by Gayle Leeson
“I don’t think so. I heard Mark talking on the phone to his dad quite often. And he’d always tell the man to be careful and to take care of himself.”
“Huh. That makes me wonder if Walter Tinsley is sick. Or was sick. Maybe the reason Ms. Tinsley couldn’t find him was because he was dead.”
I moved over to the desk and opened my laptop. A search for Walter Tinsley’s obituary didn’t turn up the person I’d expected, but it did give me another clue as to the man’s whereabouts.
“Look,” I told Max, then realized she was already there reading over my shoulder.
I’d found an obituary for Elizabeth Tinsley, which said she was survived by her spouse Walter of Allendale Village, beloved son Cole and wife Mara of Chattanooga, Tennessee, and stepson Mark of Abingdon, Virginia.
“Beloved son Cole,” Max sneered. “It’s obvious Lorinda Tinsley didn’t make up that bit about the stepmom’s favoritism.”
I’d already opened another tab and was looking up Allendale Village. It was an assisted living facility.
“Call them,” Max urged.
“And say what? Should I ask to talk with Walter Tinsley?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to tell the man his son is dead?” I asked, shaking my head.
“No, of course not! Just...I don’t know...ask him how’s tricks.”
I was gaping at her slack-jawed when my door opened. I quickly closed my mouth and greeted my customer.
JUST BEFORE LUNCHTIME, Connie popped in to ask if I’d spoken with Ms. Tinsley.
“I did. What do you know about Mark’s father?”
“I don’t know anything about him...but Janice might.”
I inclined my head. “I hesitate to ask Janice because I’m afraid she’ll think I’m only being nosy, but I’m actually concerned.” I explained to Connie how I’d found the obituary for Mark’s stepmother and learned that his father is—or was at that time—in an assisted living facility.
“How long ago was that?” Connie asked.
“About six months ago. Ms. Tinsley said she’d tried to contact Mark’s father to let him know about Mark’s death, but she couldn’t find him.”
“And did you call her back to tell her you’d located him?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “I was afraid that maybe he’d...moved on...or something.”
“You didn’t call the facility to ask if he was there.” It was a flat statement rather than a question. “I’ll speak with Janice and see what she knows.”
Once she’d left, I quickly went to the kitchen and took my chicken salad sandwich from the refrigerator. I hadn’t seen Max since the customer came in after I’d spoken with Ms. Tinsley. The customer had wanted “something similar” to the dress on the mannequin. I’d showed her some pattern books, and we’d spoken at length on how I might modify the design to better suit her. Then she’d left with the promise that she might be back.
Now I was struggling to get my bridesmaids’ muslins finished. My plan was to wolf down my sandwich and get back to work.
Really. That was the plan.
But then I heard Jason speak to Frank as was he was walking up the stairs, so I decided to give him a moment to get settled into his studio and then go invite him to dinner tomorrow evening. Since Max hadn’t been around for a while, I thought it was a great opportunity to speak with Jason alone.
All the way up the stairs, I looked over my shoulder. No sign of the sassy specter.
I stood in front of Jason’s door willing my heart to stop racing before I tapped. I knocked so lightly, I was afraid he hadn’t heard it. In fact, I’d decided that if he hadn’t heard it, I’d go back to Designs on You and forget the whole thing.
The door opened, and there he stood. I felt as if my heart was dropping to the floor.
“Hi.” He smiled. “This is a nice surprise.” He moved aside. “Come on in.”
I walked into the studio, and the first thing I saw was Max. She was sitting on a stool in front of a bucolic backdrop with her head thrown back and one leg extended into the air.
“Take my photograph!” she shouted.
Jason followed my gaze and must’ve noticed my expression of dismay. “Is something wrong?”
“I just...it looks as if you’re getting ready for a client. I don’t want to intrude on your preparations.”
“We’re good. That was for the client who was here before lunch.”
“Oh...” I let out a breath. “I—”
The camera clicked, and the flash sent a burst of light into the room.
I held up both hands. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t touch anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Jason grinned. “That was strange, though, wasn’t it?” He went over to the camera and looked at the screen. “Check this out.”
I was afraid to look at what the camera had captured, but it would be weird if I feigned disinterest. I took a step closer to the camera and saw a photo of the serene backdrop with a blurry streak across the center.
“Rats! I moved!” Max huffed. “Let’s try another.”
“No,” I hissed.
Jason arched an eyebrow.
“No, way!” I said. “That really is odd. Do you think I bumped it...or?”
“You couldn’t have. You weren’t close enough.” He winked. “All these historic buildings have ghosts, you know.”
I forced out a laugh and turned to go, but then I mustered up my courage again. “Jason, I’m making lasagna for dinner tomorrow evening. Would you care to join me?”
“I’d like that very much.”
Max let out a squeal of delight. “This is fantastic! Still, I wish I could’ve gotten a do-over on my photograph. Work on making that happen, would you?”
I WAS SO FOCUSED ON the muslin I was cutting out that I started when Connie opened the door to the atelier.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t cause you to mess anything up, did I?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Good.” She came on inside and shut the door. “I spoke with Janice. Mark’s dad has Parkinson’s disease. After Mark’s stepmom died in a car accident last year, Walter couldn’t take care of himself and had to go into assisted living. The treatment and the facility costs quickly drained his bank accounts.”
“Oh, no.” I raised my hand to my lips.
“He couldn’t even sell the house because it had been in his wife’s name, and she left everything she had to her son Cole. Walter got nothing.”
“That’s why Mark couldn’t pay his rent here anymore,” I said. “Or the rent on his apartment. Everything he made was going to pay his father’s bills.”
“And it still wasn’t enough. The assisted living facility is kicking Walter out at the end of this month.”
“What’s he going to do?”
“Janice didn’t say,” Connie said. “It’s probable that she doesn’t know. But it’s a horrible situation.”
I wholeheartedly agreed with her there. After Connie left, I got my phone and made another call to Ms. Tinsley.
“Ms. Tinsley, I realize this isn’t my place, but I was able to track down Mark’s father.” I told her what I’d learned.
“Poor, poor Walter,” Ms. Tinsley said softly. “He doesn’t even know Mark is dead. I have to go and tell him. Thank you, dear.”
I hoped I’d sent her on a mission of mercy, not one that would merely lead to more pain for them both.
{ }
Chapter Eighteen
I
was determined to get at least one of the bridesmaid’s muslins done before quitting for the day. It was past closing time, and most of the vendors at Shops on Main had left, but I was so close to finishing that I wasn’t going to stop.
The front door opened, and I heard someone in the hall. The footsteps stopped outside Designs on You, and my shoulders slumped. I didn’t want to wait on a customer. I wanted to sew up this pattern.
“Be right there!” I called, when my visitor stepped int
o the reception area.
“How about I come to you?”
I let out my breath in a relieved whoosh. It was Grandpa Dave. He walked into the atelier with a folded newspaper tucked beneath his left arm.
“Hello, Dave.”
He quickly turned to see Max standing directly behind him. “Oh, hi, Max. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I wasn’t. I was upstairs trying to do some reconnaissance when my heart started thumping a mile a minute. That’s how I knew you were here.” She batted her eyes.
“Is that true?” I asked. “Does your heart still beat?”
“Of course not, darling. I was speaking figuratively.”
“How is your recon going?” Grandpa asked her.
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
Grandpa took the paper from beneath his arm and unfolded it on the worktable. “I probably shouldn’t be stirring the pot like this, but the jewelry you two discovered in Janice’s shop didn’t look anything like this...did it?”
I got up from behind the sewing machine to step closer to the worktable. The newspaper’s grainy photo showed a beautiful pair of dress clips and an ornately-carved emerald cabochon and diamond ring.
Shaking my head, I said, “No. I’ve never seen these before.”
“Good,” Grandpa said, “because they’re stolen.”
“I’ve seen them,” Max said. “They’re upstairs in Janice’s shop.”
“That’s a serious accusation,” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’m not saying Janice stole anything, but if those aren’t the pieces Janice has upstairs in the pouch with the Tiffany bracelet, then they’re exact replicas.” She nodded at Grandpa. “Call in the coppers, Dave.”
Before Grandpa could respond, I said, “We can’t report this to the police! What would we say? Our friend the ghost says the stolen jewelry you’re looking for is upstairs?”
“I wouldn’t say ghost,” Max said. “That stretches the bounds of credibility.”
I sighed and looked up at the ceiling.
Grandpa asked if I saw either of the items from the newspaper while I was looking at the Tiffany bracelet.
“No. I mean, I could tell there were other items in the pouch,” I said, “but I was all about that bracelet.”
“What if we alert Mrs. Meacham to the fact that there could be stolen property in Janice’s shop?” Max waved a hand. “She has a key—she could go in and take a look.”
“A landlord isn’t permitted inside a tenant’s shop without advance written notice except in cases of emergency,” Grandpa said.
Max huffed. “Doesn’t this constitute an emergency?”
He shook his head. “The types of emergency covered by the law include flooding...fire...things like that.”
“Got a match?”
“Max!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, pipe down. I’m only kidding.” She paced around the room. “However, if I could trigger that ceiling device...”
“Ceiling device?” I looked up at my own ceiling. There in the corner was a smoke detector. “You mean, the smoke alarm?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Once Janice smoked a gasper in there, and the thing made an outrageous racket.”
“That’s a good idea,” Grandpa said. “Max could set off the smoke detector—”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “How?”
“The same way I made the camera take my photograph.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “I still wish I could’ve gotten a do over.”
“If we can somehow pull this off, I promise I’ll try to take your photograph,” I said.
She clapped enthusiastically. “Yay!”
Grandpa smiled at her. “You’re a treasure.” He looked back at me. “Both of you, I mean.”
“Yeah, right.” I shook my head. My grandpa was smitten with a ghost. How weird was that? “Now whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it quickly before Mrs. Meacham leaves.”
“Nah, we still have some time,” Max said. “Mrs. Meacham often stays late to read or to watch a movie or something on her laptop before going home. She’s reading now. I heard her tell someone over the phone once that she takes full advantage of her time before the caretaker leaves, especially before the weekend.”
“That’s sad that she doesn’t want to go home.” Poor Mrs. Meacham. George was sweet, but I imagined it would be burdensome to take care of him.
“But that’s advantageous to us,” Grandpa said. “So, Max, if you can find a way to sound the smoke alarm, Amanda and I will follow Mrs. Meacham into Janice’s shop to see how we can help. Amanda can slip the pouch out of the drawer, and I’ll hide in inside this folded newspaper.”
I shook my head. “It’s too risky! What if Mrs. Meacham catches us?”
He picked up the newspaper, refolded it, and placed it under his arm. “We could simply show her this article and tell her the truth—that we think Janice is in possession of the stolen jewelry.”
“And if the jewelry isn’t in the pouch?” I asked.
He blew out a breath. “I don’t know, Pup.”
“Furthermore, how will we return the pouch to Janice’s shop?”
“She has a point,” Max said. “We don’t want that guy—Guy—coming after us...well, coming after the two of you.”
“We’ll play the whole thing by ear,” Grandpa said. “It’s our only chance. If Janice—or whomever stole the jewelry—sees this article, they’re going to move it.”
“All right.” I turned to Max. “It’s still in the same place?”
She nodded and was gone.
Grandpa and I went through the reception area to wait at the bottom of the stairs. Connie, Frank, and Ella had left already, so we had the downstairs to ourselves. No one was around to ask why we were standing by the stairs...you know, as if we were waiting for a smoke alarm to go off so we could dash up and steal some already-stolen jewelry.
When the smoke alarm’s shrill beep sounded, I started to sprint up the stairs immediately. Grandpa took my arm, shook his head, and counted to three. Then we hurried up the stairs to find Mrs. Meacham already standing outside Janice’s door.
“If that woman has left a candle burning,” Mrs. Meacham said, “so help me, I’m tossing her out. I’ve warned her about that.”
She unlocked the door, and Grandpa and I followed her inside.
“I don’t see any smoke,” Grandpa said.
I hurried to the round table in the center of the room. “Neither do I.”
Mrs. Meacham stepped out into the hall where she retrieved a step ladder from a closet. She brought the ladder back into the shop, climbed up, and turned off the smoke detector. I eased the drawer open, removed the pouch, and put it behind my back.
I felt Grandpa take it from me.
As Mrs. Meacham started to step off the ladder, the alarm sounded again. “What, the—?” She stepped up again, took down the device, and stared at the battery. “Maybe it needs a new battery. I’ll be right back. Would you two mind looking around to see if you can find anything amiss?”
“Not at all,” Grandpa said.
Mrs. Meacham went back out to the closet where the ladder had been stored. Apparently, she didn’t find any batteries there, so she went downstairs.
“Hurry!” I hissed, taking my phone from my pocket.
Grandpa dumped the pouch out onto the table. Sure enough, there were the dress clips and the ring that were in the newspaper. The Tiffany bracelet was there too, as were another bracelet and a brooch. I opened the camera app and quickly snapped photos of the jewelry. I was even able to get the manufacturer’s information in some of the pictures before I heard Mrs. Meacham’s footsteps on the stairs.
As I put away my phone, Grandpa shoved everything into the pouch and put it back into the drawer. By the time Mrs. Meacham reentered the shop, he and I were looking around at everything as if we were searching for a fire. Max was standing by the door blowing on her fingernails and looking way too pleased with hersel
f. I could only hope I didn’t look as much like a maniac as I felt. If I did, Mrs. Meacham would see right through me.
But the efficient woman didn’t say a word. She simply climbed the ladder and returned the smoke detector to its proper place, now with a fresh battery intact.
“Let me put that away for you,” Grandpa said, folding the ladder once Mrs. Meacham had completed her task.
“I’d appreciate that, Mr. Tucker.”
Grandpa was reminding her to call him Dave when the three of us stepped out of Janice’s shop.
My mouth went dry as I saw Ford leaning against the doorjamb of his shop, arms folded, eyes narrowed. Unable to speak, I merely stared at him.
“Move your feet,” Max whispered in my left ear. “Do it. Calmly walk down the stairs.”
And somehow, I did.
WHEN WE GOT BACK TO Designs on You and were in the atelier with the door shut, I ran both hands through my hair.
“Ford was watching us,” I wailed. “He knows what we did.”
“So what?” Grandpa asked. “He might’ve seen us taking photographs of jewelry in Janice’s shop, but we can say...” He stumbled over that one for a moment. “We can say it was for insurance purposes. That’s it. We were photographing some of the pieces in case there was something to be concerned about because the smoke detector kept going off inexplicably.”
I pulled out one of my sewing machine chairs, sank onto it, and put my head between my knees.
“Deep breaths...I think,” Max said. “Just do whatever you need to do to keep from fainting.”
“She’s right, Amanda. You need to pull yourself together and show us those photographs.”
“Get her a glass of water, Dave.”
Grandpa followed Max’s instructions and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.
I sat up and drank it. It helped.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
I nodded. “What about Ford?”
Max waved her arms. “Never mind Ford. He has secrets of his own. He cuts the middles out of books, remember?”
I gasped. “That’s right. What if it’s to transport stolen jewelry? What if he and Janice are partners?”
