The Mistletoe Murders
Page 6
Marci joined Gracie, Marc, and the Clarks at one of the long tables set up in the Fellowship Hall.
“Tough day,” she quipped, taking a sip of coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
“The truth hurts,” Marc agreed. “The pastor sure opened up my mind about it.”
Gracie watched her father’s impassive face. He’d barely spoken since filling a plate with cookies. He was apparently not in agreement. Her mother patted his arm and smiled at the group.
“It’s hard to hear for sure,” she said. “More time for everyone will help.”
“Finding the thief would help,” Bob suddenly blurted out, extricating himself from the table and stalking off toward the door.
Theresa frowned, pulling nervously at the sleeve of her powder-blue cardigan.
“Sorry about Bob—your dad,” she said apologetically. “He’s having a really difficult time with it.”
“I know, Mom. But the pastor is right. We loved those statues way too much.”
“Your dad’s been responsible for the nativity and the upkeep of the church for a long time. It’s personal, Gracie.”
Gracie sighed, and Marc’s leg nudged her under the table. Taking the cue, she nodded in agreement and looked quickly at Marci.
“So, another skeleton uncovered,” she said lightly, attempting to change the subject.
“Oh yes, and Quentin is beside himself with joy. He’s delving into the newspaper records around the time of Lily’s disappearance and Stephen’s death. Even the sheriff is intrigued and has someone researching law enforcement records in that time frame.”
Theresa’s eyes widened. “You do have some fascinating things happening. There have been so many rumors about that house for years. Maybe the truth will finally come out. Oh, Isabelle tells me that she’s been helping you finish the decorating.”
Marci smiled weakly. “Uh, yes. Yes, she has.”
“She has very good taste. It’s a gift. How nice she’s helping out.” Theresa’s eyes shone.
“I would say that, in most cases, she does,” Marci said carefully.
“But not necessarily in this instance,” Gracie suggested. She knew all about the overwrought wreath.
“Let’s say she meant well, but Victorian décor may not be her forte.”
Theresa’s proud expression changed to one with a fuller understanding. “I see. Well, I’m glad you’re being patient with her then. She’s rather emotional since Kevin left.”
“Good riddance,” Marc piped up and left the table, empty plate in hand.
“I have to agree with Marc,” Theresa continued. “He wasn’t a very honest person.”
“A weasel is more like it,” Gracie stated, earning a reproving look from her mother.
The crowd was thinning, and the kitchen crew began picking up leftovers from the tables. Marc and Bob were nowhere to be seen. Neither was the pastor. Gracie had a feeling the men were ensconced in private somewhere to hash things out. Marc wasn’t one to let things fester as she’d learned in their brief marriage. He could sometimes be too blunt, but she hoped he was showing some diplomacy in mending a decades-old friendship.
After Theresa and Gracie failed to locate their husbands, Marci offered to take them both home, leaving their respective vehicles for the men. Gracie invited Marci to stay for lunch, but her friend declined.
“Too much to do at the B & B,” Marci explained.
Gracie had been growing more concerned about the pace Marci had been keeping between managing the antique shop in the village and readying the B & B for its opening. She’d been burning the candle at both ends for months, even with a capable manager at the store. However, Gracie was one to talk. The kennel operation consumed much of her own time, although she was allowing Cheryl to take on more responsibility.
Cheryl’s red pickup was parked near the kennel entrance, which reminded her of the Dude issue. The dog’s owner hadn’t been reached, voicemails still unanswered. She’d run down and check if there had been any progress. Letting Max and Haley out of the kitchen door, she jogged down the driveway behind them.
The bell jangled cheerily as she entered, and the dogs raced back toward the long corridors that housed canine guests. A chorus of yips, barks, and howls was initiated by the enthusiastic pair, who enjoyed their superior status of freedom.
“Hey, Gracie,” Cheryl called from the grooming area.
Gracie walked back to find Cheryl grinding down the toenails on their extended-stay guest. Dude was getting a pedicure.
“I hope it’s okay to do this—his nails are way too long,” Cheryl said, not looking up from the task.
“No problem with me. I got a pretty good scratch from him yesterday when he jumped up and nailed my arm.” She pulled up her shirt sleeve, revealing a long red welt on her right forearm.
“Still no luck contacting the owner,” Cheryl said, turning off the grinding tool and placing it on the table. Dude whined and jumped to lick Cheryl’s face. Laughing, she pushed him down to a sitting position and unclipped the lead. “What are we going to do with this guy?”
“I don’t know. I wish I had another contact number. Maybe I should call the Genesee County Sheriff’s Office to see if something has happened to the owner.”
“I can do that if you want,” Cheryl said, setting Dude on the floor.
Gracie quickly closed the door, keeping the dog from running off. He didn’t always play well with others during exercise times, and they’d begun keeping him separated from the other dogs.
“Sure. Go ahead. Did you find anything out from his microchip?”
“Just that he belongs to Sally Pierson in Batavia. The vet he went to is out of business, so I don’t have any other place to check.”
“At least he’s not stolen, but that would probably be a stretch given his dubious parentage,” Gracie said, bending over to rub the small dog’s ears.
“You never know though. He’s almost a week overdue for pickup. I think Jim is right. He’s been abandoned.”
“Maybe, but—” The bell jingled, drawing their attention to the reception area.
“It’s me,” Marc said. “I’ll take the dogs for a walk.”
“Okay.”
She heard him whistle, and the scrambling of multiple paws in the hallway grew louder. The front door clattered shut, and Gracie opened the grooming room door for Dude to have momentary freedom. The personable terrier with a slightly curled tail and a white splotch on his chest trotted sedately past his kennel companions with what she saw as a touch of hauteur.
“He sure has attitude,” Cheryl remarked, joining her to watch the other dogs’ reactions.
A Pekinese charged his gate, barking furiously at Dude, who merely sniffed once in the other dog’s direction before continuing on.
“Yes, he does. Let’s hope we can find out what’s going on with his owner. Let me know as soon as you get an answer from the sheriff’s office.”
“Sure thing.”
Gracie and Marc finished the remains of a pepperoni pizza for lunch. She didn’t even take the time to reheat her large slice in the microwave. Settling in at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, she finished a bite of the limp leftovers and turned to Marc.
“What happened? Are they all right now?”
Marc shrugged. “I guess so. They talked about their positions, but your dad has softened his tone and agreed to accept the pastor’s wishes. They shook hands and there was a man-hug moment.”
“That’s good. That’s progress then.”
“I’d say so, but your dad is still wrestling with the idea of letting mercy work out as opposed to justice. I can relate—I’m more of a justice guy myself.”
“Maybe with a little bit more time, he’ll be convinced,” Gracie said hopefully, picking a piece of pepperoni off and popping it in her mouth.
“Maybe.”
Gracie’s cellphone buzzed, and she saw that Cheryl was the caller.
“So, anything on Sally?” she asked.
“Yes. We do have some
information, but it’s not good.”
“Really? The lady hasn’t been in accident or something, has she?”
“I’m afraid so. The woman’s car was found on a back road outside of Leroy today, and she was deceased. Looks like a heart attack or something like it, according to the deputy I talked to.”
“Oh no! Did you get a next-of-kin name?”
“Not yet. They’ll call me back tomorrow. Looks like Dude’ll be with us for a while.”
Gracie closed her eyes and sighed. “Right.”
“You know, I’d be glad to take him home with me. My yard is fenced. There’s plenty of room too.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Cheryl. Let’s wait to hear from the sheriff’s office before we do that. There may be a relative who’ll pick him up in the next couple of days. We’ll stay on top of it now that we know what happened.”
“Sure. I’m locking up now. See you Monday.”
Gracie laid the phone on the counter, shaking her head.
“Dude’s owner died?” Marc asked.
“Yeah. They found the woman today in her car near Leroy. A heart attack or something, Cheryl says.”
“That’s terrible. I wonder if she’s been there the whole time. Pretty odd if that’s the case.”
Gracie had to agree. Had Sally Pierson been found in a remote spot where she’d died a week ago, or had she been avoiding calls and then had an accident of some sort? Either way Milky Way still housed her dog which was now ownerless. What if no one claimed him? She couldn’t send him to a shelter.
“We could bring Dude up here,” Marc suggested.
“Oh, no. He has a real dislike of German shepherds for some reason. He’ll be all right in his run, but I think I’ll move him to the Home Sweet Home area since it’s not booked until Christmas week.
The large suite area was arranged like a living room, complete with a loveseat, floor lamp, rug, and a basket of toys. It was perfect for long-term guests.
“Sounds good,” Marc said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. He was soon in the living room with a football game blaring from the TV. She wasn’t in the mood to sit around today. Maybe Marci would like to hike with her and get away from the pressure of the B & B. A quick call confirmed a hike.
Her friendship with Marci Drummond, a newcomer to Deer Creek, had blossomed quickly. Marci had reopened the vacant antique store in the small village, over a year ago, easily making it a popular shopping venue. She’d resuscitated the rickety building which housed the store to its former beauty a few short months after her arrival. That improvement alone restored the quaint look of Main Street. If that wasn’t enough, Marci’s business acumen and community spirit led to the revival of the Deer Creek Businesswomen’s Association. The organization was now working with the county’s chamber of commerce to encourage tourism and local shopping. But, for as outgoing as Marci was, the woman remained a bit of a mystery. She didn’t talk much about her past, only that she’d moved from Richmond, Virginia where she’d worked in real estate. Gracie also knew a messy divorce had driven her new friend to find a quiet backwater town to begin anew, but that was the extent of what Marci shared with her. And it was enough, unless Marci decided otherwise.
Gracie left a sticky note for Marc on the coffee table. He was already softly snoring in the recliner, his mouth slightly open. Haley was at the kitchen door in a flash to join her while Max stretched out in his bed in front of the fireplace.
Marci was outside waiting for her, and they soon rambled through the fields behind the horse barn to the woods. A few flakes began to filter down from a darkening gray sky, and Gracie was glad she’d remembered gloves, which she drew on as they walked over the crunchy dead grasses. The mild morning weather had taken a turn toward winter. Haley ran on ahead, alternately sniffing the ground and the air as if she were on the hunt for some big game.
Marci was bundled in a navy pea coat, brown boots, and peach-colored knitted cap that framed her round face and aquiline nose. Her hair tucked neatly in place under the fishermen-knit hat, her large brown eyes twinkled with delight, watching Haley dash from one tree to another as they entered the pine woods.
“It’s finally snowing,” she remarked. “Maybe we’ll use the sleigh after all.”
“Let’s hope so,” Gracie answered. “It’s been so warm it just doesn’t feel like Christmas.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Marci agreed. “I’ve always loved Christmas with all the trimmings, but the B & B is squeezing the joy out of it.”
“It’s a lot to handle, especially this time of year. Your guest list is pretty daunting. I’d be a mess with all the high-powered travel gurus coming.”
“I am a mess. Right now, I don’t know why I listened to my well-connected friend who operates a bigtime B & B in Virginia. His place is niche like mine with resident ghosts from the Civil War. He does reenactments about the capture of the house by the Yankees. People eat it up. It’s all for entertainment, but he loved the grim history of the house here and was trying to help me capitalize on it to maximize my opening. I could kick myself for being so anxious to have him help me invite them. I wish I’d said no. I’m in way over my head.”
“Call it off.”
“It’s not that simple. These people could ruin me before I even truly open. Besides, who gets Carl Flambeau to cook for them? That train has left the station. I just need to keep it together and hope my guests don’t kill each other after what Kristin told me this week.”
“Ego celebrity stuff?”
“Oh yes and how.”
They came into a clearing and looked overhead at a V-formation of late migrating geese. Their honking faded as the flock progressed southward. Gracie whistled for Haley, who had continued into the pine woods ahead of them. When the dog didn’t return, Gracie called, using her “I mean business” voice. Still no black Labrador appeared.
“Great,” she complained, picking up her pace. The early December twilight was dissolving the remaining light, and the flakes were falling faster.
“Will she come back?” Marci asked.
“Yes, but not until she’s good and ready. Haley is a hard-headed dog, and this particularly frustrating trait has landed us in some difficult situations in the past. A skunk incident and a porcupine encounter immediately come to mind.”
Marci began to look around, as though confused. Gracie had the feeling they’d entered unfamiliar territory. The evergreens were thick, effectively blocking the weak afternoon sun.
“You know, I’ve never been this far out into the woods. I hope we don’t get lost,” Marci said anxiously, looking over her shoulder.
“Haley! Come now!”
Haley’s whining up ahead directed the women’s attention to the left. Both hurried through dense evergreens in pursuit. Pushing through the branches, they found themselves in a small clearing and Haley with a limp rabbit in her mouth.
“Girl, you actually caught something?”
Gracie went to pat the dog’s head, but Haley edged away from her.
“Come on, drop the rabbit. You’re not dragging that back.”
Haley dipped her head and avoided the hand coming for her collar, scooting under a tree well out of reach. Gracie backed away, frustrated with the stubborn dog and stumbled backward. Marci grabbed her arm, righting her before she went down.
“Thanks,” she gasped. “What did I almost fall over?”
Marci stooped down and brushed detritus away from the elevated mulchy area. Removing the last bits of pinecones and brown pine needles from the spot, a small white rectangular stone appeared.
“Oh my gosh, what’s this?” Marci exclaimed, turning on the light of her cellphone.
Gracie squatted down, momentarily forgetting about Haley, who was now crunching up her hunting victory.
“It’s a gravestone, I think.” Gracie rubbed a gloved hand over the mossy surface. “I wonder if there’s an inscription.”
Scraping the timeworn marker pockmarked in black mold with a sturdy stic
k, Gracie managed to remove most of the moss and lichen that had claimed ownership. Marci angled the light from her cellphone for a better look when Gracie moved away.
“There is one. I’m not sure what—,” Marci started, bending closer. “It says ‘Lily, 1891.’ Hmm, I can’t make out the rest.”
“Lily? As in Lily Mistletoe?”
Marci stood up and sucked in her breath. “Good grief! Then who was in my cellar?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The cellphone pictures Gracie and Marci took were dark and unhelpful with documenting the area. Marci dug around in her coat pocket, searching for something to tie to a tree branch to mark the spot.
“I don’t have anything but an old Kleenex,” she said.
“Me neither.” Gracie added, “Hey, I’ll put my gloves over a branch at the edge of this clearing. That’ll help.”
She stuffed the black leather gloves onto the prickly needles. Haley reappeared, licking her chops, with a satisfied look on her face.
“Come on, mighty hunter, lead the way back to the house,” Gracie instructed the Lab, whose tail was waving like a banner.
The snow had stopped, and a breeze swept through the trees. Their breath was visible as they followed Haley, who trotted confidently ahead. Gracie began to recognize some of the landmarks she’d noticed on the way into the woods.
“Oh, I can see the lights of the barn,” Marci said.
Gracie’s cellphone jangled insistently in her jeans back pocket. “I’ll bet that’s my husband wondering what happened to me.”
Mid-morning on Monday found a group back in the deep pine woods. Gracie plucked her gloves off the tree as they entered the small clearing. The cold temperatures of the night before were gone, and the mild breeze felt pleasant on her face. The sunny skies offered plenty of light that cut through the gloom of the trees. Marc, Quentin, Gracie, and Devon followed Marci to the stone, everyone stooping to take a look.
Marc and Devon had carried garden rakes with them and began clearing away the deep pine mulch covering the ground. Ready to document any new discoveries, Quentin clutched a notebook, and a camera hung around his neck. He didn’t have to wait long. Devon scraped back the debris near Lily’s stone, and another lichen-covered limestone marker appeared about six feet away. Underneath the moss, a date was revealed: 1890. No name could be found, but what looked like a pitchfork had been crudely cut into the stone face. Quentin bent to the task of historical documentation, his camera clicking away while the men continued to rake. Gracie had brought along a trowel, and she cleared away more earth from around the two stones.