By the Book (A Gracie Andersen Mystery 2) (20 page)

The fire hall was filling up fast. The smell of pancakes and frying bacon clung deliciously to the air. Gracie checked the coffee in the two tall urns and took a taste. It was OK for the masses. They didn’t expect a really great cup of coffee, and the urns didn’t make the best. It would do though. Long tables stretched the length of the dining room that hosted wedding receptions and community gatherings. White paper had been rolled over the tables for tablecloths. A Styrofoam plate, plastic forks, knives, and bright red napkins were already set, lining up with each metal folding chair.

Darlene Evans was flying around, making sure everyone was at their appointed stations. Extra napkins were tucked in the pockets of her apron. She waved to Gracie and dashed out the back door. She must be on a shopping mission already. Someone had forgotten something. The chatter grew louder as more people arrived. The firemen positioned platters of flapjacks strategically on tables. Others were filling coffee cups and refilling syrup pitchers. Everything was served family style. Tom, her father, and Dan were making pancakes as fast as they could on six different electric griddles. Marc was cooking bacon and sausage with Reverend Minders and Howie Stroud, the owner of Stroud Insurance Agency.

Howard had taken off quite a bit of weight over the winter. His wife Polly was probably his trainer. She was looking extremely fit and had managed to take off at least 30 pounds last summer. She was now on a mission to get her husband in shape now. Gracie commented that he was looking great while he stood over sizzling sausage patties. He gave her a sideways glance, complaining bitterly about giving up sweet rolls at Midge’s. Happily, Midge had come up with a bran muffin just for him. It was low calorie and had no fat, which satisfied Polly. The secret was applesauce instead of vegetable oil and a little brown sugar on the top to make the reluctant dieter happy.

“She’s a food Nazi, Gracie. I can’t eat anything I like anymore. I’m surprised Polly’s letting me cook tonight. Just the smell of sausage might clog an artery, according to her.” He turned the patties with a vengeance, still grumbling.

Gracie smothered a laugh and self-consciously sucked her stomach in and stood up straighter. She probably needed to get a pair of jeans that stretched or go to a relaxed fit. How unfair was that? With that 40
th
birthday looming though, it was time to get serious about losing a few pounds herself. That required discipline and planning. It took all the fun out of events like these.

But Polly had good reason to be a food Nazi after Howie’s triple bypass in September. The once very rotund insurance agent now walked before work, at lunch, and after supper. If the weather was bad, he was on a stationary bike. At least he was alive to complain. Maybe she should have her cholesterol checked … or maybe not.

The weather had turned bitterly cold in the afternoon, and another snowstorm was moving across the area from Lake Erie. Everyone stomped snow off boots and complained that they couldn’t take another day of such awful cold. Some were nervous that a real blizzard was settling in, and they were anxious to eat and run. Gracie listened to the weather concerns while she filled two more white thermal coffee pitchers for refills and checked on the chefs.

Her father looked like he was having a good time, although a busy one. His energy had returned, and he looked none the worse for wear after his encounter with pneumonia. She tapped him on his shoulder. Bob turned and gave his daughter a broad grin, flipping pancakes and catching them on the spatula while not looking. He was good, but he’d been doing this since she was a little girl. Marc was struggling to keep up with the demand for sausage links, but Reverend Minders, a real pro at community dinners, steadily produced more crisp bacon for waiting platters. He smiled encouragingly at Marc, whose baseball cap was already drenched with sweat. Gracie laughed at the sight. It was gratifying to see the cool deputy under a different kind of pressure. He looked a little frazzled to her.

A fireman brought another carafe for refilling, and she turned her attention back to her own task. The tables were now full, and there was a short line just inside the doors, waiting for seats. The Dovers and the older Woodsons stood in line, the men craning their necks looking for an open spot. Roger and Catherine were just finishing, as were a few other couples with several children. Catherine waved to her in-laws to take their seats. Roger helped his wife with her coat, and they left quickly, hardly acknowledging anyone else. Gracie kept her eye on Will and Chuck. She’d love to know what they were talking about. It was killing her to stay by the coffee, but she had specific orders from her mother. The two wives sat together on the other side of the table, their heads bent together in conversation. A whoosh of wind swept through the room, blowing paper napkins from the tables closest to the door. The snowfall was definitely getting thicker.

Isabelle breezed through the door, armed with a handful of business cards. She was followed by group of six, who stood looking for empty seats. Pearl appeared in the doorway, and against maternal orders, Gracie decided that eating with Pearl might be an excellent opportunity.

Darlene appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her batter-stained red apron before she could make her move.

“Did you hear about Bill Stone?” she asked Gracie.

“No. What about him?

“They’re selling out and moving south.”

“I thought the Stones were building a greenhouse and enlarging the farm.”

“I guess not. His wife said they’re really sick of winters here. They put the farm up for sale this week. Isabelle is their agent.”

“Can’t blame them there. I don’t know about their choice of real estate agents though.” Gracie snickered.

“Oh, Gracie. Isabelle is doing really well. She’s got a good contract on one of those houses at Maplewood and has two more purchase offers in the works.”

“Really? I thought Maplewood was going under.”

“Oh no. Isabelle just took over the sales for them, and she’s got a buyer already and two potential buyers.”

“Well, that’s good. Maybe the people who invested in that development will get their money out of it after all.” The words stuck like peanut butter to her tongue. How could Isabelle be such a crackerjack real estate person? But, if she could get some sales going, it would be good for the village and everyone involved.

“Are you going to stay on the library board? Since Bill Stone will be leaving, there will be two spots vacant.”

“I don’t think so, Darlene. I probably shouldn’t have taken the temp job. The kennel is more than enough. What about you?”

“I’m not sure. Dan wants me to resign now, but I do love the library. If the librarian position was open, I’d apply for that. It would finally put my degree to use.”

“I didn’t know you were interested. Did you apply when it was open?”

“I thought about it, but didn’t. Then when Terry applied, I knew it was just as well. She had loads of experience, and I didn’t have any. She’s done a great job getting the fundraiser off the ground. And, she’s knows her way around a library. The children’s reading program is already seeing an increase in attendance.”

“Well, between you and me for right now, Terry may not stay. She believes someone is after her.”

“What? Why would someone be after her? Is it the murder?”

“Not Alice’s. The library director at Seneca University was murdered. She thinks the murderer may have followed her here.”

“You’re kidding! No one’s ever said anything about that.”

“She didn’t want it to be public knowledge.”

Darlene tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s a little too scary for me. What’s happened then?”

“Uh, a few things. The most serious were her tires being slashed and her dog poisoned.”

“Good lord! Since Alice’s murder?”

“No. It all happened before. Fortunately nothing has happened since the murder or Jack’s arrest, for that matter.”

“Would Jack have …?”

“I’ve thought about that. Jack doesn’t like Terry because Sybil didn’t get the librarian job.”

“Ohhhh, I see,” Darlene’s face dropped. “And then there’s Sybil’s book business. I’d hate to fire her, but Gracie, she was stealing from the library.”

“I know. I’m not sure what’s best either. But at this point, I don’t think Jack’s guilty.”

“Why not? He was a problem for years at the store. Since Dan laid him off, it’s actually been nice to be in there. I think Jack just lost his temper again with Alice, but he went too far, and now he’ll pay for it.”

“Maybe,” Gracie said, watching Pearl sit next to Gloria Minders, who was chatting with two parishioners. “I think I’ll grab something to eat before it’s all gone.”

“Well, I’d better get back in there to start cleaning up. Looks like the rush is over and everybody just wants to get home while they can.” Darlene picked up some discarded coffee cups by the urns and hastily returned to the kitchen

Gracie wasted no time sliding into the empty chair next to Pearl. The woman looked up and smiled. “I brought it for you to look at,” she said.

“Thanks, Pearl. I really would like to see it.”

Pearl dug into her large black handbag and pulled out an envelope. “I found it in the Woodson file.”

“Right,” Gracie answered, licking syrup from her fingers. “That would make sense.” She looked over at Chuck who was finishing up a large stack of pancakes. Will had hardly touched his food and was staring at the doorway as if he wanted to escape. “Does the sheriff’s department know about it?”

“They do. This is a copy. The investigator picked up the original this afternoon. There’s also the outstanding balance owed by the Woodsons too.”

“I knew the farm was having financial problems,” Gracie said pulling the papers from the manila envelope.

“There was a bit of a cash flow problem, and it was Alice who got the blame. But the son has an expensive wife, from what Alice told me before she was killed.”

“I’m not surprised,” Gracie answered as she looked at the appraisals from Jon Aaron. “So, he provided two different appraisals every time?”

“That was the deal. Alice was definitely in over her head, but she was trying to get out from under the real estate problems she’d gotten herself into. It was a great way to make a few extra thousand in cash. She should’ve stopped it in the beginning, but Aaron made it pretty attractive.”

“It sure looks like it,” Gracie whistled softly at the price. “So the knife was really worth $35,000 then?”

“Yes. I called an antique weapons expert yesterday. A presentation Bowie knife from the Civil War, not made by Tiffany in 1864, isn’t worth nearly the amount of a Tiffany knife. The Woodson’s knife isn’t Tiffany, but they had Aaron price it as one. But look at the last page. It’s about the Cornelia Becker letters. I really don’t know what that’s all about. This Boyd and Parker incident isn’t familiar to me.”

Gracie began reading the detailed report. “I can’t believe he could authenticate these letters,” she said, continuing to read. “They’re over 200 years old.”

“It’s quite a process. The paper and ink have to be tested to make sure they’re from the right time period. It’s not easy to find someone who can do something like that. Everything checked out, according to the appraisal by Aaron.”

“In this appraisal, it does. There wasn’t a second appraisal on the letters?”

“Oh yes, but the police have it. They found it in her car.”

Gracie stopped reading and looked at Pearl. “Do you know what it says?”

“I have the gist of it. The letters are authentic, but the prices, well … let’s just say the Woodsons were getting beat at their own game. She gave them the wrong appraisal, unfortunately or maybe fortunately. The accurate one is for $5,000 more.” She smiled wistfully.

While the kitchen crew finished up the dishes, Gracie watched her mother dismantle the coffeemakers, dumping sodden grounds into the trash. Pearl had left before the Woodsons and the Dovers. She fingered the envelope and mulled over the second appraisal on the letters.

It was probably a little risky and a lot stupid to drive to Warsaw on such a stormy night. She gripped the steering wheel and threw the four-wheel drive on as the snow piled higher on the road. The plows hadn’t gotten to Route 19A yet. Once she was at the bottom of the steep and curving Rock Glen Hill, she relaxed. Haley was sleeping unconcerned on the back seat in her safety harness. She was just happy to be riding anywhere.

There were a handful of cars in the county parking lot. Most of them were behind the Sheriff’s Administration offices on West Court Street next to the courthouse. She was crossing her fingers that some kind soul in the jail would let her talk to Jack.

Leaving a definitely unhappy Haley in the RAV4, she met Reverend Minders at the building entrance.

“Pastor! Am I glad to see you!”

“Why, Gracie, what are you doing here?” Albert Minders had the collar of his black wool overcoat pulled up around his face to protect it from the biting snow. His glasses were icing over, and he peered at her myopically. Opening the door for her, they both stepped into the warmth of the brick building.

“I’ve got to see Jack Greene. Is there any way I can just talk to him for a couple of minutes?”

She stomped snow off her boots onto the entrance mat.

“It’s after visiting hours. They end at five. I’m late getting out of here myself. I stayed longer than I intended. Sybil’s having a very hard time with everything. She left a few minutes ago. Jack is pretty discouraged too. Things are looking pretty dark for him.”

“I don’t doubt it, but is there anyone that can help me? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s so important.”

“All right. I’ll ask the sergeant. I don’t have a lot of clout though. Where’s your deputy friend? He’s the one who could help.”

“I didn’t think to … it was all so fast.”

The pastor shook his head and smiled. “Wait here. I’ll find out.”

Gracie stood tapping her foot against the tiled floor. She should have called Marc, but if she was completely off base, it would waste his time. Plus she’d look like a nut. She promised herself to call him if she was right. Investigator Hotchkiss came back through the double doors with Reverend Minders. Gracie’s stomach flopped over. She’d never get in now.

“Mrs. Andersen, how can I help you?” the policewoman asked in her best law enforcement voice. Gracie felt like she’d just gotten pulled over for speeding.

“Uhh.. Well, I need to see Jack Greene. I have to ask him a couple of questions. Library business.” It was the best she could do on short notice.

“Library business?”

“You know—all the library business. I wouldn’t be long. I know it must be past visiting hours and all, but…” From the look on the investigator’s face, she wasn’t going to see anyone.

“Gracie, I worked it out.” Her pastor came through the doors, beaming with success. “The sergeant agreed, but for only five minutes.”

She dashed past the startled investigator and went through the doors. Gracie sat with hands folded in front of the L-shaped visitors’ area. Chairs lined each side of the low counter with an eye-level glass partition. It reminded her of the bank’s counters, only lower. Her leg was jiggling nervously again, and she made herself stop and concentrated on her fingernails. They were sure in bad shape. Isabelle would be horrified. Maybe she should get a manicure just once. That would shock everybody.

A corrections officer led a bewildered Jack into the room. He sat directly across from Gracie. They stared at each other. Gracie took a deep breath and asked her questions. He was only too happy to oblige her with answers.

“Thanks, Pastor,” Gracie said gratefully on the way back out to the parking lot.

“No problem. I guess I have more influence than I thought.” He seemed quite pleased with himself. It made her smile, seeing her humble and absolutely kind minister feel a little special about himself. “You are going right home, aren’t you? This weather is getting pretty bad.”

“I plan to, although I have a stop to make.” She should go back in and talk to Investigator Hotchkiss. The decision was killing her. She could just charge ahead with her plan, but it could fall apart without a little help. She twisted her gloves in cold hands, uncertain of her next move.

“Be careful then. I’d better call Gloria before I leave. She’ll be worrying. Oh, we’ll be praying for Tom and his situation.”

“Thanks. He needs it.”

The round-shouldered man pulled his coat collar up around his face again and fought the blinding snow to his car on the far side of the lot. Gracie watched him drive out onto West Court Street where the snowflakes were swarming around the streetlights like bees.

“Mrs. Andersen.”

Gracie about jumped out of her skin. Investigator Hotchkiss was suddenly next to her.

“Wow, you scared me!”

“Sorry about that, but I wondered if we could have a word.”

“Actually I was going to ask you the same. Would you mind if I got my dog out of my car though?”

“No problem. Bring him or her on in. We’ll talk in my office.”

Haley sniffed and explored around the tiny office, getting her nose into every corner. The scent of law enforcement work was apparently intriguing.

“She won’t, uh, make a …”

“No. She won’t pee on anything. I think I should have taken her to tracking training though. She loves a good trail to follow.”

“We’re actually looking at getting a couple of dogs here. We have a volunteer search and rescue who use their personal dogs, but we’d like our own.” The fit investigator had rolled up her white shirt sleeves to the elbow. Gracie could see by her forearms that she must do weight training. She’d have to add that to her list of things to start once it was spring.

“Have a seat. So, Mrs. Andersen is there anything you’d like to tell me about this impromptu visit?” She sat down on the black vinyl desk chair and gave her full attention to Gracie.

This was it. Gracie plunged into her theory about the Woodson clan. She couldn’t tell if Investigator Hotchkiss thought she was crazy or what. Her face remained impassive while she finished. A notepad appeared, and the investigator pulled a pencil out of a drawer. She scribbled a few notes. Maybe it made sense after all.

“Interesting.” She arched one eyebrow and looked up. “It lines up with some evidence we’ve collected. We’ll look into it. I hope you’re not going to try and make a citizen’s arrest or anything foolish like that.”

“Of course not. I ... well, the storm and all. I think I’ll just head home and let you take it from here.”

“Very wise, Mrs. Andersen. I’ll update you when I can. Drive carefully.”

Gracie nodded and gave the sleeping Haley a push with her foot. “Come on, girl. Let’s go home.” Of course, they were taking the long way home.

The snow had eased off some, and Gracie made good time getting back to Deer Creek. She parked in front of the bank and sat staring at the snowflakes sliding down the windshield. She needed time to think through what she was going to do. She turned the wipers back on, listening to their steady beat, squeaking across the windshield. Why should she go home now? The police would take their sweet time getting around to talk with Roger again, especially if the investigator was just humoring her.

The harsh lights in the milking barns blazed against the darkness. Gracie pulled into a vacant parking spot next to the milking parlor. Woodson Farms was a massive complex. Chuck and Irene’s house was a big pillared colonial, flanked on every side by sugar maples. Roger and Catherine had a newer version with a brick façade, upwind from the barns. Roger’s two sisters and their families lived farther down the road. Haley whined to get out, but Gracie made her stay. The milking crew was just finishing. Tubes ran above the Holsteins, taking milk directly from cow to the holding tank. The wind blew icily through the barn, distributing the smell of warm manure steaming in the gutters.

“Gracie! What are you doing here?” Roger shouted over the noise of equipment. He walked toward her, smacking the backsides of a couple ornery cows that kicked at each other. “Is there a problem with the dogs?”

“No. The dogs are fine. I just have a couple of burning questions about the Cornelia letters.” Her stomach lurched. What was she thinking?

“The Cornelia Becker letters? Talk to Will or my father. They’re the experts on that.”

“I’m sure you can give me the answers.”

A look of annoyance washed over Roger’s face. He walked toward Gracie, his hands thrust in his coat pockets. “I said I have no idea of what you’re talking about. It’s none of your business anyway.”

Gracie stepped back, unsure if she should cut her losses and run. Her boot heel slipped over the edge of the gutter. Before Roger could reach her, she landed hard and squishy in the gutter. She looked up to see a cow behind her, bawling in fright. Slashing hooves were inches from her face. Without hesitating, Gracie rolled out of the way. The cow lost her footing and slipped. Regaining her balance, the frightened cow pulled to get out of the stanchion. Roger grabbed Gracie’s arm and yanked her away from the flailing hooves. She stood shakily, examining the damage. Her elbow hurt like crazy. The little finger on her left hand was swelling already. It was probably broken. A young milking crew member came, wide-eyed in surprise.

“Man, you’re covered in—”

“Yes, I am. I’m covered pretty well.” She looked down at her jeans that were soaked with manure. She wiped filthy hands on the sodden parka. She stunk to high heaven.

Roger was trying not laugh, without much success. “Get Mrs. Andersen some towels out of the milking parlor. On the double, Jason,” he ordered, choking back another laugh.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”

“Are you all right?”

“Not really. I may have a broken elbow or finger or both,” she said through clenched teeth, examining her arm. She flexed it. It was working, although a little painfully. “I’ll live. Now, you
have
to answer my questions.”

The farmhand returned with a roll of blue shop towels, which Gracie snatched from his hands. She peeled off the parka, letting it fall to the cement floor. Roger grabbed the coat and found a hose to wash off the manure. Gracie rinsed her hands under the frigid water, while Roger held the reeking coat.

“Go ahead and ask, but the letters are between my father and Will Dover, pure and simple. It’s no secret they’re for sale at this point. The guy with the right amount of cash gets them. It doesn’t look like Will has it, so now they’re on the open market.”

“But what’s the right amount if they’re fakes?”

“What do you mean? They’ve been authenticated twice.”

“Twice?”

“Yeah, twice. Waste of money though. They both said the same thing.”

“Appraisals by the same person?”

“No. Of course not. One by a Dr. Aaron and another by Maxwell outta Buffalo. Two independent appraisals.”

“Oh.” Gracie’s teeth were chattering, and she kept rubbing at manure stains on her clothes. That answer was unexpected. “Did you or your father pick up the appraisal from Dr. Aaron?”

“I did. My timing was bad because it was the day he was killed. Alice was up there too. I picked up the knife, the letters, and the appraisals. Believe me, there were a lot of questions from the cops on that. It was a good thing I was at my in-laws by the time he was killed. Otherwise … we, well …” He stopped talking, looking at Gracie, who stood shivering. “Jeez, Gracie, you’re freezing. There must be a spare set of coveralls around here. Hey, Jason,” he yelled to the young hand who was moving cows from stanchions. “Get me a pair of coveralls. This lady’s freezing to death here.”

The oversized coveralls gave her some relief from the cold. She had no idea of how she was going to get home without seriously trashing her vehicle.

“What about Alice? Did she leave at the same time?”

“Couldn’t say. But she didn’t get arrested. Personally, I was a little surprised she didn’t.”

“Why is that?”

“She wasn’t very happy with Dr. Aaron at the time. They had some tussle about another deal they were working on. It may have been something with Wilson or maybe Robinson. I don’t know.”

“Did you meet with Aaron together?”

“No. Alice was up there working with the two guys who still want the knife. Robinson wants it pretty bad. It’s his great-great-great uncle’s or something like that. He wants it back in the family. It was presented to Brigadier General John Robinson during the Civil War. He ended up as the Lt. Governor of New York and a full Major General before he died. He was at Gettysburg, you know.”

“I didn’t know. You’re a real history buff then.”

“When it comes to weapons, I am. Provenance of the knife is crucial. Without it, you’ve got a worthless knife.”

“And Aaron was an expert on this?”

“That’s why we went to him. Alice recommended him, but he was the real deal. Knew everything about the Civil War and quite a bit about the Revolutionary War too. Had the connections to get it sold at a premium.”

She’d stopped shivering and looked at the parka still dripping in Roger’s hands. “Just throw that away and thanks, Roger. Sorry to interrupt the milking.”