Chapter Twelve

  July 10th

  I’m trying to figure out a better way to approach the problem. When I reached out before, it was assumed I was a blackmailer. Look, I might be poor, but I don’t have to resort to a life of crime to make a buck or two. My thought is that maybe I could sell a freelance story to one of the bigger papers to jumpstart my journalism career. I’d love to launch myself as an investigative journalist.

  A couple of fairly quiet days passed. Beatrice occasionally saw Ramsay driving past when she was out walking Noo-noo. She’d have loved to have asked him how things were going with the case, but he didn’t have time to stop—he just gave her a quick wave and smile.

  Beatrice didn’t even hear from Meadow because she was completely engrossed in putting the finishing touches on a quilt she planned on displaying in the upcoming craft fair.

  Beatrice didn’t have much time either. She spent the two days setting up social media profiles for the quilters and uploading pictures she had on hand of different quilts. She did spend a few minutes searching online to see if there were any old stories from the local paper from around the time of Vivian’s disappearance. She was impressed that the newspaper had carefully scanned and uploaded back editions for decades, although the task might have been made easier by the fact that the paper was only published twice a week.

  Beatrice was disappointed not to see any mention of Vivian’s disappearance. But then, time and time again, people she’d spoken with had really downplayed her sudden absence from the little town. It certainly hadn’t seemed at the time like the momentous occasion it now seemed to Beatrice. Even June Bug had been told by the police that this was just something that happened sometimes.

  The only thing that she was able to find online was a picture at the craft fair from forty years ago. Now that Beatrice had seen the picture that Jake carried around, she was more easily able to spot Vivian in a picture. In this one, Vivian was standing in front of the Dappled Hills library with a variety of quilts hanging in the background. She wasn’t looking at the camera, but was instead laughing at a young man who was holding a couple of hot dogs and grinning back at her. The picture wasn’t captioned, but Beatrice was able to see that, upon closer inspection, it was a younger version of Jake.

  There was another figure in the picture too, but Beatrice couldn’t tell who it was. She made the image on her laptop larger and stared at it for a minute. Finally she realized that it was a younger Huey in the background. You could really only see part of his face, but what was visible held a very grim expression. Beatrice printed the photo.

  Her phone buzzed at her and Beatrice sighed before reaching for it. Miss Sissy had been quiet the last couple of days too, which had been a nice change. But the brief respite was apparently over. It was indeed Miss Sissy who was texting.

  Car dead. Need ride.

  Beatrice could only assume that the hardly-loquacious Miss Sissy needed a ride to the craft fair. She texted back, “10:30?”

  Miss Sissy texted back the equivalent of a grunt with k.

  Beatrice still had the phone in her hand when it startled her by ringing. She smiled this time, though, when she saw who it was. “Hi, Piper! How are things going today?”

  “They’re good!” said her daughter, a smile in her voice. “I’m just calling back to see if you wanted to go to the craft fair with Ash and me.”

  “It sounds good, but I’ve got to drive Miss Sissy there, so I’d have to meet you. And we’d perhaps have Miss Sissy as an escort,” said Beatrice. “Which means, if we’re eating, that we’ll have to bring a good deal of extra money with us.”

  Piper laughed. “I remember how she eats, yes. That’s no problem—we’re meeting Meadow downtown anyway, since she has to drive because of the quilts and the set-up she’s doing.”

  They arranged a time and place to meet and Beatrice, since her day had now rapidly filled up, hurried off to get ready.

  It was a gorgeous day for the craft fair. Miss Sissy was waiting by the side of the road when Beatrice pulled up. “Eager to go?” asked Beatrice wryly.

  Miss Sissy, who was clutching a bag and a cane, scowled at her.

  “Did you bring your cell phone? In case we’re separated and need to meet up to drive back home?” asked Beatrice.

  But she didn’t even have to ask. Miss Sissy had the phone in her hand and was, in fact, texting someone as she was posing the question to her.

  “Got quilts,” said Miss Sissy, nodding absently at the bag at her feet.

  “For the fair?” asked Beatrice, startled. “But weren’t you supposed to register in advance and show up for set-up before the fair opened?”

  Miss Sissy didn’t deign to answer her. And the quilts appeared to be all rolled up at the bottom of the bag. Beatrice hoped that whoever was in charge of the fair would understand. Or, at least, would be so impressed by the real quality of her quilting that they’d give her a pass.

  Beatrice immediately realized that parking was going to be a challenge. It appeared that not only was the event popular in tiny Dappled Hills, but it also attracted people from other towns. Drawn by the beautiful weather and the crafts, people were looking at and buying quilts, handmade jewelry, metalwork, photography, carved wood, blown glass, and paintings.

  But Beatrice knew exactly what Miss Sissy was going to head for first. The old woman was already peering out the window at the food trucks. And these weren’t just any food trucks—they’d traveled here especially for the festival and offered gourmet baked goods, specialty barbeque, and homemade ice cream.

  “Miss Sissy, I know you’re still a little under the weather,” said Beatrice, noting the cane again, “So I think I’d better just drop you off and find a place to park. Do you want to meet me at the—?”

  But the old woman was apparently more interested in the food trucks than in meeting up with Beatrice. She hopped nimbly out of the car, cane in one hand and cell phone and bag in the other. Miss Sissy walked with quick determination into the crowd.

  “Well, I suppose she brought her own money,” muttered Beatrice. She continued craning her head to see if she could find a parking place, but just as she saw one open up, someone would be pulling into it.

  Finally, after she drove several blocks away, she found something that resembled a free spot. It wasn’t really a spot, though. That is, it didn’t have any painted lines to mark it as such. But it wasn’t on the sidewalk, and it was out of the way of people driving, and it seemed to really be Beatrice’s only option. Still, what had made everyone assiduously avoid the spot? The rule-follower in her kept this concern in the back of her head as she hurried to meet Piper and Ash. Now she was definitely running a bit behind.

  Piper and Ash didn’t seem to mind, though. They were sitting on the steps of the library and eating some delicious-looking vegetable wraps. Delicious but messy. “We’ll spare you a hug until after we clean ourselves up,” said Piper with a twinkle in her eye. “Where’s Wyatt, by the way? Isn’t he usually your escort for these types of events?”

  Beatrice said, feeling a little guilty, “You know, I didn’t even call to ask him. I wasn’t sure at first if I were going to go, then Miss Sissy called up and y’all did. I guess I’ve gotten into the habit of waiting for him to call for things.”

  Piper gave her a knowing look. “It’s easy to do that. But maybe you can meet up with him here.”

  “I’m sure I saw him here a few minutes ago,” said Ash, glancing around the crowd. “I think he was helping with one of the booths.”

  Suddenly Beatrice was hugged from behind. Meadow gasped, “Got to run for now, but I’ll catch up with all of you in a little while. Quilts are selling!” And she was gone in a flash.

  Ash asked Beatrice as he wiped his hands with a napkin, “Did you find a place to park all right?”

  Beatrice frowned. “As a matter of fact, it took quite an investment of time. And I’m not really sure that what I ended up parking in was an official spot. It wasn’t marked off by white lines. But I couldn’t see that the spot served some other function, either.”

  Piper smiled at her, used to her mother being a stickler for the rules. “It’s probably going to bother you until you move your car. Although I’ll point out that you do know the chief of police here and likely won’t get a parking ticket. You just gave his wife a hug, after all.”

  “But you know I don’t like gaming the system,” said Beatrice. Piper was right. It was going to bother her until she moved the car.

  Ash was already standing up from the stair he was sitting on. “How about if I go with you? I seem to have a knack for finding parking places. It’ll just take a second and then it won’t be on your mind anymore. Oh, and I know some spots that hardly anyone knows about at the back of the park.”

  Beatrice felt relieved. “That would be great. I’m sorry—I know that wasn’t part of our plan.”

  Piper said, “We don’t have any set plans. That’s what’s so nice about today. I’ll come along with you.”

  Piper and Ash filled her in on the craft fair as they walked. Piper had her eye on some beaded necklaces at one of the booths and Beatrice made a mental note that she should try to get one for Piper’s upcoming birthday. Although Ash also seemed to be making the same mental note. He winked at Beatrice. Perhaps they could coordinate so that Piper wouldn’t end up with two of the same necklace.

  They found the car and got in. As Ash had mentioned, he was able to nearly immediately find a parking place down a few side streets and at the back of the craft fair.

  “Ash has a gift,” said Piper airily from the backseat.

  Ash parked in a real parking place with actual white lines and right behind the tennis courts and public restrooms. They walked up the stairs toward the courts where there were booths of hand-smocked dresses for girls, glasswork, and quilts.

  Beatrice glanced over to the other set of shaded concrete stairs farther down that led from the restrooms to the road. She frowned. “What’s that over there?”

  “Where?” asked Piper, squinting in the sun.

  Ash said, “Over at the bottom of the stairs?” He saw it, too.

  Piper said, “Oh, that? That’s probably something one of the set-up crew accidentally dropped. A tablecloth or something.”

  But Ash was already walking over there and Beatrice followed. By the time she caught up with his long strides, he was already turning and stopping her. “I think we need to call Dad,” he said grimly. “It’s a body.”

  Piper called Ramsay and Ash made sure that no one came down from the festival to contaminate the crime scene. Beatrice got as close to the body as she could. “It’s Ida Calkin,” she said sadly.

  Piper was hanging up the phone. “She is ... I mean, I shouldn’t have been calling an ambulance, instead?”

  Beatrice shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Not with her neck at that angle. And her eyes are wide open.”

  They all stood quietly for a moment, out of respect for Ida. Then Piper said quietly, “Ramsay is on his way over. He’s just at the other end of the fair. I guess she fell down the stairs? Just a terrible accident?”

  Beatrice said, “I’d like to think that’s true, but I doubt it. Meadow and I were just talking to her a couple of days ago, as a matter of fact. She was acting as if she might know something about the Vivian Hastings case.”

  Piper’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “You’re not doing anything with these murders, are you? You and Meadow aren’t trying to investigate? It’s too dangerous.”

  “It sounds to me from what Dad has said that someone has something to cover up,” said Ash grimly. “Who knows how desperate they might be feeling? After all, they got away with murder decades ago—or thought they’d gotten away with it. And they’ve been living here in Dappled Hills, just acting like a regular, ordinary citizen. Someone upstanding, maybe. Someone with responsibilities. And all the time, they have something horrible in their past that they think no one will ever find out about.”

  Piper shivered. “And then that guy comes to town and starts asking questions and trying to dig up the past. They must have been so determined to shut him down and protect their secret that they killed him. And now you’re saying that Ida also knew something about it?”

  “It’s not like Meadow and I are playing detective,” said Beatrice, crossing her fingers slightly. “We’re working on that history of quilting, remember? Ida was one of the original quilters who helped to set up the craft fair. I’ve got my camera today so that I can take a few pictures for the book. But while we were talking to Ida about the craft fair and seeing if she could help with the quilting history, she made an oblique reference to the fact that she had some sort of information.”

  Ash said grimly, “Which wasn’t a very smart thing to do—let people know that she knew something. Do you think she might have been planning on blackmailing the person?”

  “Maybe. Meadow and I couldn’t help but notice that her house wasn’t in the best of shape. The outside needed repair and the inside was threadbare. It could be that she decided to try and make a little income off of the information she had,” said Beatrice.

  Piper said, “It probably even seemed like a safe thing to do. The person she was making arrangements with, or trying to make arrangements with would have been someone she’d known her whole life. It would have been hard to think of them as dangerous.”

  “But someone who was involved in the deaths of two, now three, people is dangerous. It’s too bad Ida couldn’t have seen that,” said Beatrice as Ramsay’s police car, lights flashing, pulled into the parking lot near them.

  Piper said, “I suppose Ida tried to set up a meeting with the killer here at the craft fair. Tried and succeeded, obviously. Although that seems risky with everyone milling around.”

  Ash said, “Actually, it seems like a good idea. After all, it would stand out a lot less to everyone than having him come over to her house or meeting in a remote location.”

  Ramsay got out of his car and hurried over to them. “So, Ida Calkin?” he asked in a tired voice.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Beatrice, motioning toward the body.

  “Meadow is going to flip out,” said Ramsay with a sigh. “She always thinks the world has come to an end when there’s any hint of violence in Dappled Hills.” He walked carefully over to briefly inspect Ida before taping off a large swath of area with police tape and getting on his phone to talk to the state police who would lead on the investigation.

  A few minutes later, Ramsay joined them again.

  Ash said, “We were thinking this wasn’t an accident or a natural death. Is that what you think?”

  Ramsay said in a sad voice, “I think that it’s not very natural that she has huge purple bruises around her neck. No, I’m afraid she was strangled, probably from behind, and then shoved down the stairs so that she wouldn’t be immediately discovered to give the killer a chance to get away.”

  Beatrice said, “And Ramsay, she did seem to know something about the case. That is, when Meadow and I were speaking to her about the history of Dappled Hills, she alluded to knowing something about Vivian or maybe about Oscar’s death. Did you get a sense of that from her?”

  She was relieved that Ramsay didn’t say anything about the fact that Meadow and she were pretty obviously snooping around. It wasn’t as if Ida would have said anything if she hadn’t been pressed on it.

  Ramsay said, “I did speak to Ida about the case, as a matter of fact. After all, she had every reason to be angry with Vivian forty years ago with that car accident. And she was very clearly still bothered by Fiona’s death—it was almost as if it had just happened. She got all red in the face talking about Vivian and basically said she got what she deserved. She denied that she had any connection to Vivian’s murder, of course. But I did get the feeling that she was hiding something. When I asked her if she knew anyone else who might have wanted Vivian dead, or Oscar Holland, she wouldn’t look me in the eye. And she was definitely evasive. But I couldn’t get anything else out of her. Typical for this case. It’s been driving me crazy.”

  “No leads?” asked Piper.

  “No one seems to have seen anything either back then or now,” said Ramsay in frustration. “Who have y’all noticed at the fair today? Anyone in particular stand out?”

  Beatrice sighed. “I’d have loved to have some information, but I’ve spent my entire time here trying to park my blasted car in a legitimate parking space.”

  Piper and Ash looked at each other. “I’ve seen Mom,” said Ash with a shrug.

  “Very helpful,” said Ramsay, rolling his eyes. “She’s about the most unlikely suspect we’ve got.”

  People were walking away from the craft fair with purchases and car keys in hand and Ramsay said quickly, “I’m going to have to make sure this area is secure. Let me know if you think of anything that might be helpful to the investigation.” And he walked away, toward the crime scene.

  Ash said, “He’s right—this is really going to upset Mom. I guess I should try to meet up with her and tell her in person.”

  Beatrice said, “I’ll go with you. I need to probably locate Miss Sissy, too. I’m not sure how much money she brought with her and she’s likely getting hungry if she didn’t bring much. Besides, Meadow has been at the fair longer than we have. Maybe she’s seen something.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It didn’t take long to find Meadow since she was in the thick of the quilt section of the craft fair and having a very good time. She’d sold several quilts and also appeared to be handing out a brochure with information on quilting in Dappled Hills that included a coupon to Posy’s Patchwork Cottage store.

  As soon as her customer left (and after Meadow had both introduced and bragged about Ash to this customer), Ash told her what had happened and she suddenly became serious. She glanced over at Beatrice. “This has to do with something she knew. But what could she know and why didn’t she tell Ramsay about it? Oh, this is so frustrating. Do you think she made any notes at home?”

 

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