Unlike the Clarks, the Stevens family thrived on separation. It always took at least a couple of days for Marc to adjust to familial bonds. He never knew what to say to his sister especially. They’d been close as kids, but adulthood had taken them in very different directions.
Larry rolled down the window and gave Marc a weak smile.
“Sorry we were so long. The line was killer.”
“No problem. Ready to head for Deer Creek?” Marc responded cheerfully.
“How far to the house? I need to lie down after all that turbulence. I thought we were going to crash,” Miranda griped.
“About an hour,” Marc began.
“An hour?”
“Oh, Miranda. Don’t turn on the drama. It was a little bumpy. We’re here in one piece. We have all our luggage too,” Violet Stevens said sharply, opening the passenger door of Marc’s truck.
“It was awful. My nerves are shattered,” Miranda whined.
“Did you take a pill?” her husband asked. “Take the pill, and we’ll be on our way. Right, Marc?”
Marc nodded with arched eyebrows. This was going to be a dilly of a visit. While Miranda squinted at a brown prescription bottle, Larry waved and followed Marc out to Route 33. Within an hour, they were on Wethersfield Road, not far from Marc’s home. His mother had insisted they were going out to dinner as a family during their leisurely drive through the rolling hills and dairy farms that dotted the highway. Gracie still hadn’t answered his text, which he’d sent right before they’d left the airport. Crossing the railroad tracks into Rock Glen, his phone buzzed in the dash holder and went to the Bluetooth connection.
“Hey, I got your text.” Gracie sounded uncommonly businesslike.
“Good. We’re in Rock Glen. We’re dropping off luggage at the house first, and then we’ll be over. Mom wants to take everyone out to eat tonight. I hope this doesn’t mess up any plans.”
“Well … no. That’s great. My mother will be pleased. She was concerned about meeting everyone.”
“Hi, Gracie. I can’t wait to meet you and your family,” Violet interjected.
“Uh … oh … hi. Yes. I can’t wait to meet you either.”
“Probably a half hour and we’ll be there.”
“Good. One thing though. Ace wasn’t able to finish the job today. His backhoe is sitting in the yard, broken down for the moment.”
“Really?”
That wasn’t a good sign. No wonder she hadn’t called before.
“Yes. Really. He needs a part that won’t be here until Wednesday. Which means limited water use until then. And it means we need a new location for sure.”
“It’s okay with me if the yard looks a little rough. We can—”
“I’ll talk to you about it when you get here. I need to go. And don’t forget the laundry.”
“Right. The laundry.”
It was sitting in the washer at his house. Had he turned the machine on before leaving for the airport? He’d have one very unhappy fiancée if he hadn’t.
“I’ll bring it.”
“Good. See you in a bit.”
The called ended, and Violet looked expectantly at her son.
“Is she all right? A little stressed maybe?”
“A lot stressed. Leach field problem and the guy fixing it has to repair his backhoe.”
“Isn’t the wedding in the yard?”
“It is or was, at this point. Sounds like we’ll need to find a new place.”
“That’s awful. Is there a church or a town hall you could use?”
“We’ll figure it out, Mom. Don’t worry. We just want a casual wedding. It can’t be that much of a problem to find another place, compared to surviving a week with Miranda.”
“Marc, please. Miranda had some sort of breakdown this year and is medicated out the wazoo. Her real and imagined issues are getting to me and poor Larry. This is a lot to handle for all of us. Your sister is an emotional wreck, and I’m starting to feel a little shaky myself. Day after day, it’s another problem. I had high hopes that your wedding would snap her out of whatever is really bothering her.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for Gracie and me. Should Miranda be here? If she’s not stable—”
“She’ll be fine. A nap and a few pills.”
Marc turned up the paved driveway, which wound around a small apple orchard, and deposited them in front of a small, ranch-style house. A stand of pine trees flanked the rear of the property. Marc parked his pickup outside the attached garage, with Miranda and Larry right behind him.
“Here we are,” he announced.
“It’s been quite a while since I was here. The house looks nice.”
Marc smiled. “Thanks. I’m hoping it’ll sell quickly in the spring.”
“It’s too bad you and Gracie can’t live here.” Violet stood taking in the serene property. “Such a pretty house and yard.”
Marc looked at his mother quizzically. “You understand about the kennel business, right?”
“Yes, but it’s too bad you have to give up your home.”
“I don’t have a problem selling. It’s okay. Besides, you’ll love Gracie’s house. She’s worked hard on remodeling, and even adding on, in the last couple of years.”
Violet didn’t look convinced. She drew her jacket closer, her slight frame shivering in the chilly breeze. Marc chewed the inside of his cheek, hoping that his mother and Gracie would hit it off. His mother was on the defensive for some reason. The look in her stormy brown eyes was a warning for those who knew her.
Miranda and Larry joined them, Miranda stretching and yawning. She had aged since he’d seen her last. Maybe it was because she was wearing glasses now. Apparently, the meds had kicked in. There was hope she’d settle down. He carried his mother’s suitcases and set them on the small porch.
“Mom, you’ve got my bedroom on the right. Miranda, you and Larry have the last room on the left down the hall. You can rest if you want. I need to run Gracie’s laundry to her, but I’ll be back,” Marc said, unlocking the door.
Miranda gave her brother a puzzled look. She rubbed the back of her neck, yawning again.
“You do her laundry?”
***
“Let’s wrap it up,” Jim called to Gracie, who was just locking the office.
“I am. I am. I want to check on a couple of the dogs before I leave though.”
They’d decided to close early with the light boarding traffic. Besides, the logistics of having the Stevens and Clark families meet, along with the lack of a photographer, had put Gracie almost over the edge.
“Is there a problem with somebody?” Jim asked, winding a hose onto the metal holder fastened to the wall.
“I hope not. Peace-of-mind check in Corridor C.”
“Let me turn the lights back on,” Jim said, striding down the darkened hallway.
Once the lights went on in the kennel corridors, dogs vocalized enthusiastic greetings, while Gracie and Jim made sure each boarder was snug. Gracie stopped at the run with Rhett and Scarlett, a couple of rat terriers who’d been skittish during the day. It was their first time in the kennel. She opened the door for them, and they dashed out to freedom. The lively black and white dogs yipped and spun in circles in their excitement. They ran and licked her face when she squatted down to pet them. They spied Jim farther down the corridor and ran full tilt, launching themselves into the air.
“Catch them,” Gracie called. “They expect to be caught.”
Jim managed to snag the small wiggly dogs just in time, balancing them precariously on his crossed forearms.
“Wow, guys! That was a bit of a surprise.”
Gracie laughed. “Those are the Bascoms’ dogs. Mike taught them the leaping trick, which isn’t popular with his wife. Good work. They’re pretty fast and a little unpredictable.”
The dogs jumped to the floor as Jim bent down.
“I guess. Circus time is over,” he said with a chuckle.
“They seem
ed pretty scared when they were dropped off today,” Gracie said. “It seems they’ve recovered nicely. Come on, little ol’ Scarlett and Rhett. Time for you two to settle down and go to sleep. Tomorrow’s another day, and I have to find a photographer on very short notice. Everyone seems to be booked. Imagine that,” she said, snapping her fingers.
She and Jim walked side-by-side to the reception area, flipping off light switches as they went
“A photographer? Somebody cancel on you?”
“I wish. I totally spaced it. Have no idea why. My mother is supposed to be making some calls too. As long as she doesn’t call Isabelle, we’ll be fine.”
Jim laughed. “I’ll bet you a dollar she’s called her. And speaking of Isabelle, the word on the street is that her boyfriend has somebody on the side.”
“Marc said the same thing. Where is this information coming from?”
“I heard it at the hardware today when I returned that defective heater. Darlene Evans told me some woman has been visiting Isabelle’s house at odd times.”
“How would she know that?”
“Neighbors always know what’s happening in the neighborhood. Isabelle lives next door to the official neighborhood watchdog—”
“Benny Crowder,” Gracie finished for him.
“Exactly. You know how seriously he takes that vital job.”
“Ha! Well then, it may be true. I do feel sorry for Izzy if it’s really happening.” She twirled a strand of hair, contemplating how to open the topic of Kevin with her mother, but more importantly, she had to change out of her kennel clothes and pass muster with Marc’s family. It was surprising her mother hadn’t at least left a voicemail about the photographer search. Pulling the phone from her jeans pocket, she swiped the screen. Nothing happened. Great! Her battery must have died.
***
Gloria followed Albert, who trailed after Mike Shultz of East Koy Auctions. He shambled along, hulking and older than Gloria thought he’d be. Mike reminded her of an elderly bear. Art Walczak had already left, his nose out of joint over Franny’s disinheritance. He had only debt handed to him; the mortgage was on the verge of foreclosure. The sale of the house might take care of the obligation, but Gloria wasn’t confident of that. Art didn’t seem to be in a position to pay off the mortgage and regain the house.
“We can put you on the calendar for the second week of November,” Mike said.
“That would be good,” Albert said, stopping in the gloomy living room.
“How much do you think the auction will bring?” Gloria asked, standing next to her husband.
“Hard to say. Maybe five thousand on a good day, probably less.” Mike’s paw-like hand scratched his longish dark gray hair. He pulled a ball cap from the pocket of his plaid flannel coat and stuffed it over his untidy locks.
She exchanged a look with her husband.
“That’s all, huh?” Albert asked.
“Yeah. There are a few decent antiques, but nothing special here.”
“What about the quilts in the bedroom? We found about six in all.” Gloria had hoped for a better answer.
“Who knows? They’re all right, but it depends on the crowd. I’ll have Edna call you with a date and time. My crew will organize everything here, and it’ll all be removed the day of the auction. You won’t have to worry about anything.”
“Thanks, Mike. I’ll be expecting Edna’s call,” Albert said, shaking the man’s hand.
The Minders stood looking around at the worn, but comfortable furniture.
“Still glad you said you’d be the executor?”
“Now, Gloria, it was Franny’s last wish.”
“I know, but you’re so busy. Why not back out and let the attorney handle everything?”
The pastor took off his wire-framed glasses and rubbed a white handkerchief over the lenses before setting them back on his face.
“Let’s go see Lulu,” he said.
CHAPTER 17
The somber group bowed their heads during Albert Minders’ prayer, committing Frances Walczak to the tender mercies of God. The sound of Wolf Creek burbled in the background, and a few birds added a couple of measures of warbled notes, befitting the occasion. Theresa, Bob, the Minders, Art, and Lulu lifted their heads at the “amen.”
“And now, we complete Franny’s wish of remaining in the park she loved so much,” Albert continued, carrying the copper urn. Silvery butterflies adorned the top, and thin silver bands circled near the neck of the jar. He set the urn down on the stone wall. He tried to unscrew the lid and grunted when it didn’t move.
“Is it on a little too tight, preacher?” Art asked, examining the lid.
“I don’t know. It seems to be stuck.”
“Here, let me try.” Art lifted the gracefully shaped container and wrenched on the top without success.
Lulu, Gloria, and Theresa looked at one another and then at Bob.
He sighed and strolled over to take a look.
“How many men does it take …” Lulu began with sheepish look.
“I know,” Theresa giggled. “Poor Franny.”
“You hold the urn, Art, and I’ll give it a twist,” Bob said. Artie stood by the wall with the lid pointed outward, and Bob grasped the lid with both hands. “Hold it tight.”
“Got it,” the dumpy man said, hugging the urn.
Bob attempted to rotate the top, groaning. “It’s no good. Must be cross-threaded.”
Theresa came forward and examined the container. “Are you sure?”
She stifled a laugh. A thin layer of wax was evident on the top metal band.
“Here,” she instructed, reaching for the urn. Scraping the additional layer of security with her thumbnail, she handed it back to Art.
“Oh. That will help,” Art said. “Well, here goes.”
After brushing off the remaining bits of wax, he quickly unscrewed the top of the urn. “Should I go ahead?” he asked, looking back at the group.
“Yes,” Albert Minders said, looking relieved. He patted at his silver hair, which had ruffled in the early morning breeze.
“Good luck, Franny,” Art said with a little sob, the powdery cremains drifting in the air above the Genesee River.
The rest joined him, Lulu placing a hand on his shoulder. He tapped the jar on the wall before screwing the top back on and handing it to Gloria.
“Now, preacher,” he said, turning a determined face to Albert, “we need to talk about that money that’s owed me.”
***
Theresa’s phone chimed with a text notification on the way to her car. Poor Albert and Gloria were still “chatting” with Art, who seemed to think his dubious promissory note had priority over the bank and anyone else.
The text was excellent news that refocused her thoughts on the wedding. Isabelle had, indeed, come through with a photographer in the nick of time.
Isabelle had worked her magic to snag Adriana’s Photography. A personal favor, Isabelle had noted. Of course. Family comes first. Isabelle knew her priorities. How could Gracie have been so scatter-brained? At least one wedding crisis was solved.
Now, if her daughter and niece could only be civil to one another for a few days, the wedding location issue would be resolved too. Isabelle could be difficult, but the poor girl had been through a lot. Except for her two college-age children, her entire family was gone. Two of the three murdered, which most days was too much to think about. At least, Tim, Isabelle’s late husband, couldn’t do any more damage. If Kevin would just make her an honest woman, then all would be put right.
Once home, Theresa was irritated that Gracie still hadn’t answered her two text messages. Maybe she’d turned her phone off. Marc’s family was probably taking up her time, but why didn’t she have a moment to call her mother? Maybe Gracie had found another photographer. That would be a mess. Maybe she should drive to the kennel. She checked the soup in the crockpot, which was bubbling nicely.
The WCJW weather report blared from the kitchen radi
o, forecasting Indian summer weather tomorrow through Sunday. She was hoping that the weatherman was right for once.
That was another thing. Gracie’s determination to hold an outdoor wedding in October. They didn’t live in Tahiti. There could be snow, or at the very least, freezing temperatures.
“Bob, I’m taking some soup to Lulu,” she called to her husband, who was seated at the dining room table, staring at his laptop screen.
“All right,” he answered distractedly. “I’m paying the bills and then picking up my suit from the cleaners.”
“Good,” Theresa replied, thankful for one less errand before the wedding.
Hefting the crockpot from the kitchen counter, she made a mental list of things that had to be done by the end of the day. The most important one was talking to Gracie to find out if there were any other wedding details that hadn’t been handled.
But, first, a visit with Lulu was in order. Gloria Minders had agreed to meet her there with a pie. After the memorial, Lulu had left quickly without a word. Her lack of emotion had them worried, and Gloria’s ears had perked up when Theresa mentioned the foreign money. Maybe Lulu was planning a trip abroad. After last week’s bizarre events, maybe Lulu was ready to talk about what was really going on.
Gloria was waiting curbside when Theresa pulled up. She held a Tupperware pie carrier in her arms. Her cream-colored wool scarf rippled in the steady breeze, flapping against the sleeve of her black tweed coat.
“Ready?” Gloria asked, tucking the scarf snugly inside the coat.
“I think so. Did you call her?”
“I did, and she sounded really quite happy to have us visit. I’m surprised, after her aloofness at the park.”
Theresa pulled a face. “I am too. Let’s go then.”
The steamy warmth of Lulu’s kitchen was welcome. Fresh brewed coffee was waiting. Lulu looked downright cheerful, and the kitchen was now decluttered. Everything was spick and span, as it had been before Ed’s death. Quite the change from only days before.
Pins & Needles (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 5) Page 9
