Family Matters (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 1)

by Laurinda Wallace

  Gracie bit her tongue savagely and managed a smile.

  “I sincerely hope so, Joe. Let’s take a look at your paperwork.”

  She felt a flush of anger creep up her neck as she struggled to maintain a modicum of professionalism and some Christian charity. She could hear her mother’s voice about being kind to those less fortunate. Jim smiled in his maddening way with blue eyes twinkling, and strode down the corridor.

  “There’s a sweet roll for you in reception,” he called over his shoulder without looking back. “Sweet roll, warm body, mission accomplished.”

  It’s not quite that simple, Gracie thought as she glanced over Joe’s application and withholding forms.

  “I hate to ask, but are you on probation or something?” She was sure her tone was sharp, even though she was trying to soften her voice.

  “Yeah, I’ve got three months left. I’m not going back for another round of prison. I want to get on with my life. I’ve screwed up enough. I can give you my probation officer’s number. I have to go counseling with Second Chances every week, so I’ll need to make those appointments. I hope that won’t be a problem.” Joe’s voice had a tone of sincerity that Gracie hesitantly began to believe.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll give this a shot. Jim will show you the ropes. Can you start at 7:00 during the week? We open at 7:30.”

  “Sure. That’s good with me. We always had to get up early to milk when I was a kid. ‘Course, prison…” His voice trailed off.

  “Great. Can you work Saturdays and some Sundays?” Gracie quickly filled in the silence.

  “I’ve got nothing else going on. I want to keep busy.”

  “OK. We’ll find Jim and get you started.” Gracie adjusted her ponytail and made another attempt with her attitude while she led Joe down the hallway to the runs. When she glanced out the window, she noticed an old pickup driving slowly by the Milky Way entrance. The driver was craning his neck to look at the kennels.

  Chapter 8

  It was late when Gracie began to go through the books. She was freshly showered, with her damp auburn hair clamped securely off her neck. A few stray curls fell around her tanned and lightly freckled face. She was tired, but felt relaxed for the first time that day in the comfortable knit black shorts and green tank top. She sat cross-legged on the living room floor in front of the fan, with Haley snoring softly next to her. There were a few interesting old dog books. Along with the 1953 AKC book, there were two books on retrieving and field work. Where did Uncle Stan find these? She flipped through the musty pages. Old newspaper clippings were tucked here and there through each book. She carefully unfolded the well-creased paper. All of the clippings were reports on the hit-and-run accident that killed Charlotte. The final rectangle she unfolded was the obituary.

  Charlotte Browne—age 18, died from injuries received in a tragic accident on October 24, 1992. She is survived by her parents, Stanley and Shirley Browne of Deer Creek, New York, along with her sister, Isabelle. She is also survived by an aunt, Theresa Clark (Robert), and cousins, Thomas and Grace Clark. Charlotte was a senior at Letchworth High School. She was active in cheerleading, drama, and the band. She had been accepted to the University of Buffalo for the 1993 fall semester. Friends may call at the Harwood Funeral Home on Friday, October 28th, from 2:00 – 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 – 9:00 p.m. Funeral services will be held at the Deer Creek Community Church on Saturday, October 29th, at 10:00 a.m. The Rev. Albert Minders will officiate. Burial is in Hope Cemetery.

  The rest of the books were romance novels from her aunt’s library. Aunt Shirley was known for her voracious reading of romance novels. Uncle Stan knew that Gracie had no use for the genre. He must have used them to hide the good stuff. She carefully checked through the pages to see if any other clippings were hidden away. A half page letter dropped from the last novel. It was written in neat, slightly slanted script. There was no signature, and Gracie quickly scanned the contents.

  It’s over, so you’d better deal with it. Don’t call me again or you’ll be sorry.

  It wasn’t Charlotte’s writing; it looked like a masculine hand. She grabbed the diary that was close at hand and compared the handwriting. She was correct. The writers were different. The note certainly sounded ominous. Who would have threatened Charlotte? She kept looking through the thick novel for any more hidden treasures. Sure enough, there were two more: Charlotte’s death certificate and a bad photocopy of a police report. The weariness that Gracie felt earlier was erased as she began to lay out the pieces of paper on the floor to try and make sense of Uncle Stan’s disturbing gift.

  She put the tea kettle on, set out a large white ceramic mug, and tossed a teabag in it. While the water was heating, she double-checked each book for any other papers that might be tucked inside. Nothing. The kettle whistle sounded, and she quickly shut off the burner and filled the mug. Carefully picking up the fragile papers, she placed them on the dining room table to take a closer look. Haley began to growl and was on her feet. Headlights flashed through the front windows. A car was turning into the driveway. She pulled the curtains back on the kitchen door. It was Isabelle.

  “Of all the nerve,” Gracie said to Haley. She swept up the clippings and other papers and dumped them in a kitchen drawer. Isabelle was already ringing her doorbell.

  Gracie answered the door with her hands on her hips.

  “What’s the problem, Isabelle?”

  “I know it’s late, Gracie, but I must have a look at the books Father gave you.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. What are you so worried about? He didn’t give me anything that affects the value of the estate.”

  Somehow Isabelle was now fully in her kitchen, scanning her counters.

  “Well, there were books that Mother promised to me that had great sentimental value, and I need to know if he gave them to you.”

  Isabelle had now seen the books lying on the living room floor. Gracie stood in her way as Isabelle attempted to step around her.

  “Wait a minute. Your dad gave these to me. He’s the next of kin, not you. I’ll go through them first. I’ll let you have what I don’t want.”

  “I’m the executor of the will. I’m in charge.”

  Charlotte’s diary was on the coffee table, and Gracie could see that Isabelle’s eyes had locked onto the distinctive cover.

  “What’s that? That looks like…” She strained to peer over Gracie’s shoulder. You have no right to have it.”

  Gracie thought frantically. “Sorry, Izzy. That’s my diary from high school. I’ve been looking over old pranks that I pulled with Michael and Jim.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “How dare you! You need to leave—now.”

  “You’ll hear from my attorney tomorrow.”

  “Great. You know the number.”

  Both of them were breathing heavily and glared at each other with stormy looks. Isabelle turned abruptly and slammed the door. Haley’s hackles were still raised as the Lexus sped out of the driveway. Hands shaking, Gracie grasped the mug and watched the taillights disappear in the darkness. Haley thrust her cold nose on Gracie’s leg and whined. “It’s OK, girl. The extremely difficult cousin is gone.”

  What was going on? Uncle Stan had done her no favors with this gift. It was proving to be upsetting and really putting Isabelle over the edge. What was so important in the papers and the diary? Gracie locked the kitchen door and threw the deadbolt. She checked all the other doors before she settled onto the sofa with the papers. An unknown drunk driver had taken the life of a beautiful girl. There was no satisfactory ending to the story. What was the point in revisiting it?

  She read through each clipping. The newspaper reports were standard. They seemed to be of no value. There was a paragraph though that caught Gracie’s attention.

  Police continue to investigate the hit-and-run death of Charlotte Browne. A witness to the accident has given authorities a partial plate number. The vehicle is believed to be a late mode
l sedan, dark blue or green with a plate number beginning with WY. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact the Wyoming County Sheriff’s department.

  Why hadn’t the police found the car? Who was the witness? Gracie remembered vaguely that a teenager out past his curfew said he saw someone driving erratically on Mill Street that night. He hadn’t been named, though. Charlotte had been walking home from a babysitting job on that windy and rainy October night. She’d stepped out to cross Main Street at the corner of Mill Street and was hit by a car that came swerving around the corner of Mill. Charlotte had been left in the street, with broken bones and internal bleeding. Either a car passing by or the witness had found her and called for an ambulance. Gracie couldn’t remember. There hadn’t been much else to go on from what she recalled. It had all been so shocking. Maybe her parents knew more. They’d be home in another three days. A family pow-wow was certainly needed by then.

  The death certificate was painful to read. The cause of death was multiple traumas, a broken leg, and internal bleeding. Then Gracie’s eyes widened. A notation at the bottom of the certificate stated the decedent had been approximately eight weeks pregnant at the time of her death.

  Gracie’s mind was whirling with questions. Char was pregnant? Who was the father? Why hadn’t Char told her? No wonder Izzy was in a tizzy. This was a major smear on the family name. Aunt Shirley had certainly been a champion at keeping this tidbit a secret. She started reading the faded police report, hoping for more answers. The bad copy was hard to make out. It looked like parts of the report had been redacted. Why? She needed to see Uncle Stan and soon.

  She stood looking out into the dark backyard, holding the warm mug. Turning back toward the kitchen counter, she saw the light blinking on her message machine. Might as well find out who had called.

  There were two messages. One was from Deputy Stevens. He wanted to set up a time to talk to her about the robbery. Why hadn’t he called the kennel number, she wondered? The other call was from Gloria Minders. Gracie remembered Gloria’s phone calls after Michael’s death. They were weekly for several months. She had taken Gracie to lunch regularly and found a counselor for her. Gloria wanted to make sure Gracie was all right after the terrible robbery and was willing to help with anything she might need. Gracie smiled as she listened to the solicitous message. It never took long for the Deer Creek grapevine to swing into action. There would probably be someone with a casserole at the door tomorrow. She could just imagine the conversations at Midge’s counter. She would return those calls in the morning. Tonight she needed to start piecing together the information Uncle Stan had given her.

  Grabbing the paper treasures from the utensil drawer, she spread them across the dining room table. There had to be some reason he was dredging up all of this pain again after 20 years. Was it because Aunt Shirley was dead? She needed to see what Charlotte might have written in her diary. Gracie quickly undid the clasp and started reading.

  July 30, 1992 Still raining today. The pool closed early, so I didn’t get many hours in. Saw Lancelot and Morgan Jr. Babysitting tonight at the Grangers. Maybe I’ll see L on my way.

  August 2, 1992 Great day at the pool. I’ll have a perfect tan to start football cheerleading. It’s only a couple of weeks away. It’s worse at the castle. There are always more rules. I’m tired of it all. Babysitting tomorrow night at the Grangers. The kids are good and so is the pay AND I’m out of the castle.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so far, just normal teenage griping, Gracie thought. Aunt Shirley’s rules had been mind-numbing back then. Anybody except Isabelle would complain. She thumbed through more entries in August.

  August 21, 1992 Not feeling well today. Lancelot stopped by. Morgan Sr. was there too. I wish school was over with and I was starting college. It would be simpler. I can’t breathe here anymore. There’s no one I can talk to except to Dear Diary.

  August 23, 1992 Fainted at practice today. Heat, I guess. The coach had to call the castle of course. Big fuss over nothing. Still feeling sick, but it was pretty hot today. Lancelot left for the crusade. Can’t wait for fall break. I miss him already. Saw Galahad. He makes my head spin. Not sure how I can handle all of this.

  Who were Lancelot and Galahad? What was the King Arthur story all about? Morgan Sr. and Jr.? Charlotte was apparently trying to keep a few secrets herself. She remembered Char life-guarding at the Village pool that summer. Gracie had been working at the Deer Creek Veterinary Clinic, answering phones and learning how to be a vet tech. It had been a hot and hectic summer, but there had been at least a couple of family picnics with the Brownes and the Clarks. She couldn’t remember anything especially eventful at either one. Charlotte had been boy crazy in high school, but she couldn’t remember if there had been anyone really special.

  Of course, Aunt Shirley had kept a tight rein on her daughters. Isabelle was dating Tim, but that was an approved relationship. Tim was the oldest son of the banking family of Deer Creek. They’d established the Deer Creek Bank and had run it for more than 100 years. Aunt Shirley was pleased that Isabelle was attached to wealth and the local gentry. Back then, Uncle Stan had been a successful lawyer. His law practice was booming. He was the bank’s attorney, handling its corporate matters, mortgages, and foreclosures. Uncle Stan was also counsel to several of the other towns and villages in the county. His partner handled probate and real estate.

  Aunt Shirley had been pretty impressed with her position in the community. She was on the library board, the Deer Creek Foundation board, and the church board. Now that Gracie thought about it, Aunt Shirley and Uncle Stan had seemed pretty happy the summer of 1992. Of course, money and prestige were plentiful at the time. Committees and boards may have been what made their marriage so successful. It sure had changed in just a few months. The Browne family never recovered from Charlotte’s death. Aunt Shirley, who was overbearing and opinionated normally, became shrill and bitter after the accident. Uncle Stan, who was famous for his dry sense of humor, found solace in a bottle and watched his practice drift away. His partner left and opened an office in Geneseo, taking paralegals and secretaries with him. Uncle Stan’s longtime secretary, Harriet, stayed and ran the office and probably practiced law until Uncle Stan had retired five years ago.

  Gracie shook off the memories and went back to the diary. As she turned the next page, a small lock of straight dark hair fell out. It was tied with slender blue satin ribbon and had been taped to the page. The yellowed brittle tape had given way.

  August 24 – I think I have a big problem. It’s a huge mess. What am I going to do? The Morgan Le Fays will kill me. I am the Lady of Shalot apparently. Everything will change. There’s no way out.

  The entries ended. Gracie took a deep breath. Charlotte must have discovered that she was pregnant. Charlotte had been beautiful and popular. Gracie could still see her walking confidently down the sidelines at a football game, long, straight blond hair swinging almost to her waist, wearing a cheerleading outfit that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her dark blue eyes were shining and full of fun. She knew how to push her mother’s buttons and constantly strained against Aunt Shirley’s strict rules. There had been more than one ugly family scene about curfews and who Charlotte could date. Charlotte had a penchant for some questionable football players, and Gracie remembered talking with her mother about how different Isabelle and Charlotte were.

  She’d been no saint herself, pulling some stunts that could have landed her in big trouble. She and Michael had really enjoyed high school and had probably added many gray hairs to their parents’ heads during those years. They had been in love since the 8th grade, and until the accident almost two years ago, they had enjoyed life to the fullest. Gracie turned to his picture on the end table. It was the year he had taken a first prize with one of their Brown Swiss cows at Pike Fair. He had the cow’s lead rope in his left hand and was holding up a large blue ribbon in his right. His beaming face made Gracie smile. He had been a very happy man that da
y. They’d both been very happy. The dairy farm was going well, Gracie was finally pregnant after trying for years, and life was extraordinarily good. She thought they were untouchable, but within three months, she would be a widow and would lose their baby. Gracie closed her eyes trying to erase the memories.

  Walking out to the patio, she took a deep, cleansing breath. The night air was cooling, and the humidity seemed less intense. The peepers were performing a lively concert against the thrum of a lone bullfrog, all residents of the small pond beyond the backyard. Moonlight made the creamy hydrangea blossoms glow. The bushes were heavy with blossoms this year. She would have to remember to cut enough to dry, so she could enjoy them all winter. The sweet scent of stock made the air a touch heady. Gracie absently deadheaded a few snapdragons and daisies that the patio lights shone on, and then padded in bare feet back to the living room. If she could focus on the flowers, maybe the other thoughts would go away. She sipped at the tea left in the mug. It was lukewarm. She dumped it down the sink and put the mug in the dishwasher.

  Trouble with Isabelle was only beginning, and the documents Uncle Stan had given her would be demanded at some point. Maybe Uncle Stan had had second thoughts and told Isabelle what he’d given away. She wasn’t ready to roll over and just give them to Isabelle, but she needed to have a copy of them just in case.

  Gracie took all the documents to the spare bedroom that contained her small home office. For the next hour, she carefully scanned in all the newspaper clippings and each page of the diary. There would be time to read the entire diary later, but she wanted to ensure that she had everything Uncle Stan meant her to have. She saved it all in a folder named Misc. Dog Info. Gracie was feeling like a CIA operative. The way Isabelle was behaving, she felt that she should be very careful about everything. Gracie pulled out her flash drive and copied the folder onto it. Her motto was “Always Have Plan B.” You never knew when it would come in handy.