2 Knot What It Seams (20 page)

But Miss Sissy had apparently retreated into Miss Sissy World for the day and either couldn’t or wouldn’t respond. She grunted noncommittally.

“After you left, I asked him questions about the girl.” A blank stare. “The girl you and Jo saw Booth with when you were out of town.” Nothing.

Beatrice sighed. “When the garage calls about your car, I’ll drive you out there to get it. It sounded like they might need to order a part, though, so it might take a little while.” Especially since this Lincoln was at least twenty-five years old. “I’ll let Posy know that you’re stranded and I’m sure she’ll be happy to take you to the Patchwork Cottage tomorrow with her if you don’t want to walk there.” If the Patchwork Cottage opened tomorrow, that is.

After dropping off the still-unresponsive Miss Sissy, Beatrice ran by the garden center for some flowers for the revamped flower bed. Between Posy’s advice and the help from the owner of the shop, she decided she had a nice combination of flowers and heights for the bed. She’d been sure to ask for hardy plants, too—she had a way of killing off perfectly healthy things.

After the garden center, she dropped off a book at the library that she’d had in her car for several days, meaning to return. Then she hesitated before heading back home. A short walk might be relaxing. Her mind was going a hundred miles an hour with all the information she had. And she kept a pair of sturdy hiking shoes and socks in her trunk for exactly these occasions.

She hopped onto the nearby Blue Ridge Parkway and headed for an overlook parking spot. Then she crossed the parkway and started hiking an easy, sloping trail. Too bad she didn’t have Noo-noo with her. She’d have to make it up to her furry friend another time.

Booth Grayson could easily be the person behind these murders. He had that cold, calculating manner and apparently, like many politicians, a healthy sense of self-preservation. Would he stoop that low, though? How far would he really go to protect his reputation? She had to wonder if her strong suspicion of him was colored by the fact that she so heartily disliked the man.

Beatrice was calmer and more focused as she walked up the gently sloping trail. Minutes later, she reached a lookout point where she could see the setting sun cast shadows over the mountain valleys while highlighting the hills. Dappled Hills, for sure. The quiet beauty of the spot made her slow down for a moment and take some relaxing breaths. Sometimes she almost forgot to breathe on busy days.

The sun started dipping lower and the shadows grew longer. Reluctantly, Beatrice headed back down the mountain. Noo-noo would be wondering where her supper was, and she should unload the flowers from her car to plant tomorrow.

The sun seemed to set much quicker than usual and it was nearly dark by the time she reached the bottom of the trail. Her new sedan was waiting for her at the scenic overlook across the street.

As she hurried across the Blue Ridge Parkway, an engine suddenly roared to life behind her. In a split second she realized she had enough time to either dive out of the way or turn around to see what was racing toward her. She dove.

Chapter 14

Beatrice hit the pavement, hands and knees cushioning her blow before she rolled until bumping to a stop into a curb. She heard squealing tires as the car rapidly accelerated and sped off.

By the time she had the strength to lift her head, the vehicle was long gone. Beatrice pushed herself to a sitting position and scrambled out of the road as quickly as possible. The Blue Ridge Parkway was too busy a road for her to stay sprawled there, or else she really
would
be struck by a car. But the next time it would be an accident. . . . She was sure this hadn’t been.

Beatrice limped out of the street, fumbling in her pocket for her keys. The alarm immediately started going off and she silenced it quickly as she gasped for breath. She dropped into the driver’s seat, closed the door to the car, and pushed the door lock switch.

Someone had tried to kill her. And it wasn’t Miss Sissy this time, because her car was in the shop. Someone had either followed her during her errands and to the trail or else spotted her car at the side of the road and realized the opportunity it provided. She peered in the direction the car had come from. There was enough space on the side of the road for a car to pull over and wait—and the curve of the road prevented her from seeing someone waiting there. It would have been easy for the person to wait for her to finish her walk, knowing she’d be crossing the road to return to her car.

Beatrice examined her hands and lifted up her pants to see what her knees looked like. They were both skinned, as were her hands. She hadn’t had skinned knees since she was a child, and she’d forgotten how much they stung. But compared to how much worse her injuries
could
have been, she’d gotten off easy. She’d go home and wash the sore skin off, stick some bandages on . . . and probably be very sore when she woke up tomorrow. Better take some ibuprofen, too.

Beatrice started the engine and drove back through town toward home. She paused before pulling into her driveway. She should tell Ramsay about this near miss. Although she enjoyed the intellectual challenge of figuring out who was behind these murders, she had no desire to be murdered herself.

She grimaced as she saw Meadow’s car in front of the barn. She’d hoped that Meadow would be out and she could talk to Ramsay without an audience. Meadow tended to hover and cluck.

Sure enough, as soon as Beatrice rather stiffly made her way to the Downeys’ door to knock, the door flew open and Meadow gaped at her.

“I saw you getting out of your car. You’re hurt? Whatever happened?” Meadow asked, throwing questions like Ping-Pong balls at Beatrice.

Beatrice made a face. “Someone tried to run me down on the Parkway, but I dove out of the way. On the pavement, of course.” Meadow’s mouth dropped open. Beatrice shifted her weight. “Do you mind if I come in and have a seat, Meadow? I was hoping to be able to talk to Ramsay.”

Meadow shut her mouth with a snap and backed quickly out of the way. “Where are my manners? Come in, come in—Ramsay! Ramsay!”

Her calling wakened the Downeys’ huge beast, and Boris came galloping across the long living room, barking as he went. Unfortunately, this barking coincided with a headache that was starting to make Beatrice’s head throb. She put a hand to her forehead, then winced at the stinging.

“You’ve got a headache, too?” clucked Meadow. “Here, have a seat.” She pulled Beatrice none too gently by the arm and deposited her in a cushy armchair before protectively throwing a quilt on top of her. “Where is that man?” she fretted. “Bad boy, Boris! No jumping!”

In moments, Meadow had disappeared into the back bedroom and returned with a sleepy Ramsay, still wearing reading glasses perched crookedly on his nose and bearing a copy of Thoreau’s essay “Walking,” which he’d apparently fallen asleep over. He’d finished
Walden
quickly, then.

“She’s been
attacked
, Ramsay! By the killer! A near miss! What is this world coming to when retired curators are mowed down in our streets?” Meadow let go of Ramsay’s arm so that she could wring her hands in a very convincing fashion.

Ramsay’s gaze sharpened and he suddenly looked awake. “Someone tried to run you down, Beatrice? Are you sure?”

“Well, of course she’s sure! How else would she have gotten those skinned hands and knees? You haven’t seen her roller-skating around Dappled Hills, have you? She dodged a
car.
” Meadow’s voice was exasperated.

“Meadow, if you could let Beatrice tell her story, then maybe I would better understand what is going on,” said Ramsay in his steady voice. Beatrice honestly wasn’t sure how Ramsay refrained from running over
Meadow
in his car.

Meadow opened her mouth as though she might demur, then apparently had some sort of idea pop into her head. “Um. Yes. Well, that’s fine, because I’ve got to make a phone call.” And she disappeared into the back of the house.

Ramsay gave Beatrice a measuring look, then opened a cabinet and brought out what appeared to be a bottle of very expensive scotch. He poured a generous amount over ice and handed it to Beatrice. “Here. It’s not as if you can’t walk home if you’re not able to drive. And you’ve obviously had quite a scare.” His eyes were kind as Beatrice took a grateful gulp of the drink. It burned her throat on the way down and made her eyes water.

As Beatrice told her story, Ramsay listened closely. He frowned when Beatrice admitted she hadn’t been able to see anything of the car. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything at all? Something specific about the engine noise? An impression of whether the car was lighter or darker in color? If it was small or large or a truck or a sedan?”

Beatrice shook her head. “But I was fairly focused on merely surviving,” she said in a dry voice.

“Understandably,” said Ramsay with a sigh. “Well, I hate to say it, Beatrice, but this might even have been an accident. It’s possible,” he said, raising his hand when Beatrice protested.

“But the car wasn’t just driving along the Parkway. It raced out from the side of the road as soon as I was in the middle of it. I’m sure this was deliberate, Ramsay.”

“Maybe it was a teenager or something. You know what their driving is like,” said Ramsay reasonably.

“Why on earth wouldn’t they have swerved when they saw me?” asked Beatrice in frustration. “They must have seen me.”

“Did they?” asked Ramsay. “You have to admit that you’re wearing dark clothing. And it must not have been very bright outside at the time. It’s dark now.”

“I wasn’t planning on walking when I set out this morning,” said Beatrice a little huffily. “And I still think that if this was accidental, the car would have pulled over to make sure I was all right when they finally saw me.”

“Would they?” asked Ramsay. “Hit-and-runs happen every single day in this country. Why? Because people are scared. They’re scared of facing the consequences of their actions. I’m not saying this
was
an accident, Beatrice. But it certainly could have been.” He gave her a serious look that bordered on stern. “Unless you know something that you’re not telling me. Did you possibly find out something that might make a murderer think that you could be dangerous to him?”

“I might have,” said Beatrice. “I had an interesting meeting with Booth Grayson today. And I thought you should know what happened during it.”

After she told Ramsay about Jo discovering Booth’s affair, the voice recorder, and his retrieval of it, Ramsay was more alert. “Did you tell Booth that you were going to tell me about this motive he has?”

“I did. He offered to pay me something to stop me from telling you, as a matter of fact.” Beatrice felt her face flush with anger, remembering. “He was determined that the story wouldn’t go any further. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he tried to kill me to keep me from exposing his affair and the voice recording of his confession to Jo.”

“That’s pretty extreme, isn’t it?” asked Ramsay in a musing tone. “Just over an affair?”

“But it’s not just an affair, remember? Now it’s two murders. Now it’s a cover-up
.
” Beatrice took another large sip of her drink. The restorative effect of scotch was an amazing thing.

Ramsay rubbed his large forehead as if his head hurt. “So you’re saying we should arrest the mayor of Dappled Hills for two murders and an attempted murder? Is that what you’re saying, Beatrice? Because I was hoping that instead of arresting a public official tonight, I’d have a peaceful evening at home with Mr. Thoreau.”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. We don’t have any evidence to that effect. He did give some information that was interesting on its own—that Opal was at the Paxtons’ house on the morning of Jo’s murder. And Opal was apparently acting oddly lately.”

“Like that’s anything unusual,” said Ramsay with a snort. “Not to speak ill of the dead.”

“She obviously had something on her mind that she was trying to tell Wyatt about or consult him over. The murderer clearly realized that she knew something very damaging and made sure to permanently silence her before she could share what she knew.”

“It sounds like,” said Ramsay in a dry voice, “she might have seen Booth. Considering he’s admitting he saw
her
. And again we come back to arresting the mayor, which would not make for a happy day at work for me.”

“I’m thinking we should keep an eye on him. That’s all.”

“Maybe we need to keep an eye on you instead,” said Ramsay. “Please try not to be our third murder victim. Is there anyone else who might think that you have some dangerous knowledge that I should keep on my watch list?”

Beatrice thought about Karen and her strange conversation with Opal, about Glen possibly hugging Penny Harris, and the fact that Glen was a mechanic. Slowly, she shook her head. All she really had was a collection of rumors and speculation.

There was a light tap at the door and Boris sprang into action again, leaping to his feet and barking his throaty bark. “I’ll get it!” sang out Meadow from the back bedroom, trotting along to the front door, grinning broadly. She obviously had some sort of secret. And clearly it had something to do with whoever was at that door.

It was Wyatt. And he was peering around the corner of the door. “I saw Beatrice’s car outside.” He frowned, as if sensing something was wrong. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, Wyatt, it’s good you’re here. Ministers are always so useful at times like this. Scary times,” said Meadow.

Had she called Wyatt just to get him over to see Beatrice? Really, this was going too far. Beatrice frowned crossly at Meadow, who blurted, “I gave Wyatt a call for him to collect the quilts for the church auction on his way home from the church. Wasn’t it lucky that they happened to be ready during this time of crisis?”

Ramsay, not really sure what the subtext of the conversation or visit was, but clearly wanting to get back to his nap or his book or both, quickly filled Wyatt in. “And I’ve given Beatrice a nip of scotch, although she could probably use a dram more. Then maybe you’d be good enough to drive her in her car back home and walk back over to get your own, afterward?”