Quilt Trip: A Southern Quilting Mystery (19 page)

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?” said Beatrice, still so exasperated at all the unforthcoming quilters.

“I didn’t think Mother was murdered, but everyone else apparently did. I didn’t want to throw suspicion on Winnie. She wasn’t acting suspicious when I saw her.” Alexandra gave a sardonic twist of her lips. “She just seemed angry or upset. There wasn’t any argument as far as I know.” Her eyes were brooding. “Beatrice, do you know why I’ve been so bound and determined to find a will in my favor?”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “I presume because you’d like the extra income.”

“Well, there’s that, of course. But mainly because I feel my mother owed me. She never acted like a real mother to me—she was never loving or nurturing. She rarely even looked me in the eye or listened to me. She didn’t teach me much about loving others. I think she owed me. I really do.”

“And she didn’t owe Holly?” Beatrice asked carefully. “At least Muriel provided you with a roof over your head and a comfortable lifestyle and the opportunity to get to know her.”

Alexandra gave that harsh laugh again. “The opportunity to get to know her? No. I never knew a thing about Muriel Starnes. But did she owe Holly?” She considered this, then said, grudgingly, “Probably.”

•   •   •

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Winnie gasped when Beatrice found a quiet moment with her in the library. “Nothing!” Winnie’s bony fingers tensely gripped the hexagonal fabric of her quilting pattern. Then, suspiciously, she said, “Who told you I was in Muriel’s room? It was Alexandra, wasn’t it? She has it in for me! She was always jealous of my friendship with Muriel!”

Actually, Beatrice thought the opposite was probably true. She said, in a calming tone, “That doesn’t really matter, does it? What matters is what you were doing in that room the night Muriel died. And why you’ve lied about it.”

“I didn’t lie,” Winnie said bitterly. “I simply omitted any mention of it. That’s because I knew it would be misinterpreted. I visited Muriel that night because I wanted to talk to her in private.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I told her that her pitiful excuse for an apology wasn’t good enough. The damage she caused was far too great to be expunged by an insincere apology.” Winnie’s cheeks blazed with color.

“What made you think it was insincere? Muriel sounded sincere to me. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to make an apology, but I think she meant it.”

“Only because she was trying to dot her
I
’s and cross her
T
’s to make sure she was accepted through the pearly gates,” Winnie snapped. “I don’t think there was a genuine feeling of regret there at all. So I marched right into her room and told her what I thought of her and how I’d suffered through the years. I gave her a piece of my mind.” Winnie seemed satisfied with her words.

“And she was obviously still alive at the end of your conversation?” Beatrice asked delicately.

Winnie glared at her. “Come on! She was alive and listening intently to my rant the whole time.”

“What did Muriel say after you’d finished your . . . rant?”

“She didn’t say anything. And not because she was dead,” Winnie said defensively. “I think she was shocked that I would finally stand up for myself and tell her off.”

“You didn’t see or hear anyone when you left her room?”

“Not a soul. Wish I’d caught sight of whoever tattled on me. And, Beatrice—I’ve had about enough of your prying and poking around. Leave me out of it. If you keep pushing me—well, you’d better watch your step, that’s all.”

Following this rather threatening statement, Winnie squinted at something on the other side of the library. “What’s that moving around over there?” She gasped. “Is it a rat?”

Beatrice quickly stood. “Oh. It’s only the cat—you know, Miss Sissy’s friend. What did she call it? Clarisse.”

To Beatrice’s amazement, the creature bounded across the library to settle in the chair next to Winnie, snuggling into the fabric. Winnie gave a surprised laugh and tentatively put a hand on the cat’s back to rub it. “Clarisse.”

“She seems to like you,” Beatrice said with a grin, and was surprised to see Winnie blink rapidly as if fighting off tears. She cleared her throat. “I should be going.” She wasn’t sure that Winnie even heard her as she gingerly petted the cat. As Beatrice headed for the library door, she saw Miss Sissy peering in, intently watching Winnie with the cat.

Dot called from upstairs, “Can someone give me a hand? Think I accidentally wrenched my stupid ankle again.” Frustration filled her voice.

“I’m on my way,” said Beatrice, going upstairs.

“Are you sure?” asked Dot, frowning. “Aren’t you feeling some aches and pains yourself?”

Beatrice shrugged, then offered her arm to Dot. “It could be worse. I was lucky. I took ibuprofen after I woke up this morning.”

Beatrice did worry a moment, since Dot was particularly unsteady on her feet this morning—the thought of both of them tumbling down the stairs made her shiver.

She was relieved when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Dot must have been, too—Beatrice guessed she might not seem the steadiest herself.

“There now!” Dot said brightly. “Thanks for the helping hand, Beatrice. Now, on to breakfast!”

Beatrice watched frozen as Dot limped off to the kitchen.

She was favoring the wrong foot.

Beatrice’s mind whirled. Was Dot lying about being hurt? She couldn’t have also hurt the
other
ankle, could she?

If Dot really had never injured herself, it meant that the night of Colton’s death she could have hurried downstairs, peered into the dining room for a chance to tamper with his drink, then run back upstairs again and gotten back in bed.

So she had the motive, means, and opportunity. And Alexandra claimed that Muriel had told everyone about the storage room under the stairs—Dot might have heard about it at a guild meeting or even at work.

What did they really know about Dot? She appeared cheerful and easygoing, but she hadn’t been forthcoming about the fact that she’d worked for Muriel. When Beatrice had brought it up, Dot had acted dismissively, as if it was no big deal. But wouldn’t that have been a good strategy to cover up a murder?

Beatrice glanced out the front window. The ice was showing some patchy melting in spots where the sun filtered through the trees. If she stepped carefully, she could probably walk around a bit to search for a cell phone signal. She went back upstairs to get her cell phone and coat, then made her way outside, walking cautiously down the porch stairs and into the driveway.

Beatrice realized she hadn’t really taken notice of the other cars, having lost interest in them once she knew they were useless for escaping. Alexandra was the only one who had a brand-new expensive car. Winnie’s was a well-maintained but much older model. And Holly’s looked to be even older than Winnie’s.

Beatrice couldn’t even see Dot’s car because she’d carefully placed a cover over it. The large tarp completely concealed the body of the vehicle underneath it.

With a quick glance around, Beatrice pulled off the cover to reveal the oldest car of the bunch. It had dents and nicks in the sides. Why would Dot bother to put a cover on a car like this?

Beatrice tried the doors, but they were locked. She bent to peer through the windows and caught her breath.

Dot was clearly living in her car.

There was an inflatable twin mattress taking up the entire backseat. It had a quilt for bedding and a pillow, too. Beatrice spotted stacks of clothing in the front seat and what appeared to be a plastic crate carrying a towel, soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste.

Obviously it would have seemed odd if Dot had brought those things inside—no one else had toothbrushes with them.

She’d covered the car to conceal the fact that she was living in there. Dot was a lot worse off than she’d let on—she’d become destitute and lost her home after being laid off. Beatrice realized, though, that she had no proof of Dot’s guilt in the murders . . . just a strong gut feeling. Dot’s room was very close to the stairs and Holly had slept downstairs last night. Dot was clearly lying about her ankle injury, using the injury as a smokescreen. And now she realized how much Dot had lost when Muriel had misled her and then laid her off. It all added up.

A wave of sadness swept over Beatrice as she carefully covered the car again. She felt more anxious than ever that they get out of there. She glanced around the yard and driveway. She could see that there was a watery layer underneath the ice. In a few spots where the sun filtered through the trees there were bare patches of grass showing through.

Beatrice took her phone out of her pocket. She could go carefully from bare spot to bare spot and check for a signal. She glanced around her, then decided to try the highest point of the large yard. Surely the higher you were, the better your chance of getting a cell phone signal.

Beatrice walked toward the edge of the yard, watching her cell phone signal bars as she went. It was a very delicate process, stepping carefully from grassy bare spot to grassy bare spot while checking her phone signal. And she was terrified that the phone was going to die at any second. She’d had it turned off for days, but knew there was hardly any battery left at this point.

Just as she was reaching the farthest, highest part of the yard, she was rewarded by the appearance of a signal bar on her phone’s screen.

Beatrice froze, not wanting to disturb the fragile signal by moving forward or backward. Whom should she call? Meadow’s police chief husband was still away. Piper was still in California. It needed to be either Posy’s husband, Cork, or her minister friend, Wyatt. Considering the way her heart warmed at the thought of Wyatt, the decision was an easy one. She found his number on her phone and called it.

When his steady voice answered, Beatrice gave a sob of relief and quickly said, “Wyatt! I think my phone will die, so please listen. Meadow, Posy, Miss Sissy, and other women are here at Muriel Starnes’s house—you know the one. The Victorian mansion on the mountain on the way out of Dappled Hills. But . . . there have been two murders. We’re okay, but come with the police. I know who’s responsible.”

Wyatt started to answer, but Beatrice cut him off with a quick “Bye” and hung up. What if she needed to call out again or if they couldn’t find the house for some reason? Best not to use up the remaining battery. She was about to turn off the phone when she heard a serious voice behind her say, “You know who’s responsible, do you?”

Beatrice turned slowly around to see Dot standing behind her. And she was holding Alexandra’s gun. And no cane at all.

Beatrice took a deep breath until she felt she could trust herself to speak without her voice shaking. “You don’t want to do this, Dot.”

“Don’t I?” Dot’s features were tense and her eyes were completely cold instead of infused with the warmth that was usually there. “I think I do. I think you’re going to tell the police what you know—and you’ve got to know something, right? Since you were snooping around my car a few minutes ago.”

“I was only trying to learn more about you,” Beatrice said cautiously. “You haven’t really talked much about yourself, and then I realized that looking at your car might be a good way to find out more.”

“Except that’s not really why you decided to poke around,” said Dot, all trace of her usual jolliness absent from her voice. “I think there was something else. Come on. What gave me away?”

Beatrice remembered the knife that Miss Sissy had foisted on her. It wasn’t much, but it was her only hope. Getting it out without Dot noticing would be tricky. Beatrice decided to keep Dot talking in the hopes that might distract her.

“I did notice a few minutes ago that you were limping on the wrong foot,” Beatrice said. She slipped her hand a little closer to her pocket.

“Ohh,” said Dot, glancing down at her ankles. “Did I switch over? How careless of me.”

“So you weren’t hurt at all when you fell?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Dot said, shrugging carelessly. “It hurt when I fell down—my muscles were killing me the next day. But the fall didn’t hurt my
ankle
, no.”

“Yes,” said Beatrice tightly. “I know all about sore muscles from falls. Your bedroom door is awfully close to the stairs—so easy for you to scratch at my door to wake me up and lure me into the hall, then dodge back into your room, coming back out again just in time to push me down the stairs.”

“You were nosing around a little too much.” Dot continued staring at Beatrice with those same cold eyes. “I had a feeling you were right on the brink of figuring everything out. Obviously, I was right.”

Beatrice kept inching her hand closer to her slacks pocket. “Your ‘injury’ was the perfect cover for you. You pretended to be upstairs resting, when you were actually running downstairs to find a good opportunity to put the sleeping pills you’d swiped from Muriel’s room into Colton’s drink.”

Dot gave a satisfied smile. “Yes, I was pretty smart there. I don’t think y’all even considered for a minute that I wasn’t upstairs.”

“And this is all because you were peeved at Muriel for laying you off?” asked Beatrice, innocently hanging a finger on the pocket where the knife was hidden.

Dot’s face darkened. “Not
peeved
. That makes me sound like I’m some kind of unreasonable, spoiled person. I was done wrong. Totally wrong. And my life fell apart because of it. I couldn’t find work because I was competing with everybody I used to work with who were also unemployed. I kept searching for jobs, but employers didn’t even bother to call me for an interview.”

“Then you lost your house.”

“Yes.” Dot’s eyes were sad. “And I loved that house, Beatrice. I’d poured all my heart and soul into making it the kind of place I wanted to come home to every day. Oh, it was nothing fancy—I decorated it mostly from thrift stores, but I put a lot of care into it. It was all just the way I wanted it. It was home. Then I lost it.”

“You didn’t have any family who would take you in?”

Dot snorted. “All I’ve got left of my family is a cousin on the other side of the country. I didn’t want anybody to know, anyway, much less ask them for help. But I still had my car, so I set it up as my home away from home. I’d find different places to park so I could go to sleep. Lucky for me, the gym had a special when I bought my membership—buy six months, get six months free. I’m not one for working out—” Her voice turned jolly again as she patted her considerable belly with her free hand. “But a gym membership sure is useful when you’re looking for a place to shower.”

“I guess it was only Muriel you planned on killing,” Beatrice said. “Then it sort of escalated from there.” She could feel the top of the knife in her pocket.

“I wasn’t originally planning on killing
anybody
,” Dot said with a chortle. “It wasn’t like I stole over here in the middle of the night to take my revenge. I was an invited guest of Muriel’s. I was going to stay after everyone left to talk to Muriel one-on-one. I wanted her to know what had happened to me after she’d let me go. Who knew—maybe she’d take pity on me and find me a job somewhere or give me a little cash?”

“But no one left,” Beatrice said quietly. “And your resentment against her grew.”

“Because she told us all the real reason she’d brought us together—it wasn’t the quilting foundation. It was to give that pathetic apology to everyone she thought she’d hurt. And
that
made me mad . . . the fact that she thought she could sweep her sins under the carpet like that at the eleventh hour. When the ice storm rolled in and we were trapped, it felt like the stars were lining up exactly right for me to get my revenge on Muriel.”

“Did you plan on killing her when you went into her bedroom, then? Or were you still thinking you were going in to let Muriel know how much damage she’d done?”

“Damage?” Dot snorted. “It wasn’t only
damage
. It was total destruction and she was the one behind it. Maybe I thought it would be satisfying to give her a piece of my mind before I killed her, but she was sleeping so soundly when I walked in her room that I realized I could smother her and she wouldn’t even wake up. It sure was going to make things a lot easier from my perspective just to let her keep sleeping instead of getting my two cents in. So that’s what I did.”

“Colton obviously figured things out. So he was next on your list.”

Dot spread her hands out, still clutching the gun, although she appeared to have almost forgotten it was there. “Hey, I didn’t come here wanting to murder Colton. But Colton just had to be a smart aleck and figure things out. Apparently, he’d had a tough time tracking me down when Muriel had asked him to get in touch with me. Imagine that,” she said bitterly.

“How
would
he have found you if you were living in your car?”

“Oh, I was putting my gym’s address down as a residence whenever I sent off a résumé or something. The gym was pretty cool about it. I guess he thought it was kind of weird, but that’s where he sent me Muriel’s invitation.”

“Then, after Muriel died, he started thinking it over. Why would you use your gym’s address to pick up your mail?”

“He snooped around in my car.” Dot nodded. “Sure enough, he put two and two together. He wasn’t a stupid man.”

“Did he come to talk to you about it?”

“He did. Before supper, actually. He came upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door to talk with me. Holly was downstairs helping to make supper, I think. Colton didn’t come out and accuse me of murdering Muriel, but he said that he had his suspicions and would be keeping an eye on me. But I could tell he felt pretty sure about it.”

“So you ground up those sleeping pills and ran downstairs and waited for your chance to put the powder in his wineglass.”

“It was easy. I figured he’d have a glass of wine, and he did. You took him off to talk to him, which gave me plenty of opportunity to doctor his drink. Alexandra had wandered off without helping to clean up and the others were in and out, clearing the table and doing dishes. I waited until no one was there, then added the powder and stirred it in real quick. I remembered Muriel had told our quilt guild about the hidden spot under the stairs . . . I’d found it earlier, thinking it might come in handy. I put the pill bottle in there.”

Beatrice closed her fingers around the knife and pulled it out of her pocket, opening it up quickly and holding it up in the air.

Dot stared at her in disbelief. “You bring a knife to a gunfight?” She let out a derisive chuckle. “I thought you were smarter than that, Beatrice.”

Just then, Beatrice’s phone rang loudly—a jangling, imperative ringtone that she’d never figured out how to disable. Dot jumped, eyes open wide at the unexpected sound, and Beatrice grabbed her one chance. She ran at Dot, pushing the stout woman to the ground.