By the Book (A Gracie Andersen Mystery 2) (19 page)

She could hardly wait for closing time. Cheryl had called in sick, although Gracie thought it was probably more like heartsickness over her daughter’s boyfriend situation. She and Marian barely got through the day. She called in the weekend kennel helper, Georgie Sylor, to finish cleaning runs so she and Jim could get all the exercise sessions in. Georgie was so accommodating and utterly reliable. He was happy to change his schedule for Milky Way.

Georgie was a short stocky man, who worked quietly and efficiently. He’d been a calf feeder for years, but after breaking his leg and being off on disability, the farm had let him go. He now ran a small herd of beef cattle on his land, filled in on a few farms, and had worked the weekends at the kennel for several months. His wife was a cashier at Tops grocery in Warsaw. Their three kids worked as hard as their parents. All of them were in high school and had part-time jobs around town. His oldest son helped on the weekends too, which gave her a little breathing space.

She mentally ticked off the list she’d managed to accomplish. The call to Will at breakfast had been hopeful for Sybil. How would the library run without her anyway? Gracie couldn’t imagine leaving Patti in charge, and with everything that had happened, giving Sybil a second chance seemed logical. Will wasn’t excited about any more scandal involving the library. There was a good chance the board would do the right thing.

A pair of Corgis decided to mix it up at lunch time in their shared run, and one ended up with a nicked ear. After a call to the owner, who decided a separate run for each dog was probably a better idea than sharing, the kennel calmed down to a dull roar.

Gracie texted Terry to see if they could get together in the evening. Terry agreed and would come to the house after supper. If she could shed any light on what Dr. Aaron and Mr. Robinson had been up to with the Woodsons, it all might come together. She chewed on a ragged fingernail, staring at her phone.

“What’s eating you, Chief? You’re kind of a wreck today.” Jim stood appraising her from a step ladder where he was changing out a fluorescent bulb in a ceiling fixture.

“There’s something weird about this whole murder thing, and I can’t figure out what it is.”

“Someone going to call you with the answer?” Jim laughed.

She stuffed the cell phone back into her jeans pocket and shrugged.

“Ha, ha. I wish. But I need to see Pearl again, talk to a couple of more people, and I’m not sure how to do that. It’s just sort of awkward.”

“Can’t leave it alone, huh? Just like a scab, you’ve got to pick at it.” Jim chided.

“I may be pickin’, but I’m not grinnin’ yet,” she agreed, avoiding his eyes. “Once I see it, I’ll know it, and it’ll all make sense.”

“How will you know when you see whatever ‘it’ is?”

“You got me. I wish I knew the answer to that question too.”

She turned back to the computer and typed in a string of names. Maybe Google had the answer.

The headlights of the blue Accord shone over the rutted frozen slush in the driveway and the freshly scraped bluestone sidewalk. Gracie watched the dogs pile out of the back seat and lope to the kitchen door. Terry stomped her boots on the outside mat before entering.

“It’s warming up, but it’s getting messy,” she complained as she shut the kitchen door.

“I know. Pretty soon it’ll be mud season, and then it really gets ugly,” Gracie added.

The dogs were whining and sniffing each other. They finally straggled into the living room, tails wagging. Max commandeered the dog bed while Haley and Sable decided that stretching out by the French doors was OK.

“You didn’t mention you needed files from the library, so I hope you weren’t looking for any,” Terry said finding seat on the sofa.

“No. I don’t need any files, but I just had a few questions. They’re about Dr. Aaron.” Terry’s eyes flickered with surprise, and she stiffened. “What about him?”

“I’ve been working with Alice’s sister Pearl on some library things, and she said that Alice was  selling these antiques for him. I just wondered if you knew her or had seen her visit him.”

“Gee, I don’t think so. He saw a lot of people, but I worked nights, so I was out of the loop on that.”

“What about a Raymond Robinson? Did Dr. Aaron ever mention him?”

Terry shifted uneasily on the sofa. “He was connected with the New York State history memorabilia. He and another man … I can’t remember his name,” she answered.

“Was it Wilson?”

“It sounds familiar. Why?”

“I think one or both of them may be in Deer Creek. Or at least they were.”

Terry’s face paled. “Really? Why would they be here?”

“I think it may be about the knife.”

“Oh….” Terry exhaled. “Was one of them buying it?”

“I don’t know, but Pearl says Alice was on her way to complete the sale when … you know, she was interrupted.”

“Just when I thought …” she broke off, rubbing her forehead.

“Do you think one of these guys was the one that, uh ..?” Gracie wasn’t sure what to ask next. She sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, hugging herself.

“It could be, but the police questioned everybody.”

“And they were cleared?”

“I guess. They weren’t arrested.”

“What about one of them following you or threatening you here? Is that possible?”

Terry rubbed her hands against her jeans. “Somebody poisoned Max. I never found a puddle anywhere that could’ve made it an accident. What am I supposed to do now? Where are these guys?”

“I don’t know, but there aren’t many places to stay around here. I think both of them were at the funeral though.”

Terry rose from her seat and walked to the French doors, staring out into the darkness. “I can’t deal with this anymore. I’ll have to leave here.”

Gracie joined her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You can’t keep running. I think whoever killed Dr. Aaron is somehow involved with Alice’s murder. These guys are big-time collectors, and either one of them would want the knife in their collection. They could’ve been arguing with Aaron over the price or something.”

“But they’ll never get it now. The police have it,” Terry shuddered.

“It’ll be released eventually. Roger still wants to sell the knife. One of them will get it.”

“But like you said, what if one of them killed Dr. Aaron? Oh, what am I going to do?” She turned quickly from the doors, and Sable immediately followed her to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Gracie. I’ve got a lot to think about. Max, hier!” The black and tan Shepherd rose from the dog bed and trotted to Terry.

“You can stay here if you’d be more comfortable. You know that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine. I have to be.” She snatched up her coat and pulled her gloves from the pockets. The dogs stood expectantly by the door, and Haley watched the departure from her bed, groaning as she lay down on the cushy pad.

“I’m really sorry, Terry. I’m not sure what I can do.” She felt absolutely awful. What if these guys were the ones who’d killed Aaron, and now they knew exactly where Terry was?

“There’s nothing you can do. Thanks for letting me know about them though.”

Gracie watched the car turn onto Simmons Road. She’d call Marc. Maybe the sheriff’s department could patrol Maplewood Estates more often. There had to be something they could do.

An uncomfortable group gathered in Roger Woodson’s den. Colonel Marvin Wilson, looking dapper in a dark brown corduroy sport coat, sat by Will Dover on a worn black leather sofa. Chuck Woodson in a blue plaid flannel shirt and Raymond Robinson in a black turtleneck and jeans were seated in matching roughhewn pine chairs upholstered in a dark green with pinecones print. Roger’s large oak desk had been cleared off, and a green banker’s light shone on the documents lying on the blotter. Roger stood scanning the faces of the men. Everyone was on edge, and two briefcases sat at the feet of Wilson and Robinson.

“All right, gentlemen,” Chuck began. “They’ve been authenticated. You’ve had time to read over the second appraisal from Maxwell & Maxwell. We’ll entertain bids tonight with the right to refuse any of them, of course.”

“When’s the knife going to be released by the sheriff’s department? That’s what I want to know,” Colonel Wilson fussed. He had a slight lisp, and a bit of saliva flecked his bottom lip.

“Once the grand jury has indicted Jack Greene, it’ll be returned,” Roger assured him.

“Are you sure?” Raymond Robinson asked, pulling his black-rimmed reading glasses from his face.

“We’ve talked with the D.A., and that’s the agreement,” Chuck affirmed. He rose and put his hands on his hips. “I thought you all were ready to buy tonight. The knife isn’t part of this discussion. We don’t have access to it yet.”

“What about the sheath? I understand you don’t have it now,” Colonel Wilson queried. “Without it, the knife isn’t worth half of the appraisal.”

“We’re confident Jack Greene has it stashed somewhere. It’ll turn up,” Roger said.

The colonel huffed skeptically.

“I want to look at that appraisal again.” Raymond Robinson got up from the chair and went to the desk. Roger handed him a dark blue folder. He flipped to the middle of the document, absorbing the information. “The appraiser is sure that these are really the letters of Cornelia Becker of Schoharie’s to both Thomas Boyd and Walter Butler?” the bald man asked.

“That’s what it says,” Roger stated. His eyes were clouding with anger. “Aaron’s appraisal and this one are the same. It was a waste of money to get another one anyway. We all know the work Aaron did for us in the past. He said these letters prove that Cornelia was a British spy, and her affair with Boyd led the Americans right into a trap. The Torture Tree is without question some of our goriest history in this area. The Boyd and Butler letters prove the handwriting is the same. There’s no doubt that Cornelia wrote both letters. She signed the one to Colonel Butler as Number 17, which as you know was a common way for spies to sign. Many of them were assigned numbers on both sides. The kicker on Cornelia is that she may have been a double agent. Of course, the other personal letters with a mention of Mary Jemison are a bonus for the collection. Women spies were everywhere during the Revolutionary War, but the documentation is scarce. This is a huge find. It’s worth at least $10,000, and you know it. As this appraisal says, these letters are ‘highly desirable.’”

Colonel Wilson held out a hand to the other collector, who deposited the report in his hand. Wilson shifted his gaze to Roger, staring at him over his reading glasses. “The paper, the ink, it’s all confirmed then?”

“It was confirmed back in November,” Chuck growled. “If you’re not interested, then stop wasting our time. This is ridiculous. Aaron’s appraisal was all you needed before Alice was killed. You all agreed he was qualified to do it. He authenticated everything. I’m not in the fraud business. Let’s just say if you still want the knife, the buyer of the Cornelia letters has the first right of refusal on it.” He grabbed a can of beer from a side table and took a swig.

“The knife is too rich for my blood,” Will said sadly, walking to the desk. “I’m only interested in the letters now.” After a long look at the fragile paper encased between clear sheets of plastic, he picked up his coat from the back of the leather sofa.

“Chuck, I won’t waste any more of your time. As much as I want those letters, until the Maplewood deal is straightened out, I just can’t.”

“All right then, Will, I understand. It’s a shame though. I’d really like to see you get them.” Chuck took another swallow of beer and set the can down on the pine side table.

“That’s appreciated, but my cash situation isn’t very good.”

“The price for the letters is way too high, in my opinion,” Robinson answered, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “Plus, I’m only interested in the knife now. I collect weapons, not paper. But the sheath has to be with the knife. I don’t think the letters should have anything to do with the knife. The knife rightfully belongs to my family anyway.”

“Ah … but I collect both, my friend,” Colonel Wilson said. He smiled, licking his lips. “Your family let the knife go years ago. And Mrs. Harris was on her way to complete the transaction with me when she was … well, detained. I’ve been thinking about this little dilemma. Perhaps one of you made sure she didn’t make it. Maybe a better offer suddenly came along.”

“Hey, don’t threaten me.” Roger’s voice rose in pitch. “The guy who did it is in jail.”

“I’m not so sure now myself. Maybe she was double crossing you,” Robinson said, smiling, his features hard. “Or maybe you wanted to take her cut, or you did get a better offer and decided to stiff the Colonel.”

“You’re outta your mind! Why would I do that?” Roger exclaimed. He slammed a fist on the desk next to the tea-colored papers. “The sale of the knife is pretty important to us, and you two were plenty interested back in November.” Roger pointed his finger at Wilson and Robinson, who now stood stiffly, both eying the closed door.

“Simmer down, Roger,” Chuck said to his son. “I think our conversation is done here. There are plenty of buyers out there. We don’t have time to hold your hand, Colonel, or you either, Ray. Walk away tonight, and that’s it. You won’t be invited back. Don’t let the door hit your sorry rumps on the way out.”

He motioned toward the door, and the group stood looking at each other, frowning. Colonel Wilson mumbled under his breath. Will hung back as the two men grabbed their coats and hats from the coat tree in the hallway. The front door slammed, a whoosh of cold air entering the hall.

“Will, sorry it didn’t work out,” Chuck said, rubbing his jaw.

“Sorry about that too. If it had gone differently with that real estate deal, it would’ve worked out. Alice really screwed things up all the way around.”

“She sure did. And now we’re stuck figuring out how to unload that knife. Aaron and Alice were pretty good at setting up these deals. But I don’t need any more publicity about it. One guy who was interested found out it was used on Alice, and we lost that deal.”

Roger bent over the desk and carefully placed the letters in a black archival storage box. He dropped the lid, sighing as he tucked it in the desk’s bottom drawer. He locked it up and sat down heavily in the desk chair.

“I really want those letters. You both know that, don’t you?” Will begged. He tucked his reading glasses into the breast pocket of his dark brown button-down shirt.

“We know, Will. But we need the cash. That’s your problem and ours too. Isn’t there some way you can pull that much together? You know the letters are worth it,” Roger said, swiveling the chair toward Will.

“I know. I’m talking to McMahon tomorrow. He needs to come up with something. Isabelle Baker called me today and said there’s a house deal pending up there. I’m going to press him for $10,000 out of that sale, but it may take a month or so.”

“We can’t hold these letters,” Chuck said. “It’s business, nothing personal.”

“I know,” Will said thoughtfully. “I’ll find a way. There’s got to be a way to make this happen. If Alice hadn’t tried to cheat both of us, we wouldn’t be standing here.”

Chuck smiled grimly. “Well, that’s not happening again. It was lucky we found out before she got her hands on these letters.”

Haley was stretched out in front of the fire while Gracie furiously typed on the laptop. What she’d found out in the last 10 minutes was an eye opener. The call from Pearl had started it all. And now she just had to confirm a couple of things. The house phone rang, interrupting her research.

“Dag nab it! Who can that be?” she complained to Haley, who opened one eye and groaned.

“Hi, Mom,” she said sweetly, recognizing the number on the caller ID.

“Hi, Gracie. I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted to remind you about the pancake supper tomorrow night. It starts at six. You can make it, can’t you?”

“Oh. I forgot about that. I should go, but it’s already been a crazy week.”

“Is Marc available to come?”

“Not sure about that either. If I can get away, I’ll be there.”

“Well, try. The firemen need a good turnout. The fund is getting close to the goal for the new pumper truck.”

“OK. I will. Hey, what do you know about Will Dover’s letter collection? Have you seen it recently?”

“Your father and I have seen it a couple of times, but not in several years. Why?”

“I was looking at some things online, and there was an article on his collection in the newspaper a few years ago. I knew he collected books, but not historical letters.”

“Oh yes. He’s collected for years. He has a letter written by Thomas Clute about some business dealings for Mary Jemison and several letters from soldiers who were in the Revolutionary War. I’m sure he has a lot of others too.” There was a pause. “What are you up to, Gracie?”

Gracie closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to decide how much to say. “Just curious, that’s all. Alice Harris was helping him add to the collection, but he hasn’t mentioned that.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gracie! Don’t go down that path. Will is the salt of the earth. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I didn’t say that. I thought it was interesting that he hasn’t mentioned any of this to the board in light of, well—”

“It’s his private collection, not the library’s. Why should he?”

“True. Forget I said anything.” She sighed. Open mouth and insert foot. “I’ll really try and make the pancake dinner. Is Dad doing OK?”

“He’s back to his old self. He’s working at the supper tomorrow, and he’s been cleaning his golf clubs, so he’s back to normal.”

“That’s good. Thanks for calling, Mom.”

“Good night, Gracie, and stay out of trouble.”