2 The Patchwork Puzzler
Page 7
“No,” she replied. “We’ll leave that up to Chief Purdue. Wouldn’t want to be thrown in jail for worrying him.”
“Yes, we’d have to call Mark for a habeas corpus,” smiled the policeman’s wife.
“Don’t worry,” said Jim Purdue. “I’m gonna stake out the Burpyville Trailways station. We’ll pick up Henry and Nan when they try to board the bus for Indy.”
“You’ll get Nan, but it might be someone other than Henry,” murmured Maddy, almost a throwaway comment.
“S-someone other than Henry?” sputtered the police chief.
“You do realize Henry and Nan have an accomplice, don’t you?”
“Just how do you figure that, Maddy Madison?”
“We all know it took someone with great sewing skills to make that fake Pennington. Except for using synthetic thread, you can’t tell it from the real thing. Neither Henry nor Nan can sew that well. So they had to have a third partner, someone who’s a master quilt-maker.”
Chapter Fifteen
A New Suspect
Aggie put it into perspective for them. “It’s really quite simple,” she said as everyone polished off the last of watermelon pies. “Who d’you know that’s good enough at quilting to make a fake you can’t tell from the original?”
“I don’t know anyone that good,” admitted Lizzie. “Even I couldn’t do it.” The nimble-fingered redhead was considered to be the best quilter in Caruthers Corners, having won First Prize in the Watermelon Days competition three years in a row.
“Somebody did it,” Bootsie pointed out.
“It couldn’t be anyone we know,” insisted Cookie. “Maddy and I already went down that road.”
“How about Holly Eberhard,” said Bootsie. “I’ll bet she could do it.”
“Well, of course, she could,” shrugged Lizzie. “After all, she’s the statewide champion.”
“Yes, but who else?” asked Cookie.
“Why not Holly Everlast?” asked Aggie.
“Eberhard,” corrected her grandmother. “Holly Eberhard.”
“Don’t be silly, Aggie,” her mother spoke up. “Holly Eberhard’s a famous quilt designer written up in all the magazines. I once saw a profile of her in Quilter’s Quarterly. That magazine features the very best quilters in the universe.”
“Okay, but who else could make a perfect copy?” persisted the ten-year-old girl.
“Lots of people I’m sure,” said Cookie. “Just not anyone we’d know.”
“Besides,” added Lizzie, “it wasn’t a perfect copy. Daniel Sokolowski spotted the synthetic thread, proving it wasn’t made back in the 1920s.”
“Close enough it fooled us,” said Maddy. “We would have never spotted that modern thread.”
“That’s true,” said Cookie, “but the Smithsonian would’ve when we tried to return a fake instead of the genuine article.” She was dreading tomorrow’s phone call to the famous museum.
“You know, Holly Eberhard grew up here in Caruthers Corners,” said Beau. “Her mother was a Caruthers.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Cookie, obviously miffed. She prided herself in being an authority on the town’s genealogy.
“Beau’s right. She was raised over on Melon Hill,” said Edgar Ridenour. “The Savings and Loan held the family’s mortgage. As I recall, her mother was Henry Caruthers’ aunt. That makes her Henry’s first cousin.”
“No kidding?” said Tillie, chair pulled back from the kitchen table to make room for her tummy. “She’s related to our criminal mastermind?”
“Well, that certainly adds her to our suspicious characters list,” said Maddy, speaking for the Quilter’s Club.
“I’ll say,” intoned Bootsie.
“Hey now, don’t get carried away,” said her policeman husband. “Being Lefty’s cousin isn’t a crime.”
“Lefty?” said Bill.
“A nickname from high school,” explained his dad. “Henry’s left-handed. He used to be a great pitcher. Had a winning season senior year.”
“Don’t feel bad, Cookie,” said Edgar. “Eberhard’s Holly’s married name. If we’d said Holly Lazynski, you would have placed her.”
“Lydia Lazynski’s daughter?”
“The same.”
“Well, I’ll be a ring-tail raccoon.”
Her husband Ben patted her arm. “You’re my little raccoon,” he said affectionately.
“Thanks, Big Bear.”
“Big Bear?” repeated little N’yen.
“Just a term of endearment,” Cookie said. “But he’s as big and powerful as a bear.”
“A Teddy Bear?”
“More like a grizzly,” said Aggie as she assayed the squat brawny man.
“Gr-r-r-r-r!” Ben gave his imitation of a bear, hands raised like giant paws, lumbering toward the wide-eyed children.
“Oo-o-o,” said N’yen.
“You’re funny,” said Aggie.
“We need to take a closer look at Holly Lazynski Eberhard,” concluded Maddy Madison as she began to clear away the dishes.
≈≈≈
“How are you adjusting to having a Vietnamese grandson?” Maddy asked her husband as she brushed her hair, preparing for bed. The brown sheen of her hair looked fairly natural, nary a sign of gray strands.
“Fine.”
“No, really?”
“Really. He’s a nice kid. Bright, funny.”
“And Asian.”
Beau looked up as his wife from the big double bed. “Just because I served in Nam doesn’t mean I’ve got anything against Asians.”
“You seemed upset when you first learned that Bill and Kathy had adopted N’yen.”
“It wasn’t that the kid was Asian. More that the Madisons are a proud bloodline going back to the early 1800s. We’ve never had an adoption in the family before.”
Chapter Sixteen
A Trip to Indianapolis
“Why are we going to Indianapolis?” asked Lizzie. She’d had a dental appointment before Maddy shanghaied her on this idiotic mission.
“To find Kramer.”
“Who?”
“The name on Nan’s list. You know, the one Bootsie and I found in the old shack.”
“The funny man on Seinfeld,” said N’yen, sitting in the backseat with Aggie. Maddy was babysitting the children today. Little did their parents know they were on a road trip to the state capital, a three-hour drive each way.
“Can we stop for a milkshake?” pressed Aggie.
“Yeah, at MacDonald’s,” chimed the boy.
“How are we going to find this guy Kramer?” said Lizzie, a bit put out by her friend’s cavalier attitude. Expecting her to drop everything and flit off to Indy.
“I’m not sure. But we know Nan’s planning to meet him.”
“But where?”
“Jim thinks the guy might be – what did he call it? – a fence. So we could check out the pawnshops. I’ve heard they sometimes buy stolen goods.”
“You’ve heard?”
“Well, I saw it in a movie once.”
“Great. For a minute there, I was worried you didn’t have a sound plan.”
≈≈≈
Maddy and Lizzie were thumbing through the Yellow Pages at the pay phone back near the restrooms, while the kids sipped on vanilla milkshakes and ate Big Macs – a gourmet lunch, American-style.
“Here we are, the P’s. Pawnshops. Wait, wait, I don’t see any Kramer Pawnshops,” said the redhead.
“Maybe that’s not the name of the shop. He might only work in one.”
“There must be a dozen listed here. Do you intend to phone every one of them?”
“Why not?”
“We could have done that from Caruthers Corners.”
Maddy glanced up at her friend. “Didn’t have an Indianapolis telephone book,” she said smugly.
Twenty minutes later they had completed the list of pawnshops, none claiming an employee named Kramer. Maddy and Lizzie were barely speaking. The two
kids were on their second Big Macs.
“Now what?”
Maddy shrugged meekly. “We could go to the bus station and look for Nan Beanie.”
“We’d just be in the way. Chief Purdue has that covered.”
“I love Jim Purdue, but he’s not exactly Elliot Ness.”
Lizzie glanced to the front of the fast-food restaurant to check on the kids. “Don’t be so hard on Jim,” she said to Maddy. “He’s working closely with the Indianapolis police. If Nan shows up, they will get her.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
The two women gathered up the kids. “Ready to go home?” Lizzie said to them as they polished off their French fries.
“Sure,” said Aggie. “But don’t you want to find that Kramer guy?”
“Of course,” replied her grandmother. “But looks like we’ve struck out.”
“Did you look in the phone book?”
Maddy smiled patiently. “Yes, we checked all the pawnshop listings in the Yellow Pages.”
“But did you look him up in the regular listings – the white pages?”
≈≈≈
Maddy found dozens of Kramers listed in the white pages of the telephone book, too many to sort through. But one business listing caught her eye: Kramer Sewing Notions & Quilting Supplies.
Bingo!
“Aggie, you’re a genius!” declare her grandmother.
“What’d I do?”
“Never mind, dear. Just give us another hour and we’ll head home.”
“Good. My dog misses me.”
“Grammy, may I have another milkshake?” wheedled little N’yen.
“Enough for you, young man. Your mother will kill me if I bring you home with a tummy ache.”
“My mom was having tummy aches this morning,” said Aggie matter-of-factly.
“Tummy aches? Do you mean labor contractions?” Maddy could feel her pulse rate increase. She’d never forgive herself if she weren’t by Tillie’s side when she gave birth to her second child.
“Dunno. She was timing them with her watch.”
“Oh my.”
“Should we start home?” Lizzie asked her anxious friend.
“Absolutely,” said Maddy, glancing down at the phone book. “But we might stop by this quilt shop for two minutes. This address is just down the street from here.”
≈≈≈
Kramer’s Sewing Notions was a small shop that tried to aggrandize itself with a sign in the window claiming “Indy’s Largest Source of Quilting Supplies.”
True or not, the corner windows featured an array of patchwork quilts, sewing machines designed for making quilts, and bolts of colorful fabrics. A sign on the door advised BACK IN 10 MINUTES.
“Rats!” said Maddy. They couldn’t afford to wait, not if Tillie was having contractions back in Caruthers Corners.
“Sorry,” said Lizzie. “Bad timing.”
“Look,” pointed N’yen. “I see somebody moving around inside.”
Aggie put her face to the door, shading out the glare of sunlight with a hand over her eyes. “I see him too. There behind the counter.”
Maddy pecked on the glass door. “Hello in there,” she called. But the shadowy figure did not acknowledge her greeting.
Lizzie joined in, pounding her palm against the door. “Yoo-hoo, hello!”
The cacophony of their banging couldn’t be ignored. The man finally made his way to the front door and waved them away. “We’re closed, can’t you see?” she shouted through the glass. He was a tall fellow with heavy brows and a thick beak-like nose. The perfect candidate for rhinoplasty. “Go away or I’ll call the police.”
“Call them if you like, Mr. Kramer.”
“I’m not Kramer. I’m just the janitor service.”
“Where’s Mr. Kramer?” pressed Maddy.
“Outta town. Left this morning.”
But the sign here on the doors says ‘Back in 10 Minutes.’”
“Don’t reckon he has a sign that says ‘Back in 10 Years.’ He’s closing the shop and moving to Canada.”
“Canada?”
“He has a brother up there. Think that’s where the family’s from.” The man turned back to his work, pushing a mop lazily around the tile floor, wet streaks marking his effort.
“Wait,” said Lizzie. “Did Mr. Kramer go alone?”
The man paused and looked over his shoulder. “He had a woman with him. I’d never seen her before. He called her ‘String Bean’ or ‘Butter Bean,’ something like that.”
“Mrs. Beanie?”
“That might be it.” He went back to his mopping.
Chapter Seventeen
An Intruder in the House
That afternoon a 4:08 p.m. Tillie Tidemore gave birth to a 6 pound, 7 ounce baby girl. She named her Madelyn Taylor after her mother. Maddy made it to the Burpyville General Hospital just in the nick of time. Mark was a basket case, pacing in the waiting room, while Bill and Kathy brought him coffee and donuts, as well as words of encouragement.
Over protests of the nurses, Maddy insisted on joining her daughter in the delivery room. Ten minutes later, the doctor was spanking the newborn baby.
“Congratulations, little lady,” said Aggie’s grandfather when she walked into the waiting room. “You have a sister.”
“Wow! What a week,” she smiled at N’yen. “A new cousin and a new sister. This family sure is growing.”
“I got you beat,” the boy bragged. “I got a new mom and dad, plus grandparents and aunts and uncles.”
“And me,” Aggie beamed.
“And you,” he agreed.
≈≈≈
“So did you solve the Mystery of the Missing Quilt?” Beauregard Madison asked his wife as they drove home from the hospital. Burpyville was about 40 miles from Caruthers Corners, but the road was straight and well paved.
“Not quite,” she admitted. “But we made progress.”
“Any sighting of my former assistant?”
“Almost. We learned that she met up with the owner of a sewing notions shop, a man named Kramer. But it looks like they’ve skipped the country, off to Canada.”
“Well, you still have Henry Caruthers running around here. And what about Holly Eberhard – do you really think she’s involved?”
“Difficult to tell. But it might be worth paying her a visit.”
“I hear she lives down in Bloomington. That’s quite a drive.”
“You and I have been talking about a road trip.”
“Can’t do it right now. As mayor, I’ve got a lot of work to do preparing for Watermelon Days. The traveling carnival is trying to raise its fees this year. We don’t have it in the town budget, but the children will be disappointed if there’s not a Ferris wheel and a merry-go-round.”
“I understand, dear. Duty calls. If you’re going to be mayor, you have to do mayor’s work.”
Beau turned the big Buick onto Melon Pickers Row, their white Victorian house visible at the end of the street. “I’m sure your cronies at the Quilter’s Club would be happy to drive down to Bloomie with you.”
Maddy gazed at their house as her husband turned into the driveway. “Beau, you must have been in quite a hurry to get to the hospital. You left the front door standing wide open.”
“No, I remember closing it.” Years ago, folks in Caruthers Corners rarely bothered to lock their doors, but it was unusual – then or now – to leave them standing open when away from home.
“You must have been discombobulated by Tillie’s need to get to the hospital.” She patted him on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture to let him know that this wasn’t the onset of senility.
“Hm, I think I oughta call Jim Purdue. I’m sure I closed it. Might be a burglar inside.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Burglars – here in Caruthers Corners?”
“Somebody stole your quilt,” he pointed out. That certainly ended her objections.
Maddy pulled out her cell phone. “Hi, Boo
tsie. Yes, it was a girl. The doctors are pretty good about getting that right. Six pounds, seven ounces. Madelyn Taylor. That was a sweet gesture, naming her after me.”
“Chief Purdue,” her husband hissed, reminding her of the purpose of the call.
“I’ll tell you more later, Bootsie. Is Jim home? Could you ask him to come over to the house? Beau thinks we may have had an intruder. Thanks, dear.” Snapping the tiny phone shut, she turned to her husband. “Jim says he’ll be here in five minutes.”
≈≈≈
Police Chief Jim Purdue wasn’t in uniform, but he was wearing his utility belt, complete with holster and billy club. He carried a .38 Smith & Wesson when on duty, but he’d never actually used it. Caruthers Corners was a peaceful community, not much criminal activity to require SWAT teams and homicide departments like in big cities.
He entered the house, pistol in hand, calling out: “Police. Come out with your hands up.”
No response.
Slowly he worked his way room to room, checking closets, showers stalls, and other hiding places, but the house seemed empty. He called for the Madisons to come inside, putting his gun away. “False alarm,” he said with a smile. “Looks like Beau’s just getting forgetful. You been checked for Alzheimer’s, old buddy?”
“I’m telling you I shut that door,” Beauregard Madison insisted. “I’m not that forgetful.”
“House is clear. I checked every room. Even looked in the refrigerator, he said, holding up a turkey drumstick. “Hope you don’t mind I have a little snack. You did interrupt my dinner.”
“Sorry,” said Maddy. “Let me fix you a plate. But we don’t have any watermelon pie left. Those vultures we call a family ate every last slice.”
“Hold on here,” interjected her husband. “There’s a scrap of paper taped to the back of the front door.”
Chief Purdue quickly said, “Don’t touch it. Fingerprints, y’ know.” He bent closer to read the words printed on the lined notepaper.
I didn’t steal your stinking quilt.-
Henry Caruthers
“That’s Henry’s handwriting alright,” confirmed Beau. “I’ve seen it a thousand times on correspondence in the mayor’s office.”