***
Franny opened the door to the nice-looking deputy who had responded to her call. He patiently took down the information and asked her to open the cedar chest. Of course, it wasn’t there. Lulu had it.
“Do you have insurance on this quilt, ma’am?” the deputy asked.
“Yes, I do. My insurance agent is Howie Stroud, here in town.”
“Have you filed a claim with him?”
“No. I need your help to make Lulu give it back. I don’t want my rates to go up because she took it.”
“But you didn’t see Mrs. Cook in your house or actually with the quilt, right?”
“No. But Lulu’s tried to get me to sell the quilt to her for years. She asked me a while back how much I wanted for it. I can’t sell it. It’s my family heirloom. It means nothing to her, except she’s always wanted it for herself. Plus she couldn’t afford to buy it anyway. I want you to tell her to give it back.”
The deputy scratched his head and sighed.
“Can’t you just go over and search her house? It’s a real mess, but it’s got to be in there somewhere.”
“Not really. But I’ll go talk to her about it.”
Franny huffed indignantly.
“I pay my taxes. And the one time I need help, do I get it?”
“Let me talk to her and find out what she has to say. You said she’s not been herself since her husband died. Maybe Mrs. Cook needs a little extra help from the county or something.”
“She’s going to need some help if I don’t get my quilt back,” Franny snapped, stamping her foot.
“Just take it easy, Mrs. Walczak. Give me a few minutes to talk to her, and I’ll be right back.”
Franny sat on the front porch swing, watching the deputy cross the street and ring Lulu’s doorbell. She exhaled with relief when Lulu immediately ushered the man into the house. So far so good.
It wasn’t more than ten minutes later that the deputy returned to inform her that Mrs. Cook was sure she didn’t have the quilt in question. A few colorful phrases describing her longtime neighbor slipped from Franny’s lips, and she signed the report confirming that the Stederman quilt had indeed been stolen. Then she drove herself to the Stroud Insurance Agency to make a claim. She’d never made an insurance claim in her whole life. Tearfully, she filled out more paperwork with the genial Howie Stroud, who gently informed her that someone from the insurance company would come out to talk to her. Her hand was actually shaking, and her stomach lurched when the reality hit her. They’d probably make use of some obscure clause in the policy and not pay her a dime. Crummy insurance companies.
Once back home, she punched in Lulu’s number and held the harvest gold wall-phone to her ear. The call was answered on the second ring.
“I made the claim,” she said grimly.
“Good. Let’s cross our fingers that it will all work out.”
“I know. I’m so sorry you had to talk to the police. It’s made me a nervous wreck. What if they come back and ask more questions?” Her breathing was labored and she tried to steady her quivering voice.
“Franny, you need pull it together. You wanted my help and the police report was necessary for the insurance company. It has to look legitimate. I can’t tell you how many times Ed droned on about people who were caught in this sort of thing. It’s really your only chance. Only a few weeks to go and you’ll be home free.”
“I know. What if the insurance company gives me problems? I need the money.”
“Don’t even think about it, Franny. You’ll be over tonight at seven, right?
“Right,” Franny replied, biting her lower lip.
She hung up the phone and popped a pill under her tongue, sitting heavily into the kitchen chair.
CHAPTER 7
Sirens screamed past the Clarks’ house, making Theresa rush to look out her front window. Throwing on a sweater, she hurried down the front walk to see where a police car and ambulance were going. Lights flashed through the haze of leafy trees and the vehicles made a left onto Oak Street. A feeling of foreboding made her shiver, and she quickly returned inside. Had Franny suffered another angina attack, or had Lulu been crushed by her collection of junk?
Bob was watching a football game, which meant he was snoring in his recliner. He was blissfully unconcerned that there was an emergency up the street. Probably thanks to the second helping of chicken and dumplings he’d had for supper.
“Bob, wake up. Something’s happening on Oak Street.” She gently shook his shoulder.
“Huh? What?”
“An ambulance just went up Oak. Something could’ve happened to Lulu or Franny.”
Bob brought the recliner upright. “We’ll find out about it tomorrow, I guess. How do you know it’s Lulu or Franny?”
“I have a bad feeling about it. I told you that Franny had an angina attack today. And Lulu lives in a debris field. If one of those container towers fell on her, it could … and then the quilt … What if they got into a fight?” Theresa twisted her hands, looking around for her handbag. “Do you know anyone with a scanner?”
Bob shook his head, scratching his silvery-white hair and then smoothing it. “They may have gone up another street from Oak.”
A firetruck roared past the house, sirens full blast and red lights slicing through the darkness.
“See. It’s bad. Let’s go up there.”
“We’ll be in the way. It could be a car accident or something.” Bob yawned and went to the front windows.
A sheriff’s SUV sped past, scattering leaves in its wake.
“That’s the second police vehicle. I’m going up to find out,” Theresa declared, finally locating her handbag on the kitchen counter.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” Bob answered, resuming his seat in the brown leather chair. He stared at the TV, frowning. “The Bills were ahead when I dozed off. They’re behind thirteen points now. I might as well go with you, I guess. This game isn’t going to end well.” He powered off the TV with the remote and sighed.
***
Most of Oak Street had vehicles, both law enforcement and emergency services, taking the prime parking. Bob and Theresa parked at the corner and walked down the uneven sidewalk in the chilly night air, their breath visible. The Harwood brothers, Emery and Ian, volunteer EMTs and the owners of the Harwood Funeral Home manned a gurney, hauling it across Lulu’s lawn.
“Oh no,” Theresa cried, clutching her husband’s arm. “Something must have happened to Lulu. I knew it. I just knew that house was an accident waiting to happen.”
Lulu’s next-door neighbor, Butch Novak, was gawking at the scene from the middle of the sidewalk. He had on shorts and a T-shirt, which made Theresa feel like giving him her sweater.
“Is it Lulu?” she called out as they approached the heavily bearded man, who jiggled back and forth on his feet, rubbing his arms.
“It must be,” Butch responded.
“What happened?” Bob asked.
“I’m not sure. There was some yelling. Sounded like a woman and guy to me. But then the cops showed up with the ambulance. Now there’s a bunch of people.” He rubbed his arms again. “Wow, it’s cold out here. I need a jacket,” he said, taking off for the house.
Bob and Theresa drew closer to Lulu’s driveway where the ambulance crew was working over someone who was prone on the gurney. Theresa squinted to make out the person’s shape. The side porch light provided weak illumination in the darkness, but Theresa knew. It was Franny.
Theresa was uncertain whether to approach Lulu or hang back. There was no doubt that Bob thought hanging back or going home was a better idea as he sidled away from her. Lulu stood by the deputy’s SUV, not that far away. It would only take a minute or two. Glancing across the street, she saw a male form in the shadows near Franny’s driveway. It looked like Art hugging himself, shuffling his feet while watching the scene in front of Lulu’s garage. Why was he lurking in the darkness? He should at least do the decent thing and check
on Franny. There was no time to confront him. Lulu was her immediate concern.
“Wait a minute, Bob. I need to talk to Lulu.”
“All right, but they don’t need your help tonight. There are plenty of folks to handle the situation.”
Disregarding her husband’s pointed comment, she hurried over the damp grass to Lulu’s side.
“What happened? Is Franny all right?”
Lulu seemed to be in shock. She shivered, her eyes wide and staring. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, just jeans and an old T-shirt.
“Lulu! Can you hear me?” Theresa touched her friend’s arm.
Lulu jumped and goggled at her, as though seeing her for the first time.
“Theresa! What are you doing here?”
“I saw the ambulance come this way. Franny’s hurt or sick. What happened? Maybe we’d better go inside,” Theresa said. “You’re freezing.”
She put an arm around Lulu’s shoulders and guided her toward the side entrance.
“Ma’am, where are you going?” A tall, gangly deputy stepped into the pool of meager light from the light near the door.
“I’m taking Mrs. Cook inside. She’ll catch her death out here. Isn’t that all right?”
“I need to ask Mrs. Cook a few more questions, ma’am. Don’t go anywhere else.”
“Of course, deputy.”
Theresa hustled Lulu inside to the kitchen, hoping she could make some coffee or at least a cup of tea for the vacant-eyed Lulu.
“Sit down right here, while I make you something …”
Theresa looked around the small kitchen, its limited counter space made even more limited by piles of plastic shopping bags. She pulled some of the bags away and unearthed a small microwave buried in back. Locating a mug in the cupboard, she searched the pantry cabinet for a teabag. Lulu sat silently at the round table made for two, seemingly unaware of Theresa’s ministrations.
The microwave beeped, and Theresa handed the steaming tea to Lulu.
“Now, what happened to Franny?”
Lulu set the mug on the table and took a deep breath. “I killed her.”
CHAPTER 8
“You killed her? What do you mean?” Theresa found herself grabbing the other chair at the table and quickly sitting down.
Lulu looked up, her mouth puckered as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “I killed her. She was in my garage. Nothing was supposed to happen.”
“Why was Franny in the garage?”
Lulu’s eyes were large and watery. She rubbed her hands together and shivered.
“I’m sure she was looking for the quilt.”
Lulu hooked her finger into the handle of the mug, stood, and dumped it in the sink. She turned, facing Theresa, her face set in an almost haughty expression.
“What happened in the garage, Lulu? Please tell me.” Theresa didn’t like the detached way Lulu was behaving.
“I don’t really know what happened. Boxes fell, and I called the ambulance.”
Exasperated, Theresa rose, trying to decide if the woman needed a splash of water in the face to come to her senses. She almost bumped into the deputy, who unexpectedly entered the kitchen, a clipboard in hand.
“Mrs. Cook, I need to ask you a few more questions,” he said.
“Should I stay, or do you need to talk to her alone?”
“Why don’t you wait outside a minute? If we need you, I’ll let you know. You are …?”
“Theresa Clark. I’m a friend of Lulu and Franny. Is Franny …?” Her throat was dry, and her eyes threatened to tear up.
“The EMTs are transporting Mrs. Walczak to Warsaw,” the deputy answered officiously.
She quickly descended the short flight of steps to the lawn, looking for her husband. He was talking to Butch, and a deputy was just closing the back door of the ambulance. The Harwood brothers were already climbing into the front of the ambulance, which meant Cora Darling was in the back with Franny.
“Is she okay?” Theresa asked, tucking her hands back into the warmth of her sweater sleeve.
“Looks bad,” Butch said, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll get Kate, and we’ll follow the ambulance over. She doesn’t have any family around here—not since Art left.” He jogged across the lawn to his driveway, jumped into his truck, and started up the ignition.
“Maybe we should go instead of Butch,” Theresa offered.
Her husband shook his head. “Butch will take care of it tonight. He and Kate have been helping her with household repairs and other things for some time. He was telling me Franny’s been thinking about selling the house.”
“Really? She didn’t say anything to me about that. Of course, she was focused on the quilt. Do you think Butch and Kate can handle things? Maybe we should still—”
“Theresa. Franny wasn’t breathing. They finally got her back, but Emery was doubtful about a good outcome. Butch went and found Franny’s purse, so they have her insurance cards and other things.”
“What about Art?”
“Art? What’s he got to do with this?” Bob asked.
“He’s standing across the street, watching everything.”
Bob looked where his wife pointed. “There’s no one there.”
Theresa looked again. Bob was right. Art was gone. Why would he leave?
She returned her gaze to the dimly lit garage, where men, with “SHERIFF” printed on the backs of their jackets, were combing through piles of plastic containers and black garbage bags.
“Lulu told me she killed Franny,” Theresa said.
Bob looked at her in astonishment. “Killed her?” He turned a grim frown toward the garage. “Well, she may have, at that. Though, considering all the junk piled up in there, something could’ve just accidentally fallen on Franny.” Bob shook his head, still marveling at the jam-packed garage. “And you thought I was a packrat. Boy!”
Theresa gave him a peevish look. “This is something way beyond being a packrat, Bob. But that’s not the point,” she said impatiently. “I know Lulu. She’d never harm Franny—not intentionally. This had to be an accident.”
“I hope so. If Franny doesn’t make it, Lulu has a lot of questions to answer,” Bob said, moving away from the garage, as the crime scene technicians exited with a few evidence bags.
“I know. It’s all over this quilt of Franny’s. It’s worth a bundle. Over fifty thousand dollars. I don’t even know why she keeps it in her house. It should be in a museum or some place that has security.”
“A quilt? How can a quilt be worth that much? It’s cloth … a bedspread, for heaven’s sake.”
“Don’t you watch Antiques Roadshow? I’ve seen quilts valued at that and higher.”
Bob huffed. “I guess. Are you ready to go? There’s nothing more you can do tonight, is there?”
“I’d better check on Lulu. The deputy was questioning her.”
Another sheriff’s department SUV pulled to the curb.
“Oh boy. Look! It’s Investigator Hotchkiss,” she said, spotting the trim policewoman striding toward the house.
“Must be serious then,” Bob remarked. “I think we’d better skedaddle. Lulu might be taking a trip to Warsaw herself, and it won’t be to the hospital.”
“I’d better …”
Theresa hesitated. Bob had probably assessed the situation correctly. Maybe once the police saw the mess in the house, they’d find help for Lulu. But if she’d intentionally clobbered Franny, then Lulu was in a heap of trouble.
“Let’s skedaddle then, dear.”
***
The sky was overcast when Theresa pulled into her daughter’s driveway. She wanted to concentrate on the wedding and not think about Franny’s untimely death in the clutter of Lulu’s garage. Although Lulu hadn’t been arrested, it looked inevitable. Lulu had easily confessed the deed to her before talking to the police. What had she told them? Bob insisted she stay out of it, so she’d make sure Gracie didn’t say anything in front of her father.
She unlatched the ga
te into the backyard and looked around. Why didn’t she have Marc raking leaves? The yard was looking a tad overgrown too.
A half-hearted woof from Haley greeted her at the kitchen door. She rapped her knuckles on the screen doorframe before entering. Gracie was stuffing a sandwich into her mouth at the kitchen bar. Haley slobbered on Theresa’s brown houndstooth slacks, begging for attention.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?” Gracie asked.
“I’ve had some bad news this morning,” she said, patting Haley and pushing her away.
“What happened?”
“It’s Franny Walczak. That’s one of the reasons why I stopped by.”
“What happened to Franny?” Gracie dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin. She slid off the bar stool, wadded up the napkin, and tossed it into the wastebasket.
“She died last night. Apparently, Lulu buried her in a pile of containers in the garage.”
“She did what?” Gracie could hardly believe her ears.
Theresa sighed. “I need some coffee, and then I’ll tell you.”
“Use the Keurig,” she said, pointing to the coffeemaker next to the stove. “Now, run that by me again, Mom. Lulu buried her, did you say?”
Theresa shook her head. “I don’t understand what really happened yet. Lulu and Franny had been friends forever. Then Franny up and accused Lulu of stealing her heirloom quilt.”
“Right. You told me that before.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m kind of wound up about this, I guess. Anyway, Franny snuck into Lulu’s garage last night, trying to find her quilt in the towers of plastic that are crammed in there. Lulu heard some sort of commotion and went outside. She naturally thought she saw an intruder in the garage.”
“What did she do? Knock over a pile of junk on Franny?”
“That appears to be what happened, yes. Franny had a heart problem, which probably contributed to her death.” She stuck a K-cup in the coffeemaker and selected the largest cup size. The hot liquid steamed into the mug.
“That’s terrible. What’s Lulu got to say for herself?”
“She told me last night that she’d killed Franny.” Theresa grimaced. “I’m sure it was accidental. It has to be.”
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 4