We broke apart for them to look at me.
“Where’s Aaron?” Grandma asked.
“He went for the First Lady cookies.”
“We’ll talk at home.” Grandpa steered Grandma toward the back hallway.
“Wait a sec, you old coot!” Grandma stopped to give me a kiss.
“Thank you.”
My heart beat peacefully as customers walked through the doorway. “Hello. How may I help you?”
The lady’s pink-tipped nose glistened from the heat. She wore a tightly fitted jacket, knit pants, and boots.
“Are you interested in the Teddy Roosevelt display?” I asked since we were standing next to the TR White House.
“Actually, I’m more interested in recent First Ladies. Barbara Bush, was my favorite,” the young woman answered. Her eyes watered from the cold. “She’s such a great grandma, isn’t she? Breaking bones while sliding with grandchildren. I want to be just like her someday.”
“Only not break the bones,” I said. My cellphone dinged, alerting me to a new message.
“Exactly.” She grinned. “Mrs. Bush was always charming to everyone. She reminded me of Dolley Madison. I bet she baked cookies for her grandkids right there in the White House kitchen.”
“That is entirely possible!” This customer made me feel warm all over. She reminded me of a well-liked grade school teacher that I once had. Mrs. Wheeler was full of that same energy and spunk. “Tell me more about Barbara Bush,” she commanded with a smile.
“Well,” I answered as I guided the customer toward the Bush White House. “Most everyone likes the First Ladies; it’s the presidents that people have trouble with.” I began telling her about the features that were the essence of Barbara. “She was so kind to everyone. She supported literacy, helped the homeless, the elderly, school volunteer programs, and people afflicted with the AIDS virus. She was refreshingly human.”
“Oh, don’t stop. I want to hear more.”
“First Lady Barbara Bush went to classrooms and read to the children.”
“Continue,” the woman said.
“They had six children with one passing away at three years old from leukemia. Mrs. Bush watched as her daughter’s spirit left her body. Her name was Robin.”
“That is something I didn’t know. Poor Barbara.” She stooped and peered closely. “Tell me about the White House during her time there.”
“During her years in office, the president signed legislation for the American Disability Act.” This customer was making me work for the sale. I filled her with more tidbits about other administrations until my mind was taxed, and she made a purchase at last. I was pleased to notice she also dropped a ten into the Pennies jar. She left with the George H. W. Bush White House. Max helped load it into her van.
When the last box was carried out, Max came over to the counter. He pointed at the empty display where the dollhouse had been and grinned. “Makes it all worthwhile, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Selling one or two a day would allow me to pay my rent.”
“It will come. Your name is getting out there. You’ve got a great website. You’re honest, plus you know your stuff.” He reached for his smokes. “People really like hearing little tidbits of info about the White House as well as the presidents who have lived in it. After all, it is sometimes referred to as the People’s House.”
“Exactly! But women like to hear about the First Ladies. They want to know what they stood for and how they helped the presidents or, like in Jackie Kennedy’s case, how she restored the White House. The interest is there. People love the First Ladies.”
“You can tell—by the gazillion questions you get.” Max smiled. “I’m taking a break.” I watched him go down the back hallway before turning to the computer.
I opened my messages to find a list from Grandma.
Is chicken soup still your favorite? Y or N If No, what is?
Pea Soup Vegetable
I typed Y and sent it.
Hearing a cough, I turned to see where it came from.
“Do you have a minute here, Liv?” Ronnie, a newspaper reporter, stood poised with his pen and paper, giving me a slight grin. In all the excitement about packing up the dollhouse, I hadn’t noticed he had entered the store.
“Can you tell me about the woman who died? Where did she come from and exactly how did you know her? I promise to keep your name out of the paper, but I’m curious.”
“Well, all right.” Answering him would at least kill some time until my next customer arrived. “I don’t really know much of anything about the case. I’m kept out of the loop because of Aaron being a cop. I really can’t tell you anything, except that she’s from Lexington, Kentucky, her name was Blanche, and she was a Mary Todd Lincoln impersonator.” I walked to the front door and held it open for him. “Please, Ronnie, I really don’t know anything else. I wish I did.”
“I’ll check in later. I need to advance my career. I would love a job with the Tribune instead of this rag. I think you know a few more things you aren’t saying. As soon as the ‘okay’ is here, tell me.” He snapped a few pictures before whisking out the door. “Reporters.” I fumed. “Too bad, he’s a grade school friend. I’d lock the door and throw away the key.” I closed the door, crossed my arms, and stared up at the ceiling.
Inga breezed in the front door, along with a blast of frigid Arctic air just as I was about to sit down behind the front counter with plans to do more research.
“How’s it going?” She looked like a cyclone had hit her, leading me to wonder if it was because of the wind or if she’d forgotten to comb her hair. It reminded me of a fluffy row of cotton balls. “The police questioned me. They asked every question imaginable about Blanche.” She moved the penny jar aside and said, “Jar’s almost filled. I hope they come soon for it. Better call Trisha.” She leaned into the counter. “I’m puzzled over this and also saddened. Why did it happen?”
“I agree. I thought about it all night long and came to no conclusion at all. If the killer wanted her laptop, why kill her? What would be the point?” I hesitated before continuing, “The police won’t confirm she had her laptop. You saw her leave with it, didn’t you?”
“She carried in the two cartons of books. That’s all I know.”
“The laptop is nowhere to be found. It’s all a big mess,” I said.
“I agree. Why kill for it?” Inga shook her head. “I’ve got something weird to tell you, and you won’t like it.” She massaged her chin.
I didn’t like the sound of this. The back of my neck tingled.
“Go ahead.” I started to bite a nail, and then folded my hands together as a preventative measure. Customers noticed them when I pointed out details and furnishings.
“The few copies of the diary she’d left behind are gone—disappeared.” Inga’s eyes opened wide. “Does that make sense? There were only six, but they’ve been stolen.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“I didn’t think of it at the time, but I will when I return to the store,” Inga said.
“Why would anyone take them except to make a profit? But it wouldn’t be enough money to even make it worth their trouble. Interesting, indeed.” I raised a brow.
It reminded me of the staircase drawing. “I have something to show you.” I pulled out the cash drawer to remove the staircase sketch. “Look at this. I copied this from a drawing that was inside of the hatbox, which had the name Mrs. Tindall written on it. I finally remembered why I knew that name. Mary Lincoln used it after the assassination, when she tried to sell her clothes for money in New York City. The poor thing was dead broke.”
I pointed to the drawing and asked, “Why would she draw a staircase?”
“Good question.” Inga shook her head. “Was she really off her rocker, that much? What in the world does it mean?” She stared at it. “And why would Mary Lincoln draw it on the hatbox rim…? Why would she?” She looked up at me. “I don’t get it.”
�
��Me neither. The same questions are going around in my head.” Still puzzled, I glanced up to her. “I’ll do a search on this. I’d like to know how a staircase and Mrs. Lincoln, alias Mrs. Tindall, go together. There must be a common thread here, but what?” I shook my head. “Mrs. Lincoln was close friends with her maid, too. Can’t remember her name, but I know that they traveled together. The woman’s name should be easily found. You never know where any of this will lead.”
“When you find out, let me know.” Inga glanced out the window then back to me. “Maybe it has something to do with the assassination? She and Mr. Lincoln did have to climb up a stairway to the presidential suite. Not like they had elevators.”
“I know. Look.” I pointed. “The lines between the platforms aren’t evenly spaced. Let’s see, they’re called risers, aren’t they?” The drawing had piqued my curiosity.
“Maybe it’s symbolic of something else?”
“No idea,” I said. I put the sketch away and changed the subject. “Who do you think killed Blanche?”
“So it was murder?” Inga asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m of the opinion that the Lost Speech aroused curiosity.”
“And curious enough to kill for it.” Inga glanced at her cell phone. “Yikes! I’d better hike to the store to open for the day. It’s already later than I usually arrive.” She headed to the door.
“Hold on a sec.” I stepped around toward her. “Tomorrow is my First Lady birthday celebration. I’m having trouble trying to decide where to serve the cookies. What’s your opinion?”
“I like the idea of setting up a table right inside the door. They can see it from the outside. Doing that might bring in more walkers.”
“Do you have a small table I can borrow?”
“Sure—I used it for the tea yesterday. Send Max or Aaron for it.” As she opened the door, she said, “Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
Before going back to the computer, I rearranged the showroom so the table would fit nicely in front of the window. Inga was right. It was a good spot for it. Next, I went to get the tablecloth, napkins, and paper cups I had purchased and set them under the counter to have ready. Just then, Aaron walked in the back door with the cookies.
“Bring them up here,” I called.
“I tasted two, and they passed the test.” He grinned, setting the two big white bakery boxes down. “Hey, the police department is putting together a group to play pond hockey. I asked them to include me. My goalie equipment is still in the basement, right?”
“Yep. When will you start playing games?”
“Next week. We’ll practice tomorrow night. Want to join us for burgers? There will be plenty of company. Most of the guys’ wives or girlfriends plan to watch us make fools of ourselves. It’s at the indoor arena in Columbia Heights.”
“Love to. Right after closing?”
“Certainly,” he said, smiling. “What’s my next errand?”
“Table from Inga.”
“On my way.”
He left through the front door. I turned my attention to the computer and searched Lincoln staircase to see if there was some meaning behind the drawing. It came up blank, and so I quit browsing and sent an e-mail to Inga.
Inga, I searched staircase on the Web and came up with nothing of importance, except how to construct one. Why would Mary need to know how to make one? What does this have to do with anything? ////Liv
I checked for further messages from Frances at the House or Blanche’s contact address, but there weren’t any. Researching Mary Lincoln’s traveling companion, I found many sites had information. Her name was Elizabeth Keckley, a former slave and close friend and confidante to the First Lady. I bookmarked the page in case later scrutiny was needed.
When Aaron returned, we placed the small wood table in the chosen spot. It didn’t take long to dress it with the tablecloth.
“I have only a couple more things to do before lunch,” I told Aaron. Everything was in place for the celebration, which made me happy.
“I’ll clear off the back entryway. It’s a mess by the dumpster,” Aaron said.
I went to get my recently purchased dress from the Mary Lincoln collection. My plan was to wear it on special occasions such as Abe Lincoln’s or Mary Todd Lincoln’s birthdays or dollhouse special sales events. I definitely planned to wear it that day, but I hoped to skip the tight-fitting crinoline and only wear the hoop. Back in the workroom, I flipped on a bright sewing light and took the Civil War-era dress from where it hung. Aaron entered the room as I was admiring the many pleats, meticulously measured, pinned, and sewn on the checked, cotton fabric. Hand-stitched lace along the collar and cuffs, inlaid pearls to spruce up the lace, all captured my attention. I thought of days of yore. “Look at the evenly spaced hand stitches. It’s so lovely.” I smiled up at him.
Aaron’s stomach growled in return. I laughed. “Hungry? So am I.”
“Let’s get something down at the Brew Café. I love their wraps.” Aaron locked the front door and we headed out the back. Bundled up and hand in hand we walked. I caught sight of something that glimmered on the walkway. I stopped and picked it up. It looked like a computer memory stick, so I slipped it into my pocket in case anyone mentioned missing one. The warmth of the Brew Café felt wonderful as we came in out of the cold. I found the pictures of concentric puzzles on a wall, and they kept my attention until it was time to order.
“Our regular order, please,” I said to Luke, busy behind the counter. “Luke, did Blanche seem nervous or anything like that when she came in yesterday?”
“No.” Luke shook his head. “She stared at the puzzles and then at her laptop screen when she was in here.”
“Did she say anything?” I asked.
“Not much. Something about these pictures not being quite the same, but similar. I had to hurry back to Inga’s.” We watched as Luke set the wraps on a plate and poured our drinks.
“You two shouldn’t be talking. Leave it to the detectives,” admonished Aaron.
“Here,” Luke stated, setting our plates on the countertop. “Blanche told me about Lincoln’s Lost Speech while she was dressing for Inga’s. Did she say anything to you about it?”
“Now that you mention it, that was part of the conversation. I bet that Lost Speech would be a goldmine,” Luke said.
“You betcha,” Aaron replied, reaching for his meal. “Anything from that man would be worth a bundle.”
“I bet it’s in one of those historical documents that’s hidden in someone’s attic,” I said, picking up my order. “Luke, I don’t see that nice girl who helped you at Inga’s yesterday.”
“She’s busy with school.”
“Oh.” I turned to Aaron. “Should we sit at that one?” I nodded toward the back table.
“Sure.” Aaron headed for it and I followed. Just then, Luke’s wife, Suni, came into the café. Suni didn’t work at the shop, though she kept their account books. She was some kind of computer whiz and worked from home, spending her day on the Internet, or so people said about her. She beckoned to Luke, and he hurried outside with her. I frowned, wondering what prompted that.
When we sat, I noticed a concerned look in Aaron’s eye. “What’s bothering you?”
“I’m worried you’ll start investigating the murder on your own. Leave it to the police. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Aaron started eating. “Is it the speech you’re looking for?”
“Of course. A perfect time-machine mystery.” I couldn’t quit thinking of Blanche and how she’d spent time researching it. The notion that it was hidden, after all these years, really tickled my interest. “I’m curious.”
”I hope that’s all it is,” Aaron said. His brow furrowed. “I worry about you.”
“I wrote to the House about the stuffed bear featured as Tad’s toy there, and it’s also on Blanche’s website. I would like to have it, if it’s for sale, plus purchase a miniature of the House. Both would be fun to own
.”
“I understand the house, but a bear? Whatever for?” Aaron’s questions didn’t keep him from devouring his food.
“It’s a very cute bear, and it belonged to Tad Lincoln.” I heard him groan, but I ignored him and finished my wrap.
After carting our trays to the waste container, we strolled back to the store. Though it was quite brisk out, the sun sparkled, and it made me think of the coming spring.
“My shift starts in a few minutes,” Aaron said. “I have to change, then report in.”
“Okay,” I said. We stopped in front of the door. I impishly picked up a mitt full of snow and threw it at him. “Gotch ya!”
“Your time is coming.” Aaron brushed off the snow. “Your time is coming.” Aaron brushed off the snow and opened the door and held it for me to enter. “Should I take anything home with me?”
“Yes. The crinoline, all that stuff, but leave my dress.” I gathered all the necessary items and we carried them to the car. “You can leave them in the car, and I’ll carry them in later. I’ll be darned if I’ll put that crinoline back on again. Yikes!”
“Nah. I’ll set them on the bed. No problem. It’ll give me a chance to figure out how to get you out of it.” Aaron grinned. When we finished loading the costume undergarments, we stood by the car. “Love you.”
“You, too.”
Back in the store, I decided to unpack a box of miniature Tad toys purchased from a New Hampshire store that was going out of business. The owner had immediately taken my offer to buy some of his stock. The items would fit nicely inside the houses or on a display shelf.
I found a tiny kaleidoscope inside the box, along with a ball, sword, a Union cannon and balls, the stuffed bear, and jacks with the matching ball. I studied the pieces with my magnifier and found them to be very charming and also well made.
The bear especially caught my attention, because it had a pocket in the bottom, like it was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas with a drop-seat or “trap door.” I chuckled and wondered if the stuffed bear on Blanche’s website also had a pocket. Unlike our present-day teddy bears, these were made of plain, not furry, plush fabric and they were stuffed with cornhusks. I also knew that in Tad’s day they were not called “Teddy Bears” because President Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt inspired the first Teddy Bear in 1902. I carried the items out to the showroom and set them on the counter top. My Civil War Era houses were already filled with many items, but there were few family mementos. I started to rearrange the living quarters in the Lincoln White House. The President and Mrs. Lincoln were known to allow their children to do almost anything and everything, indulging all whims. I placed the jacks and ball on the floor and set the kaleidoscope on a small table.
Word to Death Page 3
