2 The Patchwork Puzzler (8 page)

Chapter Seventeen

T
hat afternoon a 4:08 p.m. Tillie Tidemore gave birth to a 6 pound, 7 ounce baby girl. She named her Madelyn Taylor after her mother. Maddy made it to the Burpyville General Hospital just in the nick of time. Mark was a basket case, pacing in the waiting room, while Bill and Kathy brought him coffee and donuts, as well as words of encouragement.

Over protests of the nurses, Maddy insisted on joining her daughter in the delivery room. Ten minutes later, the doctor was spanking the newborn baby.

“Congratulations, little lady,” said Aggie’s grandfather when she walked into the waiting room. “You have a sister.”

“Wow! What a week,” she smiled at N’yen. “A new cousin and a new sister. This family sure is growing.”

“I got you beat,” the boy bragged. “I got a new mom and dad, plus grandparents and aunts and uncles.”

“And me,” Aggie beamed.

“And you,” he agreed.

≈≈≈

“So did you solve the Mystery of the Missing Quilt?” Beauregard Madison asked his wife as they drove home from the hospital. Burpyville was about 40 miles from Caruthers Corners, but the road was straight and well paved.

“Not quite,” she admitted. “But we made progress.”

“Any sighting of my former assistant?”

“Almost. We learned that she met up with the owner of a sewing notions shop, a man named Kramer. But it looks like they’ve skipped the country, off to Canada.”

“Well, you still have Henry Caruthers running around here. And what about Holly Eberhard – do you really think she’s involved?”

“Difficult to tell. But it might be worth paying her a visit.”

“I hear she lives down in Bloomington. That’s quite a drive.”

“You and I have been talking about a road trip.”

“Can’t do it right now. As mayor, I’ve got a lot of work to do preparing for Watermelon Days. The traveling carnival is trying to raise its fees this year. We don’t have it in the town budget, but the children will be disappointed if there’s not a Ferris wheel and a merry-go-round.”

“I understand, dear. Duty calls. If you’re going to be mayor, you have to do mayor’s work.”

Beau turned the big Buick onto Melon Pickers Row, their white Victorian house visible at the end of the street. “I’m sure your cronies at the Quilter’s Club would be happy to drive down to Bloomie with you.”

Maddy gazed at their house as her husband turned into the driveway. “Beau, you must have been in quite a hurry to get to the hospital. You left the front door standing wide open.”

“No, I remember closing it.” Years ago, folks in Caruthers Corners rarely bothered to lock their doors, but it was unusual – then or now – to leave them standing open when away from home.

“You must have been discombobulated by Tillie’s need to get to the hospital.” She patted him on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture to let him know that this wasn’t the onset of senility.

“Hm, I think I oughta call Jim Purdue. I’m sure I closed it. Might be a burglar inside.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Burglars – here in Caruthers Corners?”

“Somebody stole your quilt,” he pointed out. That certainly ended her objections.

Maddy pulled out her cell phone. “Hi, Bootsie. Yes, it was a girl. The doctors are pretty good about getting that right. Six pounds, seven ounces. Madelyn Taylor. That was a sweet gesture, naming her after me.”

“Chief Purdue,” her husband hissed, reminding her of the purpose of the call.

“I’ll tell you more later, Bootsie. Is Jim home? Could you ask him to come over to the house? Beau thinks we may have had an intruder. Thanks, dear.” Snapping the tiny phone shut, she turned to her husband. “Jim says he’ll be here in five minutes.”

≈≈≈

Police Chief Jim Purdue wasn’t in uniform, but he was wearing his utility belt, complete with holster and billy club. He carried a .38 Smith & Wesson when on duty, but he’d never actually used it. Caruthers Corners was a peaceful community, not much cr
iminal activity to require SWAT teams and homicide departments like in big cities.

He entered the house, pistol in hand, calling out: “Police. Come out with your hands up.”

No response.

Slowly he worked his way room to room, checking closets, showers stalls, and other hiding places, but the house seemed empty. He called for the Madisons to come inside, putting his gun away. “False alarm,” he said with a smile. “Looks like Beau’s just getting forgetful. You been checked for Alzheimer’s, old buddy?”

“I’m telling you I shut that door,” Beauregard Madison insisted. “I’m not
that
forgetful.”

“House is clear. I checked every room. Even looked in the refrigerator, he said, holding up a turkey drumstick. “Hope you don’t mind I have a little snack. You did interrupt my dinner.”

“Sorry,” said Maddy. “Let me fix you a plate. But we don’t have any watermelon pie left. Those vultures we call a family ate every last slice.”

“Hold on here,” interjected her husband. “There’s a scrap of paper taped to the back of the front door.”

Chief Purdue quickly said, “Don’t touch it. Fingerprints, y’ know.” He bent closer to read the words printed on the lined notepaper.

I didn’t steal your stinking quilt.-

             
                              Henry Caruthers

“That’s Henry’s handwriting alright,” confirmed Beau. “I’ve seen it a thousand times on correspondence in the mayor’s office.”

“I’m gonna throw the book at him,” fumed Jim. “Breaking and entering. Trespassing. Spitting on the sidewalk.”

“What’s he mean, he didn’t steal the quilt?” said Maddy. “Nan Beanie admitted she let him take the keys to the conference room.”

“Can’t trust Henry,” muttered the policeman. “He was a lying weasel even in high school.”

“Aw, Jim, he pitched you out fair and square in that last game of the season.”

“No way. That ball wasn’t good. Lefty was trying to hit me in the head.”

“The umpire called it in the zone.”

“You know ol’ man Brown was half-blind.” The father of Cookie’s late husband had been the high school coach, as well as driver’s ed instructor. Both were jobs his 40-40 vision should have disqualified him for, but in a small town allowances are made.

“I don’t like Henry being in my house,” declared Maddy Madison. “He’s creepy. That’s why I turned down his invitation to senior year prom.”

Beau looked up from the note. “Maddy, you never told me Henry asked you out.”

“Pish. That was nearly forty years ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Heck it doesn’t. You were going steady with me back then. I can’t believe he asked my girlfriend out behind my back.”

“I told you he was a weasel,” repeated Jim Purdue.

“The important thing to keep in mind is recovering that Pennington quilt,” Maddy reminded them.

“And the fact that he broke into our house.”

“If we don’t recover that quilt, the town may be liable,” Maddy pointed out. “As mayor, you signed the agreement booking the exhibit for Watermelon Days.”

“What’d you say that quilt worth?” inquired Jim.

“Forty thousand dollars. But the museum might sue us for negligence and collect damages.”

“Negligence?”

“Dear, it was your assistance who helped steal it.”

“Oh.”

“Bet this could cost a hundred grand,” surmised the police chief.

Beau rolled his eyes in horror. “The town doesn’t have that kind of money in its budget.”

“Then we’d better find that quilt,” said Maddy.

Chapter Eighteen

T
urns out, the Quilter’s Club didn’t have to drive to Bloomington. Holly Eberhard came to them.

“Have you heard?” Cookie Bentley gushed into the phone. “The state’s Quilting Bee committee is coming here tomorrow. They want to talk about the Watermelon Days competition, make it a first round for the statewide contest.”

“That’s great,” replied Maddy, fixing breakfast for Aggie and N’yen as she cradled the princess telephone between head and shoulder. “That could put the Quilter’s Club on the map.”

“Guess who’s coming with them?”

Maddy didn’t feel up for guessing games. She was still bummed over Henry Caruthers breaking into their house. Not to mention her excitement over her daughter giving birth. She had a new granddaughter to think about, not-quite-one-day-old Madelyn Taylor Tidemore. “Not a clue,” she sighed.

“Well, I’ll tell you. Holly Eberhard!”

“Really? That’ll give us a chance to ask her if she’s forged any Sarah Connors Pennington quilts lately.”

“Now Maddy, we have to handle this carefully. We don’t want to blow this opportunity for the Quilter’s Club.”

“Have you told Bootsie and Lizzie yet?”

“No, you’re my first call.”

“Okay, let’s meet at the Cozy Café to figure out a strategy.”

“Sure. That will give you a chance to tell us about Holly’s cousin breaking into your house.” Word had spread among the members of the Quilter’s Club, thanks to Chief Purdue’s wife Bootsie.

“He didn’t actually break in. The door was unlocked.”

“But he came in uninvited and left you a threatening note.”

“I wouldn’t call it threatening. Mainly, it denied that he stole the quilt.”

“Ha! We know better than that.”

“Do we?”

“Of course. Nan Beanie confessed.”

“Well, not quite.”

“Then why did she run? Isn’t that proof of guilt?”

“I suppose so,” said Maddy, serving the ham and eggs to the kids. “But I have to tell you, something doesn’t feel right about this.”

“Oh, Maddy, you’re such a worrier.”

≈≈≈

The Cozy Café was always crowded. Not surprising, in that it was the only restaurant in town unless you counted the DQ or the Pizza Hut o
ut on Route 21. The Quilter’s Club squeezed into a booth at the far end of the converted bus. Bootsie hated coming here because the booth space was so tight.

“Perhaps the Quilter’s Club shouldn’t confront Holly Eberhard,” said Lizzie, worry wrinkling her brow. Her red hair was tied back in a ponytail, a youthful look. With a skillful application of makeup, she looked a decade younger than her 58 years.

“We can’t let her get away with this if she’s guilty,” exclaimed Cookie. “The Smithsonian is going to have a fit.”

“Maybe we should let Jim speak with her, keep the issue away from us,” urged Lizzie. “I’d hate to see us lose the opportunity to be part of the statewide Quilting Bee competition.”

“What if I confronted her?” volunteered Maddy. “I could temporarily resign from the Quilter’s Club, so you won’t be connected with my putting her on the spot.”

“Resign? No way,” said Cookie. “You’re our fearless leader.”

“Not so fearless as you might think. But I’m certainly not afraid to take on Mrs. Holly Lazynski Eberhard, now that I know she’s just a local girl like you and me.”

“I don’t like this plan,” said Bootsie. “Your resigning is totally unacceptable.”

“Plausible deniability,” said Maddy, repeating the term she’d used with Bootsie just the other day. “That means you girls don’t have to take the heat if I screw up.”

“Screw up? In what way?”

“What if Holly’s innocent? She may not like being accused of a crime she didn’t commit.”

“That’s true,” Lizzie agreed. “And she obviously has a lot of pull with the state Quilting Bee committee.”

“Okay, but your resignation is only temporary,” Bootsie caved in.

“A leave of absence,” amended Cookie. She was a stickler for proper procedure, an obsessive rule follower.

“Oh my. I hope I can get Holly to confess.”

“If anybody can, it’s you,” encouraged Bootsie. “You’re better at grilling suspects than Perry Mason.”

“Yes, you should have gone to law school,” said Lizzie, adding her own positive reinforcement to the plan. Better to sacrifice Maddy than see the Quilter’s Club go down in flames, she told herself.

“Law school? You mean be a lawyer like Mark the Shark? No thank you!”

“Why are you always putting Mark down?” asked Cookie. “He seems like a good son-in-law. Aggie adores him. And Tillie just had another child by him.”

“Edgar recommended him to the Savings and Loan. He’s now the bank’s attorney of record,” said Lizzie.

“And he helped Jim with that frivolous lawsuit against the police department. Got the man to drop the whole thing.”

“The man who claimed Jim towed his car from the handicap spot at the courthouse, despite a handicap sticker in the window?”

Bootsie nodded. “That’s the one. Mark pointed out that the man himself wasn’t handicapped. He’d bought the car from Peg-Leg McGinty and thought the sticker went with the vehicle.”

“And he’s been hired as the town’s attorney,” Cookie added. “They needed a new one after old Bart Dingley retired.”

“Wait up!” Maddy halted this runaway praise for her son-in-law’s legal prowess. “If I gave the impression I’m denigrating Mark Tidemore, I apologize. I like to tease him, but that’s out of affection. Now that he and Tillie got over that rough spot in their marriage, I couldn’t be happier with having Mark as part of the family.”

“Excellent,” said Cookie. “Why don’t you take him with you to confront Holly Eberhard. After all, two heads are better than one.”