Quilt Trip: A Southern Quilting Mystery (10 page)

“You’ve known Alexandra for a while, haven’t you?” Beatrice asked.

“Since she was a little girl,” Winnie replied.

“What’s your general take on her? As a person, I mean.”

“You mean, she
is
a person?” Winnie’s voice was snarky. “I hadn’t noticed. I thought that perhaps she was a rodent of some kind.”

Beatrice paused. “So you’re not very fond of her.”

“You could say that.” Winnie sniffed.

“Why do you have that opinion of her? Was there a specific incident?”

“No, she’s always been very unpleasant. Even as a child. She’s a very rude person. I told you that she and her mother had never gotten along, and Alexandra is much of the reason why.”

“I got the impression that Muriel wasn’t particularly easy to get along with, either.”

Winnie grew still. After hesitating a moment, she said, “Muriel wasn’t always that way.”

Might they finally be getting somewhere?

“I figured she must have at least been tolerable to be around, or else the two of you wouldn’t have been friends,” said Beatrice.

“She was tolerable,” allowed Winnie. “Muriel could fake friendliness for short periods of time. We quilted together, went to church together, and even went out for dinner and to the movies together. When I first knew her, Alexandra was only a toddler.”

“How old was Alexandra when you and Muriel ended your friendship?”

Winnie considered this. “She was a teenager.”

“Can’t you tell me what came between you and Muriel?”

“It simply doesn’t have anything to do with Muriel’s death,” Winnie said in a harsh voice. “You’re just wanting to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“It helps me to understand the kind of person that Muriel Starnes was,” Beatrice said quietly. “And that’s one of the things I’m trying to figure out—her character. I only knew her for a few hours and she was pleasant enough during that time.”

Winnie snorted. “As I said—she could fake friendliness for short periods of time.”

“So it’s hard for me to fathom why someone would dislike her enough to kill her,” finished Beatrice. “It would be very helpful if you could explain what happened between the two of you.”

Winnie looked down at her hands, carefully folded in her lap. Finally she said, “Muriel was, at one time, a very charismatic and handsome woman. It’s probably hard to imagine that, since you saw her at the end of her life while her health was failing.”

“No, I can see it,” said Beatrice. “She certainly had a very powerful and magnetic personality.”

“That’s exactly it,” said Winnie, nodding approvingly. “It was really the force of her personality that was so attractive. She wasn’t a raving beauty—nothing like that. But she had a great strength of character.”

“So she was charismatic. Muriel had lots of friends, then? And admirers?”

“She did.” Winnie pinched her lips shut before finally responding. “And she didn’t think twice about horning in on friendships. I’d have people I’d become friendly with at a guild meeting or at church. I’d eventually introduce these friends to Muriel at a quilt show or after a church service, and the next thing I’d know Muriel would have charmed them into becoming her best friends. I’d call them up and they’d tell me that they’d
love
to go to the movies with me but already had plans with Muriel.”

This sounded practically like elementary school to Beatrice, but she nodded at Winnie to encourage her to keep going. “So she kept stealing your friends.”

“Yes. But I let her.” Winnie’s hands tightened into bony fists. “I’ll admit it. I let her steal them. I kept thinking that they were naturally drawn to Muriel, the way I was. Instead of realizing how manipulative Muriel had been and ending my friendship with her then, I kept right on with her. I was stupid. And one day I was even stupider than I usually was.”

“You introduced her to the man you were dating?” Beatrice said.

It was apparently a good guess.

“That’s right.” Winnie blinked with surprise at Beatrice’s astuteness. “I’d never been one to date much—I never had the opportunity. I was always this scrawny quiet girl. I’d have a date here and there, but the dates never ended up sparking a real relationship.” She paused. “Until I met John.”

“And you and John embarked on a serious relationship?” Beatrice had to wonder whether Winnie could have overreacted, considering her lack of relationship experience.

“We did.” Winnie’s head bobbed slightly. “We were both very much in love,” she added almost defiantly.

“And you introduced John to Muriel. Why would you have done that?” It popped out involuntarily and Beatrice snapped her mouth shut. She tried again. “Sorry. I mean, what—?”

“What was I thinking?” finished Winnie. “I know exactly what I was thinking. I was thinking that I wanted to show John off. I wanted to show Muriel that she wasn’t the only one who could develop a relationship with a man. Besides, John was so handsome. I guess I was feeling smug.”

“What happened?”

“It was Christmas Eve,” said Winnie, her words now coming out in a sob. “Muriel had a party. She always had a party on Christmas Eve . . . a big one. There were gobs of people there. I’d bought a new dress.” She smiled at the memory. “I felt really beautiful—I
wasn’t
beautiful, but I felt that way. John had a dark suit and a red tie for Christmas. He looked like a million dollars.”

“Did Muriel also think he looked like a million dollars?”

“Apparently. She was positively glowing.” Winnie’s voice was flat now. “And she completely monopolized John the entire night. I was miserable. Not only was she flirting with the man I loved, but I was totally alone at the party . . . I didn’t know another soul there. It was a relief when the party ended and John and I left.”

“That’s when you realized the kind of person Muriel was?”

“Not quite. I blamed myself for not being witty or fascinating enough to command John’s attention.”

“So did John end your relationship, then?” Beatrice frowned.

“No. I did. You see, I returned to Muriel’s house the next morning to give her a Christmas present. I’d forgotten to bring it to the party. I discovered John there.” Her eyes filled with tears of pain. “He’d dropped me off at my house, then gone right back to Muriel’s.”

Beatrice winced.

“I saw red. I thought for a crazy moment that I’d kill them both,” said Winnie, still in that flat voice. “I never saw John again. I stopped taking Muriel’s calls. I avoided her in public. And I didn’t return to this house until two days ago. I wish I didn’t come back then, either.”

Beatrice said carefully, “You don’t think that this is a long time to carry a grudge? What happened between you and Muriel was, what—thirty years ago or so?”

Winnie stared at Beatrice. “You don’t understand at all. Why would you? You’re such a pretty woman that you probably had all kinds of suitors. You’ve got pretty hair and a nice figure. But that was the last time that I ever had any kind of relationship with a man. No one else was remotely interested in me, as much as I tried to find dates. I’ve never had any close bonds with my family and Muriel destroyed my capacity for trust in a friendship, so none of my friendships have had any depth to them. My quilting guild is my only social outlet. I’m completely alone, Beatrice. And I’ve had to work hard, teaching, to support myself my entire life. Teaching is the hardest job in the world, let me tell you.”

And Winnie hadn’t forgotten whom she held responsible for this life she was leading. Muriel.

Beatrice had never heard anyone sound so bitter.

“So now you understand my opinion of Muriel,” said Winnie with satisfaction. “And you know more about the kind of person she was.”

“I do,” said Beatrice, nodding. But she also understood more completely what Winnie’s motive would be for murdering Muriel: revenge. What was it that people always said? Revenge was a dish better served cold.

“Since you knew Muriel so well—at one time—” Beatrice amended when she saw Winnie open her mouth to protest. “Why don’t you tell me who you think could be responsible for her death?”

“I told you. It was that crazy old woman. I don’t think it had anything at all to do with Muriel’s personality. I think it was that witch of an old woman, who lost her mind, got confused, and did Muriel in.”

Right at that moment the library door popped wide open and a particularly wild-looking Miss Sissy glared at them. “
Murder!
” she hissed.

Winnie shrieked, frightening Miss Sissy into shrieking back.

Beatrice sighed. “Miss Sissy, Winnie thinks you might have had something to do with Muriel Starnes’s death. Did you?”

“Did
not
!” she hissed again. “Wickedness!”

It seemed to be a charge leveled at Winnie Tyson, who promptly burst into ugly sobbing.

Winnie returned upstairs to lie down for a while and recover from her emotional outburst and her embarrassment over it. Alexandra apparently went upstairs, too. Holly and Posy were just finishing wrestling Dot into the library when Beatrice found them. Beatrice shivered again as she entered the library—a reaction that had little to do with the cold. The dark wood of the heavy furniture, the unread appearance of the dusty books, and the dim light from the dirty windows contributed to the bleak effect.

Beatrice hesitated. “Do y’all mind if I talk with Dot for a minute in the library? It might be easier for her than moving her to the study and then back.”

“Of course,” Holly said quickly. Meadow, Posy, and Holly stepped out, closing the library door behind them.

Dot said, “Holly told me what happened. I really liked that Colton, too. It’s a plum shame that he’s dead. So you think the same person who killed Muriel also took Colton out?”

“We’re still trying to figure out what happened. But that does appear the most likely scenario, doesn’t it?” Beatrice said.

“So old Colton was onto somebody,” Dot said thoughtfully. “Then he let on that he knew something and the killer had to come after him before he could say anything.”

Beatrice nodded.

“And in this case, instead of some diabolical murderer from outside, we’re talking about middle-aged or old-lady quilters,” said Dot with her guffawing laugh. “Quilters are a tough bunch, aren’t they? People think we’re all milk and cookies and grandkids and quilt shows. They don’t know the real story.”

Dot shifted in her seat to ease the pressure from her ankle. Beatrice said, “I know with your ankle injury you probably don’t have a lot of information about anything that might have happened last night. Especially since you weren’t even at supper with us.”

“Which I’m feeling bad about. It would have been good for y’all to have had another set of eyes for that meal. So that’s when you think it happened? Holly said it sounded like it was those missing sleeping pills. In his wineglass?”

This interview was unfortunately all one way. It was more like Beatrice was supplying the information and Dot was the one asking all the questions. But she did need to be filled in, after all. “That’s right,” Beatrice said. “And it most likely happened during supper because Colton said he was tired and turned in right after dinner. There probably wouldn’t have been time for anyone to doctor his drink upstairs.”

“Was his door locked this morning?” Dot tilted her head to the side, thinking.

“It wasn’t,” Beatrice said. “And I didn’t think about it, but that could indicate that the reason he went straight to bed was because the sleeping pills had already taken effect at dinner. Maybe he felt so sleepy that he wanted to close his eyes for a few minutes.”

None of this had occurred to Beatrice with the shock of finding Colton dead. But now that she thought about it, Colton hadn’t really appeared to be about to turn in for the night. Wouldn’t he have at least unbuttoned his collar or removed his shirt? Certainly he’d have gotten under the covers with a night as cold as last night had been. And yet there he’d been, lying on top of the carefully made-up bed, fully dressed, looking like he was just resting for a moment before addressing a board meeting. He must have suddenly been overcome by sleepiness when he got into his room, she thought.

“Let me tell you about what I noticed last night,” Dot said eagerly. “It might be really helpful for your investigation.”

Beatrice decided that Dot probably wouldn’t be able to shed much light on the situation, but she wasn’t going to burst her bubble. “Sure,” she said.

“Well, as you know, I stayed upstairs after taking my tumble. Thanks again for coming to help me, by the way.”

“It was really no problem,” said Beatrice.

“You ladies brought me my dinner up here. This house has a lot of open areas, so I could hear y’all talking downstairs, but I couldn’t make out the words or anything. I know I didn’t hear your voice after a while.”

“I actually was talking to Colton in the study.” Beatrice again felt that small stab of guilt that she might have accidentally contributed to his death.

“That was all I knew about what was going on downstairs. I didn’t even know that Colton had come upstairs,” said Dot. But I did notice something else.”

Beatrice suppressed a sigh. As she’d expected, Dot didn’t know anything useful, although it wasn’t for lack of trying. “What was it that you did notice last night?”

“Holly. She couldn’t sleep, I guess. She was gone last night for a long time.” Dot’s eyes were lit up with excitement at the idea that she’d been able to provide a little information.

“Holly left your room?”

“For a
long
time,” stressed Dot. “I don’t have a clock, but I’m guessing it must have been one o’clock when she left. And I think she didn’t come back to the room for a couple of hours or so. I wasn’t sleeping all that great myself, with my ankle throbbing and all. I needed to go to the restroom, too, and that was a real pain, trying to lug myself over there. It sure would have been handy for Holly to have been in the room to help me.”

“Where do you think Holly was?”

“Well, she wasn’t in the bathroom, because I managed to lug myself over there and it was free. Maybe she was off murdering Colton.” Dot’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

“But we’ve already decided that Colton’s drink was tampered with at supper. He was probably already dead when Holly left the bedroom. Besides, I’m not really even sure what Holly’s motive would be for killing either one of them.”

Dot said slowly, “Well, Colton because he knew something. That’s what we’re thinking, right? And Muriel . . .” Her broad face twisted as she tried working it out in her head. “Let’s see. With Muriel . . .”

“There must have been a connection between Muriel and Holly,” said Beatrice, almost to herself. “Everyone here had a connection with Muriel. At least, everyone that she personally invited to come here.” Beatrice still hadn’t forgiven Meadow for dragging the Village Quilters into the mess.

Beatrice realized she was giving herself an opening to push Dot into explaining more about her own relationship with Muriel. “Speaking of personal connections, could you talk a little more about your relationship with Muriel?”

Dot’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You think Muriel and I were friends?” She snorted and gestured at herself—her chubby physique, the too tight American flag T-shirt, the faded blue jeans. “Is that because I somehow look like a person who hangs out with rich folks?”

For the first time, Beatrice heard a bitter note underneath the good-natured veneer that Dot presented to the world. Feeling as if she’d struck a chord there, she pressed further. “It’s not too far out of the realm of possibility, is it? After all, you were both quilters. Muriel seemed like she enjoyed spending time with other quilters. Winnie, for instance.”

“Winnie was in our guild, yes. Of course, I never hung out with Winnie.” Dot rolled her eyes at Beatrice. “You might have noticed that she’s the type of person who thinks she’s better than everyone else. Why she thinks that, I can’t say. She’s a teacher who doesn’t have two cents to rub together.”

Beatrice hadn’t noticed that Winnie acted superior. In fact, she thought that Winnie was probably one of the most insecure people she’d met. It might be that Winnie covered up that insecurity by acting condescending.

“So you saw Winnie hanging out with Muriel, then?” Beatrice asked.

“Oh, they were real buddy-buddy, those two. For a long time. Winnie would rub it in everyone’s face. You know—she’d drop these fake-casual mentions of going over to Muriel’s house and having an amazing meal . . . that kind of thing. Used to make all of us in the guild talk about her behind her back.”

“So you saw when Winnie and Muriel stopped being friends?”

“I sure did. None of us knew what had happened, but we saw an immediate change one day. Winnie stopped talking about Muriel, stopped making those little comments about dropping by her house. And then she got real uncomfortable when Muriel came to guild meetings. It was obvious that either Winnie was going to have to drop out of the guild, or Muriel was because Winnie was too upset whenever Muriel was there. Of course, it ended up being Winnie who dropped out. Muriel never batted an eye over whatever it was that had upset Winnie. And Muriel wasn’t going to budge—she was naturally going to keep doing whatever she wanted to, no matter what.”

“So Muriel is still in your quilt guild? I mean, she
was
still in your guild?”

Dot snorted. “Nope. Muriel quit the guild years ago. I don’t think she stopped quilting, but she stopped coming to our guild. Before you ask, no, I don’t think she joined another one. Winnie did, though. She joined another guild that met in Lenoir. That’s kind of a drive for her, I think. I always wondered if she’d have come back to our guild if she’d known that Muriel was no longer in it.”

“Why do you think Muriel stopped going to your guild?”

“Why did Muriel do anything?” Dot asked with a chuckle. “Because she
wanted
to stop, that’s why. Could’ve been her health, could’ve been that the guild members were all getting on her nerves. Could’ve been that she simply didn’t want to hang out with people anymore and wanted to be alone. That’s probably what happened—she got sick of people. Why else would somebody with lots of money stay all by herself in a rotting mansion?”

Beatrice realized she still didn’t totally understand Dot’s connection with Muriel. “And you’re sure you didn’t have any other relationship with Muriel? It appeared to me that all of Muriel’s invited guests did.”

“Well, Holly obviously didn’t,” Dot said stoutly. “And Miss High and Mighty Muriel sure didn’t with me, either.”

Beatrice saw she wasn’t going to get anywhere else with Dot. Besides, she realized that she hadn’t asked Winnie about Dot. Surely Winnie could give more insight into Dot or Dot’s possible connection with Muriel. Could she also shed some light on Holly?

•   •   •

Beatrice was about to ask Holly to talk to her about where she’d been roaming the night before, when an angry, piercing shriek came from upstairs.

Everyone rushed to the bottom of the staircase, anxiously peering up toward the source of the shouting.

It was Alexandra. “Who took my gun?” she said fiercely, eyes like flint, arms crossed. “Who took it?”

They all gaped at Alexandra. “Gun?” asked Beatrice. “You had a gun here?”

She snapped back at Beatrice, “Yes, I had a gun here. There’s no law against it, you know. I frequently lock one in my car’s glove compartment so that I feel safer on the road. With everything going on here, I thought it would be a good idea to have it in my room, so I took it out and concealed it in there. Now it’s gone.”

Meadow crowed, “So you
do
think that your mother and Colton were murdered!”

Alexandra glared at her. “I like covering my back, that’s all. I’d put it in the house that very first night—
before
Mother died. Besides, I didn’t like the thought of it being out in the car. Now I’m going to ask again . . . who took it?”

No one said anything. They all continued staring at Alexandra.

“Well, I certainly don’t have it,” said Winnie with an exaggerated shudder. “I hate the things. I wouldn’t have slept a wink if I’d known there was one around here.”

“And now there’s one missing,” said Meadow. “Guess that’s not going to help you sleep much, either.” She straightened up. “Well, I haven’t seen a gun. I don’t have a gun.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to
use
a gun,” Winnie said, half sobbing.

Leaning against the downstairs wall, Dot said, “I sure know how to use one, y’all. And if I’d seen it, I’d have nabbed it. But I didn’t.”

“When did you last see it, Alexandra?” Beatrice asked. “Did you regularly check to make sure it was there, or did you bring it inside and hide it, and assume that it stayed put?”

Alexandra didn’t meet Beatrice’s gaze. “Well, naturally I assumed it was going to remain where I put it. No one knew I had a gun here, so why would I think that anyone would know to go into my room and take it? I hadn’t checked to see if it was there since putting it in my room our first day here.”

Holly’s face was so pale that her freckles stood out in sharp relief. “What does this mean? Do you think that somebody plans to kill us all?”

Beatrice discovered that she was very, very angry. This in itself was fairly remarkable. She was frequently irritated or annoyed. But angry? And yet here she was, furious at the situation they were in, furious that they hadn’t been discovered, furious that Alexandra had been shortsighted enough to introduce a gun into the vicinity of a killer, and furious that no one was giving her any straight answers.

“What this means is that Alexandra made a very foolish decision and was remarkably careless afterward,” said Beatrice. Alexandra spluttered furiously at her, but Beatrice continued. “It also means that whoever is murdering people in this house is now armed. Frankly, I think that gives the killer way too much of an advantage. She hasn’t needed firearms before now to murder two victims. We can’t fix what’s already happened, so the only thing we can do now is to try to find the weapon and disarm it or lock it away somehow.”