Her mother’s touch on her arm brought her back to the present moment, and she stood as the casket was carried out by the pallbearers, which included Tim and Greg. There was no graveside service, but there was a private service for the immediate family Friday morning. Gracie hoped that didn’t include her. Another scene with Isabelle was undesirable, and walking by Michael and Andrew’s graves was not something she was ready to do again. There was no funeral dinner tonight, but Gracie knew the church ladies were in overdrive, since her own refrigerator was filled to capacity with casseroles and Jell-O salads. What was Jell-O anyway, and why was it a designated funeral food?
The organ finished a somber postlude of Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah, and the congregation began filing past the family. Gracie was at the end of the family receiving line, staying as far away from Isabelle as possible. Theresa Clark had declared a truce between her daughter and niece for the night. As the new matriarch of the family, her word on sticky family relationships would reign on this public occasion. There were to be no scenes or displays of anger. Theresa had always been skillful at managing Isabelle and smoothing her ruffled feathers. In fact, she’d managed her sister Shirley with the same aplomb.
The line of people seemed endless, and Gracie’s emotional energy was flagging. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Investigator Hotchkiss melting into the crowd, moving toward the exit. What or who was she watching? Gracie wished she too was exiting, but there was really no way to escape. Her mother had seen to that. Theresa and Robert graciously greeted everyone and talked in low tones to Greg and Anna, who were struggling with issues of their own. Uncomfortable clothes, no cell phones, and an adult crowd were testing their endurance. Greg did look handsome in his dark suit, and Anna was charming in her black sheath dress and sandals. Gracie gave them a quick, understanding smile.
The crowd was thinning into the darkness and sounds of car engines starting up and down the street, when Gracie saw an opportunity to slip away. Her mother turned to talk to Isabelle, and Gracie stood on tiptoes to kiss her father’s cheek.
“Gotta go, Dad. I’ve got an early day, and I need to check the dogs and the alarm system.”
“OK, my girl. You’ve stood the test long enough for Mother, I think. We’ll stop by tomorrow after the graveside. You’re not going, are you?”
“You know me well, Dad. No, I won’t be there, so give my apologies to everyone.”
“I think they understand; don’t worry.” He gave her a quick hug and pushed her toward the side entrance.
Cheryl Stone was a quick study in the kennel business. Already, Gracie and Jim were sure this hire was a good one. Cheryl loved dogs, and they loved her. She already knew all the dogs’ names and was teaching them tricks while they were in the play yard. She was tall and willowy, with dark brown hair cut in short layers, framing a constantly smiling face that was almost pretty. Gracie and Cheryl hit it off immediately and were trading stories about high school. Cheryl had graduated from Warsaw, while Gracie had from Letchworth. They had both been in 4-H and decided they’d competed against each other in dog obedience at Pike Fair.
Cheryl was recently divorced, with a teenage daughter, and had moved back with her parents in Warsaw. Her ex lived in Buffalo and taught at Erie Community College. Cheryl had Marian’s seal of approval, and the work was settling into the efficient rhythm that Gracie thrived on. The only worry now was rebuilding the business that had suffered because of the bite incident and robbery.
Jim brought in the mail and dumped it on Gracie’s desk.
“A lot of bills today, Chief.”
“I know. It’s been that way all week.”
“What’s the checkbook looking like?” Jim was uncharacteristically concerned. He left most financial matters to Gracie.
“We’re all right for now. If we have another month or two like the last couple of weeks though, we could be in trouble. We might have to dip into the reserve account if that happens.” She pushed back a lock of hair that had escaped the large hairclip holding the rest of her hair in check.
“Do you think we need to get some more advertising out there or offer some added-value service?”
“Wow, Jim you’re getting all business-like here,” Gracie laughed.
Administration was not Jim’s forte. He enjoyed the physical work, the dogs, and the people, not the paperwork.
“Hey, you two. How’s business?” Bob Clark walked through the doorway. Gracie could hear her mother talking to Marian and Cheryl. Jim shook Bob’s hand.
“A little slow, I’m afraid.” Gracie was separating the bills and the junk mail into two piles.
“We’re trying to figure out what we need to do to get a positive spin on Milky Way back out there.” Jim took off his Yankees cap and scratched his head.
“Have a seat, Dad.” Gracie pointed to the ugly recliner.
“Thanks, I think,” Bob laughed.
“It’s broken in just right for my taste. Gracie keeps telling me it doesn’t go with the décor, but hey, this is a kennel.” Jim gazed fondly at the chair.
“I’m tolerating the chair because he’s such good help. Most of the time.” Gracie teased.
“It wasn’t here the last time I was in the office.”
“I’ve been negotiating with the Chief for a while, and I finally wore her down.” Jim looked pleased with himself.
“He brought it over right after you left for your cruise.”
“Good job, Jim. Anybody who can talk my daughter into allowing that chair in her office has great persuasive powers.”
“Is everybody hungry?” Theresa walked bearing a large pan covered in aluminum foil.
Gracie groaned. “Not another casserole.”
“No, it’s really lasagna, and I brought paper plates. Clear off your desk so I can set this up.”
Gracie quickly swept the pile of mail into the top desk drawer to make room for the food.
“All right,” Jim said with anticipation. “Real home cooking from Mrs. C. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Except it’s not mineit’s from Gloria. My refrigerator is so full; I had to part with something. This pan just wouldn’t fit.”
“That’s good for us,” chimed in Marian who came in carrying plates, napkins, and silverware. Cheryl was behind her with a cooler of iced sodas. The conversation lulled as they loaded plates with the rich layers of sausage lasagna. Gracie was mid-mouthful when she realized Joe wasn’t there.
“Where’s Joe?”
“I’ll go get him. He’s probably in the barn.” Jim left his plate on the task chair.
“Anybody home?”
Gracie recognized Deputy Stevens’ voice.
“Back here in the office,” she called.
“Have some lasagna.” Theresa was already on her feet, grabbing a plate and spatula.
“I’d love to, but I don’t have the time, Ma’am. Mrs. Andersen, could I speak to you?”
He sounded official, and Gracie rose, expecting to see a smile, but his face was deadpan. “Sure, Deputy. Let’s go in the reception area.”
Deputy Stevens stood straight and tall, looking extremely law enforcement-like by the reception desk. He pulled a set of papers from his clipboard.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Andersen, but I have serve you with these papers.”
“Serve me with what?” She tried to keep her voice controlled.
“It’s a summons. You’ll probably want to contact your attorney.”
“My attorney! What are you talking about?”
“You’ll have to read it.”
Gracie scanned the front page of the document stapled in a blue litigation cover.
“You’ve got to be kidding! They’re suing us. It was an accident, and they’re suing.”
“I’m very sorry. Like I said, you’ll want to contact your attorney.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Gracie’s voice was no longer as controlled as she wante
d.
Bob Clark came around the corner.
“Is everything OK?”
“Not really, Dad. Frank and Evie are suing me for Beth’s accident.” She sat down in the molded, brown plastic reception chair, staring at the paper in her hand.
“Don’t panic, Gracie. Just give Nathan Cook a call and put him to work. It’s not unusual for this to happen after any accident.”
“You’re right about that, Mr. Clark. Happens all the time. I’m sure it’ll work out. I’d better be going.” Deputy Stevens opened the front door and strode toward his car.
Everyone was silent in the office when Gracie returned. Theresa was picking up the plates and collecting silverware.
“Well, I guess Milky Way has some more doo-doo to deal with.” She threw the paper on the desk.
“It’ll be OK, Gracie,” Marian said confidently.
Cheryl nodded in agreement. “People do it all the time to get more insurance money.”
“I know, but the last people I expected to play that game are Frank and Evie.” Gracie shrugged and picked at the cold tomato sauce, puddled on the saturated plate.
“What’s going on?” Jim searched the unsmiling faces watching him and Joe.
“I just got served with a lawsuit. Frank and Evie are suing us for Beth’s damages, whatever that means. Our insurance will cover all her medical bills. What else do they want?”
“Great. Although I expected it before now.”
“Well, I didn’t. I still can’t believe they’d try to milk this thing. Beth is most likely to blame for the accident, plus she’s OK.” Gracie was beginning to boil.
Theresa grabbed another plate and landed a huge square of lasagna in the center.
“Here, Joe. No sense in letting all of this go to waste.” Theresa gave him a motherly smile.
“Thanks. I can just take it with me back to the barn.”
“Stay here, Joe. Don’t leave on our account.” Bob stood and offered the recliner.
“That’s OK. I’m not sure…”
“Have a seat, Joe. Enjoy your lunch.” Theresa was firm.
“OK, thanks.” He sat ramrod straight in the recliner, discomfort oozing from every pore.
All eyes were focused on Joe as he lifted a forkful to his mouth. The silence was awkward. Amazingly, Joe spoke and broke the spell.
“Wow, this is good. I haven’t had homemade lasagna in a long time.”
“It’s compliments of the pastor’s wife. Eat up and get some meat on your bones.” Theresa had her mother hen hat on now.
“Well, let’s give the man some peace while he eats.” Bob admonished his wife.
“Of course, dear.” Theresa gave her husband a good-natured glare.
“How did the graveside service go?” Jim broke in and let Joe off the hook.
“It was fine. Isabelle held up pretty well. It’s a good thing Tim is so steady. She’s going to need him to help her sort everything out.” Bob helped himself to another hunk of lasagna.
“Poor Uncle Stan. This whole thing is surreal. Have you heard if they’ve finished up the investigation?” Gracie settled back into her desk chair.
She thought she saw a flicker of fear on Joe’s face. A sheen of sweat crossed his upper lip.
“I don’t know. I’m assuming no news is good news.” Theresa dabbed at a spot of sauce on her black skirt.
“I guess we’d better get back to work.” Jim adjusted his baseball cap and dumped his plate in the wastebasket.
“I’m right behind you.” Joe quickly shoved the last bite in his mouth and stood to leave.
“Jim, wait a second before you go. We need to put in a call to Nathan.”
“Right. Go ahead, Joe. Finish cleaning the runs.”
“All right.”
“There aren’t any more grooming appointments this afternoon, so I’m going home if you don’t need me,” Marian said.
“Fine with me. If one comes in, I can handle it. See you tomorrow.” Gracie let out a sigh.
“Cheryl’s up front, so the phone is covered.”
“Thanks, Marian.”
With good-byes out of the way, and her parents on their way home, Gracie and Jim spent some time talking to Nathan Cook, Esquire. She faxed the summons and complaint to him, and gave him Howard Stroud’s number.
“I’ll get with Howard, and I’m sure we’ll work this mess out. Don’t talk to the Simmons family or their attorney and make an appointment to see me next week.” Nathan’s voice was firm and confident. He had handled all of their legal affairs for years and had always come through. This was the first lawsuit though. It seemed immensely scary to Gracie, not like a partnership agreement or probate.
“Thanks, Nathan. We’ll see you next week.” Jim hit the speakerphone’s “Off” button, disconnecting the call.
“It’s Nathan’s problem now. I hope he can get this settled quickly.”
“It’s our problem, and I still can’t believe they’d do this. We’ve been friends for years… or so I thought.” Her brown eyes flashed with anger and hurt.
“Gracie, take a deep breath. Let Nathan do his job and we’ll get on with business. We do have a PR problem, which this lawsuit isn’t going to help. Any ideas?” His eyebrows were furrowed, and his blue eyes were dark with worry.
“I was thinking about hosting an obedience match here, but I need to get in touch with the Valley Kennel Club.” Gracie was trying to cool down and focus.
“That’s a great idea. How about adding agility?”
“We’d have to get a spot ready for that. We need more fencing installed, too.”
“Not a problem. There are a few rolls of livestock fence out in the barn.”
“OK, that’s good. I’ll give them a call and see what we can work out.”
“All right then. Get crackin’, Chief.” Jim adjusted his cap to a jaunty angle, winked, and whistled his way out of the office.
“Sure thing. You too.” Gracie felt a surge of excitement. It would be a feather in Milky Way’s cap to host a match. If they made a good impression, who knew what else could happen?
Gracie’s mind was still whirling with organizing the obedience and agility match set for six weeks away when she sat at the kitchen counter to sort her personal mail. The Kennel Club had readily agreed and would do the advertising. Milky Way just had to supply the venue.
The copies of Charlotte’s diary were still scattered on the coffee table like pieces of an unsolved puzzle. Maybe digging up the past wasn’t a good idea.
“Let sleeping dogs lie, right, girl?”
Haley looked up from her rawhide chip and thumped her tail on the floor.
Gracie spotted the flashing red light on the phone as she went back to opening the mail. It was her buddy, Investigator Hotchkiss, leaving an official voicemail. She wanted to see Gracie tomorrow. How could she prove that she hadn’t had anything to do with Uncle Stan’s death? Of course, she might be reading into why the investigator wanted to talk to her.
Chapter 22
Investigator Hotchkiss snapped her notebook shut. Her almost military-cut, dark brown hair was threaded with silver. Gracie guessed she was probably in her late-forties. She wore a plain gold wedding band and was trim in a navy blazer and skirt. A short, upturned nose and fine-boned face with piercing brown eyes, met Gracie’s gaze. Did this woman ever smile?
“Thanks, Mrs. Andersen. I think that’s about it.”
“Sure. Glad to help,” Gracie said through clenched teeth.
The questions were no less threatening than the first interview. The investigator wanted to know why Gracie had kept Charlotte’s papers from Isabelle. Why was her uncle so eager to talk to her about Charlotte’s death? Since she had such a hot temper, as witnessed by many at the funeral dinner, did she get into an argument with her Uncle Stan? It appeared as if Isabelle had tried to implicate Gracie, in some twisted way, in Uncle Stan’s death. It was unthinkable. Investigator Hotchkiss had thanked Gracie for turning in Uncle Stan’s message
though, so maybe being helpful was making some points.
“One more question before I go.” The investigator stood with her left hand draped over the doorknob.
“Sure, why not?” Gracie scratched Haley’s head nonchalantly.
“Did you notice anything missing when you were in the house? Was there anything out of place?”
“I don’t think so, but I wasn’t really looking at the time.”
“If you think of anything, please give me a call. You’ve got my card, right?”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Gracie hesitated and then decided to ask the question she was dying to ask.
“Investigator?”
“Yes?”
“Where does all of this stand? Is my Uncle Stan’s death still suspicious?”
Investigator Hotchkiss was clearly all business, and Gracie doubted she’d get a straight answer, but she still needed to ask.
“We’re following up on all our leads right now. I think we’ll have things wrapped up pretty soon.” The investigator sounded confident, but unhelpful.
“Well, that’s good. I hope you find some answers soon.”
“Thanks again, Mrs. Andersen. I’ll be in touch.”
Investigator Hotchkiss shut the kitchen door quickly.
“OK. We made it through another interview. Maybe this time I lost the job as suspect.”
Gracie flopped onto the sofa and pulled absently on Haley’s soft ears.
“Isabelle has some explaining to do though. She’s got to be smoking dope to tell the police I could hurt Uncle Stan.” She felt her chest tighten, as Uncle Stan’s sad face flashed through her mind.
Gracie decided to focus on her deceased cousin. Thinking about Isabelle only made her angry. Charlotte’s diary entries and the police report were now stacked neatly on the coffee table. The license plate number was making her crazy. The WY vanity plate was probably her best clue, but without DMV records to check it out, the task seemed impossible. It might not even be the car. Maybe Matthew could shed some light on things. Who knew what he’d seen that night? Sometimes you blocked bad things out of your mind because they were just too awful. He might remember something significant after all these years.
Family Matters (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 1) Page 13