Pins & Needles
Laurinda Wallace
Cover Design and Photo by Jesaro Photography
Back Cover Design by L. Wallace
Author Photo by Hannah Whaley Photography
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise-without prior written permission.
For information contact:
L. Wallace● PO Box 415● Hereford, AZ 85615
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, organizations, and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Laurinda Wallace
All rights reserved.
God wrought for us this scene beyond compare
But one man's loving hand protected it
And gave to his fellow man to share.
Sara Evans Letchworth
Plaque at Letchworth State Park
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
More Information for Readers
CHAPTER 1
Cars jammed the Clarks’ driveway, and ladies in jeans and T-shirts tromped up the front steps of the home. Theresa Clark stood ready to open the door, allowing the female horde into her living room. Her husband, Bob was in the process of slipping out the back door. He’d announced a drive to Letchworth Park after receiving notification of the impending executive summit. Now he was off to enjoy “the burgeoning display of arboreal splendor only revealed in October.” Theresa sighed at his dramatic exit. He was reading John Greenleaf Whittier of late and had started spouting colorful, poetic descriptions in the last week, which she found puzzling.
“Girls, come on in,” Theresa said, herding the friends into the kitchen, while watching her husband’s car disappear under the red-and-yellow maple canopy overhanging the street.
Coffee was ready, as were apple-cinnamon muffins fresh from the oven. Their irresistible fragrance drew the women to the counter, a couple wasting no time slathering butter on the warm muffins.
“I have some pictures you all need to see before we go over to Lulu’s.” Theresa placed her phone on the kitchen table. “You won’t believe how bad it is now. Why, six months ago, you could still sit in the kitchen. I’d be surprised if a cat could make it through the mess. I was afraid of falling into something, never to be found again.”
She swiped the screen and pointed to a photo.
“Oh my stars!” Suzie Richardson exclaimed.
“I told you,” Theresa said. “Look at the next two.”
The women groaned in concert, and Gloria Minders shook her head sadly.
“Poor Lulu. She’s really out of control. Where does she find all the money to keep buying fabric and sewing machines?”
“I think she’s buying stuff on eBay and other online sites,” Suzie replied, brushing muffin crumbs from her fingers.
“She’ll run through all of Ed’s money if she keeps on. Remember, she retired from her accounting position too,” remarked Margaret Mason. “Theresa, have you called her brother?”
“I did yesterday. He’s not in good health, and neither is his wife. He can’t do anything—so he says. Plus, Lulu hasn’t ever been very close to them. You know how she is. They’re not going to help and don’t want any part of it. It’s up to us. We have to do an intervention.”
Gloria nodded. “Lulu’s burned bridges with her family and Ed’s, such as it is, which is sad. When Ed died in April, she ran them all off after the funeral. She’s got it into her head that they were only interested in her money. It’s a shame she and Ed never had children. She’s really all alone.”
Murmurs of sympathy and more nodding heads bobbed over the photos.
“I’m surprised Lulu even let you in, Theresa,” Margaret said, plunking herself into a chair.
“I am too. Especially the way she’s been the last couple of months. She keeps the curtains drawn and hardly goes anywhere. So I took her an apple tart and asked her about donating a quilt for the Christmas bazaar next month. I took the pictures while asking her what colors she might use for the quilt. We wandered through the fabric canyons, looking at everything until she decided she wouldn’t be able to finish it in time.”
“How are we going to do this?” Suzie inquired, snatching another muffin from the plate.
“I think we need to tell her the truth,” Gloria said firmly. “She’s crowding herself out of her home—it’s not safe anymore. She has to stop buying stuff, or Social Services will get involved.”
“You mean we’ll blow her in to them?” Margaret asked.
“That’s exactly it,” Theresa confirmed. “It’s already a health hazard. If she fell, or one of those towers of cloth fell on her, she’d be trapped—maybe for days or worse.”
“Does it smell?” Suzie wrinkled her nose.
“Well, not too bad.” Theresa winced. “But it’s not all that clean. And you know how Lulu kept that house while Ed was alive. You could eat off the floor. Now you can’t find the floor.”
“All right. If we’re going to do this, we might as well get it over with.” Margaret sighed and finished off the crumbly muffin with streusel topping. “I’m probably going to regret it, but we need to see if a little shock treatment will snap her out of this funk.”
“It’s worth a try before calling in outside help. I’d hate to have strangers take over without our at least trying,” Gloria said.
“I know. That’s what friends do—point out you’re going crazy before they carry you off to the funny farm.” Suzie laughed glumly.
“Since she’s done this in the space of less than a year, we may have caught the problem in time,” Theresa added, her expression hopeful.
The faces of the other women weren’t quite as optimistic.
***
The convoy of sedans parked on Oak Street in front of Lulu’s colonial, a green-shuttered, two-story house. The detached garage’s door was halfway up, revealing tables piled with blankets, stacks of plastic storage containers, and a jumble of sewing machines. Dark garbage bags bulged under the tables. The women exited their cars, staring at the chaos. Theresa hadn’t checked the garage on her previous visit. The door had been completely down, hadn’t it? Now, it couldn’t be shut all the way. What else lay in wait here?
Gloria, as the pastor’s wife, took the lead and rapped on the door. The others huddled together, looking uncertainly at one another. No one answered. Gloria kn
ocked again, calling for Lulu. After a polite space of time, and no Lulu, Gloria turned the doorknob.
“It’s unlocked,” she said, pushing through the mass of boxes. She was barely able to scrape back the clutter.
“Let me see if I can find her,” Theresa said.
It had been at her urging that they were there. The least she could do was locate poor Lulu. The house smelled stale and a little rancid. It was hard to put a finger on what the odor was.
“Lulu, where are you? You’ve got company,” she called out.
The faint sound of the TV led the women further into the maze of boxes, stacks of fabric, and cartons of scissors, thread, and all manner of sewing paraphernalia.
“Come on, Lulu, you’ve got company,” Theresa yelled.
“What? Who’s there?”
“It’s Theresa. The girls and I came over to visit you.”
Lulu, dressed in a blue chenille robe and matching scuffs, emerged from what was the living room area. Taller than the average woman, she had a thin, long nose, almost beak-like. Her straight brown hair had a streak of white on the left side and fell limply to her shoulders.
“What are you all doing here?” she demanded, hands on narrow hips.
“We’ve come to talk to you, Lulu,” Gloria said, drawing up all of her five- foot-two as straight as she could. Every gray hair was in place, and her warm, friendly eyes focused on the disheveled woman.
“What if I don’t want to talk with you?”
“We’re your friends. We want to help you,” Gloria said.
“What for? I don’t need any help.”
“Lulu! Of course, you need help. Look around you,” Theresa exclaimed. “What’s happened to you? This place is … is …”
“It’s just the way I want it, so please go,” Lulu Cook said coldly, pointing toward the door.
“Your problems have overwhelmed you, and we want to help you get back to normal,” Margaret urged.
“Problems? You think I have problems? You’ll have a few unless you leave, and now.” Lulu’s eyes blazed.
She stepped toward the women, who scrambled to locate the path that would lead them outside.
“I’m afraid we can’t,” Theresa said, holding up a hand to stop the others.
“If you were my friends, you’d leave me alone. Alone.” The woman’s face crumpled, tears forming in her eyes.
“Oh, Lulu. You’ve been through a bad time. We want to help you. You can’t live like this. It’s dangerous,” Gloria commiserated. She edged her way through the mess and put an arm on Lulu’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about it. Come on, dear.”
Gloria steered a sobbing Lulu toward the sound of the TV, with the rest of the group trailing after.
CHAPTER 2
Gracie threw a tennis ball for Haley and Max in her backyard. Marc ambled onto the patio, rubbing his hair, which tousled it quite attractively, she thought as she watched her soon-to-be-husband.
“Tire them out yet?” he asked.
“I think they could go all day,” she answered, tossing the fuzzy yellow ball once more.
Haley, her black Lab, slid through slick leaves, edging out Max, Marc’s German shepherd, by mere inches to grab the prize. Haley ran off, playfully chomping on the ball, daring Max to take it from her. Such a flirt!
“Any word on your clearance?” Gracie asked, tucking curly auburn hair behind her ears.
“Not yet. I’m not sure this will work out,” he said glumly.
“They said it would take time, right?”
“Right. But it’s been almost two months. I think there’s a problem because of my half-brother.”
“Ohhh.”
“Any relative in a federal prison, especially on a domestic terrorism conviction, is a problem for a security clearance.”
Gracie kicked at the multicolored leaves covering the lawn. “You told them up front though.”
“Yeah. They knew the story the day they offered the job.”
Gracie nodded, remembering that intense conversation. The job offer from the Defense Advantage Company or DACO, which was a Department of Defense contractor, had made her head spin at the time. The generous salary was surprising, but the prolonged time away from home and the possible danger of the job hadn’t been what she’d expected when Marc had applied for a corporate security position. How could she stand in the way of such an exciting career move? She had covertly prayed for the sheriff’s department to fix its budget woes and beg him to come back. At least he would be working in the same country, rather than constantly traveling to parts unknown—locations that she wouldn’t be privy to. So far, the answer was negative on going back to being a deputy. Marc had been immediately concerned when he’d learned that a secret security clearance was necessary. His half-brother was sitting in federal prison in Terre Haute, Indiana. And would be for the rest of his natural life.
“Why don’t you call them and find out what the status is?” It seemed like a reasonable course of action. Why stew about it?”
“Not today. I’ll give it another week or so.”
“All right then.”
She wasn’t going to push it. Besides, there were a few errands to run for their wedding, which was less than two weeks away.
“Don’t forget. We have a counseling session with Pastor Minders at two, and we need to stop by the Glen Iris to pay the balance on the reception.”
“Are you sure we can’t elope?” Marc’s puckered brow and lopsided smile made her laugh.
“Absolutely not. We’ll only have about twenty-five people. It’s a nice dinner at the Glen Iris. No fuss, no muss.”
“You say that, but …”
“Gracie! Gracie, are you home? Jim said you were up here!” an imperious, all-too-familiar voice bellowed.
Gracie cringed. What was her cousin, Isabelle the She-wolf of Deer Creek, doing here?
“Come through the gate. We’re exercising the dogs,” came Gracie’s unenthusiastic response.
The squeaky gate latch announced Isabelle’s entrance into the backyard. Max barked and ran toward Isabelle, who threw up her hands in an effort to protect herself.
“Max! Pfui! Hier,” Marc commanded the shepherd.
Max immediately stopped and trotted to Marc, who had the dog lie down. Haley greeted Isabelle with a slapping tail against her wheat-colored ensemble of a pencil skirt and blazer. An infinity scarf of navy blue encircled the svelte, blonde’s neck.
“Haley, come over here,” Gracie said, shaking her head. No doubt black hair would be all over Isabelle.
“Well, at least Marc’s dog behaves. When are you going to do something about her?” Isabelle carped, pointing a French-manicured finger at the Lab.
“Good grief, she just wants to say hello. Did you need something?” Gracie strained the question through her teeth.
She could only hope that Isabelle was soliciting a donation for a charity or wanted her to help with some fundraiser. A quick writing of a check or a firm “no” should send her away.
“I’m here to help with the wedding, of course. You’ve been avoiding me for a month.”
Marc’s eyes widened. Gracie’s mouth went dry.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. It’s been so busy. Uh …”
What could she say? She had been avoiding her cousin and felt quite pleased with herself that she’d heretofore been successful. Gracie absolutely didn’t want Isabelle’s help with the wedding, her advice, or her sniffing disapproval of Gracie’s plans.
Isabelle ignored her excuses, and raised an eyebrow and looked at the backyard, as if evaluating it. “But, as you know, people seek me out for these special occasions. The details of a wedding require expertise, a certain flair for a really elegant event. Even though my schedule is jammed, I have cleared my calendar for you. I’m ready to relieve you of what must be an overwhelming chore.”
Gracie felt her jaw drop. What was Isabelle smoking? An anger, coming up from her toes, revealed itself on her face in what she sensed
from the heat rushing to her face was an unflattering beet-red hue.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Isabelle, I assure you,” she began in a voice of barely controlled fury, “‘your expertise,’ as you call it, is not required. Honestly, everything is fine and under control. You just need to show up with What’s-his-name and witness our vows.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Gracie,” Isabelle countered in that sing-song, patronizing tone that Gracie had known and loathed since childhood. “This yard is an embarrassment. How will it be ready in time? I can arrange for my gardener to come in and do something with this … this …” She waved her hand at the yard in a deprecating gesture.
Marc’s phone rang, and with a look of a condemned man who’d been saved from the noose, he retreated into the house to take the call.
“This yard is perfectly fine,” Gracie growled.
She looked around at the fencing that enclosed the space. The white picket fence was new last year. Multicolored mums and fountain grass filled the flowerbeds. Orange nasturtiums sprawled around the remnants of summer flowers, leaves brown and flowerless. The maples and white birches flamed with color. It was the perfect place for her nuptials. The yard needed raking, but nothing else. If it rained, they’d be married on the covered patio, darn it all.
Isabelle’s eyes glittered with steely determination. “There’s always room for improvement, and I’m sure you want Marc’s mother and sister to be suitably impressed with everything. They are coming all the way from Indiana, after all.”
Gracie closed her eyes, hoping against hope that when she opened them, Isabelle would have vanished. It was not to be, naturally. Isabelle strode down the edge of the flowerbeds, clucking and shaking her head.
“Indiana isn’t exactly on the other side of the planet. Besides, I’m not trying to impress anyone. It’s a casual, outdoor wedding, with close family and a few friends. Simple is what we both want, and that’s what will happen. Really, Izzy, don’t worry about any of this. It’s all under control. My control.”
“Well, if that’s the way you feel. I was just trying to help,” she bristled. “Oh, Haley! Leave me alone!” She pushed the sniffing Haley away from her skirt. “I have a house to show anyway. See you at the wedding.”
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 1
