Free 2 Knot What It Seams by Elizabeth Craig

Glen often, do you?” Meadow pursed her lips doubtfully. “Unless your car has needed a lot of repairs. He’s a mechanic. At least, he was . The garage laid him off a few months ago. Poor guy. He was doing some repair work on the side, but now I don’t think he’s doing even that anymore.”
    “No, I don’t know Glen. Although I do need some work done on my new sedan, I think. The alarm is always going off. But I can’t see that this is really the right time—”
    “But you know, we don’t really need to talk to him here. We’ll be bringing him the food later. You do have your pimento cheese sandwiches ready, don’t you?” asked Meadow.
    Beatrice nodded. “The consistency was a little off, though. I don’t know if I didn’t put enough mayonnaise in this time, or if I put too much cheese in—”
    “So we can see Glen when we drop off the meals. We’ll try to pick a time when no one else is over there so you can investigate while we’re being thoughtful. How about Booth Grayson? Your paths might cross more frequently, I suppose. You’re both such serious, studious types. You probably see him at the library when you’re reading up on some really obscure Depression-era Southern pottery made with a particular type of clay only found on the banks of certain Georgia creeks,” said Meadow.
    Beatrice shot Meadow a look.
    “Okay, so you don’t see him that much. Maybe the mayor isn’t as studious as he appears. I thought he’d be in the library reading up on the tax code and trying to figure out ingenious new ways to assess taxes on quilt guilds. Let’s go talk to him!”
    Meadow pulled Beatrice over to Booth, who’d finished shaking the hands of most of the funeral-goers. He folded his arms, discomfited at seeing them. “Ladies,” he greeted them cautiously.
    “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Mayor?” Meadow cheerfully asked. “It couldn’t be any nicer.”
    “Perhaps if there wasn’t a funeral to attend,” noted Booth duly.
    Meadow blithely ignored his comment. “You’ve decided against assessing sales taxes and requiring permits for our quilting guilds, haven’t you? I always said you were a reasonable man. Didn’t I, Ramsay?” Ramsay, who’d been watching the attendees with some interest, briefly wandered up. Hearing the topic of conversation, he gave Booth a pitying stare, shook his head at Meadow, and quickly walked away again.
    Meadow watched him go and said, “Interesting thing about Ramsay—he hates funerals. Absolutely despises them! He’s such a sensitive soul that he can’t stand to be around folks who are in distress. He’s here today,” she added, peering at Booth, “because Jo was murdered.”
    Beatrice sighed. Surely Ramsay wasn’t ready for this information to be released.
    Before she could deflect Meadow at all, she’d continued. “And Beatrice is the one who convinced him Jo’s death wasn’t an accident! She likes to do some investigating, you know. Beatrice is a frustrated detective.”
    Beatrice jumped in. “It’s not exactly like that, Meadow.”
    “Beatrice will get to the bottom of this mess, if anyone can. Oh, my sweet Ramsay could get to the bottom of it. If he were only motivated! Bless him, though, he’s just not. Beatrice, on the other hand, is just so discerning . And smart! She’s the very smartest person I believe I’ve ever met. I’m no young woman, either!”
    Booth gave Beatrice a serious and analytical appraisal. Then Beatrice noticed his gaze was diverted by a young woman in a short dress. Men.
    “Ramsay told me that Beatrice gave him a list of all the people Jo had been arguing with,” said Meadow. Then she glanced over at Booth Grayson and blushed, remembering that he was on the list.
    Booth said wryly, “Obviously, I was one of the people you mentioned, Beatrice. Although you wouldn’t have had to say anything, since Ramsay was at the town meeting, too. Of course you realize that Jo was fabricating things that night—trying