“Let’s go over the terms,” Isabelle said, settling into a chair.
Gracie decided to take in some night air and slipped out the side door to the yard.
Walking across the grass, she noticed a flicker of light in the Walczak house. Someone was upstairs. She ran back into the house to find her phone.
“What’s the matter?” Isabelle said irritably.
“There’s someone in the house across the street. I saw a light in the window.”
“You’re not calling the police, are you?” Isabelle huffed.
“Of course, I am. Someone broke in. This is at least the second time.” She dug through her bag, finally fishing out her phone.
“I have keys to the house. Pastor Minders gave them to me today. It’s probably teenagers, looking for trouble.”
“Isabelle. I wouldn’t go over there by yourself. That’s—”
“You can come with me.”
Cheryl’s eyes were wide. “I’m not going with you. I think you should call the police.”
“Oh. You shouldn’t go,” said Isabelle. “Just read over this section of the lease and sign on the line below. I’ll take a personal check for the deposit. We’ll be right back.”
Gracie had to admit Isabelle was cool under pressure. Business first. Marc would have a fit if she went with her cousin. However, if they didn’t go in, they’d have to wait for the police. By then, whoever was in there would’ve probably flown the coop.
“All right. Let’s go. Do you have something … like … like a weapon?” she stammered.
“I have pepper spray,” Isabelle replied. “You never know what will happen when you’re showing a house. Here’s my extra for you.”
She handed Gracie an aerosol tube. “Come on.”
The back door of the house was already unlocked. They slipped in on tiptoe. A shuffling sound could be heard above. Isabelle made a shushing sound at Gracie. She nodded at her as they moved forward to the living room, where the stairway was located.
Uneven footsteps descended. Gracie’s heart was beating double time. What in the world was she doing?
Isabelle switched on the overhead light. The footsteps stopped and then clumsily scurried back up.
“Whoever is here had better show himself now!” Isabelle demanded.
Her voice made Gracie feel a bit wobbly. Isabelle sounded like a stone cold killer. There was more scuffling, and then the odd-sounding footsteps came back down the stairs.
“Mr. Walczak. What are you doing here?” Isabelle asked coolly.
Art looked like a trapped weasel, lingering on the bottom step with a cane in his hand. He finally shambled into the room. A black walking boot encased his left foot.
“Franny had some of my stuff here. No one’s wanted to let me have it, so I had to come off hours.” He puffed up his chest, putting a thumb into the waistband of his work pants.
“I think not,” Isabelle said. “My guess is that the missing quilt is really what you’re after.”
“Not a chance. It’s gone. I’m here for my personal possessions.”
Gracie had to give him credit. He was giving an outstanding performance to persuade Isabelle, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t work. The man had guilt written all over him.
“What possessions are you taking then? I see nothing in your hands.”
“Well, I … I … I was just going out to get a box.”
“From where? I don’t see your truck around. And in your condition, I’d think you’d need assistance.”
Gracie tried to keep from smiling. She glanced out to the street, which was empty. No vehicle was in the driveway either.
“Hadn’t we better call the police now?” Gracie asked. No sense in prolonging the man’s agony.
“Please don’t call them. Please, I’m begging you!” Art wailed.
“Why shouldn’t we call them? You broke in,” Gracie stated matter-of-factly.
“No, I didn’t. I have a key.” With a shaking hand, he took a keyring out of his brown Carhartt coat pocket. “Here it is.” The jumble of keys jangled as he held up a silver one.
Isabelle looked at him as though trying to decide how to torture him further. She licked her lips. “Let me see that keyring. Do you have keys to other houses?” Her eyes were narrowed like a cat about to pounce. “Like mine, by any chance?”
***
The floodgates of confession were opened wide for Art during Isabelle’s grilling. He was like a gelatinous puddle after that experience. Gracie hated to see a man cry and escaped outside to make the call to the sheriff’s department. Once the authorities arrived, Isabelle removed her house key from Art’s ring and finished up business with Cheryl. This left Gracie to talk to the deputies.
Investigator Hotchkiss showed up, and after a brief conversation, instructed two deputies to give Art a free ride to the county jail. He’d stolen Isabelle’s vases and a few other items of interest from some elderly customers. All the items were long gone. Sold to anonymous buyers, according to Art. He readily admitted his gambling problem, but would not utter one word about his fence or bookie. He also wouldn’t say how he’d filched a key to Isabelle’s house. His handyman and lawn service business allowed him intimate access to a lot of residences, but he’d been sparing in his thefts. No more than a couple of items per household. She calculated that his twisted altruism kept him under the radar. Pinching Isabelle’s vases had given him an unwanted high profile. He’d taken a huge chance and lost.
“Mrs. Stevens,” Investigator Hotchkiss said with a smile.
She was trim and professional in gray wool slacks and a white jewel-neck sweater. Her short brown hair, salted with white around her face, was quite becoming.
“Hi, Investigator,” Gracie responded, realizing how strange it was to hear Stevens as her surname. Actually she’d kept Andersen to make the business side simple, but she wasn’t going to correct the investigator.
“Oh, call me Emily. How’s Marc’s new job going?”
Gracie’s eyebrows rose. This friendly persona of the investigator was a new one to her.
“Well, good. He’s been really busy—training and all.”
She didn’t want to get into the strain of separation and how that would affect their marriage. Her mother was now very concerned about Marc’s job.
“Those defense contractors have a pretty mobile work life,” the investigator commented.
“I guess that’s right. It’s different, but I’m sure we’ll adjust.”
“He always has a job here, as long as I’m sheriff,” she said, stepping closer. “If he thinks he’s made a mistake.”
Gracie felt like the policewoman had a bit of manipulation in mind. Red flags popped up immediately, warning her to stay far away from interfering with her husband’s new job. Emily Hotchkiss wasn’t sheriff yet. The undersheriff was acting sheriff, according to the newspapers, not her.
“You’d have to talk to him about that.” Gracie inched away.
The offer was tempting to promote to Marc. He wouldn’t be in foreign countries, trying to locate explosives for the communications defense contractors.
“Have him give me a call if he wants to talk,” the inspector said with a smile, as she took her leave.
***
Theresa and Gloria hustled through the kennel’s reception area, making tracks for the office.
“Morning, Cheryl … Trudy,” they said in unison.
“Good morning,” Cheryl and Trudy responded, smiling.
Gracie printed off the day’s schedule and tossed it onto her desk. “Ladies. You’re out and about early. What’s up?” she asked, surprised to see them.
“We want to know the real scoop on Art,” Theresa replied, pulling up one of the brown plastic chairs near Gracie’s desk.
“Yes. All the details,” Gloria pressed.
Gracie rubbed her forehead and sighed.
“It was his gambling problem, wasn’t it?” Theresa continued. “And he actually had the nerve to
steal from Isabelle?”
“Yes. Yes. Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
She stepped into the wide hallway and gave the schedule to Cheryl and Trudy. She could hear Jim whistling “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay” down the corridor. A growing chorus of mournful howls joined him as backup.
“All right. I’m back.” She sank into her desk chair and swiveled to face the women. “Sounds like you’ve heard just about everything. I don’t think you need me.”
“Well, Isabelle called the pastor last night and filled us in,” Gloria began. “Then that lady investigator called. Is there anything else? Did he say anything about Lulu or to whom he’s been selling those antiques?”
“Not while I was there. It’s up to the sheriff’s department now to find out what he’s been doing. He’ll probably lawyer-up … if he’s smart.”
Gloria shook her silver head, pearl studs peeking from beneath her short hair. “I don’t think he’s very smart. More of a bully, in my book.”
“He met his match last night.” Gracie laughed. “It was downright embarrassing to see him collapse so easily under Isabelle’s grilling.”
“Serves him right,” Theresa growled. “He’s done nothing but lie, threaten, and now steal from people that have given him work and … and … and… It’s no wonder Lulu left town. Maybe it’s all because of him.”
“All right, Mom. Calm down,” Gracie admonished. “Granted, he’s not a nice guy. He’s cooling his heels in jail. Now, at least, the pastor can finish settling Franny’s estate.” She switched her gaze to the other militant-looking woman.
“Possibly,” Gloria conceded. “Once the auction takes place, everything will be just about finished. My poor Albert. Between that awful cousin of Franny’s and Art, it’s been a nightmare!”
Gracie nodded in agreement. “I’m really sorry he’s had such a mare’s nest to handle.”
“Well, we’d better go, Gloria,” Theresa said, looking at her watch. “It’s the sewing circle this afternoon.”
The pair whooshed from the room, the scent of floral perfumes lingering in the air.
***
Jim walked with Gracie to the house, Haley leading the way with her ever-wagging tail. No rabbits or birds were present for her to chase.
“It’s beef stew tonight and cornbread,” she said.
“Sounds good to me. I’m tired of going to Midge’s every night.”
Gracie giggled. “But your girlfriend will miss you.”
Jim grimaced. “She’ll manage. Midge is always bringing me seconds. I don’t need extra helpings anymore.” He patted his stomach. “I’ll bet Marc wasn’t too happy about your encounter with Art last night.”
“Well, he wasn’t, but no harm no foul. Art certainly couldn’t have done much to us, gimping around with that boot. I was perfectly safe with Isabelle. Her tongue is like a two-edged sword. He was cut to ribbons in seconds. I firmly believe he would have offered her a kidney if the police hadn’t shown up when they did.”
Marc’s truck swung into the driveway, just as Gracie was opening the kitchen door. Max jumped out behind him, racing to see Haley.
“Jim’s here for supper,” she announced.
“Good.”
Marc whistled for the dogs, and they bounded inside.
Jackets and hats were jammed on the coat rack, as noses savored the inviting aroma wafting from the bubbling crockpot of stew. While Marc fed the dogs, Gracie dished up dinner in large shallow bowls and piled a plate with squares of cornbread.
“After the briefings today, I’m ready for something hearty,” Marc said.
“Pretty challenging job, by the sounds of it,” Jim commented, taking a seat at the kitchen bar.
“It sure is. The weird thing is that Emily Hotchkiss called me today. Did she say anything to you last night about a job?”
Gracie had decided against mentioning the investigator’s offer for fear it would seem like she was pressuring him to return to his old workplace.
“She did, but I wasn’t going to bring it up. You’ve only been at DACO a few weeks.”
“Yeah.” Marc rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand.
“Are you thinking about it?” Gracie slid onto a stool with a butter dish in her hand. His expression was unreadable, his blue eyes staring at the bowl of steaming beef and vegetables.
“They probably really miss you.” Jim grabbed a hunk of cornbread, and Gracie slid the butter dish down the counter toward him.
“Maybe,” Marc responded absently. He looked up and grinned at Gracie. “Good news for us though. No travel until after the holidays. Just training and briefings in Batavia.”
Relief washed over her. Maybe they’d have some normalcy in their schedule—at least for now.
CHAPTER 39
A cold November wind nipped at the crowd standing outside of Franny Walczak’s house. A gray sky threatened with snow flurries. There were already a few flakes in the air. The auctioneer stood on a small platform in front of the porch steps, a headset strapped on his face. Theresa stomped her feet to encourage the circulation to her toes. Bob threaded his way through the crowd, a cup of coffee in each hand.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her an insulated paper cup.
“It’s black,” Theresa complained.
“Oh. Sorry. I’ll go fix it.”
“No. The auction’s about to start. This is fine.”
She took a tentative sip. It was terrible, but very hot. Just the thing to take the chill off.
The auctioneer wasted no time in moving out the furniture and kitchen gear. The bidding seemed lackluster for the most part, but a small secretary’s desk and a primitive sideboard brought a good price.
“Now, we have some linens. Very fine quality—vintage linens,” the auctioneer crooned.
A few women pressed forward, positioning themselves for a better look. Theresa moved ahead, but Bob touched her elbow.
“You don’t need more of that stuff, do you?”
“Well, maybe.”
One of the assistants brought out several quilts and piled them on a table, next to the doilies and table runners.
“I might be interested in a quilt.”
She stepped forward, noticing that the beautiful Jacob’s ladder quilt Lulu had made was in the stack.
“What are you going to do with another bedspread?” Bob grumbled.
“Use it on a bed.” She looked back at her husband and flashed him a determined smile. “I’d like a memento of Franny and of Lulu. It’s one of Lulu’s nicest quilts, and Franny used it on her own bed.”
Bob shrugged in defeat. “Don’t spend too much on it.”
The bidding was surprisingly brisk on the linen and the quilts. A woman, in a dark green car coat and a black-and-white plaid scarf around her head, practically elbowed her way in front of Theresa. The young woman looked familiar. Theresa edged her way forward again, sneaking a look at the pushy female. She shouldn’t have been surprised by the aggressiveness. She was quite sure it was Lisa Kronk, on the prowl for any family heirlooms that might be on the auction block.
Lisa’s hand went up numerous times when the quilt bidding began. Two assistants held each one up for inspection. Three went to Lisa, who bid way above Theresa’s price point. A couple of other women, seemingly very put out at Lisa’s success, faded into the crowd.
Theresa wondered if there was any likelihood of winning the bid on the Jacob’s ladder. The price of the quilt had almost reached beyond Theresa’s range, when Lisa was distracted by a phone call, which caused a momentary lull in the bidding war.
The auctioneer declared it, “Sold! To the lady in the red coat!”
“Got it!” Theresa cried triumphantly.
She wove through the milling crowd to the cashier. Gathering the prize in her arms, she trudged back to Bob, who relieved her of the coverlet.
“Are you ready now?” he asked in a weary tone.
“I guess. Let’s go,” she said reluctantly.
> The next quilt was pretty too, and the bidding was already underway. One was enough though.
***
The house was extremely quiet. Her children, now officially her adult children, Greg and Anna, wouldn’t be back from college for another two weeks. With Kevin out of the house, they’d both agreed to return home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Isabelle stood looking at the china cabinet, admiring her collection. She was still angry that her vases hadn’t been recovered. Who would deal in stolen goods? How did one find out about that secretive marketplace?
She opened the cabinet doors and ran a finger over a pink jade dragon. It was cold to her touch. Everything was cold these days. There was no warmth in the house. No parties, no intimate dinners or gatherings. She hadn’t felt like doing anything social. For as deceitful as Kevin had been, he was charming and good looking. He always knew what to say. He drank a little too much once in a while. Everyone has a weakness. Well, almost everyone. She, herself, was quite disciplined.
She missed him terribly. Maybe she would call him. She froze at the thought. He had humiliated her. What was she doing? Closing the door, she went to the foyer for her coat. She’d take a drive somewhere.
Just as she opened the door, the mailman drove up to the mailbox and thrust in a pile of letters and a large manila envelope. Deciding to peruse the mail first, she gathered the load, retreating into the house.
The large envelope was from the historical homes magazine. Her issue at last! Sliding the glossy periodical from the tattered wrapping, she thumbed the pages and found the article with the photo spread. Although Adriana had proven to be an adversary, Isabelle had to admire the woman’s camera skills. The rooms looked magnificent, especially with the lighting and the different perspectives. Turning the page, she looked twice at the full spread photo. Her French vases were arranged on the sofa table with masses of cut flowers and greenery draped over the edge, the rays of the afternoon sun filtering dreamily over the southern side of the living room. It was a gorgeous setting that hadn’t been in the galley proofs.
She felt like she’d been slapped. That malicious cow! There was no doubt in her mind with whom Art Walczak had worked.
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 22