Where There’s a Will

by Beth Pattillo

  “How about I show you instead of telling you? But I’ll need your help.”

  Kate led Ellen out to her car to fetch the painting. She’d left it in the car because it was too heavy for her to carry by herself. How providential that Oliver hadn’t seen it. If he had known that Lela Harrington’s paintings were clues to the whereabouts of the second will...well, Kate knew the missing paintings would be in danger if he found them first.

  “Voila,” she said, opening the car door with a flourish to reveal the painting for Ellen’s inspection.

  “You found another one.” Ellen beamed, the recent unpleasantness driven from her expression. “I don’t believe it. Where did you unearth this one?”

  “That’s more good news. Your cousin Anne gave it to me to bring to you.”

  “You’ve seen Anne?” Ellen’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “I made a trip to Brentwood this morning. That’s where she lives now.”

  Together, the women lifted the painting out of the back-seat and set it carefully against the car. Ellen studied the painting for a long moment. “Amazing. And she just gave it to you?”

  “She wanted you to have it. I think it’s meant to be an olive branch. She’d really like to see you and get reacquainted.”

  “Well, that certainly helps make up for Oliver’s ugliness.” Ellen paused, her fingers lingering on the frame. Then she looked at Kate. “You said you had bad news?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. But let’s take the painting inside first.”

  As a pastor’s wife, Kate had more than her share of experience at delivering such sad tidings. She shot a quick prayer heavenward as the women carried the painting into Ellen’s apartment. They set it on the mantel in the dining room and gazed at it for a while, then Kate decided it was time to break the news.

  “Anne told me that her sister, Betsy, passed away not long ago. Cancer, she said.”

  “Oh.” Ellen’s eyes filled. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Betsy was always the instigator when we got into mischief.” She sniffed and wiped at her tears with the tip of a finger. “You would have liked her. Everyone did.”

  “Why don’t I fix you a cup of tea?” Kate suggested. “You look as if you could use it. And then we’ll sit, and you can tell me about Betsy. Sometimes talking about the person helps.”

  Ellen gave her a watery smile. “I thought I was supposed to be the teacher, the one in charge, but our roles have certainly reversed.”

  “Oh no.” Kate dismissed Ellen’s comment with a wave of her hand. “I’m just...well...I’m just being a friend.”

  Ellen’s comment had the opposite effect from what she’d probably intended. Once again, Kate felt guilty for worrying about the picture of Paul on Ellen’s chest of drawers.

  Ellen gave Kate a quick hug. “You know, I never expected to like you. I thought I’d resent you or be uncomfortable around you, but I haven’t had even a trace of those feelings.”

  “I know what you mean,” Kate said. She might not have felt exactly the same way, but she was determined to at least try. “Now, why don’t you show me where the kettle is, and we’ll get the water going.”

  They made their way toward the kitchen, and as they walked, Kate couldn’t help but marvel at the strange twists life could take. You never knew when someone who ought to be a rival might instead turn out to be a friend.

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, the women had finished their tea, and Kate could see that Ellen was feeling more herself. Ellen had told Kate several stories about her cousin Betsy, and the first wave of grief had subsided.

  “It makes me more determined than ever to find that will,” Ellen said. “Betsy loved the big house and the old town as much as I did. She’d have hated to see a paper company take it over.”

  “Does the painting mean anything special to you? Any idea what the clue might be?”

  Ellen looked at the painting again, then shook her head. “I’m guessing, though, that all the paintings will be of the area, of the ironworks and the town. But as to what they mean or what direction they’re meant to point me in, I have no idea.”

  “At least it gives us an idea of what the other paintings will be like.”

  “Did Anne know if Betsy had any of my grandmother’s work?”

  Kate nodded. “She said there was one other painting, but it was sold in your cousin’s estate sale after her death. Anne had one of you and your cousins as children.” Kate groaned and touched her palm to her forehead. “I didn’t think to ask if she remembered the subject of Betsy’s painting.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m looking forward to calling her. I’ll ask her when I talk to her.”

  “She did say it was sold to an antique dealer in Chattanooga. So maybe there’s still hope for tracking it down.”

  “That’s too much to ask.” Ellen folded her hands in her lap. “You’ve done far too much already, Kate. I couldn’t ask you to keep on like this.”

  “I want to.” Kate did want to get to the bottom of the mystery, but something else was troubling her, something that would probably prove to be insurmountable. Even if she did solve the mystery of the missing will, she knew she couldn’t change the devastating effects that years of infighting had had on the Harrington family.

  “Well, I’ll go with you, then, when you get ready to look.” Ellen’s jaw was set.

  “We can cover a lot more ground together,” Kate agreed. “Let me know what Anne says about the dealer that bought the painting, then we can go from there.”

  Kate knew it was time for her to take her leave. It had been a long day, and she still had a few errands to do in town before heading home to fix supper.

  Ellen saw Kate to the door, and wearily, Kate headed for her car. Surely they could locate the fourth painting without too much fuss. And maybe that would be enough to solve the puzzle Ellen’s grandmother had left. For now, though, Kate was still stymied.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early the next morning, after her daily devotional time, Kate went to work in her stained-glass studio. She’d converted one of the spare bedrooms for the purpose not long after they’d moved to Copper Mill, and since then, she’d been enjoying the dedicated space for pursuing the artwork she loved so much.

  That morning, however, Kate wasn’t feeling the usual satisfaction she experienced from working in her studio. She studied the piece she’d been working on with a critical eye, grimaced, and set it aside along with her previous three less-than-successful efforts.

  “Why won’t this work?” she said to no one in particular. She resisted the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child.

  The night before, when Paul had been called away for a pastoral-care emergency, she’d spent a few happy hours sketching new designs. She’d been struck by a sudden burst of inspiration as she’d washed up the supper dishes and thought about the mysterious paintings. Stained glass was, in many ways, a form of folk art, so it seemed reasonable to her that a simple style like that of Lela Harrington could translate to such a medium.

  By the time Paul had returned late the previous evening, Kate had a stack of sketches and renewed enthusiasm for her work. But now, as she sat on her stool staring at her sketches, she was faced with the unexpectedly daunting challenge of translating her ideas into actual glasswork.

  “I give up.” Kate pushed away from her workbench and stood up. When she was this frustrated, it was time to walk away.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Paul’s head appeared around the corner of the door.

  “I’d hardly call this paradise,” Kate said with a frown. “Especially right now.”

  Paul stepped inside the room. “Well, usually when I peek in here and you’re hard at work, you look as if you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  Kate had to smile. “Thanks. I need a little humor at the moment.”

  “It’s not going well?”

  “No, and what’s really frustrating is that I’m not sure why.”

  “Tell me about it.” Paul leaned again
st the door frame, patient as Job.

  Although Kate liked to think she generally kept her poise, she’d never met anyone with more composure—or a better ability to keep it—than her husband. Sometimes, she wondered what it would take to make him act impulsively.

  “I thought I’d had such a great idea.” Kate crossed her arms over her chest. “I wanted to use the Primitive style, like Ellen’s grandmother, in my work.”

  “Primitive?”

  “Like Grandma Moses. Similar to the folk-art style but transcending its simplicity.”

  “Seems like that ought to work well in stained glass.”

  “That’s what I thought too, but everything I’ve worked on looks amateurish. Like it was made by a six-year-old.”

  “Maybe you just need to keep experimenting.”

  Kate sighed. “I know, but I so wanted this to work. It ought to have worked.”

  Paul walked over and put his arms around her. “Sometimes you can’t force these things, Katie. You just have to let them be what they are.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Kate made a wry face. “I just wish you weren’t.”

  “Funny, I hear that from my parishioners all the time,” he teased, and Kate joined in his good-natured laughter, her bad mood already lifting.

  “So, you’re heading out for the day?” she asked.

  “In a minute. First, I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Ask away.” She was happy to return the favor.

  “Sam gave me some good reminders about how to deal with folks like Lawton and the other members on the chamber, but I’m not sure how to put it into practice in this case.”

  “What was his advice?”

  Paul sighed. “He said that I should make whatever I want the chamber to do seem like it’s their idea. And he said that any changes should play into those fellows’ preconceived notions about Copper Mill.”

  “That’s a pretty tall order.”

  “Especially since I don’t really have a plan beyond asking Bill to meet with the chamber when he’s here. So if you have any ideas or insights, I’d love to hear them. I just can’t keep watching the young folks drift away and put down roots someplace else.”

  She patted his arm. “You can’t change people who don’t want to change.”

  “That’s pretty much what Sam said.”

  “Sam’s a very smart man,” Kate replied with a teasing grin.

  Paul picked up a book from the corner of Kate’s workbench, turned it in his hands without really looking at it, and set it down again.

  “I agree,” he said, “but I guess this time it’s more a case of ‘fools rush in.’ I believe Lawton and the others do want to change things to improve the town’s economy. They’re just afraid to try.”

  “You know how to lead people gently,” Kate reminded him. “You always have. It’s just hard to be patient when the need is so urgent.” She thought of her own dilemma with Ellen’s mystery. Time was running out. If they didn’t find the will soon, the sale of High Hoot Ridge to the paper company would go through without a hitch in Oliver Coats’ plans.

  “Any developments on Ellen’s mystery?” Paul asked, seeming to read Kate’s mind.

  “I’m waiting to hear from Ellen. She was going to call her cousin and see if she remembered which antique dealer from Chattanooga bought one of the paintings. I’ll see her at class later this morning, though, and get an update.”

  Paul snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. Clifton Beasley called. Ida Mae’s procedure is scheduled for Thursday. Can you go?”

  “Of course. Now I have two reasons to go to Chattanooga—to be with Ida Mae and to find that antique dealer,” Kate said, rubbing her chin. “Maybe Ellen and I can do some sleuthing once Ida Mae’s settled.”

  “Thank you, Katie. I appreciate your help on this one.” He glanced at his watch. “Better run.” He kissed Kate and left for the church.

  KATE ARRIVED AT CLASS that morning with barely enough time to slip into her seat. She smiled at Ellen as she hurried to her desk, but the other woman didn’t return the greeting. Ellen’s shoulders were slumped as if she was exhausted, and she had a haunted look in her eyes. Kate wondered if Oliver Coats had returned to Ellen’s apartment the day before, but she would have to wait until after class to find out.

  Despite whatever was worrying Ellen, she gave an insightful and interesting lecture about the work of Louis Comfort Tiffany. Kate was glad she’d taken the risk and enrolled in the class. And although she was finding it frustrating to translate her new ideas to actual stained glass, she knew she’d much rather be challenged than caught in a creative rut.

  At the end of class, Kate lingered to speak with Ellen, but this time, so did Dot and Martha. Kate had fully expected the two women to drop out after the first few lectures, but to her surprise, they continued to attend.

  “We don’t know what to do for our project, Professor Carruthers,” Kate overheard Dot say to Ellen. “There’s just so much to choose from.”

  Ellen had informed the students early on that they were free to work on their projects in pairs or groups if they wished, and Dot and Martha had obviously taken her up on the invitation.

  “What ideas do you have?” Ellen cast a quick glance at Kate, indicating she’d like Kate to wait, but then she turned her full attention back to her students. Several minutes later, Dot and Martha said their good-byes and left Kate alone with Ellen.

  “What did you find out from your cousin?” Kate asked, hoping for good news.

  “From what you said, I expected Anne to be thrilled to hear my voice,” Ellen said, “but she was quite cool. Standoffish, in fact.”

  “Really? That surprises me. I mean, she was a little formal with me at first, but she seemed eager to get back in touch with you by the time I left.”

  “Are you sure she wanted to mend fences? She certainly didn’t sound like it when I talked to her.” Ellen’s brow was knitted with worry.

  “I would have thought so, but she was a bit...different, I guess you’d say. Did she tell you anything about her sister’s painting? The name of the antique dealer?”

  Ellen shook her head. “Said she couldn’t find it.”

  Something didn’t feel quite right to Kate. “So all we know is that the painting was supposedly bought by an antique dealer in Chattanooga.”

  “Right.” Ellen picked up her briefcase, and Kate followed her toward the door.

  “Paul and I need to accompany two of our church members to Chattanooga on Thursday. Why don’t we plan to go then? We’ll just have to take it one antique dealer at a time.” Kate wondered just how many antique dealers there were in the city. Probably not a huge number, but not a small one either. “Time isn’t on our side,” Kate said as the women stepped into the hallway. “I have a feeling it’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

  “What needle?”

  “What haystack?”

  Kate jumped. She hadn’t anticipated that Dot and Martha would be waiting for her in the hallway. She stifled a groan. The last thing Ellen needed was these two trumpeting her secrets to everyone within a fifty-mile radius.

  “Is it a mystery?” Martha asked with a gleam in her eye. Martha was always interested in other people’s affairs. Her good-natured meddling was well intended, if not always welcome.

  “A small one,” Kate said, not wanting to be untruthful.

  “How can we help?” Dot asked.

  Kate pasted a smile on her face and reminded herself to be grateful for the willingness of small-town citizens to do a good turn for their neighbor. “I’m not sure that—”

  “Excuse me.” Ellen smiled at Dot and Martha, grabbed Kate’s sleeve, and pulled her a few feet away. “If we have to canvas every antique dealer in Chattanooga,” she whispered, “maybe...”

  But that would mean letting Dot and Martha in on the mystery. Kate stood there for a long moment, debating with herself. Then she looked at Ellen. “They’d have to know some of the circumstan
ces. Are you comfortable with that?”

  Ellen nodded. “I’m fine with whatever it takes. And considering how quickly the days are flying by...” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes seemed to plead with Kate.

  Kate’s mother had always told her never to look a gift horse in the mouth. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but in this case, it probably had something to do with being grateful for whatever assistance she and Ellen were offered. Kate and Ellen walked back over to Dot and Martha.

  “All right, if you’re interested in helping—” Kate began.

  “Wonderful,” Martha interrupted with a wide smile. “So, what are we going to do? Man an all-night stakeout? Dust for fingerprints?”

  Kate chuckled. “How do you ladies feel about antiquing?”

  “Antiquing?” Dot’s enthusiasm seemed to fade a little. “You’re trying to solve a mystery by shopping?”

  “I think this will require a cup of coffee at my apartment,” Ellen said. “I don’t have any other classes today. If you ladies have time, we can go there now.”

  Dot and Martha seemed thrilled to be invited to their professor’s home. They nodded in unison.

  “No time like the present,” Martha said.

  Kate resigned herself to the inevitable. Ellen was right. They couldn’t exactly canvas all the antique stores in Chattanooga by themselves. Not before Oliver sold the Harrington property, anyway. Dot and Martha were a godsend, even if they did tend toward chatty gossip.

  “Should we stop at the SuperMart on the way to your place and pick up some sandwiches from the deli?” Martha asked as they left the building. “It’s no trouble.”

  Kate was about to decline when Ellen responded.

  “That would be lovely. Thank you. And it will give me a few minutes to tidy up.”

  Kate looked at Ellen in amazement. The other woman actually seemed excited to have Martha and Dot as guests. And then Kate remembered that even though Ellen had grown up in the area and was connected to its history, she was still a newcomer in many ways. It must have been terribly lonely to return home and have nothing but memories of her friends and family to keep her company. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why she kept a photo of Paul on her chest of drawers.