The rumble of the mower stopped. Marc reentered the yard.
“All done. Good enough?”
“Perfect. We’re ahead of schedule. I’m sure that’s the last time it’ll need to be mowed anyway. How about a cup of hot chocolate? Some cards came in the mail today too.”
“Sounds good on both counts,” Marc said, wiping his feet on the mat before he followed Gracie inside.
The dogs pushed through and relocated to Haley’s bed in front of the fireplace.
“I think I need to order a bigger bed for them,” Gracie said, laughing.
“Haley will still hog it,” Marc said, shaking his head at the black Lab’s stretched-out body, which left a mere speck of space for Max.
“Most likely. She does the same thing with me.”
“Uh … She’s not going to be joining us, is she?”
“No way. She’s permanently banished, unless you’re away, of course. Haley won’t take it well, but things change.” Gracie grabbed two mugs from the cupboard by the sink. “Those cards are on the island. Go ahead and open them, while I fix the hot chocolate.”
Marc slit the envelopes with a small silver letter opener. “Here’s one from the Strouds,” he said.
“That’s nice,” Gracie answered, watching the Keurig stream hot chocolate into a cup.
Marc abruptly sniffed the air.
“Do you smell something funny?”
“The hot chocolate smells funny?”
“No. Something a little rotten.”
“The honey wagon went by earlier. Or are you making disparaging remarks about my housekeeping?”
She sniffed and didn’t notice anything strange. The sweet chocolatey aroma was the only identifiable scent.
“I would never entertain that thought. Must be my imagination or that manure spreader,” Marc said.
CHAPTER 13
The chest was unlocked, and Theresa sorted through several ordinary satin-edged blankets. Pulling them out, she discovered two dark-colored quilts in the bottom along with an old photo album. No fabulous broderie perse quilt appeared.
“Here,” she said, handing the album to Gloria.
Gloria opened the nubby-textured black scrapbook.
“This looks like a history of the missing quilt,” she said, fingering the brittle pages.
Theresa leaned over for a better look.
The photos began in 1867, according to the faint penciled inscription on the back. The sepia portrait was of Emma Lou Stederman standing next to the exquisite quilt, which hung from a rail mounted on a wall. The woman looked a bit grim in her shirtwaist and striking hairstyle. A thick braid wound around Emma Lou’s head and was caught up in netting with a sprig of what looked like baby’s breath tucked behind her ear.
“Why was everyone so unhappy back then?” Theresa chuckled.
“I think it was those corsets they wore all the time. How could women breathe?” Gloria commented.
“Good point. I’d never have survived.”
They sat on the bed and flipped through the rest of the album. The last photo was of Franny at the American Quilters Society show three years prior. Another woman of about the same size, who looked a few years older, stood on the opposite side of the quilt.
“I wonder if that’s Lisa Kronk’s grandmother,” Theresa said, looking carefully at the woman’s features. “I think there’s some resemblance to her.”
“Could be,” Gloria answered, taking out a yellowed envelope stuck in the next page. She carefully extracted an equally yellowed letter from the fragile container. “This is interesting. Listen. Hopefully, I can make all of it out.” Gloria squinted at the faded ink.
“The Stederman quilt was handstitched by Henrietta Messner Stederman and Ada Drummond, her cousin. It was completed on the 21st day of November, 1803. Ada was joined in holy wedlock to Henrietta’s brother-in-law, Mason Stederman, in 1804. The materials for the quilt were procured by Mason and Charles Stederman while in France in 1802. As merchants of dry goods and sundries, they obtained the silks and the threads through their most excellent and prolific supplier, Messrs. Lafayette and Girard.”
Gloria turned the paper over.
“The purchase of silk was to make two quilts and two gowns for Ada and Henrietta. Misfortune took one cask of cloth, which was dropped overboard when the ship docked at Block Island. In the spirit of charity and sisterly kindness, Henrietta and Ada agree to share the quilt as follows: in the odd numbered years of our Lord, Ada will retain use of the bedcovering, and in the even numbered years of our Lord, Henrietta will retain its use. It is our wish that the quilt be thus shared between our oldest sons or daughters and to theirs in perpetuity. It’s signed by Henrietta and Ada in 1821.”
Gloria and Theresa looked at each other. Theresa whistled a low note.
“What a crazy agreement,” she muttered.
***
The bright and crisp fall morning, along with an early call from an Investigator Hotchkiss, inspired Lulu to replace the zipper in Theresa’s dress before a second cup of coffee.
The loss of Franny was devastating, but the autopsy had revealed that a massive heart attack had taken her life, not the jumble of plastic containers. None of the consequent bruises or the broken wrist had been life-threatening. Her conscience was partly assuaged. There was no way to determine if Franny’s heart gave out just as she pushed the boxes or if fear had brought it on. She would never know. That was the hard part. Franny was more than a neighbor or even a friend—a sister—but things had changed so much over the past year.
She blew her nose before testing the zipper, which ran smoothly. Good as new. She snipped the stray threads and shook the dress out. Rather than have Theresa invade her space again, she’d walk over and deliver it personally. She should start walking again anyway. Getting in shape for the next phase of her life was a priority over the next few weeks. She slid the dress back onto the hanger and pulled the thin plastic cover over the ensemble.
Just as she opened the front door, a white SUV drove slowly down the street, stopping in front of Franny’s. A dark-haired woman took a long, hard look at the house. Locking the door, Lulu wondered if she should ask if the lady was lost. The vehicle looked familiar. Maybe it was the one that was parked in the driveway the day before. An urge to ask if the driver needed directions crossed her mind, but she decided to stay out of any sort of limelight. Under the radar—that’s where she needed to be. Swinging the dress over her shoulder, her finger hooked around the hanger, Lulu walked toward the Clarks’ house.
***
After dropping off the dress, Lulu felt a bit lighthearted, seeing Theresa’s surprise when she’d answered the door. It had gone well. Theresa didn’t mention the Mexican currency, which had accidently spilled from the cabinet. The faux pas had almost given her a heart attack herself. She had been painfully circumspect in avoiding local banks and had exchanged dollars for pesos at banks in Rochester. Her transactions would have provoked too many questions locally. Now, she’d been careless and changed the hiding place to her own detriment. Fortunately, with Gracie’s wedding just days away, Theresa should be plenty busy. No time to stop in for another visit and maybe she’d forget ever seeing the money.
She met no one returning to her house—another plus. The SUV was nowhere in sight either. The curtains of Franny’s upstairs bedroom seemed to sway, although no face was visible in the window. Popping in the front door, Lulu clicked the lock behind her. Was someone sneaking around in Franny’s home? She wondered if she should call the police. Sometimes people read or heard about a death and stole things out of the dead person’s residence. On the other hand, the curtains were probably her imagination running wild. She was so used to seeing Franny surveilling the outside activity. That must be it.
***
Gloria sat at her kitchen table, watching her husband go over the insurance claim form with the adjuster. The adjuster had been thorough. With a practiced routine, he searched the cedar chest and examined its loc
k, as well as checking the locks on Franny’s doors. Nothing had been forced, which matched the information given on the police report. The album with the quilt’s history was of interest, but the man decided not to take it with him.
Neither Albert nor Gloria could offer any additional help to the man about where it might be. Franny’s elderly sister, Martha, hadn’t shed any light either. She’d given the “blasted thing” to Franny when they were young. Martha hated it. In her opinion, it was ugly as sin and a family burden. She didn’t care how much it was worth. No one had observed the original agreement about sharing the quilt since the late 1800s. The quilt apparently had gone to the fleet of foot when the current owner died. Martha and Franny’s mother, Sally, had been at the bedside of the last cousin, when she left for Glory. Sally had wasted no time securing the quilt into a suitcase she’d brought along for just such an opportunity.
Albert tried to answer the adjustor’s questions about why Franny didn’t have better security. There was no reason to have more security, especially in Deer Creek. Who locked their doors, especially if it was just a quick run to the post office or a chat with a neighbor? The adjustor had asked about the accusation against her friend. Both Albert and Gloria had been adamant there was no proof of Lulu’s involvement and that the police hadn’t found the quilt in the search of Lulu’s garage after Franny’s mishap. The adjustor, a rather stern-faced man with a receding hairline and dark nose hairs that begged to be trimmed, looked the form over before slipping it into a file folder.
“All right, Reverend. Once you receive those documents officially appointing you as executor of the estate, give me a call to sign the form. Because of the size of the claim, there will be another review. We have our own investigator who’ll do some digging around.”
“How long will this take then?”
“It could be several months,” he said, closing up a battered black briefcase.
“Several months? I don’t understand,” Gloria spouted, instantly regretting her hasty words.
“We need to do our due diligence on this claim. That includes further investigation. That isn’t a problem, is it?”
His beady eyes narrowed, and Gloria had the distinct impression they were now under the microscope, thanks to her. She looked at Albert, who seemed unruffled.
“No. Of course not. I had no idea Mrs. Walczak had nominated me as the executor of her estate. I don’t have any experience with any of this. We’ve never even had an insurance claim. Right, dear?” He looked at Gloria with steady, calm eyes.
“No. Never. Everything about Mrs. Walczak has been a shock,” Gloria managed.
“I’m here to help you. Don’t worry about anything. All of this is standard procedure. We must verify that the claim is in order before payment. It is a significant claim.”
Gloria nodded. It certainly was hefty. More than what Theresa said the quilt was worth, which the adjustor had assured them was normal. However, the amount only created questions for her. Had Franny over-insured the quilt, or had she been coy about the value with Theresa? It also seemed to be no coincidence that a relative was hunting down the heirloom. Was there more going on than a stolen quilt? She couldn’t wait for the insurance man to leave. Maybe she should do a little research at Franny’s.
CHAPTER 14
Tom, along with Kelly and Emma, stood waiting for Gracie and Marc after the worship service at Deer Creek Community Church. While most of the congregation milled toward the Fellowship Hall for coffee and pastries, the Clark contingent had other plans.
“Joining us at Midge’s for lunch?” Kelly asked.
“Not today,” Gracie answered, looking up at Marc.
“No. I was just informed there’s a bit of a plumbing problem at the house,” Marc said.
“Plumbing problem?” Tom questioned.
“My tub drain is running really slow,” Gracie said.
“Oh. A little Drano should fix it.”
“Well, I tried that last night with no luck. It’s probably a hairball of gigantic proportions, so Marc’s going to try and clean it out.”
“Good luck, then. Everything okay on the wedding front?” Tom asked.
“Couldn’t be better.” Gracie grabbed Marc’s arm. “Let’s go. I really want that drain fixed.”
Marc smiled with raised eyebrows, following Gracie out the side door. After a quick greeting to Reverend Minders, they fled to Marc’s truck.
“Does this have anything to do with the funny smell I imagined yesterday?” Marc asked once he started the engine.
“It might. After you left, I smelled something a little off myself. It wasn’t the refrigerator, and this morning, the water didn’t empty out of the tub right. Hopefully, it’s just a clogged drain.”
Marc maneuvered the truck from parking lot.
“Well, I can take a look. I’m no plumber though.”
“Maybe if you plunged it, along with using Drano. You’ve got a little more muscle than I do.”
Marc grinned, giving her a sly look, and turned on his left signal, stopping at the intersection before pulling out onto Main Street.
“Sure. You only want me for my handyman skills. But we don’t need a problem with the plumbing this week.”
“No, we do not. Isabelle will be all over it if there’s even a hint of trouble. She’s lurking in the shadows to take over. I can feel it in my bones.”
“Speaking of Isabelle. Has she ever said anything about Kevin and his intentions?”
Gracie rolled her eyes. “That again? I am shocked at your interest in Midge’s gossip about my cousin’s boyfriend. Other than being perfect and the total opposite of Tim, which apparently isn’t true—no.”
“Kevin isn’t a murderer though.”
“I’ll give you that—at the moment. I want to feel bad for her that she’s made another miscalculation in selecting a man, but it’s Isabelle. Her ego is boundless—massive. She’s bossed me around for my whole life. Kevin will eventually show himself to be the rat he truly is—if he does have another girlfriend.”
Marc shot her a questioning look.
“Do I detect a grudge? You really hate her that much?”
“Sorry. I don’t really hate her—much. She’s difficult, bossy, narrow-minded—”
“Your cousin,” Marc supplied.
She huffed. “My cousin. Yup. I’ll stop venting now.”
“Thanks.”
***
The drain resisted Marc’s vigorous efforts with the plunger. Soapy water remained in the tub.
“Do you have a snake somewhere?” Marc asked, kneeling over the tub.
“This needs more power. Eww … smells pretty bad.” He backed away, and a brown liquid burbled up in the tub.
“Oh my gosh, it smells like sewer,” Gracie cried, leaning over him.
“It sure does. This may be a bigger problem than a clogged drain.”
When the toilet gurgled and more smells emanated from the vanity sink, Gracie ran to find the number for Ace McGowan’s Septic Service.
***
“You’ve probably got roots in your leach system,” Ace said, looking at the back corner of the yard. “It’s wet here.”
Ace was a slip of a man and Midge’s brother. Lean and all business, just like his sister, he surveyed the lawn with a practiced eye.
“And not smelling too good,” Gracie complained.
“That’s why the dogs were so interested in the back corner yesterday when I was mowing,” Marc observed.
“Great. What do you have to do?”
Gracie saw dollar signs drifting high into the cerulean sky.
“We’re gonna have to dig it up. When did you have the tank pumped last?”
Gracie shook her head. “Never. Didn’t think about it. I’ve been concentrating on upgrading the kennel and remodeling the house.”
“How long you been here?”
“About three years, I think.”
“Well, every three years is the rule of thumb, but I say your
leach system is the problem. Lotsa trees back here—roots everywhere.”
“Okay. When can you fix it? We’re supposed to be married out here on Saturday.”
“This coming Saturday?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Gracie looked frantically at Ace’s face, trying to determine if he was about to give her good news or bad.
“Well,” he drawled, scratching the small gray beard on his square chin. “I’ll pump the septic tank today. That’ll help. I can start digging up the leach in the morning and …”
“And what? What day can you have this fixed?”
“Now, hold on, Gracie. I’m trying to figure it out. Depends on what I find. If Marc here can start doing a little diggin’ today to uncover the tank, we’ll have a good start. I might need to bring in a backhoe. If tiles are broken or somethin’ more serious is under there, it could take a week. You’re not my only customer, you know. I’m pretty booked up right now.”
“This is really important, Ace. My wedding, you know.”
“Don’t get in a lather. I know. I’ll bring the pumper over here and start this afternoon. We’ll go from there.”
The chug of the pumper truck gave her some relief. No laundry and no dishwasher until the problem was fixed, Ace warned. Marc dutifully began digging with Ace looking on, while Gracie searched for the septic plans that were stored in the kennel office.
***
Ace looked over the drawings, a frown wrinkling his face. He pointed to the large birch and then back to the drawings.
“See that tree? It shouldn’t have been planted back there. It’s right on top of the leach. And so is the fence for that matter.”
Gracie’s stomach flip-flopped.
“What does that mean exactly?”
“That tree needs to come down, and … well …” He scratched the beard again. “I guess the fence’s okay, but we might have to take a section out if the leach system is messed up.”
“Are you kidding?”
The outdoor wedding under the blazing fall colors was fast becoming a dim possibility.
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 7
