Quilt Trip: A Southern Quilting Mystery (5 page)

“Tomorrow?” Alexandra frowned. “I’m planning to break out of here tomorrow if the weather hasn’t changed. One way or another. I’ll go absolutely nuts if I’m still stuck here then.”

Colton tightened his lips together as if editing what he was about to say, then said in a quiet voice, “I think I might find it a challenge just getting the wood that’s right beside the back door. You might have more trouble than you think if you attempt to walk down that steep driveway.”

Alexandra snorted but looked away, as if acknowledging the point.

After Colton ensured the small fire wasn’t going to go out, he left the study to head out the door for the wood. Alexandra sighed. “If only this place had a gas stove. I’d kill for hot coffee, even instant. But we’re stuck with electric.”

Beatrice couldn’t imagine a caffeinated Alexandra. The woman was already twitchy and restless—traits Beatrice understood and was usually sympathetic toward. But she couldn’t warm to Alexandra—her frosty reaction to her mother’s death really bothered Beatrice. In contrast, Beatrice knew how worried and upset Piper would be as soon as she was unable to
reach
Beatrice, let alone if she’d abruptly passed away.

Beatrice managed a smile. It wouldn’t do to alienate Alexandra this early. “Has your mother lived here long?”

Alexandra nodded. “I grew up here. She lived in this house even before I was born. Her father owned several huge mills in the area. Mother took them over when he died and made them even more profitable.”

“So she was a talented businesswoman.” Beatrice made a few notes in the small notebook that Colton had dug out of the desk for her.

“Talented . . . or ruthless,” said Alexandra with a shrug of a thin shoulder. “Her ruthlessness served her well in the business world. She’d make drastic cuts in staff and was rewarded in profit. It made her rich, but it didn’t make her popular.”

Beatrice hesitated, then asked delicately, “Did your mother lose her money perhaps? Bad investments, maybe? I’m only asking because the house is in such poor condition.”

“No,” Alexandra said. “She hasn’t lost a dime as far as I know. But Mother was always a fairly stingy person and she became quite miserly in the last five or six years. She couldn’t care less about the house . . . She wasn’t the kind of person who really went in for material things. What she liked was the power that money provided.”

“What was your relationship with your mother like?” Beatrice asked. “Would you say you were close?”

Alexandra laughed shortly. “No, I would
not
say we were close. Not at all. I would say that we had an indifferent relationship with each other.”

That would explain her reaction to her mother’s death. “And your father? Sorry for being nosy.”

Alexandra studied the fire. “I never knew my father. His name was Ernest and he wasn’t a healthy man at all, apparently. He died when I was a baby and my mother never saw a reason to divulge much information about him. He was a good deal older than Mother was, I believe. At least, he appears much older in the pictures I have of him.”

Beatrice said slowly, “If you and your mother had a sort of distant relationship, don’t you find it surprising that she invited you here?”

“Not particularly,” Alexandra said impatiently. “Lately, it seems like Mother was trying to find any excuse to try to get me to come over here. In fact, I wondered briefly if the whole quilting foundation thing was simply an excuse to lure me over.”

“It obviously worked,” said Beatrice.

“Well, I do love quilting. That’s the one thing that Mother and I actually did have in common. Somehow she managed to pass her love of quilting down to me, and her ability.”

“I can’t really picture this stern, cold businesswoman you’ve described as a quilter,” said Beatrice.

“There are all kinds of quilters,” said Alexandra. “Don’t believe the stereotype. She was very good at it. Quilting was a creative outlet for her and she found it very rewarding. I do, too, and I’m an accountant. I’m sure that accountants don’t fit in your vision of the traditional quilter, either.”

Not particularly, but Beatrice could see how the restless Alexandra would always want to keep busy with something. Quilting probably filled that need.

“So you believe that she really did want you here to help her plan this quilting foundation.”

“No, I don’t. I think it had more to do with that sort of blanket apology that she made to everyone here. It sounded very much like something a politician would be forced by his PR person to say. Didn’t it? ‘If I’ve given offense to anyone, please accept my apologies.’ All without admitting fault,” said Alexandra bitterly.

“What do you think she was offering her blanket apology to you for? I mean, what transgressions do you suppose she thought it covered?”

“Being a hands-off, uncaring mother, I suppose,” said Alexandra, rolling her eyes.

“Obviously, she had a personal connection with other people here in the house. Do you know what those connections were and what she might be apologizing to them for?” Beatrice asked as she jotted down notes.

Alexandra blew out a breath. “Well, you’re the investigator, Beatrice. I think that’s something you’ll have to investigate.” She gave Beatrice a smug expression and Beatrice studied her steadily until she said, “All right, I guess I could get you pointed in the right direction at least. Winnie Tyson was one of my mother’s friends. Once upon a time. They had a falling out, though—clearly.”

“Anyone else?”

“Colton wasn’t merely my mother’s attorney,” said Alexandra in a suggestive tone.

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Can you elaborate?”

Alexandra said mock-coyly, “Oh, I think Colton is more qualified to address that topic than I am, so I won’t say any more about it.”

Beatrice kept making notes. “And what were your movements last night?”

Alexandra was looking bored again. “I had that miserable dinner with all of you. Then I was tired and went upstairs to bed. I put a bunch of quilts on my bed and went right to sleep from pure exhaustion.”

Beatrice somehow got the feeling that wasn’t the full story. “You didn’t see or hear anything?”

“I thought I heard Winnie Tyson’s voice at one point. Having an argument with my mother. It didn’t surprise me at all, which is why I went right back to sleep. After all, they had plenty to argue about. You’ll find out when you talk to Winnie, I’m sure.”

After Alexandra left the study, Colton tapped gently on the door. “I’ve put more wood in to dry in the library, since that’s one of the rooms we’re heating.”

Beatrice hid a smile when she noticed Colton had gathered wood with his suit on. Shouldn’t he have at least removed that spotless jacket? “Good,” she said. “I’d hate to think we couldn’t warm up during the day at all. But you shouldn’t be the only person doing that—I’ll try to remember to bring some in, too.”

“Just be very careful,” Colton said solemnly. “There were a few times that I slipped, and once I fell onto one knee. It’s a sheet of ice out there.” He hesitated. “I should probably talk to you now. While last night is still fresh in my mind. Although my own activities were rather dull.”

Beatrice turned to a new page in her notebook. Colton closed the door behind him and pulled up a chair close to the fire as if he had a chill.

“I had supper downstairs with everyone. I did have a conversation with Muriel where I sharply disagreed with her on a particular business issue. I’m afraid that this argument made me leave in a bit of a huff, so I went upstairs and didn’t come down again until morning.” Colton watched the fire as he spoke.

“An argument?” Beatrice asked innocently, although she’d heard part of it herself.

“Yes. I was concerned for several reasons about what Muriel was doing. She was determined to bring this particular group of women here because she perceived she’d somehow maligned them in the past. She wanted to tell them she was sorry before her terminal illness took its toll.” He tightened his lips together in disapproval.

“And you thought this was a bad idea?”

“Well, of course it was. It’s all very noble to want to do something like that, but the reality is very different. For one thing, Muriel Starnes was excellent at a good number of things. Apologizing wasn’t one of them. Besides, even if she
were
good at apologizing, she was approaching this task in a very naive way. She wasn’t, clearly, a naive woman ordinarily, but she didn’t understand much about how people worked. If you hurt people badly enough, they will hold grudges. A blanket apology isn’t going to wipe away years of hard feelings. Muriel didn’t seem to understand this.” Colton let out a small sigh.

“Did she even really want to set up a quilting foundation at all?” Beatrice asked, thinking about Meadow’s wasted efforts to commandeer the foundation.

“She did. Muriel loved quilting and wanted to encourage it as an art form.” Colton cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, she died before she was able to incorporate this idea into her will. She has left money to various quilting organizations and guilds, but her will wasn’t amended to incorporate the foundation. Actually, there were several amendments she wanted for this new will—that was the primary reason I was here yesterday. But with the development of the bad weather, we didn’t end up making the changes.”

Beatrice remembered the argument she’d heard between Colton and Muriel. “You, in fact, discouraged her from making the new will, didn’t you?”

Colton tightened his lips again. “I thought it would be better for us to conduct our business in private. And despite the size of this house, it’s difficult to create a private moment when people are actively trying to listen in on a will’s provisions.”

Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “That seems directed at Alexandra. I’d imagine she’d be the only heir in the house.”

Colton gave her a cagey look and didn’t answer.

Beatrice studied her notebook for a moment, then said, “Alexandra told me something interesting before. She mentioned that your relationship with Muriel Starnes wasn’t strictly business related.”

Colton flushed. “That was unkind of Alexandra. She knows that whatever Muriel and I had is in the past. It was, actually, all on my side anyway. Once upon a time I had a fondness for Muriel in my heart. It’s gone now.” There was an emptiness in his eyes as he spoke.

•   •   •

After Colton left the study, there was a tap at the door and Posy stuck her head around it. “Is it all right if Miss Sissy and I come in for a few minutes? We thought you might be ready to take a short break.”

Beatrice smiled with relief. “Yes, I think I need rescuing. I’m ending up with lots of things to think about and it’s boggling my brain.”

Posy held the door to the study open wider and Miss Sissy scampered in. More hair had escaped from the bun and now there was more hair outside it than inside it. The floral dress she wore was even more the worse for wear, since she’d eaten several meals in it—it almost appeared as though she’d eaten several meals
on
it—and had slept in it, to boot. She was clasping something in her arthritic hands and had a gleeful, childish grin on her face.

Posy sat down in a leather armchair and smiled gently at Miss Sissy. “Miss Sissy told me she had something she wanted to share with you,” she told Beatrice.

Beatrice tried to be encouraging, although she wasn’t quite sure she was going to like Miss Sissy’s surprise. Depending on whether she was having a good day or a bad one, Miss Sissy’s surprises could be various levels of extraordinary. Posy gave Beatrice a comforting wink, so it couldn’t be too bad.

Miss Sissy sprang over to Beatrice’s side and put her hands over Beatrice’s outstretched palm, laying a chocolate bar there. Miss Sissy’s beady eyes greedily watched the chocolate.

“Miss Sissy!” said Beatrice. “You’re giving me your chocolate? How sweet of you.” She smiled at the old woman, then reached to deposit the somewhat mangled chocolate bar on the end table next to her chair.

“Eat it!” commanded Miss Sissy.

Beatrice demurred. “I’m not really hungry right now, Miss—”

“Eat chocolate!”

Not wanting to turn Miss Sissy’s good day into a bad day, Beatrice speedily unwrapped the chocolate and put it in her mouth. She had to admit that the sweet taste of the chocolate had a relaxing effect on her.

Miss Sissy bobbed her head in satisfaction. “That will help.”

Surprisingly, Beatrice thought that it might.

At that moment Meadow walked right into the study without knocking. “Are y’all having a party in here? Without inviting me?” She glimpsed the wrapper in Beatrice’s hand. “And with chocolate?”

“It’s all gone,” said Miss Sissy fiercely. “Only had the one piece in my pocketbook.”

“If you say so,” said Meadow in a suspicious voice. “Although I’m not altogether convinced that’s the case. Anyway, Beatrice, I wanted to hear how it’s going. What have you found out so far?”

“I think I’ve ended up raising more questions than I’m answering,” Beatrice replied glumly. “Alexandra offered up a little information—vague information. Really, just inferences and innuendos. I think they’re both holding back something, too. Alexandra hinted at a romantic relationship of some kind between Colton and Muriel. Colton denied any current involvement.”

“Lies!” offered Miss Sissy, predictably.

“I can’t really picture Colton Bradshaw and Muriel Starnes together,” Posy said thoughtfully.

“What else did you find out?” Meadow asked.

“Alexandra mentioned that Winnie Tyson and her mother had been friends but had some sort of falling out. She didn’t say what. Alexandra said she heard her mother and Winnie arguing last night.”

“The plot thickens!” said Meadow in a dramatic voice.

“And Alexandra said that she and her mother weren’t close,” Beatrice continued.

“Clearly,” agreed Meadow.

“Colton said that one of the reasons he was here was because Muriel had planned on changing her will after we had our meeting. She still wanted to go through with the changes after supper last night, but he discouraged her from doing so. He felt uncomfortable doing it with all of us in the house.”

“Mmm.” Meadow gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. “It sounds like perhaps someone was getting cut from the will or maybe receiving less money.”

“Well, if the quilting foundation had gone through, the amount of the inheritance would have been reduced anyway,” Beatrice explained.

Meadow gasped. “Are you saying—are you saying that the quilting foundation hadn’t yet been added to Muriel’s will? That it’s kaput?”

Beatrice sighed. “That’s my understanding, yes.” Now Meadow was going to be completely fixated on the foundation—the murder investigation would be a thing of the past.

“Well, that stinks!” exclaimed Meadow, hands on her hips.

“But it sounded like she’d made provisions in her old will for quilting groups,” Beatrice said hurriedly. It would be good to distract Meadow now before she got completely obsessed with the contents of Muriel’s will. “This might be a good time to talk about what we all did last night and if we saw or heard anything.”

Meadow stared at her with wide eyes. “You think one of us might have had something to do with Muriel’s murder?”

“No, no. Why on earth would we have killed Muriel? None of us even knew her.”

Posy said sadly, “I don’t think I’ll be any help at all. All I did after supper was help Miss Sissy hunt down additional quilts for our beds. We found a few really lovely ones, too—there were a couple in the most beautiful shades of red. It made me wonder if Muriel especially liked that color. After we gathered the quilts, though, Miss Sissy and I went to sleep.”

Beatrice frowned at Miss Sissy, who was staring with great determination at the fire. Miss Sissy had once stayed with her at her house, so Beatrice knew that the old woman was afflicted with chronic insomnia. “Is that right, Miss Sissy?” she asked. “Did you sleep soundly all night?”

Miss Sissy kept staring at the fire.

Beatrice sighed. “How about you, Meadow?”

“Well, you should know, Beatrice, considering that we are roommates. I didn’t stir all night.”

She’d snored most of the night, too. So Meadow would be no help.

“Did you hear anything last night, Beatrice?” Posy asked.

“I heard a couple of things,” Beatrice said slowly, “but I’m not sure what they mean or if they are significant in some way. Before I went to sleep, I heard Holly Weaver talking to Muriel. She was very upset—actually, she was crying. Muriel was concerned about her, but Holly said she was tired and needed to get a little sleep.”

Meadow frowned. “What on earth could have been upsetting Holly? She acts so determinedly cheerful and happy. Dimples flashing merrily at us all the time. And she has all those freckles.”

“I don’t know, but I think Muriel must have said something to upset her. I remember that Muriel said that there was somebody she wanted to talk to after supper. I guess it was Holly. I’ll try to find out what Muriel told her,” said Beatrice.

“Was there anything else?” Meadow asked. “Or were you as dead asleep as I was?”

“I slept pretty well last night, but I did hear a door creaking open at one point in the middle of the night sometime.”

Posy gasped. “Beatrice, do you think that was when Muriel was murdered in her bed?”

“As far as I know, it could have been somebody up getting a cup of water. But it
could
have been Muriel’s murderer. Wouldn’t you think that the murderer would have wanted to sneak to Muriel’s room very late to avoid being seen? After all, if the killer had gone out too early, someone might still have been getting ready for bed or just turning in.”

“It all seems really risky to me.” Meadow sighed. “What kind of crazy person would kill somebody with a whole houseful of potential witnesses right there?”

“Think about it, though,” Beatrice said. “When else would the murderer have had an opportunity like this one? Maybe Alexandra would, but she might have been in a hurry to murder her before the will was changed. No one else had regular access to this house—certainly not to stay overnight, anyway.”

Loud voices were raised somewhere behind them. Beatrice said, “Looks like people are already getting testy.” They left the study and headed in the direction of the voices.

Winnie and Dot were facing each other angrily in the kitchen. Winnie’s hands were on her hips and her expression was furious. She spun to face them. “Dot has taken it upon herself to eat all the peanut butter. All of it!”

Dot gave them a placid smile as she carefully wiped the gooey remnants of the peanut butter off her fingers with a napkin. “Somebody had to eat it. Might as well have been me. I was hungry. It was there. Case closed.”

“You didn’t give the rest of us a thought! You thought you were
entitled
to it,” Winnie spat out.

“There couldn’t have been all that much peanut butter,” Beatrice said. “What’s done is done, anyway.”

Miss Sissy wasn’t about to let it go, either, though. “Wickedness!” she hissed at Dot.

Dot gave them all a good-natured grin. “It was only wickedness if it was premeditated. It was pure instinct that drove me to that peanut butter, y’all. Hunger. I like to think y’all would have done the same thing.” She winked at Miss Sissy, who scowled back at her.

Peacemaking Posy had already moved over to the pantry and peered in. “There are plenty of other things for us to eat in here. If we got particularly creative, we might be able to warm things up over one of the fires we’ve made. I do see canned soups in here.”