Family Matters (13 page)

“I’d be interested to know what Isabelle was doing Friday and Saturday.”

“You can’t be implying what I think you’re implying.” Gracie was familiar with the tone and softened her answer on the fly. She’d dropped her gaze and noticed that more freckles had appeared on her arms. She must be spending too much time in the sun.

“It’s probably sour grapes after my experience with Investigator Hotchkiss this afternoon. She made me feel like the prime suspect.”

“Well, it’s a suspicious death, so I think they’re just covering all their bases. Since they’ve released the body, they must be satisfied with everything.”

“Not necessarily, Mom, but let’s hope so.”

After getting the details on the funeral, Gracie said good night, and then it flashed back—Uncle Stan’s message was on her machine. She’d forgotten to tell the investigator, probably because she was so irritated at the time. She pushed the button to replay messages. It was eerie to hear his voice. The timestamp was 8:57 p.m. She’d left the house at 6:30 to pick up the fish dinners and go to her parents’ house. Uncle Stan’s habit was to eat at the VFW by six, and then play cards until 10 or 11 p.m. Lord knew Gracie had heard Aunt Shirley complain about his boys’ night out often enough. So why was he home before nine? Or had he skipped the poker all together? Why hadn’t she called him back? When did he die? Was it Friday or Saturday? Why hadn’t she asked her mother if they’d talked to or seen Uncle Stan on Saturday? A shiver ran over her spine, contemplating Uncle Stan lying at the bottom of the stairs all night. She’d have to tell the investigator about this, but maybe she’d just call Deputy Stevens and give him the information. Hopefully, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself if she got a second chance.

On her way to the sink with the empty glass, headlights swept into the driveway and Haley woofed her alarm. Peeking through the curtains on the kitchen door, she saw it was a sheriff’s cruiser. Deputy Stevens was apparently brave enough to visit again. She opened the door just as he raised his hand to knock.

It didn’t seem nearly as awkward as Sunday afternoon had been. Gracie decided that Deputy Marc Stevens looked something like Harrison Ford in his younger Indiana Jones days. He even had a dimple in his chin. No wonder he made her nervous.

He said he didn’t have much time, but the visit was to drop off a copy of the un-redacted police report. Gracie hurried to find the scanned copy she had on the living room floor. They quickly compared the two on the dining room table.

“It looks like it’s the vehicle information and license plate they’ve blacked out,” Marc commented.

“It’s a WY plate. They’re hard vanity plates to get. You have to be somebody or know the right person at the DMV to get them.” Gracie’s mind whirled through possible reasons the plate number was obliterated in Uncle Stan’s copy.

“A lot of them go to county employees. The County Clerk is WY 1. The judges have special plate numbers too. This plate number isn’t complete, so I don’t understand why they’d bother to redact it.”

Marc shoved the chair back and ran his fingers through his short blond hair. There was just a sprinkling of silver showing at his temples. He stood and picked up his hat from the table.

“I need to get back on the road. Maybe we can talk about this some more, if you want, this weekend. It would be great to solve a cold case like this one, especially after all that’s happened. It won’t be easy though.”

“I know. My family and business partner are telling me to let it go, but since my uncle gave me all this information, I need to find out what really happened. The weekend is great, but I do need to tell you about the message my Uncle Stan left me on Friday night. I completely forgot to tell Investigator Hotchkiss.”

“A message?”

“He left a message on my machine. I can replay it for you.”

“I’d better take it down. The investigator will want that.” He was all business in his demeanor, as he took out a small spiral notebook that was in his shirt pocket. Marc listened carefully to the message three times and jotted down his notes.

“OK, I’ve got it. Don’t erase it. Investigator Hotchkiss will probably want to hear it herself.” He shoved the notebook back in his pocket.

“No problem. Just take the machine. It’s as old as the hills. I should set up the voicemail on the phone anyway, and let’s just say the Investigator and I didn’t exactly hit it off. It’ll be a peace offering of sorts.” She could only hope that the policewoman would take it in the spirit it was given.

“Thanks. That’ll save her a trip.”

“No problem. Always glad to cooperate.”

Marc looked at her skeptically.

“Cooperate, huh?”

“Yes, cooperate. If someone hurt my Uncle Stan, I want you to find out who did it. Investigator Hotchkiss is a little rough in her approach though, and I don’t appreciate being treated like a suspect.” Gracie could feel the color start to creep up her neck.

“She’s a tough cookie, but she’s a top-notch cop.” His voice was even and cool.

Gracie could tell the conversation was over in that area, so she moved on. Other questions about the investigation would have to wait.

“Is there a good time we could get together about Charlotte’s stuff?”

“I’m not sure of the weekend schedule yet, so I’ll give you a call.” He carried the answering machine under his arm and started for the door.

“Great. I’ll wait to hear from you.” Haley thrust a cold nose into her hand and whined.

“OK, I guess I’d better let you out.” Gracie turned to the patio door and opened the screen slider.

“Goodnight then, and thanks for this.” He waved the answering machine in her direction.

“Goodnight, Deputy.”

“It’s Marc,” he said, shutting the kitchen door.

T
he whole village turned out for Uncle Stan’s funeral on Thursday evening. Even though the ceiling fans were running at top speed, people fanned themselves with the funeral bulletin. The air-conditioning had conked out a few hours before. Even Isabelle looked wilted in the humidity. She had another new suit. It was black linen with a short sleeved jacket and large obsidian buttons. Tim kept his arm around her shoulders throughout the service. His brown hair, with gray at the temples, looked freshly cut since Gracie had seen him at Aunt Shirley’s funeral. He had recently grown a mustache, which Gracie thought made him look older, and his black suit coat was open to accommodate his middle-aged spread.

Greg and Anna were once again in appropriate mourning clothes, looking uncomfortable. Greg pulled at his tie throughout the service and looked down at his feet during the eulogy. His brown hair was the same shade as his father’s, and he was now the same height too. Anna twisted her long honey-blonde hair around her fingers. Her petite features reminded Gracie of Charlotte at the same age. Anna, however, was quiet and studious, very unlike her late aunt. The poor kids had been through hell in the last week. She really needed to take the time to talk with them. How Isabelle had ended up with such good kids was a mystery, but then again, Tim was all right when he wasn’t bragging about how much money he made.

Rev. Minders did a fine job of laying Uncle Stan to rest, reminding them of the life to come and the grand reunion of Shirley and Stan in the heavenly realm. He offered the standard scriptures, Psalm 23 and John 14, to give them all comfort. Gracie wasn’t sure she believed those anymore. She had never questioned them until she had lost a husband and an unborn baby within days of each other. If she hadn’t fallen scrambling up the bank to get to her cellphone in the SUV, she would have a son. The cramping hadn’t been severe until two days after Michael’s funeral.  And then there was nothing the doctor could do. At the time, she’d felt that God had played some cruel joke on her. Her counselor had said she was stuck in the grief process and was hanging on to a lot of anger. She’d stopped seeing the woman after that session.

But in the last couple of weeks, it was evident that anger and fear were running her life. Even if that life seemed to be unraveling again, she wasn’t going to revisit those dark thoughts. They made her feel helpless and so alone. She wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t helpless. She needed to focus on that. Michael would have told her to snap out of it. His faith had been so strong and it had been easy to rely on his confidence in God. It was time she figured out where she stood with
the Almighty for herself.

Her mother’s touch on her arm brought her back to the present moment, and she stood as the casket was carried out by the pallbearers, which included Tim and Greg. There was no graveside service, but there was a private service for the immediate family Friday morning. Gracie hoped that didn’t include her. Another scene with Isabelle was undesirable, and walking by Michael and Andrew’s graves was not something she was ready to do again. There was no funeral dinner tonight, but Gracie knew the church ladies were in overdrive, since her own refrigerator was filled to capacity with casseroles and Jell-O salads. What was Jell-O anyway, and why was it a designated funeral food?

The organ finished a somber postlude of
Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah,
and the congregation began filing past the family. Gracie was at the end of the family receiving line, staying as far away from Isabelle as possible. Theresa Clark had declared a truce between her daughter and niece for the night. As the new matriarch of the family, her word on sticky family relationships would reign on this public occasion. There were to be no scenes or displays of anger. Theresa had always been skillful at managing Isabelle and smoothing her ruffled feathers. In fact, she’d managed her sister Shirley with the same aplomb.

The
line of people seemed endless, and Gracie’s emotional energy was flagging. Out of the corner of her eye, she observed Investigator Hotchkiss melting into the crowd, moving toward the exit. What or who was she watching? Gracie wished she too was exiting, but there was really no way to escape. Her mother had seen to that. Theresa and Robert graciously greeted everyone and talked in low tones to Greg and Anna, who were struggling with issues of their own. Uncomfortable clothes, no cell phones, and an adult crowd were testing their endurance. Greg did look handsome in his dark suit, and Anna was charming in her black sheath dress and sandals. Gracie gave them a quick, understanding smile.

The crowd was thinning into the darkness and sounds of car engines starting up and down the street, when Gracie saw an opportunity to slip away. Her mother turned to talk to Isabelle, and Gracie stood on tiptoes to kiss her father’s cheek.

“Gotta go, Dad. I’ve got an early day, and I need to check the dogs and the alarm system.”

“OK, my girl. You’ve stood the test long enough for Mother, I think. We’ll stop by tomorrow after the graveside. You’re not going, are you?”

“You know me well, Dad. No, I won’t be there, so give my apologies to everyone.”

“I think they understand; don’t worry.” He gave her a quick hug and pushed her toward the side entrance.



Cheryl Stone was a quick study in the kennel business. Already, Gracie and Jim were sure this hire was a good one. Cheryl loved dogs, and they loved her. She already knew all the dogs’ names and was teaching them tricks while they were in the play yard. She was tall and willowy, with dark brown hair cut in short layers, framing a constantly smiling face that was almost pretty. Gracie and Cheryl hit it off immediately and were trading stories about high school. Cheryl had graduated from Warsaw, while Gracie had from Letchworth. They had both been in 4-H and decided they’d competed against each other in dog obedience at Pike Fair.

Cheryl was recently divorced, with a teenage daughter, and had moved back with her parents in Warsaw. Her ex lived in Buffalo and taught at Erie Community College. Cheryl had Marian’s seal of approval, and the work was settling into the efficient rhythm that Gracie thrived on. The only worry now was rebuilding the business that had suffered because of the bite incident and robbery.

Jim brought in the mail and dumped it on Gracie’s desk.

“A lot of bills today, Chief.”

“I know. It’s been that way all week.”

“What’s the checkbook looking like?” Jim was uncharacteristically concerned. He left most financial matters to Gracie.

“We’re all right for now. If we have another month or two like the last couple of weeks though, we could be in trouble. We might have to dip into the reserve account if that happens.” She pushed back a lock of hair that had escaped the large hairclip holding the rest of her hair in check.

“Do you think we need to get some more advertising out there or offer some added-value service?”

“Wow, Jim you’re getting all business-like here
,” Gracie laughed.

Administration was not Jim’s forte. He enjoyed the physical work, the dogs, and the people, not the paperwork.

“Hey, you two. How’s business?” Bob Clark walked through the doorway. Gracie could hear her mother talking to Marian and Cheryl. Jim shook Bob’s hand.

“A little slow, I’m afraid.” Gracie was separating the bills an
d the junk mail into two piles.

“We’re trying to figure out what we need to
do to get a positive spin on Milky Way back out there.” Jim took off his Yankees cap and scratched his head.

“Have a seat, Dad.” Gracie pointed to the ugly recliner.

“Thanks, I think,” Bob laughed.

“It’s broken in just right for my taste. Gracie keeps telling me it doesn’t go with the décor, but hey, this is a kennel.” Jim gazed fondly at the chair.

“I’m tolerating the chair because he’s such good help. Most of the time.” Gracie teased.

“It wasn’t here the last time I was in the office.”

“I’ve been negotiating with the Chief for a while, and I finally wore her down.” Jim looked pleased with himself.

“He brought it over right after you left for your cruise.”

“Good job, Jim. Anybody who can talk my daughter into allowing that chair in her office has great persuasive powers.”

“Is everybody hungry?” Theresa walked bearing a large pan covered in aluminum foil.

Gracie groaned. “Not another casserole.”

“No, it’s really lasagna, and I brought paper plates. Clear off your desk so I can set this up.”

Gracie quickly swept the pile of mail into the top desk drawer to make room for the food.

“All right,” Jim said with anticipation.
“Real home cooking from Mrs. C. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Except it’s not min
e
it’s from Gloria. My refrigerator is so full; I had to part with something. This pan just wouldn’t fit.”

“That’s good for us,” chimed in Marian who came in carrying plates, napkins, and silverware. Cheryl was behind her with a cooler of iced sodas. The conversation lulled as they loaded plates with the rich layers of sausage lasagna. Gracie was mid-mouthful when she realized Joe wasn’t there.

“Where’s Joe?”

“I’ll go get him. He’s probably
in the barn.” Jim left his plate on the task chair.

“Anybody home?”

Gracie recognized Deputy Stevens’ voice.

“Back here in the office,” she called.

“Have some lasagna.” Theresa was already on her feet, grabbing a plate and spatula.

“I’d love to, but I don’t have the time, Ma’am. Mrs. Andersen, could I speak to you?”

He sounded official, and Gracie rose, expecting to see a smile, but his face was deadpan.
“Sure, Deputy. Let’s go in the reception area.”

Deputy Stevens stood straight and tall, looking extremely law enforcement-like by the reception desk. He pulled a set of papers from his clipboard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Andersen, but I have serve you with these papers.”

“Serve me with what?” She tried to keep her voice controlled.

“It’s a summons. You’ll probably want to contact your attorney.”

“My attorney!
What are you talking about?”

“You’ll have to read it.”

Gracie scanned the front page of the document stapled in a blue litigation cover.

“You’ve got to be kidding! They’re suing us. It was an accident, and they’re suing.”

“I’m very sorry. Like I said, you’ll want to contact your attorney.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Gracie’s voice was no longer as controlled as she wanted.

Bob Clark came around the corner.

“Is everything OK?”

“Not really, Dad. Frank and Evie are suing me for Beth’s accident.” She sat down in the molded, brown plastic reception chair, staring at the paper in her hand.

“Don’t panic, Gracie. Just give Nathan Cook a call and put him to work.  It’s not unusual for this to happen after any accident.”

“You’re right about that, Mr. Clark. Happens all the time. I’m sure it’ll work out. I’d better be going.” Deputy Stevens opened the front door and strode toward his car.

Everyone was silent in the office when Gracie returned. Theresa was picking up the plates and collecting silverware.

“Well, I guess Milky Way has some more doo-doo to deal with.” She threw the paper on the desk.

“It’ll be OK, Gracie,” Marian said confidently.

Cheryl nodded in agreement. “People do it all the time to get more insurance money.”

“I know, but the last people I expected to play that game are Frank and
Evie.” Gracie shrugged and picked at the cold tomato sauce, puddled on the saturated plate.

“What’s going on?” Jim searched the unsmiling faces watching him and Joe.

“I just got served with a lawsuit. Frank and Evie are suing us for Beth’s damages, whatever that means. Our insurance will cover all her medical bills. What else do they want?”

“Great.
Although I expected it before now.”

“Well, I didn’t. I still can’t believe they’d try to milk this thing. Beth is most likely to blame for the accident, plus she’s OK.” Gracie was beginning to boil.

Theresa grabbed another plate and landed a huge square of lasagna in the center.

“Here, Joe. No
sense in letting all of this go to waste.” Theresa gave him a motherly smile.

“Thanks. I can just take it with me back to the barn.”

“Stay here, Joe. Don’t leave on our account.” Bob stood and offered the recliner.

“That’s OK. I’m not sure…”

“Have a seat, Joe. Enjoy your lunch.” Theresa was firm.

“OK, thanks.” He sat ramrod straight in the recliner, discomfort oozing from every pore.

All eyes were focused on Joe as he lifted a forkful to his mouth. The silence was awkward. Amazingly, Joe spoke and broke the spell.

“Wow, this is good. I haven’t had homemade lasagna in a long time.”

“It’s compliments of the pastor’s wife. Eat up and get some meat on your bones.” Theresa had her mother hen hat on now.