“I think she said that some of Grandma’s jewelry was gone. A cameo and pearl necklace and a couple of other things—a watch and a bracelet, I guess.
“Really? Maybe it’s connected to all the robberies that are happening around the area, although it’s been electronics and cash in the others, from what the newspaper reported.”
“Grandpa and Grandma didn’t have a lot of that stuff. They were pretty old-fashioned. I can’t see Grandpa fighting with a robber though. He was pretty wasted most of the time. I would’ve guessed that he just fell down the stairs, but those bruises around his neck were shaped like hands, I guess. So must be he got into it with somebody.”
“Handprints on his neck? I guess there was somebody else in the house. Do you think it was a robbery then?”
There was something about Greg’s tone that prickled the hair on the back of Gracie’s neck. She wanted to know what was running through this bright teenager’s mind.
A shadow crossed through Greg’s eyes.
“I…really don’t know.” His reluctance was palpable.
“That’s OK. I never did hear when the medical examiner said he died.”
“Oh, it was about 10 o’clock Friday night, I guess. It’s pretty weird to think about that. Mom had me check on him in the afternoon, and he was fine. He was just watching TV and sleeping. It’s just creepy to think that he was dead a few hours later. If I had hung out with him, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.” Greg’s head went down, and he kicked some loose gravel with his sneaker.
“Don’t beat yourself up over that, Greg. I’m a champion at guilt trips and know. I felt the same way, because I was going to see him Friday night, but then didn’t make it.”
“He did say something about wanting to talk to you while I was there. Grandpa wondered if I’d seen you.”
“Did he say anything specific?”
“He was talking kind of funny. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but he’d probably had a few.”
“Was he drinking then?”
“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see any beer bottles around. He usually had two or three at least by his chair, but there weren’t any. There was just a can of Coke. That was pretty unusual.”
“Really? So what was he saying then?” Gracie tried to contain the eagerness in her voice.
“Well, he was rambling about Grandma and Charlotte. Grandma had gone too far or something like that. He wanted to make things right and had to do the right thing. He said something about my Mom being on the wrong side, and that justice needed to be done. It was really crazy talk. It didn’t make any sense to me. It kinda freaked me out, so I told him I had to get going. When I told my Mom what he said, she freaked on me.”
“You got stuck in the middle. Nice. Not an easy place to be.”
“Not an easy place to live. There’s always drama with my mother. I try to stay out of her way mostly and disappear as often as I can.” Greg took a quick look around the parking lot. “Well, I’d better get home to report in.” He smiled, but his eyes looked wistful.
“Take care of yourself, Greg. If you ever need to talk or whatever, give me a call, day or night.”
“Thanks, Gracie. It’s good to know that not all of my relatives are strange.”
“Uh, thanks, but we all have our quirks. And you probably don’t want to mention that you talked to me today.” She winked and gave him a quick slap on the back. She watched him in her rearview mirror as he left in a black pickup.
Matthew Minders hadn’t been much help at all, but Greg had opened the door to some new information. She needed to plan her next move. There were a lot of jumbled ideas running around in her head at the moment, and each included Isabelle. And now Aunt Shirley.
Chapter 23
Brad and Carter were moving to Buffalo. The constant churning in Joe’s stomach had slowed down after they’d told him when he’d gotten home from work. He had no idea how they’d talked their probation officer into letting them leave the county. He was probably grateful to hand them over to Erie County. The inventory at the depot was also leaving. Carter had bought an old junker 15-passenger van, pockmarked with rust and a questionable engine. Miraculously, it passed the state inspection, and now it was parked at the depot, hidden by the jungle of weeds that were tangled around the rear of the building. They’d stripped the seats out the night before and tossed them in the weeds along the tracks.
Joe had to help them load everything, and then he was off the hook. His grandmother calling his uncle had been a stroke of genius. Brad wanted no more of Uncle Ron’s pointed questions and suspicious looks. Maybe his uncle had helped the probation officer get them moved to Buffalo. However it happened, he just wanted them to hurry and get this over with.
The night was cloudy, and there was no moon. Carter had shot out the streetlight next to the depot and the one on the corner with the BB gun weeks ago. The Village DPW hadn’t replaced the bulbs yet, so the whole area was soaked in darkness. Someone was cooking burgers nearby and the smell made his stomach growl. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, catching drops of sweat before they stung his eyes.
Where were they? Sweat trickled down his torso, making his T-shirt stick to him. Joe needed to get back to the house to avoid any questions about why he was out. Sneaking out the bedroom window may have worked when he was a kid, but he was sure his uncle would do a bed check before he turned in. He also needed a cigarette. He didn’t light one for fear the glow would be visible to the street.
Joe hoped they weren’t trying to pull one more job before leaving. And he hoped no kids would show up to party at the depot tonight. The depot’s secret storage area was piled with iPods, laptops, flat screen TVs, DVD players, speakers, DVDs, and who knew what else they’d ripped off on the two-month burglary spree. The cash they’d stolen along the way was long gone, helping Brad and Carter buy cigarettes, a little weed, and plenty of beer. He drew in a lungful of air and hugged himself.
Why were they so late?
Headlights suddenly swung up the street from Main. Joe felt the stereo’s vibrating rap beat as the car turned into a driveway two houses up from the depot. He crouched in the shelter of the tall weeds by the steps of the rear entrance. Kids laughed and slammed doors, and the music blared. A porch light came on and a man yelled, “Turn that down, Chris. I’ve got enough complaints already.” The music went silent, and the laughing faded after the screen door slammed. Joe stood up gingerly and flexed his stiff right knee. The porch light was still on, and Joe cursed under his breath at the thin pool of light in the blackness.
The street grew quiet again, and the drone of peepers gradually provided steady background noise. Another vehicle made the turn onto Rail Avenue. The headlights were immediately cut, and a pickup with a cap on the back crept into the parking area. Joe eased out of his hiding place in the weeds.
“It’s about time. Where’ve you been?”
“Keep your shirt on, bucko. We had some business to take care of.”
“Let’s get this stuff loaded. I gotta get outta here.” Joe couldn’t wait for them to be on their way to Buffalo.
Brad swore and grabbed Joe’s damp shirt, jerking him almost off his feet.
“We’ll get it done, so simmer down, Joseph. Is your Granny waiting for you or something?”
“My uncle is, and I don’t need any more trouble.” Joe was tired of being afraid of Brad and his bullying.
“Come on, let’s just get the stuff in the van and get outta here, Brad.” Carter threw the stub of his cigarette on the gravel and rubbed it out with the toe of his work boot.
Brad grunted and pushed Joe back toward the broken railing of the steps into the depot. The rough wood scraped the back of his arm. The three men worked in silence, hauling boxes of electronics to the van. They dropped to the ground when another carload of kids sped by, stereo cranked high. More car doors slammed, and young voices echoed in the still air. They waited until the sounds dimmed, and everyone was in the h
ouse. Joe exhaled slowly and knocked off the gravel stuck to his hands. Carter pulled a pile of old blankets out of the back of the pickup to pad the TVs and speakers. It took the three of them to put the last TV in the overcrowded vehicle.
“That’s it.” Carter stuck his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, surveying the tightly packed cargo.
“You’re sure?” Brad growled. He was breathing heavily and sat down on the steps.
“I’m sure.”
“OK, Joe, scamper home to Grandmaw and give our regards to your uncle the parole officer.”
“Sure, whatever.” Joe’s shoes crunched on the stones and then were silent when he reached the uneven sidewalk.
“And don’t worry. We’ll keep in touch,” Brad hissed.
Joe melted into the night, staying well out of the reaches of the porch light across the street. With any luck, the backyard dogs wouldn’t hear him. His gut twisted with the knowledge that Brad wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. The local business had just gotten a little too hot, and a change of scenery would cool things down. They would be back. He needed a plan to avoid them at all costs. It didn’t look good, though. Brad had his thumb on Carter and Joe the entire time they were in prison together. It was easier to go along with Brad than stand up to him. Maybe he should ask his grandmother to pray that Brad went back to prison. If that happened, he’d have a chance at a normal life. But then again, why would God answer a prayer to benefit Joe Youngers?
With headlights off, the truck and van slowly eased onto the street. Joe turned and saw the taillights come on once they got to the intersection and turned onto Main.
“Getting some fresh air, Joe?”
Joe jumped and turned around.
“Hey, Uncle Ron.”
His uncle’s large hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Your grandmother was little worried about you, so I said I’d go look for you. You’re not waiting for anybody are you?”
“No. No. I just thought I’d take a walk around the neighborhood. I was just coming back.”
“Good. I’ll walk back with you. That’ll give us a chance to talk.”
Chapter 24
Gracie was finishing the last forkful of a chicken finger salad at Midge’s. It was fairly quiet, with just a handful of tables occupied. Midge was wiping down the worn, yellow speckled Formica counter. Gracie was the only customer sitting there. She had the lucky squeaky stool. Midge was uncharacteristically quiet, chomping on her gum and cleaning with a vengeance.
“I guess I need the check when you get a chance, Midge.”
“Comin’ right up.” Midge sprayed the counter again with cleaning solution and kept wiping it down.
“Kind of quiet today.”
“Yeah, everybody’s on vacation or fishin’, including my waitresses,” she grumbled.
“Wish I could say the same.” Gracie pulled out her wallet, hoping Midge would take the hint.
“You probably could use one after all the excitement your family has had the last two weeks.”
“And how. It’s still hard to believe that Uncle Stan is gone.”
“I bet. I hear the sheriff is still investigatin’ how he died. How’d that turn out?”
Midge was now on her own fishing expedition. She pulled the check pad from her apron pocket and started writing nonchalantly.
“I think they’ve just about finished their investigation. I can’t imagine anyone hurting Uncle Stan, but I guess anything’s possible.”
“You think it was somebody who knew him?”
“I really don’t know. An accident makes more sense, but the sheriff doesn’t seem to think so.”
Gracie didn’t want to mention Greg’s revelations about the investigation until she could find out more. That information didn’t need to be on the evening news at Midge’s tonight.
“Heard that Frank and Evie were suing you.” Midge changed the subject suddenly, apparently giving up on Uncle Stan’s death. She stopped mid-chomp, her brown eyes bright with interest.
“Just one of those things. It’s a lawyer matter, so we’re letting them fight it out.” Gracie had successfully pushed that problem to the back burner, but a rush of emotion over old friends actually suing her gave her instant indigestion. Now she was really anxious to go home.
“I’d better go. Lots to do yet.” She pulled out a $20 bill as Midge tore the check off the pad.
“Sure thing. Surprising what folks will do for some money.” Midge rang up the ticket on the cash register.
“Yeah. We’ll have to wait and see what happens.” It was harder to be non-committal and cool than Gracie thought. She felt her face start to flush from the roots of her hair as she took the change from Midge. She placed a tip by her plate and slung the tote over her shoulder.
“See ya, Midge.”
“Okie doke, Gracie.” Midge was already headed to the kitchen.
“Gracie? Gracie Clark?” A voice from a back table caught her attention.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly. The voice did sound vaguely familiar.
“Come and join me. It’s Kay Russell.”
Kay Russell sat at the table by the front windows hung with red gingham curtains, in the larger “dining” section. She hadn’t changed all that much. She was a little heavier, and her short hair was now totally gray, but Miss Russell still had a perky smile, striking blue eyes, and flamboyant clothes. She wore a pink tropical-print capri ensemble. Her makeup was perfect, albeit on the generous side, maybe even on the body armor side. Her nails had a French manicure, and Gracie caught a whiff of Chanel No. 5 as she sat down at the small table.
“I couldn’t help but hear your conversation with Midge. I thought it must be you. I’ve been meaning to call you, Gracie, but I got so busy this last week, I just forgot. It was such a surprise to hear from you.”
“No problem. I’ve been doing a little research on high school, and I thought you might be able to help me with some names from back in the early 90s.” Gracie was frantically trying to formulate the questions she was so anxious to ask Charlotte’s old cheerleading coach.
“I’d be glad to if I can. My memory isn’t the best anymore, but I had some great girls on the squad then. In fact, your cousin Charlotte was one of the best. Such a shame and such a waste. She was so full of life.” A deep sadness clouded the retired teacher’s face.
Gracie decided honesty was the best policy and forged ahead. “I know. It’s really Charlotte I want to talk about. I have some questions about her I hope you can answer.”
“What do you want to know?”
Gracie put her tote on the crumb-strewn floor and settled into the chair. Midge’s waitresses must really be on vacation. Midge would have a fit if she saw the mess. She had her fingers crossed that Miss R. had some answers.
“I’ve been reading through some old family papers, and I found out that Charlotte was pregnant when she was killed. It was a surprise to me. Did she tell you anything about that?”
“Why, yes, she did. It was obvious by the end of September that she wasn’t herself and needed someone to confide in. I was worried about her and tried to talk to her, but she kept to herself. It was very unlike Charlotte. She finally told me after I found her throwing up in the locker room one day after practice. Charlotte was petrified to tell her parents. She said they would make her get an abortion, or they’d throw her out, and she’d be disowned by everyone, including her sister.”
“That’s probably true, knowing my Aunt Shirley and Isabelle. Did she say who the father was?”
“No. Charlotte wouldn’t tell me. She said the father didn’t want the baby or her. He’d offered to pay for the abortion, but that girl truly wanted the baby. There was no way she would give it up. I offered to go with her to talk to her parents or the father of the baby, and Charlotte absolutely refused every time. I should have been more persistent.”
“I wish I’d known. My parents didn’t know either. Apparently, my aunt and uncle never said a word about the pregnancy. Did Ch
arlotte say what she was going to do?”
“She was in the process of making some sort of plan the week before she died. I do know that she had decided to talk to her father and go from there. Charlotte’s relationship with her mother wasn’t the greatest, from what she told me. She thought her father might be more supportive. You know, Charlotte still planned on going to college and raising the baby somehow.” Miss Russell’s brow furrowed, creasing her makeup.
“Charlotte was in a world of hurt if my Aunt Shirley knew about the pregnancy. Good families don’t have illegitimate babies pop up, and people would have talked up a storm about one of the Browne girls getting pregnant. It wouldn’t have been pretty. Aunt Shirley had so many rules, and appearances were so important.
Gracie’s mind was racing with visions of Aunt Shirley screaming and throwing Charlotte out onto the street. Hadn’t Charlotte known she could have come to Gracie or her parents? They would have helped her.
“Then it sounds like Charlotte didn’t exaggerate her family situation. That’s very sad. Her parents were quite active in the community, weren’t they?”
“Yes, and that was the problem. Being so prominent in all the right circles didn’t allow for their children to make mistakes. Isabelle was much better at being the perfect daughter.”
“Isabelle. Yes, I remember her. She was Charlotte’s older sister, right?”
“Three years older.”
“I seem to remember that Charlotte was having a hard time with her sister too. Isabelle must have been in college, wasn’t she?”
“Isabelle went to Niagara University. She got her teaching degree there.”
“OK. I do remember Charlotte mentioning that now. You know, Isabelle stopped by to watch Charlotte practice with the squad right before the accident. Charlotte wasn’t too happy to see her, and I think they had some words when we were going into the locker room. It may have been the same day Charlotte told me she was pregnant.”
Family Matters (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 1) Page 15