Henrietta, remarkably calm, brushed her hand over the spot on her arm as if to remove a bit of dirt. Then she walked away toward the other side of the room. Orrilla had angry tears in her eyes as she stormed out of the building.
Beatrice realized that Savannah and Georgia appeared to be expecting some sort of a reply. She quickly said, “Well, of course! Smoke is the smartest, cutest cat ever.”
The sisters beamed at her.
Beatrice added, “Sorry if I seem at all distracted. I was just watching a really odd interaction between Orrilla and Henrietta. Do you know Henrietta very well?”
They both shook their heads. Georgia said, “We used to see her a little more often than we do now. But a lot of the Cut-Ups have been too busy to go to shows and things.”
“Looking at the detail in Henrietta’s quilts, I can see why she’s spending so much time at home,” said Beatrice. “I almost feel as if I’m looking at a painting.”
Savannah said, “That email that we got worrying, though. Did Ramsay say anything about it? Henrietta doesn’t seem like the sort of person to get talked about like that.” Her stern features expressed rigid disapproval.
“Being called a liar like that was pretty bad,” said Georgia with a shiver. “And of course she wouldn’t know who it was from, so she’d be suspicious of everyone. Poor Posy for getting her email hacked like that.”
Beatrice said thoughtfully, “Well, I don’t think she’d be suspicious of everyone. So maybe it will be worth seeing who she does seem wary of. Clearly she wouldn’t be worried about any of us. We don’t have anything for anyone to gossip about, unless they’re interested in Smoke’s bowties or Georgia’s hikes with Tony or my endlessly rescheduled dates with Wyatt.”
“You think maybe Orrilla could have had something to do with it? Based on what you just saw?” asked Savannah with a frown. “What was this ‘odd interaction’?”
“Maybe. They were definitely having an argument about something. But if so, then I’m surprised that Orrilla would engage in a scene with Henrietta and tip her off that she was involved. She even grabbed her arm hard to the point I was wondering if they were going to have a physical fight. I’m thinking there could be others,” said Beatrice.
“Other whats?” asked a cheerful voice. “Quilts? Then you’re in the right place.”
Beatrice turned to see a plump woman wearing thick glasses. Her broad grin displayed crooked teeth and she had a cap of graying hair. Beatrice had the feeling that they’d met before, but she couldn’t remember her name.
“Hi Hazel!” said Georgia. “Beatrice, have you met Hazel? She’s a member of the Cut-Ups.”
“I think we’ve met before. Good to see you, Hazel,” said Beatrice. “Have you brought a quilt for the show?”
“An old one,” said Hazel. “Haven’t been able to motivate myself to work on anything new for a while. You know how it is—life gets busy. I have this adorable grandbaby in Charlotte that I’ve been trying to see every chance I get. That does take some time away from quilting.”
Savannah said with a frown, “But didn’t you tell me you were going to help Posy out?”
“With the Sew and Tell set-up? Of course. Although I don’t have anything to really show!” said Hazel with a guffaw. “Maybe listening to everyone tell about their quilts will inspire me. I just wanted to help Posy out. She’s always just so sweet. I could eat her up!”
“Savannah and I are helping out too, so we’ll see you there. We were excited to hear about all the new events at the Patchwork Cottage,” said Georgia.
Savannah said grimly, “Although I’m not real sure about the mystery quilt.”
Georgia gave her sister a fond smile. “I thought you’d gotten over that. We talked about how it’s important to try new things. It’s really the only way to grow.”
Beatrice hid a smile. Savannah’s obsession with geometric prints was obviously spilling over with her worries about the mystery quilt. “I’m sure Posy wouldn’t come up with anything too radical. Besides, it’s supposed to be fun.”
Hazel said, eyes open wide, “Supposed to be fun is right. What on earth was that weird email all about? Oh, I know Posy didn’t have anything to do with it, but who did? And why?”
Savannah’s voice was brusque. “Obviously nothing to do with Henrietta. Just someone being mean and playing around with a computer. Case closed.”
Hazel’s face fell, comically. Beatrice could tell she’d been looking forward to either a gossip session or was being nosy and hoping for some information.
“You don’t think where there’s smoke, there’s fire?” asked Hazel a bit pitifully.
Savannah put her hands on her thin hips. “There was no smoke. There was just a bully.”
Hazel’s shoulders slumped a little. Then she brightened a bit as she spotted local cake shop owner June Bug rushing in with a tray of cakes. “Oh good. At least we know there’ll be good food later.”
And there was. Everyone was buying slices of June Bug’s delicious cakes and there were also some tasty pimento cheese finger sandwiches and sweet tea.
Beatrice’s neighbor and fellow-quilter Miss Sissy texted Beatrice and asked for a ride to the quilt show. She apparently wasn’t showing anything this time since she hadn’t been there at the show set-up and didn’t have a quilt with her now. The old woman galloped out the door, her wiry gray hair slipping wildly out of the knot at the top of her head. She was in quite an aloof mood and sat in stony silence on the short ride to the quilt show. Until, of course, she’d gotten out of the car in a huff, hissing, “Crazy driver!” and shaking a thin fist in Beatrice’s direction. Considering Miss Sissy was something of an aficionado of sidewalk driving, Beatrice decided to ignore the complaint.
There were many different types of quilts and quilting at the show and plenty for Beatrice to both feast her eyes on and want to find out more about. The show had provided categories for the different styles and techniques in an attempt to judge apples to apples. The categories included everything from appliqué to piecing to use of negative space. Although there were definitely some unique quilts there, nothing caught Beatrice’s eye as much as Henrietta’s quilt.
Meadow was busy making a determined effort to persuade everyone she saw to take part in Posy’s Sew and Tell and mystery quilt. That was all well and good for the mystery quilt, since it was mostly an emailed event, but Beatrice decided if Meadow drummed up any more support for the Sew and Tell that Posy’s shop would be bursting at the seams.
Meadow came over to talk to Beatrice toward the end of the event. “Where’s Henrietta?” asked Beatrice, glancing around. “They’re about to announce the judges’ decisions and I’m sure she’s about to receive a ribbon for her quilts.”
“Oh, she had a headache,” said Meadow. “She left early.”
Beatrice wondered if the other quilters hadn’t been the cause of her headache. Orrilla, in particular. Every time she’d seen Orrilla during the show, she’d been glowering in Henrietta’s direction.
Beatrice frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, especially since I was supposed to run by her house after the show. She was going to briefly show me some of her other quilts.”
“Why not text her and ask if it’s okay if you still drop by? She probably was just ready to leave the crowd here and is looking forward to showing you her quilts. Wouldn’t you? It’s not every day an art museum curator wants to review your stuff, you know.”
“Retired curator,” said Beatrice. “And I don’t have her number.”
Meadow pulled out her phone. “I’ll send you the contact number. No excuses!”
Beatrice jumped as Miss Sissy’s wizened face abruptly appeared at her shoulder. “Miss Sissy! I didn’t realize you were there.”
“I want to go,” said the old woman, a mulish expression on her face.
Beatrice’s phone beeped as Meadow’s text message came through. She typed a message to Henrietta as Meadow said in a placating voice, “Now, Miss Sissy. How about if I take you home instead of Beatrice?”
“I want to see the quilts,” said Miss Sissy, a determined glint in her eye.
Meadow said, “But you can’t let Beatrice hog you, Miss Sissy! I haven’t been able to get a visit with you for ages.”
Miss Sissy just stared at her with her hard, black button eyes.
Beatrice sighed. “Okay, Miss Sissy. You can come along with me. I just got a reply from Henrietta and she says it’s fine for me to run by. But I’m not staying for very long, okay?”
Meadow asked with lively curiosity on her face, “The long-awaited date with Wyatt?”
“That’s right. Finally. We’ve been trying to schedule this for a while, but it’s been tough between his schedule and mine,” said Beatrice. “How is everything going with the—well, you know.” She had a feeling Miss Sissy wasn’t wonderful about keeping secrets.
Unfortunately, this only served to pique the old woman’s interest. Her eyes narrowed as her focus shifted to Meadow. There was a brief interlude where the judges’ decisions were announced, revealing that Henrietta had indeed won a ribbon. The interlude did nothing to distract Miss Sissy.
Meadow turned pink. This may have been due to the fact that Meadow was also bad at keeping secrets, especially when someone clearly wanted to know the secret. But if she let something slip to Miss Sissy, Piper would hear about the engagement before it even happened.
“Um,” Meadow looked helplessly at Beatrice.
Beatrice quickly added, “That is to say, how is your ... experimental ... quilt going, Meadow? Progressing?”
“Done, actually,” said Meadow. “Except for just finishing up.”
Upon closer inspection, Meadow did have circles under her eyes. It must have been a long night.
“It looks beautiful,” said Meadow with a happy sigh. “But I’ll admit that I’m ready to go home and turn in. Although I don’t feel like cooking. Maybe I can get the ‘early bird special’ at the diner like the rest of the seniors in Dappled Hills. Supper at four-thirty p.m., turning in at six-thirty. I feel old. At least they’re displaying our quilts for a week so we don’t have to take everything down tonight.”
“Even a teenager would feel old if she stayed up all night,” said Beatrice. “In fact, I’m exhausted, myself, and I’ve got a full evening ahead. Miss Sissy, is it all right if we go ahead and head out? I’ll get Henrietta’s ribbon from the judges and give it to her while we’re there.”
Miss Sissy grunted in agreement and they headed out for a short drive to Henrietta’s house. They parked in the short driveway of a small ranch-style house with carefully pruned shrubs and beds of colorful marigolds and daylilies.
“Now, like I said, only a few minutes, Miss Sissy,” warned Beatrice. She felt as if she were giving a small child the five-minute warning before leaving a playground. “Wyatt and I have dinner plans and I still need to go home and get ready.”
“Tell Wyatt hi,” said the old woman gruffly. She always had a warm spot for Wyatt, who dropped by to visit her weekly and always had a small treat in hand when he did.
Beatrice shifted the blue ribbon to her other hand and knocked firmly at the faded, red front door and waited for a few seconds, listening for footsteps or other sounds. Hearing nothing, she frowned.
Miss Sissy pointed a crooked, arthritic finger. “Doorbell,” she said.
“I know, but I always feel doorbells are so startling and intrusive that I almost hate disturbing the peace with them,” said Beatrice. But by the time she was finished with her short speech on doorbells, Miss Sissy had already pushed the button several times with great determination.
Miss Sissy shrugged a thin shoulder. “She knew we were coming.”
“Knew I was coming,” said Beatrice. She frowned again. “That’s kind of odd. Maybe she’s in her laundry room or is taking a shower or something.”
Beatrice knocked once more, a resounding knock and Miss Sissy reached out to press the doorbell another few times. No response.
“I think we should try to go in,” said Beatrice. “Meadow said she was taken ill at the quilt show. Maybe she was worse off than anyone knew.”
Miss Sissy was already turning the doorknob. The door opened and they walked in together. There were no lights on and the late-afternoon sunshine wasn’t casting much illumination into Henrietta’s house.
“Henrietta?” called Beatrice in a loud voice. “It’s Beatrice and Miss Sissy. We wanted to see your quilts?”
The small house appeared empty. But they’d seen Henrietta’s old sedan parked in the driveway. Beatrice could tell that Henrietta had talent with interior design, even if it appeared that she didn’t have much cash to fund it. The walls were painted with a technique that provided texture to the walls and were in warm colors that complemented the fabrics she’d chosen for chairs and her sofa. Wood had been painted white and distressed for even more texture and to provide the overall country look that Henrietta seemed to have been aiming for.
When they walked into the living room, having looked through the rest of the house, Beatrice didn’t see anything at first. No one was sitting on the sofa or at the rather cluttered computer desk.
As she was turning, Miss Sissy grabbed her forearm with surprising strength. “Look!” she said urgently.
That’s when she saw a pair of patent-leather shoes sticking awkwardly out from the base of the sofa.