Patch of Trouble

  Patch of Trouble

  A Southern Quilting Mystery, Volume 6

  Elizabeth Craig

  Published by Elizabeth Spann Craig, 2016.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PATCH OF TROUBLE

  First edition. May 9, 2016.

  Copyright © 2016 Elizabeth Craig.

  ISBN: 978-0997168556

  Written by Elizabeth Craig.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For Mama and Daddy with love

  Chapter One

  After a long morning of pulling the impudent weeds in her yard, Beatrice had just tempted herself into the hammock with a tall glass of iced tea and what appeared to be a very promising novel. Her friend, Posy, had thoughtfully given her a quilted pillow in a water-resistant fabric, and the plumpness of the cushion begged to be rested on. Although Beatrice, who was restless by nature, was never one to give into the temptation of resting very often. Her dreams of a life as a relaxed retired woman never seemed to come to fruition.

  Admittedly, it was good to stretch out. There was a cool breeze and the shade from the canopy of the overhanging trees provided sanctuary from the heat of the day. Beatrice gave a contented sigh. Her corgi, Noo-noo, seemed content too, lying on her back with her short legs up in the air, fast asleep and snoring lightly in rhythmic puffs.

  It was then that her cell phone blared from as deep inside the little house as it could, clear as a bell through the screened window. Beatrice closed her eyes briefly. Naturally the phone would ring when she hadn’t had the foresight to keep it next to her. Maybe it wasn’t important. She listened stiffly as it rang and rang before stopping. She relaxed. If it had been important, the interlopers would leave a message, after all.

  Or call again. Which is exactly what happened. The phone bleated at her again with that staccato, annoying ring that she couldn’t quite figure out how to change. This time she struggled from the hammock, startling Noo-noo who struggled to her feet too, looking blearily around her at something to bark at for the interruption she was suffering.

  “Hello?” Beatrice demanded a bit breathlessly when she finally grabbed the phone. She pushed a hand over her head to smooth down her platinum white hair as if the caller could see her dishevelment over the phone line.

  “Beatrice? It’s Meadow.”

  Meadow was Beatrice’s indefatigable next door neighbor who frequently came between Beatrice and relaxation. Meadow was all about quilting, the quilting guild, cooking, and basically not sitting still for half a minute. What was more, she tended to pull Beatrice into her chaos.

  Beatrice was about to inquire what Meadow had up her sleeve this time, but Meadow continued on. She was breathless as she said, “Wyatt asked me to call you. Miss Sissy has had an accident and is at the hospital over in Lenoir. I’m on my way over now.”

  “On your way to the hospital? What kind of accident?” Beatrice was already motioning to Noo-noo to follow her inside from the backyard.

  “On my way to your house to pick you up. I’ll fill you in in a second,” said Meadow before hanging up just as abruptly as she’d called.

  Beatrice hurried outside again to find her shoes, put them on, and then started looking for her errant purse. She made a face at her reflection in the mirror. She smoothed down the platinum-white hair that was still sticking up in the back from lying on the hammock. She wore an old pair of khaki slacks with an equally ancient button down baby-blue shirt. It was completely suitable for yard work but not for much else. No time to do anything else about her appearance since Meadow was already in her driveway, tooting the car horn imperiously.

  “I’ll be back before long,” she promised the little corgi that was looking at her with concerned brown eyes. The rushing, the tension that Beatrice felt, it was all felt just as strongly by Noo-noo. She reached down to give her a reassuring pat as she left the cottage.

  Beatrice plopped herself into Meadow’s van, gripping her purse with one hand as she tugged frantically at the seat belt to secure it around her with the other. One thing she knew for sure—she needed the protection of a seat belt when Meadow was behind the wheel.

  Meadow shot backward down the driveway and took off at a fair clip down the road.

  “Now what is going on?” asked Beatrice. “What kind of accident? Is Miss Sissy in any danger? Because I can’t see the purpose in getting ourselves in an accident on the way over to the hospital.”

  At this, Meadow started driving a bit more sedately. “Wyatt didn’t give a lot of information, but it sounded like she was probably going to be okay. It was some kind of a car accident, I think. I called Posy, too, but she’s working alone today at the quilt shop so she’ll check in with us later.”

  Beatrice wasn’t at all surprised to hear that Miss Sissy had been in a car accident. It was something of a miracle that she hadn’t been in one before. Miss Sissy was an elderly quilter who confused the sidewalk with the roadway. What was more, she wasn’t all that lucid even on a good day. Still, she was the heart and soul of the Village Quilters guild and a fine quilter herself, besides being a good, if unorthodox, friend.

  Meadow found a spot in the front of the regional hospital without even going to the parking deck. They hurried inside. Meadow was nearly as disheveled as Beatrice. Her generous frame was covered by a wrinkled turquoise skirt that sat crookedly around her waist and a white tunic top that appeared to have been slept in. She had thrown a disreputable-looking gray cardigan over the top and her long gray braid was caught up in the sweater. Her red-framed glasses were askew. Everything about her suggested that she’d never planned on leaving the house.

  Miss Sissy was in a small room on the third floor. Beatrice and Meadow breathed sighs of relief when they saw that the old woman looked cross and even more wildly disheveled than Beatrice and Meadow, but appeared to be all in one piece. She made for a very thin outline under the starched white hospital sheets. Wyatt gave them a reassuring smile and stood from a bedside chair to greet them.

  “Miss Sissy!” said Meadow, hurrying over to clasp the old woman’s hand. “You scared me to death.”

  Miss Sissy snarled, “Bad guy!”

  Clearly it was one of Miss Sissy’s bad days. During bad days, Miss Sissy was not only rather inarticulate, but downright hostile. And perhaps a bit paranoid. Beatrice glanced over at Wyatt. His calm, good-natured, and solid presence was always soothing to her and she felt that he was a balancing force for them as a couple. As usual, he gave her a small but reassuring smile and said gently, “Miss Sissy has had a scary ordeal.”

  Miss Sissy gave an emphatic nod. “Bad guy in my house.”

  At this point, Beatrice noted that Miss Sissy had a very large bruise and corresponding lump on her head right underneath her wiry gray hair. She suspected that the bump could potentially account for any bad guy. Not that he had given it to her, but that he was a figment resulting from her head injury.

  Meadow stared, goggle-eyed, at Miss Sissy. “Bad guy in your house? I thought you were in a car accident! Did you call Ramsay?”

  Miss Sissy gave her a scornful look. “Course not! No time!”

  Meadow’s husband, Ramsay, was the chief of police for tiny Dappled Hills. He would have been the appropriate person to call, if indeed there had been an intruder in Miss Sissy’s house. To Beatrice, this intruder seemed more and more unlikely.

  Wyatt said diplomatically, “Miss Sissy, would you like me to find you something to eat? Maybe something light? A chicken broth or a gelatin, maybe?”

  Miss Sissy did not even deign to answer this, instead squinted her eyes at him to indicate her disdain at liquid-y foods.

  Beatrice decided to cut to the chase. It was apparent that Miss Sissy was not going to progress with life or healing as usual until her story had been completely told. It was just delaying everything to keep it suppressed or to try and change the subject. “So there was a bad guy? An intruder? In your house?”

  Miss Sissy nodded vigorously again.

  “What made you think he was bad? Was he wearing a mask? Did he break a window and come in?” asked Beatrice.

  Miss Sissy snorted in derision. “No mask. Madman! Walked right in.”

  “Okay. So it’s morning, right? This happened this morning, not in the middle of the night? A man entered your unlocked house. Is that right? The door was unlocked?”

  Miss Sissy pursed her lips and looked away. Ramsay had fussed at her lately, and in Beatrice’s presence about keeping her door locked. It was a good idea, even in such a small and friendly town as Dappled Hills.

  “I’m calling Ramsay,” muttered Meadow, looking huffy as she fumbled in her purse for her cell phone. She was always completely indignant at the idea of anyone committing crime in her beloved town. Even worse th
at the crime was committed right under the nose of her police chief husband.

  Beatrice motioned for her to wait for a moment and then continued, “Why did this madman do this? Did he think that your home housed something very valuable that he wanted?” She wasn’t trying to be unkind, but she wanted everyone, including Miss Sissy to think this out. Miss Sissy’s home did not even look occupied. It was in exceedingly poor condition with vines growing on and around it that rivaled the thorny ones in Sleeping Beauty. The ancient Lincoln parked outside Miss Sissy’s house was in completely dilapidated condition. There would be nothing to indicate to any vagrant passing through town that it might be worthwhile to break in. And any criminals living in Dappled Hills would know that Miss Sissy’s house was not one that would be profitable to rob.

  But Miss Sissy was nodding vigorously again, wincing this time as she did it. “Yes! Valuable.”

  “What was valuable?” asked Wyatt, leaning forward.

  “Information!”

  They stared at her. The idea of Miss Sissy offering any kind of valuable information to anyone was a rather astounding one to wrap your head around. After all, Beatrice had just been trying, fairly unsuccessfully, to elicit information from the old woman for the last few minutes.

  Miss Sissy glared at them all and said, “Information. Asked questions.”

  “What kinds of questions?” pressed Meadow, hand still on her cell phone.

  “About old people!” spat out Miss Sissy furiously.

  “What did he look like?” asked Meadow.

  Miss Sissy just shook her head. “Ramsay!” she said furiously. “Ramsay, Ramsay!”

  Meadow obediently dialed her husband.

  After Ramsay had finished talking with Miss Sissy, he joined Wyatt, Meadow, and Beatrice in a small lounge at the end of the hall with a couple of pleather chairs and sofa scattered around a sturdy coffee table.

  “Well?” asked Meadow impatiently. “What do you make of it?”

  Ramsay, filling a cardboard cup carefully with coffee, put in several sugar packets and gingerly stirred his concoction. His presence, the everyday solidity of it, was reassuring. He was short and balding and heavy from the generous portions of Southern cooking that Meadow pressed on him daily. He took a large sip and then plopped down on the sofa with a sigh. “I’ve not a doubt in the world that the intruder was 100% real to Miss Sissy. She’s not making it up on purpose. But do I believe there’s a real intruder? No way.”

  Meadow slumped in relief in the lounge chair. “That’s what I’d hope you’d say. The idea of some bad guy breaking into old ladies’ houses to assault them or rob them or something is absolutely horrifying. I simply don’t want to think that I’m living in that kind of a town.”

  “What are you basing your belief on, Ramsay?” asked Beatrice. “Just a gut feeling?”

  “It’s based on the fact that Miss Sissy has a history of calling me to report wild claims. She insisted that someone had broken in and stolen a ring off of her shower curtain a couple of weeks ago.” Ramsay took another large gulp of his coffee.

  Wyatt gave Ramsay a sympathetic smile. “I get my share of somewhat panicky calls, myself. Always on pretty odd topics.”

  “If you think that’s odd, that’s nothing compared to last month’s report. She called me in the middle of the night and insisted that a miniature UFO had landed in her backyard and that little fuchsia men had tried forcing her for hours to learn some sort of strange math.” Ramsay rolled his eyes.

  Meadow said reproachfully, “Now, Ramsay, you know that the little aliens were real to Miss Sissy. I hope you treated her report with respect.”

  “I’m not all that respectful at three o’clock in the morning. But I did obediently jot down notes. You know. It’s Miss Sissy, after all.”

  Beatrice said, “So you think it’s all a figment of her imagination.”

  “I’m planning on stopping by and checking on her a lot more, let’s put it that way. I don’t exactly know what’s going on, but it usually helps if I step up patrols and checkins,” said Ramsay. He drained his coffee. “And now I’m going to head on out.”

  Meadow said, “The doctor should be in soon to talk to us. The nurse was guessing that she would probably just stay overnight for observation. Just as a precautionary thing.”

  Ramsay sighed. “I guess it’ll be PB&J for me tonight.”

  Meadow put her hands on her generous hips. “I think you need to learn how to expand your repertoire in the kitchen.”

  Ramsay was about to retort when suddenly a tiny, gentle-looking woman peered hesitantly through the lounge door. She smiled when she saw them. “I thought I recognized those voices.” Then her blue eyes clouded over. “How’s Miss Sissy?”

  Beatrice said, “Hi Posy. The good news is that Miss Sissy is going to be just fine. They’re just keeping her overnight for observation.”

  “And I heard something scary about a car accident?” asked Posy anxiously.

  Ramsay shook his head. “No car involved. Miss Sissy claims her injuries resulted from an intruder, which is highly unlikely. Maybe Miss Sissy’s a little confused from the bump on her head and from being unconscious. Maybe she even saw a door-to-door salesman earlier and just tied it all together in her head. At any rate, I’m not exactly worried.”

  Posy brightened. “Wonderful news! I was able to get some help with the store for the rest of today and tomorrow, so I’m happy to stay overnight here. In fact, I packed a small bag, just in case. And I’ve even got brand new cat photos from the store that Miss Sissy hasn’t seen yet.”

  Beatrice grinned at her. “You’ll have made her day.” Maisie was the store cat at the Patchwork Cottage and Posy allowed Miss Sissy to think of herself as a part owner of the feline.

  “And Ramsay won’t have to suffer through PB&J after all!” said Meadow with a grin. “A good thing since he manages to destroy the kitchen making simple meals.”

  Chapter Two

  Ramsay left immediately to dutifully investigate a parking place dispute at the Dappled Hills post office. Beatrice, Wyatt, and Meadow told Miss Sissy goodbye and then headed out of the hospital.

  Wyatt said, “Thanks to you both for coming all the way out to Lenoir. I was really worried when I first got the call from the hospital. She’s been here before of course, and I’m listed as an emergency contact from the last time. They didn’t give a lot of information, except that she was agitated. I’d gotten the impression she’d been in a car accident.”

  “Which was certainly believable,” said Beatrice fervently.

  “I figured that she’d calm down a lot more if you were both here,” said Wyatt. “I hope you weren’t doing anything important.”

  Meadow said thoughtfully, “I’m not sure if I can even remember what I was doing when you called. I’ve totally lost that thread.”

  “I was relaxing,” said Beatrice with a shrug.

  Wyatt and Meadow raised their eyebrows and gave each other a smile. Meadow said, “Relaxing? Pooh.”

  Beatrice said a little defensively, “Well, I was attempting to relax, anyway. Noo-noo was trying to show me how by snoring next to me.”

  “I’m not sure you completely understand the concept of relaxation, Beatrice. How do you try to relax? Relaxation isn’t a task to check off your list or a competitive sport. It’s a lack of doing,” said Meadow, waving her hands in the air.

  Beatrice pursed her lips. Her inability to relax was something that she’d rather not have spotlighted. It was the one thing she was working hardest on. Could she help it that every time she sat down and put her feet up the dishes from the sink called out to her? The dust bunnies under the bed? The corgi for a walk? Life and her own busy brain seemed locked in a conspiracy to deny her downtime.

  Wyatt gently steered the conversation in another direction. “I think I know what Meadow was doing, if it helps. I think you were about to talk to Beatrice about being part of a new group service project at the church.”

  Meadow snapped her fingers. “Of course! Bravo, Wyatt. Yes, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was just mulling over the idea that I could put Boris on his leash and walk over to your cottage and talk about the group.”