Tattered & Torn

by Carol Dean Jones

  “And I had a great time for the next thirty years. It was always exciting, always a challenge. I had brides that changed their minds and grooms that didn’t show up. I had a pet pig for a ring bearer once and a ceremony on a ski sloop. You just have to roll with the punches,” he added laughing. “Most of the time I was blissfully happy meeting the needs of rooms filled with joyful people.”

  “It sounds like you enjoyed your work,” Sarah commented.

  “I did, and I guess that’s why I haven’t been able to completely let it go. I have good people running it, but I just need to get in there from time to time. I’m sure they wish I’d stay home.”

  “That’s about what my ex-boss said to me just yesterday,” Charles said with an understanding chuckle. “They want us old guys to stay in the pasture.”

  Toward the end of the meal, Martha asked, “Does Top of the Hill only plan weddings?” She was thinking about her company’s national conference that was a year away, but she had volunteered to play an instrumental part in the planning.

  “Oh no, I immediately branched out into planning corporate events, conferences, social events, but where I felt most at home was with weddings – the emotions, the happiness, the excitement, and oh so many details!”

  “And you still own the company?” Martha asked. Tim wondered why Martha seemed so interested considering she was the one that insisted they plan their own wedding.

  “I do, and as I said, I still get involved, but in general I’m retired. Do you have a need for an event coordinator?” he asked, confused by her sudden interest in light of her original reaction.

  “Not me personally,” she responded emphatically, “but my company may well need your services.”

  Norman Hill passed her his card just as Sophie stood and said, “Anyone for Bread Pudding with Whiskey Sauce? I’ve been told it goes perfectly after a meal of Jambalaya.” She winked at Sarah who had included the recipe when she brought the one for the main dish.

  Sophie’s guests were practically moaning as they spooned up the incredible dessert. “Sophie, this is scrumptious,” Sarah said, and everyone nodded their agreement but weren’t willing to stop eating to comment.

  As they were leaving, Sarah noticed that Sophie and Martha were whispering at the door. Then they hugged, and Martha kissed her future mother-in-law on the cheek. Sarah was glad to see that they were growing close, but she was baffled about this relationship with Norman. Why didn’t she tell me? Sarah wondered.

  As they were walking home, Charles asked if Sarah knew that Sophie was seeing Norman Hill.

  “I had no idea, and I’m eager to hear why she’s kept this a secret. Apparently, no one at that table knew about it. All I know is that she met him at the Community Center.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about him,” Charles responded before thinking and was immediately sorry he had said it.

  “Charles. Don’t you dare start investigating our friends.”

  * * *

  “So what do you have planned for today?” Charles asked as they were finishing their breakfast.

  “I’m hoping for a quiet morning in the sewing room,” Sarah responded. “Then this afternoon, Sophie and I are going to meet with my friend Paula. She’s agreed to show us how to research Agatha Tarkington’s family tree. How about you?”

  “I’m going to take a chance and call that neighbor, Mrs. Carlson again. She was very forthcoming with her information and seemed to be a real friend of the Davis’. I don’t think she’s the one that reported me to the cops down there. I want to ask her about the son.”

  “What’s the worst that can happen?” Sarah asked.

  “I get reamed out again. I’m tough. I can take it.” He joshed.

  “Yeah, you’re one tough guy alright. Now, put that kitty cat down and go take your pills.”

  Charles sat Bootsy on the floor, and she immediately ran over and jumped on Barney who had been peacefully sleeping in the corner of the room. He made a short warning yip, and within seconds Bootsy was back on top of the kitchen cabinets where she had made her home.

  Chapter 21

  “Let me take a look at what you have and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Sophie and Sarah were sitting in Paula’s kitchen with Sophie’s 3x5 cards spread out on the table. Paula had been tracking her own family history in great detail for years, and Sarah felt confident she would be able to get them going in the right direction.

  As Sophie read aloud from her cards with Sarah interjecting her own comments now and then, Paula made notes on a legal pad and occasionally asked for clarification. This continued for over an hour until finally Sophie sighed and said, “Okay, that’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

  Paula studied her legal pad for a few minutes, then got up and poured them each another cup of coffee. “It seems to me that I saw the name Tarkington the last time I was at City Hospital. It’s a wing or something…”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you about that,” Sarah responded. “I called the hospital administrator about that. Agatha arranged for a sizeable endowment for the hospital when she died. He wasn’t able to give me much information about it, but he referred me to her attorney.”

  “Was he any help?” Sophie asked looking irritated, and Sarah immediately realized she’d forgotten to fill Sophie in on that call.

  “No, but it was apparent that he didn’t have any information that would be helpful. He did confirm there were no heirs, and he said all of her assets went to charitable organizations, with the bulk being the hospital.”

  “Well,” Paula responded, “It looks to me like what you want to know is who passed the quilt to Agatha Tarkington for safe keeping, and since she said it was a family heirloom, I assume we want to know who her parents were first of all, and if there were siblings, right?”

  “We were told there were no siblings, but that probably should be confirmed.”

  “Do you want to do this research yourselves,” Paula asked. “I can give you some pointers to get you started if you’d like.”

  “I have a computer, and I could probably do it,” Sarah responded reluctantly. “But…”

  “Or,” Paula added, “I’d be happy to do some preliminary searches for you.”

  “I hate to trouble you, Paula, but if you’re willing to take a look at it, we’d appreciate it. Sophie and I have no experience with this sort of thing, and I don’t think my husband does either, although he’s great on the computer.”

  “Okay, how about this,” Paula suggested. “I’ll take a look at the census reports and the ancestry databases and see if I can identify Agatha’s parents and we’ll see where that takes us.”

  Sarah and Sophie left Paula’s house feeling elated. “We’re making some progress,” Sophie commented as they drove off.

  “I think so,” Sarah responded, but actually wondered just what good it would do to learn the names of ancestors unless there was also information about their quilts, which of course the databases wouldn’t include.

  “Do we have time to stop at the house before Delores’ class?” Sophie asked. “I forgot to bring my hexagons.”

  “How’s your quilt coming?”

  “It’s coming along. I sure hope I can get this done by September. I probably took on too much.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you’re putting a white path between your rosettes?”

  “Yes, that’s what the pattern says to do. Why?”

  “Would you like for me to cut your white hexagons and start basting them to their templates?”

  “I’d love that, Sarah,” Sophie exclaimed, “but remember, I’m not sewing them on, I’m using temporary glue.

  “That’s fine. I could even start slip-stitching some of them in strips if you show me your pattern.”

  “Sarah, that would be such a big help,” Sophie gushed, a tone she rarely exhibited.” Her tone changed somewhat when she remembered Sarah’s project. “But aren’t you busy with your own project?” Sarah had purchased se
veral scrap bags of 1800s reproduction fabrics for her Memories project. Although she was attempting to reproduce it as closely as possible, the resulting quilt top appeared different due to the new, crisp, and undamaged fabrics.

  “It’s coming along. There’s no hurry. I just work on it when I have free time. That’s what I love about the English Paper Piecing – I can work on it anywhere. I went to the doctor with Charles yesterday and sat for an hour working on it.”

  “Is Charles okay?”

  “This was a routine visit, but we had planned to do some shopping afterward so I just went with him since it’s so easy to entertain myself now.”

  At the meeting later that night, Delores helped the class complete their table toppers and used Sophie’s project as a tool for demonstrating the newer techniques. She also brought in samples of some of her own very modern versions of hexagons which were constructed using several other shapes and various colors within each hexagon. The group was enthralled, but no one felt ready to suggest she teach that class.

  On their way home, Sarah and Sophie agreed to meet at Sophie’s house early the next morning to set up a workspace in her spare room so they could begin working together on the wedding quilt. “I’ll have Charles drop me off, and he can bring one of those work tables from the garage.”

  * * *

  “Mrs. Carlson, this is Charles Parker. I’m …”

  “Oh, I remember you, detective. You’re the policeman that talked to me about Jamal and his wife.”

  “Actually, Mrs. Carlson, I’m a retired police officer from up north, and I’m trying to help out a friend.”

  “I wondered what was going on. A local detective came by and asked me all about your visit. I told him I had no problem talking with you, but he seemed upset. Now I understand,” she added with a chuckle.

  “Yeah,” he responded. “It’s a jurisdictional thing. Anyway, would you mind answering just one more question for me?”

  “Detective Parker, I’d be happy to answer any question you have. Angela and Jamal were our closest friends, and I miss her so much.”

  “How’s Jamal doing?” he asked, still curious about the man’s changed behavior.

  “He’s doing pretty well. He told my husband that he’s going to meetings every day now, and he has dinner with us two or three times a week. I know he’s grieving, but he’s handling it. He’s planning to stay on here. I thought he might want to sell the house with all its memories, but he said he feels at home here, and it’s got plenty of room for when his son visits.”

  “His son? Actually, that’s why I was calling.”

  “I don’t think we talked about Jackson when we spoke before. He’s such a nice young man. Actually, he’s probably approaching fifty, but everyone under sixty seems young to me,” she added with another chuckle.

  “So, he visits Jamal? Do you know where he lives?”

  “He went back to live in his hometown, as far as I know,” she responded.

  I keep doing this, Charles chastised himself. He had assumed that since Jamal took his son with him when he left Middletown, the son never returned. It never occurred to me that Jackson might be right here. I’m slowing down. Maybe Sarah is right when she says I’m getting too old for this kind of work.

  Forcing himself back to their conversation, he asked a few questions about the son’s visits. He learned that Jackson was a teacher in Middletown. “He teaches high school, I think. He said they are a pretty rough bunch of kids, but he loves working with them. He’s a really nice young man.”

  As they ended their conversation, Mrs. Carlson encouraged Charles to call back if he had any other questions.

  After he hung up the phone, he remained sitting at his desk staring at the few notes he had made.

  Why didn’t I think of this? All I had to do was check with Motor Vehicles. I wonder if those strokes have affected my mind? He didn’t want to ask Sarah because he didn’t want to admit that he was having problems, and he didn’t want to worry her. I’ll talk to the doctor about it, he assured himself.

  Picking up the phone again, he called his contact at Motor Vehicles and a few minutes later had Jackson Davis’ address and phone number. With a few more computer searches, he had Jackson’s resume which had been submitted to the school board and the names of other people living in his household, a Phyllis Davis, 47, and a daughter Adrianna, 13. He also found reference to two books co-authored by Jackson Davis for sale on a textbook website.

  “Okay,” Charles said aloud. “Not bad research for an old man!”

  Chapter 22

  The next morning Charles called Dr. Grossmann’s office to make an appointment. The doctor had a cancellation, and the receptionist told him to come on in. Charles made another call before leaving and made an appointment with his old lieutenant, Matthew Stokely.

  “What’s this all about?” Stokely had asked, still a bit peeved with Charles.

  “I’ll explain when I get there,” Charles assured him.

  Sarah had left early that morning to help Sophie with her quilt. He left her a note saying that he had some stops to make and would see her later. He didn’t explain beyond that.

  He drove directly to the doctor’s office and was feeling nervous when he sat down across the desk from the doctor who had seen him through his original stroke and had continued treating him since that time. He had told the receptionist he didn’t need an examination, that he just wanted to talk with the doctor about a personal problem.

  “I’m worried about my mind, doctor.”

  “Your mind?” The doctor seemed surprised. “You’re one of the sharpest men I know, Charles. What’s your concern?”

  Charles told him about the few details he had missed here and there over the past year, and a couple of times when he had forgotten someone’s name, or he couldn’t find something he had misplaced. “I’m worried that my mind is going,” he said.

  “Charles, what you’re experiencing is what we all experience as we get older. Forgetting is perfectly normal at our age.” Charles knew the doctor was at least fifteen years younger than he was, but he appreciated being including in the physician’s age range. “What I tell my patients is that if you forget where you put your car keys, that’s perfectly normal. If you don’t know what your car keys are for, that may be problematic.”

  “But all those strokes?”

  The doctor smiled and replied, “Are you forgetting about all those tests? I’ve seen your brain from every possible angle. You showed no signs of permanent damage, and you worked very hard in rehab to regain the losses you did suffer back then. And just remember, Charles, you only had one serious stroke, and that was nearly ten years ago. The other one you had out in Tennessee was just a warning, and from what I can see, you’ve heeded the warning.”

  “Sarah has heeded the warning,” Charles corrected him with an appreciative smile.

  “Stop worrying, Charles. You are right where you should be.”

  Charles took a deep breath and thanked the doctor for his time.

  He headed for the police station with renewed enthusiasm and feeling about twenty years younger.

  “Go on back,” the desk sergeant said as Charles walked into the station. “He’s expecting you.”

  “Matt,” Charles said, reaching out to shake his friend’s hand. “Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Happy to, Charlie. So what’s going on?”

  Charles went over his concerns about Jamal and his first wife’s death. He could see Matt Stokely’s reluctance to get involved, but when Charles got to the part about locating the older son and his speculation that the son might have witnessed her death, or even participated in it, he showed more interest. “What is it you want to do?”

  “I want to interview him.”

  Stokely sat silently, apparently thinking about what Charles had told him. Finally, he spoke up saying, “I reviewed that case last week after your exploits in Louisiana…”

  Charles shrugged his apol
ogy.

  “And I can see why you’d have questions. Let’s see if this Jackson Davis will come in and talk to us. We have no basis for bringing him in, but he might be willing to come in on his own.”

  “Will you be interviewing him yourself?” Charles asked, hoping to be involved but reluctant to ask.

  “You’ve got a way with these guys, Charlie. You go see him and ask him to come in. You can do the interview, but I’d like to sit in. I’ll put you on the books just for this limited assignment.” He stressed the last sentence, letting Charles know he wasn’t giving him free reign.

  “Thanks, Matt. I understand the limitations.”

  “I hope so,” Stokely replied attempting to look stern, but appreciating his friend’s diligence and skill.

  * * *

  “Did you get your project finished with Sophie?” he asked when Sarah walked in a few hours after his return. She was carrying a tote bag filled with white fabric which she sat down on the kitchen table and pulled out a handful of white fabric hexagons. “It’s far from finished,” she responded. “But this is my contribution to Sophie’s wedding quilt for the kids. It’s going to be beautiful.”

  “It’s all white?” he said, looking hesitant.

  “Oh no, it’s very colorful. We’ll bring it over for you to see when we get farther along. This is just my small contribution. What have you been doing today?” she asked, picking up the note he had left her.

  Leaving out the appointment with Dr. Grossmann, he told her about his phone call the previous evening with Mrs. Carlson and what he had learned about Jackson. Then he told her about his visit with Matt and that he had a very limited contract with the department to do two things: attempt to get Jackson to agree to an interview at the department, and to conduct that interview to see what he might know about Clarissa’s death.

  “What if he killed her?” Sarah asked. It was a question he had in his own mind, but he didn’t realize she had considered it as well.

  “Then I guess he won’t agree to come in.”

  “And you’ll leave it at that?” she asked looking doubtful.