each other? We don’t understand.”
Miss Sissy looked at both of them as if she were surrounded by imbeciles. “Phyllis and that guy.”
Meadow finished swallowing down a bit of mixed fruit, rolled her eyes at Beatrice, and said, “No, no, no, Miss Sissy. You’ve got it all wrong. Phyllis went out with
Jason
. The man who died. Whose funeral we’re attending—you know.”
“Vile!” fumed Miss Sissy.
Meadow shrugged and picked up a pimento cheese sandwich square with no crusts, which made Miss Sissy glare hungrily at her until she scampered off for another plate of food.
Wyatt had been busy speaking with Martha and others since Beatrice arrived, but now he came over and gave her a smile. “It’s good of you to come and support Martha,” he said. “The quilting community is really amazing.”
Beatrice felt a small tinge of guilt. Well, she supposed she
had
wanted also to support Martha—it wasn’t only that she was keeping her ears and eyes open for any potential clues to the murderer in this case.
Meadow winked at her and quickly said, “That’s exactly the kind of person Beatrice is. Always looking for ways to support her fellow quilters. Isn’t she wonderful?”
Beatrice flushed and shot Meadow a look as Wyatt murmured in agreement.
Meadow was gazing out into Martha’s living room when her eyes opened wide, and then she shut them again briefly as if she were trying to erase an image. “I saw Savannah swipe something. Just now.”
Beatrice glanced across the room to where Savannah was surreptitiously sticking something in her pocketbook. She squinted and saw that it appeared to be a clip intended to keep potato chip bags closed. “I have a feeling Martha really won’t mind,” said Beatrice. “It’s not as if she’ll probably even miss it. And clearly, her budget would cover replacement of it, even if she did notice.”
Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Georgia joined them. She followed their gaze to Savannah, who was drawing her hand away from her pocketbook. “Oh no,” said Georgia. “Is she at it again?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Beatrice. “But it was only a chip clip.”
“It’s always something very insignificant,” said Georgia with a sigh. “But it doesn’t matter—what’s wrongis wrong.” She gave Wyatt a pained look. “I’m so embarrassed about Savannah’s actions. You know she’s not really like that.”
Wyatt said gently, “I know that it’s her stress that makes her act this way. If there’s anything that I can do at all for her or for you, I hope you’ll let me know. I’m always happy to talk to her.”
“Thanks,” said Georgia sadly. “I know that you are. But when we bring up this . . . problem . . . she really acts as if she doesn’t know what we’re talking about. She doesn’t like discussing it. I’ll have to try to get the chip clip back to Martha at some point later. After I’m done staying at my friend’s house.”
“How are things going with the house-sitting?” asked Meadow.
Georgia gave her a warm smile. “Oh, it’s really nice. She has such a great house—lots of sunshine coming in the windows. The animals have sunny spots on the floors to sleep in. And she has the sweetest pets. I love her dog, Snuffy. And her cat, Mr. Shadow, is a real charmer.” But Beatrice noticed the smile didn’t go all the way up to her eyes and wondered if she might miss her sister’s company. Maybe she wasn’t quite as happy as she seemed with the house-sitting.
* * *
Later that afternoon, as Meadow drove Beatrice at the same breakneck pace back to her cottage, Meadow said, “I simply can’t get how Martha was so happy tobe with John today. She’s rebuffed him again and again through the years. Then today, she acted like she loved him or something.” She snorted.
“Maybe she simply gave in,” said Beatrice. “It’s got to be exhausting to keep turning down a devoted admirer, year after year. Besides, after
Miss Sissy looked at both of them as if she were surrounded by imbeciles. “Phyllis and that guy.”
Meadow finished swallowing down a bit of mixed fruit, rolled her eyes at Beatrice, and said, “No, no, no, Miss Sissy. You’ve got it all wrong. Phyllis went out with
Jason
. The man who died. Whose funeral we’re attending—you know.”
“Vile!” fumed Miss Sissy.
Meadow shrugged and picked up a pimento cheese sandwich square with no crusts, which made Miss Sissy glare hungrily at her until she scampered off for another plate of food.
Wyatt had been busy speaking with Martha and others since Beatrice arrived, but now he came over and gave her a smile. “It’s good of you to come and support Martha,” he said. “The quilting community is really amazing.”
Beatrice felt a small tinge of guilt. Well, she supposed she
had
wanted also to support Martha—it wasn’t only that she was keeping her ears and eyes open for any potential clues to the murderer in this case.
Meadow winked at her and quickly said, “That’s exactly the kind of person Beatrice is. Always looking for ways to support her fellow quilters. Isn’t she wonderful?”
Beatrice flushed and shot Meadow a look as Wyatt murmured in agreement.
Meadow was gazing out into Martha’s living room when her eyes opened wide, and then she shut them again briefly as if she were trying to erase an image. “I saw Savannah swipe something. Just now.”
Beatrice glanced across the room to where Savannah was surreptitiously sticking something in her pocketbook. She squinted and saw that it appeared to be a clip intended to keep potato chip bags closed. “I have a feeling Martha really won’t mind,” said Beatrice. “It’s not as if she’ll probably even miss it. And clearly, her budget would cover replacement of it, even if she did notice.”
Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Georgia joined them. She followed their gaze to Savannah, who was drawing her hand away from her pocketbook. “Oh no,” said Georgia. “Is she at it again?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Beatrice. “But it was only a chip clip.”
“It’s always something very insignificant,” said Georgia with a sigh. “But it doesn’t matter—what’s wrongis wrong.” She gave Wyatt a pained look. “I’m so embarrassed about Savannah’s actions. You know she’s not really like that.”
Wyatt said gently, “I know that it’s her stress that makes her act this way. If there’s anything that I can do at all for her or for you, I hope you’ll let me know. I’m always happy to talk to her.”
“Thanks,” said Georgia sadly. “I know that you are. But when we bring up this . . . problem . . . she really acts as if she doesn’t know what we’re talking about. She doesn’t like discussing it. I’ll have to try to get the chip clip back to Martha at some point later. After I’m done staying at my friend’s house.”
“How are things going with the house-sitting?” asked Meadow.
Georgia gave her a warm smile. “Oh, it’s really nice. She has such a great house—lots of sunshine coming in the windows. The animals have sunny spots on the floors to sleep in. And she has the sweetest pets. I love her dog, Snuffy. And her cat, Mr. Shadow, is a real charmer.” But Beatrice noticed the smile didn’t go all the way up to her eyes and wondered if she might miss her sister’s company. Maybe she wasn’t quite as happy as she seemed with the house-sitting.
* * *
Later that afternoon, as Meadow drove Beatrice at the same breakneck pace back to her cottage, Meadow said, “I simply can’t get how Martha was so happy tobe with John today. She’s rebuffed him again and again through the years. Then today, she acted like she loved him or something.” She snorted.
“Maybe she simply gave in,” said Beatrice. “It’s got to be exhausting to keep turning down a devoted admirer, year after year. Besides, after
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