“You’re kidding, right?” Gracie’s voice rose in disbelief.
“I’m afraid not. You can expect an investigator to ask you some more questions. They’ve already talked to Isabelle and Tim. They’ll probably talk to us too. It’s a real mess. I don’t see how they can think it was anything other than an accident.” Theresa’s voice matched the timbre of her daughter’s.
“I guess I’ll make sure I’m around today. It’s gotta make you wonder.” The wheels were turning, as she chewed on the eraser of the pencil in her hand.
“What do you mean?” Theresa sounded puzzled.
“Nothing, Mom. Just thinking out loud, I guess. I’ll let you know if anyone from the sheriff’s department shows up.”
“OK, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
Gracie heard the click at the other end and slowly put the receiver back in the cradle. She suddenly had the urge to get Charlotte’s diary from the living room and read it again. Things were hectic in the kennel though, so there was no way she could leave. She hurried back to the reception area to relieve Marian of phone duties so she could get the grooming customers back on schedule.
When the phone calls slowed down, she gave Cheryl Stone a call to see if she’d accept the job offer. When she did, Gracie yelled out, “Hot dog!” and danced around the desk. Haley jumped up with enthusiasm, her front paws hitting Gracie’s stomach. She laughed and grabbed the dog’s paws and continued dancing. Jim came in with work gloves stuck in his back pocket, as Marian was driving out to pick up lunches at Midge’s.
“Good news?” he asked. He stood with hands on his hips and a hopeful expression in his eyes.
“Yes. Good news,” said Gracie, her eyes bright. Haley sat panting by her knee.
“Cheryl can start tomorrow since she’s not working. I should be able to get her trained in a week or two.” Gracie felt more lighthearted than she had in days.
“All right! We’re going to see light after all.” Jim went to Gracie’s office and pulled a Coke from the small refrigerator. “Want a diet?” he called back.
“Yes, thanks. Wait till I tell you what else is going on, though.”
“What now? Something about your Uncle Stan?” He handed Gracie a bottle of Diet Coke and sat in one of plastic brown chairs in the waiting area.
“His death has been ruled suspicious. The sheriff’s department is still investigating. They’ll probably talk with me. They’ve already seen Isabelle and Tim.” She took a long swallow of the icy cola.
“You’re kidding. How could they think that? He must have had a few beers in him.”
“Not from what the medical examiner says. Plus there’s some kind of strange bruising.”
“I don’t know, Gracie. Sounds like they’re making a mountain out of molehill. He fell down a flight of stairs; he would have bruises.”
“There must be something different about them.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but there’s an Investigator Hotchkiss out here,” said Joe, who was hauling a 50-pound bag of kibble. His face was white, and he shifted the weight of bag on his shoulder uneasily.
“Thanks, Joe. I’ll go see him.” Gracie tucked in her T-shirt and ran her fingers through her unruly red hair. It was curling out of control in the humidity.
“Uh, it’s a her.” Joe quickly turned toward the runs.
“I’ll catch the phones while you go and chat.” Jim slid into the task chair behind the desk.
“Thanks. Hopefully, this won’t take long.” Gracie was suddenly nervous, a million jumbled thoughts sparking in her brain.
Two hours later, Gracie was back in the grooming area with Marian. The Sheltie standing on the grooming table licked Gracie’s hand. She absently rubbed the dog’s ears.
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life. The questions she asked. It was unbelievable. She acted like I killed Uncle Stan.” Gracie’s face was redder than her hair.
“Cops are always like that. Everybody’s a suspect. You watch Law and Order, don’t you?”
“I can’t believe that’s actually real life. Investigator Hotchkiss has got some real attitude,” Gracie huffed.
“And you don’t?” Jim had just come in at the tail end of Gracie’s tirade.
“No comments from the peanut gallery, thank you.”
“Lighten up, Chief. She’s just doing her job.”
“I suppose, but if Uncle Stan was truly…” She couldn’t bring herself to say “murdered.” “I think it must have something to do with Charlotte. I need to figure out why he gave me those papers.”
“Gracie, let the cops do their work, and all of this will get sorted out. I’ll bet they change their minds soon. Who would hurt Stan?” Jim sounded so logical and calm.
Right now, logical and calm seemed annoying, but she decided to stay cool herself and surprise everybody.
“We’ll see. But, hey, boys and girls, it’s time to close up, so let’s go home.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Marian said, sighing. “I’ll get Sam kenneled, and then I’m outta here.” She easily lifted the Sheltie from the table and led him down the hallway on a blue leash.
“Good night, Marian. Thanks for another great day.” Gracie was sincerely worried that Marian would quit the kennel, given all of the turmoil. She was looking pretty weary.
“I’ll go check on Joe and lock up the barns.” Jim left through the front door.
“Great. I’ll do bed checks after I count the receipts.”
There weren’t as many checks and credit card slips today. She hoped this wasn’t a trend. There were footsteps in the reception area as she finished putting the deposit in the safe.
“Hey, Jim, is that you?” she called out. There was no answer.
“Who’s there?” She felt the hair on the back of her neck rising.
“Uh, just me. Joe.”
“Oh. Is there something you need?”
“I was just getting my hat. I left it in reception. Good night.”
Relieved, Gracie exhaled slowly. The kennel still gave her the creeps when she was alone.
“Good night, Joe.”
Old yearbooks and the diary entries were scattered over the living room floor. An open phonebook was on Gracie’s lap. She finally found the name she was looking for—K. Russell. It had to be Kay Russell, long-time cheerleading coach and English teacher. She lived in Perry on Marquis Avenue. There was no answer, but the voicemail confirmed her hopes. Gracie left a message, explaining she was doing some research on cheerleaders and football players back in the early 90s.
She hoped that the retired teacher wasn’t on vacation. Some quick answers about Galahad and Lancelot were needed, and maybe Kay could supply them. Gracie had no idea where Matthew Minders was these days. He hadn’t been in Deer Creek for many years. She really didn’t want to call Gloria Minders to ask about her son and have to explain why the kennel hadn’t hired either of her two candidates. She typed in his name on the search engine page that was already loaded on her laptop. She uncrossed her legs as 20 possibilities appeared on the next screen.
There were two good prospects: one in Jamestown, New York, and the other in Denver, Colorado. The one in Jamestown was mentioned in a newspaper article from a year ago. He was a counselor and had spearheaded a new program for victims of domestic violence. The other Matthew was an electrical engineer for a large firm in Denver. Gracie would bet the farm that her Matthew Minders was in Jamestown. He was a lot like his mother; always involved in social justice programs. She quickly dialed the number in Jamestown. Her heart was pounding as the phone rang. What was she going to say? Suddenly, it all seemed pretty awkward and far-fetched. What was she doing?
“Hello,” a female voice answered.
“Hi. Is Matthew there?” Gracie bit her lip.
“Sure, just a minute. Who’s calling?”
“An old friend, Gracie Andersen.”
“Oh.” the friendliness in the voice changed slightly.
“Uh oh,” Gracie whi
spered to Haley, who watched her with interest, while chewing on a rawhide. Haley’s warm, liquidy brown eyes followed her mistress as she paced with the phone.
“Gracie, what a surprise! How are you?” The warm male voice was familiar. She softly let out her breath.
But the conversation didn’t stay as relaxed as she’d hoped. The memories of Charlotte were painful for both of them, but in the end, Matthew agreed to make the two-hour trip on the weekend to go over the police report and Charlotte’s diary. Within minutes of hanging up with Matthew, the phone rang as Gracie pored over the police report once again. It was her mother.
“The funeral’s on. They’re releasing the body tonight. Isabelle wants the funeral tomorrow night at the church.”
“Why so quick? That hardly gives any time for visiting hours.”
“There won’t be calling hours. Isabelle feels everybody is just waiting for the word, so the sooner the better. She’s really been through enough. The police questioned her for quite a while today.”
“I had the same treatment. Was it an Investigator Hotchkiss?”
“That sounds right. We had Deputy Stevens here. He seemed very nice. He asked if we knew where Stan was Friday night and Saturday morning. He also wanted to know where Isabelle and Tim were too.”
“Deputy Stevens! He’s the one investigating the robbery here. Do you know where they were?” Her curiosity was piqued, and a flush of embarrassment came back at the memory of Sunday afternoon.
“Not really. We assumed Stan was at the VFW, like he usually is on Friday nights. I don’t know about Saturday. Your dad checked on him Friday morning, and he seemed to be doing pretty well. Isabelle says she was over earlier that afternoon, but I don’t know where she went after that. She and Tim usually go out to dinner on Fridays.
“I’d be interested to know what Isabelle was doing Friday and Saturday.”
“You can’t be implying what I think you’re implying.” Gracie was familiar with the tone and softened her answer on the fly. She’d dropped her gaze and noticed that more freckles had appeared on her arms. She must be spending too much time in the sun.
“It’s probably sour grapes after my experience with Investigator Hotchkiss this afternoon. She made me feel like the prime suspect.”
“Well, it’s a suspicious death, so I think they’re just covering all their bases. Since they’ve released the body, they must be satisfied with everything.”
“Not necessarily, Mom, but let’s hope so.”
After getting the details on the funeral, Gracie said good night, and then it flashed back—Uncle Stan’s message was on her machine. She’d forgotten to tell the investigator, probably because she was so irritated at the time. She pushed the button to replay messages. It was eerie to hear his voice. The timestamp was 8:57 p.m. She’d left the house at 6:30 to pick up the fish dinners and go to her parents’ house. Uncle Stan’s habit was to eat at the VFW by six, and then play cards until 10 or 11 p.m. Lord knew Gracie had heard Aunt Shirley complain about his boys’ night out often enough. So why was he home before nine? Or had he skipped the poker all together? Why hadn’t she called him back? When did he die? Was it Friday or Saturday? Why hadn’t she asked her mother if they’d talked to or seen Uncle Stan on Saturday? A shiver ran over her spine, contemplating Uncle Stan lying at the bottom of the stairs all night. She’d have to tell the investigator about this, but maybe she’d just call Deputy Stevens and give him the information. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself if she got a second chance.
On her way to the sink with the empty glass, headlights swept into the driveway and Haley woofed her alarm. Peeking through the curtains on the kitchen door, she saw it was a sheriff’s cruiser. Deputy Stevens was apparently brave enough to visit again. She opened the door just as he raised his hand to knock.
It didn’t seem nearly as awkward as Sunday afternoon had been. Gracie decided that Deputy Marc Stevens looked something like Harrison Ford in his younger Indiana Jones days. He even had a dimple in his chin. No wonder he made her nervous.
He said he didn’t have much time, but the visit was to drop off a copy of the un-redacted police report. Gracie hurried to find the scanned copy she had on the living room floor. They quickly compared the two on the dining room table.
“It looks like it’s the vehicle information and license plate they’ve blacked out,” Marc commented.
“It’s a WY plate. They’re hard vanity plates to get. You have to be somebody or know the right person at the DMV to get them.” Gracie’s mind whirled through possible reasons the plate number was obliterated in Uncle Stan’s copy.
“A lot of them go to county employees. The County Clerk is WY 1. The judges have special plate numbers too. This plate number isn’t complete, so I don’t understand why they’d bother to redact it.”
Marc shoved the chair back and ran his fingers through his short blond hair. There was just a sprinkling of silver showing at his temples. He stood and picked up his hat from the table.
“I need to get back on the road. Maybe we can talk about this some more, if you want, this weekend. It would be great to solve a cold case like this one, especially after all that’s happened. It won’t be easy though.”
“I know. My family and business partner are telling me to let it go, but since my uncle gave me all this information, I need to find out what really happened. The weekend is great, but I do need to tell you about the message my Uncle Stan left me on Friday night. I completely forgot to tell Investigator Hotchkiss.”
“A message?”
“He left a message on my machine. I can replay it for you.”
“I’d better take it down. The investigator will want that.” He was all business in his demeanor, as he took out a small spiral notebook that was in his shirt pocket. Marc listened carefully to the message three times and jotted down his notes.
“OK, I’ve got it. Don’t erase it. Investigator Hotchkiss will probably want to hear it herself.” He shoved the notebook back in his pocket.
“No problem. Just take the machine. It’s as old as the hills. I should set up the voicemail on the phone anyway, and let’s just say the Investigator and I didn’t exactly hit it off. It’ll be a peace offering of sorts.” She could only hope that the policewoman would take it in the spirit it was given.
“Thanks. That’ll save her a trip.”
“No problem. Always glad to cooperate.”
Marc looked at her skeptically.
“Cooperate, huh?”
“Yes, cooperate. If someone hurt my Uncle Stan, I want you to find out who did it. Investigator Hotchkiss is a little rough in her approach though, and I don’t appreciate being treated like a suspect.” Gracie could feel the color start to creep up her neck.
“She’s a tough cookie, but she’s a top-notch cop.” His voice was even and cool.
Gracie could tell the conversation was over in that area, so she moved on. Other questions about the investigation would have to wait.
“Is there a good time we could get together about Charlotte’s stuff?”
“I’m not sure of the weekend schedule yet, so I’ll give you a call.” He carried the answering machine under his arm and started for the door.
“Great. I’ll wait to hear from you.” Haley thrust a cold nose into her hand and whined.
“OK, I guess I’d better let you out.” Gracie turned to the patio door and opened the screen slider.
“Goodnight then, and thanks for this.” He waved the answering machine in her direction.
“Goodnight, Deputy.”
“It’s Marc,” he said, shutting the kitchen door.
Chapter 21
The whole village turned out for Uncle Stan’s funeral on Thursday evening. Even though the ceiling fans were running at top speed, people fanned themselves with the funeral bulletin. The air-conditioning had conked out a few hours before. Even Isabelle looked wilted in the humidity. She had another new suit. It was black linen with a short sleeved jac
ket and large obsidian buttons. Tim kept his arm around her shoulders throughout the service. His brown hair, with gray at the temples, looked freshly cut since Gracie had seen him at Aunt Shirley’s funeral. He had recently grown a mustache, which Gracie thought made him look older, and his black suit coat was open to accommodate his middle-aged spread.
Greg and Anna were once again in appropriate mourning clothes, looking uncomfortable. Greg pulled at his tie throughout the service and looked down at his feet during the eulogy. His brown hair was the same shade as his father’s, and he was now the same height too. Anna twisted her long honey-blonde hair around her fingers. Her petite features reminded Gracie of Charlotte at the same age. Anna, however, was quiet and studious, very unlike her late aunt. The poor kids had been through hell in the last week. She really needed to take the time to talk with them. How Isabelle had ended up with such good kids was a mystery, but then again, Tim was all right when he wasn’t bragging about how much money he made.
Rev. Minders did a fine job of laying Uncle Stan to rest, reminding them of the life to come and the grand reunion of Shirley and Stan in the heavenly realm. He offered the standard scriptures, Psalm 23 and John 14, to give them all comfort. Gracie wasn’t sure she believed those anymore. She had never questioned them until she had lost a husband and an unborn baby within days of each other. If she hadn’t fallen scrambling up the bank to get to her cellphone in the SUV, she would have a son. The cramping hadn’t been severe until two days after Michael’s funeral. And then there was nothing the doctor could do. At the time, she’d felt that God had played some cruel joke on her. Her counselor had said she was stuck in the grief process and was hanging on to a lot of anger. She’d stopped seeing the woman after that session.
But in the last couple of weeks, it was evident that anger and fear were running her life. Even if that life seemed to be unraveling again, she wasn’t going to revisit those dark thoughts. They made her feel helpless and so alone. She wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t helpless. She needed to focus on that. Michael would have told her to snap out of it. His faith had been so strong and it had been easy to rely on his confidence in God. It was time she figured out where she stood with the Almighty for herself.
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