“Oh, Theresa. That is unfortunate.” Gloria joined her, taking a sip from her forget-me-not patterned bone china cup. “I can’t understand why she would be so upset though.”
“Lulu was helping the orphanage on her own and didn’t want us know, for some reason. Probably poor Rudy will hear about it, thanks to my loose lips.”
“Well, let’s hope not. And you didn’t find the quilt?” she asked, picking up a warm chocolate chip cookie from a tea plate with the same blue flower pattern.
“The quilt is definitely not in the garage. She only has about thirty or forty others though, and bolts of fabric out the wazoo. Good grief! How she can throw them out is beyond me.”
“It’s a shame, but what can we do? Don’t worry. In a couple of days, she’ll calm down.”
A knock at the front door interrupted the women’s conversation.
CHAPTER 29
Gloria groaned, peeking through the front curtains. It was Lisa Stederman Kronk on the front steps, a manila envelope in her hand. Lucky for Albert, he was in his office at the church, writing Sunday’s sermon. Bad luck for her to have answered the knock.
She opened the door, forcing a friendly countenance. At least, she hoped her expression was welcoming.
“Mrs. Minders. It’s so good to see you,” Lisa said.
Her black hair was pulled back into a bun, small gold hoop earrings accenting her business-like appearance of trench coat and black pumps.
“Mrs. Kronk. What a surprise!”
“Sorry.” The woman’s dark eyes seemed to indicate good humor. “I do apologize for dropping in without calling first. I lost your number somehow. I wanted to drop off a family document to Reverend Minders regarding the heirloom coverlet. The family attorney made a copy for him, and since it’s not stolen, the agreement verifies that the Stederman family, my family, is the rightful owner.”
Gloria hesitated and then opened the door wider to allow Lisa to enter.
“My husband’s not here, but come in and have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea?”
“Oh no. I really can’t stay.”
Lisa stood just inside the doorway, holding out the envelope, which Gloria took.
“We located an agreement at the house right after Franny passed away. I believe you received a copy of it from the estate’s attorney.”
Lisa smoothed her hair, tucking stray wisps back in place. “I’m afraid that’s not the actual agreement. The one you found is a fake.”
Gloria’s eyes widened. “What? A fake? It looked quite authentic to us and to our attorney.”
Lisa smiled, a condescending look on her face. Gloria felt her own face redden. She wasn’t about to be flimflammed by the likes of Lisa Stederman Kronk.
“My mistake,” Lisa said smoothly. “‘Fake’ is too strong a word. ‘Outdated’ is more accurate. Actually, from the Stederman family documents, which my grandmother has in her possession, there was a superseding agreement about the quilt.”
Gloria took a deep breath, hoping to regain her composure. “I see. Well, I’ll be sure to give it to my husband and have the attorney take a look at it.”
“Certainly. I believe you’ll find it all in order. I would also like to have an opportunity to look through the house myself.”
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Gloria replied.
“You can understand our concern that this precious family keepsake is found and handled correctly.” Lisa’s expression was a muddle of congeniality and haughtiness.
Gloria pursed her lips, thinking that the woman’s supercilious behavior was bordering on desperation.
“I’ll pass along your request to my husband.”
Lisa managed a tight smile, picking at loose thread dangling from a buttonhole on her coat. “Thank you for your time.”
The wind gusted through the door as the woman exited. A relieved Gloria watched her drive away, glad to return to the safety of her kitchen.
Slapping the envelope on the table, she snatched a cookie from the plate.
“Another agreement. Really?” Theresa frowned and tucked gray hair behind her ear, exposing tiny pearl studs.
“I guess so,” Gloria answered, sliding the copy from the envelope. “Let’s take a look at what it says.”
The old-fashioned language mirrored the other document in style only. The bequeathing of the bedding went to the Stederman line, with no mention of the Drummond family sharing it. It had been signed by Ada Drummond Stederman and Henrietta Stederman, just as the one found at Franny’s. The date however, was 1825 and not 1821. Had there been a falling out between the cousins?
Gloria leaned back in the chair, looking at the document.
“What do you think?” she asked Theresa, who stirred her coffee absently.
“Interesting. Maybe the girls had a big fight.”
“They both signed it though.”
“True. But what difference does it really make if we can’t locate the dumb thing?”
Gloria laughed. “Also true. I think we need to scour the house from top to bottom one more time before the auction and see if we can’t ferret out Franny’s hiding place. I’m sure the attorney will never agree to Lisa searching the house, and for Franny’s sake, I don’t think she should be allowed to paw through her things.”
Theresa’s eyes narrowed conspiratorially. “I agree. Maybe she’s the one who broke into Lulu’s garage. She seems pretty bold.”
Gloria nodded slowly. It made sense.
Theresa looked at her watch. “Since Marc is away, it would be good for Gracie to help us. It’ll keep her occupied.”
“Her help would be appreciated. We can’t ask Suzie and Margaret, because they’re off on a bus tour to Boston tomorrow.” Gloria gathered up the cups and the empty plate.
“I’d forgotten about that. We definitely need Gracie’s help then. I’ll have her go up into the attic. I hate heights, and so do you.”
Gloria set the dishes in the deep black sink. “We’ll have to do it before the auctioneer’s crew starts sorting things. Do you have your calendar with you?”
***
Saturday afternoon found Gracie sitting in her RAV4 in front of the Walczak house, waiting for her mother and Gloria to appear. Her long-awaited phone call from Marc had come early, waking her before the alarm. He was working hard, as was Max. They’d been successful in locating explosive materials in all of the vehicles and buildings they’d been training on. Not one false alert from the brawny German shepherd. The pride in Marc’s voice had made her smile. He was really enjoying the hard work, but he did miss her most painfully. She was glad to cross off another day on the countdown for him to come home.
How she’d allowed herself to be sucked into the vortex of the Holy Meddlers Squad was still a bit mysterious. The whole situation was odd and intriguing, which might account for her acquiescence. No matter the flimsy reasoning that had pulled her in, she was now well and truly stuck.
Theresa’s sedan pulled in behind her, and Gloria’s car followed. The super sleuths had arrived! Gracie brought up the rear as Gloria inserted the key into the front door.
“Here we are,” Gloria announced, pushing the door open.
The trio gasped in unison at what met their gaze
“What happened here?!” Gloria gasped.
Armchairs were tipped over. Cushions tossed around. Gracie stood feeling bewildered by the mess. What had happened? Gloria dashed to the bedroom with Theresa in tow. Gracie trailed after them and saw the bed was stripped to the bare mattress, sheets and the bedspread in a heap at the foot of the old bed. Dresser drawers were overturned, the contents spread on the floor. A muffled call for help filtered up to them from below.
CHAPTER 30
Isabelle’s freshly manicured fingers drummed a staccato beat on her dining room table. Her almost favorite vases, a pair of nineteenth century French blue porcelain, were nowhere to be found. Hand-painted with intricate gold leaf scrolling and exotic birds, they’d been the las
t anniversary present from her late husband, Tim. The man had been scum, but his taste in antiques had been impeccable.
She repeated her inspection of the large china cabinet that held her best Waterford crystal, Royal Albert china, and her pride and joy—an extremely expensive hand-blown glass cologne bottle by Frederick Carder. He’d cofounded Steuben Glass in Corning. It had been a real coup to have scarfed it up at a charity fundraising auction. At least, the deliciously rippled copper-colored opaque bottle with stopper was in its assigned place.
Was it possible, with the comings and goings of people for Gracie’s wedding, that someone had slipped the pair of vases out of the house? It seemed hard to believe, but one never knew about people. She’d learned that the hard way with Tim, trapped in his web of abuse and control. Or had they been missing for a while? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d really taken the time to enjoy the collection.
The front door opened, and she heard keys drop onto the table in the foyer.
“Kevin, is that you?”
“Yeah. You’re home early,” he answered, sticking his head through the arched opening.
She watched him loosen his tie and take off his suitcoat. “I had a buyer cancel on a house showing this afternoon. You’re a little early yourself.”
“I had an unexpectedly short meeting in Warsaw this afternoon, so I decided to come on home rather than go back to the bank.” He took off his shoes, walking into the dining room in his socks. “See, I remembered,” he said, pointing to his feet.
She nodded, with a scowl. Isabelle found that his assumption her house was his home unexpectedly annoying. Seeing Gracie and Marc so happy on Saturday had her reconsidering the decision to allow Kevin to enjoy the benefits of matrimony without any commitment. He had a pretty cushy arrangement for himself. The same could be said for her. He was clever and handsome. A perfect companion for the social functions that took up so much time. Kevin was much more pleasant than Tim, and their goals of hefty personal bank accounts made them extremely compatible. Compatibility was so crucial to a good relationship. The arrangement had been immensely satisfactory until the wedding. Now she wasn’t as sure. She strode into the living room ahead of him.
“Glass of wine, beautiful?” he asked, hurrying to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Not now,” she answered in clipped tones.
“What’s the matter?” Kevin sank into a navy-and-cream striped wingback chair, swinging his legs onto a matching ottoman.
“My French vases are missing.”
She perched on the arm of the leather sectional, looking at Kevin, who instantly sat up, his feet on the floor.
“What vases?”
Isabelle scrutinized his reaction. He seemed nervous, guarded.
“My blue vases that are always in the china cabinet,” she replied.
Kevin’s cool manner flowed back into place. “I guess I don’t remember them. Are you sure they’re missing?”
“Of course, I’m sure. You didn’t see any of the wedding people in there did you?” She’d explore that possibility first.
“There were so many people around on Saturday, I don’t know. You had a whole entourage—the florist, hairdresser, the caterer, plus the guitarist. Your family and Marc’s family. I hope you can trust all of them.”
She rose without responding and returned to the dining room and opened the left door of the immense mahogany cabinet. The triple doors displayed the bounty of years of collecting. Every piece of china, glass, and ceramic had been selected with care. Her absolute favorite was the Frederick Hurten Rhead vase. The glazing was exquisite, the brown trees draping the graceful deep blue form perfectly. She smiled and ran her fingers over the surface lovingly.
“Well, the pair is gone, and I want to know what happened to them. They are rather valuable.” She needed to stay cool and not let anger get the best of her.
Kevin joined her, peering through the glass at the other end. “Are you sure you didn’t put them in some other place?”
“Don’t be absurd,” she replied irritably. “You know that my entire collection is in here.”
Kevin backed away, avoiding her gaze. “I’m just confirming. No need to bite my head off. Should we call the police then?”
“Should we?” she retorted, closing the door of the cabinet, as the doorbell chimed.
***
The three women scrambled from the bedroom, Gloria leading the charge.
“Someone’s in the cellar,” she cried, running to the kitchen.
They tried the cellar door. It was locked.
“Where’s a key?” Theresa squawked.
The indistinct sounds from below had coalesced into a clear call for help.
Gloria rummaged in the drawer next to the sink, searching for a key.
“I think this is it,” she said finally, brandishing a rusty key.
Thrusting it into the keyhole, she twisted and turned it until finally the lock clicked. She flung open the door and turned on the light switch. Nothing but inky darkness.
“Who’s down there?!” Theresa yelled.
Gloria and Gracie frantically searched more kitchen drawers for a flashlight.
“Let’s just use our phones,” Gracie said, slamming a drawer shut.
“Right.” Gloria and Theresa said in concert.
“Who’s down here?” Theresa asked again.
“It’s me,” a weak voice called out. “Art.”
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the trio found Art Walczak propped up against a rough timber post. Gracie held her phone up to shine as much light as possible on the injured man.
“Oh, Art! What happened? Are you all right?” Theresa gasped.
Art’s unshaven face was streaked with dirt, bruising apparent on his jaw.
“I think my leg is broken,” he gulped. “I thought I was going to die down here.”
“We’re here now,” Gloria soothed. “I’ll call the ambulance.”
Gracie stood at the front door, waiting for the Deer Creek Rescue Squad to appear. The siren announced their arrival from Main Street. She was relieved to see Cora Darling exit the vehicle first. Her curly gray head and solid, rotund figure hurried up the sidewalk, black case in her left hand.
“Right through here,” Gracie said, leading the woman to the stairway.
“Thanks. You’d better show the boys back here too,” Cora directed as she started down the steep wooden stairs.
The boys were the Harwood brothers. Their choice of community service had always seemed a bit self-serving, but they were skilled at both comforting the grieving, and giving aid to the injured. They nodded and smiled politely at Gracie, looking like a pair of off-duty butlers, dressed in white shirts and black pants. She showed the two men, who hauled a gurney between them, to the kitchen.
Staying well out of the way, she wandered back to the jumbled living room and then to the trashed bedroom. Had Art been searching for the quilt? Why would he make such a mess? More importantly, why was he in the cellar? There was a whole lot of weirdness going on here.
“All right, Artie,” Cora said, following the gurney through the living room. “Emery and Phil have you snug as bug. You’ll be just fine.”
“Okay, Cora,” a subdued Art murmured.
Theresa and Gloria appeared and went out onto the lawn to watch the ambulance crew load up the man for the trip to Warsaw.
“What happened?” Gracie asked, joining her mother on the leaf-covered lawn.
“Art says Lulu pushed him down the stairs and locked him in,” Theresa said grimly.
“What?” Gracie was floored. “Why would Lulu do that?”
“Good question,” Gloria said, frowning. “I can’t imagine Lulu resorting to violence. Why would she be in the house? Someone else did this, not Lulu.”
“Agreed. But who, and why’s Art accusing her?”
In Gracie’s estimation, it took a lot of nerve to shove anyone down the stairs and then lock the door so they couldn’t get ou
t. It looked like attempted murder to her.
“Possibly that cousin of Franny’s. She’s as tough as nails and awfully persistent about recovering the quilt,” Gloria mused. “I can see her mixing it up with Art.”
Lulu’s front door opened, and she hurried across the street, a brown cardigan drawn around her mannish shoulders.
“Was that Art?”
Theresa and Gloria nodded. “He fell down the cellar stairs and was trapped down there.”
“In the cellar? What was he doing in the house?”
“You didn’t see him in the house last night?” Gloria asked tentatively.
Gracie closely watched Lulu’s reaction.
Lulu’s deep set brown eyes widened in surprise. “No. I didn’t see anyone. In the house did you say? I haven’t been in the house.”
“Art must be confused then,” Theresa said.
“Confused about what? I wasn’t in the house, and I saw no one. Did he say I was in Franny’s house?”
“He says you pushed him down the cellar steps.” Theresa ran a hand over her hair, brushing her bangs from her eyes.
“What? He must be delirious or something. I haven’t been anywhere near that house.”
Gloria put an arm around Lulu. “Let’s go inside. I’m sure Art must be confused. He had quite a bump on the head.”
“No thank you,” Lulu spat out, pulling away. “I’m being set up for some reason.” She marched back across the street and into her house, slamming the front door behind her.
They watched her hasty retreat, and then saw Lulu’s neighbor, Butch Novak, coming toward them.
He waved and called out, “Everything all right over here?”
Gracie shook her head. “A little accident, but we think he’ll be all right.”
“Was it Art?” Butch asked, stroking his bushy, dark beard.
“Yes,” Gloria confirmed. “Did you see anyone over here last night, by any chance?”
Butch scowled, rubbing his hairy cheek. “Well, I was out walking the dog last night, and I heard some voices around the house. It could’ve been Art. Someone was with him though. I didn’t recognize the other voice.”
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 17