Unexpected Riches (Bellingwood Book 13)

by Diane Greenwood Muir

  "Wow," Polly said. "She's better than me. I've never attempted to get involved in Uncle Will's kids' lives."

  "He's not your brother, though," Lydia replied. "It was his responsibility to be involved in your life. Not only was he not involved, but he blatantly told your father that he wanted nothing to do with you. It's a little different."

  "I suppose. But this has to be hard on Beryl."

  "It is. And the thing that just raises my ire is that those damned brothers of hers still think that after all of that, they have a right to disrespect her." Lydia pulled her right hand into a fist and shook it. "If she'd just let me at 'em one time. I'd give those boys a piece of my mind."

  Polly chuckled. "Beryl always gives people a piece of her mind. I can't believe she doesn't say anything to her brothers."

  "Isn't it funny," Lydia said. "After all these years, she's afraid that they'll cut her off completely from their families." She snarled. "Like they haven't already. But at least it's still amicable and Beryl desperately wants it to stay that way. She'll put up with anything from them."

  Camille came over to the table with a box and a cup. "I went ahead and made your regular, Polly," she said. "Is that what you wanted?"

  Polly took the cup from her and held it against her chest. "It's exactly what I wanted. Thank you."

  "Sylvie says she didn't put any poison in the muffins." Camille put the box down in front of Lydia.

  "Rats," Lydia said. "Just a little to make them feel sick to their stomachs?"

  Camille laughed. "Not this week."

  "Tell her thank you." Lydia pressed some bills into Camille's hand. "Thank you very much."

  "This isn't necessary," Camille said. "You've already paid us."

  "I just paid for Polly's coffee and a little extra. You took care of me today and I appreciate it."

  Polly smiled up at Camille and shrugged. "You try to fight with her. It's a losing battle."

  "Then I'll say thank you." Camille patted Polly's shoulder and walked away, picking up mugs from a table whose occupants had just left.

  Lydia looked down at the box in front of her. "It's time to enter the fray. I can think of a thousand things I'd rather do with Beryl today." She looked at Polly, pleading in her eyes. "Do you want to come with me?"

  Polly took a slow sip from her cup. "What's in it for me?" she asked.

  "My undying love and one of Sylvie's muffins?"

  "You already love me and I know the baker," Polly said.

  Lydia put her hand over her mouth and coughed. "I'm coming down with something and I should send you over with this food."

  "Why don't you want to do this?"

  "Were you not listening?" Lydia scowled at Polly. "Beryl has insensitive brothers who are mean to her."

  "It can't be that bad. But of course I'll go with you. I don't have anything important to do this morning. The research on Bell House can wait."

  "Bell House?" Lydia asked. She stood up and took her coat up from the back of her chair.

  "I haven't had a chance to tell you yet," Polly said. "We found an old title to the house. The original title. The son of one of Bellingwood's founders originally built the Springer House as an inn. It's one hundred years old this year."

  Lydia smiled. "Are you going to celebrate that with the sesquicentennial?"

  "Maybe," Polly said. "It all depends on whether or not Henry can find time in his schedule to do the renovation work. We'll do something this summer but I'm not sure what it will be."

  She waved goodbye to Camille as they walked out the front door.

  "I'll see you there," Lydia said. "And don't you dare drive off and leave me. I'm counting on you now, you know."

  "Got it. Straight to Beryl's house and no detours." Polly climbed in her truck, took her phone out of her pocket, and dialed.

  "You have a better offer, don't you?" Jeff Lindsay asked.

  She was perplexed. "What?"

  "You aren't coming into the office this morning. I know you, you're a slacker."

  "Why, yes I am," she said with a laugh. "I did think to call and let you know, though."

  "Spending the morning at the Springer House?"

  "Bell House," she corrected. "No. I'm going over to Beryl's for a while. If you need me, though, call."

  "I'll let Stephanie know," Jeff said. "I'll be out most of the day. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Okay." Polly backed out of the parking space and drove the few blocks to Beryl's house.

  Two pickup trucks were parked in Beryl's driveway, so Polly pulled in behind Lydia's Jeep in front of the house. She was immediately transported back to the days when they'd rebuilt Beryl's studio. Neighbors were upset at the extra traffic. She inadvertently turned around and glanced back at Larry Storey's house. He'd made sure that Polly knew how offensive the extra vehicles were around Beryl's house.

  There he was, peeking out of his front window. He'd pulled the curtain back to see the activity.

  Polly got out and walked around the back of her truck, looked up again and waved at him before going to the front door. The poor man waved back, then left the window altogether.

  She put her hand up to knock, but Lydia was right there and opened the door. "Polly Giller," Lydia said. "It's good to see you. What brings you out today?"

  "Ummm..." Polly was at a loss.

  "That's wonderful," Lydia said. "I'm sure Beryl would like you to meet her brothers. Come on in."

  Polly followed Lydia into the living room and hugged Beryl when the woman jumped out of her seat and rushed over to her. "How are you this morning?" Polly asked.

  Beryl nodded. "I'm fine. Let me introduce you to my brothers. Melvin, this is Polly Giller. She owns Sycamore House and the Sycamore Inn."

  The older of the two men stood up. He'd lost most all of his hair. What was left was white and thin. He was a big man, mostly in the belly. His well-worn blue jeans barely stayed up. Polly knew she shouldn't notice that he had no butt to hold them in place, but she did and he didn't.

  He'd stood to shake her hand. "This is our brother, Harold."

  Harold looked a lot like his brother. Not quite as big, but still a large man. He wore a flannel shirt over a t-shirt that was tucked into his jeans. The hat on the table had to have been his because there was still a crease in the little bit of hair he had left on his head.

  Because there wasn't much room beside his brother, he didn't stand and Polly reached over to shake his hand.

  "It's nice to meet you both," she said.

  One little grey cat was alert on the chair Beryl had just left. "Where's the other one?" Polly asked.

  "I'll pick her up this morning after we're finished," Beryl said. "Hem came home with me last night." She gestured to the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

  Polly looked at the mugs on the table and glanced at Lydia who gave her a surreptitious nod. "I'd love some. But I can get it."

  Beryl looked at her brothers. "I'll be right back. Help yourself to the muffins. They're made by the best baker in town." She pushed Polly ahead of her, scooting her toward the kitchen. Once they crested the threshold, she whispered. "I'm so glad you two are here."

  "What's going on?" Polly asked.

  "They're asking me questions about that young man that was killed. I told them to call the sheriff, but they want to hear it from me. I don't know what to tell them. I've been so busy that I haven't called my aunt about the genealogy and I don't have any answers. Aaron hasn't told me anything new. What am I supposed to say?"

  "Say that," Lydia said. "What do they want from you?"

  "Answers. They're upset that I didn't call anyone on Saturday when it happened. How was I to know that they required a phone call from me? Am I a mind-reader?"

  Lydia patted Beryl's arm. "Calm down. If you don't have information for them, then that's all there is to it. They made a trip for nothing."

  "Not for nothing," Beryl said. "You brought muffins. They got a free breakfast."

  "Those two men a
re your brothers?" Polly asked.

  Beryl cackled. "I love you, Polly Giller. You know the best things to say." She took down two mugs and poured coffee into them. Then she opened the lower cupboard and pulled out a brown bottle. "Want some Irish cream in there?"

  "No," Lydia said. "I'm not starting my day out by getting drunk."

  "You're no fun." Beryl stuck her tongue out and put the bottle back into the cupboard. She handed the mugs to Lydia and Polly. "Shall we?"

  They followed her back to the living room and sat down in chairs opposite the sofa.

  "Muffin?" Beryl asked Polly, reaching for the bakery box.

  "No, I'm fine," Polly replied. "I had breakfast this morning."

  Lydia waved her off as well.

  Melvin and Harold watched the interplay in confusion.

  "Did you have plans this morning, Beryl?" Melvin asked.

  "No, why?"

  "Your friends are here when we're trying to discuss family matters."

  Beryl took a deep, measured breath before looking at him. "What family matters are we discussing?"

  "That dead boy in our historical family plot," Harold said. As if he realized that he'd said something out loud, he shook his head quickly and shut his mouth.

  "Polly was the one who found that poor boy," Beryl said.

  Harold nodded. "We've heard about her."

  Beryl shook her head. "What is there to discuss? Is he someone you know? I know he was a Carter, but I don't know what family he's from."

  "One of those West Coast Carters," Melvin said with derision.

  She chuckled. "We have West Coast Carters?"

  "Must be from that branch that moved out there," he mumbled.

  "A hundred and fifty years ago? You think you can tell that he's a descendant of Lester Carter?" she asked.

  "Who else would it be?"

  "Where does your Mary live?" Beryl degenerated to sarcasm. She'd given up being nice about this.

  "Tennessee," Harold answered.

  "What if she'd moved to any state west of Colorado? Would you assume that she was a descendant of Lester?" Beryl kept pushing them. This didn't sound like someone who was scared of her brothers. "What if one of Cyrus's descendants had moved out there? It could be anyone or it could be someone who isn't related to us at all."

  "Well, what does the sheriff say about him?" Melvin asked. "He's her husband," he nodded at Lydia, "and your friend. Surely you can get some information from him. It happened on our land!" He sat forward as he worked himself up.

  Beryl glanced at Lydia.

  "My husband is investigating the death," Lydia said. "But murder investigations take time. They are looking for the young man's family and trying to understand why he was killed, much less buried in your family plot."

  "It's a historical plot," Harold repeated. "No one is buried there nowadays."

  Lydia nodded in understanding. "As soon as your sister knows something, I'm certain that she'll let you know. If this young man is part of your extended family, I'm also certain that she would be glad for assistance from both of your families in welcoming his family to Iowa. They will need a great deal of love and care in this terrible time."

  Beryl looked at Lydia, gulping back laughter. She turned back to her brothers. "I would be glad of your help. You have larger homes than I do."

  "You can afford to put them up at the hotel," Melvin said.

  "If that's what you'd like me to do, I will," Beryl replied. "Lydia was just recommending that we be hospitable."

  "Do either of you have any information about the early families of Bellingwood?" Polly asked. "Are there any documents, pictures or other items that might have been handed down to you? Things that weren't copied for the centennial?"

  Harold looked at his brother. "You have papa's things."

  "I haven't been through any of those boxes in years," Melvin said. He turned to Polly. "Why do you ask? What does that have to do with any of this?"

  "It just seems to me that if this young man is from another branch of the family and you have old information, we might be able to find something that connects it all." Polly shrugged. "And besides, since the sesquicentennial is coming up this summer, the planning committee will probably want as much information as they can get. I just purchased the Springer House and discovered that it was built in nineteen sixteen as an inn. The son of Hiram Bell built it. There's got to be more information about those early years if we can just get people to open up their old trunks, scrapbooks and files."

  Melvin nodded, thinking about what she said. "I could dig those out." He looked at his sister. "But I don't have time to look through them."

  "I'd love to do that," Beryl said. "I'd love it."

  "Come on out and pick them up. Give me a day or two to bring the boxes out of the closet."

  "Thank you," she gushed. "I had no idea you still had those boxes."

  "It's just old papers and pictures, but if you find something that the town would like to have, give it to them." Melvin put his hand on his brother's knee and pushed himself to a standing position. "We should go now and leave you three to do whatever you were planning to do. Come on, Brother."

  Melvin stepped away from the chair and Harold stood up. "Thank you for the coffee, Beryl. It was nice to see you. Pat says I should ask you to Sunday dinner some one of these days. It's mostly just the two of us, but sometimes the kids are home."

  "I'd love to come," Beryl said. She waved at Polly and Lydia to stay seated and followed her brothers to the front door.

  Polly took a deep breath and relaxed. "That was interesting."

  "They did better than expected," Lydia said. "Melvin even got nice there toward the end." She grinned at Polly. "Must be because there was a pretty girl in the room."

  The front door thudded closed and Beryl let out a shrill howl as she came back to the living room. "What in the world was that all about?"

  "I think you're supposed to call Aaron and get the scoop before you talk to your brothers again," Polly said.

  Beryl scowled. "Bet my little pink ass."

  "Will you go get the boxes from your brother?"

  "Maybe." Beryl sat back down in her chair, scooping little Hem into her arms. "If you go with me."

  Lydia and Polly looked at each other, trying to decide which one of them she was talking to.

  "You're both going with me. Then I'll take you out to lunch somewhere fancy." Beryl stroked Hem's head. "Please?"

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Look at this, Miss Giller." Tommy Garwood waved frantically from the back of the classroom.

  "Yes, Tommy," she said. "Please stand if you would like to speak."

  The young boy stood up beside his desk and put his hand up, "Miss Giller?"

  "Go ahead, Tommy. What is so important that you feel you must interrupt reading time?"

  "The sheriff and his deputy just rode past. Do you think there might have been another bank robbery?"

  She sighed and pointed back to his desk. "Tom Garwood, if you spent your time reading rather than looking out the window, you'd find that your exam scores would significantly increase."

  "But Miss Giller," he protested. "Everybody is heading toward town. Just look outside."

  Polly glanced at the window and saw that he was correct. There was quite a commotion on the street going past the schoolhouse. Iowa wasn't the Old West any longer. Bellingwood was civilized now.

  "You all stay where you are," she commanded. As she strode toward the back of the room, Polly stopped to press Tommy Garwood back into his seat. "That includes you."

  Polly stopped in the doorway at the back of the room and took her cloak from the hook on the wall. She turned back to the class. "Miss Heater, you are in charge while I step out. Class, I expect that you will all listen to her and remain quiet. Understood?"

  Twenty-five sets of wide eyes looked at her while their heads nodded in unison. Polly threw her cloak across her shoulders, buttoned it at the neck and drew on the gloves that she'd s
tuffed in its pockets this morning. She rushed out the front door of the schoolhouse and stopped the first person who walked past her.

  "What's happening?"

  "There's a gunfight in front of the bank," the young man said.

  Polly stepped back, shaken at his words. While she stood there, two men on horses flew past, one turning in his saddle to shoot at whoever was following them. She was dumbfounded. How could this be happening in Bellingwood, Iowa?

  In moments, the sheriff rode past again, his gun raised and pointed at the two who were fleeing. The crowd that had gathered to watch the excitement surged toward her and Polly attempted to get back to the safety of the steps of her schoolhouse. She tripped and slammed down on the ice-cold, snow packed ground.

  "Polly!" She heard a familiar voice as she was lifted from the ground and she tried to focus on their face.

  "Polly! Are you okay?"

  "What?" Polly finally shook herself awake and found that Henry was holding her in his arms. "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Look around," he said.

  She tentatively took in her surroundings and realized that they were on the floor of her bedroom. "What happened?" She had a good idea what had happened and felt a little embarrassed by the whole thing.

  "I have no idea how you did it," he said, "but you fell out of bed. Are you okay?"

  Polly laughed out loud and couldn't stop herself from chuckling. "I fell out of bed? How?"

  He pulled her in for a hug and then let her go. "I told you, I don't know. But it might have something to do with those critters who demand that they deserve most of our bed. I felt you pull a blanket away from me and the next thing I knew there was a thud and you were gone."

  "You got here really fast," she said. "I didn't even have time to..." Polly stopped talking and thought about her dream. "You got over to my side really fast."

  "You didn't have time to what?" he asked.