Family Matters (14 page)

“Well, let’s give the man some peace while he eats.” Bob admonished his wife.

“Of course, dear.” Theresa gave her husband a good-natured glare.

“How did the graveside service go?” Jim broke in and let Joe off the hook.

“It was fine. Isabelle held up pretty well. It’s a good thing Tim is so steady. She’s going to need him to help her sort everything out.” Bob helped himself to another hunk of lasagna.

“Poor Uncle Stan.
This whole thing is surreal. Have you heard if they’ve finished up the investigation?” Gracie settled back into her desk chair.

She thought she saw a flicker of fear on Joe’s face.
A sheen of sweat crossed his upper lip.

“I don’t know. I’m assuming no news is good news.” Theresa dabbed at a spot of sauce on her black skirt.

“I guess we’d better get back to work.” Jim adjusted his baseball cap and dumped his plate in the wastebasket.

“I’m right behind you.” Joe quickly shoved the last bite in his mouth and stood to leave.

“Jim, wait a second before you go. We need to put in a call to Nathan.”

“Right.
Go ahead, Joe. Finish cleaning the runs.”

“All right.”

“There aren’t any more grooming appointments this afternoon, so I’m going home if you don’t need me,” Marian said.

“Fine with me.
If one comes in, I can handle it. See you tomorrow.” Gracie let out a sigh.

“Cheryl’s up front, so the phone is covered.”

“Thanks, Marian.”

With good-byes out of the way, and her parents
on their way home, Gracie and Jim spent some time talking to Nathan Cook, Esquire. She faxed the summons and complaint to him, and gave him Howard Stroud’s number.

“I’ll get with Howard, and I’m sure we’ll work this mess out. Don’t talk to the Simmons family or their attorney and make an appointment to see me next week.” Nathan’s voice was firm and confident. He had handled all of their legal affairs for years and had always come through. This was the first lawsuit though. It seemed immensely scary to Gracie, not like a partnership agreement or probate.

“Thanks, Nathan. We’ll see you next week.” Jim hit the speakerphone’s “Off” button, disconnecting the call.

“It’s Nathan’s problem now. I hope he can get this settled quickly.”

“It’s
our
problem, and I still can’t believe they’d do this. We’ve been friends for years… or so I thought.” Her brown eyes flashed with anger and hurt.

“Gracie, take a deep breath. Let Nathan do his job and we’ll get on with business. We do have a PR problem, which this lawsuit isn’t going to help.
Any ideas?” His eyebrows were furrowed, and his blue eyes were dark with worry.

“I was thinking about hosting an obedience match here, but I need to get in touch with the Valley Kennel Club.” Gracie was trying to cool down and focus.

“That’s a great idea. How about adding agility?”

“We’d have to get a spot ready for that. We need more fencing installed, too.”

“Not a problem. There are a few rolls of livestock fence out in the barn.”

“OK, that’s good. I’ll give them a call and see what we can work out.”

“All right then. Get crackin’, Chief.” Jim adjusted his cap to a jaunty angle, winked, and whistled his way out of the office.

“Sure thing.
You too.” Gracie felt a surge of excitement. It would be a feather in Milky Way’s cap to host a match. If they made a good impression, who knew what else could happen?

Gracie’s mind was still whirling with organizing the obedience and agility match set for six weeks away when she sat at the kitchen counter to sort her personal mail. The Kennel Club had readily agreed and would do the advertising. Milky Way just had to supply the venue.

The copies of Charlotte’s diary were still scattered on the coffee table like pieces of an unsolved puzzle. Maybe digging up the past wasn’t a good idea.

“Let sleeping dogs lie, right,
girl?”

Haley looked up from her rawhide chip and thumped her tail on the floor.

Gracie spotted the flashing red light on the phone as she went back to opening the mail. It was her buddy, Investigator Hotchkiss, leaving an official voicemail. She wanted to see Gracie tomorrow. How could she prove that she hadn’t had anything to do with Uncle Stan’s death?  Of course, she might be reading into why the investigator wanted to talk to her.

I
nvestigator Hotchkiss snapped her notebook shut. Her almost military-cut, dark brown hair was threaded with silver. Gracie guessed she was probably in her late-forties. She wore a plain gold wedding band and was trim in a navy blazer and skirt. A short, upturned nose and fine-boned face with piercing brown eyes, met Gracie’s gaze. Did this woman ever smile?

“Thanks, Mrs. Andersen. I think that’s about it.”

“Sure. Glad to help,” Gracie said through clenched teeth.

The questions were no less threatening than the first interview. The investigator wanted to know why Gracie had kept Charlotte’s papers from Isabelle. Why was her uncle so eager to talk to her about Charlotte’s death? Since she had such a hot temper, as witnessed by many at the funeral dinner, did she get into an argument with her Uncle Stan? It appeared as if Isabelle had tried to implicate Gracie, in some twisted way, in Uncle Stan’s death. It was unthinkable. Investigator Hotchkiss had thanked Gracie for turning in Uncle Stan’s message though, so maybe being helpful was making some points.

“One more question before I go.” The investigator stood with her left hand draped over the doorknob.

“Sure, why not?” Gracie scratched Haley’s head nonchalantly.

“Did you notice anything missing when you were in the house? Was there anything out of place?”

“I don’t think so, but I wasn’t really looking at the time.”

“If you think of anything, please give me a call. You’ve got my card, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Gracie hesitated and then decided to ask the question she was dying to ask.

“Investigator?”

“Yes?”

“Where does all of this stand? Is my Uncle Stan’s death still suspicious?”

Investigator Hotchkiss was clearly all business, and Gracie doubted she’d get a straight answer, but she still needed to ask.

“We’re following up on all our leads right now. I think we’ll have things wrapped up pretty soon.” The investigator sounded confident, but unhelpful.

“Well, that’s good. I hope you find some answers soon.”

“Thanks again, Mrs. Andersen. I’ll be in touch.”

Investigator Hotchkiss shut the kitchen door quickly.

“OK. We made it through another interview. Maybe this time I lost the job as suspect.”

Gracie flopped onto the sofa and pulled absently on Haley’s soft ears.

“Isabelle has some explaining to do though. She’s got to be smoking dope to tell the police I could hurt Uncle Stan.” She felt her chest tighten, as Uncle Stan’s sad face flashed through her mind.

Gracie decided to focus on her deceased cousin. Thinking about Isabelle only made her angry. Charlotte’s diary entries and the police report were now stacked neatly on the coffee table. The license plate number was making her crazy. The WY vanity plate was probably her best clue, but without DMV records to check it out, the task seemed impossible. It might not even be the car. Maybe Matthew could shed some light on things. Who knew what he’d seen that night? Sometimes you blocked bad things out of your mind because they were just too awful. He might remember something significant after all these years.

Matthew Minders hadn’t changed much. He was tall and lanky, but a little heavier than in high school. His curly blond hair was still out of control, although it was much shorter now. He was dressed in faded jeans and a green T-shirt that sported a white dragon logo with “Coach” embroidered underneath.

The Village Park was full of T-ball players and parents. Cheering rose from both fields, and it looked like the short, helmeted players, in bright red and blue uniforms were actually advancing around the bases. Gracie and Matthew had been catching up on life, and why he didn’t show up very often in Deer Creek as they watched the two games from a distance. Haley sniffed an invisible trail through the dense grass and then flopped in the shade of a half-dead elm near the picnic area. Matthew stood with his right leg propped on the seat of the redwood-stained picnic table. Gracie watched Haley sleep.

“So, what do you want to know about Charlotte? You sounded a little mysterious on the phone.”

“I know. As a matter of fact, it is a little mysterious. My Uncle Stan, now my late uncle, handed me a bunch of information about Charlotte’s death with no explanation. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to talk about it before his untimely death last week. Your name has come up a couple of times, and I was hoping you could shed some light on that night.”

“It was terrible. The wind and rain were really something. I saw a car and got part of a license number.”

“Did you see it happen?” Gracie asked softly, swallowing hard.

“No, but…” His voice shook, and pain showed in his eyes.

“Did yo
u
?”

“I found her in the street. It was the most awful thing I’ve ever gone through. She was so still. It didn’t look like Charlotte when I first got there.”

“What about the car? Did you see the car after you found her?”

“No, it was before. I was walking up Mill toward Main Street, when a car flew past me, fishtailing on the wet leaves. I turned around to look at it because it was so out of control and caught a glimpse of the plate, as it passed under a street light. I really didn’t get a good look at the car because my head was down. When I got up to the intersection, I saw something in the street; I wasn’t sure what it was. At first, I thought it was a dog. The streetlight was out at the corner, so it wasn’t well-lit. A car was coming down Main toward her, and then I could see it wasn’t a dog. I flagged the car to stop, and then we checked on her. It was pretty bad, Gracie. I haven’t ever talked about that night much, just to the police, and then I just wanted to forget it.” He sat down on the bench with his back to the table and leaned back. Gracie did the same.

“I can understand that.” Gracie’s mind flew to the day she found Michael. If only she could forget that hellish scene.

“What did the police say about the plate number?”

“Not much. I gave them the information, but nothing ever came of it. I could’ve made a mistake, but I don’t think so. If only I’d gotten the whole thing. WY 7. I’m not sure if the number was the first or the last. It was pretty fast.”

“Seems like the cops could have figured something out with that much.”

“I thought so too, but nothing happened. I really wanted to help, but I guess the information wasn’t enough. Charlotte was such a good friend. I was having a hard time that last year of high school, but she was always there with a good word and that beautiful smile. She wouldn’t go out with me though.” He rubbed his hand over the light stubble on his chin and smiled.

“Who was in the car that stopped?” Gracie hadn’t ever heard this information before.

“I’m not sure. It wasn’t anyone loca
l
a couple from out of town. I think they were staying at the Glen Iris Inn to see the leaves or something like that. I ran to the Randall’s, which was the closest house, and called the ambulance.”

“Did they see or hear anything? Their house was pretty close to the corner.”

“They said they’d heard some tires squealing, but they heard that all the time, so they didn’t think anything of it.”

“I guess that makes sense. Plus the wind was blowing pretty hard.”

“It sure was. It was an icy rain, and the wind was whipping like it was November or December already.”

“Why didn’t the sheriff’s department keep pursuing the case? It was a hit-and-run after all. I can’t believe my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Stan would have just let it drop.” Gracie picked at a rough cuticle on her index finger.

“I don’t know. I remember my parents talking about their wanting resolution and the sheriff had done his best, but it was just going to drag on and on.”

“There was never any resolution, though
, if the driver was never caught. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It didn’t to me either. But what did I know? I was just a 17-year-old geeky preacher’s kid, hoping to graduate and get outta here.” He gave her a crooked grin.

Gracie laughed, remembering excruciating Sunday school classes as a teenager. Matthew took all the pressure for the right answers. The teacher, Mr. Bannister, loved asking tough questions of the pastor’s son. One favorite was if the Nephilim in Genesis were some aberrant race of human giants.

“I guess you had the short end of the stick on that. Remember those challenging Sunday school classes?
”

“Yeah, they were great. I guess good old Mr. Bannister thought I’d been to seminary already. That class pretty much cured me of any thoughts of the pastorate. My mother was bucking for the only son to go to seminary, but by high school, I was tired of life in the fishbowl. You spend a lot of time being a good example and keeping a low profile.” He dropped his foot from the bench and hoisted himself on the table top.

“I can imagine. At least you’ve got a real life now.”

“Yes, and it’s one of the reasons that Deer Creek isn’t high on my visiting list. My parents come down to Jamestown every other month. They see our kids, and we have a good visit. It’s good for them too. They get a day out of the public eye.”

“Your mom is still coming up with new programs. We’ve even got one of her projects working for us.”

“Second Chances, right?
She needs to keep busy so that the church doesn’t suck all her time. It gives her an excuse to not attend every Missionary Circle meeting or organize every fundraiser. Of course, Dad depends on her for a lot of things. He’s not the most organized person, and she keeps him focused and on time for things.”

“Sounds like my parents. Mom runs a tight ship, and Dad benefits. If she didn’t, Dad would just putter around the house and never finish anything. They’ve been traveling a lot since they both retired last year.”

The conversation rambled to more pleasant memories. They both had a good laugh remembering long summer afternoons when they were kids, biking down to the creek to swim with the gang that included Charlotte, Matthew, Jim, Michael, her brother Tom, and Gaile, one of Matthew’s three sisters. Sometimes they’d get a watermelon from Hatfield’s long gone little grocery store that had the best produce. One of the guys always had a jackknife, and they’d cut it up into big slices and eat the whole thing. The juice was cool and ran from their hands to their elbows, creating a sticky mess. Inevitably, there was a seed-spitting contest. The boys were proud of their prowess and ability to disgust the girls. They’d swim again to dissolve the sweet glueyness and make themselves presentable to their respective mothers. Matthew broke her reverie.

“Well, sounds like families are pretty much the same everywhere.”

“Not exactly. I do have some other questions about Charlotte…and Isabelle too.”

Matthew shot her a quizzical look. “OK. I’m not sure what else you want to know. I really don’t know any more about the accident.”

“Not the accident, but what was going on with Charlotte right before she died. Do you know if she was dating anybody?”

“No….” he said slowly. “She was a real flirt with the football team, but I don’t know if she was dating anyone in particular. She used to wait for a couple of different guys from time to time. I don’t even know if I can remember their names.”

“Did she ever talk to you about a Lancelot or Galahad?”

“As in King Arthur?”

Gracie nodded.

“Sometimes Charlotte talked like she was the princess in a tower. She could be a little dramatic.”

“She came by that honestly. Isabelle is certainly a drama queen, and my Aunt Shirley…well, I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Matthew laughed. “My mother has a few stories about your Aunt, I’m afraid.”

“I always thought they were pretty tight.”

“Well, you could say that. I shouldn’t say it, but it was more like Lincoln who said something to the effect of keeping your enemies close, so you know what they’re up to.”

“Oh, uh, well, that puts a different light on things.”

Gracie’s admiration meter went up the scale exponentially for his mother. She also wondered why she hadn’t seen this side of Gloria Minders before. Gracie mentally chided herself for being so dense. She decided to go for the shocker question and see how Matthew reacted.

“Did you know that Charlotte was pregnant when she was killed?”

“Really.”
Matthew’s tone was flat and un-shocked. Slightly disappointed with his reaction, Gracie forged ahead.

“From Charlotte’s diary entries, I think it was this Lancelot or Galahad she wrote about, but I can’t be sure. I’d sure like to piece more of what was going on with her that last summer and fall. My Aunt Shirley kept both of her daughters on a short leash when it came to boys. Of course, Isabelle was smart enough to hook Tim in college and marry a week after she graduated. The Bakers were upper crust enough for Aunt Shirley. Money and prestige were what it was about for her.”

“Not bitter or anything, are we?” Matthew gave Gracie a sideways glance reminiscent of his gloating at the seed-spitting contests.