“Let’s hope. Come on, Mom. Sit down. You look beat.”
Theresa took a seat at the breakfast bar, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.
“What happened to this quilt? Didn’t Franny keep it in a safe place?” Gracie asked.
“She said she had it locked up in a cedar chest in her bedroom. I don’t know who would’ve taken it. Why would anyone steal her quilt?”
“Didn’t you say it was worth a lot of money?”
“Yes. But how does someone sell a well-known quilt? It’s been shown at art shows, and a local magazine showed up to take pictures of it for an article.”
“You’ve got me there. Maybe she’s misplaced it or let someone borrow it.”
“Not a chance.” Theresa waved a hand as though trying to shoo away something unpleasant. “But enough about that. How are the wedding plans?”
The next few minutes were strained between mother and daughter. It seemed to Theresa that Gracie must have forgotten some vital detail for the perfect wedding day. The cake, the flowers, the dress—something must have fallen between the cracks.
“All taken care of, Mom. Honest.”
Gracie’s gaze was confident and no-nonsense. Her daughter’s eyes sparkled with real joy, which Theresa hadn’t seen since before Michael’s death.
“The dress didn’t need any alterations,” Gracie elaborated. “It fits me with a little room to spare. I’m carrying a single rose. So is Kelly. We can buy them at the grocery store, if we have to.”
“What? You can’t do that,” Theresa objected. “Esther will have a fit.”
The owner of the Blooming Idiot, the best florist around and the only florist in Deer Creek, would be hurt beyond words.
Gracie laughed. “I thought that would warrant a rise from you. Esther has my order for everything, including boutonnieres for the men and corsages for the mothers. Kelly will pick them up.”
“What about the ring? Is that ready?” This was certainly something that needed follow-up.
“Done and my ring is ready too.” Gracie grabbed her sweatshirt jacket from the hook by the door. “We can continue this in the kennel. I have to go back to work.”
Theresa silently conceded defeat. Gracie was on top of the details. She would call Isabelle to confirm that the wedding was under control.
“No. I’m going over to see Lulu,” she declared. “I have to know, once and for all, if she has that quilt. Who knows what will happen now? She must be devastated.”
“All right. But don’t get too involved.”
“You sound like your father,” Theresa observed a little sourly. “Oh, what about Marc’s family? Are they still coming in on Monday?”
Gracie opened the door, stopping to zip up her jacket. Haley pushed through and bounded down the steps.
Gracie’s smile seemed a bit forced. There was a hint of fear. It would be the first time she’d meet Marc’s mother and sister. Maybe she was nervous.
“They are. Marc’s warned me that his sister, Miranda, is a bit—well, like Isabelle. Mom, I have to run,” she hurriedly announced, suddenly anxious to end the interview. “Cheryl’s leaving early today, and I need to finish up the playtimes for about fifteen dogs. I’ll stop by later tonight, if you’ll be home.”
Theresa felt a bit queasy. A difficult sister? She sighed. That was nothing new to her, but Gracie didn’t need the extra pressure.
“Sure. Dad and I’ll be home tonight. Is Marc coming with you?”
“Maybe.” Gracie hesitated. “Yeah. He’ll be there too.”
She jogged down the long driveway to the kennel, leaving Theresa standing in the doorway, organizing exactly what she’d say to Lulu.
CHAPTER 9
Marc found Investigator Hotchkiss seated at Midge’s on the periphery of the dining room. He smiled and shook her hand when she rose to greet him.
“It’s good to see you, Marc. Congratulations on your wedding.”
“Thanks, Emily.”
Marc took a seat across the table. Mugs of coffee and two pieces of apple pie awaited them.
“I wanted to bring you up to speed on the latest developments in the budget cut issue,” she began.
“I hope you have some good news, because the security job may not work out.”
The slender woman with short brown hair, flecked with silver, looked at him quizzically.
“Really?”
Marc nodded, fiddling with the package of napkin-wrapped flatware on the red-checked tablecloth. “My half-brother, who’s in federal prison, seems to be holding up the security clearance I need for DACO. Hopefully, I can jump through this hoop. I don’t have a relationship with him—never did.”
“I didn’t know about this half-brother of yours.”
Marc frowned. “It’s not something that comes up in casual conversation. The guy’s messed up. Jeremy is the product of my father’s affair with a bimbo. It broke up my parents’ marriage.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. If I can help, let me know.”
“I appreciate the offer.”
The investigator took a sip of coffee before continuing. “I wanted to talk to you about Sheriff Chamberlain. He was recently diagnosed with a serious heart issue. His wife is campaigning for him to take an immediate early retirement and not complete this second term.”
Marc rubbed his cheek, the wheels of possibility turning.
“Will he resign then?”
Her lips drew into thin line. “I think he’ll step down in the next couple of weeks. Even though he hasn’t been the easiest guy to work for, he is a good cop, and he’ll leave some big shoes to fill.”
Marc had to agree. Sheriff Chamberlain had improved the technology and the vehicles for the department. His penny-pinching extremism that had frozen salaries and left several positions unfilled had earned Marc’s ire. He’d spoken out against the budget cuts the last two years a bit more vocally than was probably wise, and he believed that candor had landed him in his present unemployed status. He’d definitely seen the relief in the sheriff’s eyes when he’d signed off on the temporary duty, assigning Marc to the Sierra Vista Police Department in Arizona at the beginning of the year.
“That’s true. Will the undersheriff take over if that happens?”
“He will. There will be a special election, and I do plan to run. The undersheriff has stated he doesn’t want the big job, and I’d be happy to have his experience as second in command. That leads me to a proposal for you. There’ll be an investigator position open if all those ducks line up, and you are qualified. Interested?”
Marc leaned against the chair, his fingers interlaced on the tabletop. The generous salary DACO offered still dangled like a diamond-studded carrot before him. The familiarity of returning to the sheriff’s department and remaining in real law enforcement was just as enticing. Both were in the future somewhere—no certain hire date and no promises that could absolutely secure either position. It was all dependent on circumstances out of his control.
“I am interested. However, if my secret clearance comes in during the next month or so, I don’t know how I can refuse DACO’s offer. I would go back to the county in a heartbeat. Therein lies my dilemma. But no one’s offering a job that starts next week. I’d like to be gainfully employed again and soon.”
Midge, the wiry owner of the restaurant, unexpectedly appeared next to them, coffeepot in hand.
“How’s the groom? Nervous? Cold feet yet?”
Marc laughed. “Not yet. I’ve got a few days though.”
“You’d be crazy to back out on a woman like Gracie. You’re a lucky man.” Midge’s sharp eyes were intense and little scary.
“I know that for sure. Don’t worry. We’re right on schedule.”
“Good. It had better stay that way. Want more coffee?”
After declining, Marc and Emily sat silently, concentrating on the pie that was still untouched. The investigator toyed with her fork.
“I’m sorry I can’t offer an immediate po
sition. There are a lot of things up in the air. I’m just asking that you consider it, Marc. Your plate is plenty full at the moment. Why don’t you enjoy your honeymoon, and let me know in a couple of weeks?”
“I’m not sure that’s enough time given my clearance situation. I can say I’m definitely interested. Why don’t we see how things progress with the sheriff first? If he doesn’t resign, there’s no position for me.”
“I’m pretty confident he’ll retire very soon. There doesn’t seem to be any interest from any other party to run for sheriff. At least, that’s what the political machine tells me. I expect to run unopposed. If my offer is on the table before DACO clears you, will you take the job?”
Marc almost said “yes” and stopped himself before giving an answer. “I’ll need to talk to Gracie about it. I’ll let you know. We need a little more time with so much happening in the next couple of weeks.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Midge’s pie couldn’t be left to languish, and they quickly devoured the cinnamon-spiced apples packaged in flaky pastry before driving in opposite directions.
***
Lulu sat with a pair of binoculars behind a stack of cardboard boxes that gave her a good view of the Walczak house across the street without being observed herself. The folding chair was uncomfortable, and she was getting a crick in her neck from peering around the boxes. Perseverance paid off when Art’s clunker pulled into the driveway. He slunk around to the rear of the house. It figured he’d try and break into his former residence. Franny’s body wasn’t even cold yet, and he was probably looting the place. The disheveled man reappeared a few minutes later. She scribbled the time down in a notebook. His hands were empty, which was a shocker. That was something anyway, but she’d keep watch over the house. It was the least she could do for her best friend. Tears spilled down her cheeks. How could she go on after this development? It was all her fault. But who else had been in the garage? The voices had been garbled. How many people had been in her yard?
Shuddering, the lanky woman padded back to the sewing room. The work would keep her on task. There was still plenty to do.
CHAPTER 10
Theresa pushed the doorbell twice and began knocking on the door when Lulu didn’t answer. Finally, Lulu appeared, with bare feet and dressed in a worn, pink chenille robe. Theresa exhaled with relief, once she caught sight of her friend, who opened the door a mere crack.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Theresa exclaimed, noting the dark smudges under Lulu’s eyes.
“I really don’t feel like talking,” Lulu said, pushing the door shut.
“Lulu. Please. I know you’re hurting. I just want to talk for a minute.”
Lulu’s eyes closed and she scowled, opening the door.
“All right. Come in.”
Theresa uncovered a kitchen chair, holding the newspapers on her lap, while she sat next to the despondent woman. After a few minutes of silence from Lulu, Theresa squirmed uneasily. Despite her best efforts to elicit any tidbits of what happened the night before, Lulu’s reluctance stalled her attempt. Lulu gruffly thanked her for coming and announced she was going to bed. Theresa grappled with another information setback, but had to admit she wouldn’t want to talk to anyone either under the circumstances. She had so many questions though. Lulu didn’t return Theresa’s parting hug either. It was like hugging a department store mannequin. Stepping out into the sunshine, she saw an unfamiliar white SUV pull into the Walczak house driveway.
Theresa sat in her car, debating if she should wait to see who was converging on the empty dwelling.
A heavyset, pleasant-looking woman, carrying a leather portfolio, climbed out of the vehicle, along with a raven-haired younger woman. The pair clambered up the front steps; the larger woman pressed the doorbell.
Theresa opened the car door. No sense in wondering what was happening.
“Are you looking for Mrs. Walczak?” Theresa called to them as she hustled across the street.
The women turned around quickly, looking confused.
“I hope we haven’t come at a bad time. I’m Ann Gallagher from the American Quilters Society,” the woman with the portfolio under her arm replied. “Are you Mrs. —?”
“Oh, no. I’m a friend of Franny’s. Theresa Clark,” she said, extending a hand as she reached the porch.
Impatience flashed in the eyes of the younger woman, who took a step back, keeping her hands in her coat pockets.
“I’m Lisa Stederman Kronk. Where’s Mrs. Walczak?”
“I’m afraid I have bad news about Franny. She passed away last night.”
“How awful!” Ann Gallagher exclaimed. “I had no idea.”
“We had an appointment with her today,” Lisa Kronk responded with annoyance.
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible now.”
“I’m a cousin of Mrs. Walczak’s,” the dark-haired woman continued frostily. “I was supposed to see the Stederman quilt. She’s stood me up on two other occasions.”
Theresa hastily decided not to offer any extracurricular information about the missing quilt. She struggled to keep her composure, flabbergasted at the woman’s rudeness.
“We should go,” Ann said, shifting her feet. “As I said, we had no idea about Mrs. Walczak.”
“What happened?” Lisa probed, arranging her expression into a look of concern.
“Well … we’re not quite sure yet. An accident or possible heart attack. I don’t have any other information at the moment.”
Lisa’s brow wrinkled. “That’s confusing. Which is it? What about next-of-kin? It’s critical that I see the quilt. There is some question of ownership, and I’m here to clear it up.”
Theresa stifled a gasp. An ownership dispute? Franny hadn’t mentioned anything about that. Was that why she’d reported the quilt stolen? Some bad blood was simmering on the front porch. Lisa sure wasn’t grieving over Franny’s death. She was merely inconvenienced.
“I would recommend you contact Mrs. Walczak’s attorney. I’m not sure who that might be, but if you call the Wyoming County Sheriff’s office, they may have the information.”
“The sheriff?”
Lisa swallowed hard. The women looked at one another. After a moment, Lisa seemed to regain some poise after a sharp look from Ann Gallagher.
“I see. She has no one else?” Lisa asked in a more subdued voice.
“Not really. No children, and Franny was divorced. She was the youngest in her family. There may be a sister who’s still around, but I think she’s in a nursing home. I really don’t know. I’m sure you must know the family tree as a cousin.”
Lisa shifted uncomfortably, not meeting Theresa’s gaze.
“I’ll have to check with my grandmother. That’s really why I’m here anyway. She called Frances a few weeks ago and wanted to discuss the quilt’s ownership, but it was a non-starter. My grandma isn’t doing well health-wise, and I wanted to help straighten things out. It’s been such a stressor for her. I’ve never seen the old rag myself.”
“I think we’d better be on our way,” Ann Gallagher murmured insistently. She smiled and adjusted the portfolio under her arm. “I’m so sorry to hear about Mrs. Walczak’s passing. When Mrs. Kronk contacted me and mentioned her family’s connection with the quilt, I was honored to try to help the families come together. I’d … I’d worked with Mrs. Walczak several times before.” The woman paused, as if unsure how to continue. She looked at Lisa and then back to Theresa. “We had no idea of what had happened.” Ann reached into the pocket of her tweed blazer, drawing out a set of car keys.
“I’ll be contacting her attorney,” Lisa confirmed. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”
Before Theresa could respond, Ann and Lisa made a speedy retreat to the SUV.
***
Gracie shut off her computer, calling for Haley. The black Lab happily followed, her thick tail waving like a metronome. Jim met them in the reception area, a denim jacket slun
g over his shoulder. He removed his ball cap, running his fingers through his rumpled, black hair.
“Dessert at seven tonight?” he asked.
“That’s right. S’mores and coffee by the bonfire,” Gracie confirmed. “Oh, and mulled cider too. I hope Marc comes back soon to start getting the wood ready for that.”
“Look. He’s driving in now.” Jim motioned toward the driveway to the house.
“Good. I also need him to pick up any land mines in the backyard that Haley and Max may have left. I didn’t have time to take care of that little chore today.”
“A marvelous idea. That could ruin the evening.” Jim said, grinning.
Marc met them in the driveway. Max playfully plowed into Haley. The two dogs loped back to the house, waiting by the gate to the backyard, while the humans straggled behind.
“How did things go with Investigator Hotchkiss?” Gracie asked, reaching for Marc’s hand.
“All right,” Marc replied.
“More hurry up and wait?” Jim asked.
“Pretty much,” Marc said. “I just can’t win right now.”
“Don’t worry about it. You should enjoy the break, because once you do go back to work, it’ll be crazy,” Gracie advised.
Marc grunted.
“I’ll see you two later,” Jim said, stopping at his pickup. He pulled on his jacket and opened the truck door. “It’s getting nippy. That bonfire will feel good.”
“Bonfire! Shoot! That’s right,” Marc yipped. “I need to pick up the wood. Sorry! I’ll be back.” He released Gracie’s hand and took off for his truck.
Jim burst into laughter. “The groom is a little absentminded.”
“I knew it. I give him one job—the fire—and …” Gracie giggled and snapped her fingers. “And I forgot the graham crackers for the s’mores. We’re a fine pair.”
“Well, I hope you have it together by the time everybody shows up tonight.”
“Me too,” Gracie answered, charging for the RAV4, the dogs running to meet her.
***
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 5