A bulging brown paper sack leaned against a box nearby. I walked over and grabbed it next. Disappointment gnawed at me as I pulled out a pale pink robe and a pair of slippers.
Maybe the suitcase held something more interesting. Gramps had crammed a lot of stuff in it. There were some clothes, but mostly it was filled with old magazines. I fanned through the colorful stack. A couple photographs fell to the attic floor. I picked one up. It was of a young guy who looked sort of familiar. I stared at it for a couple moments before I realized it was Gramps—but a young Gramps. He held a suitcase in one hand and had his other arm wrapped around a lady wearing an orange-and-white striped dress and a floppy hat. She was almost as tall as he was. They stood on a tarmac, smiling. It must’ve been taken back in the day when you walked outside to get on a plane.
The lady’s orange suitcase was at her feet and something—also bright orange—was slung over her shoulder. I could just make out the letters TG written on the lower left corner of both the bag and suitcase. TG? Tabby Goodman? I’d never seen any pictures of her before.
I held it up to Gramps. “Is this Tab—I mean Gran? And what’s that thing draped across her?”
Gramps looked up from his box. A smile formed across his face as he nodded. “Yes. That’s her. That was taken as we were leaving on our honeymoon.” He chuckled. “And that’s a camera bag she’s got. You don’t really see too many of those these days with everyone using phones to take pictures.”
“Oh, I’d love to see that, Coop.” Mama dropped the armful of dresses she’d pulled from the trunk and waved me over.
I handed her the photo.
“Very pretty.” She glanced to Gramps. “She was a classy dresser.”
“That was Tabby for you,” he said. “Looked like she stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine. Always wore hats outside too. Never did understand women’s obsession with hats,” he said under his breath.
Mama tapped the photo. “She’s wearing a Giovanni Rue design in this picture.”
“A what?” said Tick.
Mama pointed to Tabby’s dress. “The buttons are the giveaway—they’re a Giovanni Rue trademark. Each dress design had its own special style of buttons, and they were always inscribed with his initials. Very expensive.”
Tick raised his brow. “How the heck do you know that?”
“I haven’t always been a coffee shop owner, now have I? Once upon a time, when I was going to college with no idea of what I wanted to be, I majored in fashion. I just don’t gab on about it, that’s all.”
“How expensive?” Tick asked, gesturing to the photo.
Mama cocked her head. “The label was all the rage, particularly for high-society women. People paid over a thousand dollars back then, and nowadays an authentic Giovanni Rue dress will cost you a month’s salary.”
“For a dress?” I muttered, walking back to the suitcase. “No wonder Liberty doesn’t like them.”
Tick turned to Gramps. “Did you buy her that?”
“No. But she had nice clothes. Her folks were well off.” He pointed to the photo that had been returned to me. “That dress there was her favorite—she loved the color orange.”
That explained the camera bag and suitcase.
Mama gently picked through the clothes in the trunk. “I don’t see it here—but these are all gorgeous. Didn’t you wonder why she would leave so many expensive clothes behind?”
“I hoped she’d be coming back. She didn’t write that she was leaving for good. Just that small-town life was smothering her and she needed to get away.”
I picked up the other photo that had dropped from the magazines. It was also of Tabby. She looked so happy. I ran my fingers over the photograph. Daddy got his smile from her. His eyes too. And neither of them were in my life.
A gold chain hung around her neck. I brought the photo closer. A green stone with maybe diamonds surrounding it dangled from a clasp at the bottom. The whole thing was about the size of nickel. I wondered which cost more—an emerald necklace or some dumb dress.
I reloaded all the items except for the two pictures back into the box. I wanted to keep them.
“These clothes are beautiful.” Mama pulled a pale-pink dress from the trunk and held it against her body. “She must’ve looked stunning in this.”
Gramps looked up. “That was also one of her favorites. She was a sight.” He gazed at the dress as if he could still see her in it. Then he cleared his throat, pushed aside his box, and reached for the next one. “Coop, this box is your dad’s,” he said reading the words on top. “Looks like it got mixed up with Tabby’s stuff.”
I jumped and rushed toward Gramps, whacking my leg against an old chair, but I didn’t care. Anything that belonged to Daddy was worth a bruised shin. Gramps grunted as he lifted and handed it to me. He frowned at my head. “You need a haircut,” he muttered, before turning his attention to another of Tabby’s boxes.
It wasn’t a big box, but it was heavy. Steven’s Books was scrawled across the top. I set it on the floor and yanked open the flaps. Hardy Boys mysteries. “Cool,” I breathed. Mysteries were my favorite and knowing these belonged to Daddy made them even more awesome. “They’re books, Mama.”
“Wonderful,” she murmured.
I wasn’t sure if she meant the discovery of Daddy’s books or if she was referring to another dress she’d just pulled from the trunk.
I turned to Gramps. “Can I keep these in my room? Please?”
“Sure,” he grunted, digging through more stuff.
I picked up the two photos of Tabby and slid them into the middle of one of the mysteries so they wouldn’t wrinkle, then set the box aside to carry downstairs once we were finished.
“Doc,” Tick pulled a couple hats out from a trunk and placed them on the ground. “Was there ever an investigation into Tabby’s disappearance?”
Gramps threw Tick a dirty look. “I did report her missing. But the police said she was an adult and could leave if she wanted.” His fists clenched. “It was so frustrating! Yes, adults can come and go as they please, but I knew something was wrong. I knew it. And no one would believe me.”
Tick nodded. “It’s hard to investigate missing persons when they’re adults. ’Specially if they packed and left a note saying they were leaving.”
“No marriage is perfect, and even if we did have problems,” Gramps shifted his weight, “and I’m not saying we did, mind you—but I never thought she’d leave Steven. She loved him so much.”
“When the police wouldn’t investigate, what did you do?” Tick asked.
“I was frantic to find her. I went to see Ruth Feather. She and Tabby were such good friends. Hoped maybe Tabby had said something to her about where she was headed. But Ruth was too shocked and upset to speak. They’d grown so close, you know.”
That explained why Miss Ruth seemed so sad at the bookstore when Gramps ID’d the ring.
Gramps continued. “Since the police were being useless, I decided to look for her on my own. I even drove to Atlanta—it’s where she was from—and talked to her friends there to see if maybe she had reached out and contacted them. Nobody knew anything.
“I searched for three weeks, but realized I had to get back home to Steven. I was all he had left.” He grabbed another box, knelt down, and unfolded the cardboard flaps. “I followed up with the police in Windy Bottom and begged them to search for her. But same old story. They weren’t going to look for someone who technically wasn’t lost.” He rested back on his heels and shrugged. “So I hired a private investigator to keep on looking. After a year, he gave up. Said if she didn’t want to be found, she wasn’t going to be. And then do you know what he said? Told me to keep an eye on the bank accounts and if there was no movement and no contact made by her for seven years that I could have her declared legally dead.” He huffed. “Some investigator.”
&n
bsp; His face reddened. “I mean, I did think she must be dead, to tell you the truth. I couldn’t see her staying away from Steven if she was still alive. But I could never bring myself to have her declared dead.” He brushed at his eyes.
Mama’s face fell. “Oh, Harley. I’m so sorry. Here I am prattling on about fashion and—and, you’re…”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“What about her parents?” asked Tick. “Did they search for her?”
“Her parents died before we married. Her father was in the shipping business. But she had her father’s lawyer sell the company.”
“So she was quite wealthy?” Tick asked.
“She didn’t really care much about money,” Gramps said. “Didn’t ever put on airs. She did like buying expensive clothes, though.”
He pointed to the trunk at Mama’s feet. “You should have all these. Tabby would want that.” He swiped at his eyes. “There! Two good things. You got some fancy dresses,” he said to Mama. “And you,” he said to me, “got some of your daddy’s books.” He then glanced at Tick. “I sure don’t need Tabby’s dresses, but I’d like to keep her necklace. I gave it to her on our first wedding anniversary. That and the ring. Can you get those back for me when you’re done processing everything at…the crime scene?” He pulled a hankie from his back pocket.
Tick’s brow furrowed. “We didn’t find a necklace.”
“You must have. She never took it off. Never.”
“Can you describe it?” Tick pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped it open.
Gramps rubbed his face. “It was an emerald surrounded by small diamonds.”
I pulled out the Hardy Boys book and looked again. Yep. I snapped a picture with my phone so I’d have a copy, then took the photo to Gramps. “Is this the necklace?”
He looked. “That’s it.”
“Can I borrow that, Doc?” Tick asked.
“Whatever helps. I know she didn’t leave the necklace behind when she left. And if it wasn’t in the grave, then where is it?”
“I’ll have a couple officers check with local pawnshops to review their records. It’s a long shot after all these years, but maybe…”
Chapter 10
Tick scooted a box aside and grabbed another. “Did Tabby have any enemies, Harley? Anyone ever threaten her?”
Gramps frowned. “Everyone liked Tabby. She was kind, funny, generous.”
“What about before you moved back to Windy Bottom? Any troubles?”
“We were college students. The most trouble we got into was missing class.”
We all fell silent for a bit—three of us digging through boxes and one of us digging through old memories.
“Ah-ha!” Gramps held up a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper. He stood and stepped away from the wooden shoebox-sized box in front of him. “Here it is—in with the stuff from her nightstand.”
“Careful,” said Tick. He picked a handkerchief from the trunk at his feet and gently took the letter from Gramps. “It may be old, but it’s still evidence.” He read it out loud.
March 24, 1977
Dear Harley,
I’m not cut out for small-town life. I have to get away. Take care of Steven.
—Tabby
“She certainly kept it short,” said Tick.
Mama nodded. “Hmm. It’s not very sentimental, is it?”
“I’ve read medical lab reports with more emotion,” said Gramps, with a cough. “I tried to convince the police that she would never have left her son in such a casual manner. But they wouldn’t believe me.”
“I’m going to run out and grab an evidence bag from my car. I know it’s been years, but maybe the lab can pull some prints.”
“Fingerprints won’t help you none,” said Gramps. “Everyone and their hound dog handled that letter after she left. I showed it around when I was looking for her.” He coughed again and rubbed his chest. “I must’ve inhaled some dust up here. I need some water.”
We headed back downstairs. Tick set the note on the coffee table and dashed out to his car while Mama walked with Gramps to the kitchen. I pulled my phone out from my back pocket and took a photo of the note. I’d just finished shoving my phone back when Tick reappeared.
* * *
Later, up in my room, I opened my laptop, typed “Beethoven” into the search bar, and waited for the music to play. His stuff somehow always helped me think. I took the box of Hardy Boys mysteries off my desk and set them on the floor. I’d go through them later. Right now I had other important things to do. I grabbed a sheet of paper from my desk.
1. Who wrote the goodbye note? Tabby?
2. Where is Tabby’s emerald necklace?
3. How did she die?
And most importantly,
4. Who killed her and why?
The stairs creaked with footsteps. I grabbed a Hardy Boys mystery from the box and laid it open, covering up my questions. Mama was prone to worry, and if she saw my list she might think I was anxious about Tabby’s murder.
She walked over to my desk and smiled at the opened book. “Clearly you got your love of mysteries from your dad.” Her fingers ran through my hair. “So shaggy.” She bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Today was so long I’m thinking both Friday and Saturday happened. Don’t stay up too late.”
I nodded. “’Night, Mama.”
It was only a smidge after nine o’clock, and there was no way I’d be going to bed soon. The day had been so exciting my brain wouldn’t be able to shut off for hours. I opened a new tab on my computer and typed “pawn shops” in the search bar. For the next hour, as Beethoven’s Fifth blared through my earbuds, I scrolled through, making a list of any pawn shop between Windy Bottom and Atlanta.
I emailed the list to Tick. A couple minutes later, my computer chirped.
Thanks. Also researching when I got your message. You beat me to the punch. Go to bed.
—Tick
Chapter 11
The next morning, Justice and Liberty waited on the top step of my front porch. Mama and Gramps had already left to join the Gordons at A Latté Books. Since the first day of school was Monday, they’d all agreed to let the three of us have this last weekend off.
“Well?” Liberty said, as I opened the front door and let them in.
“Well, what?”
Justice threw his hands up. “Is the skeleton your granny or not?”
“Yes.” I jogged back upstairs, leaving them by the door, probably with their mouths open.
“Wait. What? Really?” Liberty caught up to me. “Stop.” She grabbed my arm. “Does Tick know how she died?”
“Not yet.”
“Is your gramps a suspect?” asked Justice.
I turned around, horrified at the question.
“’Cause, you know,” he stopped on the step behind Liberty, “the police always think the husband or wife did it.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Justice,” said Liberty. “Doc isn’t a suspect.”
“Of course not,” I said, scowling.
“Where is he, anyway?” she asked. “Taking the day off?”
“Nope. At the bookstore.” I passed my room and headed for the attic stairs. “Mama wanted him to stay home, but he said, and I quote, ‘the work will keep me distracted.’”
“Where are you going?” asked Liberty, turning her ball cap backward on her head.
“The attic. There are some boxes I didn’t get to look through last night. Follow me.”
“Boxes?” said Justice.
I told them about looking for the goodbye note and the missing emerald necklace as we climbed the stairs.
“Wow,” breathed Liberty. “An emerald and diamonds, huh? Maybe it was a mugging gone bad.”
“A mugging? In Windy Bottom? And then, whoever it was, took time
to come to the house, write a note, and pack a few clothes?” I shook my head. “Someone in town killed Tabby. I just need to figure out who.”
“Yeah,” said Justice. “Before your grandpa becomes a suspect.”
Liberty raised her brow and surveyed the boxes and trunks. “All this stuff was your granny’s?”
“Yep.” I looked at the mound of boxes. “Maybe there’s something here that can help solve her murder.”
Liberty shrugged. “Dig in, I guess.”
I picked one and Liberty sat cross-legged next to me with a smaller box. Justice walked past us. “I’m going to explore your attic. Then I’ll help.”
“Y’all ready for school on Monday?” I asked, flipping through old holiday cards.
“Yep,” said Liberty.
“Nope,” said Justice from behind an old dresser. “Ever since that incident with Silas’s goat, Miss Grupe’s been out to get me.” He puffed out his cheeks. “I tried telling her nothing good ever came from reading, but did she listen? No.”
Last year, after reading a National Geographic article about a mountain goat’s ability to leap around steep cliffs, Justice and Silas wanted to see how the goats of Windy Bottom faired in comparison. It was a well-known fact that the highest roof gables in town were on Miss Grupe’s house. It took the fire department two hours to corner and remove Silas’s goat, Jeffrey, from Miss Grupe’s roof. Some of her shingles still hung catawampus. But the general consensus afterward was that a Windy Bottom goat would do just fine on a mountain. So the afternoon hadn’t been a total bust.
Liberty huffed. “Just don’t do anything stupid this year, and I reckon you’ll be fine.” She turned to me. “How ’bout you Coop? You ready?”
“Maybe.” My box didn’t hold anything interesting. Just the holiday cards and some old shampoo bottles. I shoved it aside.
Justice circled around to where Liberty and I sat. He narrowed his eyes. “You worried Beauregard Knapp’s gonna be trouble?”
Coop Knows the Scoop Page 5
