2 Knot What It Seams (13 page)

Beatrice said tightly, “But, Meadow, Opal already belongs to a guild. She’s part of the Cut-Ups. And Karen is part of the Cut-Ups, too. Don’t you think that the other guild is going to get mad at us for trying to steal away their members?”

“We’re not really doing that, though. We’re having Opal come and talk a little bit about her quilting process. So it’s more like a program. Besides, we’re not inviting both Karen and Opal to join the Village Quilters. That would be a little too sneaky of us!” Meadow arranged some miniature bacon quiches on a plate. “In fact, we might not even have to invite one of them. If Opal is impressed by our hospitality and food, maybe she’ll come up with the idea herself!”

“Why can’t we recruit women who aren’t already in a guild?”

Meadow stared at her blankly. “I don’t think there really
are
many women who aren’t in guilds. At least, I can’t think of any. It’s not a very big town.”

“Wouldn’t Posy know of some unaffiliated quilters?”

“I doubt it. There are lots of women who come in her shop who are just starting out, but they’re Dappled Hills tourists . . . only passing through town and not staying long enough to even
go
to a guild meeting.”

There was a rap at the door. Meadow bobbed her head at it. “Mind getting that? I want to get all the goodies out before Opal arrives.”

Beatrice walked across the barn to the door and opened it to find Opal there. Opal actually appeared like someone expecting to give a program. She’d tamed her frizzy hair and if there were any holes in her hose, she’d covered them up by wearing dress slacks instead of her usually omnipresent dotty skirts. She beamed proudly at Beatrice. “Hi, dear. I’m going to be speaking to your guild today.”

There was something slightly ridiculous about Opal Woosley. It brought out the protective nature in Beatrice. “Come on in,” she said to Opal. “We’re excited to hear you talk about . . .” Beatrice looked in Meadow’s direction for help.

Meadow was quickly laying down two more plates, fairly groaning with food, on the coffee table in the den area of the barn. “Bias. Bias and straight of grain.”

Opal blinked at all the food. “You’re not expecting a huge crowd, are you, Meadow? It’s only a guild meeting, right?”

Meadow gave a little laugh. “That’s right, only a guild meeting. Although our ladies like to eat, don’t they, Beatrice?”

Not that much.

Opal gave a relieved sigh. “That’s good. I’ve never spoken in front of a big group before. Just the thought makes me nervous.”

Meadow swooped in for a reassuring hug. “Nothing to be concerned about! Let’s get you set up with a plate.” She pulled the thin woman over to the food and started heaping a plate with food. “How about some mini pimento cheese sandwiches? Deviled eggs? Fried green tomatoes? And I’ve got these tasty little biscuits with apple butter in them. . . .”

Opal might never leave the Village Quilters guild meeting, thought Beatrice.

Opal’s eyes were about as big as the plate she was carrying. She sat down on a sofa. “And y’all eat like this at every guild meeting? Does everyone cook this much when they host the meeting?” Now she was looking a bit apprehensive. “I know you’d gotten a cake for one of the meetings. . . .”

“No, no!” said Meadow heartily. “I’m the one who provides the food for the guild meetings—no one else has to cook if they don’t want to. It’s my pleasure!”

Another little cloud of worry appeared. “Meadow, is Ramsay here?”

Meadow made a face. “No, he surely isn’t. Busy imposing law and order on the town of Dappled Hills, I believe.”

And he probably gave Meadow an earful for inviting yet another murder suspect over to their home.

“I’m only asking,” said Opal, running a finger along the edge of the floral plate, “because he came to talk to me yesterday. Along with some policemen from the state force.” She gave a nervous laugh. “He thought that I might be involved in Jo’s death somehow. They were saying that it wasn’t an accident—that Jo was murdered.”

Meadow made a
pish
sound. “That silly Ramsay. They’re simply exploring all the options, Opal. I’m sure he didn’t mean a thing by it. I’m positive he didn’t think you’re mixed up in murder. He’s got to talk to everyone, you know? Besides, you probably had a good alibi, didn’t you?”

Opal turned a mottled red. “Yes. Yes, I did.” She pulled at the neck of her blouse. “Although I won’t pretend to be sorry about Jo dying. You know what she did to my Skippy, of course.”

“Such a tragedy!” said Meadow soothingly. “We all know how you loved that little dog.”

A tear ran down Opal’s heavily powdered cheek. “She did it on purpose, just to get back at Skippy for barking at her every day. But that’s what dogs are supposed to do, you know—defend their territory. He was taking care of me and trying to make sure that I was safe. In his mind, Jo was trespassing every day on our property and he was successfully chasing her off. And she hatefully murdered him. I’ll never get over it. I’ll never forgive Jo. And I’m certainly not sorry that she’s dead!” She gave a vindictive bob of her head that threatened to undo the restrained frizz of her hair.

Beatrice and Meadow were stunned into silence by her vehemence. Meadow said brightly, “How about some tea, Opal? Would you like a nice glass of iced tea?”

* * *

Despite its inauspicious start, the guild meeting had gone fairly well. Savannah had nodded in agreement so many times with Opal’s little talk about bias that she looked like a beaky-nosed bobble-head doll. And Savannah’s sister, Georgia, appeared to be taking notes. Meadow smiled at Beatrice several times as if pointing out how well Opal fit their group. Opal looked very pleased to be there; everyone else did, too. It seemed to be going better than Karen’s audition. Beatrice learned a lot, too. Plus, she got some tips on appliqué for her future quilts. All in all, it was a very helpful meeting and hadn’t been derailed either by Boris the dog (whom Meadow had wisely kept in the back bedroom . . . and who let out a very remorseful cry from time to time) or his owner, who always had the ability to send anything off course.

“Opal!” said Meadow, applauding at the end of her tutorial. “That was inspired! I know so much more now about bias, and I sure didn’t think I could possibly learn any more on the topic. Complete brilliance!”

Opal blushed and modestly looked down.

“It’s exactly the kind of program we needed after such a stressful week,” added Meadow.

Opal looked back up, brows knit in confusion. “Stressful?”

“The
murder
, Opal, the
murder
.” Meadow sighed. It sure has made for some stress in my household, anyway.

Opal didn’t look particularly fazed at the topic of Jo’s death, but nodded quickly. “Oh yes, definitely. Most stressful!”

Meadow leaned forward and said in her loudest stage whisper, “Could you share more with us, Opal? You know—about your vision?”

Opal blinked.

Beatrice said, “I think Meadow means the psychic vision you had the morning of the quilt show—where you saw Jo’s Jeep being tampered with.”

Opal said in a rush, “You know, I was just in shock that morning, hearing the news about Jo. I think . . . well, I think my brain sort of short-circuited or something. I’m absolutely positive that I was mistaken. Positive.” Her eyes were worried, though.

Meadow looked disappointed. “That’s too bad. You know how I do love to hear about your amazing visions. And I was hoping to tell Ramsay more details about your vision so he can wrap up this case. He’s always so grouchy when he has a case—it takes him away from his books and writing.” She suddenly brightened. “Maybe one day you’ll have a vision about my son and Piper getting married. I sure would love to have Ash finally unite with his true love. Now,
that
would be a vision.” She absently refilled everyone’s glass with iced tea, whether they’d originally been drinking it or not. Beatrice sighed.

Opal had made her good-byes and Savannah and Georgia had already left for home on their bikes (with quilting materials sticking up out of the baskets on the front). Posy insisted on helping clean up for a few minutes, and Beatrice also pitched in with the dirty plates, mixing bowls, and baking sheets.

Meadow was very cheerful. “I think that went extremely well,” she bubbled. “Opal is an excellent candidate for the Village Quilters guild. She got along well with the others. She’s clearly passionate about quilting. And she’s very knowledgeable! As long as she’s not a murderer, I think we’re in good shape. The Cut-Ups guild can surely spare a member from a group as big as theirs.”

Posy accidentally dropped a plate she was washing back into the sink. “Murder! Meadow! What are you talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? No, I guess you wouldn’t, since you weren’t at the funeral when we were talking about it. Jo was murdered, can you believe it?”

Beatrice took pity on Posy and explained, “Everyone thought she’d had an accident on the curvy mountain roads in awful weather. But it’s more than that. Someone deliberately cut into Jo’s brake lines. She was murdered.”

“How awful!” Posy’s gentle face was shocked.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” asked Meadow. “And I must say that I’ve taken it very personally. Jo was going to be a Village Quilter! This person who murdered her really messed everything up and created a lot of extra work and worry.”

Beatrice remembered that Posy had driven both Booth and Miss Sissy to the quilt show that morning. She said, “Posy, you remember how Booth and Jo didn’t really get along at that town hall meeting. Jo was making inferences about something that Booth and she knew about, and he got very angry. You drove him to the quilt show that morning—was there anything funny about him that day? Something different about his mood or his actions?”

Posy said, “Goodness. Well, I won’t pretend to know Mayor Grayson well. He’s a very guarded man in a lot of ways, I think. I only offered to pick him up because I was already picking up Miss Sissy and I knew the venue. The weather was so awful that morning that I admit I thought that if I made it easier for him to
get
to the quilt show, he might be more kindly disposed to our group than if he’d gotten lost and frustrated.” She gave a rueful laugh.

So she wasn’t even sure that his demeanor was any different from usual since she didn’t know him well enough. Beatrice was opening her mouth to ask about Miss Sissy’s cryptic statements at the funeral when Posy added, “But there was one thing odd that morning. At least, it wasn’t odd at the
time
, but it wasn’t what I expected. I’d already picked up Miss Sissy and we were at Booth’s house. I’d half thought that he might be looking out the window for my car since I was there right at the time we’d agreed on. But he didn’t come.”

Beatrice frowned. “It took him a long time to walk out to the car?”

“To be technically correct,” said Posy slowly, “he didn’t walk out to the car at all. Not at that time, anyway. I left Miss Sissy in the car—although I had my qualms. Sometimes Miss Sissy gets set in her head to go for a drive, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to strand me—and I ran up to the front door and rang his doorbell. He didn’t come to the door.”

So that was what Miss Sissy had been referring to at the funeral when she’d insisted that Booth hadn’t been home. She could have at least mentioned that they did end up finding Booth later on.

“Did you go back to the car and call him on your phone?” asked Meadow breathlessly, as if listening to a riveting bedtime story.

Posy shook her head. “I don’t have a cell phone. And neither does Miss Sissy. I’m sure we’re probably the last people in the United States not to have one. But I did think we ought to call. Maybe he’d overslept or something? So I drove back home to let myself in and make the phone call.”

“Did he answer the phone when you called him?” asked Beatrice.

Posy said sadly, “He sure didn’t. Of course, I figured that he was in the shower or something and couldn’t hear the doorbell or phone. It was a little odd, though—that a man like him wouldn’t be ready.”

Meadow said in a robust voice, “Of course it’s odd! Men don’t spend that long on their appearance. Clearly!”

“The phone line wasn’t busy? He’d mentioned something at Jo’s funeral about making an important call that morning.”

Posy said, “I’m afraid not.”

“You did end up eventually bringing Booth with you, Posy. When did you finally end up making contact with him?” asked Beatrice.

“After he didn’t pick up the phone,” said Posy, “Miss Sissy and I drove back over to his house so that I could try the doorbell again. Miss Sissy was getting quite agitated by this time.”

Beatrice could only imagine.

“This time when I rang his bell, he answered. He had a towel in his hand and was patting himself dry. He asked me to wait in the car for him.”

Meadow snorted. “So he really
was
in the shower all that time? I wonder if he sings in there. Ramsay sometimes gets very carried away and sings show tunes in the shower.”

“A good question, Meadow . . . and who knows? The funny thing was, though,” said Posy slowly, “his
clothes
were sopping wet. It wasn’t as if it was only his hair that was still wet from the shower. It was his clothes. In fact, when he came out to the car a few minutes later with his umbrella, he’d changed into dry clothes.”

Where had Booth Grayson been on such a wet morning? Could he possibly have gotten that wet on a mission to cut Jo’s brake lines?

* * *

“I’ve called this special meeting today,” said Meadow “to ask for feedback from all of you on our search for a new Village Quilters guild member.” She intoned her words in a very formal and serious way, which was instantly destroyed when she started laughing at Noo-noo’s nap posture—lying on her back with four feet in the air.

Savannah, Georgia, Miss Sissy, and Posy were assembled in Beatrice’s backyard. The sun was on its way down and Beatrice had given them each a glass of wine, although Miss Sissy was happily consuming more than her fair share of the large bottle.

“You want us to talk about Opal and Karen?” asked Posy, sounding a little concerned.