HALF AN HOUR LATER, Kate found herself seated once again in Ellen’s small living room. Dot and Martha had outdone themselves, and in addition to the sandwiches, the coffee table overflowed with a selection of cookies.
“We need sustenance,” Martha had said simply as she unpacked the plastic bags. “Brain food.”
Kate couldn’t argue with that, although she doubted refined sugar and carbohydrates counted as brain food in the medical community. She helped Ellen distribute the cups of coffee and then balanced her own, along with a plate of treats, on her lap.
“So, what are we looking for?” Martha asked.
“A painting,” Ellen said. “One of my grandmother’s. It was sold several months ago to an antique dealer in Chattanooga, but unfortunately, we don’t know which one.”
“What’s the painting of?” Dot asked between bites of a cookie.
Kate cleared her throat. “That’s the difficult part, ladies. You see, we’re not exactly sure, but more than likely, it depicts a scene from the old Harrington Ironworks or the town itself.”
“How will you ever find it if you don’t know what you’re looking for?” Martha was truly perplexed.
“We know my grandmother’s artistic style, so that should help. Let me show you some of her other work. Kate, if you wouldn’t mind?”
Kate went into the bedroom to help Ellen remove the painting of High Hoot Ridge from the wall. When they returned, Ellen took the photos of Oliver’s ironworks painting from a folder and laid them on the coffee table. Finally, she and Kate went into the miniscule dining room and returned with the last canvas, the one Anne had given to Kate.
“These paintings are clues,” Ellen said, “to the location of my grandfather’s missing will.”
Martha twittered, and Dot grinned.
“The nature of these paintings needs to be confidential,” Kate added with a solemn look at Dot and Martha—mostly at Martha. “There’s at least one person who doesn’t want Ellen to find the will.”
“Oh, very exciting.” Martha wiggled until she was sitting up straighter on the couch. “Will it save you from destitution if we find the will?” she asked Ellen.
Kate remembered that Martha’s book club had recently been reading Charles Dickens.
“I’m afraid nothing quite that dramatic, although it would help me, yes.” Ellen gestured toward her own painting. “The scene in this painting is High Hoot Ridge. And that’s the old town of Harrington.” She pointed to Anne’s painting of the town in its heyday. “The scene in the photographs depicts the old Harrington Ironworks. I’d like to save the land from being sold to a paper company, if I can. But we have to find the will to do it.”
Kate stood up and walked over to the painting of High Hoot Ridge. “We’re still missing two of the paintings. We hope to find the fourth one in Chattanooga.”
“And the fifth painting?”
“We haven’t quite figured out where that one is yet,” Kate said.
“I remember hearing stories about the old town of Harrington and the ironworks,” Dot said. Her brow knitted in thought as if remembering took a great deal of effort. “What was it my mother told me?” she asked herself. “Give me a minute, and I may think of it.”
“Do you think there’s a secret underneath the paint?” Martha asked. “Something on the canvas itself?”
Kate was surprised that neither she nor Ellen had considered that possibility.
“I don’t know, but it would be risky to deface the painting,” Ellen said hesitantly. “What if we destroyed some important clue in the process?”
“Maybe we could scrape away a tiny bit of the corner,” Kate suggested. “Just to see.”
A moment later, the food and coffee were abandoned in favor of a small X-Acto knife. Ellen laid the painting across the top of her dining table and carefully worked at dislodging the paint from a corner of the canvas that depicted the company store and post office.
“Do you see anything?” Martha hung over Ellen’s shoulder like a child trying to watch her mother wrap Christmas presents.
“Not yet.” Ellen worked with painstaking slowness.
Kate, standing on the opposite side of the table, watched with almost as much anticipation as Martha, but she was skeptical that solving the mystery would be quite that easy.
“No, nothing,” Ellen said at last, laying aside the knife and brushing paint chips off her hands. “Just canvas underneath.”
“Rats,” Martha said. “Maybe if we tried in the middle?”
Kate picked up the knife that Ellen had laid on the table before Martha could reach for it. “I’m guessing that the scenes depicted in the paintings contain the clues rather than the canvases themselves.”
“And even if the clues were somehow concealed underneath the paint,” Ellen said, “I must admit I’m not willing to destroy the paintings for the will.” Her sentiment matched Kate’s exactly.
“We’ve got to find those two missing paintings so we can connect the remaining pieces of the puzzle,” Kate said. “We want to go to Chattanooga on Thursday to start looking.”
“We can help,” Dot offered. “Divide and conquer, you know.”
Kate looked at Ellen, and they had to smile at each other. “We were hoping you might be willing to do that,” Kate said. “The painting we’re looking for would fit the same general subject matter of one of these paintings, but as we said, we don’t know exactly what it will look like.”
“I’ll pack sandwiches,” Martha said with enthusiasm.
“Oh no. Lunch will be my treat,” Ellen said. “I’m grateful for your help.” She looked at the three women. “I’d never have imagined taking a field trip quite like this with my students.”
“I’ll print out photos of all three paintings for each of us to carry,” Kate offered. “That should help us as we’re searching.”
Plans in place, the foursome finished their coffee and treats, then Kate and the others gathered up their purses and leftovers before bidding Ellen good-bye.
On her way home, Kate had to laugh to herself about the strange turn of events. The last thing she’d thought would happen in puzzling out this mystery was that she’d end up in cahoots with Dot Bagley and Martha Sinclair. But she was grateful for their help, grateful for the camaraderie of small-town life, and grateful that she wouldn’t be searching every antique store in Chattanooga on her own.
Chapter Fourteen
The caravan of cars that departed Copper Mill for Chattanooga one misty late September morning contained a rather eclectic collection of occupants. Paul was driving Clifton Beasley’s Buick sedan, with Clifton in the front seat and Ida Mae in the rear. Kate followed in her Accord with Dot and Martha. Ellen brought up the rear in her economical compact since she thought she might stay overnight if they failed to locate the painting that day.
Ida Mae had to check into the hospital by eight o’clock that morning, so they were underway before most of Copper Mill was out and about.
As always, Kate enjoyed the view of steep ridges and breathtaking vistas as she drove along. Her home state of Texas had beauties of its own, but the pure bliss of an autumn Tennessee morning never failed to soothe her. The peaceful effects of the landscape were somewhat tempered, however, by Dot and Martha’s running chatter.
“Ida Mae won’t want all of us fussing over her,” Dot said. “I’ll go back to that pre-op area and stay with her until they come get her for the procedure.”
“She needs her friends,” Martha insisted. “And Clifton won’t be any use at a time like that. Men never are.”
Kate thought she might beg to differ. Paul was a great comfort to his parishioners when they were in their small pre-op rooms waiting to be taken back for an outpatient procedure or surgery. But she held her silence, because she herself wasn’t sure what Ida Mae might prefer.
“Clifton can sit in the waiting room with Paul. Once Ida Mae’s taken back, we can set out on our search.” Dot had it all planned out. “Paul can keep
him company. Clifton’s not the kind to want a bunch of women fussing around him while he’s waiting like that.”
One thing Kate admired about the people of Copper Mill was their combination of caring and pragmatism.
“Ida Mae will be in recovery for a while,” Kate informed them. “The doctor said to expect it to be mid- to late afternoon before she’s ready to go home, and she may even need to stay the night.”
“That gives us plenty of time to search,” Dot replied. “We have cell phones, so Paul can call us if we’re needed.”
Martha nodded in agreement. “But I still think both of us should go back with Ida Mae.”
That particular argument, Kate noted, was sufficient to keep the two ladies occupied all the way to Chattanooga.
IN THE END, Ida Mae asked Kate to accompany her to the pre-op area. Dot pursed her lips, Martha looked disappointed, and Ellen suggested that the two ladies accompany her to the cafeteria to buy coffee for the group. Clifton and Paul settled into chairs in the waiting room.
Kate prayed with Ida Mae before the orderlies came to get her and assured her she’d be back by the end of the day.
“I’m grateful to have you here,” Ida Mae whispered after Kate ended her prayer. “You’re a real comfort.”
“I’m glad I’m here too,” Kate said, squeezing Ida Mae’s free hand. Her other hand had an IV protruding from it.
“Take care of Clifton. He’s not much good at waiting around.”
“Paul’s got him well in hand,” Kate assured her and then waved as the orderlies wheeled Ida Mae out of the room. While solving mysteries was important to Kate, caring for others would always come first.
By midmorning, the women were off on their search. Paul promised to call them the minute he and Clifton heard anything from the doctor. Dot had found Clifton a fishing magazine, and Paul had brought a Bible commentary to take notes for his upcoming sermon while they waited.
Ellen had used the Internet to identify as many antique dealers as she could and map out a route for them to follow. After some discussion, they decided to stick together rather than split up. Instead, they worked methodically, sectioning off each store and looking through the merchandise with great care. By noon, though, their spirits were starting to flag. Kate suggested lunch at a nearby tearoom she enjoyed, and the others agreed. Then, fortified by a delicious soup-and-sandwich combo, they resumed their search.
The afternoon flew by, and time was running out when they arrived at their final destination. The Rivertown Antique Mall was located in an old warehouse not far from the riverfront.
“Shall we divide and conquer here?” Ellen asked as Kate pulled into a parking space in the lot next to the old warehouse. Like much of downtown Chattanooga, the antique mall was part of the urban-renewal program the city had pursued for the past ten years.
“Maybe in pairs?” Kate suggested.
“Good idea.”
The mall furnished brochures with maps of all the booths rented by various vendors. The warehouse-sized room, filled to the brim with furniture and collectibles, looked as if an antique tornado had hit it. Each individual booth had its own personality, from elegant to kitschy.
The mall had a central hallway, with the booths flanking each side, so Kate directed Martha and Dot to take the right-hand side while she and Ellen took the left. As Martha and Dot walked away, Kate could see them whisking out the photo prints she’d made of the three paintings and arguing good-naturedly about who would find the missing painting first.
“Shall we?” Kate said to Ellen and waved a hand toward the nearest booth.
“After you.”
Kate was glad to see the smile on Ellen’s face. She knew it must have been difficult to have so much hinging on what could very likely prove to be a fruitless search. But she admired Ellen’s courage in the face of the rather daunting odds. No wonder Paul had liked her.
“Oh, look at this Fostoria.” Ellen had spotted a selection of glassware on a baker’s rack. “My grandmother had a number of pieces like this.” A wistful look appeared on her face. “I wonder what ever happened to that punch bowl and the matching cups...”
“An antique Fostoria punch bowl?” Kate marveled at the thought. “That would be worth a fortune these days.”
“But its sentimental value would be much higher.” Ellen traced a finger along the curve of a blue glass pitcher. “I can’t believe how I’ve let so much of the past get away from me. Sometimes it’s nice to have a few special mementos that are tied to your history. My grandmother’s painting was really the only thing I ended up with. And now the one that Anne gave me.”
Kate wondered briefly why people were so apt to hang on to meaningless objects and let the really important ones get away. She thought of the few boxes still stacked in her garage that she and Paul had packed up in San Antonio. They’d never even gotten around to opening many of them. In a way, they reminded her of the antique mall—so many things that didn’t really have much value except to the person who bought it.
“It’s not the punch bowl or the paintings themselves,” Kate said, hoping to encourage Ellen. “It’s the memories they represent.”
Ellen laughed. “You’re right, Kate. My grandmother always brought that bowl out for weddings and funerals, for bridal and baby showers.”
“Look. Here’s a stack of paintings.” Ellen’s voice broke into Kate’s thoughts.
Kate wove her way around several displays to see what Ellen had found. Several oil canvases were leaning against the wall of a booth.
“Anything look promising?” Kate asked.
Ellen flipped through the canvases one by one. “No...” She looked up at Kate with disappointment in her eyes when she’d finished looking through the stack. “I guess we’d better keep going.”
“You know what my mother always said?” Kate knew it would be important to keep Ellen’s spirits up as they searched.
“What was that?”
“You always find something in the last place you look.”
The old chestnut teased a smile onto Ellen’s face. “Words of wisdom, huh?”
“My mother had a number of them.”
“My grandmother too.”
With a renewed sense of camaraderie, they continued to work their way methodically, booth by booth, down the left-hand side of the antique mall. They were about to enter the next-to-the-last booth when Kate heard Ellen gasp. Before she knew what was happening, Ellen had grabbed her elbow and tugged her inside.
“What’s wrong?” Ellen looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
“It’s Oliver.”
“Oliver?” Kate could hardly believe it.
“Yes. He was coming this way.” Ellen continued to tug Kate further into the booth, which was separated into distinct sections by large dividers. Kate followed along, unresisting, until Ellen had them hidden in the very back of the booth.
“What are we going to do? I don’t want to deal with him, Kate. He’s so unpleasant.”
Kate looked around to see if she could find a back exit. Maybe they could duck out without being seen. Unfortunately, no such avenue of escape seemed to exist.
“Maybe we can just wait here and slip out when he goes into one of the other booths,” Kate suggested.
“What if he’s looking for the painting?” Ellen hissed, keeping her voice low. “He may have gotten the information about Betsy’s painting from Anne.”
“There’s no point in worrying about that now,” Kate said, hoping to calm the agitated Ellen. “We just have to focus on finding the painting ourselves. Look, here’s another stack we can search through.”
Kate had pretty much run out of hope that their day of searching would end successfully, but she nudged Ellen toward the canvases anyway. “You look through them, and I’ll keep an eye out for Oliver.”
Ellen nodded, but Kate could tell she was still anxious.
“Don’t worry,” Kate tried to reassure her. “If we run into him, we’ll play dumb.”
“You keep looking,” Kate admonished her. “If I see him coming, I’ll think of something.”
The booths at the antique mall weren’t individually manned by the dealers. Instead, customers took their purchases to a main cashier at the entrance, who made sure the dealers received their money. Kate was grateful there was no proprietor around to witness her strange behavior as she lurked at the front of the booth, darting a look down the hallway every few seconds.
To someone else, she might have looked as if she were attempting to make off with a bundle of ill-gotten goods. She spied Martha and Dot down the hall, chatting and moving on to the next booth as casually as if they weren’t actually on a mission. She ducked out of sight before they could spot her and call out her name. That was the last thing she wanted Oliver to hear.
“Any luck?” she whispered to Ellen over her shoulder.
Ellen was seated on the floor, a painting propped against a nearby chair. When she didn’t respond, Kate stepped closer. And then she saw that Ellen was crying.
“What’s wrong?” Kate rushed over and knelt next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders. And then she looked at the painting in front of them.
“I can’t believe it,” Kate said in astonishment. “You found it. You actually found it.” A chill ran up her spine. At that moment, Kate heard footsteps at the front of the booth. She froze. Of all the worst luck...
“Quick. We’ve got to get out of here.” She pulled Ellen to her feet, and together, the women picked up the painting.
“He’s going to see us,” Ellen said, panic lacing her voice.
Kate knew that if it was indeed Oliver, they could probably work it out, even with the painting in tow. But she hated to see Ellen in such distress. In desperation, she sent up a prayer for guidance. Then she nodded toward a japanned screen, and the women scurried behind it with the painting. Once behind the screen, they were hidden from view in the sliver of space between the screen and the booth wall, though with the two of them and the painting, there was very little room. Kate held a finger to her lips, and Ellen nodded in understanding.
Where There’s a Will Page 12
