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Meadow pulled into the circular driveway outside the Nelms estate. Because now, in broad daylight, the size of the property around the mansion was clear.
Meadow said, “You know, if I were a missing cat, this is where I’d want to go. Look at this place! There’s a barn and all these outbuildings and things. There are probably all kinds of things for a cat to hunt around here.”
They scanned as far as they could see, but only saw the grouchy-looking groundskeeper glaring at them from across a field.
“Barkis looks more sour than he usually does,” said Meadow.
“He looks like he blames us for all the ruckus last night,” said Beatrice.
Meadow said indignantly, “We were just the poor, unsuspecting guests!”
“Maybe we can speak to him on the way out,” said Beatrice in a thoughtful voice. “He might have seen something last night.”
“From way out in the barn?” asked Meadow as they got out of the car.
Beatrice said, “I saw him go in and out of the house. I’ve no idea what he was doing.”
“Then we should ask!” said Meadow. “I know what you said about his having no motive, but still. I wonder if Ramsay and the state police have questioned him. They might not have realized that he was in the house around the time of the murder.”
They walked up the walkway and knocked on the front door. Then they knocked again.
Meadow frowned. “It’s definitely not too early to come by. You don’t suppose there’s been more foul play?”
But right then the door opened. Hawkins stood there, looking at them blankly, as if he’d never seen them before. He was wearing pajama pants and a ratty-looking tee shirt. His hair was mussed up as though he hadn’t combed it out after he woke up this morning. Hawkins looked like someone who was coming undone.
Meadow said brightly, “Hawkins! We’re so sorry about your father. I could hardly sleep last night, worrying over it. I’ve made some fried chicken and sides for you and the family. Are they here?”
Hawkins took the food from her robotically. He hesitated over her question. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s been quiet inside.”
“Well then, they can have some when they come back home,” said Meadow.
Beatrice said, “Thanks again for hosting last night. Wyatt and I are so sorry that the evening turned out the way it did.”
Hawkins nodded, looking at the floor as he did.
It was becoming obvious that it wasn’t going to occur to Hawkins to invite them inside. Since there was apparently no one else around to be a good host, Beatrice decided to prompt him.
“I’m sorry to be a bother, especially with everything you must be dealing with, but may I have a glass of water?” asked Beatrice.
Hawkins automatically started going through the motions of hosting: inviting them in, gesturing to chairs in the drawing room, and then going off in search of water.
Meadow heaved a sigh and said in her stage whisper volume to Beatrice, “Wow, he’s being weird.”
“I guess everyone grieves in a different way,” said Beatrice with a shrug. But as she said it, she realized that she wasn’t really getting a grieving vibe from Hawkins. Instead, he seemed more anxious and spacy than anything else.
He returned a minute later with a large glass tumbler full of water and one ice cube. He thrust it at Meadow.
Meadow reached over and handed it to Beatrice, rolling her eyes in the process.
Beatrice took a large sip and then cleared her throat. “Thank you, Hawkins. I’m sorry to impose on you like this. Meadow and I just wanted to express our condolences in person.”
Meadow nodded vigorously.
Hawkins said woodenly, “Thank you.”
Beatrice waited for him to continue, but when it became obvious that nothing else was to be forthcoming, she said, “I was trying to reconstruct the events of the evening to see if I could help offer any information to the police. But I’m afraid that I must not have seen anything very helpful.”
“Neither did I,” Meadow asserted quickly.
“Did you happen to see anything that would help us know who was behind your father’s death?” asked Beatrice.
Hawkins’s blank face grew more animated. He said, “Sadie. It’s got to be Sadie, doesn’t it? Yes, that’s what makes sense.”
He seemed almost to be talking to himself, not Beatrice and Meadow. Beatrice said slowly, “Why do you think your sister might be responsible?”
Hawkins turned his blue eyes on her. “Isn’t it obvious? She couldn’t stand him. Sadie even left town for years so that she wouldn’t have to interact with Father. They were estranged.”
Meadow tried to be delicate. “I remember, Hawkins. I just don’t remember why they were estranged to begin with.”
Hawkins didn’t seem to be in the mood to pick up on Meadow’s subtlety. He brooded, “Sadie always thought she was better than all of us. Looks down on us all the time like a goody-goody.”
“What kind of work does she do?” asked Beatrice.
“She’s a social worker for the county. Sadie acts like she’s Mother Theresa or something and that the rest of the family is oh so wicked because we have just the slightest interest in money. Acting like she wouldn’t like money, herself!” said Hawkins.
Beatrice said, “But you didn’t actually see anything or hear anything that could be proof that Sadie was involved last night?”
Hawkins thought for a minute as if he was trying to conjure up something, and then reluctantly shook his head.
Meadow said, “What were you doing when your father died? You’d left the tour and all.”
Beatrice shifted uncomfortably and took another sip of her water. Trust Meadow to be direct.
Hawkins frowned. “I just wanted to top off my drink, that’s all. And check on the caterers. I knew I wasn’t going to miss anything, after all—I know this house like the back of my hand. And why would I want to kill my father? I don’t need any money. Besides, Barkis saw me when I left the tour, while he was inside getting something.”
Beatrice said, “Did you and your father get along?”
Hawkins said, “Well enough. Father didn’t really get along with anyone.”
Beatrice stood up. “Well, we should be going. Again, we’re so sorry about Caspian.”
Meadow stood up, too. “We are.” She looked across the room at a table near the front door. “And ... um, you may want to go ahead and just stick that chicken and sides in the fridge real quick.”
Hawkins nodded, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.
“Ten dollars says that Hawkins is going to leave that food out and that it will be inedible by the time Sadie and Malcolm get back home,” fumed Meadow as they walked away from the house.
“He was definitely out to lunch. Stress, I guess,” said Beatrice. She stopped walking and scanned the field in front of her. “Where is that Barkis? I think we should have a word with him.”
“I think that’s him over there,” said Meadow.
They walked over to the old man who was picking up limbs from the bushes he was trimming. Barkis had a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek, a dismissive expression, and wore old khaki pants and an equally-ancient button-down blue shirt. He continued working as they approached.
“Hi Barkis,” said Meadow. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
Barkis’s response to this was to spit some of the tobacco. Fortunately, this was in the opposite direction of Beatrice and Meadow.
Since Barkis was apparently not a fan of social niceties, Beatrice decided to launch right into the subject of the murder.
“Shocking what happened last night,” said Beatrice.
Barkis raised his gaze to meet hers and gave a curt nod.
Meadow said, “You’ve worked for Caspian a long time, haven’t you?”
He gave her a scornful look. “You should know, living here your whole life. I started out in the grounds here when he was just a teenager. Worked for his folks.”
“And you liked him?” asked Beatrice.
Barkis shrugged a shoulder. “Weren’t my job to like him or not. My job was to take care of things.” He crushed the limbs into a wheelbarrow to make them fit better.
“Would you say that his family liked him?” asked Beatrice.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re asking because he was murdered? Could’ve been anyone.”
Beatrice said, “Maybe it could. But it’s most likely a member of his own family. What do you think of them?”
He scowled. “Vultures. Hanging around, waiting for Caspian to die. Useless, all of them.”
Meadow said, “And they didn’t get along with Caspian well, did they?”
Barkis spat again. “They argued with him. Stressed him out. Worthless.”
“You’ve known them all their lives, haven’t you? What are your impressions of them?” asked Beatrice.
Barkis heaved a long-suffering sigh as if he knew he wouldn’t be able to get on with his work until he’d answered the questions to their satisfaction.
“That Hawkins? He’s nothing like his father. Doesn’t have the brains or the guts. Caspian was always ashamed of him. He just wants to sponge off his father. Got no money of his own and Caspian was cutting him off,” said Barkis.
Beatrice decided that Caspian definitely wouldn’t be a candidate for Father of the Year. He apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that children aren’t going to be carbon copies of their parents.
Meadow said, “Hawkins said he saw you before Caspian died. And that you saw him.”
Barkis lifted a dirt-encrusted eyebrow.
Beatrice added, “He was acting as if you were his alibi. That he couldn’t have been with his father because you saw him.”
“Is that so?” asked Barkis coolly. “Well, I don’t rightly know about that.”
Meadow said, “It was kind of silly anyway, since he wasn’t saying he was with you the entire hour that poor Caspian could have been attacked in.”
“What do you make of the rest of the family?” asked Beatrice. “Since you didn’t think that Hawkins was as sharp as his father.”
“That Sadie? She’s right smart. When she was a little girl, she was the one who’d come up with all sorts of games for them to play. They always played together—hardly ever had any outside friends to come by. She was smart like Caspian. But he thought she’d wasted her brains through her job. Caspian thought she could be a high-level banker or do investments or something like that. But she ended up with the poor.” Barkis’s face reflected his astonishment at Sadie’s career path.
So Caspian was a controlling father, as well, trying to steer his children. He must have been furious when they defied him.
“What about Malcolm?” asked Beatrice. “What do you think of Caspian’s younger son?”
Barkis spat at the ground in a gesture that seemed to sum up his opinion quite well. “Slick,” he offered. He started moving away from them, toward another wheelbarrow that had paving bricks in it.
Meadow called after him. “Wait!”
Barkis turned around with a contemptuous look. “What now?” he growled.
“Have you seen this cat?” asked Meadow. “Go on, Beatrice, pull up that picture on your phone.”
Beatrice fumbled the phone as she pulled it out of the pocket of her khaki slacks. She found a picture and handed it to Barkis.
Barkis frowned, considering the picture. “That’s a cat?” he asked.
“The picture isn’t that bad,” said Beatrice, irritated.
“It ain’t that good, neither,” grunted Barkis. “Can’t say that I’ve seen it. Seen a wild old woman, though. Sticks in her hair.”
It sounded as though Miss Sissy was starting to really canvas the area.
A few minutes later, Beatrice and Meadow were back in the car.
“I think he’s on something,” said Meadow huffily.
“Barkis? Well, he’s definitely on chewing tobacco,” said Beatrice making a face. “I guess he doesn’t spend enough time around people to perfect his social graces.”
“No, no, I didn’t mean Barkis. I meant Hawkins. He’s got to be on something, doesn’t he? With that vacant stare? What was going on with him?” asked Meadow.
“To be charitable, I guess that could be his method of grieving. But I don’t really think he was grieving. And I don’t think, as you say, that he is ‘on something.’ I think he’s worried,” said Beatrice slowly.
“Yes, you were saying something like that earlier,” said Meadow with a frown. “What do you mean, though? What on earth is he worried about?”
“I wondered if his behavior isn’t some sort of manifestation of his guilt. Maybe he’s worried that he’s going to be found out and that he’ll be arrested and jailed for killing his father,” suggested Beatrice.
“Well then, he should stop acting so weird then!” said Meadow. “He could start by being a bit more effusive over my fried chicken. I spent a good deal of time over that!”
“I’m sure they’ll all love it,” said Beatrice.
“Assuming he even puts it in the refrigerator,” muttered Meadow.
“Moving on to other subjects, we’re still heading to the Patchwork Cottage, aren’t we?” asked Beatrice.
“Of course. We clearly can’t make flyers using your pictures of Maisie. They’ll frighten people off instead of making them want to find her!”
When they walked into the Patchwork Cottage a few minutes later, Beatrice felt again that sense of relaxation and peace that came over her when she was there. The quilt shop was cheerful and cozy with soft bluegrass music playing, cheery gingham curtains hanging in the windows, and quilts hanging everywhere. There was lots of sunlight pouring into the shop and the shop’s owner, Posy, greeted them with a smile. She was a small, older woman with kind eyes and a fondness for fluffy cardigans.
Beatrice sadly noted that a sunbeam that should have had a sleeping Maisie in it was vacant. What’s more, she had the clear realization that the happy, relaxed Posy didn’t know anything about the fact that Maisie was missing. Miss Sissy must not have wanted to worry her with it—or to admit that the cat had slipped out on her watch.
Meadow apparently made the same realization at the same time. She gave Beatrice a panicked look and muttered an excuse about powdering her nose. She obviously didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news.