The Darcy & Flora Boxed Set

by Blanche Day Manos

  “Way back before he met your mother, Miz Tucker, he got acquainted with my great grandmother.” Her nervous giggle startled me. “I guess it was what you might call a close relationship. It didn’t last but my grandmother was the result. I’m old Markham’s descendant all right, and I can prove that land you’ve claimed all these years is mine.”

  “Prove it, my eye.” I stood up beside my mother. I wanted this woman out of my sight. How dare she barge into our home and say these ridiculous things? “I think this conversation is over.” I stalked to the door, held it open, and waited for her to leave.

  She stood up. “You’ll be hearing from me, Darcy, Miz Tucker. I think any court in the land will see that the land you’ve claimed for years is rightfully mine. So get used to it.”

  I locked the door behind her and glanced at Mom. She shook her head. “This Eileen person . . . where on earth did she come from, and why did she materialize right now? I just don’t believe a word she said.”

  Mom might not believe Eileen’s story but I did. It had the ring of truth about it. What it meant and why it was all suddenly coming to light, I had no idea. I trailed behind her back to the kitchen.

  “Maybe my mother’s journal will clear up some things,” Mom said, heading for the dining table. “Where is it? It was here just a minute ago.”

  The dining table was bare except for our two empty coffee cups and the copy of the Bible record. The gun and the 1918 journal had disappeared.

  I pointed at the kitchen door. It stood partially open. The noise I had heard had not been Jethro.

  My voice sounded hoarse in my ears. “Someone has been here, Mom. While we were talking to Eileen, someone came through the back door and stole the gun and the journal.”

  The morning sunshine appeared to take on a brassy tinge. I had the feeling that I had stepped into another dimension. What was happening here? Who was the intruder and thief? Who would want an ancient gun and a journal written many years ago?

  It was time to call Grant. These things were happening too fast. They were out of my realm. Since he was the law enforcement person in Ventris County and knew Eileen, maybe he would know what to do. I ran to the telephone.

  Chapter 10

  Grant and his deputy Jim Clendon came into the kitchen. Both men removed their hats and hung them over the posts of the straight-backed chairs. Grant shook his head. “We’ve looked the place over. Whoever was here came and left by this door, went to the driveway and evidently on out to the road. He must have kept to the ruts in the street and there’s no way to trace which direction he went from there. The snow is pretty slushy by this time.”

  Mom took two cups out of the cupboard. “He didn’t walk by the front room window or we would have seen him.”

  “I don’t know. Would we have seen him, Mom? We were both pretty well zeroed in on what Eileen had to say.”

  Grant looked at me. “Eileen . . . who?”

  Who indeed! I wanted to say, The one who threw her arms around you and was so very glad to see you? Instead, I smiled sweetly and said, “You know, Grant. Your friend Eileen Simmons.”

  Grant’s blue eyes widened. “Eileen . . . she was here?”

  Jim Clendon poked Grant in the ribs and was met by a frosty glare.

  “Sit down, both of you,” Mom said. “We’ve got a lot to talk about and problems seem smaller with a good cup of coffee.”

  Grant unbuttoned his jacket, pulled off his gloves, and sat in the chair where my dad used to sit. Clendon hooked his toe around a chair leg, pulled the chair out and lowered himself into it. “Your coffee can’t be beat, Miss Flora,” he said.

  Mom smiled. “Why, thank you, Jim.”

  Grant took a long drink of Mom’s famous brew. “I feel like somebody who came into a theater and the movie was half over. I know about your finding the gun and this marriage certificate that your intruder evidently didn’t want. What else is going on?”

  Jim Clendon leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine. For some reason I had never liked nor trusted Grant’s deputy. I could almost see his ears twitching, ready for a juicy story. “There has been too much talk about what Cub dug up,” I said. “I really hope this won’t go any farther than the kitchen table.”

  Clendon frowned and Grant sighed. “Darcy, you know that neither Jim nor I would repeat anything you or Miss Flora tell us.”

  “Okay. Understood. In the first place, I think you have some answers to a few important questions. Who is this Eileen Simmons? She evidently is pretty well acquainted with you.”

  Clendon snorted and a slow red crept up Grant’s neck. “I should have explained Eileen’s visit before this. She’s just an overboard kind of person, Darcy. She runs either hot or cold. She hugs everybody.”

  Jim swirled his coffee. “She didn’t hug me.”

  “Shut up and drink your coffee,” Grant muttered. “She’s somebody I knew a long time ago, Darcy. In fact, she worked for a while as a dispatcher in the sheriff’s office. That was before I was elected but I got to know her.”

  I didn’t miss the sly look and grin that came and went on Clendon’s face.

  “So she used to live here in Levi?” Mom asked.

  Grant nodded. “She didn’t know many people here and seemed kind of lonesome.”

  “That didn’t last long,” Clendon added.

  Perhaps I knew enough about Grant and Eileen’s relationship. I didn’t want to hear any more. Of course Grant had probably met many women during the time I was married to Jake. I was in Dallas, happily dividing my time between my home and my job as an investigative reporter at the Dallas Morning News. Grant was not the type to mourn a lost love or live the life of a recluse. However, he had never married. At least I didn’t think he had.

  Grant shot Clendon a look that plainly told him he had said enough. “Why did Eileen come to see you and Miss Flora, Darcy? She told me that she was just passing through Levi and thought maybe she would look up some people she used to know.”

  “We had never laid eyes on her before we saw her in your office,” Mom said. “She had a mighty strange story to tell us.”

  Both men put down their cups. “Well, Miss Flora?” Grant said.

  So Mom repeated to Grant and Jim the story of Eileen’s visit and what she had told us. It sounded even odder as she spoke. When she finished, I shoved the papers Eileen left across the table to Grant.

  He read them and passed them on to Jim. “Pretty unbelievable,” Grant said. “This Markham Cauldfell is the man listed on the Bible page?”

  “Yes. It is further proof, Grant, if we needed any more. Granny Grace really was married to this Cauldfell.”

  Grant looked down at Jethro who was chummily rubbing his nose against Grant’s jeans-clad leg. “And Eileen’s saying she has some sort of claim to your land, or at least part of it, due to being Cauldfell’s great-granddaughter.”

  “That’s what she said, Grant, but I think she is just saying that because for some strange reason, she wants our land.” Mom got up to re-fill cups. “Why, that’s plain ridiculous. There must be some sort of mistake somewhere along the line. It’s hard enough to believe that my mother was married to someone before she married Dad, but it’s even harder to think that nobody knew about it ’til now. You see, the thing I keep asking is why? And why is all this coming to light now? Sounds mighty fishy to me.”

  “That’s what we’re going to have to find out, Miss Flora,” Grant said. “The only crimes that have been committed are the theft of that gun and an old journal you just found this morning. Add breaking and entering to that. Pretty serious crimes, but it looks to me like they were tied to something that happened a long time ago. Or maybe the person who came in was thinking of robbing your house and as luck would have it, found the kitchen door unlocked. Most thieves are pretty nervous and don’t hang around long. They don’t want to get caught.”

  “Or maybe he was watching the house and when he saw Eileen come to the front door, he thought it was a good time to com
e in the back. Whoever stole the gun and journal could be working with Eileen,” I said. A niggling headache began between my eyes. I pressed my fingers to my temples.

  “Nobody would be watching our house, Darcy,” Mom said. “Why would anybody do that?”

  Grant would have to know that I had seen somebody near the woods last night. I had not intended to tell Mom, but there was no getting around it now.

  “Yes, Mom, I’m afraid somebody was watching our house,” I said. “I glimpsed him from my bedroom window, but then he disappeared, and I thought I might have imagined him, but I didn’t. This morning, I saw some tracks along the edge of the woods, just out where the trees meet the corner post of our pasture.”

  Grant set his coffee cup on the table so hard that coffee sloshed over the rim.

  “And you were going to tell me this . . . when, Darcy?”

  My face felt hot. I gripped my cup. “I’m sorry, Grant. I didn’t want to worry Mom.”

  “Oh, Darcy.” Mom shook her head.

  “We’ll go out that way and see if maybe we can find something your keen detective eyes missed,” Grant said. He and Jim got to their feet. When we were teenagers, Grant never spoke with such sarcasm. He had changed.

  “Mom, do you still have a bottle of aspirin in the cabinet?” I asked, pushing away from the table. “My head is splitting.”

  As I was reaching up to get the pain killer, Grant put his arm around my shoulders. “We’ll be going. We’ll keep in touch and let you know if something comes to light. And Darcy?”

  The aspirin bottle in my hand, I turned to face him. At that moment, my heart began pounding as well as my head. I resisted the urge to lean against Grant’s solid warmth. “Yes?”

  His eyes were troubled, and he spoke so softly that I doubted that either Mom or Jim heard him when he said, “It probably doesn’t do any good to tell you to be careful, but remember that I’m here if you need me. It looks to me like there’re several things going on concerning your land and that gun and marriage record. I’ll talk some more to Eileen. I wish you’d let me handle it, Darcy, but there’s no use asking you.”

  He picked up his hat and left by the kitchen door. Jim took one last gulp of coffee and followed him. I swallowed two aspirins and stared out the kitchen window at the rose bush, rimmed in snow. What was going on in Levi and why were Mom and I in the middle of it yet again? And why did Mom’s usually warm kitchen suddenly seem cold and terribly empty?

  Chapter 11

  Jethro’s loud purring woke me. I scooted him off my pillow and sat up. Last night’s dreams must have been the result of all the strange happenings of yesterday. In my dreams, a journal had crumbled into dust when I opened it and a shadowy figure kept flitting through the house.

  Shivering, I swung my feet to the floor and reached for my blue robe on the foot of the bed. “Thanks, Jethro,” I said to the cat. “You did a good deed by rescuing me from those nightmares.”

  Downstairs, I could hear Mom fixing breakfast and soon the scent of fresh coffee made me realize I was hungry. I hung the robe back in the closet and pulled out blue jeans and a fleecy red sweatshirt. Maybe today Mom and I could decide upon a course of action concerning the missing gun and journal.

  I ran a brush through my dark shoulder-length hair. The face looking back at me from my mirror held no trace of the turmoil going on inside. The older I got, the more I could see my mother’s high cheekbones and square jawline in my own face. About the only thing I had inherited from my dad, Andy Tucker, was his stubbornness. That, I had in abundance.

  Sunlight glinted on something bright outside and I glanced out my bedroom window. A black Tahoe came slowly down our road. Probably no more than half a dozen cars passed our house each day since there were only two other small farms south of ours and the road ended in a turnaround at the river. We were familiar with most of the cars which ventured on our road, so I noticed this car in particular. I was pretty sure I had never seen it around Levi. It was awfully early for someone to be cruising our street. Was the driver lost? How could anybody get lost in non-metropolis Levi?

  The Tahoe moved on past, and I stood by the window a few minutes longer, thinking of how much I would miss the view of the fields and woods when we moved into our new house. Snow still clung to the trees and gate posts. The neighbor’s mule in the pasture next to us trotted briskly along the fence, stopped and split the air with his raucous welcome to the morning. Yes, I would miss this dear, familiar place, but there was such an incredible sense of peace and rightness about building that dream home in a location where our ancestors’ roots were planted deeply. Building that house was something I had urged my mother to do for years. She had always resisted, saying she could not leave this old house and all its loving memories.

  Evidently she was okay with the project now. I could hear her in the kitchen singing Amazing Grace. This was a good sign. Hearing her sing or whistle always meant that she was not worried because she had realized anew God is in charge. I wish I could just leave all my troubles in the arms of the Lord. Maybe one day my faith would be as great as my mother’s.

  The Tahoe came back into view just as I started to turn from the window. It crept slowly along the street as I watched, curious about this stranger. It stopped in front of our mailbox where the driver sat for a full minute, apparently talking on a cell phone, then he made a sharp right turn and pulled into our driveway.

  The man who stepped out of the vehicle was tall. He wore gray pants and a brown leather jacket. He stood for a moment in our driveway, studying his surroundings through dark glasses. Then he reached back into the Tahoe, pulled out a briefcase and headed for our broad front porch.

  As I went down the stairs, I heard my mother open the door and the stranger’s deep voice. “Good morning. I’m looking for Mrs. Flora Tucker. Would that be you?”

  “Yes, it would,” Mom replied as I came up behind her. “And this is my daughter, Darcy Campbell.”

  “I thought that might be the case. My name is Stuart Wood, and I’m here to discuss a real estate matter with you.”

  He handed each of us a business card that read: Innovation Technology, Inc., Stuart V. Wood, Regional Manager.

  My mother frowned. “I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘a real estate matter’?”

  He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folded piece of paper that looked like a survey plat. “I understand that you, Mrs. Tucker, are the owner of approximately 340 acres of land just north of Levi near the Ventris River.”

  Cautiously, my mother nodded.

  “My company is prepared to offer you a very handsome price for a piece of that property. If I might step inside, I can spread out this plat and make sure we’re talking about the same area. I can point out exactly the location of the land we’re interested in.”

  I interrupted. “But none of that land is for sale.”

  He removed the dark glasses and dropped them in his jacket pocket. “No, not publicly, but it might be if the price were right.”

  A stranger coming to our door wanting to buy land that wasn’t even for sale seemed awfully suspicious to me but apparently Mom and I decided at the same time there would be no harm in listening to his spiel. She opened the door wider and I stepped to one side and motioned to a chair by the coffee table.

  He did not sit down, but spread the plat out on the coffee table and smoothed it with both hands. The print was obviously professionally done, the result of a recent survey. I had looked at county records before we began building our new house so we would know its exact location on our land. My mother inherited a piece of a quarter section from her ancestors, a square marked on the map as “Daniels land.” Then, early in their marriage, she and my dad had purchased an adjoining farm in order to give them access to the river. The result was a T-shaped piece of real estate marked clearly on the plat as “Part of the Northeast Quarter of Section 23, Township 31, Range 19.”

  “Now here,” Stuart Wood pointed with his pen, “is
the Ventris River, and here is your property boundary, and here is the location of your new home, only about half a mile from the river.”

  He looked at me, evidently believing that Mom would not understand real estate descriptions.

  I nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen the county records.”

  Mom’s glare said that she was not to be dismissed from this conversation. “As have I, Mr. Wood.”

  “And here,” he drew a square on the print which cut off the main part of the bottom of the T-shape, “is the land my company is interested in. It’s approximately forty acres.”

  I had only one question for him. “Why? Most of that part is hills and rocks. Lee Creek flows through it.”

  “Well, my company, as you may know, specializes in very sensitive high technology equipment, and we want to build a plant here, away from the prying eyes and news media in the big cities. That’s so no-body will know what we’re working on until we’re ready to provide a news release.”

  I had never heard of Innovation Technology. My eyes followed the path of his pen. “But then your facility would be next to our new house.”

  “Yes, but we’re prepared to pay you two hundred thousand dollars for that small piece of your property.”

  I closed my mouth before I could say “Wow!” That was a stupendous price for a small chunk of Ventris County. Stuart Wood and I gazed at each other across the coffee table. That’s when my mom, who had been completely silent during this exchange, made her pronouncement.

  “No, no, no, sir!!! I don’t care if your high flying company is willing to pay two million dollars for it; that property is not for sale. It’s been in my family for years and will never be sold as long as Darcy and I are living.”

  She grabbed up the plat and pushed it toward the man. “You know where the door is. Now get out!”

  Chapter 12

  “This is getting too deep for me,” I told Mom. “I know a little about the law covering real estate and inheritance, but all this stuff that happened years ago and the documents; are they authentic? I just don’t know how we can tell for sure if they are real or if they are fakes.”