As Posy and Miss Sissy talked somewhat animatedly about the wonders of Maisie the store cat and how fetching she looked in a blue and white polka dot bow tie that Georgia had made for her, Beatrice saw the gaggle of quilters start to disperse slightly and talk to other people. Minerva Lundy was talking with Ramsay and Beatrice couldn’t tell if it were a social conversation or not. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes looked intently at Ramsay as she spoke to him.
A couple of minutes later, Ramsay was speaking with someone else and Minerva was standing by herself and looking surreptitiously at her phone. Minerva had a tendency to stand out: she was a middle-aged woman with a bob of blonde hair with an even-blonder long bang swept to the side and longer than the rest of her hair. Even though she was on her phone, she still managed somehow to look approachable. A faint smile was always on her face and the hint of a dimple. Beatrice remembered that she did a lot of volunteer work for the local parks—especially to refill the birdfeeders each week.
Beatrice said quickly, “Excuse me ladies, please,” and walked toward Minerva. She could hear Meadow give a noisy sigh of relief behind her that Beatrice was going to do a little investigating.
Beatrice joined Minerva, who put her phone away with the guilty attitude of one who has their cell phone out at a funeral. “Hi,” said Minerva. “Let me apologize in advance because I’m ghastly with names. It’s ... Beatrice, isn’t it?”
Beatrice smiled at her, “It is. And I believe you’re Minerva. It’s a relief to meet someone else who isn’t good with names.”
Minerva just smiled and nodded as if she were somewhat at a loss for what to say, or had been slightly taken off-guard by the sudden appearance of a minor acquaintance at A Serious Event.
But Beatrice had discovered in the past that knocking someone off-guard could be a very helpful exercise. “It’s a very sad day today, isn’t it?”
A hint of a perplexed frown showed up briefly between Minerva’s remarkably unlined face before she quickly said, “The funeral? Yes. Yes it is.”
It was a very unconvincing statement. Beatrice said, “You were in the same guild as Henrietta, weren’t you? In the Cut-Ups?”
Minerva looked relieved as if she’d just realized a potential segue to stop talking about Henrietta and funerals. “Yes, that’s right. And you’re a quilter too, aren’t you? My memory really is terrible. I guess you must be in the Village Quilters? Or do you just quilt completely independently of a group?”
Beatrice wasn’t yet ready to get off the topic, but realized time was running short. The minister was now standing at the front of the tent of mourners. “That’s right; I’m in the Village Quilters. I’m not usually much of a club person, but I’ve found so much support and encouragement in my guild—we’re almost like sisters. You must be so very upset about Henrietta’s passing. I’m so sorry.”
Minerva looked as if she didn’t quite know what to do with Beatrice’s sympathy. “Thank you. Yes, it was very sad news. I suppose—I’m understanding that her death wasn’t an accident?”
As if Henrietta could have somehow hit herself over the head with a heavy sewing machine. “No, I’m afraid not. I know Ramsay has been going around trying to talk with everyone to get a sense of what may have happened. And to know who was at the quilt show and who might have left early. I know I left a bit early.”
Minerva said sharply, “I was at the quilt show, of course. The whole time, since I was hoping to win a ribbon.”
“And did you?” asked Beatrice sweetly.
They were briefly interrupted as Miss Sissy passed by on her way to the funeral home tent. The old woman hissed at Minerva as she went by.
Minerva blinked at her. “What on earth?”
“Oh, you know Miss Sissy. She sometimes gets odd ideas,” said Beatrice.
Minerva looked thoughtfully after Miss Sissy, her eyes narrowed. Then she said slowly, “I did not win a ribbon, no.”
“It was such a pity that Henrietta didn’t have a chance to receive her blue ribbon,” said Beatrice. “The reason I dropped by her house was to see others of her quilts. The one at the show was so stunning. She was an excellent quilter and an excellent person.”
Minerva’s eyes were hard as she turned to look directly at Beatrice. “She was an excellent quilter. Being an excellent person doesn’t necessarily follow. There was that email, you know. That is, if you’re also on the list for the mystery quilt.”
“I am,” said Beatrice, watching as people started taking seats under the tent. “And I didn’t realize that about Henrietta. She always seemed nice. Nor did she seem like ‘lying scum’.”
“Seeming nice and being nice are two entirely different things. Let’s just say that Henrietta wasn’t the best of neighbors,” said Minerva.
Beatrice raised her eyebrows in surprise. Henrietta’s house was exceedingly modest and she was fairly certain that the expensive luxury car nearby was Minerva’s. Plus, Minerva was wearing what appeared to be designer clothing.
“I didn’t realize you lived near her,” said Beatrice. She paused, thinking about Meadow and Boris and their frequent and noisy interruptions. “Sometimes a neighbor to neighbor relationship can be challenging.”
“Directly next door,” said Minerva coolly. “Although Henrietta had been in that house for such a long time that she owned a large amount of property. It gave a sense of isolation, I guess. She also owned that vacant lot across the street from her house. I can’t think why she didn’t sell the land. She certainly seemed to need the money.” She suddenly stopped speaking and shut her lips together tightly as if to keep more words from slipping out.
“I feel like there are two completely different views on Henrietta,” mused Beatrice. “Meadow thinks she was a saint. She’s always talking about how creative Henrietta was with her quilting and with her interior design work.”
Minerva snorted. “Meadow is determined to think the best of everyone. Yes, she was creative and really a fine quilter and interior designer ... she did a bit of work for me at my house and I was very pleased. However, those talents do not make Henrietta a saint in any way.”
“And then there are others who clearly don’t think Henrietta was nice at all,” continued Beatrice. “There was that email, of course, as you mentioned.”
“I read that very spiteful email. Before you ask, I don’t have any idea who would have sent out such a thing. It must have been someone deeply unhappy and bitter, judging from the tone of the email,” said Minerva.
Beatrice glanced toward the minister again. He appeared to be rather uncomfortably caught up in conversation with Miss Sissy. This was buying her a little time.
“Henrietta thought it was someone who was jealous of her quilting ability,” said Beatrice. “Or maybe, jealous of her ribbons and awards.”
Minerva shrugged, looking a bit bored. “I suppose. If you like those kinds of quilts. She certainly had talent.”
Beatrice remembered Miss Sissy’s conversation. “Someone mentioned that they saw you arguing with Henrietta recently.”
Minerva’s eyes grew frosty. “They were mistaken.”
“They didn’t think they were,” said Beatrice. Miss Sissy was most adamant.
“Why would I bother arguing with Henrietta? It makes no sense,” said Minerva, making a face.
“All right. But I was also wondering, since you live so close to Henrietta, did you see anything suspicious before she died? Did you see anyone at her house? Or were you away from home at the time?” asked Beatrice.
A slight smile twisted at Minerva’s lips as she noted that Beatrice was trying to get an alibi from her. “I didn’t leave the quilt show early, but I didn’t stay after it was over to pick up trash or put away chairs or whatever. I saw you and Miss Sissy at Henrietta’s house, of course.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, Henrietta was already gone when we got there. Was anyone else at Henrietta’s house?”
Minerva said, “Not last Friday. Although I recently saw Orrilla Bush leaving Henrietta’s house. She seemed angry and stressed. I’ve not had a chance to ask her about it, though, and now she’s not at the funeral. Maybe she was mad that Henrietta wasn’t paying her dues to the guild or something. It could have been something entirely innocent.”
But her tone indicated that it could have been something entirely different.
It was a pleasant, basic, and very speedy service.
As it finished, Meadow said, “Over already? Goodness. Can we get over to some of the other Cut-Ups to speak with them?”
But they couldn’t. The women hopped right into Minerva’s car and sped away after quickly expressing their sympathy to Henrietta’s sister.
Meadow and Beatrice, after seeing them leave, spoke briefly to Henrietta’s sister before walking away from the group to a cement bench outside of earshot.
“Well, pooh,” said Meadow. “The Cut-Ups certainly aren’t making this easy on us, are they?”
“We do have the Sew and Tell on Friday, so we should be able to talk to someone then,” said Beatrice.
Meadow said darkly, “If they come. I think they’re being deliberately evasive. The nerve! We’re just trying to find out who could be responsible so that we don’t have to suspect every quilter in Dappled Hills. It’s got to be one of those Cut-Ups.”
Posy walked up to join them and Meadow demanded, “So who’s coming, Posy? To the Sew and Tell? Any of those slippery Cut-Ups?”
Posy blinked in confusion and Beatrice quickly said, “Meadow thinks that the Cut-Ups are evading being questioned about last Friday. Although they’re probably simply ready for lunch.”
Posy smiled and said, “Oh, I see. Yes, I think several of them, at least, are coming. Hazel Struby is even helping with the set-up tomorrow. And Julia and Orrilla are to be there, too. I’m not sure about Minerva, though.”
Meadow waved her hand dismissively at the mention of Minerva, “Oh, Beatrice has already spoken with her. Which reminds me, what did you find out?”
Posy asked curiously, “And what was Miss Sissy upset about? I thought I noticed her giving Minerva angry looks during the service.”
They paused to view Miss Sissy who now seemed to be giving the minister a speech on wickedness and evil in the world. This was at a volume great enough for them to hear bits and pieces of it from some distance away. The minister was nodding nervously and glancing around for an escape route.
Beatrice sighed. “I think it’s about time for Miss Sissy’s nap. Who knows what she had against Minerva? She hissed at Minerva and to me it looked like Minerva might have some sort of a hint as to why Miss Sissy was upset. She sure didn’t share that hint with me, though. Miss Sissy had said that she’d seen Minerva and Henrietta arguing, but I can’t imagine that’s something that would make Miss Sissy that upset.”
“Did Minerva seem guilty at all?” asked Meadow, eyes narrowed. “You know, she comes across all cool and collected, but I wonder if she couldn’t get mad enough or desperate enough to get rid of someone who threatened her in some way.”
“Still waters run deep?” asked Posy.
“My experience has been that usually people cover up if they feel guilty. So, no, she didn’t seem guilty. She wasn’t a fan of Henrietta’s though, that’s for sure,” said Beatrice.
Meadow said, “I can’t believe these people! Poor Henrietta. And Minerva was saying bad things about Henrietta at Henrietta’s funeral? The nerve!”
“Well, she wasn’t exactly slamming her. Minerva would probably think that was in poor taste. But she indicated that they were not the best of neighbors,” said Beatrice.
Posy said thoughtfully, “That could mean lots of things, though, couldn’t it? It could mean that Henrietta didn’t do a good job getting her newspaper every day and they piled up in an unsightly way in her driveway.”
Meadow added, “Or it could mean that it was worse than that and they had a property line dispute or something.”
“Minerva really didn’t explain it, but she clearly felt bothered by Henrietta. Was that enough for her to murder her? Who knows? She, of course, shifted suspicion on someone else: Orrilla.”
“Orrilla has been having a hard week, hasn’t she?” asked Meadow.
Beatrice said, “Did you notice her arguing with Henrietta during the quilt show set-up?”
“Who couldn’t notice it? It was very obvious. But would someone who was having all of these public confrontations with Henrietta kill her? Wouldn’t that make you the most obvious suspect?” asked Meadow.
“Maybe that’s why she did it—because she felt as if everyone would say that she couldn’t have been stupid enough to murder Henrietta after being seen in an altercation with her,” said Beatrice. “Although the one argument that she had at Henrietta’s house doesn’t really count as public. Minerva just happened to see it. Or rather, she saw Orrilla leaving the house and looking upset.”
“So who next?” demanded Meadow. “I’m thinking Orrilla should be the obvious candidate.”
“Maybe she’s the obvious candidate, but it’s not that easy, Meadow. I can’t exactly go knock on her door and demand to know where she was on Friday afternoon and whether she killed a fellow quilter,” said Beatrice.
Meadow snapped her fingers. “I know what we could do! We could visit her at work.”
Posy was already winking at Beatrice as if she knew that Beatrice may not want to visit Orrilla at work.
“Dare I ask where she works?” asked Beatrice.
“Her husband is mayor, you know,” said Meadow as if she weren’t going to really tackle Beatrice’s question. “Ted Bush. They’re a very nice family. Unless, of course, Orrilla ends up being a murderer. Isn’t it funny how now everyone is ‘murderer?’ When I was growing up, I’d read books with ‘murderesses’ in them. It made them sound wickedly glamorous.”
“Meadow,” said Beatrice ominously, “What does Orrilla do for a living?”
“She works at a doctor’s office. A very nice one that I’d certainly recommend. Wouldn’t you, Posy?” asked Meadow.
“It’s a very nice office,” said Posy. “With a lovely fish tank to distract you from being at the doctor. And very cheerful paint on the walls. The doctors there are the best in town. Although, of course, in a small town, there’s not a lot of choice.”
Beatrice groaned. “A doctor’s office.”
“If you’re thinking that would be too public a place, I can tell you exactly when we should go there,” said Meadow.
Posy said, “Oh! That’s right—it’s always so quiet right before the office closes for lunch. That would be the perfect time to be there.”
“Exactly!” said Meadow triumphantly. “Don’t you need to go to the doctor, Beatrice?”
“I’m not too much of a fan of going to the doctor,” said Beatrice. “And I feel very well.”
“No one is a fan of going to the doctor,” said Meadow sternly. “And the whole point of going is to ensure that you continue feeling better. When was the last time you had a physical?”
“It seems like just yesterday,” said Beatrice with a sigh.
“Which means that it wasn’t,” said Meadow.
“It was a while back,” admitted Beatrice.
“Goodness! Who did you see?” asked Posy.
“Doctor Wharton,” said Beatrice in a low voice.
“Doctor Wharton?” asked Meadow, frowning. “Who on earth is he? I don’t remember a Doctor Wharton. Did you go see some charlatan? Or—for heaven’s sake, Beatrice. Was that in Atlanta?”
“But I’ve been very well,” said Beatrice weakly.
“Only by the grace of God!” scolded Meadow. “All right, we do need to talk to Orrilla Bush. But we also need to get you seen by a physician. At your age, especially. Let’s go tomorrow.”
Beatrice said, “We can’t just walk in and get a physical.”
“Don’t you see? This is a small town. We can head there early tomorrow morning and get your lab work done before you eat anything. While we’re doing that, we can say you have a very challenging schedule (which you do with The Sew and Tell later), and ask to be fitted in right before lunch. When we’re there around lunchtime, it should be very quiet and we can talk to Orrilla on the way in.” Meadow stood from the bench and found her keys. “Good. We’ve got a plan.”
And Meadow, plan in place, was now ready to leave the cemetery.