1 The Underhanded Stitch (3 page)

Chapter Five

A
rthur Duncan had just opened his doors that morning when Maddy strolled into the shop, her granddaughter in tow. “Ah, Mrs. Madison, a new pair of shoes for the little lady?”

“Not today. But I do need some information.”

“We only sell shoes here,” he cut her off. “You want information, go to the library.”

“You know the library was closed down last fall for lack of funds.”

“It’s that dab-blasted Internet,” the old man complained. “Nobody reads books anymore.”

“I do,” said Agnes. “I just finished
Anne of Green Gables
.”

“Well now, that’s refreshing to hear. A youngster who actually cracks a book. Guess that earns you one question. What’s on your mind?”

“Who in Caruthers Corners wears size fourteen shoes?” Maddy blurted.

“Funny you should ask. Chief Purdue wanted to know about my customers with big feet. Called me yesterday afternoon.”

“And?”

“And I gave him three names. Tall Paul Johnson, he lives out near the chair factory. Benjamin Bentley, he’s got a farm north of town. And my son Denny, he was always big for his age.”

“Just three?”

“Maybe there’s more hereabout. But them’s the only ones I ever sold size fourteen’s to. Folk in these parts tend to be small-boned, that Slavic stock in ’em.”

“You say your son’s a size fourteen?”

“Comes from his mama’s side of the family. Basketball teams have been trying to recruit him.”

≈≈≈

“This is fun,” said Agnes as they drove out to Tall Paul Johnson’s two-story house on Easy Chair Lane. “I like being a detective.”

“We’re not detectives,” responded her grandmother. “We’re simply making inquiries.”

“Yeah, like detectives.”

“Well. Maybe.”

Tall Paul was sitting in a lawn chair under a shade tree in his front yard. “I already talked to Chief Purdue,” he addressed them without bothering to stand up. “Told him I’ve never laid eyes on that metal likeness of Colonel Madison. Never had occasion to set foot inside the Town Hall.”

“There’s a reward for its return,” Maddy lied. Well, not really, because she knew her husband would pay one if needed.

“Wouldn’t mind claiming the money. But I’d have to have the blasted statue to do that, wouldn’t I?”

“Why would anyone steal that old hunk of metal?” she mused aloud.

“Beats me,” said Tall Paul. “Can’t think anything it’d be good for, other than a doorstop.”

≈≈≈

Next stop was the farmstead of Benjamin Bentley. Tall Paul was said to measure seven feet from toe to crown, but Bentley was shorter and wider, more like a troll from a fairytale book. He raised soybeans on his two thousand acres, a money crop that kept his farmhouse freshly painted and a new Ford pickup parked in his driveway.

“Why me?” he asked them about their visit. “I told Chief Purdue that I didn’t steal that bust of your husband’s great-great grandpa.”

“Well, you’re one of the few people around here who wears a size fourteen shoe. And the Chief found a big muddy footprint next to that pedestal where the statue sat.”

“
Hmph
, just ’cause I’m a dirt farmer don’t mean I don’t wipe my feet ’fore coming into a fine building like the Town Hall. My twice-great uncle helped lay the bricks on the Town Hall back in the eighteen hundreds. It’s a historic monument deserving of some respect.”

“Yes, it’s the centerpiece of our lovely little town,” Maddy agreed, smiling down at her granddaughter. It wouldn’t hurt Agnes to learn some civic pride. Coming from Los Angeles, she didn’t have much to latch onto. That city was like the House That Jack Built, a little of this, a little of that, no common heritage like you found in Caruthers Corners.

“Hope you find the Colonel. I know your husband would be heartbroken if it stays missing. T’was him what put up the five hundred dollars to buy that marble pedestal it sat on, y’ know.”

“Really?” As a matter of fact, she didn’t know that. Her husband had been keeping secrets. Was it because he knew she held that old bronze bust in such disdain? Her view of the early forefathers – as scallywags and thieves who stole the land from its rightful owners – was well known. That’s why her best friend Cookie Brown had never asked her to join the Caruthers Corners Historical Society.

“Beau takes pride in his ancestry. Guess that’s ’cause he’s named after one of the town founders.”

“Yes, my husband values the past,” she admitted.

“We’ve got one more shoe size to go, Grammy,” urged Agnes, getting impatient. It was obvious that Benjamin Bentley wasn’t going to confess to stealing the bronze bust.

≈≈≈

Last stop in their quest was at the Duncan household on the edge of town, a stately abode on Jinks Lane, a shady residential street named after the third town founder. Beauregard Madison, Jacob Caruthers, and Ferdinand Jinks had established this little outpost, but you didn’t hear much about Jinks other than this narrow street named after him. He was something of a Black Sheep, having burned down the original Town Hall in a dispute with Madison and Caruthers.

Denny Duncan was sitting in the porch swing waiting for them. His father had called ahead. He was a big fellow, but not quite as tall as Tall Paul. His smile was quick and easy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Dad said you think I stole the bronze head of ol’ Colonel Madison,” he greeted them.

“No, no. We’re just asking a few questions,” backtracked Maddy. Agnes was standing behind her, somewhat intimidated by this lanky beanpole, much taller than Ben Bentley, although a few inches shorter than Tall Paul Johnson.

“Chief Purdue has cleared me as a suspect,” he informed them.

“I figured you’d be innocent, else your father wouldn’t have given us your name so willingly.”

“Yessum, I’ve got an ironclad alibi.”

“How nice. That saves a lot of questions. Mind telling us about your alibi?”

“Well, it’s kinda embarrassing,” Denny said shyly. “Of a personal nature.”

“We promise to be discreet.”

“Well, just to clear my name I’ll tell you. I was in jail.”

“Jail?” Did he mean that rarely used holding cell in the back of the police office?

“Ask Chief Purdue. He threw me in the hoosegow overnight to teach me a lesson. I’d chalked up four hundred and eighty unpaid parking tickets.”

“So you were locked up the night of the robbery?”

“That’s right, ma’am. Paying my debt to society. That debt being nearly five thousand dollars in parking tickets. Chief wiped ’em off the books, saying I’d served my time.”

“Parking’s only ten cents a half hour,” she reminded him. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to put a dime in the meter?”

“I never seem to have any change on me,” he shrugged.

≈≈≈

“Grammy and I are gonna catch the thief who stole your statue,” said Agnes to her grandfather. The family was gathered around the dinner table, Agnes chowing down on a large helping of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“Do tell?” said Beau. Amazed at the transformation from last night’s sullen urchin to this hungry Nancy Drew across the table.

Of course it didn’t hurt that Maddy had encouraged her to secretly call her father that morning. Being a mother and grandmother made Maddy especially protective of her loved ones. And though she really hated what that pompous man had done to her daughter, she knew that without some sort of contact with her dad Agnes would be a lost and angry child. So she butted in like she always did when she felt she knew best … but things were stressful enough at the moment, so no need to tell her daughter yet.

“That’s right, Grampy. The Quilter’s Club is on the case.”

“Quilter’s Club?” repeated Agnes’ mother, fork paused in midair.

“I’m an apprentice member. Grammy and Lizzie and Cookie and Bootsie are teaching me how to sew my very own quilt. It’s loads of fun. But nothing like crime solving. I might become a detective when I grow up – like Grammy.”

“So Grammy’s a detective,” said Beauregard Madison, looking quizzically at his wife of forty years. “I learn something new every day.”

Chapter Six

C
ookie Brown phoned the next morning. “As you know, I’m secretary of the Caruthers Corners Historical Society,” she began the conversation.

Maddy sighed. “Cookie, we’ve been best friends since the third grade. There’s very little I don’t know about you. Including that time in high school you stole the history exam and passed out copies to the entire class.”

“Oh piffle, that was a lame class. It should have covered more local history.”

“So what’s this about you and the Historical Society?” Maddy tried to stir the conversation back on track.

“That’s why I’m calling. All that talk yesterday about Colonel Madison’s bust reminded me of something. A document I came across in the society’s archives.”

“You have archives?”

“Well, it’s a filing cabinet filled with old papers, deeds, letters, newspapers, and other historical documents.”

“And what was this amazing discovery?”

“Don’t be sarcastic. I’m trying to help you find the thief of that old bust. Your granddaughter seems to think we’ve promised to solve the crime.”

Maddy chuckled at the memory of Agnes’ excitement at last night’s dinner table. “Yes, she seems to have mistaken me for Miss Marple.”

“Then she will find this tidbit interesting. I came across an old newspaper account about the relatives of Ferdinand Jinks protesting that their ancestor had been written out of the town’s history. They pointed out that the town bears Caruthers’ name. And Beauregard Madison’s bust sits in the Town Hall. But nary a mention of Jinks.”

“There’s a street named after him.”

“Actually the street was named after his nephew, Jeremiah Jinks. He was a prominent banker at the turn of the century.”

“Oh.”

“Perhaps one of Ferdinand Jinks’ relatives is trying to even the score,” postulated her friend. “Stole the bust out of spite.”

Maddy stared at the phone, considering this new info. “Does Jinks have any living relatives hereabouts?”

“That’s the interesting part. I checked the old genealogy charts and it turns out that Tall Paul Johnson is a direct descendant on his mother’s side.”

“We just spoke with Tall Paul yesterday. He claimed he’s never set foot inside the Town Hall.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” chanted Cookie’s voice, sounding distant over the phone lines. “I have a photograph here in the archives that shows Tall Paul at the ceremony where your husband donated that bronze bust to the town. You can’t miss him in the photo. He stands heads above the rest of the crowd.”

“You mean he lied straight to my face?”

“Looks like it. Doesn’t that make him a likely suspect?”

≈≈≈

“Sure, I recall Paul Johnson being at the dedication ceremony,” replied Maddy’s husband. She’d dragged Agnes down to Ace Hardware to ask him about Cookie’s bombshell.

“Did you know he’s a descendant of Ferdinand Jinks?” she continued her inquisition.

“Everybody knows that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Maddy, you could care less about town history.”

“True. But this proves Tall Paul stole the statue.”

“How so?”

“He wears a size fourteen shoe, just like the footprint found by Chief Purdue. And he’s a disgruntled ancestor of a man who didn’t get proper credit for helping found this town.”

Beau kept stocking his shelves, arranging boxes of wood screws in a straight row. Just as well that Maddy couldn’t see the smile on his face. “I’m afraid you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion,” he said. “Tall Paul couldn’t have done it.”

“And why not?”

“He broke his big toe last week. Can’t walk without crutches. And can’t bear any weight on his left foot.”

“Left foot?”

“Yep, that muddy footprint was made by a left foot, Jim said.”

Darn, why hadn’t she noticed that injured toe? Come to think of it, Tall Paul Johnson hadn’t bothered to stand up when they dropped by to see him.

“How did he hurt his toe?” Agnes asked.

Beau glanced over his shoulder at his granddaughter. “Stuck it under a lawnmower, he told Jim.”

“Isn’t it early in the year to be mowing lawns?” This from a city kid who had never seen many lawns, much less mowed one.

Her grandfather paused, then turned to face her. “Guess it is, at that.”

“Aha!” said Maddy, as if they had uncovered another clue.