“Bring that step stool, will you?” Theresa asked.
Gloria positioned the beat-up white metal stool under the pull cord. Theresa stepped up and gave the rope a yank, and the ladder began descending. Unfolding it to the floor, Theresa took a deep breath and made the climb into the dark opening above. Her flashlight illuminated the rafters and insulation. Boards crisscrossed the beams leading to two storage areas, fortified with a solid wood platform.
“Someone was up here too,” she called down.
“Is it a mess?”
“It sure is. Books and old clothes.”
Theresa walked gingerly along the sagging boards to check out the items.
“Anything else?” Gloria’s head popped through the opening.
“I don’t think so. Old tax returns and junk, by the looks of it.”
She turned around after examining the papers and tossed them into cardboard boxes. Nothing interesting.
“Well, Kevin was up in the attic the day we showed the house to Isabelle. Do you think he might have done this?” Gloria slowly crept down the ladder and waited for Theresa.
“I don’t know much about Kevin, but he’s a VP at the bank. I would hope he’s trustworthy. Why would he want the quilt?”
“I have no idea. It makes me think that Isabelle’s choice in men might not be all that good. Tim certainly wasn’t,” Gloria said, her brow puckered.
“I’ll give you that,” Theresa agreed, brushing dust from her shirt and jeans once she reached the safety of the floor. “Maybe we should ask him.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“There’s always Isabelle.”
***
Art held the phone away from his ear, wishing he hadn’t answered. He’d just managed to fix some lunch and was exhausted from the effort. He rested in a worn brown upholstered chair, his leg propped up on a folding chair. His crutches were clutched in his other hand.
“I want the Stederman quilt now. The buyer is way past patient on this. If I lose the sale, you’re in even worse trouble.”
“I know, and I’ve looked everywhere. You know that. And now, thanks to you, I can’t search the house again.”
There was silence at the other end. He heard a sharp intake of breath. “That was a mistake. You shouldn’t have crossed me though.”
“For telling you I couldn’t find it? You didn’t need to knock me down the stairs and then leave me! I could’ve died down there, you know.”
“Forget the house. That Cook woman has it. I’m sure of it. She claims she doesn’t know where it is, but she was your ex-wife’s best friend. Of course, she knows.”
Art shook his head wearily. “What can I do? I told her to hand it over. She keeps denying it, and I’ve looked in her garage.”
“But never her house.”
“No,” Art said, closing his eyes. “It’s a worse mess than the garage.”
“I’ll check out the house. You call her over to your place to discuss matters. That will give me time to take care of what you should’ve done long before this.” The voice was low and dangerous.
“She won’t come. Why should she?”
“She’ll come if you tell her that you’re pursuing charges against her. Assault is a serious crime.”
“Yeah. It is. And painful too.”
***
Theresa pulled up in front of Midge’s Restaurant, scanning the parked cars along the street for Isabelle’s white SUV. Her niece wasn’t here yet, but she might as well find a table before the lunch crowd came en masse. Luckily, a corner table near the large front window was empty. She plopped her handbag onto one chair while she sat on the other.
“Need a menu?” The waitress was young with a pixie cut of chestnut hair. Her round face was friendly, and she held an order pad.
“No. But I’m waiting for someone. You’re new, aren’t you?”
“I just started here, but I’ve been waiting tables a long time.”
Theresa wondered about the quantity of a “long time,” since she couldn’t be over twenty-one.
Isabelle swept in, handing Theresa’s purse to her and sitting down. She looked dismissively at the server. “Give us a couple of minutes, but you can bring two waters with lemon.”
“Actually, you can bring me a cup of hot tea and that new grilled cheese sandwich,” Theresa corrected.
“Oh, pardon me. I’m so used to … oh, never mind.” Isabelle looked out the window across to the bank.
“You seem a little distracted. Is everything all right?”
Isabelle’s gaze swung back to her aunt. “I’m sorry, Aunt Theresa. Just a lot of things on my plate at the moment …” She hesitated and leaned toward her. “And I have a bit of a personal dilemma.”
Theresa looked at her in surprise. “Oh dear! Can I help?”
The dammed-up apprehensions of Isabelle Browne-Baker flowed like the raging Genesee River in spring. Kevin took her for granted, and he didn’t want to marry her. She thought he might be involved with Adriana, Gracie’s wedding photographer. If that wasn’t enough, Kevin might have stolen a pair of very expensive vases from the house. Isabelle’s eyes welled up, but to her credit, she managed to avoid shedding a tear. The entire conversation took Theresa off guard. The unfortunate girl needed a shoulder to cry on or complain on, and that’s what family is for.
After patting Isabelle’s trembling hand, Theresa finished the last bit of Midge’s newest grilled creation, a sourdough three-cheese sandwich.
“I’m so sorry, Isabelle. You and Kevin really need to have a heart-to-heart about all of this. If he is up to no good, you have to get him out of the house and pronto.” Theresa’s extended opinion was he should have never been living in her house to begin with, but young people—so careless about relationships. Well, Isabelle wasn’t young, merely desperate.
“I know. But there are the social implications—so embarrassing. However, Greg and Anna have always disliked him, so they would be glad to see him go. They don’t even want to come home for Thanksgiving if he’s there.” She sighed and looked at her untouched salad.
“You do need to think about your children. They’ve been through so much. How did you expect them to react when he moved into their house?” Theresa couldn’t hold everything back. Someone had to tell Isabelle the truth.
Isabelle rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. “I know. Even with the horrible, horrible things Tim did, I shouldn’t have …”
“If you want my opinion, you need to confront Kevin about the vases. Do you have proof he took them?”
“I think I have some. But I was hoping that Gracie’s wedding photos would confirm my theory.”
“I’m sure Gracie would be glad to have you look at the pictures. Adriana is a wonderful photographer. We can go right from here, if you like.”
CHAPTER 34
Lulu could see that Art wasn’t in very good shape. His skin color was a bit gray, and he gritted his teeth when he talked to her. His voice had been more menacing on the phone. At the moment, he sounded tired and a little panicked.
“I mean it, Lulu. I’ll go ahead with those charges against you, unless you hand over that filthy blanket of Franny’s.”
At least, he couldn’t harm her physically now. She paced around the apartment’s small living room and glanced out at the street, glad she’d parked around the corner.
“I don’t have it. Franny was trying to keep you from taking her last asset and asked me to help her. You’ve always been trouble when it comes to money. That hasn’t changed, and you treated her like dirt. She didn’t tell me where she’d put it. You have no right to it anyway.”
Art’s eyes were bloodshot and watery. The medication was probably fogging up his brain some, which was to her advantage—maybe.
“It’s your word against mine. I was in the cellar, and I get to say who put me there. I say it was you. If you were home by yourself, then who’s going to help with an alibi?”
He had a point. She had been home, sewin
g like a crazy woman.
Art grunted and adjusted his position, attempting to straighten himself. “You and Franny had some plan to spend the insurance money.”
“Franny deserved every bit from that heirloom. Between your gambling and making her life miserable, she should’ve gotten something for her trouble.”
Art smiled wickedly. “Like getting knocked over in your garage and dying? Is that what she deserved? Now stop playing games. If you don’t hand over the goods to me by tonight, I’m calling the police.”
Lulu threw up her hands. “I don’t have it. I can’t give you what I don’t have. I guess you’ll have to call the police.” If he did, she was probably in a world of hurt. Maybe she should look for it herself.
“I guess that’s what will happen, if I don’t have it by six o’clock tonight—here in my hands.”
She exhaled slowly. Think. Think. Stall him.
“What if I look for it myself? Give me some time though. There are people in and out of the house all the time now. It’s for sale. Isabelle—”
“That’s right. Mrs. Richey Rich Baker. She’s buying your house, and I hear she wants mine too.”
“It’s not your house. And so what?”
“So, where are you headed, Lulu? Seems unlike you to moveor go anywhere, for that matter. Ed always said your apron strings were attached to that house. You wouldn’t even go fishing with him. Maybe if you had that last time—”
Lulu rushed him, bending over to grab his shirt. “Leave Ed out of this!” she snarled. “And don’t poke your nose in my business!” She released him, her chest heaving.
“Six tonight,” he croaked. “Twice you’ve assaulted me. You’re out of control.”
***
Gracie seemed to dawdle as she opened the electronic folder labeled “wedding.” Theresa wished Gracie would hurry. Isabelle was pressed for time and so was she. Computers were bad enough to endure, but Gracie seemed hesitant at her request. She edged closer to her daughter, peering over her shoulder.
“Here they are. Just click on the ones you want to see,” she instructed, pointing at the photo icons.
“Of course,” Isabelle replied, taking over Gracie’s desk chair.
“I have a wash and style with a sheltie, so have a blast.”
“That’s quite all right, Gracie. Isabelle and I will just be a few minutes.”
Theresa pulled up a molded plastic chair and joined Isabelle at the computer screen.
“Here’s one in the dining room,” Isabelle said, clicking to enlarge the photo.
The wedding flowers were strewn artfully down the dining room table. The china cabinet loomed in the background.
“I can’t see anything clearly in there,” Theresa said, squinting at the picture.
“Just a second. Let me enlarge it again.”
“What side are they on?” Theresa pulled out her reading glasses from her purse.
“On the right … and they’re not there,” she exclaimed, pressing an index finger onto the screen.
“And they were in the photo for the magazine?”
“Yes. In the place I’ve had them for years. I don’t switch around items. Why tamper with perfection?”
“Indeed,” Theresa answered, struggling to maintain a straight face.
“What do you think?” Gracie walked into the office.
“Oh, we’ve just … um …” Theresa floundered.
“What are you looking at? The flowers?”
“We saw something interesting in this one,” Theresa said hurriedly.
“Right.” Isabelle quickly clicked on another photo. “Oh, very nice, Gracie,” she cooed over the shot of Gracie walking with her father. “Adriana is a true artist.”
***
Just as they had breezed in, her mother and Isabelle were gone, apparently to check out something at the Baker residence. Gracie stared at the computer screen, wondering what was so fascinating about the flower photo. She looked at it again, enlarging it. Was there a bug on the arrangements or a wilted flower? Not seeing anything of interest, she closed the folder.
“Hey, Sammie’s mom is here to pick him up,” Trudy called through the office doorway.
“Sure. He’s almost ready.”
Gracie met Tina Harwood in the grooming room. Tina was a bubbly, brown-haired, bundle of energy, which matched the sheltie, but not her stoic husband, Emery, who ran the funeral home. Tina’s hair was swept up into a ponytail, and she was dressed in jeans and a Letchworth School sweatshirt. She was a soccer mom, probably headed to a game.
“He’s still damp,” Gracie said. “Can you wait for about ten minutes?”
“Sure. I know I’m early.” She bent to stroke the excited dog, who started barking in the drying area.
“Sammie, be quiet. Maybe we should leave him alone, or he’ll keep at it.”
“I’ve got some coffee and instant hot chocolate in the office,” Gracie offered.
“No thanks. I’ll hang out in there, if it’s okay.”
“Sure. How are things at the funeral home? Quiet, I hope.” Gracie flashed a wry smile.
“Oh, it’s always quiet,” Tina said with practiced solemnity. “Congratulations on your wedding. How is everything going?”
Gracie quickly filled her in on Marc’s new job and absence.
“I’m sorry about that. Tough break.”
“Yup. Of course, not as tough as Franny Walczak.”
“Oh, yes. Poor Mrs. Walczak. Isn’t she a friend of your mother’s?”
“Yeah. I was helping my mother and Gloria at the house.”
“I felt so sorry for Lulu Cook. Losing her husband last year and then her best friend. Such a weird thing though.”
Gracie’s eyebrows squeezed together. “What do you mean? The quilt?”
“Huh? No.” Tina settled into the plastic chair. “It’s just kind of spooky about Ed Cook.”
“Spooky?”
Tina nodded. “Right before Ed went on that fishing trip, he stopped by to see Emery. He gave him written instructions that he wanted to be cremated if something should happen to him.”
Gracie shivered. “That is a little spooky, since he was incinerated in the accident.”
“Just a dental bridge was left. Lucky they found it so they could identify him. I’ve wondered about that accident. Maybe it wasn’t, if you know what I mean.”
“Wasn’t an accident? He didn’t make a curve and went over into a ravine, didn’t he?”
Gracie decided a cup of coffee might be in order. She snatched her mug from the shelf and filled it before returning to her desk.
“Yes, it looked like an accident, but Ed was kind of depressed. I wonder if he … well, you know, might have planned the accident.”
“Really? I never knew him very well. Was he sick or something?” She blew on the steaming mug and took a sip.
“No. Nothing like that. Ed had told Emery at a Kiwanis meeting a few months before his death that there was a serious reorg planned at his company. They were going to phase out his job.”
“Wow! He’d been at that insurance company in Henrietta a long time, hadn’t he?”
“Around thirty years, I think. How can companies do that to people? I’m glad we’re small potatoes here. No reorganizations for us.”
Gracie laughed. “Not here either. We run lean and mean, although we’re a bit too lean right now. Poor Marian will be out for quite a while.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I’m sure Sammie’s dry by now.”
***
Lulu pulled into the driveway, contemplating how she’d gotten into such a mess. If she was arrested for assaulting Art … She fought thinking about everything she’d lose. Oh, Franny, where is that stupid quilt? She slammed the car door and stalked to the house. She probably should call an attorney. That might make her look guilty though.
She’d begun to shove the key into the lock, when the door swung open of its own volition. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she had the urge to run.
Forcing herself to enter the house, she rushed to the sewing room. Fabric was strewn around. The doors on the wall of cupboards were open, as was the small sewing cabinet by her work desk. Swallowing hard, she peered inside the cabinet. Her stomach churned. The passport was gone and so was the Mexican cash. Frantically she sifted through the scattered material and sewing supplies on the floor. The navy-blue covered document wasn’t there. She sat down on the floor and sobbed.
CHAPTER 35
Haley’s tail thumped under the kitchen table, while Theresa dished up chicken and dumplings. Gracie stretched her legs out, stocking feet rubbing the Lab’s belly.
“No dumplings, missy,” Gracie stated to the dog, who nosed her toes insistently. Haley groaned and repositioned herself under the table.
“Thanks for calling. I didn’t know Dad was out tonight.”
“He’s been going out quite a bit lately, with sketchy information on his whereabouts. If I were a suspicious person …”
“Good grief, Mom.”
“I know. He says he’s working on a community enrichment program with some of the boys from the Legion. We’ll see. They’re playing pinochle is my guess.”
Theresa sat down after ladling a generous amount of the chicken and gravy, laden with carrots, peas, and onions, onto her plate.
“Oh, well. At least he’s around.” Gracie dug into the rich gravy with chunks of breast meat.
“Yes, he is. What do you hear from Marc?”
The house phone rang, and Theresa pushed away from the table.
“Hello?”
Gracie watched her mother’s expression change from humor to agitation. Theresa walked back from the kitchen counter to the table in the breakfast nook.
“Are you sure? Call the police, Lulu. Right away.”
After another pause, her mother huffed impatiently. “All right. I’ll come over.” She placed the phone back in the charger.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure, but someone broke into Lulu’s house, and she refuses to call the police.”
“And she wants you to come over.”
“Yes.”
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 19