“Pregnant! No. Shirley never said a word.”
“Here, look through this and tell me what you think.”
Gracie settled into her chair and watched her parents read through the papers.
“Well, I’m sure your Aunt Shirley didn’t want anyone to know about the pregnancy. In fact, I can almost guarantee she’d have driven Charlotte to a clinic for an abortion if she had known.” Bob took his reading glasses off and leaned back on the Mission-style chair.
“Unfortunately, I’d have to agree with your dad. My sister was hardnosed about appearances and family honor.”
“Really, Mom?”
“No need for sarcasm, Grace Marie.”
“Well, from what I can decipher from Charlotte’s diary, Aunt Shirley was making her life miserable.”
“You need to be careful too. Teenaged daughters are not the easiest to reason with or keep on the right path sometimes. If you remember, your parents were pretty mean too.” Her father was trying to lighten the tone.
“I know, but if it was just general teenage angst and a hormonal mistake that turned into a surprise pregnancy, why did Uncle Stan give all of this to me?”
“Who knows? Stan had been slipping for awhile now, and maybe Shirley’s death triggered something about Charlotte. I really don’t think it means anything, other than maybe he wanted someone to remember Charlotte or maybe know about the pregnancy. I don’t know, Gracie,” her father answered.
Theresa stood and began rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher.
“I agree with your dad. I think Stan had some kind of remorse or just sadness about Charlotte and Shirley, and for some reason, gave all of this to you. You and he always had a pretty close relationship when you were growing up.”
“I guess, but I think there’s more to it.” Gracie was feeling stubborn, and a nagging in her gut told her there was more here than met the eye.
“I doubt it, and at this point, it’s the wrong time to aggravate Isabelle. She now has to plan another funeral. Losing both parents in one week is pretty horrible.” Theresa’s brow furrowed and met Gracie’s gaze.
“I know. I know. Take it all back to Isabelle.” She’d been the bad guy long enough, and it was time to do the right thing.
“I think that’s wise, Gracie. I’ll give them to Tim and keep this low-key for Isabelle’s sake. She’s taking her father’s death pretty hard.” Her father began piling the papers and slid them back into the bag. “Now that they’re room temperature, we can return them. You just beat all sometimes.” He arched an eyebrow at his daughter, and Gracie shrugged.
“Are you going to be OK?” Her mother’s voice was full of concern. Worry lines were etched in her forehead.
“I’ll be fine. I really am feeling better, and Jim is going to stop by later, so we can go over the week’s excitement and figure out what we’re going do staff-wise.” Gracie was suddenly eager to have her parents go and leave her to her own thoughts. Maybe Jim could shed some light on things.
“Well, that’s good. Come on, Theresa, let’s head home. We still have to stop in and check on Isabelle and Tim and the kids. Don’t worry, Gracie. I’ll give the papers to Tim tomorrow, so as not to cause a scene. You get some rest and don’t worry about everything. And don’t make too much of these papers. Your imagination is way too active.”
“Yeah, right, Dad. Thanks for everything. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She hugged them both, and the car was out of the driveway before Gracie had finished dumping food into Haley’s bowl. She was printing out the scanned documents when Jim yelled through the screen.
“Hey, are you decent?”
“Mostly. Come on in.” She flopped down on the couch, sipping on icy lemonade.
“Want something to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.” He rubbed Haley’s ears, and she immediately went back to the bowl of kibble.
“Help yourself. It’s in the pitcher on the counter.”
Jim poured himself a large glass and joined her in the living room.
“Are you doing all right, Chief?”
“I’m OK. I can’t believe all the stuff that’s happening at once. I haven’t had time to check on Beth today.”
“She’s doing fine. I called this afternoon and talked to her. Beth is young and bouncing right back.”
“Good. I’m glad you called her. The family stuff going on is way too much.” She saw the immediate concern in his eyes. “And I’m handling it. I’m sick of not dealing with my life, so don’t worry.”
“All right. But you know how’s it’s been.”
“I do. I’m sorry for all of it too. Let’s not talk about me anymore. I want to show you this stuff and get your take on it.” She spread out the scanned documents on the coffee table for him to read.
“Wow, I don’t know, Gracie.” Jim put the copy of the death certificate back on the table. “It sounds like there was a lot going on with Charlotte right before she was killed. I don’t understand why your Uncle Stan gave this to you, but maybe Isabelle will calm down now that she’s getting the diary back.”
“I hope so, but I don’t think I can count on it. I still think Uncle Stan wanted me to have these for another reason than just fond memories. Maybe there was a cover-up, or something was done wrong in the investigation, and he wanted me to find out what really happened.”
“You do have a great imagination. Who are you, Agatha Christie?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m still going to do some digging and see what I can find out. I owe my uncle.” She tightened the loose ponytail that threatened to slip from the band.
“You’d better be careful. Give Isabelle some consideration. I hate to bring this up, but what if Charlotte…well, stepped in front of the car…” He paused. “Her diary is kind of disturbing.” Jim tapped the diary entry on the coffee table.
“I can’t believe she’d do that. Charlotte wouldn’t have…” Her voice trailed off. This was something she hadn’t even considered. But Jim was right. Her cousin was over the edge about her situation. But just as quickly, Gracie decided against that theory. She didn’t want to even think about that possibility.
“I’ve got to find out more about Charlotte’s death, now more than ever. Uncle Stan wouldn’t have given me her diary if he thought she’d jumped in front of the car. There’s something that doesn’t feel right. Plus I need to find out who she was seeing.”
“I don’t think that’ll be easy after all these years. Anyway, we’re not going to figure it out tonight. Can we go over the financials and the schedule for next week?”
Gracie brought her laptop out, and the evening sped on as they poured over the spreadsheets of income and expense. Income was down for the week, but it was understandable. When she brought up the subject of letting Jim out of the partnership, he refused. It was way too early to make that decision in his opinion.
When Jim finally left, it was almost 10 o’clock, and Gracie was exhausted. The emotional rollercoaster day had taken its toll. But, before she could go to bed, she needed to check on the dogs and double-check the alarm.
The night air was permeated with eau de cow manure wafting from the dairy farm a couple of miles down the road. She could also smell the heavy scent of the cornfield behind the kennel. Nothing was as invigorating as good country air. Haley trotted across the driveway to the office door. A car drove slowly down the road as Gracie’s sneakers crunched on the gravel. She swung her flashlight toward the road as it passed. The car braked and then backed up. Gracie stood still, her heart racing. She grabbed Haley’s rolled leather collar as the car swung into the driveway, its headlights bathing her in brightness. Haley growled, and her hackles rose.
“Hey, Mrs. Andersen, everything OK?” It was Deputy Stevens.
“No problems, Deputy. Just making the final bed check.” There was relief in her voice, and her pulse still pounded in her ears.
“Would you mind some help?” He was already gettin
g out of the car and putting on his hat.
“No, in fact that would be great. It’s been a little spooky out here at night, since the robbery.”
Haley sniffed the deputy’s pants, and he stroked her head. Haley leaned into his leg, begging for more.
“I can imagine. You are pretty isolated in this spot.” He pulled a long flashlight from the front seat. “Great dog you’ve got here. What’s her name?”
“Haley, as in the comet. She’s a good dog most of the time and then…” Haley whined and pushed her cold wet nose against Gracie’s palm. “All right, I won’t turn you in to the law,” she laughed.
“You’re working a long shift today,” she observed.
“Yeah, a couple of guys called in sick tonight. I went home, grabbed a few hours of sleep, and got back on the road about an hour ago.”
“Your wife must love those double shifts.”
“Well, no worries there. Never been married. Law enforcement isn’t always conducive to long relationships, but maybe someday. It would make my mother happy.” He laughed and held the door for Gracie as she punched in the code on the keypad.
Dogs were barking and whining when they entered the kennel corridors. The bed check didn’t take long, and everything was in order. Haley ran up and down the corridors, sniffing and joining in the canine chorus. With the kennel secure and the dogs tucked in for the night, Gracie felt that the late night encounter with Deputy Stevens had been way too short. There was no reason for him to stay, but then she remembered the redacted police report on Charlotte’s accident and the mention of the incomplete license plate.
“Deputy, I do have a question for you.” He was back in the cruiser, fastening his seatbelt.
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Do you have any idea if the DMV keeps records back 20 years or so, and if I could get a copy of an old police report from about the same time?”
“Any particular reason?”
His facial expression was hard for her to see in the darkness away from the mercury vapor light by the kennel. She imagined he must’ve thought she was slightly weird.
“Well, I’m trying to get some answers about my cousin’s death. It was a hit-and-run that was never solved. And it was 20 years ago.”
“Oh.” He was thoughtful. “Well, we can probably dig up the incident report, if the sheriff’s department investigated, but I’m not sure about the DMV records. I can do some checking and let you know.”
“I’d really appreciate that. Let me run in the house and write down the information about the accident.”
“Sure. I’ve gotta check in anyway.”
Gracie hurried to the kitchen and quickly wrote out on a sticky note Charlotte’s name, the date of the accident, and where it happened. She added her name and phone number at the bottom. He was talking on the radio when she returned with the note. He took it from her hand and stuck it to the dashboard.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to run. Another break-in.”
“Is it close?”
“Not too far. The Jorgensen place by the lake.”
“Jorgensen? That’s only three or four miles from here. You know, I’ve got their dogs here. They’re on vacation this week.”
“Thanks for the info. I’ll call you.” He backed the car out of the driveway and sped with lights flashing in the direction of Silver Lake. Gracie shivered, even though the night air was warm. Another robbery and so close. She hurried into the house with Haley and locked the door.
Chapter 18
Sunday morning was a blur of activity. The phone calls had started by seven—first from her mother, then the church ladies, followed by an abrupt call from Tim informing her how upset Isabelle was because of Gracie’s thoughtless actions. Then Isabelle called her to say she was no longer speaking to Gracie. At that point, Gracie was ready to disconnect every phone she owned.
According to the church ladies, the rumor mill was working overtime about how Gracie had found her Uncle Stan. The prayer chain at church included a request that Isabelle and Gracie mend their fences and put their feud to rest. Her mother called again to say Isabelle was fighting with the medical examiner to get Stan’s body released before the autopsy was completed. It was all a little much. She felt like she was living some bizarre reality TV show. Who were these people?
At 11 a.m. sharp, the Clarks were sitting in their usual pew at Deer Creek Community Church. She really didn’t want to be there, but Gracie sat stiffly with her parents, looking straight ahead, deliberately not singing the hymns. She hadn’t been able to sing a hymn without crying since Michael’s funeral. With the vision of Uncle Stan at the bottom of the stairs fresh in her thoughts, today was not the day to try again. Isabelle and Tim were absent, which made the service bearable. When it was time to greet each other, Gracie noticed that Joe Youngers was with his grandmother in the back row. She gave him a quick smile, and he raised his hand in greeting.
“Who’s that?” Theresa whispered as they sat down.
“Joe Youngers. We hired him on a trial basis as a kennel helper,” Gracie whispered back.
“Oh. Well, I hope he works out.”
Rev. Minders’ sermon was, unfortunately, on loving your enemies. Gracie guessed that he’d dusted that one off for just her. She was sure that was what the rest of the congregation was thinking too. When the coffee hour started, Gracie slipped out the side door to the parking lot. She didn’t want to face the condolences and questions. It was probably cowardly, but she didn’t feel like being a hero. There were certain ladies who loved the gory details. They’d want to know if Stan had a peaceful look on his face, if he was dressed, and if he smelled of liquor. These were conversations she didn’t want to have today.
The Deer Creek streets were relatively quiet on Sunday mornings. Driving home, Gracie enjoyed the well-kept lawns on Main Street, until she reached the railroad tracks. There was the proverbial wrong side of the tracks in Deer Creek. The houses in the section closest to the deteriorating depot looked tired and run down at the heels. The depot was finally scheduled to be razed, much to the relief of the Village Board. It was a haunt for kids who needed a place to smoke dope and who knew what else. Graffiti flourished on the weathered clapboards. The depot was at the head of a short dead-end street called Rail Avenue, which curved to accommodate the bend in the tracks. Gracie remembered a train derailment or two growing up, when a tired engineer hadn’t negotiated the curve in time. Then she remembered it was where Bea Youngers lived. She craned her neck to see around the curve, but was unsuccessful in catching a glimpse of the Youngers home.
A large, muscular man walked down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes fixed on the uneven pavement. Gracie didn’t recognize him, but then she couldn’t see his face very well under the baseball cap. There were no trains to wait for today, and she slowly drove over the bumpy tracks. The phone message Uncle Stan had left her ran continuously through her mind. No matter what anyone said, there was more to Charlotte’s death. What if there was more to Uncle Stan’s death too?
Gracie made a quick decision to turn around and go to Uncle Stan’s house, while everyone was still at church. Hopefully, Isabelle and Tim weren’t already there, cleaning everything out. Maybe he had left a note or some other bit of information for her. If Isabelle found anything, it would be lost forever. She’d have to make a quick job of it and hope no one saw her. The spare key was under a large rock by the garage, so there wouldn’t be any problem of getting in.
The house looked quiet when she parked across the street. Deciding it was too chancy to leave her vehicle where everyone could see it, she drove back around the corner and parked in the driveway of a vacant house with a for-sale sign stuck in the front yard. Slipping through two backyards, Gracie pushed through the hedge into her uncle’s yard. Plucking the key from under the sparkly pink rock nestled in the snow-on-the-mountain groundcover that edged the front of the garage, she got into the kitchen, dropping the key in her tote. The frying pan was still on the stove, the smell of stal
e bacon still clung to the area. It looked like Isabelle hadn’t been over to clean yet. Gracie felt like throwing up when she reached the bottom of the stairs. There was no sign of yesterday’s horror, and the clock still ticked the seconds off with a steady beat.
She forced herself to climb the stairs. There were many happy memories of running up and down these stairs, playing hide-and-seek in the rambling Victorian. Aunt Shirley had always decorated the banister with extravagant garlands at Christmas time, filling the house with scent of pine. Now the house seemed draped in sadness. When she reached the top of stairs, Uncle Stan’s bedroom door was open. The bed was made, and the room was in perfect order. A large blue braided rug covered a good portion of the polished wood floor.
His rolltop desk stood in a corner by the south window, overlooking the side lawn. She quickly went through the few papers on the desktop. There were only medical bills for Aunt Shirley. Gracie rifled through the drawers and cubbies, still not finding anything of interest. She glanced at her watch. The 10 minutes she’d allowed herself were ticking by. She rummaged to locate the key in the bag. Finally grasping the silver key, it slipped from her fingers and clanged onto the hardwood floor, skittering underneath the desk as her tote spilled out on the floor. The sound of a car coming down the street sent panic through her as she snatched up the key and stuffed the spilled contents back in the tote.
Jim looked like a kid, throwing tennis balls and running with a dog pack that eagerly watched his every move inside the large fenced play area. Haley was in the middle of it all, soaking up the excitement and chasing tennis balls. He looked up with a big grin on his handsome face when he saw Gracie walking to the fence.
“Hey, Chief, how was church?”
“OK. I slipped out when the coffee hour started. When are you going to stop being a heathen and go?”
“The steeple would fall down if I ever darkened the door. Besides, who’d give these guys a really great playtime if I was in church?”
For all the years Gracie had known Jim, the only time she’d seen him in church was for a funeral or wedding. Since Michael’s death, Jim had seemed even more adamant about staying away from church. Gracie couldn’t say much; she was just as guilty. It had been too painful to attend after losing Michael and the baby. But that was going to change. Life needed to be normal again.
Family Matters (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 1) Page 10