A Sticky Situation (15 page)

Dappled Oaks perched on a rise at the outskirts of Sugar Grove. There were indeed oaks all over the property but I was pleased to see a healthy sprinkling of maples as well. As I followed the winding private road into the senior living complex I was impressed by how well maintained the buildings were and how much care had been taken to create an attractive environment.

By the time I had parked the minivan in a designated visitor space I was no longer worried I would be depressed when I went inside. As I slid out of the driver's seat I thought about the fact that I still hadn't received news from Byron, my mechanic about the Midget. Sooner or later I was going to have to break down and call him whether I wanted to or not. But fortunately, I had more pressing responsibilities today. The
view of the lake as I made my way to the front door was worth the visit all on its own.

The smiling woman at the front desk told me I'd find Frances in her apartment on the second floor. I was glad I had brought books from Priscilla as an icebreaker. I planned to use the fifty-year commemoration booklet for the maple festival as a cover story for my visit if I needed to. I raised my fist to knock on the door numbered 208 and steeled my nerves. Frances pulled open the door before I landed the first blow.

“Were you followed?”

“I don't think so,” I said as she wrapped her small hand around my arm, looked up and down the corridor, and tugged me inside. I guessed her age to be around eighty and since I had last seen her she seemed to have shrunk a little in height and had lost quite a bit of weight, too. She pressed the door shut behind me and turned the lock.

“Good. You can never be too careful.” Frances steered me to her kitchenette and waved me into a wooden chair. Priscilla hadn't mentioned dementia as the reason for Frances no longer living on her own but I had to wonder if she was entirely all right. Her eyes were slightly unfocused and she didn't seem to recognize me.

“I brought you these, from Priscilla,” I said, handing her a shopping bag full of paperbacks in large print. “And this is from me.” I presented a bouquet of delphiniums and hydrangeas I purchased from Priscilla before
heading out. Priscilla mentioned those were Frances's favorites but I wasn't entirely certain the high cost of the flowers hadn't been the real reason for the suggestion.

“How thoughtful of you both. Let's have a cup of tea before you remind me why you're here. I don't know about you but I think best when well lubricated by Earl Grey.” She put the kettle on and had even opened a package of store-bought cookies. But they were a fancy brand.

As much as I hated to admit it, even in the dark recesses of my own mind, store cookies were virtually unknown at Greener Pastures and as such were a luxury item. Grandma even baked her own version of fig bars. The only packaged cookies we ever had were animal crackers. And those were a rare treat for special occasions. I still love to eat them.

“Sounds delicious. I appreciate you making the time to see me.”

“You look familiar. Shouldn't I know you?” Frances settled herself in the other chair and pushed the plate of lemon cookies toward me. I felt my spit spurt. The tea was good, too. Strong, hot, and in a china cup printed with little violets all along the rim.

But overriding the pleasure of the tea was worry about how far downhill Frances had been going. It had been only about six weeks since I had last seen her. Celadon and I had spotted her at meetings frequently over the years for things connected to the historical society. With the opera house renovation project under way we had seen her even more often.

“I'm Dani Greene. My sister and I have been to see you about the opera house restoration project.”

“Oh yes, I remember now.” Frances smiled at me but her voice sounded unsure. Her eyes didn't seem like she registered any recognition of me either. I wondered if the move to Dappled Oaks was the reason for her fuzzy-headedness, like the stress of the move had left her too overwhelmed to keep everything straight in her memory.

Even though I had come prepared with the booklet story now I felt crummy about telling her a fib. I decided one way to get information about the past might be to solicit advice on the present.

“I was hoping you could answer some questions about the maple festival and how the money should be handled. I am on the festival committee now and Tansey told me you were always so good at the bookkeeping details.” Frances smiled at that and this time the warmth of it spread all the way to her faded gray eyes.

“The festival was always my favorite part of the year. So many happy memories.”

“It is fun and I love it, too, but sometimes I'm worried about being in charge of so many details. Especially anything to do with the money. What if something were to go wrong and someone lost it or it was stolen before it got to the bank?”

“You are right to be worried. There are a lot of bad people around. Not everyone is exactly what they seem. The woman who runs bingo here used to work for the CIA, you know.”

“I didn't know.” I decided to stop in at the desk on
my way out to ask if there was someone checking on Frances regularly. Or if she was taking any medication that needed monitoring. “Did any bad people ever make trouble while you were on the festival committee?”

“Of course. There was the Realtor, Jim somebody, who really just wanted to use the festival as a way to market his new business. And there was Tansey Pringle, who was so bossy toward everyone else on the festival committee.” Unfortunately, that still sounded like the Jim and Tansey of today. But why hadn't Frances mentioned Spooner? Surely he was the worst person to get involved with the festival over the years.

“Do you remember once, about thirty years ago, when the festival money was actually stolen?” Frances's eyes widened and then she nodded.

“I should have mentioned that straight off. Garland Duffy, but everyone called him Spooner, was thought to have made off with all the festival earnings because he disappeared the same night as the money. But I know he didn't leave town with the money.” Frances hugged herself tightly and began rocking slowly back and forth in her seat.

“What makes you say that?”

“He was a good man and he loved this town and everyone in it far too much to do a thing like that.”

“So I'm not crazy to be worried, am I? If the festival money went missing once it could happen again, couldn't it?”

“I would hope not but, I suppose it's possible.”

“It's such a shame that people gave so much at the
festival and it didn't end up helping the way they wanted.”

“The only saving grace was the number of checks people had written.”

“I didn't realize the festival took checks. We don't take them now.”

“People used to use checks for everything in those days. You know, when a purchase came to more than the amount of cash they had on hand or if they needed cash later for a place that wouldn't take a check.”

“Were there a lot of them written?”

“For anything the festival committee handled or sold you could just make out a check to the Sugar Grove Maple Festival. Probably somewhere between a third and half the money was collected in checks.”

“So, similar to how we take credit cards at the gate and for the raffles now?”

“I haven't been to the festival in a couple of years but I would guess so. That's not to say everyone took checks. The vendors up and down the street who sold food and souvenirs usually only took cash.”

“How did the number of checks end up being a good thing?”

“Because when the money was discovered missing people rushed in to put a stop payment on their checks.”

“But how did that help the festival fund-raising? Did the people who put the stop payments on the checks write out new ones to the festival?” I asked. After all, it was a matter of making an effort to do the right thing after the fact. And what about the out-of-towners that
came? They would have had to have done a lot of digging to figure out where to send their donations.

“I was speaking more as a bank employee than as a festival committee member.” Frances stared off into space like there was something she was trying to remember but couldn't quite manage. “I probably shouldn't mention this since it is bank business but since I was on the festival committee and worked at the bank I can tell you a lot more checks were stopped than reissued. And I could tell you who they were, too, if I weren't bound by my duty to the bank's patrons.” Frances tipped her head to the back wall again and dropped her voice once more. “And because I don't want them to hunt me down for what I know.”

I was definitely going to need to stop at the front desk on my way out. And I wanted to get to the end of the visit before she got even further out of touch with reality.

“Working in a bank must have burdened you with a lot of information about the folks in town.”

“It certainly did. But that festival thing was very hard to keep quiet about. I had all I could do not to yell at some people when I stood behind them in line at the grocer or when I saw them at the gas station. As far as I was concerned what they did was no better than theft.”

“I don't think I would have been able to keep such a secret as that. I would have been too angry.”

“It was a question of trust and of loyalty. I'm sure you have secrets and burdens of your own that you carry, too,” Frances said.

I thought about confidences shared and observations made, secrets ferreted out on purpose and by chance. I thought of my brother, Loden, and how I knew for certain he was desperately in love with Piper but was just not brave enough to show it. I kept his secret even though I was sure it was doing more harm than good, so I thought I might also have been able to keep the sort of secrets Frances held if the need arose.

“I always think of you as putting the good of your bank customers first. Which is why I'm wondering why didn't you take the money to the bank that night straightaway and put it in the night deposit?” That's what Tansey always did as soon as she could after the festival closed.

“Because we were too tired to count it all and make out the deposit slip. Besides, we'd never had anyone steal anything out of the town hall before and it didn't occur to us that there was any risk involved.”

“It still seems strange now.”

“Well, of course it does. Now we all know better because of the missing money all those years ago. But then we hadn't had that unfortunate experience. There was nothing wrong with what we did.” Frances's eyes took on that faraway look once more and I sipped my tea in silence while I watched to see if she would continue. I was startled when she spoke again. “Do I know you?”

“My name is Dani Greene. I used to come into the bank and make deposits into my passbook savings account when you were a teller.” Frances had been my favorite teller. She always made sure there were cream
soda flavored lollipops in the dish at her window. Even if the other lines were shorter or even had no one on them I used to wait for Frances to be free.

“There were so many children over the years and so many Greenes, too. Were you the one who never did manage to reach the window by yourself?” Frances looked at my feet dangling several inches above the floor as I sat in a kitchen chair.

“Yes. I'm afraid it's still quite a challenge.”

“Never mind, dear. I was always short myself. I always thought being tall was overrated. Although, I do wish this place was more like my apartment.” Frances shook her head slightly as she turned her gaze about the small space. “It's tiny but tall, if you see what I mean.” She pointed to the cupboards and the countertops.

“It isn't the same at all as the apartment above Stems and Hems, is it? Priscilla told me you always called that place your dollhouse when you lived there.”

“I did, indeed. I loved that place with all its dainty furniture and cheery colors. I felt as if it had been constructed just for me. I hated to leave it but the stairs got to be too much for me.”

“I'm sorry you miss it.”

“The worst thing is thinking about it going empty and poor Priscilla being all alone there at the shop. She used to come up for a chat almost every night after the store closed. We used to have such fun playing cards and talking about funny things that had happened at work. Sometimes Doc MacIntyre would join us for a game of Yahtzee.”

“That was one of the things I came by to mention to you. I hope you don't mind but I've moved into your apartment.” A broad smile spread across Frances's face.

“How wonderful. Priscilla hadn't mentioned a thing. Perhaps she thought I'd feel replaced somehow.” Or perhaps Priscilla had told her every last detail but Frances couldn't keep a hold on a short-term memory.

“I hope you don't. From what she's said, I know she misses you and feels you can't be replaced.”