Family Matters (11 page)

“Hey, Mrs. Andersen, everything OK?” It was Deputy Stevens.

“No problems, Deputy.
Just making the final bed check.” There was relief in her voice, and her pulse still pounded in her ears.

“Would you mind some help?” He was already getting out of the car and putting on his hat.

“No, in fact that would be great. It’s been a little spooky out here at night, since the robbery.”

Haley sniffed the deputy’s pants, and he stroked her head. Haley leaned into his leg, begging for more.

“I can imagine. You are pretty isolated in this spot.” He pulled a long flashlight from the front seat. “Great dog you’ve got here. What’s her name?”

“Haley, as in the comet.
She’s a good dog most of the time and then…” Haley whined and pushed her cold wet nose against Gracie’s palm. “All right, I won’t turn you in to the law,” she laughed.

“You’re working a long shift today,” she observed.

“Yeah, a couple of guys called in sick tonight. I went home, grabbed a few hours of sleep, and got back on the road about an hour ago.”

“Your wife must love those double shifts.”

“Well, no worries there. Never been married. Law enforcement isn’t always conducive to long relationships, but maybe someday. It would make my mother happy.” He laughed and held the door for Gracie as she punched in the code on the keypad.

Dogs were barking and whining when they entered the kennel corridors. The bed check didn’t take long, and everything was in order. Haley ran up and down the corridors, sniffing and joining in the canine chorus. With the kennel secure and the dogs tucked in for the night, Gracie felt that the late night encounter with Deputy Stevens had been way too short. There was no reason for him to stay, but then she remembered the redacted police report on Charlotte’s accident and the mention of the incomplete license plate.

“Deputy, I do have a question for you.” He was back in the cruiser, fastening his seatbelt.

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Do you have any idea if the DMV keeps records back 20 years or so, and if I could get a copy of an old police report from about the same time?”

“Any particular reason?”

His facial expression was hard for her to see in the darkness away from the mercury vapor light by the kennel. She imagined he must’ve thought she was slightly weird.

“Well, I’m trying to get some answers about my cousin’s death. It was a hit
-and-run that was never solved. And it was 20 years ago.”

“Oh.” He was thoughtful. “Well, we can probably dig up the incident report, if the sheriff’s department investigated, but I’m not sure about the DMV records. I can do some checking and let you know.”

“I’d really appreciate that. Let me run in the house and write down the information about the accident.”

“Sure. I’ve
gotta check in anyway.”

Gracie hurried to the kitchen and quickly wrote out on a sticky note Charlotte’s name, the date of the accident, and where it happened. She added her name and phone number at the bottom. He was talking on the radio when she returned with the note. He took it from her hand and stuck it to the dashboard.

“Sorry, but I’ve got to run. Another break-in.”

“Is it close?”

“Not too far. The Jorgensen place by the lake.”

“Jorgensen?
  That’s only three or four miles from here. You know, I’ve got their dogs here. They’re on vacation this week.”

“Thanks for the info. I’ll call you.” He backed the car out of the driveway and sped with lights flashing in the direction of Silver Lake. Gracie shivered, even though the night air was warm.
Another robbery and so close. She hurried into the house with Haley and locked the door.

Sunday morning was a blur of activity. The phone calls had started by seven—first from her mother, then the church ladies, followed by an abrupt call from Tim informing her how upset Isabelle was because of Gracie’s thoughtless actions. Then Isabelle called her to say she was no longer speaking to Gracie. At that point, Gracie was ready to disconnect every phone she owned.

According to the church ladies, the rumor mill was working overtime about how Gracie had found her Uncle Stan. The prayer chain at church included a request that Isabelle and Gracie mend their fences and put their feud to rest. Her mother called again to say Isabelle was fighting with the medical examiner to get Stan’s body released before the autopsy was completed. It was all a little much. She felt like she was living some bizarre reality TV show. Who were these people?

At 11 a.m. sharp, the Clarks were sitting in their usual pew at Deer Creek Community Church. She really didn’t want to be there, but Gracie sat stiffly with her parents, looking straight ahead, deliberately not singing the hymns. She hadn’t been able to sing a hymn without crying since Michael’s funeral. With the vision of Uncle Stan at the bottom of the stairs fresh in her thoughts, today was not the day to try again. Isabelle and Tim were absent, which made the service bearable. When it was time to greet each other, Gracie noticed that Joe Youngers was with his grandmother in the back row. She gave him a quick smile, and he raised his hand in greeting.

“Who’s that?” Theresa whispered as they sat down.

“Joe Youngers. We hired him on a trial basis as a kennel helper,” Gracie whispered back.

“Oh. Well, I hope he works out.”

Rev. Minders’ sermon was, unfortunately, on loving your enemies. Gracie guessed that he’d dusted that one off for just her. She was sure that was what the rest of the congregation was thinking too. When the coffee hour started, Gracie slipped out the side door to the parking lot. She didn’t want to face the condolences and questions. It was probably cowardly, but she didn’t feel like being a hero. There were certain ladies who loved the gory details. They’d want to know if Stan had a peaceful look on his face, if he was dressed, and if he smelled of liquor. These were conversations she didn’t want to have today.

The Deer Creek streets were relatively quiet on Sunday mornings. Driving home, Gracie enjoyed the well-kept lawns on Main Street, until she reached the railroad tracks. There was the proverbial wrong side of the tracks in Deer Creek. The houses in the section closest to the deteriorating depot looked tired and run down at the heels. The depot was finally scheduled to be razed, much to the relief of the Village Board. It was a haunt for kids who needed a place to smoke dope and who knew what else. Graffiti flourished on the weathered clapboards. The depot was at the head of a short dead-end street called Rail Avenue, which curved to accommodate the bend in the tracks. Gracie remembered a train derailment or two growing up, when a tired engineer hadn’t negotiated the curve in time. Then she remembered it was where Bea Youngers lived. She craned her neck to see around the curve, but was unsuccessful in catching a glimpse of the Youngers home.

A large, muscular man walked down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes fixed on the uneven pavement. Gracie didn’t recognize him, but then she couldn’t see his face very well under the baseball cap. There were no trains to wait for today, and she slowly drove over the bumpy tracks. The phone message Uncle Stan had left her ran continuously through her mind. No matter what anyone said, there was more to Charlotte’s death. What if there was more to Uncle Stan’s death too?

Gracie made a quick decision to turn around and go to Uncle Stan’s house, while everyone was still at church. Hopefully, Isabelle and Tim weren’t already there, cleaning everything out. Maybe he had left a note or some other bit of information for her. If Isabelle found anything, it would be lost forever. She’d have to make a quick job of it and hope no one saw her. The spare key was under a large rock by the garage, so there wouldn’t be any problem of getting in.

The house looked quiet when she parked across the street. Deciding it was too chancy to leave her vehicle where everyone could see it, she drove back around the corner and parked in the driveway of a vacant house with a for-sale sign stuck in the front yard. Slipping through two backyards, Gracie pushed through the hedge into her uncle’s yard. Plucking the key from under the sparkly pink rock nestled in the snow-on-the-mountain groundcover that edged the front of the garage, she got into the kitchen, dropping the key in her tote. The frying pan was still on the stove, the smell of stale bacon still clung to the area. It looked like Isabelle hadn’t been over to clean yet. Gracie felt like throwing up when she reached the bottom of the stairs. There was no sign of yesterday’s horror, and the clock still ticked the seconds off with a steady beat.

She forced herself to climb the stairs. There were many happy memories of running up and down these stairs, playing hide-and-seek in the rambling Victorian. Aunt Shirley had always decorated the banister with extravagant garlands at Christmas time, filling the house with scent of pine. Now the house seemed draped in sadness. When she reached the top of stairs, Uncle Stan’s bedroom door was
open. The bed was made, and the room was in perfect order. A large blue braided rug covered a good portion of the polished wood floor.

His
rolltop desk stood in a corner by the south window, overlooking the side lawn. She quickly went through the few papers on the desktop. There were only medical bills for Aunt Shirley. Gracie rifled through the drawers and cubbies, still not finding anything of interest. She glanced at her watch. The 10 minutes she’d allowed herself were ticking by. She rummaged to locate the key in the bag. Finally grasping the silver key, it slipped from her fingers and clanged onto the hardwood floor, skittering underneath the desk as her tote spilled out on the floor. The sound of a car coming down the street sent panic through her as she snatched up the key and stuffed the spilled contents back in the tote.

Jim looked like a kid, throwing tennis balls and running with a dog pack that eagerly watched his every move inside the large fenced play area. Haley was in the middle of it all, soaking up the excitement and chasing tennis balls. He looked up with a big grin on his handsome face when he saw Gracie walking to the fence.

“Hey, Chief, how was church?”

“OK. I slipped out when the coffee hour started. When are you going to stop being a heathen and go?”

“The steeple would fall down if I ever darkened the door. Besides, who’d give these guys a really great playtime if I was in church?”

For all the years Gracie had known Jim, the only time she’d seen him in church was for a funeral or wedding. Since Michael’s death, Jim had seemed even more adamant about staying away from church. Gracie couldn’t say much; she was just as guilty. It had been too painful to attend after losing Michael and the baby. But that was going to change. Life needed to be normal again.

“You’re working up a real sweat.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been a danged humid summer, but the dogs don’t seem to mind.”

“I think they’re slowing down though,” Gracie laughed. Two Golden Retrievers were stretched out on their bellies, panting furiously; three mixed breeds and a small beagle were lapping water from a large bowl by the fence.

“Hey, before I forget, that Deputy Stevens stopped by.” Jim mopped his sweaty face with his T-shirt, his well-defined six-pack in full view.

“What did he want?” Gracie was careful to keep her voice measured.

“He said he had information about an old DMV record or something like that. Does that have anything to do with the robbery?”

“Not really. I had a couple of questions about Charlotte’s stuff, so I thought I’d ask him.”

“Come on, Gracie, you need to let that whole thing go. It’s not healthy for you.”

“I’m a big girl, and I can handle it. Something is not right with what happened to Charlotte. Uncle Stan trusted me with all that information, and I’m going to find out what happened. Is he stopping back?”

“He said he might. Listen, Gracie, it was a stupid, awful accident, and the driver didn’t get what he deserved. You’re not going find out anything new now. Let it go.”

“Not your call, Jimmy. Thanks for the advice though.”

Sometimes Jim was a little too protective, but he meant well.

“Whatever. I’ll put the dogs back. I’ve
gotta run. I’m meeting Laney. We’re headed for the lake this afternoon. Joe’s coming to feed and bed everybody down around five. You’ll just have to set the alarm.”

“Sounds like fun. I’m hanging out here today with Haley. A dog is always the best company. Have a good
time.” Gracie flashed a warm smile. “You’d better shower before you pick up Laney.”

“Nah, good old lake water will take care of it.” He smelled his armpits and made a face.
“Pee yew… maybe not.”

“Maybe not indeed,
Pepe LePew. You don’t want to scare her off first thing.”

“She’s a farm girl. She can take it.”

“I hope so. Come on, Haley, let’s go.” She opened the outside gate, and the big dog ambled through the gate to the kennel.

Gracie spent the afternoon with the sheaf of printed diary entries and scanned documents. They were scattered over the floor, as she searched for anything that might help identify real names from the King Arthur code.

There didn’t seem to be any more statements in Charlotte’s diary that helped her figure out who Lancelot and Galahad were. She racked her brain to remember Charlotte’s closest friends. Heather Martin came to mind, but she wasn’t sure if she was still in the area. She grabbed her senior yearbook from the bookcase and looked back at the sophomore class to see if any faces clicked. She easily picked out Charlotte on the JV cheerleading squad, along with Heather. She looked through the pictures of the Varsity and Junior Varsity football teams. No players jogged her memory, but then she recognized one. A tall, lanky, blond Matthew Minders stood in the back row.

He had hung around Charlotte, although she had pretty much ignored him. He had been a bench warmer most of the time, only playing when victory was truly out of reach or victory was totally assured. He was the youngest of the four Minders’ children. He might be a possibility, plus her mother had mentioned he’d given the police a partial plate number. She wrote his name in a small spiral notebook, along with Kelly and Heather. Miss Russell stood beside the cheerleading squad. She’d been the coach in the
70s and 80s, and was the 10
th
grade English teacher. Maybe she was still around, even though she had retired from teaching and coaching several years ago now. The school might know for sure. Another note went in the book.

The phone started ringing again late in the afternoon. Gracie had dozed off on the living room floor, leaning against the sofa. She jerked awake and grabbed the phone that was on the floor. Her mother informed her that the medical examiner was not going to release Uncle Stan’s body today or tomorrow. There were some questions that needed answers before that happened.

“What do you mean he has questions?”

“He’s not really saying. Isabelle is beside herself. She just wants to get the funeral planned.”

“I can imagine.”
             

So Uncle Stan’s death wasn’t falling neatly into place. Maybe she wasn’t imagining things after all.

“We’re not sure what this means, but hopefully they’ll clear it all up quickly.” Her mother’s voice was weary.

“I hope so too. You sound like you could use some rest.”

“I know. I’m pretty tired.”

“Get some sleep, Mom. You can’t solve all the family crises on your own. I’m sure the medical examiner will figure it out.”

“You’re right. They have to make sure nothing is missed. We’ll just have to wait an extra day or so. It’s just so much to deal with right now.”

“I know, Mom. Please get some rest.”

Gracie heard a car turn into the driveway.

“Somebody’s here. I’d better go.
Rest. Go to bed.” Haley was already barking.

“OK. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The car was one Gracie didn’t recognize, but she did recognize the driver. It was Deputy Stevens. What was his first name anyway?

It turned out that Deputy Stevens’ name was Marc with a “c,” and he did have some information on old license plates. He wore a fresh white golf shirt and jeans that looked as good on him as his uniform did. Gracie invited him to sit on the back patio, while she grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and a couple of glasses. Haley was busy smelling his jeans and looking for more of the treats that filled his pockets. His sunglasses were pushed up onto his head, and he stretched out his legs as he settled back in one of the Adirondack chairs.

“Hey, thanks,” Marc said appreciatively when Gracie handed him an icy glass of lemonade. “Just the thing to cut the humidity today. What a summer it’s been.” He took a long, deep drink.

“It sure has been sticky and hot. We’ll probably pay for it this winter. We’ll have six feet of snow from Halloween to April.”

Were they really talking about the weather? Gracie wished the conversation would move to a more relevant topic.