1 The Underhanded Stitch (4 page)

Chapter Seven

M
addy was driving home when her granddaughter screamed, “Stop!” Without thinking, she hit the breaks, causing the SUV to fishtail in the middle of Main Street. Luckily, there were no cars in the oncoming lane.

“My goodness, what was that about?” demanded Maddy, her heart beating a staccato rhythm.
Ratty-tat-tat
like Gene Krupa’s drums.

“A dog. I saw a dog.”

“Dear, there are lots of dogs hereabout. Everybody has one.”

“I don’t.”

“That dog back there. It was tied to a sign. Said, Give this puppy a good home.”

Maddy was about to say that Agnes barely had a home herself, her mother and her having been discarded like an unwanted pair of shoes by that tax shark she called a father. But she caught her tongue in time to say, “Would you like to have that dog?”

“Oh, Grammy! Could I?”

“I don’t see why not. If you promise to take care of him. Feed him, brush the tangles out of his fur.”

“Yes, I promise!”

Easing the car into reverse, Maddy backed down the block to where a dog of mixed heritage sat next to a sign advertising his availability. A thin woman came out of the modest one-story house that cast its shadow on dog and sign. “May I help you?” she called to her visitors.

“You’re giving this dog away?” inquired Maddy, trying to sound casual. No need to appear eager, lest the price might go up.

“To a good home. We’re moving to Indy. My husband took a job there. We’ve rented an apartment what don’t allow no pets.”

“How much do you want for him?”

The old woman eyed the little girl by Maddy’s side. “For her?”

“Yes,” said Agnes. “And I’ll give him a good home.”

“Dogs need a lot of love and care and he will be counting on you to give it to him.”

“Oh I’ll take really good care of him!” said Agnes with an excited grin on her face. “I’m almost ten and a half and my mom has taught me to be responsible.”

“Then you can have him, young missy. He’s yours. No charge.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Agnes hugged the shaggy dog, causing his tail to wag like a metronome while he covered her face with wet and sloppy dog kisses. It was a case of instant bonding.

“He’ll be well cared for,” Maddy assured the old woman.

“Oh, I’m sure-a that. I recognize you, Mrs. Beauregard Madison the Fourth. You’re one of this town’s leading citizens, you are.”

“Well, not really – ”

“Oh, yes. You live in that big Victorian mansion over on Melon Pickers Row. Reckon this dog’s gonna be living better’n me.”

“What’s his name?” asked Agnes, ignoring the banter between her Grammy and this generous dog-giver.

The woman looked down at the mixed-breed canine. “Guess he ain’t got one. He was last of the litter. We didn’t get around to naming him.”

“Then I’ll give him a name. But what?”

Maddy spoke up before she realized it. “I once had a dog named Tige.”

“Tige? That’s a funny name.”

“That was the name of Buster Brown’s dog,” the thin woman laughed. “I remember the rhyme. He and his master lived in a shoe.”

“Lived in a shoe?” said Agnes. “How silly.”

“Well, Buster Brown was a brand of shoe,” her grandmother explained. “And the advertisements featured him and his dog Tige.”

“C’mon, Tige, get in the car,” commanded Agnes. “You won’t have to live in a shoe no more!”

≈≈≈

“A dog!” shrieked Tilly. “You bought my daughter a dog?”

“Well, we didn’t actually buy him,” Maddy tried to explain, not sure that she could truly excuse her impulsive act. “He was free.”

“Pleeeeease don’t be mad, momma.” Agnes begged. Tige is my new best friend,” and he needs a good home.” She was rolling on the floor with the yapping animal. They were having great fun, getting to know one another. “Look, he’s already trained. He can roll over. And shake. And even play dead.”

The dog followed her commands. Ending up on his back, feet in the air.

“Very good,” applauded Maddy.

“We can’t have a dog,” protested Tilly. “I can barely care for Agnes and myself.”

“Don’t worry, mommy. I’ll take really good care of Tige. Feed him and water him and take him for lots of walks. And if Grammy and Grampy will let me earn a little extra money, I’ll even help buy his dog food!”

“Mother, how could you do this to me?”

“To you? This was something for my granddaughter.”

“Oh, pish.” Tilly wasn’t very happy about the matter. But Maddy knew her decision had been the right one and it was easier to apologize than ask permission. Her daughter would come around.

“Yes,” gushed Agnes, still wallowing with her new pet. “Grammy got me a dog of my very own. And his name is Tige, just like Buster Poindexter’s dog.”

“Buster Brown,” corrected Maddy, having no clue who this Poindexter character might be. Probably some rock ’n roll singer, she’d hazard to guess.

“Yes, Buster Brown. Thank you, Grammy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Agnes.”

“Call me Aggie. All my best-est friends do.”

Chapter Eight

C
ookie Brown wanted Maddy to accompany her to the cemetery that afternoon. This being the second anniversary of her husband Bob’s passing, she wanted to place flowers on the grave. Having her good friend along helped because Maddy had know Bob for as many years as Cookie had.

“Can I go along,” begged Agnes. “Please, oh please.”

“Yes, if you promise to be quiet. A cemetery is the final resting place for people. And it’s respectful to not make unnecessary noise.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t wake the dead.”

“Aggie!”

“Just kidding, Grammy.”

“Get your coat. It’s chilly.”

The girl grabbed her Lands End slicker. “C’mon, Tige,” she called.

“On no, dear. Tige can’t go.”

A frown crossed the youngster’s face. “Why not? He’ll be quiet.”

Maddy recalled her father’s words. “No dogs allowed in the cemetery,” she said. “Folks don’t want your puppy running off with a bone.”

“Oh, Grammy. Pleas-s-se. Tige won’t dig up any bones at Pleasant Glade. I promise he won’t.”

Briefly, Maddy remembered her own childhood disappointment at having to leave her dog behind. “Oh, okay. But don’t tell anybody. We’re breaking all the rules.”

Cookie was waiting for them near the big iron gate that separated the living from the dead. Pleasant Glade was a rolling expanse of well-manicured grass, spackled with marble headstones and the occasional crypt. The name “Pleasant Glade” had been bestowed back in the ’40s when a commercial enterprise took over the town cemetery, but some of the tombstones dated back to the 1800s.

As a child, Maddy had enjoyed reading the engraved epitaphs: “It Was More Than a Tummy Ache” and “Gone But Not Forgotten,” with her favorite being “I Enjoyed the Brief Visit!”

“You brought a puppy?” exclaimed Cookie, gesturing toward the sign posted on the iron gate
:
No Dogs Allowe
d
.

“
Shhhh
, don’t tell anybody,” replied Maddy. As if the dog’s presence was a state secret.

“He’s on a leash,” Agnes pointed out, as if that constituted an exception.

“Oh well, come along. Bob’s waiting.”

Agnes glanced nervously at her grandmother. “I thought you said he was dead.”

“It’s just an expression, my dear,” clarified Cookie as she led them down a winding path. “Even I realize my Bob isn’t coming back. But when I visit his grave I like to think that I’m visiting his spirit, too. Understand? ”

“I think so” Agnes replied tentatively as she picked up her pace, not lagging back now that she’d been reassured a zombie version of Bob Brown wasn’t waiting to greet them at the end of the path.

Tige kept stopping to check his smell-mail, leaving messages of his own. Maddy was amazed the little fur ball had that much liquid in him. “Come along, doggy. No dawdling,” she urged. But Tige didn’t move unless Agnes gave a tiny tug on his leash.

“Here we are,” announced Cookie, bending down to place a bouquet of yellow flowers on a plot marked as:

Robert ALFRED Brown

Loving Husband and Father

May Angels Fly

You to Heaven

On Golden Wings

“Wow!” said Agnes. “Your husband’s in there?”

“No, honey. Just his mortal remains. Bob’s in Heaven sitting at the right hand of God.”

“You mean he’s got a box seat?”

“Something like that,” Cookie replied, quickly changing the subject. “Here, help me arrange these flowers in the vase.”

Agnes knew what she meant, even though she pronounced vase like “face,” while Agnes’ father had taught her to say vase like “roz.” She knelt down to fluff at the pretty yellow petals, forgetting to hold onto the leash.

“Tige, come back here,” called Maddy when she noticed the dog take off after a squirrel, heading down the hill toward an older part of the cemetery.

“Tige!” Agnes took up the call.

Cookie just stood there with her hands on her hips, still exasperated over the dog’s presence in the first place. Wasn’t that sign on the gate clear enough?

Maddy and her granddaughter gave chase, calling the dog’s name as they ran down the hill, dodging tombstones and jumping over graves. “Tige, Tige!”

Before they knew it, the pair found themselves in the oldest section of the cemetery, the dates on the rough-hewn stones predating Pleasant Glade by a hundred years. There were more crypts here, and a scattering of mausoleums that looked like a village for the dead. “Yipes,” said Agnes as she scooped up her dog. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.” She’d seen a rerun of
Wizard of Oz
just last week on TV.

The dog wriggled free, leaping to the ground and heading toward a stone edifice marke
d
M
ADISO
N
over the doorway. Time had rotted the wooden doorframe, causing one of the hinges to sag and creating a crack about the size of a doggie door. Tige disappeared inside like a mouse taking to its hole in a baseboard. “Tige – ” came Agnes’ plaintive cry as she stared into the dark fissure.

“My goodness,” said Maddy. “This is my husband’s great-great grandfather’s mausoleum. I came here with him for a memorial service one Easter. It’s a spooky old place.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Agnes, eyes the size of silver dollars.

“We should get back up the hill. Cookie will be unhappy that we upset her visit with Bob.”

“But what about my dog?”

“Tige will find his way back up the hill. He won’t stray for long.”

“Grammy, I don’t like him being inside that old stone building. What if a ghost gets him?”

Maddy patted the girl reassuringly on the shoulder. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Aggie.”

“What about Cookie’s husband Bob? Isn’t he a ghost now? Fluttering about up in Heaven like a cloud?”

“I’m not sure where Bob Brown is residing. He had a wild side to him. The man might be vacationing in a hotter climate, for all I know.”

Agnes giggled, recognizing her grandmother’s words as a joke. “Don’t tell Cookie that. She might phone up God to ask Him how her husband’s doing.”

“That would be a long distance call,” laughed Maddy. “Cookie’s too tight with a penny to accept that kind of phone bill.”

“I’m crawling in there to get Tige,” announced the girl. “He might have fallen into a coffin or something.”

“No, that’s too dangerous.”

“I’m not leaving my dog, Grammy. I’ve lost my daddy, I’m not gonna lose Tige too!”

“Hold on, I’ll go fetch him. You stay out here, okay?”

Agnes nodded.

Fishing inside her oversized handbag, Maddy found a tiny Mag-Lite that she used for finding the lock on the front door whenever she and Beau had been out late at the movies. She clicked it on, pointed the bright laser-like beam, and then clamored through the crack at the base of the door. “Heaven help me, this is insane,” Agnes heard her grandmother mutter as she disappeared inside the mausoleum.

There was a nervous moment when Maddy feared she might become stuck, her rump too wide for the narrow opening. Too bad she hadn’t been more faithful to that South Beach Diet she’d tried last summer. But with a
plop!
she pushed her way into the dark interior of the mausoleum and scrambled to her feet.

The musty smell made her nose twitch. She thought she heard water dripping. Something scurried in the corner – a rat or the wayward dog? Oh my, was she crazy for doing this?
Indiana Jones
had not been one of her favorite movies, despite the home-state name. She didn’t have the adventurous fortitude to be a tomb raider, she assured herself.

“Here, Tige. Nice doggie,” she called to the dark. However, her pencil-thin flashlight beam couldn’t make out any familiar shapes.

“
Arf
!”

She turned the light toward the bark, spotlighting Tige sitting atop a moldy casket – Colonel Madison’s final abode no doubt. But what was that next to the dog? A man’s head?

“Oh my,” Maddy gasped. There, bronze gleaming in the light of her Mag-Lite, was none other than the missing bust of Colonel Beauregard Hollingsworth Madison.