“Sure. Goldie came in here recently. Is that a crime? What of it?” asked Trixie suspiciously.
Beatrice glanced out the front window to see if she could see the Cavalry, in the unlikely form of Meadow Downey. But there was still no sign of Meadow. She cleared her throat and continued, “You see, Goldie and I had an interesting conversation at Annabelle’s funeral service yesterday morning. She said that she’d heard that Annabelle had been killed with a sword.”
Trixie shrugged.
“And you see, that’s not the murder method that would be easily guessed. Who usually kills anyone with a sword? No one in this millennium. Someone must have given her the information about the sword,” said Beatrice.
Trixie gave that short laugh again. “Are you just figuring out that this town is chock-full of gossips? It sure has taken you a while to reach that conclusion. And here I was thinking you were so smart.”
“The problem with the gossip theory is that the police were careful not to disclose anything regarding the sword. Those of us who did know about it were cautioned by the police not to say anything about it. So that leaves the murderer as the only person who would know about the sword,” said Beatrice. She continued listening out for the high-pitched whine of the van, but heard nothing other than the sound of her own heart pounding hard in her chest.
Trixie was quiet for a moment. “Then it sounds like Goldie Parsons is the murderer. Who’d have thought it? She always seemed like a goodie-goodie to me, but I guess that just goes to show that you can never really know somebody.”
“No, what it actually says is that you are the murderer,” said Beatrice solemnly. She edged again to position herself so that she could run through the front door of the shop.
Trixie went from being completely silent to giving a furious yell. She grabbed a pair of scissors and lunged at Beatrice. Trixie missed as Beatrice dodged her.
“Can’t mind your own business!” shrieked Trixie as she raised her arm to try again.
At this moment, Meadow burst through the shop. She took in the entire scene in one split second: Beatrice dodging the scissors, Trixie viciously trying to embed them in her. She heaved the bottle of shampoo she was returning at Trixie, which somehow made its mark, and then ran out the door again. “Ramsay!” she bellowed. “Help!”
Beatrice used the moment Trixie had been hit by the bottle to divest her of the knife. Trixie, panting, backed away from her with a wild look in her eyes.
“It’s over, Trixie,” said Beatrice.
Trixie shook her head, still somehow in denial, and turned to run to the back of the shop. Beatrice shoved her in the back as hard as she could, knocking her to the floor as Meadow approached them again, shaking with anger, and plopped down on top of Trixie’s back to make sure she didn’t move.
“And to think that I considered trying to recruit you into quilting! I thought your handiwork with your scissors would translate well into crafts. But you’re not worthy of quilting,” snarled Meadow as Ramsay ran through the door of the salon.
A few minutes later, with the state police called and on the way, and a handcuffed Trixie nearby, Ramsay said, “Now let’s all go over this again. Exactly why did you go after Beatrice with a pair of scissors, Trixie? It sure doesn’t sound like the typical way I’d imagine a store owner would greet a customer.”
Trixie spat out, “She’s no customer. She’s just nosy.”
Ramsay glanced at Beatrice’s nails. “She sure has some nice nails for somebody who isn’t a customer.”
Trixie said, “She has been a customer. But today she was just poking around and making trouble.”
Ramsay nodded slowly. “Okay then, I guess we’ll start with Beatrice. She’s likely to have more information for me this morning. Go ahead, Beatrice.”
Beatrice took a deep breath. “Well, first off, I think that Trixie hasn’t been totally honest. When she realized her husband, Elias, was having an affair with Annabelle, she didn’t handle it with the equanimity that she was telling us about.”
“In English,” said Trixie in a bored voice.
“You were upset that Elias was having an affair. Very upset. I’m sure that you did give him that ultimatum that you mentioned, only because he did stop the affair. But I don’t think, with my past experience of Annabelle, that she would have just blithely accepted the end of the relationship. It’s much more likely that she would try to get Elias back and then dump him later. She was the type of person who liked things done on her own terms,” said Beatrice.
Ramsay said, “So you mean she would have showed up at his house or something?”
Meadow just shook her head in disbelief at the very idea of these antics.
“I don’t know if she’d do something like that. Far more likely that she called his phone or texted him a million times a day. Or flirted with him when she saw him at the grocery store or the pharmacy or something,” said Beatrice. “But there would have been contact, and not on Elias’s side.”
Trixie gave a short laugh. “Elias was terrified of the whole situation.”
Beatrice nodded. “I’m sure he was. Here he had his wife threatening to leave him if he continued a relationship and a woman who was determined to make sure the affair continued.” She paused. “Clearly, you didn’t mean to kill Annabelle . . . at least not at first. If you had, you’d have brought a weapon in with you.”
Meadow said with a snort, “Like a pair of scissors.”
“Well, scissors are her tools of the trade. She’s probably very good with them,” said Ramsay.
Trixie was sullenly silent.
Beatrice continued, “You’d have gone over there to have it out with her, though. To let her know to cut off all contact with Elias. But somehow the plan changed, didn’t it? Maybe she laughed at you. Maybe she was condescending. Maybe she lifted up her phone and said she’d text him just as soon as you were out of there.”
Trixie looked at her for a moment. “She didn’t listen to me.”
Beatrice said, “That sounds likely. Because, from what I know of Annabelle Tremont, she was not the sort of person to be dissuaded from anything that she wanted to do. And, if she wanted somehow to coerce your husband to continue their affair, that’s exactly what she was going to do . . . and nothing you said would be able to stop her.”
Ramsay said, “Annabelle must have felt safe with you, though, Trixie. She clearly turned her back on you for you to be able to get the sword off the wall and stab her with it.”
Trixie shrugged. “Safe? I don’t know. She just didn’t see me as much of a threat.”
“Well, that was very shortsighted of her!” said Meadow.
Trixie said, “She got a phone call. I don’t think it was from Elias but she wanted me to think it was. She got all lovely-dovey and was cooing on the phone and stuff. I was so mad that I couldn’t even see straight. Took down the sword and struck her down with it.”
Beatrice gave a little shiver at the coldness of Trixie’s voice. “You were quick-thinking. Even though you’d acted impulsively, you thought to wipe down the sword to make sure that there were no fingerprints. Then you left. You were probably careful when you left, too, making sure that no one saw you leave. The driveway was partially concealed by bushes and trees and would have possibly protected your car from being observed on the street.”
Ramsay broke in. “But then Trixie was seen. Right? Maybe when she was leaving.” He turned to Trixie. “You weren’t to know that Devlin Wilson was across the street showing a house to a client.”
Trixie said laconically, “Typical. My bad luck.”
Beatrice said, “What I don’t know is whether you saw him see you, or whether he contacted you later to say that he’d seen you.”
Trixie said, “What does it even matter? He saw me, all right. That’s the only thing that mattered.”
Beatrice said, “The thing is, Devlin was obsessed with Annabelle. She’d ended their relationship, but he’d have done anything to date her again. He was
devastated to hear of her death. Maybe at first, he didn’t either realize what he’d seen or wasn’t exactly sure who he’d seen. Maybe he could tell it was a woman, but he couldn’t see your face clearly. Maybe he only got a faint impression of your car. After all, it wouldn’t have mattered at the time and he likely wouldn’t have made any kind of mental note of it. It would only be later when he’d have known that he must have seen Annabelle’s murderer. And later that he realized it was you.”
Trixie said, “Like I said, bad luck. I saw him as I was going into the salon. He was leaving the wine shop looking dejected. I could tell when he saw me that some lightbulb was going off.”
“So you had to get rid of him,” said Beatrice. “You left the shop and hurried over to Devlin’s house. He was busy in his yard, working. He had his earbuds in and his music on and didn’t hear you slip up behind him and quickly whack him on the head. And, miracle of miracles, no one seemed to see you this time, despite how public your crime was.”
“Brazen!” said Meadow.
“Desperate,” said Ramsay.
“Then you left and went back to the shop to finish up the evening there as if nothing had happened,” said Beatrice. “But my friend noticed that you weren’t there. She’s been having a hard time lately and Meadow and I sent her over to your salon for a manicure as a treat. But, despite the alibi you gave, you weren’t there to give her the manicure.”
Trixie just sat there looking hostile.
Beatrice continued, “Goldie was able to get a manicure from you, however. And y’all apparently had a lot to talk about. I’m not sure what Goldie’s contribution to the conversation was, but you at some point told her in an offhand way that Annabelle’s murder weapon was a sword. That was privileged information that only the murderer would know. You’d also told me that you’d never set foot in the Tremont house. And yet you commented on their tacky art.”
“Mistakes happen,” said Trixie with a shrug of a shoulder.
“And all to save your marriage,” said Meadow, still looking horrified.
Ramsay said, “Nope. Not to save her marriage. Her marriage with Elias would have worked out just fine. He’d decided to give up his affair with Annabelle and stick with Trixie. And when Elias sets his mind to something, he follows through. Annabelle’s efforts to win him back would have come to nothing. If you’d wanted to do something, Trixie, you should have just gotten Elias into the station to file a complaint about harassment against Annabelle. That would have fixed her little red wagon.”
“Exactly,” said Beatrice. “Trixie wasn’t saving her marriage by killing Annabelle. She was enacting revenge or acting out of fury or a combination of both.”
“Well, Trixie, now we have to see how your marriage survives a bout of separation,” said Ramsay with a sigh before he started reading Trixie her rights.
Meadow said to Beatrice, “Let’s get out of here. Now this place is giving me the creeps.”
“Where to?” asked Beatrice, just as eager to leave.
“Someplace close,” said Ramsay, “In case we need you to give the state police a statement.”
Meadow said, “Let’s get over to June Bug’s bakery then.” She said to Beatrice, “I planned on telling you this first thing, but Ash called me last night and said he was going to be in town and wanted us all to meet at June Bug’s this morning.”
“Piper, too?” asked Beatrice in surprise. “But it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school?”
“It’s a teacher workday of some kind. Piper is going to go in to do her grading after breakfast and looking at a house,” said Meadow.
Beatrice nodded, pulling out her phone. “I’m going to text Wyatt and ask him to join us. He’s at the church, but I think he’ll leave, under the circumstances . . . when I tell him what happened with Trixie and the fact that Piper and Ash are joining us.”
Wyatt did, giving her a long hug when he saw her. And before long, the three of them were at a small table at June Bug’s bakery, sipping steaming coffee and eating muffins. Savannah had very competently taken their order, taken their payment, and made sure they sat at a clean table before helping someone else. She had a very proud and content air about her as she worked. There was no sign of June Bug, which made Beatrice smile because there was a wonderful aroma in the shop that indicated that she was baking, which is exactly what she’d wanted to be doing all along.
Meadow interrupted herself and beamed. “Piper and Ash are here! The world’s best children.”
Beatrice smiled. “No arguments there,” she said as the two were hugged by everyone in turn.
Meadow said, “I sure am glad finally to get the chance to talk with you, Ash. I have been dying to find out how that quilt of yours is doing. When do I get to see this masterpiece? And when can I draft you into the Village Quilters?”
Ash grinned at her. “You’re completely irrepressible, did you know that?”
“An excellent choice of adjective,” said Beatrice.
Meadow snorted. “I’m sure Beatrice could think of a few others that might be less complimentary.”
“Not a bit. Not after today and your athletic use of a shampoo bottle,” said Beatrice, becoming more serious.
“That sounds like a story,” said Piper.
Beatrice suddenly felt like she didn’t want to repeat it. Not right this second, not with Piper and Ash looking so happy and cheerful. “I’ll tell you about it after you have something to eat, how about that? It’s been a rough day already, but at least it’s a story with a happy ending. Why don’t you tell me something good?”
Meadow prompted, “Like details about the quilt in progress.”
Piper and Ash slid some chairs over and joined them. Piper said, “Actually, I made Ash bring the quilt along with us. I had the feeling that you were going to ask about it, Meadow,” she said, eyes twinkling.
Meadow beamed at her. “That’s because you’re such a clever girl. Okay, Ash, let’s see it. You don’t mean to tell me you were able to fit it into that bag you’re carrying with you? Clearly, it’s a work in progress then. Even better! Then Beatrice and I can advise you on it!” She squinted at the door and frowned. “Heavens! Ramsay is here.”
Ramsay said, “Don’t get too excited. I saw Piper and Ash come in and I thought I’d grab a couple of muffins to take with me to eat while the state police are working.”
Piper looked at Ash. “This is perfect. Everyone is here.”
Meadow said to Ramsay, “They’re going to do a quilt reveal.”
Ramsay said, “I’m still amazed you’re able to pull this off with everything you have going on, Ash.”
Ash grinned at him as he reached into the bag. “Even more going on than you thought.” He gently reached into the bag and pulled out a small quilt. It had yellow backing and had 3x3 grids of charm squares in delicate pastels. But what leaped out at Beatrice was . . . that it was a baby quilt.
“Piper?” asked Beatrice in a voice that trembled a little.
Meadow had already pounced on both of them, giving them a tremendous hug. Wyatt grinned at them all and Ramsay quickly swiped at his eyes before anyone could notice the moisture there.
Piper said to Beatrice, “We didn’t want to say anything until we’d seen the doctor first.”
Wyatt asked, “Is this why you’re moving back to Dappled Hills?”
Ash said, “Exactly. We knew y’all would want to see more of us . . . and the baby . . . and knew that we might need some extra hands sometimes. Plus, my place just isn’t big enough for three.”
Ramsay said, “This is such fantastic news. Congratulations to you both!”
Savannah suddenly appeared at the table, cheeks flushed in excitement. “My treat.” She set down a platter of different types of muffins, cinnamon rolls, and pastries. “Congratulations!”
Ramsay glanced at his watch and said, “I better take mine on the road. Thanks, Savannah.”
Meadow was exclaiming over the spectacular nature of Ash’s quilt,
Piper was telling Wyatt about the prospective house that the new real estate agent had found, and Beatrice just sat back in her chair and smiled at the thought of being a grandmother.
Piper said, “Ash, we’d better run—we’re supposed to be meeting the agent in a few minutes. Oh, but Mama, what were you going to tell us about Meadow and the shampoo bottle?”
“It’s a long story, sweetie. I’ll call you tonight, all right?” asked Beatrice.
Piper gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and they rushed out with some muffins.
The three of them sat contentedly for a few minutes, eating their pastries and sipping their coffee. Then Wyatt said, “I’m still a little confused. Wasn’t Meadow going to join you at the salon? Why were you there alone with Trixie? And, actually, why were you at the salon at all? I’d thought you were going to speak with Goldie.”
Meadow nodded ruefully. “That was the original plan. We were only running by the salon for a minute to return a bottle of shampoo I’d bought there.” She brightened. “But I guess I did make it there, only a bit late.”
“You came in like an action hero,” said Beatrice with a laugh. “Flinging that bottle of shampoo with deadly precision.”
“Well, it made me mad! That Trixie with her scissors,” fumed Meadow. “I can’t imagine what got into her.”
Beatrice gave a shiver thinking about the scissors and then said to Wyatt, “I’m going to make a deduction, since I’m still in sleuthing mode. I think that Meadow would have been there on time if the van hadn’t broken down. Meadow is ordinarily very prompt everywhere we go. But her van had been making funny noises for the last week.”
Meadow grimaced. “You were right about that. I shouldn’t have ignored what the van was trying to tell me. But it simply wouldn’t make that noise when I tried to show it to Ramsay.”
“Your van wouldn’t start this morning?” asked Wyatt.
“It would turn over, but it wouldn’t go. We had to wait for the car to be towed and then I had to wait longer for Ramsay to finish up and give me a ride over to the salon. I should have texted Beatrice, but I was hoping it wasn’t going to take that long,” Meadow said.
On Pins and Needles Page 17