“What did you think when she disappeared?” asked Beatrice. “First of all, is that what it felt like? A disappearance? Or was she simply just not around one day and no one really thought about it?”

  “I did think about it,” said Posy. “After all, she’d invested a good deal of money into quilting and gave every impression that she was going to stick around and keep quilting. I thought it was very strange. I talked with a couple of other customers about her just disappearing like that. But they seemed to think there was nothing out of the ordinary about it.”

  Beatrice said, “But there had to be some kind of a police investigation or something. What about her house? Didn’t she have all kinds of clothes and stuff left there? Wouldn’t that have looked suspicious?”

  “The only thing was, she was in a furnished apartment and lived pretty much like a monk. She didn’t have a lot of personal belongings to begin with,” said Posy. “At least, that’s what I heard at the time. She’d left a note saying something about making a fresh start. You see, some of her things were gone. So I think Ramsay and the police chief at the time probably thought that she had gotten fed up with the town, thrown a few things in a bag, and left.”

  “What if she was still here, though?” asked Beatrice. “What if someone wanted everyone to think that she’d left town but they actually murdered her and got rid of some of her stuff to make it look like she’d gone of her own free will?”

  Meadow scoffed, “What, drive up to her apartment and load their car full of her things? Wouldn’t that have looked a little suspicious?”

  “It would have if someone had seen it,” said Posy in her gentle voice. “But Vivian lived in a rented duplex apartment. A small house that was bordered by woods on all sides. No one was in the other part of the duplex—I remember Vivian saying how nice and private it was there. Someone could have taken things out of her apartment without being seen.”

  Meadow said, “That’s very disturbing!” She thumped the arm of the sofa emphatically. “So while I was happily planning my wedding, someone my age, who could have ended up in my guild, and been a quilting friend, may have been brutally murdered!”

  “I think you’re taking the little amount of information that we have and running away with it,” said Beatrice dryly.

  “Where could her body be then?” asked Meadow, ignoring Beatrice. “Say that someone needed to silence her. They went to her apartment ... probably at night. She knew them and let them in. They killed her and grabbed some of her belongings. And ... did what with them?”

  Beatrice shrugged. “Well, if I were a killer, I’d probably weigh down the victim and the belongings and throw them into that small lake near downtown.”

  “You’re right. That’s what I’d do, too,” said Meadow, snapping her fingers. “I’ll tell Ramsay that he has to drain the lake.”

  “I’m not even sure it would have to be drained. It could be that he could send some divers down there or maybe even drag the lake,” said Beatrice.

  “At any rate, this is a lead he can’t miss,” said Meadow. She was already pulling out her phone.

  “Except this is all circumstantial,” reminded Beatrice.

  But Meadow waved her away. “Ramsay?” she said when he picked up. “Listen. I think you need to search the lake somehow. There might be a body down there.” She squinted her eyes, listening hard. “What? What’s that? Okay.” She hung up again. “What do you know? He says they’re already on it.”

  “I guess he’s reached a similar conclusion,” said Beatrice.

  Posy said, “But such a sad one. She really was a nice girl.”

  “It sounds like her only fault was that she might have been too curious. Too observant,” said Beatrice, thoughtfully. “How is Ramsay going to search it? I know it’s not a huge body of water, but it could be fairly deep. I wouldn’t think he would have the resources to search it.”

  Meadow said, “He’s called in some help from the sheriff’s office and the state police are assisting, too. It sounded as if they were dredging.” She shivered.

  Beatrice said to Posy, “You’re always so good about making friends with your customers. How much did you know about Vivian? Who were her friends? Did she talk about any specific people?”

  Posy said sadly, “I think one of the reasons she was pursuing quilting was because she was trying to make friends. She wasn’t exactly what I’d call a loner, but she didn’t have a lot of people she hung out with, either.”

  “How about Gwen?” asked Beatrice.

  “Gwen? You mean fellow quilter Gwen?” asked Posy. She looked confused. “No, those two weren’t what I’d call friends. But then Gwen was older than Vivian. And married, too.”

  “Maybe they weren’t friends. But Vivian did mention Gwen in her journal,” said Beatrice.

  Meadow said with a sniff, “Probably because Gwen was being unkind in some way. You know how Gwen is. Vivian’s entry probably read: I sure would like Dappled Hills better if Gwen didn’t live here.”

  Beatrice said, “I’m wondering how Gwen and Vivian even became acquainted. Gwen didn’t ever work at the newspaper, did she?”

  Meadow snapped her fingers. “No, Gwen wasn’t there, but her husband was. Or, rather, her husband was the editor of the newspaper that Vivian wrote for.”

  Posy’s eyes opened wide. “You don’t suppose that Vivian and Gwen’s husband were involved somehow, do you?”

  “Maybe the journal will give me some hints if that’s the case. Or maybe Gwen was just jealous that her husband was working with a nice-looking woman like Vivian,” said Beatrice.

  Meadow said to Posy, “Do you remember if Vivian was dating someone? It seems like an attractive single woman in Dappled Hills wouldn’t get very far without someone asking her out. Just so we can maybe get some idea if Gwen was really off-base with her suspicions.”

  “We don’t know that Gwen was suspicious. We’re just guessing,” reminded Beatrice.

  Posy said, “I—well, I’m having a hard time remembering. I want to say that either she was seeing someone or else someone was interested in seeing her. But I don’t think I can quite remember.”

  Beatrice said, “There’s no point in trying to force a memory. Maybe it’ll just pop into your head at some point if you mull it over gently.” She saw that Posy’s sweet face still seemed puckered in concentration, so she changed the subject. “Are you able to make the first meeting tonight?”

  Posy smiled. “Yes, and I’m looking forward to it. I love the fabrics that Meadow picked out and the blankets for the preemies are going to end up being so sweet. Did you find the extra materials you were looking for?” she asked Meadow.

  “That and some more!” said Meadow ruefully. “I tend to get myself in trouble when I come to the Patchwork Cottage. Well good, I’m glad you can make it. Beatrice, did Piper say anything about being able to come?”

  Meadow was sometimes practically an immovable force, but Beatrice knew one thing that she prioritized even over her love of quilting. “She said she wishes she had time for the service project, but she wants to spend some more time with Ash.”

  Meadow’s face softened. “Of course she does. What a dear. And I know Ash loves her for it. It’s hard, isn’t it, both of them teaching and living in different towns? I’m glad she’s going to make plans with him instead.” She sighed. “Well, as much as I feel like I could sit here on the sofa all day in the middle of beautiful fabrics, I guess I should go get checked out so that Beatrice and I can head back home.”

  “If I can extricate myself from the cat,” muttered Beatrice.

  Chapter Eight

  July 8th

  Sometimes I wonder if anyone in this town really likes me. It’s been harder making friends than I thought it would be. Somehow, I thought in a small town where everyone knew everyone else it would be easy meeting people. It may be easy meeting them, but it sure isn’t easy to establish relationships. Maybe they’re just a little suspicious of outsiders, or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve got a different attitude, coming from a big city.

  And then sometimes I wonder if they don’t like me because someone is making sure they don’t like me. Gwen is one of them. She’s already confronted me because of her own jealousy. She hates that I spend so much time with him and is sure that I’ve been as bewitched by his blue eyes as she has. I told her we were only friends and she didn’t believe a word of it.

  What’s more, she’s been talking about me. I was walking out of the quilt shop a couple of days ago and saw Gwen looking my way with the meanest expression as she was talking with Ida Calkin. And then, the very next time I saw Ida, she pretended not to see me.

  After Beatrice had dropped Meadow back home, she did some light housework and laundry. Then she regretted having done it because she realized she was going back out again for the service project meeting and she really hadn’t taken any time to relax. She sighed. At least her house was clean.

  Her cell phone rang and Wyatt was on the other end. “Looking forward to the meeting in a little while?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking about it,” said Beatrice dryly. “Actually, it’s been a busy day so I might not have a lot to say at the meeting.”

  “Sorry. Maybe tonight isn’t the best time then,” said Wyatt slowly.

  “Best time for what?”

  “I was thinking that after the meeting, we could spend some time together,” he said. “But we don’t have to, especially if you’re tired out.”

  Even though Beatrice usually leapt at the chance to spend time with her elusive boyfriend, this time she hesitated. There was part of her that also relished the idea of recharging and spending some time alone. Thinking about her own advice to Piper though, she said quickly, “I’d love to see you. What were you thinking about doing?”

  “Whatever you’d like to do,” he said pleasantly.

  And, although Beatrice knew perfectly well that Wyatt was simply trying to be amiable, the fact that she needed to make a decision didn’t make her any more relaxed. Making a split-second choice she said, “How about if you come over here and we can cook supper together?” She rather surprised herself at this, considering she wasn’t much of a cook and rarely did a lot of cooking.

  “Perfect!” Wyatt said in a happy voice. “Want me to run by the grocery store to pick up some ingredients?”

  “No, let’s not make things complicated. I’m sure you’ve had a busy day too.” Beatrice’s phone beeped at her and she pulled it away from her ear to see who was texting her. As she suspected, it was Miss Sissy. She sighed. “How about if we plan on cooking breakfast for supper? That’s always been a favorite of mine. Scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, and whatnot.”

  “Looking forward to it,” said Wyatt.

  And this time Beatrice realized she agreed with him. It would be the perfect way to close the day.

  Beatrice was able to fit in a few minutes of putting her feet up before she walked down the road to the church for the service project meeting. And the walk to the church was rather nice, too. There was a cool breeze and the air was fragrant with some flowering bush or tree. The sun was going down and Beatrice realized there was going to be a full moon later to light up her return walk.

  The church’s basement activity room was buzzing as the ladies pulled out materials and caught up with each other. The preemie quilts were going to be adorable and Beatrice loved seeing the cheerful fabric colors. Wyatt gave Beatrice a warm smile when she entered the room. Meadow said, “Beatrice! You’re here! Listen, I had a great idea on the way over here. Why don’t you be in charge of community updating for our service project?”

  Beatrice frowned at her. “Community updating? Is that a thing with service projects now?”

  “Oh, I just thought it would be a really good way to help get the word out about how active the Village Quilters are,” said Meadow with a small shrug as Wyatt joined them.

  “But there are other guilds represented here, too,” said Beatrice, glancing around the room.

  “Hmm. I guess you’re right,” said Meadow a bit deflated.

  “Even better, right?” asked Wyatt lightly. “That way you can play up quilting in the community. It’s not an exclusive club. It’s for everyone—and it’s not just a solo activity. It can be used to really make a difference.”

  “Has quilting ever been thought of as an exclusive club?” asked Beatrice in a doubtful tone. Then she waved her hand quickly. “Never mind. Long day. It’s a great idea, Meadow. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take on something else right now, time-wise, but I can probably update our social media. Somehow I didn’t even realize we had a presence there.”

  Meadow flushed a little and Beatrice said quickly, “Wait. You mean ... we don’t have a presence there?”

  “It’ll be easy as pie to set it up, Beatrice,” said Meadow enthusiastically. “And you know how good you are with that stuff from your time in Atlanta. Promoting the gallery.”

  “Museum,” said Beatrice faintly. Her quiet retirement definitely remained elusive. She was thinking of ways to mount a suitable defense when the meeting abruptly came to order.

  After Wyatt said a few words thanking them for coming and for their time and explained a bit about how the project had come to be and who it served, Meadow stood up. She explained the pattern they’d be working with, handed it out, and showed some of the fabric and supplies that she’d picked up.

  “But these are just guidelines, of course. Well, not with the pattern, but the fabric. And Posy has offered to give our group a lovely discount since this project is all in the name of service to others!” said Meadow, beaming. There was a round of applause from the collected quilters and then Meadow added. “Now I want Beatrice to stand up and tell us a little about how she’s getting the word out on social media about our good deeds and other activities.”

  Beatrice shot her a look, which Meadow completely missed the point of. Or maybe Meadow was just deliberately playing dumb. She knew, after all, that the best way of cementing something was to announce it at a meeting.

  Beatrice slowly stood up and gave a short smile to the gathered women. “Unfortunately, since I’ve just—taken on—this responsibility, I don’t have a lot to say about it yet. I did do something similar at the craft museum in Atlanta that I worked for. The idea is to show that quilters are not just creating amazing art in a solo environment, but that it’s a way to collectively enjoy ourselves too, through service to others, gatherings, and guild meetings.”

  There was another burst of enthusiastic applause. As Beatrice took her seat again, she took the opportunity to glance around her at the other women. There were mostly people that she knew very well there—Savannah and Georgia both gave her a small wave, Posy was there, of course. But there were also women who were part of the other quilting guild in Dappled Hills, the Cut-Ups, and some who didn’t appear to be part of a current guild and were reaching out for this particular project.

  There was one quilter who looked particularly sour and hadn’t really been very quick to applaud. Judging from what others had said, Beatrice wondered if she might be Gwen. It was also someone who asked a good number of questions, even asking about things that had already been explained previously. From what Beatrice had gathered, this sounded like something Gwen would do.

  After all the information had been given, questions asked and answered and the pattern discussed, Wyatt gave a short devotion about how service benefits the volunteer.

  After the meeting was finished, Wyatt was chatting with some of the quilters who were leaving, which suited Beatrice fine since she wanted the chance to speak to Gwen before she disappeared. And disappearing seemed to be what Gwen had in mind as she gathered up her things and looked purposefully at the door, unfettered by anyone wanting to talk to her. She was perhaps in her late sixties with a somewhat dumpy appearance that wasn’t helped by the shapeless cotton pants and bright purple tunic she wore.

  To waylay her, Beatrice did the only thing that popped into her head. She promptly dropped everything in her hands directly in front of Gwen. “Mercy!” said Beatrice, hand to her chest in a gesture that was perhaps too dramatic, “Why am I so clumsy today?”

  Gwen sighed with gusto and bent to assist Beatrice. Meadow winked at Beatrice and left her conversation with Savannah and Georgia to join Beatrice.

  “Gwen, have you met Beatrice?” asked Meadow in a jolly voice.

  Gwen, thrusting Beatrice’s papers and purse at her, gave Meadow a rather sour look. “Don’t remember,” she muttered.

  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” said Beatrice brightly. She put out her hand and Gwen gave her a limp handshake in return.

  “I should be going,” murmured Gwen.

  But Meadow was continuing as if Gwen hadn’t spoken at all. “Isn’t it nice that Beatrice is going to help us to put the word out about quilting in Dappled Hills? You and I have been quilting for so many years here that it sure would be nice to see some fresh faces, wouldn’t it?”

  Gwen furrowed her brow as if she wasn’t at all sure that it would be nice. As if, maybe, she would rather not even see some of the old faces.

  “Speaking of having been in Dappled Hills for a while,” said Meadow, making quite the conversational leap, “It seems a name from the past keeps appearing?”

  Gwen blinked several times before maintaining her rather truculent expression with some effort. She didn’t give Meadow any sign of curiosity.

  Meadow continued, “Do you remember Vivian Hastings?”

  There was a flicker in Gwen’s eyes, but she stayed silent.

  “It was a long time ago when she was in Dappled Hills. Forty years ago—can you believe it? But it was at a time when we didn’t have a lot of people who were new to the town, so she would have stood out.” Meadow chuckled. “She would have stood out anyway, since she had red hair.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22