while she was working out there with Noo-noo, making sure they were still on for the festival. Beatrice was glad that his voice sounded even and upbeat and that there was no sign of worry or stress—a sign to her that Harper hadn't shared with him her worries over Daniel. Wyatt, having been his minister, must have known about Patrick's death. But, apparently, he was unaware that his own brother-in-law had been spotted near the crime scene. Beatrice hated to bring it up, since the police weren't certain that it was actually murder.

The evening of the festival was clear and pleasant. There were people visiting from all around, since Beatrice had never seen many of the festivalgoers around Dappled Hills. The location of the sprawling fairgrounds was on the outskirts of Dappled Hills, and the surrounding mountains provided a beautiful view. There were striped canvas booths with Frisbee golf and fishing games for small kids. There were booths with
arts and crafts for sale—glassworks, exquisite candles, quilts, children's clothing, and jewelry. And there was food galore, from the church bake-sale booth, which was decorated with a rolling pin on the outside of the tent, to cotton candy, hot dogs, and deep-fried candy bars.

Wyatt held Beatrice's hand as they walked by the booths, and a constant stream of church members greeted him with a smile and a wave as they went by. “I feel as if I'm part of a parade,” said Beatrice dryly.

There was a main-stage area with local performers. Wyatt and Beatrice watched a group of cloggers, as Wyatt ate a steady progression of fair food. The women wore traditional clogging dresses with bright blue, tiered skirts over crinolines, and they whirled and snapped down their heels in time to the lively music. The male cloggers wore Western attire, with white fringe on their blue-checkered shirts and on the sides of their white pants. They spun their partners and then clogged next to each other in pairs.

“It's a good thing this festival is only once a year,” he said, patting his stomach. “My arteries would really protest otherwise.”

“I don't know how you stay so thin,” said Beatrice, laughing.

“Well, if I ate enough chili cheese dogs, that wouldn't happen,” said Wyatt.

“Or pies?” asked a voice behind them teasingly. They turned to see Georgia and Tony grinning at them. Beatrice noticed that Georgia's clothing style had become softer, more feminine, and more body-conscious since she started dating Tony. She was pretty in a
coral-colored floral sundress. Tony had dressed up for the occasion and wore khakis and a golf shirt.

“Good to see y'all here!” said Wyatt. “But, no—no pie-eating contest for me. I wouldn't dream of competing against you, Tony. Especially not after eating a chili cheese dog, cotton candy, and a funnel cake.”

“That's wise of you,” said Georgia, beaming. “Especially considering that Tony hasn't eaten all day, in preparation for his big event.”

“Well, I have to protect and preserve my championship, right?” asked Tony.

“But I'll be happy to play horseshoes with you, Tony,” said Wyatt, pointing across the fairgrounds to where the horseshoe-pitching competition was taking place.

“Maybe later,” said Tony. “I'd better focus on the pie eating first.”

“But you'll likely be comatose on sugar after that,” said Wyatt with a grin.

“That's so.” Tony scratched his head as he remembered. “Last year I went straight home and took the longest nap you can imagine.”

“How many pies do you usually eat?” asked Beatrice, feeling a bit bemused.

“Last year I managed to eat four pies in three minutes,” said Tony proudly.

It made Beatrice's stomach hurt.

“And that's without using his hands, remember?” said Wyatt. “The contestants basically put their faces right into the pie and eat it.”

Beatrice looked again at Tony's crisply ironed khakis and navy blue golf shirt. “So, you're going to be covered in pie, right?”

“Not
completely
covered. That would be like the twelve-and-under group. They end up with pie
everywhere
,” said Tony.

Beatrice shook her head. “I think if I compete in anything, I'd have to choose the checkers competition. That's a lot more my speed.”

“And not nearly as messy,” added Wyatt.

Beatrice asked, “Have y'all seen Posy's quilting ‘petting zoo' yet? There are so many booths here that I'm not sure where to even begin looking.”

“We have, and she had all kinds of folks in there! It seemed like it was very popular. Even little kids.” Georgia pointed out the general area of the booth. “Savannah's helping her out now, and Meadow pitched in some. Miss Sissy came with Posy and is sort of
not
helping.”

“I can only imagine,” said Beatrice.

Wyatt said, “We should walk Miss Sissy around the fairgrounds a while. We could get her a funnel cake. You know how she loves to eat. That might give Posy a bit of a break.”

Beatrice could certainly tell he was a minster. Adding Miss Sissy to their evening hadn't exactly been in her original game plan. But she hid a grimace and nodded pleasantly.

“Actually, it won't only give Posy a break—it will give Savannah one, too. She's helping Posy out, but Miss Sissy is hounding her about Smoke and when she can come by for another visit,” said Georgia. “So, you'd really have done your good deed for the day.”

“Who else have you seen here so far?” asked Beatrice.

“Oh, we rode the Ferris wheel together, so we got a good overview of the whole place,” said Tony, gesturing to the Ferris wheel looming over the fairgrounds. “In fact, the view up there of the valley is amazing, if you haven't seen it, Beatrice. Let's see. I've seen Ramsay, but it sort of looked like he was on duty. He was greeting everybody and being friendly, but I could tell he was here officially.”

“So, Meadow is at loose ends,” said Beatrice. Which could mean that this date with Wyatt could soon turn into a small group.

Georgia nodded. “Oh, and I saw Harper and Daniel here. I know y'all will want to catch up some with them. They were watching the cloggers dance.”

Tony said, “Hate to cut this short, but I probably should head over to the pie-eating contest.”

They hurried away, and Wyatt gave her hand a squeeze. “Where to now?”

“We should check in at Posy's ‘petting zoo' for quilting,” said Beatrice.

“Ah, that's right. To rescue Savannah and Posy from Miss Sissy,” said Wyatt.

And, indeed, Miss Sissy did seem to be driving everyone around her crazy. Her hair was even more wildly unkempt than usual, and she'd spilled something on her long floral dress. “Don't touch that!” she snarled at a young woman who was examining the sewing machine.

“Now, Miss Sissy, remember what I was telling you. This is a
petting zoo
. So everyone is allowed and even encouraged to try out a sewing machine and give quilting a go,” said Posy patiently. But she gave Beatrice a concerned look.

Savannah, who apparently was assigned to help visitors at one of the sewing machines, rolled her eyes at Beatrice.

“Might break it!” said Miss Sissy.

“I'm sure no one will break it,” said Posy confidently. But the young woman was already thanking them and abruptly hurrying from the tent. Posy sighed.

“Might destroy the quilt!” said Miss Sissy, gesturing to the very basic quilt that was on the sewing machine.

“The point is that it's easy enough so that even someone brand-new can learn to do it,” said Posy, smiling earnestly at Miss Sissy.

“Poppycock!” growled the old woman.

Wyatt quickly intervened. “Hi, Posy! And hi, Miss Sissy. Miss Sissy, I was wondering if you'd do Beatrice and me the great honor of enjoying the festival with us. We'd love for you to. And we thought you might enjoy a funnel cake or a deep-fried candy bar.”

Miss Sissy's eyes lit up. Then they narrowed as she squinted at Beatrice with an assessing look. Beatrice gave her a weak smile that likely wasn't very convincing.

“And then we can talk more about your next visit with Smoke,” offered Savannah as a desperate encouragement.

“Okay,” said Miss Sissy. “Let's go eat.” She sprang from the booth, and Wyatt and Beatrice leaped to follow her. Beatrice thought she heard a collective sigh of relief from the booth behind them.

Wyatt looked as though he might be experiencing a stomachache. “Actually, I've already eaten a ton of food. But we, uh, wanted to get your opinion on the festival food.”

“Would have to eat a lot to have an opinion,” said the old woman cannily.

“Of course you will,” said Wyatt.

Beatrice was quite willing to chip in in case Wyatt ran out of cash. It would be worth it to keep Miss Sissy occupied.

It was a good thing that Beatrice did have cash on her. Miss Sissy not only ate a funnel cake, but she also ate a bacon-wrapped caramel apple, a corn dog, deep-fried butter on a stick, and a huge plate of onion rings.

“Miss Sissy, I do believe we should have entered you in the pie-eating contest,” said Beatrice dryly.

“But then Tony would have lost,” said Wyatt, “and he was so serious about defending his title.”

Miss Sissy ignored them both. She appeared to be scanning the horizon for new foods to try.