Part 23 (2/2)
Dave, Gatlin, and the police all arrived at about the same time a few minutes later, and after collecting Lizzie and Mildred, my cousins and I had a late lunch of hot dogs (at Faye's request), at the Heavenly Grill.
Later, over ice cream, I told them what Gertrude had said. ”I know she was the one who tried to flip me off my bike, then later meant to do me in at the academy,” I said, ”but how did she have time to get back there after dropping Gatlin off at the bookshop to get her car?”
”I imagine she parked somewhere close by and walked back to the academy,” Dave said.
”If Hugh hadn't come when he did, I might have been part of the flooring!” I said, wis.h.i.+ng I hadn't eaten all those fries. ”Gertrude must have heard him coming and hidden in another room, then sneaked down the back stairs while he was 'unwinding' me. I guess she meant to make it look like a suicide... but she had groceries in her car, remember? How could she have had time to go to the store, then get back to the academy in time to pretend to be so shocked?”
”Those groceries were for the church Thanksgiving collection,” Gatlin said. ”She probably already had them in the trunk. It wouldn't take a minute to move them up front to look like she'd been shopping. I'll bet if you looked at the date on the receipt, it would prove it.”
”Too late now,” I said. ”But I still don't see how she could've called you on the phone pretending to be your neighbor.”
Gatlin frowned. ”I think I know. If you'll remember, she went into the bathroom while I was actually talking to the 'neighbor.' I think she called the academy on her cell phone, summoned me downstairs, and then disappeared into the ladies' room to continue the conversation. She didn't come out until I was off the phone.”
Mildred, who had been silent, finished her coffee and looked at me. ”I really don't believe Gertrude cared for you, Arminda.”
I laughed along with everybody else. ”I don't think she liked you much, either. And to think I felt sorry for her because her husband died.”
”He didn't die,” Gatlin said. ”Amos Whitmire ran off several years back with a topless dancer from Atlanta. Poor Gert hasn't been the same since.”
”I don't guess we'll ever know what she put in your coffee that night,” I said to Mildred.
”I don't think I want to know,” Mildred said. ”But she sure turned the bookstore upside down! We were getting just too close to something that made Gertrude Whitmire most uncomfortable.”
”But didn't somebody try to run over Mrs. Whitmire with a car?” Lizzie asked. ”She hurt her ankle real bad, remember?”
”Gertrude Whitmire said said somebody had tried to run her down,” her mother said. ”She probably got all those cuts and scratches staging her fake accident.” somebody had tried to run her down,” her mother said. ”She probably got all those cuts and scratches staging her fake accident.”
”So everyone would think she was a victim,” Dave said. ”Looks like the wordy one will be put away for a long time. Wonder how long this has been coming on.”
”I don't know, but I hope they put her someplace where she can't hurt anybody else. Do you think she knows about the quilt?” Gatlin asked.
”I'm not sure,” Mildred said. ”Perhaps not. But Otto must have told her about the group of girls and their pin, as well as the letter from Flora. I think she knew what her grandfather had done, and I'm certain she felt threatened by me, as well.”
”I can't help but feel there's something else,” I said as Mildred paid the bill. She insisted on it being her treat. ”Hugh never would say what it was, but he was looking for something other than that letter. I'm sure of it.”
Vesta came rus.h.i.+ng up as we were leaving the restaurant and demanded a full account. ”Why didn't you get in touch with me? Had to go to three stores to find that stone-ground cornmeal I like, and had no idea what was going on! You can imagine my shock to come home and find my own great-grandchild missing!”
I told her it was a little difficult to get in touch with somebody when you didn't know where they were, but she was so busy hugging and kissing Faye, she didn't even hear me.
The day had turned to dusk by the time we all ended up back at Gatlin's. Vesta heated spiced apple cider while Dave built a fire in the fireplace, and we all sat around, not saying a whole lot, but thankful to be together. The frenzied panic of the morning seemed a bad dream.
I was getting sleepy just sitting there with Napoleon's head in my lap when Chief McBride came to the door. ”I've brought you some company,” he said, ushering in Dr. Hank.
Of course, we all wanted to know how Sylvie was and were told her condition had been upgraded and they thought she might even be able to go home soon.
”That's one reason I'm here,” the doctor told us. ”She thought you might like to have this. It was in Sylvia's safety deposit box, but I believe it belongs to you.”
”What in the world is it?” Vesta asked.
”Something Otto asked her to keep,” the chief said. ”He must've realized he was in danger and gave it to her for safekeeping.”
”Sylvie thought it was a rare ma.n.u.script that Otto planned to sell,” Dr. Hank said. ”He was a good friend and had helped her purchase such things for her library collection in London, so she agreed to keep it for him, not knowing, of course, what it was.
”But when Otto was killed,” he continued, ”Sylvie says she became frightened and suspected that somebody might have been after the ma.n.u.script. That's when she rented the safety deposit box. She planned to leave it there until whoever killed Otto was safely in jail.” He gave the portfolio to my grandmother.
”Hank, I'm sorry, but I have to ask,” Vesta began. ”What happened between Sylvie and Otto? Were they-engaged, or something?”
”Not hardly. Just friends. Both of them loved books-especially old books, so they had that much in common. And Otto was helping Sylvie with a collection for the museum in London. To be honest, I doubt if Otto cared in that way about the opposite s.e.x.”
”Oh.” Vesta glanced at Mildred, who seemed to agree.
”Have you seen what's in here?” Vesta turned to Dr. Hank, and he nodded, grinning.
”h.e.l.l, Vesta, you know how curious I am.”
Inside were several composition books, yellowed with age, a sketchbook filled with drawings of the characters Doggie Dan and Callie Cat, all signed by Lucy West book, and a ma.n.u.script in the same handwriting, unsigned and wrapped in oiled paper.
”Where did Otto find these?” Vesta asked.
”In the attic, I suppose,” Mildred told her. ”Don't you remember how he combed that attic when we moved out of the old place?”
My grandmother leafed through the papers almost reverently. ”Why, these belonged to my mother. She drew these pictures herself....”
”And wrote the stories, too,” Gatlin said, glancing through one of the composition books.
The folder had also contained a sheaf of letters Lucy had written to my great-grandfather before they married and the handwriting was the same as that on the other written materials.
”I've seen this old ma.n.u.script before,” Vesta said, holding the bound papers wrapped in oiled paper. ”It was in the showcase at the academy, the one in the library. It's said to be an original ma.n.u.script of one of the first stories.”
”Looks like Otto helped himself to that one, too,” I said.
”And it looks like Fitzhugh Holley was a plagiarist,” Mildred said. ”Good gracious, couldn't the man do anything right?”
”He had you,” Vesta reminded her.
The next day was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and I had invited the whole family over for the holiday. Dave had promised to smoke the turkey, and Vesta was making rolls and dressing. Mildred agreed to bring sweet potatoes-the good kind with brown sugar and nuts on top, and Gatlin said she'd contribute a cranberry salad, so I really didn't have that much to do. Still, I should have stayed home baking, but there was something I couldn't get off my mind.
”Why?” I asked Gatlin over the phone that morning. ”Why in the world would Lucy let that horrible man take credit for her own creation?”
My cousin was mincing ingredients for the salad: celery, pecans, oranges, cranberries, and I had to wait until she'd switched off the food processor. ”I can't imagine, but she must've had a reason. Whatever it was, we know the truth now. Otto must have thought he'd struck gold when he found that sketchbook and Lucy's stories, then matched them with the handwriting on that ma.n.u.script.”
A production company, we learned, had expressed an interest in reprinting the old stories with the possibility of later introducing them as cartoons, and perhaps a line of children's clothing. The characters, although dated, still had a quaint appeal, and Hugh Talbot, when backed against the wall, had agreed not to contest the rights if it eventually came about.
”What are you making for dessert tomorrow?” Gatlin asked.
”Don't worry. It won't be pumpkin pie.” (My cousin hated pumpkin pie.) ”I'll let you know when I get back.”
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