by Eve Fisher
She was pondering this when Renee Lambert marched in.
“Well!” Renee exclaimed. “Here you are! I’ve been looking for you all over. Why weren’t you at home, where you’re supposed to be? We’ve got to know where our pastor’s wife is, you know.” She dropped her shoulder bag on the table, and Kisses wheezed up into Kate’s face.
“Why, Renee?” Kate asked as kindly as she could. “Did something happen?”
“What on earth are you working on?” Renee asked, looking at the chart.
“I’m trying to figure out who’s volunteered when,” Kate said. “I thought if I could correlate who volunteered with when a theft occurred—”
“Hmm. Not a bad idea,” Renee said.
“The only problem is, there are some blank spots,” Kate said.
“Like where?”
Renee leaned over the table, and Kate showed her.
“Oh, that’s real simple,” Renee said. “That’s when someone didn’t show up or couldn’t make it. So whoever was here fixing meals made the deliveries.”
Kate sighed. “So I need to add in the prep cooks.”
“If you want to do it right, yes,” Renee said.
Kate nodded and picked up her pencil again.
“But before you start on that, what’s this I hear about LuAnne’s husband stealing money from Ada Blount?”
Kate gasped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Renee.”
Renee’s eyes narrowed. “I was just talking to Emma about the summer concert series—”
“Are you in the Beauty Shop Quartet?” Kate jumped in, partly to shift the conversation and partly because the idea of Renee performing—undoubtedly holding Kisses in her arms—had captured her imagination.
“Of course I am!” She fluttered her fingers. “And now I’m going to be their choral director.”
“Choral director?” Kate knew her eyes had flown wide open, and she blinked rapidly, hoping she wouldn’t giggle. “I never realized, Renee.”
“Yes, well, after all, I am practically the choir director for our church, you know.”
Kate nodded. The choir met at Renee’s house every Wednesday night to practice, and Renee generally took charge. She wasn’t sure that was exactly the same as being choir director, but she wasn’t going to argue about it.
“So it was natural that Emma would ask me to direct them when she dropped out,” Renee continued. “She’s been their choral director for the past few years, but she said she couldn’t do it this year. Well,”—Renee sat down heavily in a chair and scratched Kisses behind his ears—“naturally I had to ask why. And she said she just couldn’t work with LuAnne Matthews right now.”
Renee waited pointedly for some response. Kate continued to stare at her as blankly as she could.
“So I asked her why,” Renee finally said, “and after a while she said she had suspicions about Tom Matthews. And money. Need I say more?”
“No,” Kate replied quietly. “You don’t.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” Kate said. “There’s no proof. It’s just a suspicion, and I’m looking into it.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe that Emma is talking to people about this.”
“What people?” Renee exclaimed. “She just talked to me, that’s all. And I’m as discreet as they come.”
Kate stifled a laugh and said, “I know you are. I’m just afraid that she might be spreading rumors around town.”
“I know what you mean,” Renee said. “Rumors are terrible things. And I always try to stop them in their tracks. But at the same time, you can’t expect a woman to direct someone singing ‘My Favorite Things’ when she can’t trust her.”
Kate got up. “I’ve got to go talk to Emma. Tell her not to say anything more to anyone at all.”
“Now you just settle down, Kate,” Renee said. “I’ve already told Emma that myself.”
“You have?”
“Of course I have.” Renee sniffed. “LuAnne and I have had our occasional differences, but I am well aware that she would never countenance theft. If anybody’s guilty, it’s that shifty husband of hers. Here today, gone tomorrow. You never see him, you never hear of him, he’s never there. And then there’s that whole snake-oil thing.”
“You mean the herbal supplements?” Kate asked.
“Exactly. If they were any good, they’d be sold in a drugstore. I remember when Tom started selling those, and LuAnne was passing out flyers to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. Next thing you know, everybody in town was buying them. Martha Sinclair was thinking of becoming a distributor herself.” Renee sniffed again. “Of course, Martha would be attracted by something like that. There are some stories I could tell...” Renee looked down at her French-manicured fingernails. “She was caught shoplifting once, you know.”
“Really?” Kate gasped. “When? How?”
“Penny candy at the Mercantile,” Renee said reluctantly. “When she was five or six. But it just goes to show you that she wasn’t raised right, doesn’t it?”
Kate sighed. “I’m more worried about LuAnne and Tom.”
“Well, don’t be. Although,” Renee added with a pious expression, “I always say there’s no smoke without fire. But that doesn’t mean that LuAnne should suffer for it. So I told Emma that her objections would be kept strictly between the two of us. Still, when she told me that you knew all about it”—Renee’s look was pointed—“I couldn’t believe you hadn’t said anything to me.”
“I only heard about it this morning,” Kate said.
“Oh.” Renee thought for a moment, then nodded. “Well, what can I do to help?”
“Nothing right now,” Kate said. “I’m still thinking about what should be the next step. But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
“Well, all I can say is you’d better figure out something quick. As it is, the Beauty Shop Quartet is practically falling apart.”
Kate suppressed a smile at Renee’s penchant for exaggeration.
“And it’s a vital part of the summer concert series.”
“I’m sure it is,” Kate said. “Believe me, I’m just as concerned as anyone else.”
“Mmm.” Renee got up, gathering her shoulder bag, and stood still for a moment.
Kate wondered if she was going to say anything about her encounter yesterday with Amanda.
“Well, I’ve got to get going. Mama will be wondering where I am.”
“Good-bye, Renee,” Kate said.
Well, what had she expected, after all? An apology? An explanation? Kate sighed and looked back down at the table, covered with papers. She could only pray that Renee really had managed to stop Emma from spreading her suspicions around town. Of course, the money was only part of it. There was Betty’s ring and her own scarf. Tom Matthews couldn’t have stolen either of those. Nor could Matthew Lawson. And what about Martha Sinclair? She had been at the Bixby house the previous day when Kate’s scarf had disappeared. But stealing penny candy when you’re five is a long way from being a thief as an adult. Kate got up, gathered her papers, locked up the Bixby house, and headed home.
That night, in an attempt to break through the strange silence that seemed to hover over Paul and her lately, she asked him what he knew about Amanda Bly.
Paul glanced at her. “Not a lot. She was born and raised here, but then she went up somewhere to college, got married, and didn’t come back to Copper Mill until she was widowed. Why?”
“I was just wondering,” Kate said. “She’s such a presence, don’t you think?”
“Presence?”
“So well groomed and stylish.”
“She does always look very nice,” Paul agreed.
“I was just wondering who her friends were back when she was young.”
“I have no idea,” Paul said. “After all, it must have been over forty years ago when she left. But probably the same people she spends time with now.”
“Not necessarily,” Kate said. “Didn’t y
ou have some friends when you were young that you haven’t stayed in touch with?” She noted a quick flicker of discomfiture cross his face.
“Sure,” Paul said. “Everyone does. People change.”
Kate nodded. “Like Joe Tucker. I’ve heard he was kind of wild when he was young.”
Paul looked startled. “Yes, he was. He’s told me some of it, but...”
Kate nodded. She understood that Paul couldn’t tell her all he knew.
“But believe me, that’s all in the past. Well, you know that. You know he’s one of Faith Briar’s most loyal parishioners. Whatever he was when he was young, whatever he did a long time ago, he’s a good man now. A man of faith.”
Paul’s voice rang with a note of assurance that touched Kate. She knew he was sincere, and Paul was rarely wrong in discerning people’s character.
“Why do you ask?” he said, his tone shifting.
“Curiosity. Truth is, I’ve noticed a certain amount of tension between Joe Tucker and Amanda Bly. There’s some old quarrel there, and I can’t figure out what it could be.”
“Hmm. I’ve never noticed.”
Kate sighed. It was amazing how obtuse even the best of men could be. “Well, it’s there. Believe me.”
“Oh, I do. You can read people pretty well,” Paul said.
“Thank you,” Kate said, smiling. Maybe now was the time to tell him what was going on. But she just couldn’t do it. Instead, she said, “Did I tell you I saw some workmen setting up the stage for the summer concert series this morning?”
Paul swallowed a huge chunk of bread whole. “No, you didn’t.”
“Yes. I watched for a while with Clifton Beasley.”
Paul smiled weakly. “I’m sure he tried to get a pie out of you.”
“Yes, he did. And I evaded him, as usual. But you know, this whole concert thing seems to be really big up here. There’s one concert each week, and Clifton said everyone either plays in or attends the concerts. It sounds like a lovely way to spend a summer evening, don’t you think?”
Paul’s fork slipped out of his hand onto the floor. He bent over and picked it up, coming back up with a red face. “Yes, well, I’m sure it’s going to be great.” He smiled at Kate, who was perplexed by the strange tone in his voice. “We’ll make sure to have front-row seats.”
“I was wondering—” Kate began just as the telephone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Paul said. He jumped up and went over to answer it. “Hello? Andrew!” It was their son. “How are you? That’s great! No, we’ve just finished dinner.”
He gave Kate a questioning look, and she nodded. They had pretty much finished, and a call from Andrew was always a treat.
Kate smiled. “I’ll get the dishes later,” she said in a semiwhisper. “I’ll go in the studio and work for a bit,” she said, knowing this conversation would be a long one. “But I want to talk to him when you’re done.”
Paul nodded, and Kate went into her studio and pulled out her Aslan sketch. Andrew would love it, and it would be something he could hand down to his children and grandchildren if she could pull it off. She picked up a pencil and started to put shading in Aslan’s mane.
Soon she was so caught up in her work that she was startled when Paul knocked softly at the door and said, “Kate! Your turn.”
Kate went into the kitchen and took the phone. She and Andrew chatted about Rachel, his wife, and their two children, Ethan and Hannah, including all the little details of their daily lives that Kate was always hungry to hear.
“Oh, and Rachel found a really interesting Web site about stained glass that she thought you’d like. I think she e-mailed it to you. Have you gotten it yet?”
“No, I haven’t,” Kate said. “I’ll go down to the library tomorrow and check it. Our Internet connection at home is so slow.”
“You need to get a DSL line,” he laughed. “Or cable. That way you can get an Internet and cable package. Then you can do everything from home and have a faster connection.”
“It would be nice,” Kate agreed. “Maybe someday.” Having a fast Internet connection at home would certainly solve a lot of problems...Then Kate gasped.
“Mom? Are you okay?” Andrew asked.
“Huh? Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I suddenly thought of something, and I was just...Well, it’s going to solve a major problem for me.”
“Is there another mystery brewing down there?” Andrew probed.
Kate laughed nervously.
“My mother, the detective.”
“Your mother, the busy lady,” Kate replied. “Now tell me more about my grandchildren.”
They chatted some more until Andrew had to get going. “You take care,” he laughed, “and look into getting that high-speed Internet connection, okay? You can do everything online nowadays, and so much faster.”
“Everything except kiss your grandchildren,” Kate reminded him.
Andrew laughed. “I’ll tell them to work on it.”
Kate hung up the phone, excited. The Internet! She could kick herself for not having thought of it at once. She’d never accessed her account at the Mid-Cumberland Bank online, but she could certainly try it and see if electronic copies of her checks were available. Before she’d moved to Copper Mill, she’d used the Internet constantly, even for banking.
She glanced at the clock. Nine thirty. Too late to call Emma. But the following day, after she’d done a little research, she would go down and tell Emma about the wonders of the Internet. Who knows? she thought, the whole mystery might get cleared up by noon.
Chapter Eight
Wednesday was cloudy and warm, threatening rain, which was great for the flowers and perfect for spending time in the library. Kate hadn’t been able to get out early that morning, having gotten tied up with laundry and stained-glass orders, so it wasn’t until almost one o’clock when she parked outside the library.
Getting out of her car, she thought once again how Copper Mill had a classic example of what a library should be: An old building of mellowed brick with green trim that would make any historian sigh with delight. Inside, the first floor was well stocked with books, magazines, and tables, while upstairs were the archives, meeting rooms, and a bank of computers equipped with high-speed Internet connections. She stopped at Livvy’s office on the first floor, next to the horseshoe-shaped counter, and peeked in through the door.
“Kate!” Livvy cried, looking up from her desk. “What brings you by today?”
“Oh, a little research,” Kate said.
“Anything exciting?” Livvy asked.
“I don’t know yet. That depends on what I find.”
“Let me know if you need any help,” Livvy said, eying her friend. “Say, after you’re done, you want to go for a walk? I haven’t taken my lunch break yet.”
“It might be raining,” Kate pointed out.
“I’m not made of sugar. I won’t melt.”
Kate grinned. “Sure. You’re on. Say about an hour or so?”
“Sounds good. It’ll give me a quick break before my middle schoolers arrive.”
Kate waved good-bye and went upstairs. She had brought along a notebook and pen and set them down beside a computer. The first thing to do was log on to her own bank account. Kate was a little nervous about this, because she’d never accessed her account on a public computer, but she assured herself that it would be all right as long as she saw the little lock icon on-screen. And when she was done, she’d delete the cache so that no one could follow the trail.
Within minutes she was looking at her account. She pulled up a check she’d written to Creekside Books for some children’s books she’d bought to send to her granddaughter Mia in Atlanta for her birthday. There was the check, with her handwriting on it. But where was the back side of the check? It was only after she’d tried repeatedly to pull it up that Kate read the small blue text that said to contact the bank if she needed further information. Well, so much for that option. They would just have to continue to
wait for those copies to see who had endorsed them.
Kate logged out of the bank site and deleted the cache. Then she went back to the search engine and typed in “Tom Matthews.” Hundreds of sites came up: it always amazed her how many people had the same name. She tried N-Life and found the Web site. Then she typed in “Tom Matthews” again, and he was shown as a distributor, but that was it. She tried the trucking firm, and he was shown as a driver. The information was there, but it was very slim. Finally, Kate went back to the main menu and thought for a while.
She might as well try Matthew Lawson’s name. One of the first sites that came up was the Mid-Cumberland Bank and Trust Web site. She clicked on it, and up came a short article welcoming Matt to the bank and giving his credentials, but no biography. She went back to the other search sites she’d been given and scrolled down the list. Most were obviously not Matt, but one of them, which only showed the name Lawson, was that of the Asheville Citizen-Times newspaper. She clicked on it and pulled up an article that took her breath away:
FRAUD AND FORGERY CHARGES DROPPED
AGAINST LOCAL INVESTMENT FIRM
The state’s attorney announced today that fraud and forgery charges have been dropped against Lawson Investments after the defense negotiated payment of restitution. Jordan Harnett, granddaughter of Franklin Harnett, now deceased, had originally filed charges in which Lawson Investments was accused of filing tax returns bearing Harnett’s forged signature.
The firm was also accused of making a series of transactions in which Harnett’s money was washed through commodity-trading accounts and deposited into a separate bank account under Lawson Investment control. Allegedly, more than $50,000 of the funds were spent “without authority, not in the due execution of their trust and in excess of any compensation that was owed.” Court documents indicated that Lawson Investments assumed the duty by written contract to support Harnett, a disabled adult, now deceased, and had been entrusted with Harnett’s property. The state’s attorney’s office declared itself satisfied . . .