On Pins and Needles

by Elizabeth Craig

  A few minutes later, they were back in Meadow’s van. Meadow cranked up the engine which responded by screaming back at her and then making other rattling noises.

  Beatrice frowned. “Are we sure that this car is reliable for mountain roads? You need to get that looked at, Meadow. Or at least tell Ramsay about it.”

  Meadow said, “It’s just one of those annoying things that cars do every now and then. Ramsay is going to be totally pulled into this case and won’t be home enough to take a look at the van. Or I won’t remember to tell him because I’ll want updates in the short time we have. Besides, I tried to show him the problem a few days ago and the dumb car wouldn’t make the funny noise! Ramsay thought it was all in my head!” said Meadow.

  Beatrice said dryly, “Well, that’s the way cars do. They won’t make the funny noise on demand. And I could be a witness that the van really does have some sort of a problem.”

  “I’ll take care of it soon,” Meadow said breezily. “So, moving on. Here’s the next question. What kind of food does someone like Arnold Tremont want? Is he going to be happy with a Southern casserole? Because that restaurant downtown has a refrigerator full of casseroles they’ll sell. Ramsay and I are partial to their King Ranch Chicken Casserole. Or would Arnold prefer us to pick up something like fried chicken?”

  Beatrice said, “I think he’ll be polite and graciously accept anything that we bring over. But fried chicken and some sides sound perfect since I know he loves his fried food. Anyway, it’s tougher cooking for one. Best for us to just pick up a single-serving of a fried chicken dinner. It might be harder for him to eat an entire casserole by himself, no matter how good it is.”

  After they’d picked up the chicken, Meadow asked, “So how well did you know Arnold Tremont?”

  Beatrice said, “I knew him fairly well. As I’d mentioned before, he spent a lot of time away from home, traveling for his work. I have a feeling that the marriage must have always been a bit strained, considering how often they were apart. But he’s a much easier person to deal with than Annabelle. He seemed kind, and he had a nice sense of humor. He also had a good way of handling Annabelle and her more difficult moods. I was always sorry when I didn’t see him with her at the museum.”

  Meadow said caustically, “If I were you, I would still be so very annoyed that Annabelle swiped my sword. Who does things like that?”

  Beatrice said, “That’s just the kind of person Annabelle was. I’m not going to say that she didn’t want the sword. She did have an amazing collection of British artifacts. But the fact is that I think she was more miffed at the fact that she couldn’t buy the sword from me. When she wanted something, she expected to get it. She probably didn’t sleep at night until she’d acquired that sword for herself.”

  “I tell you what that is,” said Meadow, wagging a finger in the air. “That’s bad karma. And look what happened!”

  “Well, I think that what happened had more to do with whomever she’d infuriated than anything else,” said Beatrice. “But I’ll agree that her misbehavior, in general, didn’t help and didn’t exactly endear her to people.”

  “Ramsay didn’t tell me, but I’m guessing the sword must have been hanging there on the wall in plain view,” said Meadow, fuming. “Otherwise, how would the killer have been able to so easily snag it and murder Annabelle with it?”

  “You’re right. She had it hanging right there in the entrance hall for the world to see. But in her mind, she probably thought she didn’t really even do anything wrong. The way people like Annabelle Tremont think, the sword belonged with her and certainly not with an art museum curator. It belonged in a collection,” said Beatrice thoughtfully.

  “And to think I wanted to bring her into a quilting guild!” Meadow snorted. “Do you think you’d have said anything to her? I mean, if you and Wyatt had knocked on the door with the cake and Annabelle had actually answered? You’d have seen the sword on the wall. Would you have said anything?”

  Beatrice gave a half grin. “I’m sure I would have. I probably would have said ‘nice sword,’ just to see what she’d say in return. But aside from the sentimental value I placed on it because of the patron who’d given the sword to me, I really wasn’t dying to get it back, Meadow.”

  Meadow pulled back up in front of the massive house and they walked to the front door and Beatrice rang the doorbell. There was some excited barking inside and then, a minute later, Arnold Tremont opened the door, standing next to a black Labrador who grinned at them. He was an attractive man with good posture and wearing a pair of reading glasses, which he took off as he surveyed them and the food they held. Then he looked closer at Beatrice and said startled, “Beatrice Coleman! I didn’t know you were in town.”

  Chapter Seven

  BEATRICE SMILED AT him. “I’ve been here for a little while now. I retired from the museum you know.”

  Arnold said, “Yes, but I somehow thought you were in Atlanta still.” He sighed. “Annabelle didn’t tell me you were in Dappled Hills.” His expression indicated that that was no big surprise.

  “And this is my friend, Meadow Downey,” said Beatrice.

  Meadow smiled kindly at him and held up the bag of fried chicken and sides. “We’ve brought supper for you.”

  The black Lab sniffed the air carefully and then grinned again.

  He abruptly pushed the door all the way open and hurriedly said, “I don’t know where my manners are. Do please come inside. And thanks so much for supper. It smells absolutely heavenly.”

  The dog appeared to have excellent manners or training or both. He politely bumped Beatrice’s hand to be petted, but didn’t jump or do a lot of sniffing around.

  Beatrice shivered as she entered the huge entrance hall of the mansion again, remembering the sight of Annabelle sprawled on the floor. She was relieved when Arnold gestured to them to continue through to the comfortably appointed living room. She sat down in a leather chair while Meadow said, “If you just point me in the right direction, Arnold, I’ll put this away for you so that it will stay good.”

  Arnold made as if to lead the way, but when Meadow waved him off, he pointed in the general direction. Although, because the home was so tremendous and the kitchen not centrally located, it sounded quite convoluted. Fortunately, Meadow was able to find her way there and back without having to resort to breadcrumbs.

  Beatrice took note of a lovely brass sculpture, the exquisite glasswork, primitive vases, and walls full of art from various periods and styles.

  Arnold noticed her appraisal of the art and gave a gentle laugh. “Once a curator, always a curator, right?”

  Beatrice smiled back at him. “I suppose I can’t help it. You have an amazing and eclectic collection.”

  Arnold gave her a rueful look. “I might be responsible for the ‘eclectic’ part of that. I was always very impulsive and would buy on a whim. I suppose you remember that.”

  Beatrice said, “I remember that you always followed your gut, and that you knew when you liked something.”

  Arnold nodded, looking sad. “Yes. And Annabelle did all the research and tried to follow particular themes in her collecting. We made a good team, I thought.”

  Meadow returned to them, also complimenting Arnold on the house and the art. He made sure they were seated comfortably and then sat down carelessly on what appeared to be an antique settee. The black Labrador plopped down in front of him and laid his head on Arnold’s foot. Arnold mused, “Downey. Wasn’t that the name of the police chief here?”

  Meadow said, “He’s my husband, Ramsay.”

  Arnold said, “A nice man. He seemed very kind and concerned. I hope he’s able to find out who did this. It’s the most horrible thing and quite ironic when you consider it. Annabelle leaves the big, dangerous city to move to the quiet, safe village, only to be met with violence.”

  Meadow glowered. “It’s an abomination! But I can promise you that her death is a true anomaly. This kind of thing really just doesn’t ha
ppen in Dappled Hills.”

  Beatrice suppressed a wry smile. Meadow was the town’s most ardent defender. The truth was, however distasteful, that bad things did happen in Dappled Hills, as much as Meadow would like the town to be immune.

  Meadow added, “Beatrice here actually discovered Annabelle.”

  Arnold’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “That must have been awful for you. I didn’t realize that.”

  Beatrice said, “I’d run by to check on her and make sure everything was all right.”

  Arnold frowned as if possibly remembering that Beatrice and his wife hadn’t been the closest of friends when they’d both lived in Atlanta. “Did you?” he asked in a confused voice. “Why? Did you somehow get the sense that something was wrong?”

  Beatrice said, “I didn’t believe that anything was nearly as wrong as it was. I’d just worried that maybe Annabelle had fallen ill somehow and needed someone to check in on her. You see, she’d made plans to meet up with Meadow at an arts festival that night. Meadow was planning on showing her around and introducing her to some folks. And Annabelle was quite late.”

  Arnold nodded at once in complete understanding. “She was never late. Punctual to the second. I’d frequently said that I could set a watch by her. Good for you for checking on her.”

  Beatrice noticed for the first time that there were boxes against the walls and that some shelves were bare. Arnold saw the direction of her gaze and said sadly, “It’s going to take a while to get everything out of here. And I’d only just gotten the impression from Annabelle that she was happy with the placement of all of her art. It took her a while to get everything just right.”

  Beatrice nodded. “With all the artwork here, it’s going to be some tedious packing, for sure. I can recommend a service to help you if you’d like.”

  Arnold said, “I appreciate that. But the police aren’t letting me leave town at this point and I don’t really have anything to do. I ordered a ton of specialty packing equipment to be shipped here and am starting the process myself.” He gazed sadly around the room. “Every piece of art here has a story, so it’s as if I’m reacquainting myself with our lives together as I go. Many of them we purchased together.”

  Meadow put her hand to her chest as if his words pierced her heart. “That’s so sad! And I’m sorry about Ramsay not allowing you to leave.”

  Arnold shook his head. “He’s just doing his job. I would imagine that spouses would certainly be the most suspect in cases such as this.” He hesitated. “You probably weren’t aware of this, Beatrice, but Annabelle was pursuing filing for divorce.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Beatrice. And she was . . . for Arnold. She remembered now, seeing Arnold, how comfortable he’d been with his wife on the occasions that she’s seen them together. It was true that they spent a lot of time apart, but when they were together, Arnold had always seemed so proud of her. He always laughed at what passed for Annabelle’s sense of humor. And he wanted to be near her, which was more than Beatrice had been able to say.

  Arnold raised a hand as if to brush away her sympathy. “It’s all right. I simply hadn’t been ready to accept that our relationship was over. We’d been separated for some time and had lived somewhat separate lives even before that. I think you must remember, Beatrice, how much time we spent apart as a couple. But I wasn’t yet willing to call the marriage a failure.” He sighed. “Annabelle could be a challenging woman sometimes, but I still couldn’t help loving her. We simply couldn’t live together very well.”

  “Were you in town? When Annabelle passed away?” asked Beatrice gently.

  “I was not at the house, unfortunately. I can’t help but blame myself for that. Maybe, if I’d been in the house, this never would have happened.” He paused. “That’s to say, I was in-town, but I wasn’t home. I’d gone out in town and then on the trails with Barney. We were out all afternoon and didn’t come home until after dark.”

  Meadow’s brow wrinkled. “Barney?”

  “Sorry—my dog.”

  Barney lifted his head from Arnold’s foot and grinned at Beatrice and Meadow again before laying his head back down again.

  Arnold continued, “I was trying to get my head straight when I went for the walk. Annabelle had been in quite a fierce mood before I left and I was hoping she’d have some time to cool down and I’d think of the right things to say. To convince her that a divorce was a bad idea. She seemed as if she were quite sold on the idea and that nothing I could do or say would make her change her mind. The last thing I wanted to do was explode, so I put Barney on his leash and headed out the door.”

  Barney lifted his head again at the word leash, but then put it back down in disappointment when Arnold didn’t make any move to rise from the antique settee.

  A thought popped into Beatrice’s head. What if Devlin had seen Arnold? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility after all—the house he’d been showing was right across the street from Annabelle’s house. Perhaps Devlin was prevaricating because he’d said that he was too absorbed in the showing to notice anything on the street and didn’t want to mention the fact that he’d seen Arnold. It was worth a try.

  Beatrice gave Arnold an apologetic look and said, “You must know how things are in a small Southern town. Everyone knows everybody else’s business. Someone mentioned to me that they’d seen you at the house close to the time of the murder.”

  Arnold stared at her and then gave a deep sigh. He stood up and walked over to a sideboard, pouring himself a drink. He turned to ask, “Would either of you like a drink?” They shook their heads. “That real estate agent has been talking, I suppose. I’d noticed him as I was leaving. I’d only come back to get some dog treats for Barney. I’d run out and it’s good to have treats when we’re on a walk or else he might spend fifteen minutes or more sniffing at something on the side of the trail.”

  “Was that near the time of the murder?” asked Meadow, eyes huge.

  “I haven’t had precise information about when Annabelle’s death actually occurred,” said Arnold in a frustrated voice. He took a long sip. “At any rate, when I ran in the house for the treats, Annabelle was still alive. I could hear her talking on the phone at the back of the house. I grabbed the treats and left since I wasn’t wanting to talk with her yet until things had cooled off.” He looked broodingly at his drink. “And now I’m too late to make things right with her.”

  Beatrice said, “Do you have any idea who might have done something like this? I know you didn’t live here and didn’t personally know anyone, but was there someone that Annabelle particularly mentioned? Anyone that she told you about that she was having a problem with?”

  Arnold sighed. “Annabelle and I weren’t really talking much in the last couple of months. Although she was happy to pass along the names of the men she was seeing, just to hurt me.”

  Beatrice and Meadow exchanged glances and Arnold added, “I know that sounds rather shocking. You’d think that she would be trying to conceal affairs from me, even though we were separated. But I still knew that what she’d found with anyone here wasn’t going to have the history of what we had. Nor the emotion. I was going to remind her of that before I lost my chance.”

  Beatrice said cautiously, “Did Annabelle mention anyone specifically? Could it be that one of those men might have been responsible for her death?”

  Arnold said with a shrug, “Possibly. There was the married man, for one. Although I can’t imagine why he’d have wanted to murder Annabelle. He was committed to his marriage and told Annabelle it was over.”

  “He ended the relationship?” asked Beatrice.

  “That’s right. His wife was making a fuss, apparently, according to Annabelle. She seemed pretty annoyed about it, probably because it wasn’t Annabelle’s idea to end the relationship. I’d asked her what the status was with her relationships when I got here. So there was no motive for him to have done something like that,” said Arnold.

  Meadow said, “But t
here was someone else?”

  Arnold nodded. “That’s right. The funny thing is that it ended before the one with the married man. We’ve actually just been talking about him. Devlin is his name, I think? The guy who was showing the house across the street. He also helped Annabelle with the acquisition of this property, which was how they met. He apparently fell hard for Annabelle.”

  “But she ended it?” asked Beatrice.

  “She did, but Devlin apparently didn’t get the message. He continued trying to get her back.” Arnold gave a harsh laugh. “Poor guy. He sounds a lot like me, doesn’t he? I have all the sympathy in the world for him.”

  “And you think Devlin could have done it?” asked Meadow.

  Arnold shrugged. “I didn’t say that. Of course, he could have done. He was there, wasn’t he? If he saw me when I was running in for the dog treats, he was there, too, close by. He’d have known that I’d just left and that no one was at home.”

  “That would have been sort of risky though, surely. He had no idea of knowing when you’d be back,” said Beatrice. “You could have run out for only ten minutes or so.”

  “Yes, but maybe he thought he had no choice in the matter. After all, I’d come to town to try to convince my wife to give our marriage a second chance. For all he knew, this was his one opportunity to convince Annabelle to continue with the divorce proceedings and to resume their relationship. Maybe he tried and failed to persuade her. Or maybe Annabelle belittled him. She was good at belittling,” said Arnold with that harsh laugh again.

  “Maybe he became frustrated with her or with their conversation,” said Beatrice thoughtfully.

  “And then he acted out in that frustration,” said Arnold with a nod of his head.

  They were quiet for a few moments. Beatrice asked, “Did you get the impression at all that Devlin was very focused on his showing? Or that he was on his way out of there when you saw him?”