On Pins and Needles

by Elizabeth Craig

  June Bug’s booth was really more of a tent. Beatrice could tell which one it was from the line coming out of the front. She only hoped that June Bug had brought enough food. She was a funny little woman with a round face and a constantly startled expression. But she was incredibly industrious and modest to a fault. It was the modesty that made Beatrice wonder if June Bug had brought enough stock. Especially if Miss Sissy had already been by with her tremendous appetite.

  June Bug was bustling and so was her niece, Katy. Fortunately, the cakes were pre-sliced and wrapped so the slowest part of the process was taking payments and making change. Even more fortunately, there was no one immediately behind Wyatt and Beatrice so that they could talk for a minute.

  June Bug beamed at them both and Katy greeted them with a big smile. She was a lovely little girl and coming out of the shyness she’d exhibited since moving in with June Bug. After making a first friend in town (with a dog), she’d gained confidence to start making friendships with other children.

  When it came time for their order, June Bug quickly said to Katy, “That was busy! Want to take a break?”

  Katy nodded. “May I see Jenny?” she asked, gesturing to another little girl sitting on a nearby bench with her parents.

  June Bug said gently, “Of course! Just stay where I can see you. Oh, and take some cake for them.” Her large eyes watched as Katy scampered off.

  Wyatt said with trepidation, “Do you have any of your carrot cake? Or your caramel left?” His gaze swept the table in front of him with alarm at the lack of inventory.

  June Bug beamed at him and then reached under the table and pulled out two cakes in succession. “Saved them for you,” she said shyly.

  Beatrice laughed. “Wyatt, we eat so much cake that June Bug has memorized what we like.”

  “The diet starts Monday,” said Wyatt with a grin.

  As June Bug carefully cut them large slices of both cakes, Beatrice asked her how things were going.

  “Very well,” the little woman said brightly. “Katy has all sorts of friends now and she’s doing so well at school! Piper has been such a big help.”

  Beatrice knew that her daughter had helped tutor Katy to get her more on track with the Dappled Hills curriculum. It was good to hear that it had worked so well.

  “But how are things with you?” asked Wyatt. “And the shop?”

  June Bug blinked at him with her big eyes and then looked down. “Too much business?” She put a hand over her mouth as if horrified the words had slipped out of her. “Never mind. Might be bad luck to complain about business.”

  Beatrice said, “Not at all. Are you overloaded with customers?”

  June Bug nodded shyly. “I usually have some time to bake in the morning or at slow times during the afternoon. But there have been so many customers that I haven’t been able to bake during working hours.”

  Beatrice said, “Hasn’t Katy been able to help with some of that?”

  June Bug had that proud look on her face whenever she mentioned her niece. After June Bug’s sister had unexpectedly passed away, June Bug had taken in the little girl and tried to help her acclimate to the town. Katy had been helping her out after school.

  “She’s a big help,” said June Bug proudly. “It’s just that now that she has friends and more homework, I feel bad about making her work. I let her go play at her friends’ houses as much as I can.” She looked abashed. “I just can’t leave the shop to drive her there. Her friends’ parents have to pick her up and drop her off from here.”

  “So you don’t have the help at the cash register,” said Beatrice nodding. “That must make it tough for you to do the other baking you have to do. The muffins and brownies, cookies and pastries. When are you finding time to do it all?”

  June Bug gave a tiny sigh. “At night, after we close. If the cake orders would slow down, I could probably handle everything else better.” She flushed and said in a tiny voice, “Sorry to complain. It could be a lot worse. But Katy has to sleep here at the bakery and then I have to wake her up and drive her home when I’m finally done baking. Sometimes it’s late.”

  “How late?” asked Wyatt, looking concerned.

  “Really late,” admitted June Bug. “Early in the morning sometimes. Katy fell asleep in class one day last week. I felt so bad. But I don’t know what else to do.”

  Wyatt considered this. “Sometimes at the church, I come across people who are looking for a job. I could keep an ear out for you.”

  June Bug’s round face brightened. “Thank you. They don’t have to cook, just run the cash register and tidy up after customers and all.”

  Beatrice gave her a warm smile. “I hope it works out. That sounds really tough.”

  They considered the food laid out in front of them. Wyatt asked, “Don’t we need an extra slice or two? For Annabelle?”

  “That sounds good. And maybe an extra slice for us, too. Actually, I was thinking that this fruity cake on the table looked delicious. Maybe we should be experimental, Wyatt,” said Beatrice teasingly. She knew how ingrained Wyatt was in his routines and habits.

  “We actually mentioned pineapple upside-down cake on our walk over here, June Bug, but this cake doesn’t look exactly as I’d imagined,” said Wyatt.

  June Bug, taking the extra second while they decided what they wanted to scrub industriously at what appeared to be a microscopic spot on the table, looked concerned. “What should it look like?”

  “Unappetizing,” said Wyatt with a smile. “And this looks mouthwatering. What have you done to make it so delicious?”

  June Bug gave a little chuckle. “I used fresh peaches instead of pineapple.”

  Wyatt asked Beatrice wistfully, “Doesn’t that make it almost healthy?”

  “Almost,” she said, twinkling at him. “All right, let’s get a couple of slices of that, too. Then maybe we should head to the car with our haul so we won’t be dropping cake behind us like a trail of breadcrumbs.”

  There was a cough behind them that sounded like the type of throat-clearing you use to get someone’s attention. It quickly devolved into hacking as Wyatt and Beatrice turned around.

  Posy’s husband, Cork, stood there. Posy was a guild member and owner of the Patchwork Cottage quilt shop. Cork owned a wine shop in downtown. After finishing his coughing, he apologized. “Sorry. I won’t shake hands for obvious reasons.”

  “I’ll say,” said Beatrice, frowning. “You should have that taken a look at, Cork.”

  Wyatt paid June Bug and then stepped to the side so that Cork could see the selection of cakes.

  “Already taken care of,” said Cork morosely. “Posy trotted me right over to the doctor yesterday. Antibiotic just hasn’t taken effect yet. Listen, I heard you mentioning that Annabelle. Couldn’t help but overhear.” He paused. “You know, if you want to give cake slices away, Posy and I’ll take them. That Annabelle is sort of a mess. I’m not so sure she’s deserving of cake, particularly cake as good as June Bug’s.”

  “In what way is she a mess?” asked Beatrice, although privately completely agreeing with him.

  Cork shook his bald head. “In the kind of way that really gets under your skin. She’s very, very critical. She’s the type to not even appreciate or maybe even like the cake that you bring over. It could be a complete waste of your time.”

  Wyatt widened his eyes. “Not like this cake? Impossible, surely.”

  Cork said, making a face, “She didn’t approve of a single bottle of wine in my store. Not a single one. She even called my shop provincial.” Cork scowled as he spat out the word.

  Beatrice sighed. “You know that your shop isn’t provincial. And neither are the people of Dappled Hills. You have some excellent wines in the wine shop. The problem is Annabelle. It’s just a pity that she’s not trying to make friends in town.”

  Cork gave a crusty laugh. “Well, she’s doing a good job at making enemies. Not just me, either. There’s plenty of us who she’s rubbed the wrong way
.” He gave Wyatt an apologetic look. “Although far be it for me to tell a pastor what to do. I’m sure your approach is a lot more Christian than mine. Just don’t be too sensitive when you’re there.” He glanced at his watch. “Oops. Posy will be looking for me.” He turned to June Bug and quickly started ordering some cake as Beatrice and Wyatt walked away.

  Wyatt said, “You didn’t mention to Cork that you’d known Annabelle in Atlanta.” He took a big bite of carrot cake and briefly closed his eyes at the taste.

  “I know. I didn’t want to put myself in the position of having to defend Annabelle. The truth is that she is rude and she is critical and she can be quite cutting. But she’s also always been a social creature. I find it hard to believe that she’s been in this town and lived as a hermit other than venturing out to complain about Cork’s selection of wines,” said Beatrice slowly. She took a bite of her caramel cake.

  “Is her husband here with her?” asked Wyatt.

  Beatrice said, “Honestly, I’d be surprised. They seemed to live very separate lives, even in Atlanta. Arnold traveled a lot for work and Annabelle traveled a lot because she wanted to, or to shop for art. But the fact that she’s married doesn’t mean that she’s not romantically involved with someone here in Dappled Hills. Marriage wouldn’t stop Annabelle from anything that she wanted to do.”

  For a few minutes they ate their cake and chatted to a couple of members of Wyatt’s congregation that came up to speak with them. Beatrice was becoming more accustomed to this and had grown to know and appreciate many of the church members that she hadn’t known before they were married.

  Once they were both done eating, though, Wyatt said, “Should we leave? Let’s go check on Annabelle.”

  Beatrice felt her shoulders relax a little with relief. “Yes, let’s. Then we can laugh on the way home about how silly I felt when she opened the door and gave me a piece of her mind.”

  But when Beatrice and Wyatt knocked and rang the doorbell of the imposing house just fifteen minutes later, no one came out to give pieces of her mind.

  Beatrice shivered despite the warm night. “I have a bad feeling about this. I suppose there’s nothing to be concerned about at all—maybe she decided to skip the festival and eat out somewhere. Or maybe she turned in early with a bad headache and is cursing the fact that the doorbell keeps ringing.”

  “Or maybe there’s something wrong,” said Wyatt quietly. “Bad feelings should be listened to. We should call Ramsay. He mentioned doing a welfare check, after all.”

  “No, Meadow did. And she was joking. Poor Ramsay is over at the festival trying to work fender-benders in the parking lot. Let’s try the door one more time,” said Beatrice.

  But instead of ringing the bell, Beatrice tentatively tried opening the front door. Sure enough, it opened right up. It was dark inside the massive foyer. She glanced at Wyatt and Wyatt called out, “Annabelle? It’s Wyatt and Beatrice. We’ve just dropped by to bring you some of June Bug’s cake . . . and to check in.”

  They listened for a few moments, hearing nothing.

  “Do you have her number?” asked Wyatt. “We could call her.”

  Beatrice shook her head. “No. And I’m not getting a good feeling from this.” She stepped inside and fumbled on the wall for a light switch. Her fingers found one and suddenly a tremendous chandelier lit up, nearly blinding them after the darkness before.

  And there on the floor was the lifeless body of Annabelle Tremont lying on her front, eyes open and staring blankly at them.

  Chapter Three

  WYATT IMMEDIATELY CALLED Ramsay. At first, just looking at Annabelle, Beatrice and Wyatt had assumed that she’d fallen down the massive stone staircase directly behind her. But when Beatrice had stepped forward to more closely inspect Annabelle, she’d seen a wound in her back and a ceremonial sword lying on the floor, partially concealed by Annabelle’s body.

  Ramsay was there in minutes as Beatrice and Wyatt waited. “Murder,” he said grimly, staring at Annabelle. “I’ve already put a call out to the state police, based on what you’d told me on the phone.” He shifted uncomfortably and then said, “I have to ask you, Beatrice, what made you decide to come out here tonight?”

  Beatrice said with a sigh, “I’m sure the state police will be asking some questions too, and probably not as politely as you are. Of course, I did know Annabelle back in Atlanta. I didn’t like her very much because she made my job as an art curator difficult. I also didn’t much like her attitude or the way in which she treated other people. I also knew her enough to understand one key trait of hers: punctuality. With all of her flaws, being late for things wasn’t one of them.”

  Ramsay nodded. “So you were concerned when she didn’t meet Meadow tonight. Even though we were all thinking that Annabelle was simply being thoughtless and standing Meadow up. I sort of reckoned that Annabelle was tired of Meadow’s pushiness and decided not to show up.”

  “Right. But being late for an event is just not something Annabelle would do. She was more the type to attend (art is her thing, after all), make a few cursory glances around the booths with her nose in the air, and say something condescending or rude to the various artists and crafters. Not showing up at all without calling Meadow to let her know was not typical of Annabelle,” said Beatrice.

  Ramsay said, “And you two didn’t see or hear anything unusual when you came up to the house?”

  Wyatt shook his head and Beatrice said, “I have the feeling that she’s been dead for a while. We turned the lights on, ourselves. The house seems completely dark. Annabelle would hardly have been making her way down that staircase in the pitch black.”

  Ramsay carefully walked over to Annabelle’s body and gently lay a finger on her arm. He nodded. “Not warm.”

  Wyatt offered, “The door was unlocked, too. We were able to walk right in.”

  Beatrice said slowly, “Maybe she opened the door to someone she knew.”

  Ramsay raised his eyebrows, “I thought you and Meadow had established that she didn’t know anybody in town.”

  Beatrice gave a short laugh. “I think it’s more that the number of people that Annabelle was acquainted with didn’t fit Meadow’s vision of the number it should be. Annabelle was picky about whom she allowed in her circles. I don’t think her goal in Dappled Hills was to befriend the entire town. But I doubt she didn’t entertain here or that she didn’t have friends.”

  Wyatt said, “Then maybe she let someone in and was showing him or her the sword when she turned her back on them and was killed.”

  Beatrice nodded to a blank place on the wall where metal holders still remained. “Or else someone just took the sword off the wall and killed her with it while she was distracted.”

  They were startled by a loud rapping on the front door and then a man who stuck his head inside. He was someone Beatrice had never seen before: a gangly, balding man wearing glasses that he absently pushed up his nose. “Hello,” he said, suddenly looking uncertain. He caught sight of Annabelle and froze.

  Ramsay strode forward. “Look here, Gene, you need to back off. In fact, let’s all move out of here carefully and head down the driveway a bit so that forensics can get in here.” His phone rang, and he said, “I’ll join you out there in a minute.”

  They left, walking down the long driveway and then stopping. Wyatt said, “Beatrice, do you know Gene?”

  Beatrice shook her head. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  The man held out his hand in that absent, automated way. “Gene Fitzsimmons. I’m an architect.”

  Wyatt added, “And you live close by, don’t you?”

  Gene nodded. “Right behind her house, as a matter of fact. Say, what happened in there? An accident?” The last few words were hopeful.

  “I’m afraid not,” said Beatrice. “Annabelle was quite clearly murdered.” She hesitated and decided not to say anything about the sword. It might be one of those details that Ramsay and the state police decided to keep private.r />
  Gene flushed and looked away. “That’s awful.”

  Somehow, though, Beatrice got the distinct impression that he wasn’t exactly torn up about Annabelle’s death.

  Ramsay quickly walked out the front door and down the driveway to them. His face was grim. “Gene, what brings you over? Seems like everybody wanted to check in with Annabelle Tremont tonight.”

  Gene shrugged. “I didn’t really want to check in, so to speak, but I did want to find out what was going on. I saw your police car here, and I thought maybe there’d been a burglary or something.”

  Ramsay raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. After all, Annabelle had all that artwork in there. It must have been a very tempting target for thieves,” said Gene, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “I just wanted to know whether I should be more careful about locking my door.”

  Ramsay looked thoughtful. “You know, I’d probably believe that if we were in Atlanta or Charlotte or somewhere. But in Dappled Hills, I just don’t think that we’re rife with art thieves around here. I don’t believe thieves would even know what they were looking at, how much it was worth, or how to fence it. Now, if her computers and fancy phones and cars were stolen, I’d think differently. No, somehow this crime seems more personal to me.”

  Beatrice turned again to look at the tremendous house behind them. Then she turned to look in the direction that Gene had pointed in when mentioning his own house. She said, “Annabelle had this house built before she moved here, didn’t she?”

  Gene looked unhappy and nodded his head.

  Ramsay found his little notepad and pen and made a couple of notes. “Good point. And I believe when the house was constructed, you lost a pretty amazing view.” He squinted across the narrow street to Gene’s house. It was a one-story house with a deck on the roof. “Is that a couple of telescopes I see?”

  Gene nodded again.

  Wyatt said, “You must enjoy looking at the night sky from here.”