1 The Underhanded Stitch (8 page)

“Y
ou girls should’ve stayed longer,” Maddy reprimanded her partners in crime as they peeled off their coveralls. “No need to raise suspicions.”

“You’re one to talk, refusing to be part of the cleaning service,” snipped Lizzie.

“Well, I wasn’t about to stay another minute,” declared Bootsie Purdue. “Tall Pall was due home from church and he would have recognized us for sure.”

“Besides,” added Lizzie, “I wasn’t about to clean her messy living room. The woman’s not very neat.”

“She a semi-invalid,” Maddy pointed out. “I hear she has a really bad case of diabetes.”

“Candy wrappers everywhere,” grumbled Lizzie, not backing down. “No wonder she’s diabetic.”

“How did my dog do?” asked Agnes, looking for praise.

“Tige was perfect,” said her grandmother. “Laid there as still as a church mouse.”

Not that the dog was still at the moment, bouncing up and down and barking with excitement.

“I was glad Ben and Cookie arrived when they did,” Agnes said. “Tige doesn’t play dead for long.”

“Say, where
are
Ben and Cookie?” asked Bootsie, noticing their absence.

“The new lovebirds went for a drive,” said Tilly.

“In an ambulance?”

“’Fraid so. I think Cookie has said her final goodbyes to Bob,” declared Maddy. “Two years is long enough to grieve.”

The newly single Tilly wasn’t so sure. “I wish them happiness,” she said, just to be polite.

“Let’s see the Colonel’s ruby ring,” trilled Agnes, dancing about, as excited as a kid on Christmas morn.

“You were right about it being in the quilt,” said Lizzie. “I’ve got the ring right here. And Martha Ray Johnson’s masterpiece isn’t much the worse for wear because the Town Hall building is actually appliquéd on. So snip, snip, a couple of threads and I had it.” She held out her palm to reveal a little wad of paper, like the wrapping around a piece of bubblegum.

“Let’s see it,” said Bootsie. “Find out what all the foofaraw was about.”

“Shouldn’t we wait ’til Cookie gets back?” asked Tilly. “After all, she’s the historian.”

“That may be hours,” Bootsie complained. “I’m not waiting on those lovebirds.”

“What about Beau?” said Maddy. “I think my husband should be here.”

“He’s still at church rehearsing with the choir,” Lizzie pointed out. “We can show him when he gets home.” Her fingers were already picking at the wad of paper.

“Oh very well. Let’s have a look at this fabulous ring,” acquiesced Maddy, not bothering to hide her disdain.

Lizzie peeled away the paper to reveal a shiny gold ring with a brilliant red stone. Despite the years it wasn’t the least bit tarnished, as if it had been hidden away in the quilt only yesterday. “Ta da,” she said, holding it out for everyone to see.

“Wow! It looks just like pirate’s treasure,” said Agnes, eyes reflecting the golden ring with the red stone. “And it’s all mine.”

“Not so fast, young lady,” her mother corrected her. “That ring rightfully belongs to your grampy. He paid a thousand dollars for it.”

“But I’m the last descendant on the family tree!”

“Yes, but heirlooms and such have to be handed down. It’s only yours if Grampy gives it to you. But my guess is it will go on display in the Town Hall.”

“Only if Mayor Caruthers agrees,” Bootsie noted. “And that old curmudgeon has been pretty jealous over Colonel Madison getting more attention than his forbearer.”

“Jacob Caruthers got the town named after him. What more would the mayor want?” said Tilly.

Bootsie laughed. “To hear him tell it, his great-great grandfather founded this town single handedly.”

“While fighting off the Indians at the same time,” Maddy added, still protesting that Native Americans got a raw deal from the early settlers.

“Maybe so, but I doubt he’ll want that ring on display,” shrugged Lizzie, a realist.

“Then Grampy can give it to me,” said Agnes, still hopeful.

“No dear, he’d likely bestow it to the Caruthers Corners Historical Society in that case,” said Maddy. She knew her husband only too well.

“Okay, then Cookie will be in charge of the ring,” shrugged Agnes, already accepting her fate. “That’s almost as good as having it myself.”

“Well, at least you can try it on,” laughed Lizzie, handing the golden circlet to the girl.

“May I?”

“It’s a loose fit. Don’t drop it,” said Lizzie as she slid it onto Aggie’s finger.

“It looks beautiful. But here, take it back.”

“Okay, we’ll put it away ’til Beau gets home,” said Maddy.

“Wait, what’s that?” pointed Agnes. “There’s writing inside the ring.”

“Writing?” said Bootsie.

“Engraving,” corrected Lizzie, a connoisseur of fine jewelry. Her own wedding ring was circled with diamonds, but inside it was engraved the date of the marriage.

“Let’s see,” said Maddy as she held the ring up to the light for a better view. She could make out the words etched into the inner circle of the golden band:

PROPERTY OF ACME COSTUME SUPPLIES

“Oh my,” she gasped. “This ring’s a fake too!”

≈≈≈

Beauregard Madison was clearly puzzled. “Does that mean Tall Paul Johnson’s snookered me a second time?” He had just arrived home from choir practice and was completely caught off guard by this new mystery.

“Can’t be,” Maddy patted his hand as they sat at the kitchen table, phony ring at the center. “How would he have known we’d figured out where to look for the Colonel’s ring?”

“Maybe he planted the clue with you. Led you to looking in the quilt.”

“I don’t think he’s
that
clever,” protested his wife.

“Sorry, dad,” said Tilly. “We tried to get your ring for you.”

“I know, dear. And I thank all of you girls.”

Bootsie and Lizzie smiled happily. Tilly and Agnes too. Cookie was still off with Ben Bentley. “Sparking,” Beau had termed it.

Maddy wasn’t one to give up easily. “Well, our goal is clear. We still have to find the real ruby ring.”

“We’ve got a new clue,” said Agnes. “We can start there.”

“What clue’s that, Aggie?”

“Acme Costume Supplies. Maybe Mr. Johnson didn’t plant the ring in the quilt, but somebody did. Let’s find out who bought that fake ring.”

≈≈≈

The recorded message stated that Acme Costume Supplies was closed for the weekend, but would be open for business 9 to 5 Monday through Friday. They would have to wait until tomorrow.

Locating Acme had been a task in itself. There were no costume shops in Caruthers Corners or nearby Burpyville. But long-distant information turned it up in Indianapolis, the state capital.

“Why didn’t he sell you this ring instead of that carnival fake? This costume jewelry looks more authentic than that piece of gold-painted plastic.” Tilly was thinking out loud.

“Because he didn’t know that the ring was inside the patchwork quilt,” said Maddy. The answer was obvious.

“If he didn’t know, then who put it there?” asked Bootsie, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“His grandmother,” said Betsey. “Just like we thought all along.”

“No, this costume jewelry is too new,” Agnes pointed out. “The Acme website says they’ve only been in business ten years. And the quilt’s a lot older.”

“That’s right,” Maddy confirmed. “According to that newspaper article, Martha Ray Johnson won first prize in the state with it back in 1934.”

Bootsie shook her head in frustration. “But she told Tall Paul the ring was inside the quilt – or at least hinted as much.”

“That’s right,” said Lizzie. “How could she have known about the ring back when Tall Paul was just a kid if somebody put it inside the quilt only within the past ten years?”

“It’s so confusing,” sighed Tilly.

Just then Cookie breezed in through the kitchen door. Members of the Quilter’s Club didn’t bother with knocking at each other’s homes, comfortable with an open-door policy. People in Caruthers Corners rarely bothered to lock their doors, the crime rate was so low. Mayor Caruthers joked that Police Chief Purdue barely had a job if it wasn’t for parking tickets.

“Hi all,” crooned the slender woman. “I’m in love.”

“That’s awfully sudden, isn’t it?” admonished Tilly. She seemed to find the L-word emotion suspect these days.

“Not for Ben. He’s had a thing for me since high school. And to think I wasted all those years with Bob Brown.”

“You loved Bob,” contradicted Maddy.

“Oh, maybe at first. But all the romance had gone out of our marriage by the time ol’ Bob kicked the bucket.”

“Then why have you been making those pilgrimages to Pleasant Glade?”

“I don’t know. Guilt maybe. Or faithfulness. After all, Bob and I were together for more’n forty years.”

“So Ben’s the one?” said Lizzie, eyes twinkling. She had always been the sucker for romance among the group.

“For now,” Cookie declared. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

E
verybody gathered at the Madison house on Melon Pickers Lane at precisely nine o’clock the next morning. Agnes had printed out Acme Costume Supplies’ home page with Maddy’s PC. It had the phone number at the top of the page for easy reference.

Beau hadn’t bothered going to work, leaving customers standing outside the hardware store looking at their watches. Today, busted water pipes and overflowing toilets would have to wait.

Cookie had brought Ben along, him now conscripted as a crime-solver. Beau didn’t say anything, since he was the one who had got the big troll involved in the first place, helping him hide that bust of Colonel Madison in the family mausoleum.

Bootsie said her husband wanted them to keep him in the loop, although he couldn’t take an official position, being police chief and all.

Lizzie didn’t mention her hubby. Folks knew she and Edgar led somewhat separate lives. He was always off hunting or trout fishing, after retiring from his position as bank president. Caruthers Corners Savings and Loan held most of the mortgages in these parts, but Edgar Ridenour was known to be a lenient man, willing to go the extra mile with a customer during hard times.

Tilly was quiet. She’d talked with her estranged husband late last night, him on California time, and was distressed with his announcement that he was coming to Caruthers Corners to meet with her without any lawyers present. Easier said than done, Mark himself being an attorney with a big L.A. firm.

“Here goes,” said Maddy as she dialed the telephone. She had the speaker feature turned on so everyone could hear the conversation.

Rin-n-ng! Rin-n-ng!

“Acme Costume Supplies,” answered a chipper voice. “We can accommodate your every party.”

“Yes, this is Madelyn Madison over in Caruthers Corners. I’d like to ask you about a previous purchase.”

“Yes, ma’am. Satisfaction guaranteed. Did you have a problem with one of our costumes?”

“No, not me. I want to ask who might have bought a ruby ring from you in the past ten years.” Even to Maddy it sounded ridiculous, as if the clerk could identify one out of thousands of customers in the past decade. This idea of calling Acme was not such a good one, now that she considered it in the bright light of day.

“A ruby ring, ma’am?”

“Uh, yes. A gold men’s ring with a red stone.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“Yes, it’s right here on the table in front of me.”

“Good, now pick it up and look inside the band. Right after our name you will see some tiny numbers. Could you read those off?”

“Oh my, I’ll have to put on my reading glasses. Just a moment. Okay, now I see the numbers. One-ought-seven-seven.”

“Ah, yes. I have the stock number right here on my computer. We discontinued that line back in ’98. Had a problem with them turning green.”

“This one’s as shiny as the sun.”

“Must have been stored in a warm, dark place.”

Sewn into a quilt hanging over a fireplace probably qualified as warm and dark, she thought. But she said, “Do you have a record of any purchasers?”

“We didn’t sell very many before getting complains. Here we go, I’ve got the records up. We sold seventy-two in all.”

“Oh.”

“But looking at the purchasers, I note that only two have telephone numbers in your area code. We take down the telephone number in case there’s any problem in altering a costume to fit. Our tailoring service is very efficient, but sometimes we get backed up.”

Bootsie was nudging her. “Ask him who those two were?” she whispered, as if Maddy wasn’t about to do just that.

“Can you give me their names?” she politely requested. Prepared for some gobbledygook about customer confidentiality.

But instead he said, “I don’t see any harm in that. We’re talking nearly ten years ago.”

“Yes – ?”

“One was a Martin Wentwhistle in Burpyville. The other was Henry Caruthers in Caruthers Corners. Hm, same name as the town.”

“Yes,” said Maddy. “That’s our mayor.”

≈≈≈

Mayor Henry Caruthers was happy to meet with his constituents, particularly if it was a man whose great-great grandfather had co-founded the town with his own illustrative ancestor, Jacob Abernathy Caruthers.

“Beauregard, so good to see you,” the mayor greeted his visitor. He always addressed Beau by his full name in recognition of his family heritage.

“Hello, Lefty.”

“Heck, nobody calls me that anymore, Beau. Not since I was a southpaw pitcher on the high school baseball team.”

“Guess you’ll always be Lefty to me. I was your catcher, remember.”

“Them were the good old days.”

“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

“I always have time for my friends and supporters,” the roly-poly man averred. “Especially if they have a lineage that stretches all way back to my great-great grandpappy’s day.”

“I’ll be brief. Just have a quick question.”

“Now, now, no need to hurry. Sit down and I’ll have my assistant brew us a cup of tea.”

“No thanks. I just had lunch.”

“Well then, have it your own way. But before you bother asking, I have to tell you that having a marble statue of Colonel Madison in the town square would be overkill. We already have that fine bronze bust. It’s important to keep a balance of recognition when it comes to the town founders.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I’ve already made arrangements to donate the new marble statue to the Historical Society. Cookie Brown says it would make a good exhibit in their little museum.”

“You have, you say?”

“No need to waste a good statue.”

“No, course not,” the mayor said. But his tone didn’t sound very sincere.

“I came to return this ring.” He laid the trinket on the desk blotter.

“W-what’s that?”

“A ring you bought from Acme Costume Supplies in Indy back in ’98.”

“Oh yes, I remember it now. Part of the costume I wore for the town Centennial Celebration that year. You may recall, I came as my ancestor Jacob Caruthers, coonskin cap and all.”

“Question I have for you, how did this ring get inside a quilt at Paul Johnson’s house?”

“Why, Beauregard, it sounds like you’re accusing me of something. I have no idea what happened to the ring. I misplaced it after the Centennial. Haven’t seen it in years.”

≈≈≈

“Cagey old devil,” Beau said of the mayor. “Wouldn’t admit to his own name in a court of law. He didn’t tell me a darn thing that was useful.”

“No, Grampy, that’s not so,” responded Agnes. “He said he wore the ring as part of his Centennial costume. But why would Jacob Caruthers be wearing a ruby ring. That ring belonged to either Jinks or the Colonel, but not to Caruthers.”

“Hm, that’s an interesting point,” acknowledged her grandfather. “Whattaya make of that, Maddy?”

Agnes’ grandmother gave the girl a hug. “You’re quite a Dick Tracy Crime Stopper, my dear. You’ve just opened up a new line of inquiry.”

“Who is Dick Tracy?”

“A comic strip detective,” said Bootsie. “My husband used to read him all the time.”

“Why would Jacob Caruthers be wearing a ruby ring?” repeated Cookie. “There’s nothing in the Historical Society’s archives that associates him with any such a ring.”

“Unless – ” said Maddy.

“Unless?” nudged Lizzie.

“Unless it was Jacob Caruthers who stole the ring off Colonel Madison’s body, and not Ferdinand Jinks.”

“But the legends says – ” began Bootsie.

“Legends are just stories, not necessarily true,” said Maddy. “What if Caruthers spread that rumor to cover up his own crime?”

“Like they say, history is written by the conquerors,” nodded Cookie.

“What’s this?” asked Tilly, picking up a scrap of paper from the kitchen floor.

“Oh, that’s the paper the fake ring was wrapped in,” Lizzie waved it away.

“But there’s writing on it,” said Tilly.

“What?”

“Writing?”

“Let me see,” commanded Maddy Madison, reaching for the crumpled paper. She flattened it onto the surface of the table, studying the handwriting.

Paul Johnson,

When you read this, you will know that the ring your granny hid here is gone. Since you’ll never see the real thing, take this $10 imitation with my compliments.

             
                                            The Rightful Owner

“This is evidence that Mayor Caruthers stole the ring from Tall Paul,” said Bootsie. She hadn’t been married to a policeman for forty years without picking up a few detecting skills.

“But we just determined that the mayor’s ancestor stole the ruby ring, not Tall Paul’s,” argued Cookie.

“This is so confusing,” sighed Lizzie, elbows on the table, head in her hands.

“You gals may as well call it a day,” advised Beau Madison. “You’re no closer to solving this mystery than when you started. We don’t even know who stole the ring, much less where it is now.”

“
Au contraire, mon mari
,” said his wife, a sly smile on her lips.

“Maddy, we’ve been married all these years and I never knew that you speak French.”

“Pish, dear. I picked up that phrase watching the PBS channel.”

“Never mind the French lesson,” said Bootsie. “Exactly what are you trying to tell us, Madelyn Agnes Taylor Madison?”

“I know who had the real ring.”