“You’re working up a real sweat.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s been a danged humid summer, but the dogs don’t seem to mind.”
“I think they’re slowing down though,” Gracie laughed. Two Golden Retrievers were stretched out on their bellies, panting furiously; three mixed breeds and a small beagle were lapping water from a large bowl by the fence.
“Hey, before I forget, that Deputy Stevens stopped by.” Jim mopped his sweaty face with his T-shirt, his well-defined six-pack in full view.
“What did he want?” Gracie was careful to keep her voice measured.
“He said he had information about an old DMV record or something like that. Does that have anything to do with the robbery?”
“Not really. I had a couple of questions about Charlotte’s stuff, so I thought I’d ask him.”
“Come on, Gracie, you need to let that whole thing go. It’s not healthy for you.”
“I’m a big girl, and I can handle it. Something is not right with what happened to Charlotte. Uncle Stan trusted me with all that information, and I’m going to find out what happened. Is he stopping back?”
“He said he might. Listen, Gracie, it was a stupid, awful accident, and the driver didn’t get what he deserved. You’re not going find out anything new now. Let it go.”
“Not your call, Jimmy. Thanks for the advice though.”
Sometimes Jim was a little too protective, but he meant well.
“Whatever. I’ll put the dogs back. I’ve gotta run. I’m meeting Laney. We’re headed for the lake this afternoon. Joe’s coming to feed and bed everybody down around five. You’ll just have to set the alarm.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m hanging out here today with Haley. A dog is always the best company. Have a good time.” Gracie flashed a warm smile. “You’d better shower before you pick up Laney.”
“Nah, good old lake water will take care of it.” He smelled his armpits and made a face. “Pee yew… maybe not.”
“Maybe not indeed, Pepe LePew. You don’t want to scare her off first thing.”
“She’s a farm girl. She can take it.”
“I hope so. Come on, Haley, let’s go.” She opened the outside gate, and the big dog ambled through the gate to the kennel.
Gracie spent the afternoon with the sheaf of printed diary entries and scanned documents. They were scattered over the floor, as she searched for anything that might help identify real names from the King Arthur code.
There didn’t seem to be any more statements in Charlotte’s diary that helped her figure out who Lancelot and Galahad were. She racked her brain to remember Charlotte’s closest friends. Heather Martin came to mind, but she wasn’t sure if she was still in the area. She grabbed her senior yearbook from the bookcase and looked back at the sophomore class to see if any faces clicked. She easily picked out Charlotte on the JV cheerleading squad, along with Heather. She looked through the pictures of the Varsity and Junior Varsity football teams. No players jogged her memory, but then she recognized one. A tall, lanky, blond Matthew Minders stood in the back row.
He had hung around Charlotte, although she had pretty much ignored him. He had been a bench warmer most of the time, only playing when victory was truly out of reach or victory was totally assured. He was the youngest of the four Minders’ children. He might be a possibility, plus her mother had mentioned he’d given the police a partial plate number. She wrote his name in a small spiral notebook, along with Kelly and Heather. Miss Russell stood beside the cheerleading squad. She’d been the coach in the 70s and 80s, and was the 10th grade English teacher. Maybe she was still around, even though she had retired from teaching and coaching several years ago now. The school might know for sure. Another note went in the book.
The phone started ringing again late in the afternoon. Gracie had dozed off on the living room floor, leaning against the sofa. She jerked awake and grabbed the phone that was on the floor. Her mother informed her that the medical examiner was not going to release Uncle Stan’s body today or tomorrow. There were some questions that needed answers before that happened.
“What do you mean he has questions?”
“He’s not really saying. Isabelle is beside herself. She just wants to get the funeral planned.”
“I can imagine.”
So Uncle Stan’s death wasn’t falling neatly into place. Maybe she wasn’t imagining things after all.
“We’re not sure what this means, but hopefully they’ll clear it all up quickly.” Her mother’s voice was weary.
“I hope so too. You sound like you could use some rest.”
“I know. I’m pretty tired.”
“Get some sleep, Mom. You can’t solve all the family crises on your own. I’m sure the medical examiner will figure it out.”
“You’re right. They have to make sure nothing is missed. We’ll just have to wait an extra day or so. It’s just so much to deal with right now.”
“I know, Mom. Please get some rest.”
Gracie heard a car turn into the driveway.
“Somebody’s here. I’d better go. Rest. Go to bed.” Haley was already barking.
“OK. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The car was one Gracie didn’t recognize, but she did recognize the driver. It was Deputy Stevens. What was his first name anyway?
It turned out that Deputy Stevens’ name was Marc with a “c,” and he did have some information on old license plates. He wore a fresh white golf shirt and jeans that looked as good on him as his uniform did. Gracie invited him to sit on the back patio, while she grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and a couple of glasses. Haley was busy smelling his jeans and looking for more of the treats that filled his pockets. His sunglasses were pushed up onto his head, and he stretched out his legs as he settled back in one of the Adirondack chairs.
“Hey, thanks,” Marc said appreciatively when Gracie handed him an icy glass of lemonade. “Just the thing to cut the humidity today. What a summer it’s been.” He took a long, deep drink.
“It sure has been sticky and hot. We’ll probably pay for it this winter. We’ll have six feet of snow from Halloween to April.”
Were they really talking about the weather? Gracie wished the conversation would move to a more relevant topic.
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by like this.”
“Not at all. I’m really glad you did.” Gracie hoped that her T-shirt was clean and her hair presentable. At least she had some makeup today. With any luck, she hadn’t rubbed mascara all over her face.
“Well, there’s good news and bad news on the DMV front. Which do you want first?”
“Might as well get the bad news over with. I’ve had plenty of that this week.”
“Sorry to hear that. More than just the robbery?”
“Plenty more.” Gracie suddenly launched into a litany of the business and personal disasters that had overflowed her life during the last week.
“Uh, wow. I’m really sorry about your uncle and…” Deputy Stevens face looked bewildered and a little overwhelmed. “I didn’t realize…”
Gracie was shocked at herself, that she had just shared a torrent of complaints and grief with a total stranger.
“I’m really sorry. I don’t know where all that came from. I guess it’s the lemonade talking.” She feebly tried to make a joke.
“Sounds like you’ve had a pretty bad week, so a little venting is understandable.” He sat forward in his chair and took another drink from the glass dripping with condensation.
“What’s the bad news then about the DMV?” She was anxious to focus on Charlotte, not her current life.
“Well, the DMV doesn’t keep records that far back, so looking for a partial plate that old is pretty impossible.” He set the empty glass on the small wicker side table.
“I thought that would be the case, so that’s not a big surprise. Is there any good news in any of this?”
“The good news is that, with a little digging, I think I
can find the original incident report without the redactions. Maybe that will help you sort things out.”
“Is that something I can request, or do you have to do that?”
“Since I go in Tuesday morning to catch up on my paperwork, I can do a little research in the office at the same time. If I find it, I’ll make a copy.”
“Thanks, that sounds great.” Then Gracie’s mind flashed to the little snag in getting Uncle Stan’s body released. “On another subject, can you also find out why the medical examiner won’t release my uncle’s body?”
Marc looked surprised as she explained about the holdup in getting the body to the funeral home.
“I’m not sure about that,” he said hesitantly, his eyes narrowing. “Could be a lot of things to delay the release. It happens all the time.”
The moment suddenly seemed awkward, and he stood saying he needed to get going. Gracie felt her face flush. She had the distinct impression she’d scared him with her multiple personal and business issues. Not very smooth. She watched him get into his car and then walked back to the patio door with Haley close at her heels.
“That went well! I’m almost 40, but socially, I’m about 15. I’ve got to get out more. What do you think, girl?”
Haley merely wagged her tail and flopped down in front of the fan on the living room floor.
Chapter 19
Joe Youngers chewed the inside of his cheek. His grandmother had given him the ultimatum. His Uncle Ron was coming to make sure it happened too. He had to get Brad and Carter out within the next week. He knew they’d been on thin ice for a while. He had warned them, but their slovenly habits, odd hours, and rough language were well-ingrained. Joe also knew there would be threats that Brad would not hesitate to carry out. He needed to choose his words carefully.
Carter and Brad were usually together, but Carter came in alone.
“Where’s Brad?” Joe said offhandedly.
“He’s finishing up at the depot. Should be back in a few minutes. There were some kids hanging around he had to deal with.”
Joe’s stomach lurched. So far, there hadn’t been trouble with the local kids. They had been able to store the “inventory” without too much curiosity. They had found a section of the crumbling depot that wasn’t used by transients and dope-smoking kids. It was dry and fairly secure. Joe hoped that Brad wasn’t being too rough, arousing suspicion. He figured he might as well get started on the conversation he dreaded. He cleared his throat and shoved his thin, sinewy hands deep into his jeans pockets.
“You know, I’ve got some stuff to talk to you and Brad about.”
“Whaddaya mean, Joe? You don’t look so good.” Carter stared blandly at Joe.
“It’s my grandmother. She’s not doin’ so well lately. I might have to put her in a home or somethin’.”
“That’s too bad, but we’d have the house to ourselves then, so that would be good, right?” Carter ran his thin hand through the shaggy brown hair that fell haphazardly into his eyes.
“Yeah, but we’ve got a problem. My uncle is coming to stay for a while, and he’s not going to like you and Brad living here. You’re going to have to…”
Brad came through the front door. His shaved head was streaked with dirt and his AC/DC black T-shirt clung to his bulky torso.
“Have to do what?” he demanded.
Joe swallowed hard. He casually stepped nearer to the back door, hoping to give himself room to run if necessary.
“It’s not what I want, but you guys have to move out, for a while anyway. My uncle could cause a lot of problems. He’s a retired state trooper.”
“Where’d we go? Your uncle is just going to have to deal with it.” Brad’s brown eyes were sharp and belligerent.
“You’re goin’ to have to find somethin’. You don’t know my uncle. He doesn’t mess around, and he wouldn’t think twice about puttin’ us all back in prison.”
“Maybe we can just take care of that problem.” He flexed his right arm, well-developed muscles popping.
“Hey, Brad, I don’t want to go back to prison. We can find something.” Carter was getting nervous. The mention of a cop in the house didn’t appeal to him at all.
“Call that program that got me hooked up, you know…Second Chances.” Joe tried to sound hopeful.
“That old bag, the preacher’s wife, is a nut case. What good will she do?” Brad was sneering.
“She’s a little loony, but she’s got connections. She can probably find you a place to stay for a while.” Joe was getting desperate.
“Come on, Brad, we can check it out. I really don’t want any trouble.” Carter was looking more anxious. He wiped sweaty hands on his faded jeans.
“Well, I guess we can check it out and see. She might set us up with a good situation like you. You’re still in this, Joe. I’m expectin’ you to keep us in the loop.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about that. If you’re outta here, it’ll be easier to keep things quiet.” Joe was starting to feel a little more relieved. He grabbed a can of beer for each of them from the dingy white refrigerator and headed to the back porch.
“To better days,” Joe said lightly, raising the can to the air.
“Yeah, whatever,” growled Brad.
Carter drank his beer slowly, watching a stray cat saunter across the yard. He grabbed the pellet gun propped against the house.
“Watch this.” He quickly took aim and shot the gray cat in the head. It fell to the ground, spasmed, and then lay still.
“Not bad, Carter.” Brad was smirking and then crumpled the empty can in his paw-like hand.
Joe winced and stretched out arms on the weathered railing. White paint chips, flaking off the porch railing, speckled the dirt below.
“Hey, take care of that before my grandmother sees it. She feeds those strays, you know.”
“Maybe she’ll just have to boo-hoo over this one,” Brad sneered.
“Yeah, that’ll teach her,” Carter snorted.
“Just take care of it. I gotta go to work.” Joe said. He suddenly felt weak and shaky. “The shovel is in the shed.”
“Sure thing, boss. Make sure you come back with some fresh info tonight.” Brad took his crumpled can and twisted it in half.
Chapter 20
Gracie sat straight up in bed, gasping for air, as if she had been underwater. She was running through the hayfield, trying to get to Michael. The rear tractor tires were spinning in the air as it lay upside down. Everything was slow motion, and she couldn’t reach the tractor. Michael’s voice kept calling for her, but her legs were like lead. She kept running, never making enough progress to get to the tractor. When she looked down, she wasn’t running through grass, but mud that was knee high.
She looked at the clock. It was 5:30, and she needed to get up anyway. She hadn’t had that nightmare for many months, and now it was back. The hot, sharp spray of water from the showerhead felt good on her face, as she tried to wash away the horror of the dream and the memories of real life. Maybe it had been stupid to flush the medication. There had to be an emergency stash of pills somewhere in her desk or purse. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. I am fine,” she told herself, rinsing the shampoo from her hair.
Jim and Gracie shuffled four applications between them as they sat in the office, discussing the best choice.
“Here’s the one I like,” she said pushing the paper to Jim.
“Cheryl Stone?” He scanned her resume and application.
“Yeah, she’s got the most experience with dogs. She takes overflow dogs from the county shelter, teaches 4-H dog obedience, and isn’t a criminal.”
“You can’t blame Mrs. Minders for trying.” Jim adjusted the Yankees cap on his head and leaned back in the black task chair.
“I guess not, but those two she sent over yesterday were pretty bad. The one with the messy hair wasn’t especially bright, and Haley didn’t like him. Always trust a dog’s instincts about people.”
“I’ll go along with you on that one; Carter was his name, I think. The other one wasn’t too bad though. At least he had some animal experience.” Jim smiled, anticipating Gracie’s response.
“Turtles and canaries don’t count. Neither one is a mammal.” She looked up from the last application and saw Jim’s grin. “OK, who do you think?” Gracie said teasingly with hands on her hips.
“I say call Cheryl Stone. See if she can start this week.”
“Good, at least we agree on this one. Isn’t Joe’s review coming up today or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, I guess. He’s doing fine. He’s caught on to everything I’ve asked him to do. He’s on time every day, and he’s willing to work weekends. Any complaints on your side?”
“None that I can put my finger on. It’s just a feeling I have. But he was in church with his grandmother Sunday, so maybe I’ve been too hard on him. Watch him though; I just don’t trust him completely.”
“Right, Chief.” With a quick salute, Jim was out the door, whistling American Pie.
Marian stuck her head in the doorway, pointing to the portable phone in her hand.
“It’s your Mom, Gracie. I think they’ve got the funeral set.”
“Thanks, Marian. I’ll take it in here.” Gracie picked up the receiver and punched the blinking button.
But the funeral wasn’t set, according to her mother. It was Wednesday and still no Uncle Stan to bury. Isabelle was fuming about the incompetence of the medical examiner and the impropriety of not being able to lay her father to rest. The latest development was that the sheriff’s department was doing a little more investigation. The M.E. found some unexplained bruising, and there was a minimal amount of alcohol in his system. He was ruling it a suspicious death.
Family Matters (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 1) Page 11
