The photo showed him a quilt in muted grays and browns, but even on the small screen he could tell it was exceptional. Theo and her friends had trained his eye.
“Was Miss Bessie there when the quilt went missing?” Tony hoped he could solve a case, any case, on this day. Miss Bessie was a local woman who had a habit of picking up things that did not belong to her and replacing them with other items, also purloined.
A slight smile lit Theo’s face, relaxing some of the tension in her jaw. “She was, but the stolen quilt is much too big for her to put in her bag, and besides that, I know she had just traded a pair of pliers for a large spool of variegated thread.”
“Did you see her do it?”
“Yes.” Theo gazed sightlessly into the distance. “She vanished about the same time as the quilt. I forgot about the thread until now. There’s no way she took the quilt. It was too big, and she never makes two trades in the same area.”
“How valuable is the quilt?” Tony knew at least, as a certified appraiser, Theo would certainly be able to help him with that. “I know money can’t replace a work of art or a labor of love, but it will make a difference down the road. When we find it.”
Theo smiled slightly at his emphasis on “when” but the smile quickly faded. “You want to know misdemeanor or felony?”
Tony nodded.
“Definitely felony. Grand theft quilt.” Theo’s eyes filled with tears. “It’s worth at least ten thousand dollars.”
“The FBI has an art theft department.” Tony wondered if he should contact his former partner. Max had gone from Chicago PD to the FBI when he’d finished graduate school. He was definitely not in the art theft group, but would know who to contact.
“Yes,” Theo pleaded. “Please call Max.”
THE COFFIN QUILT SECOND BODY OF CLUES
Block One:
Sew together a 25/8″ square of fabric (A) to one side of 2 5/8″ square of fabric (D). Make 16 sets. Press to darker fabric.
Divide the (A) plus (D) patches into 2 stacks of 8. Rotate one stack to line up opposite colorations. Sew together to make four patch blocks. Press seam to one side. Make 8. Set aside.
Cut the 16 squares 4″ of (C) once on the diagonal. Sew the resulting two triangles onto opposing sides of the (A)+(D) four patches, lining up the long side against the square, with the triangle’s corner lined up opposite center seam. Press to triangle. Trim off “ears.” Repeat on remaining corners. Square should now measure 6 1/2″. Make 8. Set aside.
Sew 2″ wide strips by LOF of fabrics (A) and (B). Press to darker fabric. Make 3. Cut into 6 1/2″ by 31/2″ rectangles., Make 32. On both ends of 16 of the 6 1/2″ strips, sew a 3 1/2″ square of (D). Press toward strips.
Sew remaining (A)+(B) strips—those without squares of (D)—onto opposing sides of the 6 1/2″ pieced center squares, placing (A) along center. Press to (A).
Add the strips with corners (D) to opposing sides, again, placing fabric (A) next to block centers. Press to new strips.
Make 8.
Label Block One and set aside.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tony and Wade asked lots of questions and learned very little about the two people suspected of stealing the quilt. They had not been the focus of anyone’s attention. Hopefully Max would be able to suggest their next move.
A call while they were finishing up had come from Mom Proffitt. She begged Tony to bring the homeless veteran, Boston, to her establishment, The Okay Bar and Bait Shop, when Tony had the time and if he, Boston, wanted to.
It hadn’t been hard to entice Boston to go to the Okay for a free meal, and the task was made even easier since Mouse had been invited as well.
Now Tony watched as Mom Proffitt took one look at Boston and reached out to give him a giant hug. “Welcome. Now get yourself into that room over there. Food will be ready soon. And take that mangy hound with you.”
The moment the man followed her instructions, Mom turned her face away, pulled a tissue from her pocket, and wiped her streaming eyes. When a man, not Boston, bellowed obscenities from the back room she smiled.
“Who is in there?” Wade craned his neck.
“My middle son, Lucas, is home from the Army. Stubborn and broken and miserable.”
Tony wasn’t sure he should be concerned about Boston, but he wasn’t smiling as he looked into Mom’s face. “Aren’t you disturbed by all the yelling?”
Mom shook her head and laughed but the pain didn’t leave her eyes. “At least they’re talking. Those two have much in common. Too much, if I’m any judge at all.”
“But your son is missing an arm.” Wade stated the obvious.
“Yes, and I’ve talked to Boston enough to understand that man is missing more than an arm. Something even more terrible: his soul.” Mom headed toward the kitchen. “Let’s leave them alone for a while.”
Tony and Wade sat at the bar eating a burger and drinking coffee while eavesdropping on the conversation in the next room. Tony wasn’t sure if they were doing the best thing or the worst for the pair of veterans.
“Is that little tyrant your mom?” Boston’s voice carried through a lull in the noise. “You poor devil, having no family’s got to be better than dealing with that little fireball.”
Lucas’s voice was even louder. “At least she doesn’t have fleas like your furry friend.”
“If you don’t like him, quit scratching his ears. You’re about to rub them bald.”
Mom disappeared into the room again with two platters of burgers and double fries and trotted back out without them. “They can throw food at each other for a while.”
Tony felt responsible for bringing Boston into this. The man had no warning what was about to happen. “How long do you plan to keep Boston prisoner here?”
“Not much longer. Give him enough time to eat anyway. Having a free meal won’t hurt him, then you can take him back to wherever he stays. But if he doesn’t come here on his own, will you bring Boston back at the same time tomorrow?” Mom looked into Tony’s eyes. “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing or the wrong thing, but I know in my heart I have to do something. If all those two can find in common is hating me and they join forces and work together on a plan to kill me, so be it.” Mom’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “At least it would be better than watching my son being holed up like this.”
“I’m not abducting Boston again,” Tony warned. “If he doesn’t want to come here, it’s over.”
The words were barely past his lips when the bar’s front door opened too quickly and slammed against the wall. Mrs. Dixon, the veterinarian’s wife, strode in and dropped her keys in front of Mom, ignoring Wade and himself. “Where are they?”
Mom nodded toward her office door.
Mrs. Dixon strode past Mom, opened the door, and went inside, closing the door behind her. “I expect you two slugs, and that Teffeteller boy you’ve been arguing with, to be at my place tomorrow at eight in the morning. Sharp. Or else.” The door opened again and she slammed it closed behind her. It was still vibrating as she reached for her keys and gave Mom a sweet smile. “Sheriff. Wade.” And she was gone as quickly as she arrived.
Mom Proffitt’s jaw sagged, leaving her mouth open. She blinked.
Tony might have followed Mrs. Dixon, but he heard Wade’s whisper.
“There was a female drill instructor at Parris Island that sounded just like that. Scariest person I ever encountered. We couldn’t wait to crawl into the swamp to get away from her.” He looked at the closed door. “You don’t suppose?”
“It’s possible. I think someone told me they’ve been here about five years.” Tony had to smile. He didn’t know how much difference there was between training men and training dogs but guessed Mrs. Dixon was about to shake up three lives, for the better. “I know they came from South Carolina.”
Somewhat rested after lunch, Tony pulled to a stop in front of the law enforcement center, rather than pulling into his private parking bay, and glanced around. He was concerned
his crazy groupie/writer wannabe might park behind him, trapping the Blazer. A careful study of the people and vehicles around him did not contain a blocky woman with brown hair.
He only needed to check a couple of things in his office, and then he’d be back out on the road. As he walked through the main doorway of the law enforcement center, he could hear the sound of a powerful baritone voice singing one of the old-timey country songs, filtered by windows and doors. It immediately caught his attention. Quentin was sobering up.
Flavio, at the desk, pressed the button to unlock the door into his wing. Tony saw a couple of people sitting in the waiting area, probably there to visit an inmate. One of them held a newspaper, high, covering the face. Tony could see it was a woman, blocky, but with blond hair. An obvious wig. Tony hustled through the doorway and pulled the door closed behind him, holding it until it latched and locked.
“I assume I’m not to let her in to see you.” Flavio wasn’t smiling.
“You assume correctly. Just let her sit there.” Tony paused. “If she gets rowdy, you might suggest she make an appointment instead of just showing up expecting personal attention.”
“You’d better go out the back. She doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere else.”
Tony liked to think he was smart enough to follow good advice, so he was careful to slip out the private entrance and drive away from the building instead of going the shorter way. The one that would put his vehicle exactly in her line of sight. He would deal with her later. First he needed to talk to Carl Lee Cashdollar about his father. The young lawyer should be out of the courtroom now.
“Nothing is—was—ever simple with my father.”
Tony thought Carl Lee looked much older than he had the day before. “How do you mean?”
“Planning a trip to the movies was akin to organizing the Normandy invasion. We could never suddenly decide to do it and then just jump into the car and go. It was more, we’re leaving at fourteen oh five and arrive at the theatre at fourteen twelve. Two minutes to get inside, two more to locate appropriate seating.” Carl Lee paused to wipe his streaming eyes and blow his nose. “Sorry. I’m actually surprised at how much his death bothers me.”
Tony hated asking questions of the grieving. “Take your time.”
Carl Lee took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “If we wanted popcorn, it was purchased after the correct seats were located, and any long line or slowdown would eliminate the possibility of treats.”
“Would you consider his parking off-site for a fly in fishing trip to be in character or not?”
“Some of both. That’s what’s most disturbing.” Carl Lee tossed his used tissues into the trash and pulled out two more from the box. “Parking so his car was not likely to get hit, that’s totally normal Franklin Cashdollar behavior. I can remember when I was a kid, sometimes we’d walk ten blocks in the rain to avoid church traffic and the problems he foresaw. You know, like the Sunday traffic in Silersville was so awful.”
Tony smiled. Most Sundays, two dogs standing in the road constituted a traffic jam.
“But I can’t imagine why he’d park there and not plan to drive to the airport. That’s probably not normal.” Carl Lee stared at his hands. “He specifically had me return him to the Land Rover. I assumed he was driving over from there. Otherwise, why not just have me drop him at the airfield? Really. Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
Tony had to agree it would.
Tony decided he was going to have to stop visiting his mother and aunt at their folk museum. He’d no more than arrived when his mom started in and his aunt sang chorus. They were working on plans for their community Halloween party. The two ladies had more complaints than his jail inmates. Bad weather, and no one will come. Good weather, and too many people will come. Pumpkin carving with children—knives or no knives? Candy or popcorn? Afternoon or evening? Free or pay a fee?
“Mom,” said Tony, when his mother paused to breathe. “Listen to yourself. Calm down. The kids will all love coming out here because there’s fun stuff to do, plenty of candy, and they can see everyone’s costumes and be seen without having to watch for traffic.” Tony didn’t mention the lessening of stress it would put on his department. He did say, “I’m frankly delighted to have some of the goblins safe from themselves. Honestly, I’ve seen ten-year-olds practically dive under a moving car to get one more piece of candy.”
“Now I’m afraid that the parents will just drop them and run. I can’t keep track of all those kids.” Jane paced back and forth at a dizzying rate. “It’s not safe, and my insurance surely won’t cover bobbing for apples.”
“No. You can’t.” Tony felt acid drip into his stomach and searched for his antacids; there were none in his shirt pocket. He needed to refill from his jar in the Blazer. “It’s your place, your party. You make the rules and make sure everyone understands. No parent or guardian, no kid. It’s simple.”
He glanced away from his indignant mother to watch his Aunt Martha working with the shared Abernathy slave, young Alvin Tibbles. The teenager and Martha, Alvin’s landlady, were busy lashing together cornstalks for decorations. The barn was being decorated with a combination of seasons—a Halloween meets the autumn harvest theme. Except for the witches and spiders and ghosts in the rafters, they could be getting ready for Thanksgiving.
Martha spoke over her shoulder. “Tell my crazy sister to calm down, everything will be fine, and all we’ll have to do after the party to be ready for the fall festival will be to ditch the ghosts and goblins.”
“I can hear you.” Jane headed toward her sister, worry fighting with irritation in her face.
Tony backed away to get out of the verbal crossfire and unexpectedly stepped in something squishy and slippery. It almost tripped him and he felt like he was going to fall backwards. He barely managed to get both of his feet under him again, just in the nick of time.
A very lucky thing, because he would have fallen into a large galvanized tub already filled with water and apples. “What was that?” He studied the ground until he found the culprit. Under a bit of straw, an exceedingly rotten apple lurked. He scooped it up with his hand and instantly regretted it. It smelled vile and felt worse. “That’s nasty,” he mumbled, but his mother heard him and brought him an old rag.
Hurrying to get the apple goo cleaned off, he turned to study the overall appearance of the decorations. To Tony’s eyes, it looked like everything was shaping up nicely. Add some kids in costumes and some sugar, and it would be a party. A couple of ghosts moaning in the rafters wouldn’t hurt either.
“While you’re here, Marc Antony,” his mom continued. “Will you help your brother hang one of those wooden quilt blocks?”
The square in question was eight feet by eight feet of sturdy plywood. It was part of a new plan by his mom and aunt and wife, plus helpers, to hang these things on barns and buildings all over the county. Climbing a tall ladder and hanging one of the monsters required muscle and planning. He was lacking a really good excuse not to help. “Is Gus ready to leave his wife and daughter and play your games?”
“I just called. He’s over at Food City picking up some groceries. He said he’ll be here by the time you gather everything you need. How long can it take?” Clearly satisfied with her organization, Jane headed out of the barn on another mission.
Tony glowered at her back as she made a self-satisfied exit. He had twisted his shoulder on the last monster they’d hung. He could only hope Gus had developed a less dangerous, or at least less painful, hanging technique.
Sitting at the dinner table, Tony studied his wife’s face. Instead of her sweet, kind of perky face, she seemed a bit misshapen, facially, at dinner. He studied it through bleary eyes as he ate. He was relieved when he finally realized it was her glasses, and not her face, that were wonky.
The ice pack resting on his shoulder was helping ease the pain. “What happened to your glasses?”
“Lizzie happened.” Theo pointed to the fuzzy hai
red toddler who was busy dropping bits of her dinner onto the floor and laughing as Daisy cleaned them up. “She ripped them off my face and threw them on the floor. I have to go to the optician’s in Knoxville tomorrow morning.”
Tony groaned just a bit as he nodded and shifted his ice pack. Their small community lacked certain services. Eyeglass repair was one of them.
Theo’s crooked glasses turned toward him. “Why don’t you and Gus use the county’s bucket truck or whatever it’s called instead of climbing a ladder with those heavy boards?”
Awestruck by his wife’s genius, Tony blinked. He had no answer.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Tony?” The voice coming through his cell phone was a mere whisper, but he didn’t need caller ID to identify it. He’d heard it too many times to fail to recognize it. He’d heard it laugh, cry, whine, and soothe. His wife. “Theo? Why are you whispering? Are you all right?”
“I found the quilt.” Her voice raised just a bit. “The one stolen from the shop.”
“That’s great.” Tony knew his wife had stewed and worried and felt totally responsible for its loss. If she had slept a minute since it vanished, he’d be shocked. “Is it damaged?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t tell from here.”
“Here? Where’s here?” He thought she was calling from her shop. The cell phone number was misleading; she could be calling from China. His stomach rumbled, irritated by the burst of acid brought on by her words.
“I’m in Knoxville. Remember, I came up to get my glasses fixed?” Rattling and a whine came through the earpiece. “The quilt is hanging in a pawn shop window right across the street from the optician’s office. Can you come help me talk to the pawnbroker?”
“Just walk in.” Tony couldn’t imagine this would be a problem. She was actually overthinking this situation for a change. Theo’s normal approach to life was to leap off a cliff and then search for a landing spot. Her reticence only emphasized how much the theft of the quilt had rattled her. “Ask the pawnbroker about the quilt. You know, act like you might be interested in buying it if the owner doesn’t come and redeem it.”
Murder by Gravity Page 14
