“Hmph, just ’cause I’m a dirt farmer don’t mean I don’t wipe my feet ’fore coming into a fine building like the Town Hall. My twice-great uncle helped lay the bricks on the Town Hall back in the eighteen hundreds. It’s a historic monument deserving of some respect.”
“Yes, it’s the centerpiece of our lovely little town,” Maddy agreed, smiling down at her granddaughter. It wouldn’t hurt Agnes to learn some civic pride. Coming from Los Angeles, she didn’t have much to latch onto. That city was like the House That Jack Built, a little of this, a little of that, no common heritage like you found in Caruthers Corners.
“Hope you find the Colonel. I know your husband would be heartbroken if it stays missing. T’was him what put up the five hundred dollars to buy that marble pedestal it sat on, y’ know.”
“Really?” As a matter of fact, she didn’t know that. Her husband had been keeping secrets. Was it because he knew she held that old bronze bust in such disdain? Her view of the early forefathers – as scallywags and thieves who stole the land from its rightful owners – was well known. That’s why her best friend Cookie Brown had never asked her to join the Caruthers Corners Historical Society.
“Beau takes pride in his ancestry. Guess that’s ’cause he’s named after one of the town founders.”
“Yes, my husband values the past,” she admitted.
“We’ve got one more shoe size to go, Grammy,” urged Agnes, getting impatient. It was obvious that Benjamin Bentley wasn’t going to confess to stealing the bronze bust.
≈≈≈
Last stop in their quest was at the Duncan household on the edge of town, a stately abode on Jinks Lane, a shady residential street named after the third town founder. Beauregard Madison, Jacob Caruthers, and Ferdinand Jinks had established this little outpost, but you didn’t hear much about Jinks other than this narrow street named after him. He was something of a Black Sheep, having burned down the original Town Hall in a dispute with Madison and Caruthers.
Denny Duncan was sitting in the porch swing waiting for them. His father had called ahead. He was a big fellow, but not quite as tall as Tall Paul. His smile was quick and easy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Dad said you think I stole the bronze head of ol’ Colonel Madison,” he greeted them.
“No, no. We’re just asking a few questions,” backtracked Maddy. Agnes was standing behind her, somewhat intimidated by this lanky beanpole, much taller than Ben Bentley, although a few inches shorter than Tall Paul Johnson.
“Chief Purdue has cleared me as a suspect,” he informed them.
“I figured you’d be innocent, else your father wouldn’t have given us your name so willingly.”
“Yessum, I’ve got an ironclad alibi.”
“How nice. That saves a lot of questions. Mind telling us about your alibi?”
“Well, it’s kinda embarrassing,” Denny said shyly. “Of a personal nature.”
“We promise to be discreet.”
“Well, just to clear my name I’ll tell you. I was in jail.”
“Jail?” Did he mean that rarely used holding cell in the back of the police office?
“Ask Chief Purdue. He threw me in the hoosegow overnight to teach me a lesson. I’d chalked up four hundred and eighty unpaid parking tickets.”
“So you were locked up the night of the robbery?”
“That’s right, ma’am. Paying my debt to society. That debt being nearly five thousand dollars in parking tickets. Chief wiped ’em off the books, saying I’d served my time.”
“Parking’s only ten cents a half hour,” she reminded him. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to put a dime in the meter?”
“I never seem to have any change on me,” he shrugged.
≈≈≈
“Grammy and I are gonna catch the thief who stole your statue,” said Agnes to her grandfather. The family was gathered around the dinner table, Agnes chowing down on a large helping of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
“Do tell?” said Beau. Amazed at the transformation from last night’s sullen urchin to this hungry Nancy Drew across the table.
Of course it didn’t hurt that Maddy had encouraged her to secretly call her father that morning. Being a mother and grandmother made Maddy especially protective of her loved ones. And though she really hated what that pompous man had done to her daughter, she knew that without some sort of contact with her dad Agnes would be a lost and angry child. So she butted in like she always did when she felt she knew best … but things were stressful enough at the moment, so no need to tell her daughter yet.
“That’s right, Grampy. The Quilter’s Club is on the case.”
“Quilter’s Club?” repeated Agnes’ mother, fork paused in midair.
“I’m an apprentice member. Grammy and Lizzie and Cookie and Bootsie are teaching me how to sew my very own quilt. It’s loads of fun. But nothing like crime solving. I might become a detective when I grow up – like Grammy.”
“So Grammy’s a detective,” said Beauregard Madison, looking quizzically at his wife of forty years. “I learn something new every day.”
Chapter Six
History Is Just Old News
Cookie Brown phoned the next morning. “As you know, I’m secretary of the Caruthers Corners Historical Society,” she began the conversation.
Maddy sighed. “Cookie, we’ve been best friends since the third grade. There’s very little I don’t know about you. Including that time in high school you stole the history exam and passed out copies to the entire class.”
“Oh piffle, that was a lame class. It should have covered more local history.”
“So what’s this about you and the Historical Society?” Maddy tried to stir the conversation back on track.
“That’s why I’m calling. All that talk yesterday about Colonel Madison’s bust reminded me of something. A document I came across in the society’s archives.”
“You have archives?”
“Well, it’s a filing cabinet filled with old papers, deeds, letters, newspapers, and other historical documents.”
“And what was this amazing discovery?”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I’m trying to help you find the thief of that old bust. Your granddaughter seems to think we’ve promised to solve the crime.”
Maddy chuckled at the memory of Agnes’ excitement at last night’s dinner table. “Yes, she seems to have mistaken me for Miss Marple.”
“Then she will find this tidbit interesting. I came across an old newspaper account about the relatives of Ferdinand Jinks protesting that their ancestor had been written out of the town’s history. They pointed out that the town bears Caruthers’ name. And Beauregard Madison’s bust sits in the Town Hall. But nary a mention of Jinks.”
“There’s a street named after him.”
“Actually the street was named after his nephew, Jeremiah Jinks. He was a prominent banker at the turn of the century.”
“Oh.”
“Perhaps one of Ferdinand Jinks’ relatives is trying to even the score,” postulated her friend. “Stole the bust out of spite.”
Maddy stared at the phone, considering this new info. “Does Jinks have any living relatives hereabouts?”
“That’s the interesting part. I checked the old genealogy charts and it turns out that Tall Paul Johnson is a direct descendant on his mother’s side.”
“We just spoke with Tall Paul yesterday. He claimed he’s never set foot inside the Town Hall.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” chanted Cookie’s voice, sounding distant over the phone lines. “I have a photograph here in the archives that shows Tall Paul at the ceremony where your husband donated that bronze bust to the town. You can’t miss him in the photo. He stands heads above the rest of the crowd.”
“You mean he lied straight to my face?”
“Looks like it. Doesn’t that make him a likely suspect?”
≈≈≈
“Sure, I recall Paul Johnson being at the dedication ceremony,” re
plied Maddy’s husband. She’d dragged Agnes down to Ace Hardware to ask him about Cookie’s bombshell.
“Did you know he’s a descendant of Ferdinand Jinks?” she continued her inquisition.
“Everybody knows that.”
“I didn’t.”
“Maddy, you could care less about town history.”
“True. But this proves Tall Paul stole the statue.”
“How so?”
“He wears a size fourteen shoe, just like the footprint found by Chief Purdue. And he’s a disgruntled ancestor of a man who didn’t get proper credit for helping found this town.”
Beau kept stocking his shelves, arranging boxes of wood screws in a straight row. Just as well that Maddy couldn’t see the smile on his face. “I’m afraid you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion,” he said. “Tall Paul couldn’t have done it.”
“And why not?”
“He broke his big toe last week. Can’t walk without crutches. And can’t bear any weight on his left foot.”
“Left foot?”
“Yep, that muddy footprint was made by a left foot, Jim said.”
Darn, why hadn’t she noticed that injured toe? Come to think of it, Tall Paul Johnson hadn’t bothered to stand up when they dropped by to see him.
“How did he hurt his toe?” Agnes asked.
Beau glanced over his shoulder at his granddaughter. “Stuck it under a lawnmower, he told Jim.”
“Isn’t it early in the year to be mowing lawns?” This from a city kid who had never seen many lawns, much less mowed one.
Her grandfather paused, then turned to face her. “Guess it is, at that.”
“Aha!” said Maddy, as if they had uncovered another clue.
Chapter Seven
“I’ve got a Dog and His Name is Tige”
Maddy was driving home when her granddaughter screamed, “Stop!” Without thinking, she hit the breaks, causing the SUV to fishtail in the middle of Main Street. Luckily, there were no cars in the oncoming lane.
“My goodness, what was that about?” demanded Maddy, her heart beating a staccato rhythm. Ratty-tat-tat like Gene Krupa’s drums.
“A dog. I saw a dog.”
“Dear, there are lots of dogs hereabout. Everybody has one.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh?”
“That dog back there. It was tied to a sign. Said, Give this puppy a good home.”
Maddy was about to say that Agnes barely had a home herself, her mother and her having been discarded like an unwanted pair of shoes by that tax shark she called a father. But she caught her tongue in time to say, “Would you like to have that dog?”
“Oh, Grammy! Could I?”
“I don’t see why not. If you promise to take care of him. Feed him, brush the tangles out of his fur.”
“Yes, I promise!”
Easing the car into reverse, Maddy backed down the block to where a dog of mixed heritage sat next to a sign advertising his availability. A thin woman came out of the modest one-story house that cast its shadow on dog and sign. “May I help you?” she called to her visitors.
“You’re giving this dog away?” inquired Maddy, trying to sound casual. No need to appear eager, lest the price might go up.
“To a good home. We’re moving to Indy. My husband took a job there. We’ve rented an apartment what don’t allow no pets.”
“How much do you want for him?”
The old woman eyed the little girl by Maddy’s side. “For her?”
“Yes,” said Agnes. “And I’ll give him a good home.”
“Dogs need a lot of love and care and he will be counting on you to give it to him.”
“Oh I’ll take really good care of him!” said Agnes with an excited grin on her face. “I’m almost ten and a half and my mom has taught me to be responsible.”
“Then you can have him, young missy. He’s yours. No charge.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Agnes hugged the shaggy dog, causing his tail to wag like a metronome while he covered her face with wet and sloppy dog kisses. It was a case of instant bonding.
“He’ll be well cared for,” Maddy assured the old woman.
“Oh, I’m sure-a that. I recognize you, Mrs. Beauregard Madison the Fourth. You’re one of this town’s leading citizens, you are.”
“Well, not really – ”
“Oh, yes. You live in that big Victorian mansion over on Melon Pickers Row. Reckon this dog’s gonna be living better’n me.”
“What’s his name?” asked Agnes, ignoring the banter between her Grammy and this generous dog-giver.
The woman looked down at the mixed-breed canine. “Guess he ain’t got one. He was last of the litter. We didn’t get around to naming him.”
“Then I’ll give him a name. But what?”
Maddy spoke up before she realized it. “I once had a dog named Tige.”
“Tige? That’s a funny name.”
“That was the name of Buster Brown’s dog,” the thin woman laughed. “I remember the rhyme. He and his master lived in a shoe.”
“Lived in a shoe?” said Agnes. “How silly.”
“Well, Buster Brown was a brand of shoe,” her grandmother explained. “And the advertisements featured him and his dog Tige.”
“C’mon, Tige, get in the car,” commanded Agnes. “You won’t have to live in a shoe no more!”
≈≈≈
“A dog!” shrieked Tilly. “You bought my daughter a dog?”
“Well, we didn’t actually buy him,” Maddy tried to explain, not sure that she could truly excuse her impulsive act. “He was free.”
“Pleeeeease don’t be mad, momma.” Agnes begged. Tige is my new best friend,” and he needs a good home.” She was rolling on the floor with the yapping animal. They were having great fun, getting to know one another. “Look, he’s already trained. He can roll over. And shake. And even play dead.”
The dog followed her commands. Ending up on his back, feet in the air.
“Very good,” applauded Maddy.
“We can’t have a dog,” protested Tilly. “I can barely care for Agnes and myself.”
“Don’t worry, mommy. I’ll take really good care of Tige. Feed him and water him and take him for lots of walks. And if Grammy and Grampy will let me earn a little extra money, I’ll even help buy his dog food!”
“Mother, how could you do this to me?”
“To you? This was something for my granddaughter.”
“Oh, pish.” Tilly wasn’t very happy about the matter. But Maddy knew her decision had been the right one and it was easier to apologize than ask permission. Her daughter would come around.
“Yes,” gushed Agnes, still wallowing with her new pet. “Grammy got me a dog of my very own. And his name is Tige, just like Buster Poindexter’s dog.”
“Buster Brown,” corrected Maddy, having no clue who this Poindexter character might be. Probably some rock ’n roll singer, she’d hazard to guess.
“Yes, Buster Brown. Thank you, Grammy. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Agnes.”
“Call me Aggie. All my best-est friends do.”
Chapter Eight
A Visit to the Land of the Dead
Cookie Brown wanted Maddy to accompany her to the cemetery that afternoon. This being the second anniversary of her husband Bob’s passing, she wanted to place flowers on the grave. Having her good friend along helped because Maddy had know Bob for as many years as Cookie had.
“Can I go along,” begged Agnes. “Please, oh please.”
“Yes, if you promise to be quiet. A cemetery is the final resting place for people. And it’s respectful to not make unnecessary noise.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t wake the dead.”
“Aggie!”
“Just kidding, Grammy.”
“Get your coat. It’s chilly.”
The girl grabbed her Lands End slicker. “C’mon, Tige,” she called.
“On no, dear. Tige can’t go
.”
A frown crossed the youngster’s face. “Why not? He’ll be quiet.”
Maddy recalled her father’s words. “No dogs allowed in the cemetery,” she said. “Folks don’t want your puppy running off with a bone.”
“Oh, Grammy. Pleas-s-se. Tige won’t dig up any bones at Pleasant Glade. I promise he won’t.”
Briefly, Maddy remembered her own childhood disappointment at having to leave her dog behind. “Oh, okay. But don’t tell anybody. We’re breaking all the rules.”
Cookie was waiting for them near the big iron gate that separated the living from the dead. Pleasant Glade was a rolling expanse of well-manicured grass, spackled with marble headstones and the occasional crypt. The name “Pleasant Glade” had been bestowed back in the ’40s when a commercial enterprise took over the town cemetery, but some of the tombstones dated back to the 1800s.
As a child, Maddy had enjoyed reading the engraved epitaphs: “It Was More Than a Tummy Ache” and “Gone But Not Forgotten,” with her favorite being “I Enjoyed the Brief Visit!”
“You brought a puppy?” exclaimed Cookie, gesturing toward the sign posted on the iron gate:No Dogs Allowed.
“Shhhh, don’t tell anybody,” replied Maddy. As if the dog’s presence was a state secret.
“He’s on a leash,” Agnes pointed out, as if that constituted an exception.
“Oh well, come along. Bob’s waiting.”
Agnes glanced nervously at her grandmother. “I thought you said he was dead.”
“It’s just an expression, my dear,” clarified Cookie as she led them down a winding path. “Even I realize my Bob isn’t coming back. But when I visit his grave I like to think that I’m visiting his spirit, too. Understand? ”
“I think so” Agnes replied tentatively as she picked up her pace, not lagging back now that she’d been reassured a zombie version of Bob Brown wasn’t waiting to greet them at the end of the path.
1 The Underhanded Stitch Page 3
