Family Matters (21 page)

G
racie was an hour early getting to Inspiration Point. She chalked it up to a case of nerves. She’d run out of time to make anything homemade, so a quick drive-by to her parents, who were still knee deep in bereavement food, produced large containers of  potato salad, baked beans, and a fresh blackberry pie. When she’d answered her mother’s question about who was joining her on the picnic, surprisingly, there was no comment. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

The information gathered from the insurance report, along with her notes from Charlotte’s diary and a list of suspicions about Uncle Stan’s death, were piled on the front seat. Hauling the red and white cooler from the back, she carried it to the shady picnic area. There were several cars in the parking lot, but no one seemed to be around. Grunting, she hefted the cooler onto a wooden bench and pulled out the tablecloth. The worn oilcloth in blue plaid shook out easily over the weathered picnic table. In the lower branches of a sweeping elm, a pair of robins fed squawking babies that fluttered in a nest. Satisfied the tablecloth would stake a claim on the table, she strolled to the bridge toward the panoramic view over the stone walls.

A walk through the woods would steady her nerves and collect her thoughts. She didn’t want to come across as a half-crazed woman, accusing a family member of manslaughter or maybe even murder. Gracie shuddered. She turned to the view spread over the Genesee River.

Inspiration Point was beautiful anytime of the year, but especially so in the summer. A stone bridge arched gracefully over the small brook that ran into the deep gorge. The observation telescope was being used by a young couple who were obviously honeymooning. Gracie caught a glimpse of an extravagant diamond and shiny wedding band on the bride’s left ring finger. Her husband was “showing” her how to use the telescopic viewer. His hands, however, weren’t on the viewer. She gave the couple a polite berth and took the upper path.

The river wound through the gorge, running deep and fast after generous summer rains. In dry years, it could be just a trickle. From her vantage point, she could see that the Middle Falls had plenty of water tumbling over them, making a great show for the carloads of summer visitors. With three sets of falls, Letchworth, “The Grand Canyon of the East,” was breathtaking. It was such a perfect day; she was surprised that she hadn’t seen much activity on her way in through the Castile entrance to Letchworth Park. Maybe most people were enjoying the pool at the south end of the park or dining at the Glen Iris Inn.

The couple continued their visit by sitting on the bridge and watching the water bubbling over the moss-covered stones. They didn’t even acknowledge her presence. Gracie decided she’d take the trail through the pines toward the Lower Falls while she waited for Marc. He’d see her vehicle and know she was around. She felt like a teenager again with a fluttery stomach, waiting for Michael to pick her up for a date. The picnic was just a research session, she reminded herself. She wasn’t ready for anything else, but then again, maybe she was. It was too confusing to contemplate.

The shade from the evergreens was thick and cool. Gracie always imagined Seneca hunting parties or Mary Jemison, called “The White Woman of the Genesee,” traveling through these woods. The broad trunks would have provided cover for hunters, but now they housed a large community of gray squirrels that chattered at her intrusion. Her sneakers were cushioned in the deep pine needles that covered parts of the trail. Two does browsed in a patch of grass in a small clearing. The broad walking trail meandered by the stone walls guarding the edge of the dangerous, sheer limestone gorge that plunged to the river. Gracie remembered her father’s stern admonishments to stay off the walls when she and Tom were kids. In fact, the park signs gave the same warning. The gorge was deep—500 feet plus in some areas. Stone steps led her further toward the Lower Falls picnic area. She stopped and looked at her watch. Marc should be along anytime, so she should start back. Two whitetail deer in the clearing suddenly bolted, and there was a snap of a twig to her right. Gracie turned toward the sound, but couldn’t see anything. It was probably a squirrel or raccoon. Hopefully, it wasn’t a skunk.

Dark clouds were mounting overhead, blocking the sun, and the trees creaked in the wind that had suddenly come up. There was a smell of rain in the air. It looked like the picnic might be turned into dinner eaten in her SUV.

A feeling that she was being watched crept over her. She looked around uneasily, but saw no one. Gracie decided to keep nearer the wall to catch more light to see her way. The clouds were definitely thickening, and the wind was stronger. A rumble of thunder sounded from the west. She picked up her pace and stumbled over a gnarled tree root. She felt her left ankle twist as she went down. Pain shot up to her knee. Gingerly, she stood and tested the foot. It wasn’t too bad; maybe it was a little strain. She brushed the dirt and leaves from her white short
s
always a mistake to wear white, especially to a picnic.

The pain grew as she began walking again. She hobbled to the wall to get a better look at her ankle. She perched on the fieldstone wall, both legs stretched out on the uneven
surface. The left ankle was definitely swelling. The gorge now had an eerie purplish light, with the thunderclouds spilling in. She’d better hurry and get back to the parking lot. A walking stick would help, but of course, there were none on the path. Spotting one just on the other side of the wall, Gracie swung her legs over the forbidden side.

A pair of hands pushed her hard in the middle of her back, knocking the air from her lungs. Totally off balance, Gracie fell headfirst over the ledge, the terrain scraping her hands and face, as she desperately grabbed for anything that would stop her fall. Rocks and dirt cascaded down the gorge ahead of her. There was no way to get a foothold, and the jagged stone face tore her light tank top. She couldn’t even scream for help. Her breath came in short gasps.

The branch of a scrubby maple tree hit her outstretched right hand, and Gracie grabbed it with all her strength. She dangled in mid-air over the darkening river gorge, scrambling to find some leverage in the crumbly limestone. The tree sagged and groaned under her weight. It had to hold. She finally found a narrow foothold. Carefully, she redistributed her weight from the tree to her right foot and inched her hands toward a thicker portion of the trunk.

“Help, I’m down here. Help me.
Somebody, help.” Her voice echoed hollowly.

More rocks slid past her, and the tree pulled slightly from the unstable earth. She gripped the trunk tighter with both hands. Turkey buzzards circled the gorge, as if watching her dilemma and waiting.

“Anybody, help, I’m… just help me, please.” Her voice cracked.

She lost her footing and fought to find the small toehold again. Her left foot found a tree root, and pain shot through her leg as she shifted her weight to balance. Climbing wasn’t an option. There wasn’t enough leverage to work with, and the swollen ankle wasn’t cooperating. Her arms felt like they were being wrenched from their sockets. A few
drops of rain stung her face, and lightning shattered the sky. She shifted her weight from one toehold to another, leaning into the rock for more support.

“Help me, somebody, please help me.” Her throat was gravelly. She couldn’t hold on much longer. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking
out the fast running river far below. It was probably a good time to pray. No words but “help” came to mind.

“Gracie!” It was Marc calling.

“Help me. I’m down here.”

“Dear Lord in heaven, let him hear me,” she prayed.

“Gracie! Where are you?” Marc’s voice shouted above the storm.

“Over the wall, Marc.
Help m
e
I can’t hold on.”

Gravel and rocks skidded past her, and the thud of boots above her brought some hope.

“Hang on, Gracie. I’ll get you. Don’t let go.”

“I’m trying. I can’t feel my hands anymore.” Every muscle in her body burned, but she gripped the tree tighter. She didn’t dare look up or down, pressing her face instead into the rocky soil.

“Gracie, I’m going to lower my belt to you. Put your arms through the loop, and let me pull you. Just relax and put your arms through the loop.” Marc’s voice was even and calm.

“I don’t think I can.” She couldn’t bear to think of releasing the tree trunk.

“You can, and you will. I’m on a ledge above you, and I can pull you up.”

“I don’t know, Marc. I can’t…” The pain was disappearing; she felt as if she could almost fall asleep.

“Gracie, listen to me. Take the loop, and I’ll pull you up.” His sharp instructions snapped her back to reality.

“All right.”

The loop was just out of her reach.

“I can’t reach it. It has to come lower.” Gracie was almost past caring. She was soaked through and starting to shiver.

She heard Marc talking to someone, but she couldn’t tell who. Maybe he was on his cell. He called to her again.

“I’ll lower it a little more. You’re going to have to really stretch this time.”

The loop came toward her, and she stiffly pulled her left hand from the tree and finally felt the soft leather. Small waterfalls of rain ran off the rock face, slickening the surface. A T-shirt was knotted onto the belt. Would it really hold her weight? She wasn’t sure.

“Gracie, put your other hand through the loop.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“It
will
work, and you
can
put your other arm through the loop.” Marc’s voice was still even and patient.

“Hey, we’ve got our rescue team here. Let’s get her.”

Gracie forced herself to look up and saw three green uniformed men coming over the wall with ropes and a harness. She shut her eyes and clung to the tree and the belt. Suddenly there was a young and very muscular man, with dark curly hair, holding a harness by her side. She was strapped in and hoisted into air before she could say “thanks.”

Marc sat in the Emergency Room at Wyoming County Community Hospital, waiting for Gracie to be examined.  She had forbidden him to call her parents. He leaned forward and held his head in his hands. The curtain in the exam room had been drawn for a long time, and he wished the nurse would pull it back. Gracie was cut up and bruised, but the EMT was pretty sure she didn’t have any broken bones or a concussion. There seemed to be a lot of drama every time he had contact with this woman, but for some reason, she intrigued him like nobody he’d met in a
long time. She was determined and had a temper, but that red hair drove him crazy. He didn’t dare ask about the pink stripe. That was new, but women did strange things with their hair sometimes.

“Deputy Stevens?” A doctor in green scrubs slid the curtain back from the exam room.

“Right here, doctor.” Marc stood and shook the doctor’s outstretched hand.

“Your girlfriend’s one lucky lady.”

“Uh, she’s not…”

“Nothing broken, no concussion, but she’s got a good crop of bruises and some cuts. And she’s going to be hurting for a few days. I’ve given her a couple of prescriptions to fill. You can take her home.”

“Home? Are you sure?”

“She won’t stay here, so take her home and make sure she gets some rest. She shouldn’t be working for two or three days either. Watching TV reruns and reading should be her most strenuous activities.”

“All right then. Thanks, doctor. I’ll get her home.”

The ride back home was filled with long silences, and Gracie tried to find a position that didn’t hurt. The pain medication was beginning to make her drowsy, but she needed to tell Marc the whole story. Gracie wasn’t sure how much sense she’d made when they’d finally gotten her to safety.

“I need to make a report, Gracie. Somebody tried to kill you.”

“I know, but I’m not sure I can do it tonight. My head is really getting fuzzy.” Gracie’s mouth was dry as cotton, and she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“We’ll do it first thing in the morning. I’ll make some arrangements to get your vehicle back. The park police are going to keep an eye on it.”

“OK. I guess I need to call my parents and Jim. What time is it anyway?”

“It’s after ten. You’d better call.” He handed his cell phone to her.

Everyone would meet them at the house. She dozed off only to awaken as they turned into the driveway and barking began.

Gracie was almost comfortably sitting in the recliner with a cup of hot tea in her hands, when Investigator Hotchkiss appeared at her door. The questions were brief, and Gracie’s mother hovered to make sure she was all right. Jim, Marc, and Gracie’s dad stood out on the patio talking quietly. Reality was soft and fuzzy for Gracie, and before she knew it, her mother had her in bed. Her parents were in the guest room for the night. Haley slept close to Gracie. Thunder rumbled in the distance; another storm was coming in.

Investigator Hotchkiss was back at nine o’clock, along with Marc. Gracie could hardly move, but she forced herself to make coffee. Her stomach rumbled, but she had no appetite. She’d sent her parents home with the promise they could come back and fix lunch. They were only slightly appeased, but Gracie didn’t want them to hear the whole story just yet.

Marc and Jim had retrieved her SUV from the park. They’d piled the documents from the front seat on the dining room table.

“All right, Mrs. Andersen, you need to tell us exactly what you’ve been researching about your cousin’s death.” Investigator Hotchkiss had her pad ready.

Gracie looked at Marc, then back to the investigator. Clearing her throat she began. “I believe my Uncle Stan wanted me to look into Charlotte’s death, and that’s why he gave me her diary, the death certificate, and the police report. He suspected it wasn’t an accident.”

“How so?” Marc spoke quietly and sipped the strong black coffee.

“My cousin was pregnant when she died. My Aunt Shirley was rabid over family honor and appearances. In fact, even my parents didn’t know she was pregnant, until I told them. Isabelle is just like her mother. Charlotte was pretty clear in her diary that she was terrified to tell her mother. She did tell her dad, my Uncle Stan. He most likely told my Aunt Shirley.”

“Lots of girls get pregnant in high school. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world. She could have gotten an abortion, couldn’t she?” The woman’s face was impassive.

“I think the father of the baby wanted her to, but Charlotte refused, according to her diary and cheerleading coach. My aunt would have told her the same thing. But Charlotte didn’t want to have one.” She sipped at the cooling coffee and adjusted her position. Setting the mug on the table, she pushed the copied documents to the policewoman. “Here are the pages from her diary that talk about telling her parents. You can tell she was afraid of her mother.”

“Where’d you get these? I thought you returned the diary to your cousin Isabelle.”

“Well, I made copies before I gave it back. I had an obligation to my uncle.” Gracie felt a small surge of temper that she had to explain herself to the investigator yet again.

“It’s not uncommon for a teenage girl to be afraid to tell her parents she’s pregnant. Why do you think this has anything to do with Charlotte’s death or your Uncle’s?”

“You didn’t know my Aunt Shirley. Charlotte’s
‘condition’ would ruin the family’s reputation. Her indiscretion would bring down the perfect world Aunt Shirley lived in. She would have been desperate. Maybe desperate enough to do something about the problem.” Gracie flexed her scraped and bruised fingers tentatively.

“What are you saying?” Marc’s jaw tightened, and his eyes were dark.

“I’m saying that I wouldn’t be surprised if she had something to do with it.”

“What proof do you have?”

“None, really. But somebody doesn’t want me around.” Gracie’s voice cracked with tension. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back.

“Obviously the attacker wasn’t your aunt.” The woman stood and paced to the front window. She turned to face
Gracie. “All right, I guess you’d better lay out the rest of your suspicions and let us handle it from here, Mrs. Andersen.” Investigator Hotchkiss returned to her seat at the dining room table.

Just then, Cheryl opened the kitchen’s screen door.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I baked a couple blueberry buckles this morning, and I thought you might like some.” She carried a cake pan, and the aroma of warm blueberries filled the kitchen and dining room. Her face blanched when she saw Gracie.

“Oh, Gracie, are you OK? Jim didn’t tell me you were so…”

“So scary? Really, I’ll be fine, but I guess I don’t look the greatest and won’t for awhile.” Gracie had only glanced at her bruised and cut face this morning in the mirror. The cuts were pretty superficial, but the bruising would probably take two or three weeks to disappear.

“Thanks for the cake, Cheryl. It really smells good.”

“Uh, right. Well, I’ll leave it here on the counter. Or do you want me dish it up?”

“Just leave it on the counter. We’ll get it. Tell Marian I’ll be fine. I’ll be out this afternoon.”

Cheryl turned and quickly left for the kennel. The screen door closed with a click.

“Let’s get back to your suspicions, Mrs. Andersen.” Investigator Hotchkiss seemed anxious to wrap up the interview.

“It’s clear to me that Isabelle is involved in all of it. She’s the perfect daughter, and she was her mother’s favorite. Isabelle would do anything to please her mother. It’s always been that way. Isabelle despised her father. He was an embarrassment because of his drinking, and he gave
me
Charlotte’s papers. He really didn’t want Isabelle to know about it, but she found out. If Isabelle had something to do with Charlotte’s death, then her father was a liability and so am I.”

“Anything else?”
The investigator was scribbling furiously on her pad. Marc had gone to the kitchen and brought the cake to the table.

“Plates are in the cupboard to the right of the sink, and forks are in the drawer below.” Gracie directed him. “The other information I have is the partial license plate that Matthew Minders gave the sheriff’s department the night Charlotte was killed. I was able to get some old insurance reports from the Stroud Insurance Agency. My aunt’s license plate number from that time is pretty close to the one that Matthew gave. I think that Isabelle saw a chance to help her mother out and…”

“That’s a pretty serious accusation, Mrs. Andersen. A sister killing her sibling because she’s pregnant? To please her mother? It’s a little hard to believe.” The investigator frowned as she looked up from her notes to Gracie.

“Look at the insurance report for yourself. The plate number is very close to the partial that was reported. The car belonged to Shirley Browne. My cousin could have easily used that car when she was home from college, and she was home the weekend Charlotte was killed. Why did my aunt close down the investigation? I think she knew what Isabelle had done and didn’t want it to go any further. It could only lead back to her door and more embarrassment.” Anger rose in Gracie’s voice.

“I suppose that could be the case, but what about the father of Charlotte’s baby? Where does he fit into the picture?” Marc took a generous bite of the warm blueberry cake.

“I
don’t know who the father was, deputy, but Charlotte was seeing a couple of guys during that time period. The people I’ve talked with don’t know anything about the father. She kept that detail to herself and didn’t put it in the diary either. I did make contact with one of Charlotte’s close friends. She may know, or at least, have a better idea.”

“What about
your Uncle Stan? Do you think that Isabelle killed her own father too?” Marc questioned her.

“It’s possible. He left the message for me the night he was killed. Isabelle could have easily pushed him down the stairs. He wasn’t very well, and he wouldn’t have suspected Isabelle would actually harm him.
Unless it was Joe’s buddies. Did you find out about them?” Her head was aching along with her body. She needed to get up and move. Her body screamed in the simple motion of standing, and she grabbed the table to steady herself.

“Hey, Gracie, you really need to be lying down on the couch at least. The doctor was pretty serious about that.” Marc was quick to gently guide her toward the couch. He smelled of woodsy cologne that was clean and comforting.

“I know, and I think I’m going to take his advice.” She eased herself onto the deep sofa and lay down.

“Joe’s buddies’ alibi checked out. They
were
at a bar that night and it’s on video. The bartender also remembered them. They were there the whole night, until closing time, past the time your uncle was killed,” the investigator answered, shutting her notebook.

“Then you really need to get Isabelle to talk. I don’t think I’m going to be safe until we find out how Charlotte really died.”

“Mrs. Andersen, we’re going to reopen your cousin’s case, but I’m going to need your notes and these other documents. Do you mind?” Investigator Hotchkiss pointed to the pile of paper on the table.

“Please take them. Find out who killed Charlotte and my uncle. I think I know whose house you’ll end up at.” Gracie grimaced to find a more comfortable position.

“We’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it. Thanks for your time.” The investigator left with her arms full of paper. Marc waited until she was walking down the steps.

“Gracie, we
will
find out who did this to you. I promise.” He bent over and lightly kissed her forehead. The brush of his lips gave her a peaceful feeling as she drifted into sleep.

The next couple of days were a blur to Gracie. People came and went. Reluctantly, she took the pain medication and made herself walk around the yard to stretch her stiff and aching muscles. The bruises turned colors, and the cuts scabbed over. She didn’t look good, but she was alive. Her mother’s stylist had come over on the second day and repaired the pink stripe in her hair. At least something was going right. Jim had the agility course put together, and she’d even watched several Border Collies zip through it with their owners.

Even though Marc assured her that everyone was working overtime on her attack, she wanted to bypass law enforcement and confront Isabelle. Gracie was tired of tiptoeing around. Cabin fever was pushing her to take a drive into town, but Jim had taken her keys, so she was effectively under house arrest. He knew her all too well. Her parents were sleeping in the guest bedroom, and the sheriff’s department had a very visible presence day and night. Marc stopped off Thursday morning with a half dozen of Midge’s sweet rolls, and the church ladies came by with soup and homemade bread.

On Thursday afternoon, Jim strode through the screen door without knocking. The door slammed, waking Gracie.

“Are you decent?”

Still foggy, Gracie mumbled, “I guess.”

“Look what I found in the kibble bin today.” He held a rectangular black remote control with two stubby prongs.

“What’s that?” Gracie tried to focus on what Jim wanted her to see.

“You know what this is. It’s a cattle prod.”

“How’d that get in the kibble bin?”
Rising from the sofa, she grabbed the device from his hand. “We don’t have any cattle prods.”

“I think we need to ask our former employee, Beth, about that.” Jim’s jaw was clenched, his eyes uncharacteristically angry.

The cobwebs were clearing as she realized what Jim was telling her.

“No wonder Barney bit her, if she used that on him. I don’t have a doubt Frank would have at least couple of these.” Frank and
Evie Simmons raised beef cattle as their main source of income. The prod was a useful tool when they were penning and loading the cattle on trailers for the weekly livestock auction. “Beth was pretty intimidated by bigger dogs. I don’t want to believe she’d use that on sweet Barney.” Now fully awake, Gracie was outraged that a dog in her care had been hurt intentionally.

“I’m going to talk to Frank.” Jim left before Gracie could get another word out. She had a feeling Jim would get to the bottom of their lawsuit problem very quickly. Within two hours, Nathan Cooke, Esquire called to inform his clients that the Simmons family was dropping the suit. There were some details to work out, but he’d have the necessary paperwork within a few days. Good job, Jim. Gracie was suddenly feeling much better.

By Friday, Gracie had had enough of incarceration. She’d sent her
parents home, and hauled her bruised carcass back to the kennel. Marc called her to let her know there were a couple of real developments in her attack, and he was on his way to talk to her about it. He couldn’t get there soon enough. The phone rang seconds after she’d hung up with Marc.

It was Kelly Standish. Since their mid-week dinner plans had been postponed, Gracie was anxious to pick Kelly’s brain.

“I hope you’re feeling better.” Kelly’s tone was concerned.

“I am, but the bruises have started to turn colors now. I’ll be pretty strange looking for a while longer.” Gracie looked down at her arms, which were yellowy and purplish, mixed in with her generous sprinkling of freckles.

“How are the police doing on finding the person who attacked you?”

“No word yet, although they think they have made some progress. You know, I wanted to talk a little bit more about Charlotte. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure, I’m on a short break right now.”

Gracie was itching to ask if Kelly knew the father of Charlotte’s baby. Although Matthew Minders denied even getting a date with Charlotte, he seemed to be a close friend.
Maybe a friend with benefits. And then there was Galahad, the English teacher. Was it possible he was the father?

“Do you remember Matthew Minders or any other guys hanging out with Charlotte that summer through October?”

“Well, Matt was around a lot. He was like a puppy dog following Char. Nice guy, but a little too tame for her, I think. He took her home almost every day. There were guys from our class who were interested, but I don’t think she was.” Kelly paused, “You know, Char did talk about a guy, but she never said his name. She called him Lancelot or maybe it was Galahad, but she wouldn’t tell me his real name. She had a pretty big crush on him when cheerleading practice started, but by the beginning of October, she didn’t talk about him at all. Char told me she was pregnant about a week before she was killed. She hadn’t been herself, and she was sitting the bench with a sprained ankle or something. I remember her sister coming to practice, and they got into a big scene.”