Andy looked properly chagrined. "I'm sorry. You're right. It's just a little more than I'm used to. It's your house and my rules don't apply."
"There ya go. Now you're talking my language," Beryl said. She put her arm around Andy's shoulder. "And I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. You take better care of me than I do myself sometimes. So what's for lunch?"
"Sandwiches and I brought beef stew," Lydia said.
Beryl wrinkled her brow. "How did you whip together beef stew so fast? We weren't here long enough for you to do that."
"I was making up a pot for some neighbors, but you're more important. I'll take them something tomorrow." Lydia opened the lid of a crockpot she'd plugged into the wall.
"You're amazing," Polly said in awe. "Are you always cooking something?"
"I do enjoy myself in the kitchen. The best part of taking food to friends and neighbors is that I get to cook and then I don't have to eat it all." Lydia took a deep breath. "I didn't know what to do when my kids left home. Cooking for two is a lot different than cooking for seven plus all of the random friends that used to show up. I had to come up with a new plan. So I deliver food whenever I can. It makes me happy."
The front doorbell rang and Beryl glanced at them. "Who's that?"
"It's Aaron," Polly said.
Beryl grimaced. "Surely he doesn't think I had anything to do with that person's death, does he?"
Lydia was already weaving through them to the kitchen door so she could retrieve her husband.
"Are you here?" Aaron called out.
"Back here in the kitchen, honey," Lydia said. "Come on in."
"See," Beryl said in an aside to Polly. "They even let strangers into my house without asking permission."
CHAPTER THREE
"Everyone is here," Aaron said, coming into the kitchen. "This looks like trouble." He walked over to Beryl and put his hand on her shoulder. "I know Polly is used to dealing with death, but how are you doing?"
"I was a little shook up," she admitted, "but now I'm worried. Why are you here?"
Beryl's kitchen was too small for five people. Since Rebecca had come upstairs to see what was going on, the room had grown smaller and Polly felt as if she couldn't breathe.
She slid past Aaron into the hallway. "Too many people," she mumbled. It took three deep breaths to relax. She hadn't dealt with claustrophobia since being kidnapped by Joey Delancy. These people were her friends, but it didn't matter.
"I just need to speak with Beryl," Aaron said. "If the rest of you want to go out to the living room, we'll find you when we finish."
"Oh no you don't, Mister Sheriff-Man." Beryl pushed his shoulder. "If you have bad news for me, you know better than to take away my girlios. We'll all go to the living room." She pushed him again, this time toward the kitchen door.
Rebecca followed Polly out to the big living room, where every horizontal space was covered with a quilt or blanket, often in layers of two or three. The coffee table had a brightly colored quilt on it, covered by a second, denim quilt turned at forty-five degrees. The sofa had colorful blankets and quilts draped across the back, one over each arm and there were full-size, brightly colored quilted pillows at each end. Rugs of different shapes, sizes and colors were scattered across the carpeting. All of the plants, vases, and knick knacks had been either removed or put up high in the bookshelves. Beryl had done her best to kitty-proof the room.
This living room was still one of Polly's favorites. She'd never be able to pull off what Beryl had done. Even though it might seem cluttered to some, it was soft and comfortable and tastefully arranged. Maybe she just needed more quilts. If the ladies at the new shop downtown were serious about teaching her how to sew, she could create her own and fill the apartment.
Polly sat down at one end of the sofa and tugged on Rebecca's hand so the girl would sit beside her. Rebecca reached across Polly to grab a pillow and set it on their laps. She looked up and grinned, shrugging her shoulders. What a little nut.
After everyone sat down, Beryl put her hands in her lap and clasped them, rubbing one thumb on top of the other. "I'm ready. Spill the bad news."
Lydia was sitting on the sofa next to Beryl's chair and reached across the space to stroke her friend's arm. She looked worried.
Aaron sat on the coffee table in front of her and pulled a sealed and marked plastic bag out of his pocket. "This wallet belongs to the man we found in that grave. I want to know if he is a member of your family."
He passed it to Beryl and she creased her forehead as she looked at it. The wallet had been opened before being placed into the bag and Beryl stared at the driver's license.
"Ethan Carter," she said. "He has my maiden name, but I've never heard of him and he's from Taos, New Mexico. Nobody in any part of the family that I'm familiar with lives there."
She handed it over to Lydia, who glanced at it and passed it to Andy. After a quick look, Andy handed it to Polly. Aaron watched the transactions happen with a grin on his face.
Polly held the wallet so both she and Rebecca could look at the driver's license of Ethan Carter.
"You know," Beryl said, with no small amount of sarcasm in her voice, "there are thousands of Carters in the country who aren't related to me. Hell, there are probably thousands of Carters out there who are related to me, but I wouldn't recognize them if we met face to face in a mud puddle. Carters have been around for a long time. I have ancestors that lived in jolly old England and others that came from Scotland."
The picture on the driver's license was that of a young man, just about Polly’s age, with jet black hair that curled around his ears and big, dark eyes. Ethan Carter was a good looking young man. How did he end up in Iowa? She poked her fingers in the plastic so she could look inside the wallet and saw that there was nearly two hundred and fifty dollars. So he wasn't killed for his money. There were credit cards, punch cards, and store reward cards, but no photographs that she could see.
"Was he married?" Polly asked.
Aaron shook his head. "No wedding ring, but that doesn't mean anything. Anita is checking the Taos area for family connections and missing person reports. We're just beginning our investigation. But I wanted to speak with you first, Beryl, just in case he was someone that you knew."
Beryl nodded and then swiped her hand across her forehead. "You had me really worried, you know. It's not fair to do that to an old lady." She crossed her legs. "I could have embarrassed myself."
Aaron chuckled and put his hand out for the wallet.
Polly directed Rebecca's eyes to the photograph and raised her eyebrows. Rebecca gave a slight nod and Polly reached across the table to put the package into Aaron's hand.
"What else do you know about him?" Polly asked. "He's not married. Was there a weapon or anything? Do you know how he was killed? Was that his blood on the gravestone? Has anyone reported an abandoned car with New Mexico plates? Do you have his cell phone? Anything?"
"No weapon," Aaron said. "We'll know more later." He looked over his shoulder at Polly. "But not later today. I don't know when the autopsy will be finished. There was no cell phone and as for an abandoned car with plates from New Mexico ... you're kidding, right?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. It's something I'd notice."
Beryl jumped to her feet. Everybody looked at her.
"What?" Lydia asked. "Are you okay?"
"My aunt. She's done a lot of genealogy for our family. I wonder how deep her information is." Beryl sat back down again. "Aw hell. She hates me and I don’t want to talk to her anyway."
She reached forward and patted Aaron's knee. "I'm sorry if I got your hopes up."
"My hopes?" He was confused.
"Genealogy."
He shook his head, still not understanding.
Beryl chuckled. "You're telling me that you didn't follow my train of thought?"
Aaron laughed with her. "I guess not. What are you apologizing for? What am I hoping for?"
"If I ca
n get hold of some of her genealogy charts, we might find out if this young man is part of another branch of my Carter family."
"I see," he said. "I suppose that's one way to investigate this."
She grinned. "Well, it's the way my mind worked it out. But it might take a few days. We aren't on the best speaking terms."
"Who isn't?" Andy asked. "You and your aunt?"
"No. Well, yes. Actually, me and all of the cousins on that side. They think I'm daft and I think they're redneck idiots. Not a bright bulb in the bunch."
"What did you do?" Lydia asked.
"I told them all to go rot in hell. It's been about twenty years now, but my feelings haven't changed." She huffed out a chuckle. "Theirs might have, though. They are dumber than a pile of pea gravel and by now, they've probably forgotten everything." Beryl sported a wicked grin. "It really wasn't a fair fight. There were only six of them and one of me."
Lydia looked at Beryl in shock. "Why would you do something like that? They're family."
"You know my family." Beryl glared at Lydia. "But, it was a long time ago and they made me angry. I don't even remember what it was all about, but there were some nasty comments about my side of the family. Stupid hillbillies think they're better than the rest of the world. They don't even know what it means to be better than the rest of the world."
She'd wound herself up, rising off the chair. Lydia put her hand out and Beryl realized what she'd done. "Okay, okay. I can't talk about them. But if I have to talk to them, I will. Maybe I can find out if there's a link between this young man and my family." She turned to Aaron. "It does seem odd that a Carter was buried in our old Carter family plot, don't you think? That's a coincidence that even I recognize as just too much."
He nodded and laughed. "Makes sense to me. The genealogy idea is a good one. Especially if there is someone who has done a great deal of research. If you need me or one of my people to reach out to your aunt, just let me know. I'd like to see what she has."
"Come to think of it," Beryl said. "So would I. Maybe I could find an entirely different set of relatives that are at least tolerable to be around for short periods of time." She looked around the room. "Not that you all aren't my favorite family in the world."
~~~
Aaron left without eating, claiming that he was needed back at the office. Andy and Lydia went back out to the kitchen to finish preparing the food and Beryl leaned back in her chair.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I could really use a kitty snuggle," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
"Do you want me to let them out?" Rebecca asked.
Beryl opened her eyes and nodded toward the kitchen. "No, not while they're here. It's just too much chaos. But if you wouldn't mind going downstairs to play with them, at least I wouldn't worry that they're lonely."
Rebecca glanced at Polly, who nodded. "Wait," Polly said. "Take your sketchbook. Did you get a good look at that photograph?"
"Of course I did. That's what you wanted me to do, right?"
"You're a smart girl," Polly said. "See what you can do with it." She watched Rebecca head down the steps and then said, "I wish I could draw like she does. I always have."
"You do your own thing very well." Beryl's voice slurred as she relaxed, her body molding itself into the chair.
"Oh honey," Polly said. "You've had a rough day. Did you not sleep last night?"
Beryl opened her eyes again. "I was in the studio until about three. I have too much work to do. I'll be fine. Just let me rest my eyes for a minute."
Polly put one of the many blankets from the back of the couch over Beryl's lap. As she stood up to go to the kitchen, Beryl pulled it up around her shoulders and gave her a sleepy smile.
"We should leave," she said when she turned into the kitchen. She dropped into a chair across from Andy. "Beryl's exhausted."
"She'll be fine," Andy replied. "Just give her a few minutes to regroup. We're almost ready to serve lunch."
"I'm not kidding." Polly looked at Lydia for help. "She's asleep out there. She didn't sleep last night because she was working and then the emotions of all of this really took her out."
Lydia glanced around the room and without a word, started closing up plastic containers and replacing aluminum foil on dishes.
"What are you doing?" Andy said. "She'll kill us if we leave."
"I'd rather she kill us than wear her out any more. If I don't miss my guess, that woman is about to have one of Polly's crazy couple of weeks ahead of her."
"My what?" Polly asked with a laugh. Then she nodded. "You're right. Those weeks. I try not to make anyone else live through them. Do you think that young man is related to her?"
Lydia continued closing up containers while Andy stood up to put dishes and glasses away in the cupboard. Lydia glanced at Polly. "I suspect it's a very distant relation, but there will be some connection. There are going to be strangers in town and we all know how Beryl is with too much human interaction."
"It's bad," Andy acknowledged. "Very, very bad." She reached down into a tote and took out a marking pen and a plastic container of pre-cut labels.
"What are you doing?" Polly asked.
Andy looked at her with a sheepish grin. "You be nice. Beryl will be glad to have names and dates on these containers."
"Okay then." Polly held up a box of crackers. "Shall we label these as crackers or baked flat wheat toasted thingies?"
"Put them in the cupboard and leave me alone. This will only take a minute."
Polly tossed the box to Lydia, glad they were in close enough proximity to not have to worry about her awful throwing and catching arm. How she missed out on learning how to do that, she'd never know. That she couldn't do either was hilarious most of the time. With Henry, she didn't even bother trying any longer. He was never going to stop giving her trouble about it, so she might as well just own it and have fun. He'd tried a few times to help her learn how to see where she was throwing or what was coming at her, but she had a block about it.
"I'm going to get Rebecca," she said.
"Tell her to let the kittens out," Lydia said. "Beryl loves those little things and they'll do more to help her relax than we can."
Polly went back out into the living room and checked Beryl before heading downstairs. The woman had pulled her legs up and was leaning on the wing of the chair, sound asleep.
Tip-toeing down the steps to the basement, Polly followed the sound of Rebecca's voice to a back bedroom and opened the door.
"Careful, they'll get out," Rebecca cried.
"It's okay. We're going to leave. Lydia and Andy are cleaning up the kitchen."
Rebecca wrinkled her forehead. "Why?"
"Beryl is sleeping. We just need to get out of here and let her relax. It sounds like she didn't get much sleep last night and today's activities wore her out emotionally."
"Nobody really does death like you do," Rebecca said. She held out the sketch pad. "Is that close?"
Polly looked at the drawing Rebecca had done of the young man's driver's license. She'd captured him perfectly. "Weird question," Polly said. "Can you draw Beryl?"
Rebecca shrugged. "Yes. Why?"
"Look at this picture and then think about Beryl. Are they related?"
"Do you want me to do it now?" Rebecca asked.
"No. We'll wait until we get home. It's just a strange thought I had." She handed the sketchpad back to Rebecca. "Do you see anything?"
"Not right off," Rebecca said. "But I want to see what my hands do when I draw Beryl. Maybe I'll make the same nose or the chin or the eyes or something. I'll know it when I feel it."
"When you feel it?"
Rebecca stood up from the bed. "I know it sounds weird, but when I draw, I move my hand in certain ways. Do you know that your nose is similar to Henry’s? When I drew Heath and Hayden, they had a lot of facial features that were exactly alike, but their cheeks are different. Heath has a wider face. When I drew their eyes, those were e
xactly the same and so are their lips and the way their nostrils look."
Polly nodded, accepting what Rebecca said, even if she didn't know how to assimilate the information. "Is that the way everyone draws?"
"I don't think so. Beryl says that she only really feels landscapes, not faces like I do. She even said that sometimes she can feel the colors that she paints. They mess with her emotions. Have you ever seen her cry when she paints?"
"No," Polly said. She put her arm around Rebecca's shoulders. "I don't think I've ever really watched her paint anything."
"It's kind of cool. She doesn't like having people around, though. She says it makes her feel all stilted and stuff."
"I get that." Polly looked around the room. "Kittens are gone?"
"They took off. They were wrestling when I got down here. Hopefully they'll just sleep now." Rebecca took Polly's hand. "They're really cute, but I like Luke and Leia. Sometimes they play, but they aren't always getting into trouble because they're curious about every single thing. They've experienced it all."
The two walked out into the basement. "You should have seen them when they were little," Polly said. "I thought they were going to drive Obiwan crazy. Fortunately, he was a puppy at the same time. But they were two against one and those two kittens had no idea that he was as big as he was."
"He's a good dog. He wouldn't hurt them," Rebecca said.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Now, what’s this?" Sal asked, holding up an iridescent turquoise glass vase. "Keep or toss?" She pulled the top off the base and looked at it like it might bite her.
"Put that on the counter," Polly replied. "Mr. Gardner can tell me if it's worth anything."
Sal bent down from the top of her step ladder and carefully placed the vase among other glass pieces on the counter. "I can't believe a young woman collected all of these granny things. What was she thinking?"
Unexpected Riches (Bellingwood Book 13) Page 3