“I’m sure if she did, then Ramsay and the team from the state police will find them,” said Beatrice in a soothing voice. “Although it didn’t seem to be the kind of house that had a lot of extra clutter.”

  “No,” admitted Meadow. “You’re right. It was very Spartan in there. I suppose she had an idea of getting money for keeping quiet.”

  Ash said, “It wasn’t a great idea.” He leaned over and gave his mother a quick hug. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we wanted to let you know before you found out about it from someone else. I’m going to head back over to Piper now. I guess Dad is going to let the craft fair continue and just block off that one area, so we may stay for a little while.”

  “Stay and spend money!” ordered Meadow. “That way at least some good can come from today. The money goes to local arts and crafts programs.” Ash left and Meadow gave a big sigh.

  Beatrice said in a low voice as people milled around looking at quilts hanging nearby, “You spent more time at the craft fair than anyone else. Did you see anyone who we’ve been talking to?”

  Meadow said, “Well, Ida. She was the first person I saw. I called over to her, but she totally ignored me.”

  “Maybe she didn’t hear you.”

  “No, she definitely heard me,” said Meadow rather hotly. “She cut her eyes over my way and then hastily looked away and kept walking. Very annoying, especially since we just saw her a couple of days ago. Maybe if she’d come over and had a conversation with me and given up skulking around, she’d still be alive now.” This thought made Meadow tear up and she rooted around in her purse for a tissue.

  “You said that Ida was the first person you saw,” said Beatrice. “There were others?”

  Meadow said, “I saw Huey out here. We had a conversation for a few minutes, as a matter of fact. But it would have been more suspicious if we hadn’t seen Huey out here, if you know what I mean. Since he helped get this fair started so many years ago.”

  The women who were looking at the quilts moved farther away and Beatrice said, “How did Huey seem? Was he distracted or did he look worried?”

  “Neither. He seemed just like regular old Huey. He was greeting everyone and acting like he owned the place, which he practically does. But maybe that’s a great cover for him. Maybe it made him feel like he could get away with anything. It could have been pretty easy to be talking with someone and keeping an eye on the area where Ida was meeting him. Then, when the coast was clear, he could have hurried over there and done the deed.” Meadow intoned the last bit and looked angry as if she’d convinced herself that Huey was at fault.

  “Anyone else?” asked Beatrice.

  “Jake is here, of course. He’s selling his baked goods at a booth.” Meadow nodded to the concessions and food truck area.

  Beatrice looked over there and, craning her head, she could see a booth with ‘Jake Bakes’ painted on the outside. A throng of people milled through the area. “That sure looks like an alibi to me. There’s no way he would have been able to get away from that number of people to run off and kill Ida and then get back to work.”

  “You’d think so,” said Meadow thoughtfully. “But, as a matter of fact, that’s not true. You see, all the vendors—the craft vendors, too—have an arrangement worked out. There are craft fair marshals. You’ve probably seen them with the bright yellow vests on.”

  Beatrice had. And she was very relieved that she hadn’t volunteered for the job when asked. The marshals appeared to be constantly in motion in the warm sun.

  “The marshals sit in for the vendors when they need a break of any kind—to get lunch or to make change, or to use the restroom. They also direct visitors to food, facilities, and parking,” said Meadow.

  Beatrice said, “So, in effect, Jake could have pretty easily left his booth.”

  “Exactly. And, if he were smart, he would have left it a couple of different times so that it wasn’t obvious when he was leaving it to commit murder,” said Meadow. “That scoundrel.”

  Meadow had the habit of shifting blame onto whichever suspect they were discussing at the time. And completely believing each one was responsible.

  Beatrice said, “And how about our final suspect?”

  “I’ve lost track,” said Meadow, frowning. “We lost a main one today. I was thinking Ida was the culprit and then she goes off and gets herself murdered. Poor thing.”

  Her sympathies were switching back and forth, too. Beatrice said, “Gwen. Have you spotted Gwen today? Hopefully skulking around the tennis courts and waiting for Ida to appear?”

  Meadow snapped her fingers. “You know, I did see Gwen this morning. Actually I was annoyed by her.”

  “Sounds likely,” agreed Beatrice.

  “Yes. She was supposed to be here to help me set up. Setup wasn’t easy, you know. Not only did I have my own quilts that I wanted to display and sell, but I needed to help set up other quilts to hang. It took a while. Gwen volunteered to help me set everything up. I mean, why would you continue to volunteer your time and then not show up? It’s like a sickness with Gwen. I should know by now that Gwen doesn’t do what she says she’s going to do,” fussed Meadow.

  Beatrice tried to bring the conversation back around to its original point. “So you saw Gwen here. And you told her off for not coming when she was supposed to?”

  “I saw her and she didn’t even stop! I called out to her and she acted as if she didn’t even hear me. Honestly, the times I’ve been ignored today are amazing. She seemed to be in a tremendous hurry when I saw her so I’d assumed she was heading my way with an apology. But no—she strode right past the booths and kept on going. I’ve no idea where she was heading in such a hurry.” Meadow fumed for a moment. “Maybe she was hurrying off to kill Ida without further delay.”

  Meadow clearly didn’t have any other information besides pure speculation. Beatrice said, “Good thing you were here early, though, setting up. Otherwise, I don’t know how we’d have figured out who was here or not.”

  Meadow said dryly, “Not that it helped much, really. It just means that everyone had the opportunity to murder Ida. Ida, who I vacillate between being very indignant with for withholding information, and feeling sorry for.”

  More customers came up and were waiting to ask Meadow a question so Beatrice quickly said, “But it’s information, still. I’m going to head off and look for Miss Sissy. I’d planned on keeping a closer eye on her but it hasn’t worked out that way.”

  “Well, she does have her cell phone now, so she probably doesn’t need a sitter at these things,” said Meadow as she turned to greet the customers.

  It really didn’t take too long for Beatrice to locate Miss Sissy. As she guessed, she was still hanging around the food trucks. Judging from the stains on her dress, she’d worked her way through the gourmet taco truck to the handmade, powdered doughnut truck. Now her eyes lit up as she spotted Beatrice. It made Beatrice leap to the instant conclusion that Miss Sissy had run out of all available funds and now needed to be spotted more cash.

  Miss Sissy spryly bounded over to her. “Have money for a little food?” she crooned.

  Beatrice absently fished around in her purse. “Let’s see. I’ve got a ten. But can you talk to me for a few minutes first? I had something to ask you and it’s easier to talk here than in the food line.”

  Miss Sissy nodded reluctantly, but her eyes cut over to the food truck she was hoping to patronize—some sort of stuffed onion thing.

  “First of all, have you heard the news about Ida?” asked Beatrice.

  The old woman looked back at Beatrice. She shook her head and gazed curiously at her. “What happened? She sick or something?”

  “No, unfortunately she was murdered,” said Beatrice under her breath. She was sure Ramsay didn’t need a big crowd gathered over at the crime scene.

  “Evil!” spat Miss Sissy.

  “Most certainly,” agreed Beatrice evenly. “But I was more interested in the who of this particular bit of wickedness. Have you seen or heard anything while you’ve been here that might help us find out who did it?”

  Miss Sissy’s eyes narrowed. “That man! Arguing! Angry!” She put her arthritic hands up and pawed at the air like a cat.

  Beatrice sighed. She wasn’t sure what was worse—Miss Sissy with no information at all, or Miss Sissy with useful information but without the means to articulate it. “What man was it? And with whom was he arguing?”

  Miss Sissy’s blank expression indicated that Beatrice should focus on one question at a time.

  Beatrice took a deep breath. “The man that you saw earlier. What did he look like? Was he one of the people that Ramsay was asking you about? Someone who knew Vivian? Someone she talked about in her diary?”

  Miss Sissy nodded enthusiastically. “Wicked!”

  “Yes. What does he look like?”

  “A baker!” hissed Miss Sissy.

  Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “So Jake from the bakery was having an argument with someone? Is this while you were around the food trucks? Someone came up to him and had an argument at his booth?”

  “No,” said the old woman scornfully. “Not at the booth. Over there!” She pointed a crooked finger haphazardly to indicate another, fairly far-flung location.

  “You mean? Over near the tennis courts? Near the restroom?” Beatrice couldn’t imagine that Miss Sissy had had time to get over in that direction. Not with all the eating she was doing. But she was still very quick when she wanted to be. And perhaps she’d had to run wash her hands after going to the doughnut truck or something. Maybe this was the lucky break that meant the case was over.

  But Miss Sissy was already shaking her head vehemently. “Not that far. Just over there.” Now the pointing was a bit more specific and indicated the area that was decidedly on the way to the tennis courts and restroom, but not that far away. “He saw me. I waved at him. Wanted a muffin.” The old woman’s face was sulky as she remembered.

  “I see. So you went to his truck. But the helper person should have been there. The marshal. To get you a muffin, I mean,” said Beatrice.

  “Too busy!” said Miss Sissy. “Not enough people to help. The helper was over at the booth next door.”

  Beatrice said, “Okay. I see. There were too many customers and not enough marshals so the marshals had to scurry from booth to booth.” She felt a twinge of guilt now at not helping—but then sternly reminded herself that she was trying to enjoy a quiet retirement. And she had just volunteered, after all, for the quilting service project. Or had been volunteered, at any rate. “You wanted a muffin, it was going to take a while, and you spotted Jake the baker and tried to flag him down.” Now for the big question. “Who was Jake arguing with?” She held her breath, hoping the answer was going to be Ida. And also worried that the answer was going to be Ida. She rather liked Jake.

  “That old woman!” said Miss Sissy triumphantly. “The old woman!”

  Now Beatrice was feeling desperate. Surely she could get more specific information from Miss Sissy before she fell into her usual mutterings and wild accusations. “Which old woman? There are so many of them here! Are you talking about Ida? The old woman who I told you has just been murdered?”

  Miss Sissy was unfortunately rapidly losing interest in the conversation and looked longingly at the food truck. She did manage to nod her head vaguely.

  Beatrice gritted her teeth before sweetly asking again, “So Jake the baker was arguing with the woman who’s now dead. Is that right?”

  More nodding from Miss Sissy.

  “Did you hear anything they were saying to each other?” asked Beatrice.

  “He said he had to go! Customers!” reported Miss Sissy.

  Naturally, he would be saying that if Miss Sissy were standing there waving him on.

  “Yes, but anything else? Other than that? Anything to let you know what they were arguing about?” asked Beatrice.

  Miss Sissy sighed. “Old times. Arguing about old times.”

  And that was all Beatrice could really get out of Miss Sissy. She scampered off to the food truck with Beatrice’s money and Beatrice walked over near the bakery booth, looking at Jake Hunter thoughtfully. He had a line of several people in front of him, but since muffins and croissants and other breads were easy orders to fill, the line was quickly dealt with. Once it cleared, Beatrice approached him.

  He smiled at her when she stood in front of him, but there was a certain wariness in his eyes. “Hi there, Beatrice. What can I get for you today?”

  “What’s your favorite thing here?” she asked him.

  “My personal favorite? That would have to be the cranberry orange muffin,” said Jake, pointing to the unassuming looking muffin.

  “I’ll have one then, please,” said Beatrice, pulling out some change to pay him with. When he handed it to her, he looked at her expectantly and she obediently took a small bite. She immediately followed that with a larger bite because it was very good. Jake smiled at her.

  There was a lull in the crowds so Beatrice lingered at the booth, hoping for the opportunity to question Jake about his argument. “How is the fair so far?” he asked, carefully cleaning his already-pristine counter with a white paper towel. “It looks well-attended, anyway.”

  “It’s definitely making money. Lots of people here today and, judging from the bags they’re carrying, they’re buying things, too.” She paused and asked delicately, “I actually have a question for you, Jake.”

  He raised his eyebrows at this and smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Beatrice took a deep breath. “You’re certainly in a good mood now, but earlier I saw you arguing with Ida.” She crossed her fingers. She didn’t want to bring poor Miss Sissy into this, though. She’d gone through enough lately and didn’t need more trouble. “I hope I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  Jake frowned, looking confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not following you. Why would you have something to do with that at all?”

  “Oh, just the fact that when Meadow and I were in there talking to you we brought up a lot of old memories. I wondered if the old memories had been better off buried,” said Beatrice with a small shrug, eyes trained on his face.

  A mix of emotions crossed Jake’s features. He said quickly, “You mean Vivian. But you didn’t bring the memories back to the forefront. That’s to say ... well, the memories are always there, regardless. Vivian meant a lot to me. I guess that must be obvious, since I still carry her picture around. I think about her a lot.” He tilted his head and looked closer at Beatrice. “But I don’t understand why you think our talk about Vivian has anything to do with Ida.”

  “Don’t you?” asked Beatrice.

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. Yes, I still harbor a lot of anger against Ida. I always blamed her for running Vivian out of town. At least, I thought she’d been run out of town. Then, finding out that Vivian was dead, it made me even angrier at Ida. I wondered if she had let her need for revenge take control.”

  “If she had killed Vivian,” said Beatrice.

  “Yes. When I saw her today, that’s what I had on my mind. I told her I didn’t appreciate the way she treated Vivian all those years ago. And told her she better keep an eye out,” said Jake.

  “You threatened her?” asked Beatrice.

  “I wouldn’t call it a threat. I just tried to make her realize how upset I was.”

  Beatrice said, “I’m guessing that you haven’t heard the news. Since you’ve been busy with customers here.

  Jake studied her again. Then he smiled. “You sound a little like a detective.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m a detective. It’s just that I was worried I’d somehow created a problem between you and Ida. I was familiar, from my work writing the Dappled Hills history, with Ida’s background with Vivian. That’s all,” said Beatrice. She finished her muffin, which was indeed delicious. She took a deep breath. “But what you probably don’t realize, since you were busy here, is that Ida is dead.”

  Jake stared at her without saying a word.

  “Someone ... well, I’m afraid that someone murdered her. And I’m sorry to be the bearer of grim news. Again.”

  “But that’s impossible! I was just talking to her—arguing with her—whatever. Do they ... did Ramsay find out who is responsible?” He ran his hand distractedly through his blond hair.

  “He hasn’t, no. But he’s investigating, of course,” said Beatrice.

  Jake said, “Look here. I hope I didn’t leave you with the wrong impression. I did argue with Ida. I’m not saying that I didn’t. But I sure didn’t kill her, nor would I wish harm on her. Honestly, I felt much better about Ida after I’d given her a piece of my mind. Blown off a little steam ... you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Beatrice with a smile.

  His eyes went from pleading to relieved and Beatrice looked away. There was something very attractive about Jake. Hard to imagine that he was still single. In his crisp white chef jacket, he was quite a sight to behold, Beatrice had to admit. Untamed blond curls, unrepentant grin, flashing dimple and baby blue eyes.

  Jake said hesitantly, “I don’t know if—well, I’ve enjoyed talking with you, although the subject matter has completely stunk. I was wondering if you wanted to come by the bakery another time and try talking about something else.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m not handling this well, but I see you’re not wearing a wedding ring. Are you attached?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Beatrice saw Wyatt approaching the booth. She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid so,” she said with a smile. “But I’m very flattered at being asked.”

  Jake nodded briskly and said, “Well then, feel free to just come by for muffins and coffee with Meadow at any time. Cranberry orange muffins are on the menu a lot.” He gave her a wink and then called out to Wyatt, “Hi there, minister! What can I get for you today?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Leaving the booth together a few minutes later with several more cranberry orange muffins, Wyatt said with a small smile, “It was nice of you to rebuff Jake. Particularly since we haven’t even had a chance to see each other lately. Good to know that you do still feel ‘attached.’”

 

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