On Pins and Needles

by Elizabeth Craig

  Gene said tartly, “Well, I certainly wasn’t spying on Annabelle. Caustic know-it-alls aren’t exactly my cups of tea. I’m an amateur astronomer. It’s a hobby of mine. And yes, before you ask again, I did have my view ruined when that monstrosity of a house was built. I wasn’t happy about it. I wish that she’d consulted me to advise her as an architect because I could have done a much better job. She could still have had a massive house, but we could have designed it to ramble and not block the view. But I certainly had nothing to do with Annabelle’s death, if that’s what you’re implying. There was no enmity between us whatsoever.”

  “What have you been doing this evening?” asked Ramsay.

  “I’ve been at home,” said Gene.

  “Anyone able to verify that?” asked Ramsay.

  “Unfortunately, not. As you might remember, I’ve been somewhat recently divorced. As of eight months ago or so. Divorce isn’t good for alibis,” said Gene.

  “What were you doing at home?” asked Ramsay, still jotting down notes on his notepad.

  “I did a little stargazing,” said Gene with a shrug. “Nothing I did was very exciting, I’m afraid. I’ve spent the evening listening to classical music, drinking a glass of wine, working on a crossword, and looking at the sky.”

  Ramsay glanced up at the sky. “Seems a little cloudy to me for that.”

  Gene flushed again. “The stars and moon were visible from time to time. Sometimes it’s pretty when the clouds are misty around the moon.”

  Beatrice said, “Did you notice anyone coming or going from Annabelle’s house while you were up on the roof?”

  “Or earlier than that,” said Ramsay. “Considering that it likely wasn’t dark at the time.”

  Gene said slowly, “I didn’t see anyone going to Annabelle’s house. But then, I wasn’t really looking, either.”

  Ramsay nodded, still making notes. “Do you know of anyone who didn’t like Annabelle? Who may have had it in for her?”

  Gene snorted. “I think there were plenty of people who didn’t like Annabelle. She wasn’t exactly a warm person. Anytime that I saw her in town, she seemed to be complaining about things. She didn’t like the food selection in the grocery store or the wine selection at the wine store. And, as a neighbor, she wasn’t friendly at all. I’d wave and she wouldn’t wave in response.”

  Gene had sounded peeved about the waving. Beatrice understood, though. Dappled Hills was the type of town where everyone waved at everyone else and expected a wave in return. She wondered if Annabelle had realized that not waving made her seem she thought she was superior.

  Ramsay pushed, “Was there anyone in particular, though? Anyone who talked about her behind her back or who seemed upset that she had moved to town?”

  “There was someone who especially didn’t like her, and that was Trixie Campbell.”

  Wyatt frowned. “She owns the salon, doesn’t she? Nails and hair?”

  Beatrice said, “Somehow Trixie doesn’t seem like someone who would have run in the same circles as Annabelle.”

  Gene nodded. “That’s true. But she still disliked her. Look, I don’t feel like telling tales out of school, but let’s just say that Annabelle was a good deal friendlier to Trixie’s husband than she was to nearly everyone else in town. I couldn’t help but notice the number of times that Elias Campbell was over at Annabelle’s house. And I don’t think it was to fix plumbing issues, either. He took his private vehicle and not the company truck.” He gave them all a pointed look then glanced at his watch. “I wish I could be of more help, but I can’t. I should head back home. I wanted to see that comet tonight.” He left quickly, loping with a long stride back to his house.

  Ramsay sighed. “Gene is sort of odd. I can’t say that I’m shocked that he’s divorced since he and his wife never seemed to do anything together. He’s one of those guys who seems a lot older than his years. Wine, crosswords, classical music, and stargazing? Like I say, odd.”

  Wyatt said, “But not odd enough to murder Annabelle, I don’t think. He comes to the church fairly regularly and I can’t honestly see him doing something like that. He always seems very patient when he volunteers. He’s done a lot with Habitat for Humanity because of his background in architecture. Not the kind of person who would lose his temper and murder a neighbor in cold blood.”

  Beatrice sighed. “I somehow don’t even recognize him from church. And I thought I was doing so well learning the congregation.”

  Ramsay gave Wyatt a sad look. “You think that because you see the good side of people and part of my job is to understand that they may have a darker side. I wouldn’t put it past him although thanks for a different view of Gene.”

  Beatrice said, “You wouldn’t put it past him because of the fact that he lost his great mountain view, you mean?”

  Ramsay nodded. “When the property was sold, Gene made a lot of ruckus about it in town. He complained that Dappled Hills was in the pocket of developers. He said that developing the ridge would create environmental problems. He did everything that he could to let officials know that he wasn’t pleased about it. And still, the project continued. It’s a fine house—a lovely house. But it sure does block his mountain vista.” Ramsay paused and then said, “Now Beatrice, I hope you won’t take any offence to this.”

  She gave him a tired smile. “I won’t. I’m a suspect.”

  Ramsay said, “I wouldn’t say a suspect, no. I can’t for the life of me see why you would want to get rid of Annabelle. From what I could tell, you were trying to avoid her for the most part. The state police, of course, might have a different view on things. I know you were at the festival, but do you have a solid alibi for earlier? I’m not sure when the time of death is going to be placed.”

  “Not unless we can find a way for Noo-noo to give a statement,” said Beatrice. “And the state police may think I have more of a motive than you do.”

  Ramsay looked anxious. “Oh, Beatrice, don’t tell me things like that. Meadow will string me up if anything happens to you. Can you imagine how indignant she’ll be if she finds out the police might consider you a suspect? She’ll give me the silent treatment.” He looked thoughtful. “Although sometimes the silent treatment isn’t a bad thing.”

  Wyatt knitted his brows. “How on earth do you figure that the SBI will think you have a motive? I’m with Ramsay—until you became concerned about Annabelle’s safety, you were simply trying to stay out of her way.”

  Beatrice said, “Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence, you two. But the truth is that there’s something of a story to that choice of murder weapon.”

  Ramsay fumbled for the little notepad again. “What, that sword?” He paused. “And, if you don’t mind, please don’t say anything about the sword to anyone else. I think the police aren’t going to release that detail. And Gene wasn’t close enough to see it, so it should be just the three of us that know.”

  “That’s no problem. As far as the sword goes, it’s actually a very valuable piece. In fact, I’m hoping it’s not damaged as much as poor Annabelle is. It’s a fifteenth century medieval War of the Roses sword. It should have 1461 engraved on it,” said Beatrice. “Frankly, it should be in a museum.”

  Ramsay blinked at her. “How did you know all that?”

  “I was familiar with it back in Atlanta. Actually, I was more than familiar with it. I owned it,” said Beatrice.

  “What?” asked Ramsay and Wyatt in chorus.

  Wyatt continued, looking bemused, “I know you have a nice collection of art, but how on earth would you have ended up with something like that? It sounds as if it would have cost a fortune.”

  “And would be worth a fortune,” mused Ramsay.

  Beatrice said, “I was good friends with a lot of people in the art world. My specialty was Southern crafts, but I knew a good deal about everything that passed through the museum on loan—it was my job, after all. A great friend of mine had the sword in his collection and knew how much I admired it.
When he passed away, he left the sword to me in his will.”

  “I don’t understand how Annabelle ended up with it,” said Ramsay, eyes narrowed as he listened hard.

  “She wanted it,” said Beatrice simply. “As soon as word was out that the sword was in my possession, she came to visit me. She wanted the sword for her collection of ancient weapons and armory.”

  Ramsay said, “And you sold it to her?”

  “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I demurred. I had never liked Annabelle and frankly, I didn’t want to do business with her in that way,” said Beatrice with a shrug.

  Wyatt said, “But she still ended up with the sword.”

  Beatrice said, “My sword went missing some time afterwards.”

  Ramsay’s eyes opened wide. “She stole it?”

  Beatrice said, “I doubt that she would do something like that herself, but she likely paid someone to do it. Nothing else in my place was touched. No drawers were opened, nothing was disturbed except for the sword. But it would have been impossible to prove that Annabelle Tremont was responsible, and I didn’t think the police would try and get a search warrant on a hunch. I let it go.”

  “And that’s the sword that killed her,” said Ramsay. He gave a low whistle and looked concerned.

  Beatrice said, “Almost as if Annabelle was still trying to cause trouble for me beyond the grave. And the thing is that she clearly had it on display near the front of her house, too. Showing it off.”

  Wyatt said, “I suppose she could have just said that she’d found another one and purchased it?”

  “Probably. Although she and I would have known better. But that’s the kind of person Annabelle was. She was brassy. And she felt completely entitled—if she wanted something, she felt she should be able to have it,” said Beatrice. “She wouldn’t have tried hiding it from me.”

  Ramsay asked, “Would her husband have known the sword was yours? Could he have set up the burglary to get it?”

  Beatrice quickly shook her head. “That wouldn’t be like Arnold Tremont at all. He always wanted Annabelle to get whatever it was that she wanted, but he would have taken the completely legitimate route. He’s have been more likely to send a lawyer over with a contract and an offer that couldn’t be refused. No, Arnold wouldn’t have known.”

  “But surely, he’d have noticed the new addition of an ancient sword on his wall?” asked Ramsay, eyebrows raised.

  “Annabelle brought in new acquisitions all the time, though. He traveled constantly for work, and he’d have just figured that she’d picked it up while he was away. He wouldn’t have thought anything about it,” said Beatrice.

  Ramsay nodded, but had a look on his face that made Beatrice think that he’d be asking Arnold a few choice questions about the sword later on. “All right. Thanks for the full scoop. Let’s let you give an official statement to the state guys when they get here and before you head home.” He glanced at them both. “And you even came to the house bearing cake. June Bug’s cake. That’s a goodwill gesture, if ever I heard one.”

  The state police were there before long and Beatrice explained her past connection with both Annabelle and the murder weapon. She and Wyatt also explained why they were there and what they’d been doing that evening and with whom. Then they drove back home.

  Beatrice said, “I don’t know what they’ll make of all that. After telling them about it, I even felt guilty. I suppose they’ll have to confirm with our friends that we were at the festival when we were.”

  Wyatt said, “I’m sure they won’t think a thing of it. They have to treat everyone that way, right? We’re just used to Ramsay.” He shifted in his seat. “Except they probably won’t care that much about us being at the festival. They likely will care more about the time before the festival.”

  “Which is exactly when I have no alibi whatsoever,” said Beatrice with a sigh. “And you’re right—I’m just used to Ramsay. Ramsay, who mistakenly became a police officer when he should have been a poet, writer, or literature teacher,” said Beatrice. She shivered. “I hope I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

  Wyatt gave her a quick glance before looking back through the windshield. “That must have been very upsetting for you, regardless of your feelings for Annabelle. It was upsetting to me and I didn’t even know her.”

  “It wasn’t her time,” said Beatrice with a shrug. “And while Annabelle had her faults, she didn’t deserve this. No, I want to find out what happened to her and not simply because that will help clear my own name.”

  Wyatt said quietly, “I know you do. And I know you’ve been able to figure these things out in the past. But promise me you’ll be careful and not take any unnecessary risks.”

  Beatrice nodded and slid her hand out on the seat for Wyatt to grasp it for a moment.

  Wyatt pulled up to the front of the house and they immediately saw two big ears pop up in the picture window, followed by a watchful and then grinning corgi face.

  “Poor Noo-noo. She must have thought we’d abandoned her,” said Beatrice.

  Wyatt said, “Sounds like an excellent reason for her to have a few extra treats.”

  Chapter Four

  AS SHE FEARED, BEATRICE did not sleep well that night. After tossing and turning in the bed for a while, she got up to keep from waking Wyatt. She ate some of June Bug’s cake and then found Wyatt’s biography on John Calvin and fell asleep within the hour. It was the kind of sleep where you didn’t even know it was coming, so she woke up with the sun streaming through the windows, a crick in her neck from her odd position in the armchair, and Noo-noo looking at her with concern.

  Beatrice slowly stretched until her body felt like it was somewhat back to normal. Then she got ready for her day and let Noo-noo out while Wyatt stirred and readied for work.

  They were just finishing their breakfast of ruby-red grapefruit and biscuits when there was a loud mechanical noise from the direction of the driveway. A minute later, there was a tap on the door.

  Beatrice sighed. “That’ll be Meadow. Is that all right with you? With any luck, she hasn’t brought Boris. It’s sort of early in the morning for Noo-noo to have to host another dog.”

  He grinned. “I’m just surprised that it took her this long to come over.”

  Meadow did seem to have a habit of popping by, particularly when there had been any type of trouble in Dappled Hills. She was always very indignant at the thought that anything bad could happen in their little town. The good news was that she had become more thoughtful about her dropping-by after Beatrice and Wyatt had married. This was the first time she’d done it this early since the wedding.

  Beatrice opened the door and Meadow was indeed standing there, fortunately Boris-free. Her face was flushed as she came in.

  “Hi Meadow,” said Wyatt politely. “Would you like breakfast?”

  Beatrice said, “Ours won’t be as elaborate as yours, I’m afraid. But if you like grapefruit and store-bought biscuits, it’s pretty good.”

  Meadow shook her head distractedly. “No, thanks. I’ll take some coffee, though.”

  Beatrice got up to make a second pot and Meadow, who ordinarily would have noticed and stepped in to make it herself, instead plopped down next to Wyatt at the kitchen table.

  Wyatt said, “Wish I had time to visit, but I’m running late to the office.” He gestured over to the sideboard. “We do have a little of June Bug’s cake, if you’d like a slice. And by the way, your van was making some pretty loud noises when you drove up. Maybe it should be looked at.”

  Meadow nodded absently. Wyatt grabbed his laptop and some papers and books and hurried out the door as Beatrice returned with the coffee and a slice of cake.

  Beatrice said, “You’re upset about Annabelle.”

  “Yes!” exploded Meadow. “This is just another example of her incredible thoughtlessness.” She took a sip of the coffee and then added several packets of sugar. It looked as if there was going to be a hyper Meadow on Beatrice’s hands soon.


  “That she would allow herself to be murdered?” asked Beatrice, raising an eyebrow.

  “Exactly!” Then Meadow considered this. “Well, that’s not really what I meant. I meant that she put herself in the position of being murdered.”

  “How do you figure that?” asked Beatrice. It was always interesting to get a glimpse inside the inner workings of Meadow’s mind.

  “Oh, her general unpleasantness. Riling up everyone in town,” said Meadow, waving her hands around in a way that indicated that Annabelle’s wickedness was expansive and completely without borders.

  “Riling up everyone? I must have missed that part,” said Beatrice. “Is that what Ramsay told you?”

  “That’s my own impression. Ramsay was in very late and then didn’t say much. But I did pick up the local hearsay this morning when I went out to get coffee. This is my third cup. I got up very early after finding out about Annabelle’s death,” said Meadow.

  A hyper Meadow was imminent, indeed. Beatrice said, “The word was already out? I’ll never get over how fast news travels in Dappled Hills. What were people saying?”

  “Well, I didn’t get a lot of detail, but I gathered a lead or two. Apparently, Annabelle had been quite the crusader on the cell phone tower project,” said Meadow.

  Beatrice frowned. “I think I remember reading about it in the paper. She was one of the ones who wanted to bring in another tower?”

  “On the top of the mountain, yes. Annabelle was, from all accounts, no fan of the cell phone reception here. Her plan was to have another tower and increase reception. The only problem was that the tower would mar, in some opinions, the mountain landscape,” said Meadow.

  “And people knew that she was a proponent?” asked Beatrice.

  “She was quite strident at town hall meetings, from what I gather,” said Meadow. “Anyway, that should be something we follow up on. Did you find out anything interesting last night? And how are you holding up? That must have been rough on you and Wyatt.”