“Trees, again.” I tapped my pen on my pad, a little disappointed. The verses seemed to lead us in circles.
“Not just any trees.” Audie reminded us. “The other verse talked about fruit. This verse is talking about the ‘tree of life.’”
“So we’re looking for the Garden of Eden in the middle of Grace Gulch?” Noah was probably rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.
“There are trees in the city park as well.” Nothing like stating the obvious. “In the center of town, where the ants appear.” I wrote down 3:18. Tree of life. “What’s next?”
“I don’t need to look at 13:24. You all know it, too.” Audie’s eyes challenged us.
“Too bad Dad’s not here,” Jenna quipped.
“You know we don’t know the verse. Just go ahead and tell us.” I wasn’t in the mood for one of Audie’s guessing games. “You could probably quote all of these verses if you wanted to.”
“‘He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him.’” Audie quoted the familiar verse.
“Spare the rod, spoil the child.” Noah’s lipped curved. “Somehow that doesn’t seem to apply to clues and codes.”
Jenna found 24:13. “‘Eat honey, my son.’”
“Dustin Murk.” Her name came from several of us at once.
“But what does she have to do with anything?” Noah wanted to know.
“The rest of the verse talks about honeycombs. I think that’s a good guess.”
I added it to my list. “That leaves one more pairing. Twenty-seven and twenty-one.”
Jenna turned back to chapter 21, “‘The sacrifice of the wicked is detestable.’ That’s another one that sounds like Larry Grace, but not a clue.”
Audie found chapter 27 and nodded before quoting the verse. “‘The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but man is tested by the praise he receives.’”
Crucible? Furnace? Gold and silver? Finally, a clue that sounded like a real treasure hunt.
“Do you still teach goldsmithing at the college?” Dina asked Noah.
“Yes.”
Four pairs of eyes trained on him.
“Hey, if my jewelry class is supposed to hold a clue, Brad never told me about it.” His hand shook a tiny bit as he negated the accusation.
We chewed on it some more.
“The bank holds gold and silver, I suppose.” Audie didn’t look convinced. “If we had a fine jewelry store in town. . .”
“Well, there’s Wilbert Murk’s smithy.” Jenna pointed her index finger. “A forge could represent a crucible or a furnace. They both take a lot of heat to soften or melt metal.”
I added notes. 27:21. Gold, silver, crucible, furnace. Jewelry class? Bank? The smithy? My handwriting wobbled. Now that we had interpreted the clues, adrenalin drained out of me and Junior let me know he was ready for bed.
We stared at each other, uncertain what to do next.
“What do you think about going on a picnic at the park tomorrow?” Jenna grinned wickedly. “I’ll bring a salad.”
“Fine. As long as I get to bring the food.”
19
Dick and Lizzie Gaynor had five children: Bertha and Elliott, both born before the land run; Edna, the first baby born in Grace Gulch, followed by Edmond and Terence.
Bertha left town after her marriage to Lester Hardy, a prosperous merchant from Kansas City. After her husband’s death, she returned to the Gulch and took over operations of Lincoln County Dry Goods. Her son Louis scandalized the Gaynor clan by marrying Louella Grace.
From A History of Grace Gulch
Wednesday, September 20
I was joking about bringing lunch, of course. After a week of Gilda’s Chicago cooking, I didn’t want to face one of Jenna’s bean-sprout salads for lunch. Audie and I picked up buffalo burgers from The Gulch.
Since Wednesday was my usual Bible study day with Enid and Suzanne, I called them to make my apologies. We would still make our monthly visit to the nursing home on Thursday.
Shortly after noon, my two sisters, Audie and I gathered at the city park. Originally, the “Mary Grace Park” sat beside the “Lizzie Gaynor Park.” In a rare moment of cooperation between the feuding families, the town council merged the two. Its official name became the “Grace-Gaynor Park,” the only place in Grace Gulch where the two names appeared together.
“Noah couldn’t make it. He has a teachers’ meeting over lunch today.” Dina brought her camera to document our find. “What are we looking for, exactly?” She pointed her camera at a tree and captured a siskin in flight.
“There was that one verse in Proverbs 18 that mentioned a bubbling brook, a fountain and deep waters. And maybe the ‘tree of life.’” We stared at the familiar sights and my bright ideas faded in the light of day.
“We’re looking for clues to Brad’s hiding place, right?” Jenna asked between bites of buffalo meat. “He’s not camping out in the center of town.”
“Is there any way he could get into the pool house?” Dina squinted her eyes. “You know, ‘deep waters’ and all of that?”
We stared at the simple structure. Even I could probably gain entrance after hours, if I was willing to break and enter, that is.
“But where would he go during the day? Somebody would have seen him.” Audie had lived in Grace Gulch long enough to understand how the rumor mill worked. “Sorry, Cici, but I don’t think he’s anywhere near the middle of town.”
I had to agree, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I stood and surveyed the park. C’mon, Junior, help me to see things with new eyes. A playground where I hoped to bring the baby on my lunch hours. The pool which included a children’s wading area. Junior stirred, as if expressing his eagerness to join the fun, and for the moment I wanted to set aside my search for Brad and get on with the business of starting my family. God willing, that wasn’t going to happen today. Flower beds and bushes, inviting games of hide and seek. A single placard stood in front of a copse comprised of the familiar box elders and sweet gum trees. I walked over to read it.
“What is it?” Dina scrambled to join me and snapped a picture as she read it aloud. “‘Mary Grace planted this oak tree from a sapling brought from her home in Abilene for the enjoyment of the citizens of Grace Gulch.’”
“Could this be a ‘tree of life’?” Audie suggested. “A tree providing life for the town?”
“Mary Grace again.” Jenna noted. “We need to go out to the Circle G.”
Everyone looked at me. The friendship between the Howes and the Graces continued unabated, an unexpected blessing after my one-time suitor and I each married someone else.
“I’ll set it up. But we can’t go today. Not with the midweek prayer service.” We didn’t spot anything else of interest and left the park.
That afternoon, I asked Dustin Murk if I could preview the items for offer in the yard sale. She hesitated.
“I promise I’ll pay a fair price.” And resell them for profit, of course. Anything held in storage for years might require restoration. I earned the markup.
“Oh, it’s not that. I trust you. We’re just so busy getting ready for the hayride.”
“You won’t even know I’m there.” She agreed to let me come out on Thursday afternoon, which meant finding someone to mind the store.
At prayer meeting that evening, Enid didn’t comment about the final clue, so I guessed she hadn’t made any progress. Good. The planners had hoped to strike the right degree of difficulty, not too hard, not too easy. At least we intended the clues for our treasure hunt to be interpreted. Brad had hidden his clues without giving anyone the starting point.
Enid did bring up the nursing home. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”
“I wouldn’t miss it! But I need you to do a favor for me.”
Enid agreed to watch the store while I went to the old Kirkendall place—the Murks’ home, I had to keep reminding myself.
My Thursday wardrobe presented a quandary.
I usually wear one of my dressier outfits on nursing home days, but I needed something practical for pawing through boxes. I settled on a yellow cotton dress with a checkered button-down front and belted waistline. It was not only cool and comfortable but also looked good on me—as good as anything did these days.
Gilda interrupted me as I threw together a sandwich to eat on the way. “Don’t bother, dear. I’ll be coming by for lunch.”
I explained about the monthly meeting at the nursing home. Guilt gnawed at me. “Do you want to come with us?” Did I just invite her to join us?
“I’d love to.” Gilda looked as pleased as though I had invited her to an inauguration ball. Here she was, attempting to ease my final weeks of pregnancy and I kept running around looking for Brad. I thought of her loneliness, and her desire to help, and resolved to be a better hostess.
A few minutes before noon the four of us—Enid, Suzanne, Gilda and I—set out for the nursing home. A lady with henna-colored hair welcomed us at the door with her usual greeting. A lovely strand of pearls nestled against her wrinkled neck.
“You again.”
“And how are you, Mrs. Lambert?” I couldn’t blame her for her neutral welcome. On the one hand, I had helped bring her son’s killer to justice in the months before my wedding. I also had restored the strand of pearls and returned it to her. On the other hand—let me just say she had reason to hate me. Memories we would both like to forget bound us together. “Are you going to join us today?” When she nodded, I rolled her wheelchair to the dayroom.
After two years of regular visits, much of my fear of nursing homes had dissipated, replaced by friendship. I could understand why Enid treasured her hours with the sweet elderly saints. The hour flew by as Enid shared a word of scripture and Suzanne gave a dramatic reading.
The folks surprised me by holding a baby shower. Unable to go shopping, they gave me homemade gifts of crocheted baby blankets, knitted sweaters, and hand-sewn crib quilts. The staff pitched in for a basket overflowing with diapers. I was so happy I cried and couldn’t stop.
“Hormones.” The experienced grandmothers nodded their heads. They greeted Gilda as the queen mother, and gave her a place of honor. I overheard her swapping recipes with a couple of ladies. They wouldn’t let me go until I promised to bring the baby by to visit after the birth.
Enid brought the gifts back to the store. I hoped to fill the cargo space in the back of my SUV with finds from Dustin’s attic.
“Isn’t Dustin Murk the one who sells honey?” Gilda asked as I explained my plans for the afternoon. “I was hoping to buy a couple of jars to take home with me.”
She might fill my shelves as well, but I wouldn’t object. I invited her to accompany me.
Before long, we spotted a bright sign announcing Murk Smithy with a smaller logo for Dustin’s Delights. Dust plumed as I turned onto the farm road. The fields lay fallow, and that saddened me a little. Would they sell off their acreage if they didn’t intend to ranch it? That had happened to a number of the old places. Even if I didn’t choose to help Dad run the Crazy W, I hated to see the old traditions disappear. Call me hypocritical.
Other fields overflowed with flowers, and I spotted white humps of beehives scattered here and there. A figure that looked like a space alien in a bee worker suit waved at me and we rumbled to a stop. Dustin trotted over to the fence and took off her helmet. I rolled down the window.
“I got caught up harvesting honey.” She pulled off her gloves. “I’ll be at the house in a few minutes.” The afternoon sun glinted on her head, creating a silvery halo. Her eyes were bright and gleeful. This was a woman I could like, I decided.
A single bee zipped past Dustin and headed straight for my shoulder.
20
Louis Hardy lost the support of the Gaynor family after his scandalous marriage to Louella Grace. Like many other businesses during the Great Depression, Gaynor Dry Goods went out of business. Louis pitched in with Louella at the Grace Gulch Herald and they passed ownership on to their son. (see chapter 2, “The Grace Heirs,” for more on the Herald.)
Elliott Gaynor married Geraldine Kirkendall on statehood day, November 16, 1907, when they were both eighteen. They stayed at the ranch. Of their six children, one died in childhood and two more fled the state during the Dust Bowl years.
From A History of Grace Gulch
Thursday, September 21
“Stay still.”
Dustin’s warning came too late. I slapped at the thing and he protected himself in the only way he could—with his stinger.
“Are you allergic to bee stings?” Dustin shouted through the window.
I shook my head. Not in the sense she meant, although it already hurt.
Dustin pointed down the road and I drove on.
“Don’t you think you should see a doctor?” Gilda asked.
I had already opened my cell phone. No power. I had forgotten to recharge the battery. “I’ll call the doctor from the house.”
A few turns later, I arrived at the old farmhouse. The Murks had trimmed the lawn, repainted the buildings and done other necessary repairs. It looked like a home again, and I was glad.
I checked for bees before I opened the door. The ring of a hammer slammed through the air, and the air smelled of heat and soot. Wilbert’s smithy. The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold. The words of the clue came back to me. What excuse did I have to question him? What would I ask him when I did? Is Brad Merriman hiding out in your house seemed a little absurd.
Dustin arrived a few minutes later and took me into her kitchen where she applied a homemade paste to the sting. The pain eased considerably. She had redone the kitchen with a modernistic feel of steel and glass. It looked more like a lab than a farm kitchen. I wondered if she processed the honey there.
“May I use your phone? My cell died.”
Dustin pointed to a wall unit and I dialed the doctor’s number. He said both Junior and I should both be fine, but he would make sure when I had my checkup in the morning. Call if I developed any symptoms. I was replacing the receiver when I saw a list of names tacked next to the phone. I recognized several as the same teenage customers who hung out at my store last week.
“How are plans for the hayride coming? Some of these kids came by for outfits.” I pointed to her list. “It sounds like fun.”
“Oh, yeah. Plans are coming along great.” Dustin seemed a little disconcerted. “So, are you ready to get started?”
She led me to a room in the back. We passed boxes along the way, so I was surprised when Dustin said, “You wanted to see everything, so here it is.”
A swatch of bright calico caught my eye, and my passion for clothing took possession of me. I settled into a chair and pulled the nearest bag towards me. Calico dresses that could have belonged to Kenneth Kirkendall’s wife spilled out. I vaguely heard Gilda asking about honey, but my attention focused on the treasure trove in front of me. Dustin had unearthed a history of fashion, with originals from the Gay Nineties to the Roaring Twenties and all the way up to the polyester ’70s. I felt like a child in the attic at the Crazy W again, playing dress up with my sisters. This find should keep my store in merchandise well past my maternity leave.
By the time I surfaced from my fashion-induced trance, Dustin had packed a box of honey to send to Chicago and my mother-in-law had disappeared. We haggled a bit over the price. In the end she accepted my price and I agreed to take everything off her hands, including a few items that would go straight to the dump.
“I’ll get Wilbert to help us carry things out to your car.”
At the mention of the blacksmith, visions of flames and molten metal ran through my head, and I scurried outside. A car full of young people including Danielle pulled into the yard. She saw me and glanced away. The driver, a poky-faced boy with too much acne, approached Dustin. “My girlfriend says she wants some honey.” He inclined his head toward Danielle.
Teens, buying honey? Things had changed since my
day. Dustin returned with a box and the car pulled away. “I’m worried about that girl.” I confided my suspicions about Danielle.
“You think she’s into drugs?” Dustin squinted at me as if the possibility had never occurred to her. “Well, if the opportunity ever comes up, I’ll talk to her about it.”
Gilda reappeared at that moment, accompanied by Wilbert. She looked happier than any time since her arrival, almost human. “Thank you for bringing me out here! Mr. Murk has agreed to fashion a set of fireplace tools for me.”
The smithy. My mind groped for an idea. “I was interested in having some old-fashioned door hinges fashioned for my store. Give it more of a vintage feel, you know? Do you have samples I could look at?”
“This way.” He wiped blackened hand on his apron and led me in the direction of the forge. He pointed out several styles, and I made notes. I had considered consulting a blacksmith when I remodeled the store a couple of years ago. I didn’t have to feign interest in his work—he was a true artisan—but I kept sweeping the dark room for any possible hiding places. Nothing.
I decided to take a risk. “I bet Brad Merriman would be interested in your work. You know. One artist to another.”
Wilbert bared his teeth, startling white in his sooty face. “This ain’t art.”
“Did you ever meet Brad?” I persevered.
Wilbert shook his head. He doesn’t say much. Maybe he got out of the habit working around roaring fires all day.
“Well, you should at least teach a class at the community college. I could talk with Noah Brodie for you. He’s the art teacher.” I was half-serious.
The smile faded from Wilbert’s face as quickly as it had appeared. He didn’t appreciate my reference to Noah, but why?
Dustin and Gilda approached, a single jar of honey in Gilda’s hand. “My little secret.”
“Tell me if you decide you want anything.” Wilbert turned his back on me and pumped the bellows. I recognized my cue to leave.
Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 03 - Paint Me a Murder Page 13
