| |
BEATRICE’S EYES OPENED wide. “About his writing?”
“Exactly! He won the regional short story contest and now he’ll be entered into the state competition. Isn’t that wonderful?” Meadow beamed as Wyatt and Beatrice agreed. Then she looked serious. “Oh, but you can’t tell anyone. He wanted me to keep it a secret.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Meadow! You shouldn’t have told us.”
“Well, I had to tell somebody and I know you two can keep a secret. Even though I apparently can’t. The regional folks wanted to keep the winner under wraps until they announce it at the fair, but wanted to make sure Ramsay was going to attend the fair to accept the award.”
Wyatt said, “I’m glad you said something to us. Beatrice and I will want to make sure we’re there when the winner is announced so we can clap and cheer for him.”
Meadow gasped. “That’s true. Wouldn’t it be awful if everyone was on the carousel or in line for cotton candy and no one applauded?”
“I don’t think that’s likely to be a problem,” said Beatrice. “After all, that’s the main stage. There should be plenty of folks there.”
“Yes, but for the music: the local bands that are playing. They may not hang around for short story winners. Then poor Ramsay would be walking up on the stage, proud as punch to get his award, and it will be completely silent.” Meadow’s face was a study in horror.
“But it won’t be that way. Wyatt just pointed out that we’ll be there cheering him on.” Beatrice felt a small headache coming on.
“Maybe I should let Posy and Cork know,” mused Meadow. “And just a couple of others. People who’ll be sure to keep this information under their hats.”
Wyatt and Beatrice exchanged a look. It was Dappled Hills. Keeping information under hats was not the modus operandi.
Wyatt decided to change the subject before Meadow planned to erect a billboard in the town announcing Ramsay’s win. “How is Will doing? I know he had an earache yesterday. Is he feeling any better?”
Meadow’s expression immediately changed to her fond, mothering look. “He’s an absolute angel. His ears were much better when I saw him yesterday afternoon, the little love. He’s not tugging on them at all. And he didn’t cry a bit. He’s the most perfect grandbaby in the world.”
Beatrice smiled at Wyatt as Meadow waxed poetic about their mutual grandchild for a while. Will was definitely a safer subject. And Beatrice had to agree with Meadow on at least one point—Will was certainly remarkable in every way.
Meadow seemed to be wrapping up her soliloquy on Will’s many virtues as a baby. “Then, when he woke from his nap, I heard him stirring and walked in and he gave me the most adorable smile! It was the cutest. Ash used to wake up really fussy from naps, but Will is always so cheerful and good-natured. But of course, you both know this, too! You’re part of the Will Downey fan club, the same as me.”
They chatted amiably about the baby for a while before Meadow started circling back to the fair again. Beatrice skillfully detoured Meadow’s attention from Ramsay to quilting since the quilters would have exhibits in the crafts area.
Meadow abruptly said, “Oh, I know what I forgot to mention. You know Bertha Cooke, don’t you?”
An image came to Beatrice’s mind of a woman with a pleasant smile, a hearty laugh, and shoulder-length curly brown hair. “I don’t know her well, but I know who Bertha is.”
“As you know, she’s a quilter,” said Meadow.
Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Actually, I didn’t know that little tidbit.”
“Well, she is. She doesn’t have much time for guilds, though, since she works a lot. She’s a housekeeper for half the town, it seems. I think she took over a lot of homes when June Bug started the bakery. Anyway, she’s self-taught and comes from a long line of quilters. She has some very old quilts in her home and offered to speak at our next guild meeting and show them off.” Meadow beamed.
Beatrice felt a prickle of interest. As a retired museum curator, this was exactly the sort of thing that fascinated her. “That’s fabulous, Meadow. I’ll look forward to seeing those quilts.”
Meadow sighed. “I did try to recruit her as a Village Quilter again, but it was a no-go. She apparently is just really booked up with cleanings. I do think that has the potential to be a really tough job, don’t you? For one thing, just creating order out of people’s messes. For another, having to deal with obnoxious people.”
Wyatt looked a little bemused. Meadow seemed quite strident on this point, which wasn’t much like Meadow. She was usually aggressively cheerful. Beatrice asked, “Who in particular were you thinking of? Did she mention who she cleans for?”
Meadow made a face. “Who knows? But I have to imagine that her usual clientele would be someone like Linton. Can you imagine putting up with someone like him as an employer? He sure sounds like he’s pushy, if he was trying to make Miss Sissy do what he wanted.”
“Perhaps he’s better with people who work for him,” suggested Wyatt mildly.
“Hmph,” said Meadow in an unconvinced voice. “He’d better be. Ramsay told me last week he’d even gotten into a brawl with Dan Whitner. He’d been called to the bar outside of town, but by the time Ramsay made it there, Dan and Linton had already left. Separately, I’m sure. Apparently, they were mad as anything.”
Beatrice tilted her head to one side. “Dan Whitner. Isn’t he painting the Patchwork Cottage right now? I could have sworn that that’s who Posy said when she introduced him when I was there.”
“Exactly,” said Meadow triumphantly in the tone of someone who was proving a point.
Wyatt and Beatrice exchanged glances again. If there had indeed been a point made, they were both uncertain what it had been.
Meadow charged ahead, oblivious of their confusion. “See what I mean? He’s not an easy person to be around and now he’s our neighbor! He’s brawling with Dan Whitner, a mild-mannered odd-jobs guy. He’s fighting with Miss Sissy, a petite little old lady . . .”
“Now you’re taking this a bit too far,” said Beatrice dryly. “From what I saw, Miss Sissy was about to beat Linton within an inch of his life.”
“Regardless,” said Meadow, “the point is that he’s difficult. Maybe he’s mean to Bertha, too, since she cleans for him. We should keep a close eye on him. Who knows what will happen next?”
Having aired all her grievances and worries, Meadow was now even more full of energy. “I do enjoy catching up with you, Beatrice! It seems like we don’t have as much time for idle conversation now. Oh, we see each other when we’re handing off our darling Will between us. But we’re always talking about the baby and how he’s doing and less about our own things.”
Wyatt gave Beatrice an amused look. Of course, it was Meadow who was doing most of the talking about Will on any occasion.
“Let’s have a coffee tomorrow,” said Meadow impulsively. “No, a breakfast. Come by tomorrow morning about 7:00. Just us girls. Sorry, Wyatt! I’ll get rid of Ramsay. No, never mind, he’ll get rid of himself. He’s always scribbling in his notebooks first thing in the day anyway.”
Beatrice’s first impulse was to come up with an excellent reason why she couldn’t make it. But, as she tried to find a perfect excuse, she realized that there wasn’t one.
“That’s not too early, is it?” asked Meadow. “It’s just that I’m trying to get Boris back on an exercise schedule. We were doing so well and then we had a busy couple of weeks and everything sort of fell apart. I figured we could have coffee and breakfast and then I could take Boris on a walk.”
Boris was their tremendous, good-humored beast of a dog. Exercise was a priority for him, not only because the vet was worried about some weight gain, but because he became even more mischievous than usual when he wasn’t regularly walked.
“No, that’s fine. Thanks, Meadow,” said Beatrice grudgingly as a smile tugged at Wyatt’s lips.
“Great!” said Meadow, slapping her knees before standing up and heading for the door. “Well, I’ll leave you both to your quiet Sunday afternoon.” She cast a bemused eye over the puzzles and books and Beatrice got the idea that Meadow’s own Sunday afternoon would be significantly more active and boisterous.
Beatrice released a sigh of relief after Meadow closed the door behind her.
Wyatt grinned at her. “Now, it won’t be that bad. You know that Meadow’s breakfast will be mouth-wateringly delicious.”
“Oh, I know. I feel bad about not wanting to go. I do usually end up having a great time once I get there. It’s just that Meadow can be so exhausting.”
“Maybe you’ll enjoy something of a grace period from Meadow after you get a proper visit in,” suggested Wyatt.
“Let’s hope so,” said Beatrice as she settled down on the sofa with Noo-noo and her book and soon drifted off into a peaceful nap.
The next morning, Beatrice got dressed and took Noo-noo for a short walk. She glanced at her watch and called out to Wyatt, “You’re leaving in the next few minutes for that appointment, right?”
He poked his head around the bedroom door and gave her a wry look. “You know me too well.”
“I know you strongly dislike doctor appointments,” said Beatrice with a grin. “You don’t ordinarily run late for anything, but you’re seriously dragging your feet this morning.”
“I’ll be in the car in two minutes,” promised Wyatt as Beatrice gave him a peck on the lips and then headed out the door to walk to Meadow’s house.
Meadow and Ramsay lived in a converted barn that was somehow made to feel extremely cozy, despite the lofty ceiling. There were quilts everywhere and the aroma of baking lingered in the air. Boris greeted Beatrice joyfully at the door but thankfully didn’t jump.
Beatrice took a deep breath. “Muffins?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.
“Blueberry,” sang out Meadow.
Beatrice gave a sigh of contentment as she sat down at the kitchen table. These were Meadow’s very own blueberries that she grew on their property. The morning was starting out very promising, indeed.
“How are things going over at your house?” Meadow carefully slid a bacon and cheese omelet onto a plate with hash browns and then put the plate in front of Beatrice along with a cup of fresh coffee. “Go ahead and eat while it’s warm.”
“Oh, things are going pretty well. I did nearly have to use a crowbar to get Wyatt out of the house for his physical, but that’s par for the course for doctor appointments for him.” Beatrice ate a forkful of omelet and closed her eyes briefly. It was absolutely perfect. She was going to have to figure out why her own attempts at making omelets went so poorly.
Meadow chuckled. “Ramsay is the same way. I have to make all his appointments for him or he’d never go to the doctor at all. He has high blood pressure and we’re supposed to be monitoring it at home. I have to force a cuff on him every day. Considering he’s the police chief, he’s such a baby.”
Meadow put the blueberry muffins on the table, fixed her own plate, and joined Beatrice. They spent the next few minutes blissfully consuming some very excellent breakfast food.
“Did I mention to you that Ramsay is speaking to a group of aspiring authors at the library?” asked Meadow finally.
“That’s not supposed to be a secret, is it?” asked Beatrice dryly. “Like the award he’s getting at the fair for his short story?”
“Silly! Of course not. It’s a public event and in the library’s newsletter. He’s going to be giving advice about starting a writing habit.”
Beatrice took a sip of the freshly-squeezed orange juice that Meadow had given her. “He’ll be perfect for giving that talk. When I see him, I’ll tell him so. He’s been writing for years. And he reads several books a week. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of wisdom to impart.”
Meadow looked worried. “I know he will. I just hope there’ll be a few people there at least. I can’t imagine that Dappled Hills is just covered up with writers. Maybe we should plan on being there, for moral support.” She chuckled. “I swear I fuss over Ramsay as if he was a child of mine. I guess I must not have enough things to worry about so I have to worry over him.”
“You care about him, that’s all. You’re looking out for his feelings.”
Beatrice was about to finish off the first of what she hoped would be several blueberry muffins when there was a frantic knock at the door.
Boris exploded into barking, leaping at the door.
Meadow’s brow furrowed. “Who on earth could that be? It’s rather early for a social call, isn’t it?”
“Well, technically, I’m here for a social call,” said Beatrice. Since Meadow seemed to be more interested in speculating who could be at the door than actually answering it, Beatrice slipped Boris’s harness over his head with some difficulty and pulled the huge animal back from the door as she unlocked it and pushed it open.
She recognized the woman who stood there but only because she cut a very glamorous figure around Dappled Hills. She had large, green eyes, black hair, and was fond of wearing upscale black clothing and red lipstick. Ordinarily, of course, she didn’t look panicked, but she did now. Beatrice stepped back so that she could come in.
Meadow had stood and apparently could do more than simply recognize the woman who’d arrived at her house. “Sandra Hughes!” she said. “Goodness. Do come in. Has something happened?”
Boris was continuing to bark and generally cut up, as if determined to be as raucous as possible after his extremely demure welcome of Beatrice earlier. Ramsay surfaced from the back of the house, reading glasses pushed up on his forehead and a bemused look on his face. “What in the Sam Hill is going on?” he asked.
Sandra immediately hurried up to him. “It’s Linton,” she said abruptly. She impatiently wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “He’s dead.”