“What are you supposed to do? Chase off the burglar?”
Theresa sighed, looking at her plate. “Look for the quilt.”
“Again with the quilt?” Gracie asked wearily, setting her fork down.
***
Haley sniffed around the remaining storage containers in Lulu’s house, finally lying down on a throw rug in the kitchen. Gracie had dumped the contents of several tubs that were full of more patchwork covers than she’d ever seen. Theresa worked methodically through the sewing room with Lulu. Gracie blew through her mouth in relief. She’d checked everything that was in the living room. A stack of brightly colored blankets was ready to be returned to the bins. There was another stack of bins filled with newspapers and glass jars. No need to look through that mess. Why Lulu was saving recyclables was puzzling.
“I’m done in here,” she called. “No extremely valuable bedspread in any of them.”
“All right,” Theresa answered. “We’re almost finished in here.”
The women gathered a few minutes later in the kitchen.
“We need to check at Franny’s one more time.”
Lulu’s eyes lit up. “Has anyone checked the trunk of her car?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Theresa answered, shaking her head. “I can call Gloria and see if we can get the keys.”
Now that it was totally dark, except for streetlights and the glow of lamps in windows, Gracie felt like a thief herself, skulking around. She kept expecting to hear sirens to haul Lulu away. Nothing had happened … so far. It was hard to tell if that was good or bad. Art was a squirrelly sort of guy. Injured and on meds probably didn’t help the situation. Who could’ve broken into Lulu’s house? Certainly not Art. There was much more to this little dispute than met the eye.
Hopes were crushed when the trunk yielded a spare tire, a pair of gloves, and a half a bag of kitty litter. Gloria decided on one more search through the house, and then they were giving up.
“Do you know where Franny stored the quilt?” Gloria asked, pushing the door open and flipping on the kitchen light.
“In her cedar chest. I saw it in there a couple of years ago. It was right after some exhibition.”
“Did you know about an alternate storage area?” Theresa broached carefully.
“Alternate area? No. Franny never talked about it being anywhere else other than the cedar chest in her bedroom.”
“Come in here, and we’ll show you what we found.”
Theresa led the way into the bedroom, turning on lights as she went. Gracie straggled behind, still watching the street for the sheriff’s department to arrive.
Traffic was minimal. A Mini Cooper drove by slowly, and then a man, walking his dog, strolled past on the sidewalk. Haley plastered her nose to the front window and uttered a weak “woof.”
A little screech came from the bedroom. “I can’t believe it!” Lulu cried.
Gracie and Haley joined the older women, who gazed into the depths of the secret closet. Haley began sniffing again, snuffling through a few dust bunnies in the corner.
“Is there any other spot in this house that would have a hidden place like this one?” Theresa quizzed Lulu.
“No. I had no idea about this. Very clever of Franny. Art would never have found it, I’m sure.”
“Maybe. But it’s possible someone did steal it for real. Art has an accomplice or someone who’s threatening him about the quilt. He suddenly withdrew his phony promissory note with the quilt as collateral. He was in your garage the night Franny died.” Gloria’s arms were crossed over her bosom.
“The promissory note was phony?” Theresa asked, her eyes wide.
“Oh yes. It was a pretty good attempt to forge Franny’s name, but when the attorney told him a judge was going to personally examine it, he backed off and said he’d made a mistake.”
Haley jumped up on the bed and huddled close to the linens and the quilt folded in a pile on the bare mattress.
“Get off, girl. This isn’t home,” Gracie grumbled at the dog.
Haley looked miffed and reluctantly left the bed, trotting from the room.
“Are you going to look anymore?” Gracie stretched her arms overhead and yawned. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
Gloria shook her head. “No. We’ve almost killed ourselves hunting through the house. I can’t imagine there would be another place to safely store such a valuable heirloom. I really don’t have the energy to look in all the same places again.”
Lulu’s face fell, and her shoulders slumped. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re telling the truth. Talk to your attorney and do what he says,” Theresa advised.
***
“Do you want me to call the cops?” Art asked, his voice quavering.
“No. We don’t need any more attention on the quilt. Keep your mouth shut.”
The caller had let him off the hook. He felt relief flow through his aching body. “I will. You can count on it. Are you going to check at Franny’s again?”
“Too risky now. We’ve lost the deal, Art, and that means you can’t pay your debt.”
“I know, but I’ll come up with something.”
“I doubt it, but you know it has to be paid and soon. You’ve missed another deadline. There are consequences for non-payment.” The voice was deliberate and frosty.
He massaged his forehead with trembling fingers. “I was sure Lulu had it. Something strange is happening with her.”
“She’s strange all right. Nothing in her house or garage though, except a passport. Has she told you where she’s heading after the settlement? Like Mexico?”
“No. That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you. She’s up to something.”
“Well, she’s going nowhere at the moment. Talk to her again. Let her know that the passport can be returned for a fee. Do you get my drift?”
“Yeah. I understand. What do I tell her?”
“Since the buyer has backed out of the original deal, cash will have to cover your obligation. Ask her for that. The next payment deadline is coming right up.”
Art fidgeted, trying to find a position where his leg and ribcage didn’t hurt, which was impossible.
“All right,” he conceded.
“Now, I’ll let you rest, Art. You’re going to need it.”
The phone line went dead. Art shoved the cordless phone into the base that sat on a wobbly TV tray by his chair. He looked at the brown prescription bottle and threw it against the wall, splattering painkillers everywhere.
CHAPTER 36
Pastor Minders sat waiting for Lisa Stederman Kronk to appear with her official claim on the Stederman heirloom. He rubbed the leather armrests of the chair in his attorney’s office. Nathan Cook, Esquire, frowned as he dug tobacco out of the bowl of a well-used pipe.
“She’s late,” he quipped and looked up at the weary pastor.
“Yes. A woman’s prerogative.” He’d like to have a quarter for every time he’d either heard or said that over the last forty-eight years.
“I thought that was about changing her mind,” Nathan groused, packing fresh tobacco into the pipe and sucking on the stem.
“Everything is a woman’s prerogative. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“Humph. I guess not. That’s why I’m on number three.”
“Ah … Well ….”
“Mrs. Kronk is here,” announced a cheery receptionist from the doorway.
“Send her in.”
The meeting went exactly as Nathan had laid out earlier with his client. The discovery of the old fabric would be transferred immediately, and the disputed bedcovering would be as well, if it was recovered. The later agreement superseded the original; Franny never really had valid ownership in the first place.
“When did you find this new agreement?” Albert Minders smiled and watched the woman’s expression.
“It was found recently in my grandmother’s family papers. She has boxes of old letters and newspape
r clippings. All sorts of things. You know how it is with older folks.” Lisa returned the smile, looking much more at ease than she had at the former meeting. Her defenses had relaxed, by the looks of it.
“I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t go after the decedent for the property a long time ago,” Nathan remarked, sliding a couple of papers from an accordion file.
“I don’t think she realized the importance of the agreement. Once I really read it though …”
“Here’s the receipt and release for the property we’re giving you today. Just sign on that bottom line as your grandmother’s power of attorney. You do have it with you?” Nathan’s shaggy eyebrows rose quizzically at the woman.
She dug into her handbag and drew out the document. “Right here. I brought it, as you requested.”
Nathan gave it a cursory glance and pushed the receipt toward her. Lisa hesitated, reading it over before picking up the pen on the desk.
“All right. Here you are.”
She handed the paper back to Nathan, who pressed his notary stamp onto the paper and squiggled his name beside it.
“And I’ll go out to my car and get that package for you,” Albert said.
The pastor exited the office and quickly returned, carrying the oblong storage container.
***
Lulu stood in Art’s apartment for the second time in two days. It was no less nerve-wracking than the first time. Art seemed a little more together and was even up and around on the crutches. She stood by the door to guarantee a quick escape.
“So, Lulu. My friend tells me you would probably like your passport back.”
Lulu groaned and closed her eyes. She nodded, her underarms suddenly damp, her hands clammy.
“It will cost you, since you haven’t cooperated so far.”
“I tried to find it. You know I did. It must really be stolen.”
“I have some doubts about that now, but I have a feeling this passport is pretty important. If you want it back, you’ll need to come up with some serious money.” Art splayed his crutches out, balancing himself in front of Lulu.
She could smell his stale breath and sweat. The man needed a shower in the worst way. A toothbrush wouldn’t hurt either.
“Of course, I want my passport back. It’s my property, and I can report the theft to the police myself.”
Two could play the blackmail game.
“Well, it’s your word against mine. How could I have it? I’m housebound at the moment. For a fee, you’ll get it back. No fuss, no muss.”
Here it was. The dollar was always Art’s priority. He must be in pretty deep with a bookie or someone worse, who was orchestrating this scenario.
“How much?” She steeled herself for the answer, clutching the doorknob behind her back.
“Thirty thousand.” Art said it as if he were talking about the weather.
“Are you kidding?”
“Absolutely not. Thirty K will buy back the passport, and you can be on your way to Mexico.”
“You’re crazy, Art. I don’t have that kind of cash lying around, and I don’t intend to be blackmailed … least of all, by the likes of you!” She looked at him as though he were something rancid. “What in the world is the matter with you?”
Art’s face crumpled, his bravado fading. “Well … I … I need the money. Franny promised me that money before this whole disaster happened.” He hobbled to the disheveled sofa and sank into the cushions, sticking his injured leg straight out in front of him.
Lulu shifted her weight uneasily. If she gave him twenty dollars, Art would be back for more. She couldn’t lose her mind and offer anything, even if it meant her passport was gone. She couldn’t fall for this.
“Sorry. I can’t help you. It sounds like you’ve landed yourself in a fix, and you need to figure it out without my money. I want my passport back by tonight, or I will go to the police. They’ll, at the very least, interview you and keep tabs on you. I heard you tried to bilk Franny’s estate for this amount. The judge might be very interested to know how you’ve threatened me. Now what do you say?”
Art rubbed his hair and swiped his hand under his nose. “I’ll see. No promises.”
“Promises or not, the passport needs to be in my hand by this evening. Let’s say, six o’clock.”
She drew herself up to full height, staring at the man who refused to meet her gaze.
***
Isabelle stood at the island in her kitchen, debating the best way to ask Kevin if he’d stolen her vases. Then there was the matter of Adriana. She and Kevin had known each other in college. Only friends, Kevin had assured her. Adriana had followed a career into the art world. Kevin had followed the money trail to banking. Both appeared to have done well, despite disparate occupations, after their education at Syracuse.
When the Baker house had been tapped as a featured home for historic residences in Western New York, she’d met Adriana and her editor, Tyler Mack. Then Kevin had shown up, and it had become old home week between him and Adriana. She suspected the photo shoot of the house had taken longer because of Kevin.
There was no refined approach. She had the photographic evidence that her French vases disappeared between Adriana’s last photo session and Gracie’s wedding. Who’d been in her house during that time period other than Kevin? Her cleaning lady, Lilly, was there every week, but Lilly was pure gold. Not in a million years would she rob an employer.
Isabelle swiped her phone screen to look at her calendar. Art Walczak had worked on the yard twice during the time period, and she’d had a cocktail party with a dozen people. Adriana had also been there to prep for Gracie’s wedding. Two couples at the cocktail party were recent acquaintances, and they seemed very interested in the antiques in the house. Had she shown them the vases? Of course, there was the wedding team too.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling sick to her stomach. How could she remember all the details? Too many people had access to the cabinet during a three-week period. Confronting Kevin or Adriana was a fool’s mission. Besides, things would settle down now that the article was finished. The breezy faux redhead wouldn’t have a reason to be around Kevin. Maybe.
***
A knock at Lulu’s door startled her from her feverish task at the sewing table.
“Hey, Lulu,” Butch Novak stood at the front door with his beagle on a leash.
“Hi, Butch. What can I do for you?” She smoothed her rumpled shirt and picked at stray white threads that clung to her sleeve from her sewing.
“I just wanted to give you this,” he said, holding out a small brown envelope. “It ended up in our mailbox today, but has your name on it.”
She reached for the envelope, mentally crossing her fingers that it contained what she hoped.
“Thanks, Butch. I appreciate that.”
“No problem. Well, gotta walk Rocky. He’ll drive me crazy if he doesn’t get his exercise.”
Lulu’s grasp went around the center of the envelope. The thickness felt right. She smiled.
“One of these days, I’m gonna get myself a dog,” she enthused.
“Some days, I’d give Rocky to a good home.” Butch grinned. “Say, what was all the activity at the Walczak house? I saw the cops there the other night.”
She took a step back, unsure of how to answer, her free hand on the latch of the screen door, which she held open. “Um … I think there might have been a break-in.”
“Oh. Anything taken?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask Pastor Minders. He’s the executor for the estate.”
“Really? I didn’t know he was in charge. Seems strange for Franny to do that. I’ll bet Art is mad.” Butch bent to pat Rocky, who lunged at the taut leash, whining impatiently.
“Art’s always been mad,” Lulu said, anxious to return to her sewing, but trying to appear sociable. She didn’t need any additional interest from the neighbors.
Butch chuckled. “Yeah. That’s about right. I saw that you’
ve been cleaning up the garage.”
Lulu swallowed hard, wondering about Butch’s interest. “That’s right. It was time to get rid of a lot of old stuff.”
“The wife’s been after me to clean out our garage too. Maybe I’ll give those guys you had a call.”
“They’re very good and reasonable,” Lulu smiled brightly.
Would he never leave?
“I might want their number sometime. Well, see ya. Come on, Rocky.” He gave the leash a tug, and Rocky eagerly shot down the steps.
“Thanks for the mail, Butch.”
She waved as the pair took to the sidewalk at a smart clip. Quickly shutting the door, she flipped the lock. She undid the metal clasp on the envelope and dumped out a passport and money onto the small table by the door. Her threat had worked. Checking that the document was indeed hers, she shoved it into her pants pocket. She glanced at the wall clock. It was even on time. Just six now. She went back to the front windows to check the sidewalk. No sign of Butch or Rocky. She contemplated the perfect timing and then shrugged.
CHAPTER 37
Gloria and Theresa were enjoying omelets at Midge’s, when Gracie walked into the dining area. Surprised to see the dynamic duo, she waved to catch their attention. Theresa immediately motioned for her daughter to join them.
“You’re out early today,” Theresa said, putting her fork down.
“Bank run. I saw your car and thought I’d grab a sweet roll.” Gracie dragged a chair from an empty table, setting it on the corner of the small table.
“Now that the wedding’s behind you, they’re safe to eat again,” Gloria said, her sharp brown eyes full of humor.
“It’s certainly behind me.” Gracie patted her backside, grimacing. “If only the groom were actually around.”
Gloria gently shook her head. “I know. A very tough way to start.”
“Tougher than I thought. But he’ll be home this weekend.”
“Good. Have you heard from him lately?” Theresa asked, spreading jam on her toast.
“Over this last weekend. He can’t wait to be home. The training has been exhausting for both him and Max.”
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 20