Angels Undercover

by Diane Noble

  An hour later Paul carried their plates to the table with an elegant flourish. He’d even decorated the plates, five-star restaurant style, with slender sprigs of chilled scallion, slightly curled, which graced the humble hamburger buns and thick Tex-Mex sauce. A sprinkle of finely chopped fresh parsley dotted the plate rims.

  Sometimes Paul could get carried away with adding heavy dashes of red pepper flakes and Tabasco to his Tex-Mex recipes, as well as extremely generous scoops of chili powder that he special ordered from San Antonio. Kate breathed in the fragrance of the sauce, detecting the hint—no, more than a hint—of the spices to come. She was glad she’d thought to bring a pitcher of ice water to the table.

  As soon as grace was said, Kate smiled at him and took her first bite. “Perfect.”

  “Your eyes are watering.”

  “No, they’re not. Really.”

  He grinned and took his first bite. “Mmm...spicy but delicious!” He grabbed for his glass of water.

  “See, I told you.” Kate laughed as she reached for his free hand and squeezed his fingers. “I love your cooking. Hot or not, it’s the best Tex-Mex in Tennessee.”

  He laughed with her. “It’s probably the only Tex-Mex in Tennessee.”

  She took another bite, then reached for her water. “Doesn’t matter, it’s the best.”

  The conversation turned serious as they talked about their days.

  “How did the counseling session go with Stephen?”

  “I gave him the angel votive. He was touched by the gift.” He took another sip of water. “I told him you created it, but at the request of an anonymous ‘angel.’ He immediately thought it was from Lorna because he used to call her his angel back in the days when they first fell in love.” He took another bite of his Sloppy Joe, waggled his brows, and grinned. “Whoa...it’s getting hotter.”

  Kate smiled. “I wondered about that steam coming out of your ears.” Then her expression sobered. “It sounds like the votive opened up some important avenues of thought for Stephen.”

  “It did. As soon as he mentioned how he and Lorna fell in love, I encouraged him to tell me what that was like.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “His whole demeanor changed. It was as if he couldn’t stop talking about how much she meant to him in those days. Though he’s angry about a lot of things right now, he’s still very much in love with his wife.”

  “And I know she is with him. But they’re two very stubborn people.”

  Paul crossed his arms and sat back from the table. “I’m a firm believer that where there’s love, there’s also great hope.”

  Kate nodded. “If they could just see it that way...and give it another try.”

  “He’s still talking about divorce, but something in him changed as he examined the stained-glass angel, especially when I told him the meaning of the colors: energy, leadership, truth, and courage. He said someone must have known him very well to choose those things he values but doesn’t see in himself. That’s where we ended the session.” Paul scooted closer to the table and took another bite of Sloppy Joe.

  “Leaving him with a lot to think about,” Kate observed.

  The list of votive recipients came to mind, each person cared for and, most likely, prayed for by the anonymous giver of these gifts of love. She blinked back tears, suddenly filled with gratitude that she could play even a small part in this thoughtful, caring scheme.

  “Your eyes are watering again,” Paul said and reached for the pitcher to refill her water glass.

  She smiled at him through her tears. “It’s not the Tex-Mex this time,” she said.

  “I know,” he said, blinking back the moisture in his own eyes. “I know.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kate heard news of additional break-ins through the usual grapevine. But even if Renee hadn’t called, she soon would have heard about them through other sources. The town was now abuzz with the mystery, aware that these break-ins weren’t robberies at all but were anonymous acts of kindness. The Chronicle ran a front-page story, including interviews with the recipients of the gifts, which fueled speculation around town about the identity of “Santa Perp,” a term used by Deputy Skip Spencer, who said he’d heard it first from Renee Lambert.

  On Monday morning, after Paul left for a visit with Nehemiah Jacobs, Kate drove to the Mercantile. Thanksgiving was coming soon, and because the children weren’t coming for a visit this year, she and Paul had invited Danny and Livvy and their boys, Renee and Caroline, Carmella and Caleb King, and the Easterwoods. Paul had mentioned to Stephen that his family would be there and that he was invited too. But Stephen was adamant about not coming unless Lorna invited him herself.

  Kate turned onto Main Street and pulled into a parking space in front of the Mercantile just as another vehicle lurched in beside her.

  It was Earl Pennyweather’s station wagon. She smiled at the sight of the spunky Green Acres residents as they climbed out of the car. She had forgotten it was senior’s day at the Mercantile.

  She exited the Honda and greeted them. The Barker sisters, all smiles, trotted up to say hello while Earl circled the car to help Caroline out of the passenger side. Caroline seemed to be feeling much better. She wasn’t using a walker, and, dressed in her usual floppy-brimmed hat with the froth of silk flowers, she seemed especially animated.

  She tapped her jeweled cane, one arm hooked through Earl’s, as she came over to Kate and the Barker sisters.

  “It’s good to see you looking so well,” Kate said. “I’ve been worried.”

  Caroline looked surprised. “You’ve probably been talking to Renee. My daughter worries too much. Always has. But I’m the one who should be worrying about her. It’s a disgrace the way she’s traipsing around the encampments, dressed in that getup.”

  “That getup?” Then Kate smiled at the reminder of Renee’s undercover-detective plan.

  “Dressed up like Florence Nightingale.” She leaned closer and whispered, “She was a Northerner, you know.”

  “Actually, I believe she was from Engl—” Kate began.

  “Doesn’t matter. I have it on good authority, she came down on the side of the Yankees, no matter where she was from or what she was doing.”

  The others tsk-tsked in agreement.

  Kate laughed. “I’ve been doing more research on your grandfather,” Kate said. “Getting into more detail about the final years of his life. I can’t help but compare all he did to bring about reconciliation after the war to what’s still going on today.” She paused. “We could certainly use him now.”

  Caroline blinked rapidly and reached in her purse for a tissue.

  “Are you going to go to the reenactment of the Battle of Lookout Mountain?” Kate asked, hoping to cheer her up. “I just saw the schedule, and that battle is supposed to be the grandest of all, with your grandfather as one of the principal characters.”

  “I don’t care if Gen. Robert E. Lee himself plays the role; it means little to me anymore,” Caroline said with a sigh. “Without Granddaddy’s uniform and all the rest...” She shrugged as her voice trailed off. “I probably made too much of his legacy all these years anyway. When it comes right down to it, it’s not all that important.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she looked away from Kate.

  Kate touched her shoulder. “I’m still trying to find out who did this to you. I promise to keep on trying to connect the dots until I find out what happened.” She told them about the Civil War Museum beginning its own investigation.

  They looked only mildly surprised, but Kate supposed at their ages, maybe nothing could surprise them anymore.

  Earl shifted his weight from foot to foot, a frown creasing his forehead. “It’s about time those museum investigators got off their duffs,” he said. “I heard this whole thing might throw a monkey wrench in the accreditation process. Plus that grant for the children’s area may be in jeopardy. Someone needs to convince them that one thing doesn’t have anything to do with the other.”

&n
bsp; Hyacinth shook her head slowly. “I just wonder if there’s anything we can do to change the donor’s mind.”

  “Hey, I’ve got it,” Earl said with a chuckle. “What we need is a visit from Santa Perp. Might straighten all this out.”

  His words helped to lighten the mood. Kate laughed with the others, then she walked with them into the Mercantile.

  Everyone grabbed a basket, and soon each of the seniors was headed off to a different part of the store. Kate watched them go and then made a beeline to the meat counter to pick up her turkey.

  She hefted the big bird into her cart, then just as she was passing the notions aisle, she spotted Daisy at the far end. The older woman picked up four skeins of yarn in reds and greens, browsed through the pattern books, chose one, and dropped it into her basket. She was soon whizzing along to another aisle.

  It reminded Kate of Lorna and Carmella, and she wondered how the knitting lessons were going.

  AS SOON AS KATE had put her groceries away, she pulled out the ingredients for Under-the-Bed Cookies, her children’s favorite. As she set up the double boiler on the stove, she smiled at the memory of how the cookies got their name.

  When Rebecca was seven, she invited a friend from Sunday school over to play. Kate was baking cookies, so when the little girl went home, Kate sent a bagful with her for the family. The little girl liked the cookies so well she ate all but one on the way home. She didn’t want her mother to know what she’d done, so she hid the crumpled bag with the last cookie under her bed.

  When her mother was vacuuming a few weeks later, she came across the cookie, now dried out. She sniffed it, broke a piece off to try, loved it, and ate the whole thing.

  When she asked her daughter where the cookie had come from, the little girl told her mother that Kate had made it.

  From that day on, Kate’s brown-sugar-coconut-walnut bars became Under-the-Bed Cookies.

  As Kate stirred the eggs and brown sugar over the double boiler, she went over the list that had been forming in her mind all afternoon: First of all, no more dancing around her theories. It was time to act. Sometimes even heading in the wrong direction was better than not going in any direction at all. She gave the sugar-and-egg mixture a stir.

  Number one: She would spend a little more time staking out Willy’s Bait and Tackle. So far she’d dropped by for an hour or two on three separate occasions, watching for something unusual. Willy had had plenty of visitors, including pizza and doughnut deliveries. A gaggle or two of folks had stopped by to buy fishing supplies—at least that’s how it appeared through binoculars. Except for the time she had seen Willy with Caleb, she saw nothing else suspicious.

  Number two: She would talk to Caleb and get a sense of whether he was hiding anything. She had a special knack for this from her experience dealing with teens who felt compelled to tell you what they thought you wanted to hear—unless you knew your way around the teenage mind. These were the kinds of skills mothers didn’t get over quickly. Besides, this would give her an opportunity to brush up on them.

  She stirred more briskly as the sugar mixture thickened, then she set the timer on the stove for ten minutes and continued stirring.

  Number three: It was time to head to Chattanooga to the Civil War Museum and talk to the curator in person. She wanted to vouch for Livvy’s trustworthiness in all of this and delve even deeper into the history of Maj. Gen. J. P. Beauregard. She had searched on the Internet and all through the Copper Mill library for anything that might set Beauregard’s artifacts apart from the others. She knew their monetary value, but she also had the nagging suspicion there was more to the heist than that. After all, if it was simply for the money, why didn’t the burglar take all the Civil War memorabilia? They might not bring the high figures the Beauregard items would, but together the collection might bring in another hundred thousand, if sold to the right market.

  Yes, it was time to head to Chattanooga. And the sooner the better.

  Number four: She would test the knitting needle on her own front door as soon as she popped the baking dish into the oven.

  Fifteen minutes later, Kate stood outside her locked front door. She slipped the needle into the keyhole and wiggled it this way and that a few times. Nothing happened.

  She tried it again. Nothing.

  The third time, she felt the needle catch on something springlike inside the locking mechanism.

  A few seconds later, her door swung open.

  Chapter Nineteen

  By the following night, Kate felt as if she had been racing against the clock all day. She’d been in her studio most of the afternoon, completing work on Caroline’s angel votive before the all-church meeting, hoping to deliver it that night. She finished just an hour before the meeting was to begin, but she still needed to freshen up before racing out the door.

  Paul had left earlier to discuss the agenda with Sam and Danny, so there was no need to fix dinner. A blessing, she thought, as she glanced at the clock. She grabbed a carton of yogurt, promising herself she would take time later to fix them a proper meal.

  She had just trotted into the master bedroom when the phone rang. It was Rebecca, who said she just needed to hear her mom’s voice. Kate loved catching up with her daughter, but she couldn’t help keeping an eye on the clock. Next was a call from Clementine, who gave Kate a report on the latest bulb plantings. Two more calls followed, one from a disgruntled parishioner who couldn’t attend the meeting but wanted to make his dissenting voice heard, the other from another member of the congregation who said he loved the newfangled music.

  Kate glanced at the clock again, worried she was running out of time to drop off Caroline’s angel votive before the meeting.

  The phone rang again. It was Renee reporting in on the latest scuttlebutt from the reenactment camps.

  “Have you found out anything?” Kate asked, trying not to sound impatient.

  “Oh yes. I’ve found out plenty, but nothing that ties in to our heist.” Renee went on to describe the reenactors and their activities. “I’ve learned how to die,” she said. “It’s amazing how graceful you can be, yet authentic at the same time. It’s a bit like ballet. I’ll show you when I see you.”

  “Are you and your mother coming for Thanksgiving?”

  “As far as I know. But Mama’s a bit under the weather tonight. I thought she might be up to coming out for the meeting, but she says she’d rather not.”

  “I have a little something for her,” Kate said, again glancing at the clock. “I’ll drop it by on my way to the church. Maybe it will lift her spirits.”

  A half hour later, she parked the Honda across the street from Renee’s house.

  The house was dark, which made Kate hesitate. She didn’t want to disturb the older woman if she was resting.

  She checked her watch and started the engine again. She didn’t want to be late for the meeting, so she decided to come back later. She was just about to turn on her headlights when she noticed a car with its headlights on turning a corner and lurching down the street toward her.

  She sat back, curious, as a familiar white station wagon pulled into Renee’s driveway and stopped. A minute later, the porch light flicked on, and Caroline exited the house.

  Kate sat back, astounded. This woman was not ill. She was...well, she was Catwoman! She wore no hat, and she was dressed entirely in black. Catwoman, only without the ears—and without the possibility of being mistaken for Halle Berry.

  Earl Pennyweather had replaced his white Colonel Sanders’ jacket with a black turtleneck, a black beret, and black pants. He helped Caroline into the passenger side of the big Buick.

  Kate couldn’t see into the backseat, but she suspected that Daisy, Pansy, and Hyacinth were also dressed in black.

  The puzzle pieces began to fly together in her mind, and she blinked in surprise.

  The old Buick revved up, backed out of the drive, and then rocketed down the street. Kate waited until they were a distance away, then she started the
Honda and followed slowly, lights off.

  Earl turned right at the end of the block, tires squealing, then drove north on Sweetwater, crossing Mountain Laurel, and took a left onto Pine Ridge Road.

  Kate frowned. This wasn’t what she’d expected. The station wagon putt-putted around the curvy road as it led higher up the ridge and into the mountains above Copper Mill.

  A few minutes later, they entered the small town of Pine Ridge, and Kate followed the station wagon to the large entrance at Green Acres Retirement Home. The front of the building was decorated for Thanksgiving with piles of pumpkins, haystacks and scarecrows, dried cornstalks, and baskets of gourds. Twinkle lights had been strung around the entire entrance and along the roofline.

  Other cars arrived, and as more senior citizens hobbled to the main entrance, a gleaming glass edifice with double doors, Kate sat back with a sigh.

  It was a party. A costume party. And the seniors were dressed in everything from Spider-Man to King Kong, Dolly Parton to the Blues Brothers, Dorothy and Toto to Batman and the Joker.

  And, of course, Catwoman Caroline and Ghostbusters Pansy and Daisy. So much for the pieces of the puzzle coming together!

  She started the car and, being careful of the milling golden agers, headed across the parking lot to the exit. As she passed the entrance to the main building at Green Acres, Earl turned around and spotted her. Then all four women, still standing outside the entrance, lifted their hands and waved at Kate.

  They didn’t look at all surprised to see her.

  By the expressions on their faces, she could have sworn they’d known she was following them all along.

  KATE MADE IT BACK to the church just as the congregational meeting was coming to a close. She didn’t have to ask to know that it hadn’t gone well. She could tell by the slope of Paul’s shoulders.

  At the coffee and dessert fellowship afterward, the conversation was subdued. People gathered in small clusters, dividing up, Kate noticed, according to how they felt about the music.