The Underhanded Stitch (Quilters Club Mysteries)

by Marjory Sorrell Rockwell

  Beau hadn’t bothered going to work, leaving customers standing outside the hardware store looking at their watches. Today, busted water pipes and overflowing toilets would have to wait.

  Cookie had brought Ben along, him now conscripted as a crime-solver. Beau didn’t say anything, since he was the one who had got the big troll involved in the first place, helping him hide that bust of Colonel Madison in the family mausoleum.

  Bootsie said her husband wanted them to keep him in the loop, although he couldn’t take an official position, being police chief and all.

  Lizzie didn’t mention her hubby. Folks knew she and Edgar led somewhat separate lives. He was always off hunting or trout fishing, after retiring from his position as bank president. Caruthers Corners Savings and Loan held most of the mortgages in these parts, but Edgar Ridenour was known to be a lenient man, willing to go the extra mile with a customer during hard times.

  Tilly was quiet. She’d talked with her estranged husband late last night, him on California time, and was distressed with his announcement that he was coming to Caruthers Corners to meet with her without any lawyers present. Easier said than done, Mark himself being an attorney with a big L.A. firm.

  “Here goes,” said Maddy as she dialed the telephone. She had the speaker feature turned on so everyone could hear the conversation.

  Rin-n-ng! Rin-n-ng!

  “Acme Costume Supplies,” answered a chipper voice. “We can accommodate your every party.”

  “Yes, this is Madelyn Madison over in Caruthers Corners. I’d like to ask you about a previous purchase.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Satisfaction guaranteed. Did you have a problem with one of our costumes?”

  “No, not me. I want to ask who might have bought a ruby ring from you in the past ten years.” Even to Maddy it sounded ridiculous, as if the clerk could identify one out of thousands of customers in the past decade. This idea of calling Acme was not such a good one, now that she considered it in the bright light of day.

  “A ruby ring, ma’am?”

  “Uh, yes. A gold men’s ring with a red stone.”

  “Do you have it with you?”

  “Yes, it’s right here on the table in front of me.”

  “Good, now pick it up and look inside the band. Right after our name you will see some tiny numbers. Could you read those off?”

  “Oh my, I’ll have to put on my reading glasses. Just a moment. Okay, now I see the numbers. One-ought-seven-seven.”

  “Ah, yes. I have the stock number right here on my computer. We discontinued that line back in ’98. Had a problem with them turning green.”

  “This one’s as shiny as the sun.”

  “Must have been stored in a warm, dark place.”

  Sewn into a quilt hanging over a fireplace probably qualified as warm and dark, she thought. But she said, “Do you have a record of any purchasers?”

  “We didn’t sell very many before getting complains. Here we go, I’ve got the records up. We sold seventy-two in all.”

  “Oh.”

  “But looking at the purchasers, I note that only two have telephone numbers in your area code. We take down the telephone number in case there’s any problem in altering a costume to fit. Our tailoring service is very efficient, but sometimes we get backed up.”

  Bootsie was nudging her. “Ask him who those two were?” she whispered, as if Maddy wasn’t about to do just that.

  “Can you give me their names?” she politely requested. Prepared for some gobbledygook about customer confidentiality.

  But instead he said, “I don’t see any harm in that. We’re talking nearly ten years ago.”

  “Yes – ?”

  “One was a Martin Wentwhistle in Burpyville. The other was Henry Caruthers in Caruthers Corners. Hm, same name as the town.”

  “Yes,” said Maddy. “That’s our mayor.”

  ≈≈≈

  Mayor Henry Caruthers was happy to meet with his constituents, particularly if it was a man whose great-great grandfather had co-founded the town with his own illustrative ancestor, Jacob Abernathy Caruthers.

  “Beauregard, so good to see you,” the mayor greeted his visitor. He always addressed Beau by his full name in recognition of his family heritage.

  “Hello, Lefty.”

  “Heck, nobody calls me that anymore, Beau. Not since I was a southpaw pitcher on the high school baseball team.”

  “Guess you’ll always be Lefty to me. I was your catcher, remember.”

  “Them were the good old days.”

  “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

  “I always have time for my friends and supporters,” the roly-poly man averred. “Especially if they have a lineage that stretches all way back to my great-great grandpappy’s day.”

  “I’ll be brief. Just have a quick question.”

  “Now, now, no need to hurry. Sit down and I’ll have my assistant brew us a cup of tea.”

  “No thanks. I just had lunch.”

  “Well then, have it your own way. But before you bother asking, I have to tell you that having a marble statue of Colonel Madison in the town square would be overkill. We already have that fine bronze bust. It’s important to keep a balance of recognition when it comes to the town founders.”

  “That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I’ve already made arrangements to donate the new marble statue to the Historical Society. Cookie Brown says it would make a good exhibit in their little museum.”

  “You have, you say?”

  “No need to waste a good statue.”

  “No, course not,” the mayor said. But his tone didn’t sound very sincere.

  “I came to return this ring.” He laid the trinket on the desk blotter.

  “W-what’s that?”

  “A ring you bought from Acme Costume Supplies in Indy back in ’98.”

  “Oh yes, I remember it now. Part of the costume I wore for the town Centennial Celebration that year. You may recall, I came as my ancestor Jacob Caruthers, coonskin cap and all.”

  “Question I have for you, how did this ring get inside a quilt at Paul Johnson’s house?”

  “Why, Beauregard, it sounds like you’re accusing me of something. I have no idea what happened to the ring. I misplaced it after the Centennial. Haven’t seen it in years.”

  ≈≈≈

  “Cagey old devil,” Beau said of the mayor. “Wouldn’t admit to his own name in a court of law. He didn’t tell me a darn thing that was useful.”

  “No, Grampy, that’s not so,” responded Agnes. “He said he wore the ring as part of his Centennial costume. But why would Jacob Caruthers be wearing a ruby ring. That ring belonged to either Jinks or the Colonel, but not to Caruthers.”

  “Hm, that’s an interesting point,” acknowledged her grandfather. “Whattaya make of that, Maddy?”

  Agnes’ grandmother gave the girl a hug. “You’re quite a Dick Tracy Crime Stopper, my dear. You’ve just opened up a new line of inquiry.”

  “Who is Dick Tracy?”

  “A comic strip detective,” said Bootsie. “My husband used to read him all the time.”

  “Why would Jacob Caruthers be wearing a ruby ring?” repeated Cookie. “There’s nothing in the Historical Society’s archives that associates him with any such a ring.”

  “Unless – ” said Maddy.

  “Unless?” nudged Lizzie.

  “Unless it was Jacob Caruthers who stole the ring off Colonel Madison’s body, and not Ferdinand Jinks.”

  “But the legends says – ” began Bootsie.

  “Legends are just stories, not necessarily true,” said Maddy. “What if Caruthers spread that rumor to cover up his own crime?”

  “Like they say, history is written by the conquerors,” nodded Cookie.

  “What’s this?” asked Tilly, picking up a scrap of paper from the kitchen floor.

  “Oh, that’s the paper the fake ring was wrapped in,” Lizzie waved it away.

  “But
there’s writing on it,” said Tilly.

  “What?”

  “Writing?”

  “Let me see,” commanded Maddy Madison, reaching for the crumpled paper. She flattened it onto the surface of the table, studying the handwriting.

  Paul Johnson,

  When you read this, you will know that the ring your granny hid here is gone. Since you’ll never see the real thing, take this $10 imitation with my compliments.

  The Rightful Owner

  “This is evidence that Mayor Caruthers stole the ring from Tall Paul,” said Bootsie. She hadn’t been married to a policeman for forty years without picking up a few detecting skills.

  “But we just determined that the mayor’s ancestor stole the ruby ring, not Tall Paul’s,” argued Cookie.

  “This is so confusing,” sighed Lizzie, elbows on the table, head in her hands.

  “You gals may as well call it a day,” advised Beau Madison. “You’re no closer to solving this mystery than when you started. We don’t even know who stole the ring, much less where it is now.”

  “Au contraire, mon mari,” said his wife, a sly smile on her lips.

  “Maddy, we’ve been married all these years and I never knew that you speak French.”

  “Pish, dear. I picked up that phrase watching the PBS channel.”

  “Never mind the French lesson,” said Bootsie. “Exactly what are you trying to tell us, Madelyn Agnes Taylor Madison?”

  “I know who had the real ring.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Arrival of Mark the Shark

  Maddy had lived in Caruthers Corners all her life. She’d grown up in that big Victorian house facing the town square, the one with all the gables. The Taylor family had not been as wealthy as the Caruthers or Madisons, but Maddy had not wanted for pretty clothes or trips to a posh summer camp.

  She had a great time in high school while still managing to make good grades. And even though she “marched to the tune of her own drummer” so to speak, she was always popular – especially with three of the other in-crowd girls (that being Lizzie, Cookie, and Bootsie). So it came as no surprise when she wound up with the prize catch in the county, Beauregard Madison IV.

  They had two fine boys, but Tilly was their only daughter (although Maddy had hoped for more girls). It’d been the happiest day of her life when Tilly married Mark Tidemore, a promising young law student at Ball State University. Little Agnes came a year later, a cute bundle of joy with blue eyes and a quick smile. It was a sad day when Mark moved his family to Los Angeles to accept a junior partnership with a big law firm.

  Now here was Mark Tidemore, standing on Maddy’s doorstep, hat in hand, asking if Tilly was home – just like he used to do when he was dating Tilly. Only now the jeans and T-shirt he wore were brand new – still creased from the store folds. The baseball hat he held was new, too. Probably didn’t have anything besides suites and ties. But he looked like he was happy to be back in clothing that spoke of comfort and home. Seeing him like this again, Maddy could hardly imagine him in those expensive suits that “Mark the Shark” wore.

  “I don’t know that she will see you,” Maddy told him frankly. “Her heart’s broken, you know.”

  “I’ve handled this badly,” he candidly confessed, not able to look his mother-in-law in the eye. “I got wound up with my job, neglected my family. I didn’t take Tilly seriously enough when she threatened to leave if I kept ignoring her and Agnes. I figured everything would be okay once I slowed down the next month. But the next month never came and when Tilly walked out, I was devastated. So I tried to bully her into coming back by threatening to take Agnes. But I’d never do that, Mrs. Madison. I’d never separate Aggie from her mommy.”

  “Come on inside, Mark. No need to stand out here on the doorstep for the neighbors to see. You find a seat in the living room while I go upstairs to see if Tilly’s willing to speak with you.”

  “Mr. Madison’s not home, is he?”

  “Don’t worry about Beau. He’s at work. My husband’s pretty upset with you, but he will behave as a gentleman. It’s part of his breeding.”

  “Thank you, Maddy.” He dared be more familiar, not having had the front door slammed in his face.

  “Don’t think you’re off the hook with me, young man. I don’t share my husband’s good breeding. You hurt my daughter and I’ll tear your heart out and serve it up as main course at the Fourth of July barbecue.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fifteen minutes later Tilly came down the steps, looking every bit as beautiful as the high school girl Mark Tidemore had married. “Hi, Mark,” she said shyly, as if meeting him on a first date.

  “Snookums, I’ve missed you.”

  “Don’t, Mark.”

  “Look, I’ve come out here to make things up to you – a new start.”

  Tilly shook her head, the brown hair brushing her shoulders. “No, Mark, it’s too late. You’ll never change.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Snookums. It’s never too late. We love each other, you know it.”

  “I do still love you, but that’s not enough. You love your job more.”

  “Wrong again. I’ve resigned my partnership at Tatum, Bell and Kaczynski. Cashed out my 401K. Put the townhouse up for sale.”

  “What? I can’t believe you’d ever do that. So are you going to that firm in New York that was calling you all last year?”

  “Nope,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  “Where then?”

  “Here. I’ve going to work here. Caruthers Corners is the perfect place for a new beginning.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mark. What would you do here in Caruthers Corners? Help Dad run the hardware store? You’d be bored in two days.”

  “No, I’ve bought Bartholomew Dingley’s law practice. He was planning on retiring. He accepted my offer just this morning.”

  “You mean – ?”

  “Yes – you, me, and Agnes – together here in Caruthers Corners. And I won’t get bored. Believe it or not, I was getting really tired of those eighty-hour workweeks. Been there, done that. Now I want my life back. I want you and Aggie back.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Evidence Mounts

  Logic prevailed. If Jacob Caruthers stole the ring off Colonel Madison’s body at his wake, it would likely have been passed down through the family to great-great grandson Henry, the current mayor of Caruthers Corners. And he wouldn’t have had to steal it from the quilt.

  However, if “The Rightful Owner” stole the ring from Martha Ray Johnson’s quilt, replacing it with the $10 costume jewelry, then the culprit had to be the mayor. No one else would have had access to that particular ring marked1077 inside the band. That meant the real ring had been in the possession of the Jinks family all those years.

  Maddy considered this second scenario more likely to be the correct one. No disputing the fact that they’d found the fake ring inside the quilt wrapped in an incriminating note. That mean Ferdinand Jinks did steal the ring, just as the legend suggested!

  So far, so good. The mayor had the ruby ring. But knowing who had the real ring did not tell you where it was.

  Nor why Mayor Caruthers considered himself the rightful owner.

  She explained her reasoning to the members of the Quilter’s Club, waiting for someone to pick a hole in it. But no one did.

  “So what do we do next?” asked Bootsie, unwilling to call it quits.

  “Let’s divide up the tasks. Bootsie, you see if you can find out how the mayor might have got access to Tall Paul’s quilt. Swapping that fake ring for the real one couldn’t have been easy.”

  “And me?” asked Cookie, eager for an assignment.

  “You search the Historical Society archives. See if you can find a reason the mayor might consider himself the rightful owner of that ruby ring.”

  “How about me?” Lizzie raised her hand.

  “Lizzie, I want you to figure out where the mayor might keep someth
ing valuable – like a ruby ring.”

  “What can I do, Grammy?” asked Agnes. She’d been left in Maddy’s care while her mother and father shopped for a new home somewhere within the town limits.

  “You get to assist me. We’re going to light a fire under Mayor Caruthers. See if we can smoke out the truth.”

  ≈≈≈

  Cookie was the first to report back. She’d found a passage in Jacob Caruthers’ journal that shed some light on original ownership of the ruby ring. “Listen to this,” she said, then read the entry for May 12, 1829:

  The Red Indians attacked again last night. We sustained heavy losses. I thought myself a goner when my flintlock misfired and I found myself facing a warrior brandishing a tomahawk. The quick thinking of Ferdinand Jinks saved my life. He struck the assailant with the butt of his rifle, even though it too was empty of powder, rendering the bugger unconscious. As a token of thankfulness, I awarded Ferdinand my most valued possession.

  “It has to be the ring,” Cookie tapped the page to make the point. “It was originally Caruthers ring, but he gave it to Jinks.”

  “And Jinks gave it to his fiancée,” Maddy completed the thought. “But she dumped him for Colonel Madison taking the ring with her.”

  “That’s why everybody wanted the ring,” squealed Agnes, unable to contain her excitement. “Mister Jinks wanted his ring back from his girlfriend. And Mayor Caruthers considers himself the rightful owner since it had belonged to his ancestor to begin with.”

  ≈≈≈

  Lizzie was next to come up with information. “My husband Edgar says Henry Caruthers has a safety deposit box at Caruthers Corners Saving and Loan. Edgar remembers the mayor renting the box back in ’98, shortly after the Centennial festivities,”

  “In other words, around the time he bought that fake ring and swapped it for the real one in Tall Paul’s quilt,” surmised Maddy. All the pieces falling into place.