“Have you been to the door, Theresa?” Gloria asked, slinging her red-patterned Vera Bradley bag onto her shoulder.
“No. I was waiting for reinforcements.”
Gloria smoothed her hair and smiled grimly. “We might as well see if she’ll let us in.”
The sound of a loud male voice caught the women’s attention. It was coming from Franny Walczak’s Victorian home directly across the street.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” the gruff voice stated. “You’d better have it ready when I get here. Make her give it back, or I’ll take care of it myself. You know what it means.”
A short, stocky man, with a dirty red ball cap stuck on a shock of brown hair, appeared from Franny’s backyard and clambered into a road-weary pickup parked in the long driveway.
The women watched the truck loaded with an assortment of lawn equipment back out into the street. “Is that Art?” Gloria asked.
“It must be. I haven’t seen him for ages in Deer Creek. I heard he was living in Perry.”
The truck made some clunking noises, and the muffler rattled loudly when the man drove down the street. He kept his gaze directly ahead, not acknowledging the women on the sidewalk. Theresa recognized the profile of the man. Art Walczak had broken his nose umping a Little League game years ago, and the crooked contour still testified to the old injury.
“That’s Artie,” she confirmed.
“The last time I saw him was at least three years ago. I think it was at a fund raiser for the fire department,” Gloria remarked. She turned to walk toward Lulu’s.
“Could be. He’s been under the radar for quite some time. I didn’t know Franny and Artie even spoke. Sounds like there’s some trouble brewing.”
Gloria nodded, looking at the Walczak house and back to Lulu’s front sidewalk. Theresa joined her friend. Her churning stomach confirmed the dread she felt anticipating another confrontation with Lulu.
“And here comes Suzie and Margaret,” Gloria said lightly. “Strength in numbers.”
Lulu answered the door on the first knock, fully dressed in an outfit of brown polyester slacks and a flowered sweatshirt. Her hair was combed and neatly pulled back with barrettes. She appeared to be more like her old self.
“You look nice, Lulu,” Gloria commented, accepting the invitation to enter the house.
“Thank you, Gloria,” Lulu said, her mouth set resolutely. “You girls all come in here. I want to talk with you.”
The group looked at each other, apprehension written on their faces. The path they’d managed to widen yesterday was even wider today. When they reached the living room, Lulu had done some heavy lifting to open up the seating area. The couch and two chairs were cleared of yesterday’s junk. The tubs were precariously stacked on the edges of the room and in front of the windows.
“Take a seat. I don’t want to waste a lot of time,” Lulu said brusquely.
“We’re in no hurry,” Theresa assured her.
“But I am. I have things to do,” Lulu retorted, her eyebrows arched.
“Oh. Of course,” Gloria said meekly.
They bunched together on the couch, with Suzie ending up perched on the arm.
“I know you mean well, but I’m doing just fine. I don’t need help or people nosing through my things. I happen to enjoy my sewing materials being around. They make me feel good, and for that matter, safe too. Please, don’t bother yourselves anymore. It’s my house, my life, and if I need help, I’ll ask.”
The four women stared at their friend, who’d transformed from the pathetic, depressed wretch of the day before to an almost normal Lulu. Theresa stood, and the others followed suit. Lulu’s little speech was crystal clear. Margaret was the first to speak.
“Why, we never wanted to butt into your business. We only meant to help you. We were worried about you. I hope you know that.”
“Sure. I understand. But just because I want to live a little differently from you doesn’t mean you can come in here and mess up things.” Lulu sniffed and looked toward the doorway.
“I’m sorry if we’ve offended you,” Gloria began, her face rosy with embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” Lulu said. “Like I said, I’ve got things to do.”
“Right. Sure,” Theresa jumped in. “If there’s anything you need, let us know.”
Lulu nodded, and the quartet filed out, weaving through the piles to the front door.
Once at the curb, they looked back at the house, and without further conversation, slipped to their cars. Theresa decided that Bob would not need to know about this particular encounter. It would only feed his ego. Why did he have to be right all the time? Just as she opened the car door, Franny hurried down the front porch steps.
“Theresa, wait a minute!” she called.
Failing to catch Gloria before she drove away, Theresa hoped Franny wasn’t going to go on about her stolen quilt.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, seeing Franny’s worried expression.
“Did she throw you out?” Franny was eager for information.
“I think she’s making progress on her own.”
“Right,” she stated skeptically. “Well, she’s still a thief. I’m going to call the police on her.”
“Are you sure you didn’t put the quilt somewhere else?”
“Absolutely not. I’ve always kept it in the cedar chest at the foot of my bed. It has a lock, and I keep it locked.”
Theresa had seen the Stederman family quilt a handful of times over the years. It had been featured in antique quilt exhibitions at the Arts Council in Perry, probably twice if her memory served. The quilt was a beauty, a rare example of broderie perse. The Stedermans had apparently been quite well off at the turn of the nineteenth century because only the wealthy had these types of quilts. She remembered a quilt expert explaining that broderie perse was a technique that used appliqued designs made from chintz and intricate embroidery. It was exquisite. Flowers and richly embroidered birds were arranged in an elaborate design over the fabric. There was some delicate beading as well on Franny’s one-of-a-kind work of art.
“Has anyone been in your house lately, or did you show the quilt to anyone?” Theresa asked, grasping at straws.
Franny’s expression changed to a more pensive one, her brow wrinkled.
“No. No one’s been around,” she said.
“Oh.” Theresa wondered if ex-husbands counted as visitors. “Are you sure?”
Security wasn’t exceptionally high anywhere in Deer Creek. Spare keys and garage door codes were given out generously. Artie would certainly know how to enter his former residence if Franny wasn’t home. Their relationship had always been contentious, and yesterday’s little encounter confirmed it remained so.
Franny rubbed her temple. “There was a woman from the American Quilters Society that called me and then came out to see the quilt a couple of months ago. And some colonial history club was here and took pictures of the quilt about the same time. They had a top-notch photographer working with them on a special article. But groups come out two or three times a year. It’s kind of a famous quilt in this area.” Franny looked about to burst with pride. Her cheeks were rosy and brown eyes shining.
“How do these people know about the quilt?”
“I’m a member of the American Quilters Society, and the other women had some connection to the Society. AQS wants to display it at the annual show in January. It’s one of the best examples of broderie perse in the country, you know.”
Theresa nodded. “Who was the woman from AQS?”
“I’ve got her card in the house. Her name was Mildred something or other. I have the card from the colonial history organization too.”
“Could I see them?” Theresa knew she was pushing it, but she might as well after the debacle across the street.
“I guess. It has nothing to do with Lulu stealing the quilt though, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Maybe not, but they were in your house, right
?” Theresa answered, quickly following Franny inside. She still couldn’t believe that Lulu would actually break into someone’s house to steal.
The house was comfortably shabby, and the smell of orange oil indicated that Franny had been dusting recently. The old woodwork and the hardwood floors gleamed with loving care.
“I put those cards by the phone,” Franny said, snatching a pair of reading glasses from the kitchen table.
She sorted through a pile of business cards and drew out a colorful card that featured a patchwork quilt design and another creamy, rich-looking business card.
“Mildred Quested. That was her name. She’s the event coordinator for the Society.” She pointed to the large antique script on the card. “I really need to call her and tell her I can’t show the quilt, maybe not ever.”
Theresa looked at the card, turning it over, feeling the weight. It was a good quality cardstock and looked legit. But who knew anymore? The other card read, “Colonial History Guild,” and the organization was located in Nunda.
“Well, I guess I’d call the police then. Lulu isn’t inclined to let anyone go through her stuff, but if she really stole it, she has to face the consequences.”
“I hate to do it, but she’s been impossible the last few months. After Ed died, I helped her box up his clothes and things. What a terrible way to go, burning up in a truck.” Franny shuddered. “That was hard, but Lulu seemed to be doing all right until June. Something happened, and she started collecting all kinds of sewing stuff. She hardly says ‘boo’ to me now. I can’t figure out if I said something that made her mad. She won’t say. But that’s no reason to go off your rocker and steal from your neighbor.”
Theresa had to agree. “You’d better call today and not let it go any longer. Now, you’re sure it’s not in the house?”
“No. I’ve looked all over. It’s not here. That quilt is worth over fifty thousand. The last time I had it appraised anyway. I have to get it back.”
Theresa’s mouth gaped open and then closed quickly. “Fifty thousand? You absolutely have to call the sheriff’s department.” She had no idea the bedcovering was worth so much. Maybe three or four thousand, but fifty?
Franny’s face went a little pale, and she pressed a hand against her heart. “I think I need a pill,” she gasped.
“Where are they? Are you all right?” Theresa scanned the counter by the sink, trying to find a prescription bottle.
Franny sat down hard onto a wicker-bottomed chair, gulping in air. “It’s the nitroglycerin.”
Theresa knocked over an empty plastic tumbler on the counter and sorted through the collection of brown bottles. “Okay, I found it.”
She handed the bottle to Franny and quickly filled the tumbler with water. Franny slipped the pill under her tongue, closing her eyes. Her breathing eased. After a moment, she opened her brown eyes and smiled weakly. “Sorry about that. This angina is a stinker.”
“I hope I didn’t upset you.”
“No. It’s not your fault. The quilt thing has me pretty upset, and I’m supposed to avoid stress. Hah! That’ll happen when I’m dead.”
“Oh, Franny, I’m so sorry about all this. If I can help …” Theresa wasn’t quite sure what that help would look like, and Bob’s voice echoed in her head: “Don’t get involved.”
“Aww, don’t worry about it.” Franny rose slowly from the chair. “I need to call the sheriff and get somebody out here. Lulu’s not going to cooperate, so I don’t have any choice.”
Theresa nodded, straightening up some papers on the table. She glanced at them again, taking in the red lettering on some of the envelopes that read “final notice.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
Franny took the water glass to the sink and put the pill bottle back with the rest.
“No. I’ll be all right.”
“I saw Art here the other day. Is he or are you …” Theresa hesitated. Bringing up her marriage difficulties might not be wise.
Franny’s face hardened. She licked her bottom lip. “He’s put me into a terrible position, and, no, we’re not going to reconcile. I’d rather not talk about him.”
CHAPTER 6
Gracie smiled, listening to her business partner, Jim Taylor, whistle “Hound Dog” as he worked on a couple of kennel latches a few feet from her office. Haley scrambled from her cushy corner bed and trotted out to find him.
“He’s irresistible, huh, girl?” Gracie said, laughing at the full chorus of howls and baying that ensued once he broke into song. “Oh my gosh! Can’t you just fix the doors and not start a riot?” she called after him.
“Sorry,” he called back and continued singing.
“All right then.” She got up, shut the door, and went back to the computer to finish updating the website.
Jim appeared almost immediately with a boyish grin plastered on his handsome face. His short black hair and intense blue eyes made him real eye candy for the ladies, but Jim had not succumbed to anyone’s charms yet.
“I’m just trying to keep everyone entertained and lighthearted until we move past the big event,” he said, plopping himself into a decidedly ratty, green plaid recliner, which screamed 1970s.
“I’m as cool as a cucumber, sir.” Gracie arched an eyebrow at Jim and then saved her changes on the Milky Way Kennels website.
“Marc doesn’t seem to be so cool, if you ask me,” Jim said, pushing his Yankees cap up, leaving it perched on his head.
“He’s stressed about the job situation. Plus, his mother and sister will be here in a couple of days. He has to clean his house.”
“Ah … Well, that’ll keep you jumpy. Has he put the house on the market yet?” Jim took off his hat and placed it on the arm of the chair, fiddling with the bill of the cap.
“He’s going to rent it through the winter and then try to sell it next spring. My fingers are crossed that life in general will be all smoothed out before then.”
“No word yet on his security clearance?”
“No. The company was trying to expedite it, but it could take up to six months.”
Jim shook his head. “Not what he wanted to hear, I’m sure.”
“No. To add even more angst, Investigator Hotchkiss is trying to woo him back to the sheriff’s department. Apparently, some people who lost their jobs complained, and the union is looking into it. It’s possible he could get his old job back.”
“So where do you want him to work?” Jim gave her a sly look.
“Oh no, you don’t. Wherever he wants to work. He needs to be happy. Just like you, right?”
If she were honest though, Marc going back to the sheriff’s office was her first choice. She’d committed to zipping her lip about any such opinion at the moment. Marc had spent hours filling out paperwork for DACO. They wanted to know everything, maybe even how many pieces of toilet paper he used. He’d be protecting company executives when they traveled, and that made her more jittery than the regular law enforcement job. There were a lot of crazy, bad people out there, no matter where you went though. He had a dangerous job either way.
“Nerves of steel, huh?”
“Maybe aluminum foil.”
Jim laughed. “It’ll all come out in the wash, as my grandmother used to say.”
“I suppose it will. He needs to be working though.”
“And so do I. Cheryl has all of her evening obedience classes filled now, and those heaters have to be operational in the training barn before we close.”
“It’s been pretty chilly at night, so I guess that’s a good idea.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll get the crew moving on feeding our guests their dinner.”
The kennel helpers already had feeding time well under way when the bell jangled in the reception area. Gracie could hear Marc talking to Marian, the groomer. She hurried to greet him, and Marian made a swift exit, with a broad grin and wink to her boss.
“Hi, handsome,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Hol
a, gorgeous,” he responded, stepping away from her. His blue eyes were worried, eyebrows drawn together.
“Everything all right? You’re looking a little … uh … odd.”
“Let’s go in your office,” he said, pushing the Dutch door open to the corridor.
“What’s going on?” Gracie asked, shutting the office door. Marc’s expression remained unreadable.
“It’s a rumor I heard about Kevin.”
“Kevin? You mean Isabelle’s live-in boy toy?”
“That’s the one.” Marc eased himself into Jim’s recliner.
“What about him?”
“I understand from Midge that he’s a player.”
“I would think that’s obvious. He’s at least ten years younger than Isabelle.”
“I don’t think it’s obvious just because he’s younger,” Marc said. “They seem well-suited. He’s a bank executive and all about money. Isabelle’s been successful in real estate since Tim—well, died.”
“Of course, she’s successful. Everything she does is successful. Except for choosing husbands and lovers.” Gracie’s temper surged just thinking about Isabelle’s continual interference in her life, especially the earlier visit, and the attempts to make Gracie look incompetent.
Marc frowned and sighed. “Anyway, Kevin’s been seen with quite a looker, at Isabelle’s house of all places. Is there anyone who might give her a heads-up?”
“First of all, we don’t know if it’s true. Second, there’s no way I’m throwing myself in front of a freight train for Izzy. Why are you so concerned?”
“I’d hate to see her end up with another Tim-like character.”
Gracie had to agree. “Me too. But she wouldn’t listen to anyone, especially me.”
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 3
