3 Coming Unraveled (4 page)

Chapter
Eight

Nobody would ever accuse the Quilters Club of being busybodies, but they did have a certain reputation for nosing around. Thinking of themselves as detectives, they had solved a couple of crimes in the past two years. The police chief was none too pleased with them interfering with his job. But given their success rate, he kept his grumbling to himself.

If asked, the four women were merely “paying their respects” when they showed up on Maud Purdue’s doorstep with an upside down watermelon cake in hand. It was Maud’s favorite, so she invited them in.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Maud was saying as she put the cake in a glass cake dish on the kitchen counter. She tasted the frosting with a swipe of her finger before putting the glass cover in place.

“We were worried about you,” said Maddy. “That
scam that Harry Periwinkle tried to pull must have been very upsetting.”

“I knew he
wasn’t my son,” she grumbled. “Bobby Ray had blue eyes. But nobody would listen to me.”

“Everybody’s wonder
ing how he fooled that DNA test,” said Liz Ridenour, feeling a little guilty since her husband had helped arrange it.

“It’s a mystery,” Maud Purdue shook her head, still eyeing the upside down watermelon cake.

“Funny thing, Harry offering to sign back the chair factory in return for your quilt,” said Bootsie.

“
Harry Periwinkle is obviously crazy. Pretending to be my son and all. That old quilt ain’t worth anything.”

“Where is it?” Maddy asked casually. “I’d love to see it again.”

“Packed away in the attic. In an old cedar trunk to keep the moths away. Ain’t worth anything, but it has sentimental value. My husband’s grandmother made that quilt by hand back in 1899. That was the year of the Big Fire.”

“Yes,” chimed in Cookie
. “Burned down half the town. It started at the bank.” She glanced at Liz as if by being the wife of a retired bank president she was somehow responsible.

“I’ve heard Edgar speak of it. The fire was set to cover up a robbery, as I recall. Don’t think they ever caught the culprits. But that was more than a hundred years ago.”

“Grandmother Purdue made the quilt to commemorate the Big Fire.”

“Yes, the design was flames,” Maddy recalled. “Yellows and reds and oranges.”

“Faded a lot,” sighed Maud Purdue. “But it’s all I’ve got to remember her by. She asked me to give it to Bobby Ray when he grew up.”

“It’s a wonderful keepsake,” Maddy assured her. “
But puzzling why Harry Periwinkle would want it.”

Maud shook her head. “Never did like that boy. Told Bobby Ray not to pal around with him, that he was trash. But
my son didn’t listen. Him and Harry and that Watson boy were thick as thieves. Romping through the watermelon fields. Hiking on weekends. Camping out at Gruesome Gorge in the summer. Fishing in Edwin Baumgartner’s pond. They caught a ten-pound bass there once.”

Maddy could see that Maud Purdue wasn’t going to fetch the quilt from the attic to show it to them, so she eased toward the door. “We’ll go now. Just wanted to deliver that cake. And offer our condolences.”

“No need for that. Bobby Ray’s been dead for nearly thirty years now. Least that’s what the bearded scallywag told me.”

The visitors offered a chorus of goodbyes
as they walked to Bootsie’s Jeep Cherokee. Maud Purdue gave a final wave, then turned back to the kitchen where the upside down watermelon cake was waiting.

As
Maddy eased into the backseat of the Cherokee, she glanced up at the eaves of the two-story house. Through the branches of the giant oak tree that dominated the front yard, she could see a small attic window. The mysterious quilt lay just beyond.

≈≈≈

Aggie was delighted to see Sprinkles the Clown again. Even there at the campground on the Bentley farm, he still wore his white greasepaint and red nose. He introduced them to a tall man with slicked-back hair and a walrus mustache. “This is Big Bill Haney,” he said with a flourish. “He’s the ring master, lion tamer, and strong man. What’s more, he owns the circus.”

Freddie Madison glanced at the side of the gaudy circus wagon. The wording proclaimed:
HANEY BROS. CIRCUS AND PETTING ZOO
. He wasn’t sure what there was to pet, the animals consisting of a lion, tiger, and other dangerous creatures.

Turns out, it was Happy the Elephant. A third guy
– a leathery-skinned roustabout they referred to as Bombay – brought the dusty pachyderm around from behind the tent for Aggie to pet. Mr. Sprinkles gave her a pack of peanuts and showed her how to feed them to Happy.

“
Ohhh, look at his long nose,” she thrilled as he took peanuts from her hand.

“That’s his trunk,” said the elephant handler. He also doubled as a mind reader known as Swami Bombay. He claimed to be from India, but Freddie thought he looked
Mexican. “He uses that trunk like a hand. He could thread a needle with it.”

Freddie knew that was a slight exaggeration, but he merely smiled as the circus performers entertained his niece.

Mr. Sprinkles was also a gifted acrobat, which he demonstrated by walking on his hands.

To his surprise, Aggie emulated him. As the star pupil in her gymnast
ics class at Madison Elementary, she could walk on her hands, do back flips, and complete straddle vaults on a horizontal bar.

“Excellent,” applauded Mr. Haney. “When you grow up we’ll have a place for you here at the circus.”

“Oh boy!”

“You too,” joked the ringmaster-lion-tamer-owner. “We can bill you as the Alligator Man.”

Freddie couldn’t help but laugh at this reference to his scarred and scaly skin. “I may need a job. Can’t go back to firefighting.”

“
Lots of ways for a man to be productive,” said Swami Bombay. Maybe he was a mind reader after all.

“When do you perform in Burpyville?” asked
Aggie, remembering the itinerary outlined by the clown.

“Next week,” said Haney. “We’re putting on six shows at the Bur
pyville Shopping Center. Free passes if you two decide to drive over to see us.”

“Thanks,” said Fredd
ie. “We just might do that.”

≈≈≈

Bernard Warbuckle asked for a leave of absence from Burbyville Memorial, went straight home and packed his bags. An extended trip to Canada was in his immediate future.

Damn that
Harry for getting caught like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. The jerk should have stayed missing.

Chapter
Nine

Harry Periwinkle was refusing to talk. Maybe he realized he’s said too much already. He sat in the holding cell of the Caruthers Corners Police Department as silent as the statue of Jacob Caruthers in the town square across the street.

Maud Purdue had surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to bring in the police when he asked her to meet him at the cemetery. He’d been posing as her son, but guess there’s no fooling a mother. DNA results or not, she’d seen through him.

Now he –

His thoughts were interrupted when the deputy called his name. “
Harry Periwinkle – you’ve got a visitor.” The uniformed man unlocked the cell door to admit his attorney, Mark Tidemore.

“Hello, Bobby
– uh, I mean Harry.” He nodded toward the metal chair. “Mind if I have a seat?”

The prisoner shrugged. “Help yourself,” he broke his silence. “But I don’t need your services anymore.
You’re fired.”

“I think you
do
need my services,” said Mark the Shark. “And I hate to tell you, but you can’t fire me – I was appointed by the court.”

“Eithe
r way, I’ve got nothing to say.” He turned his back, again looking out his cell window, staring vacantly at the bronze statue.

“
Harry, you’ve committed a felony. They caught you with your pants down. You’re probably looking at prison time. But maybe I can use your thirty missing years to get them to mitigate the sentence.”

“Forget it. I’ve said all I’m going to say about that.”

“All you’ve told them is that Bobby Ray drowned in a bog and that you became a pirate. Not much to go on.”

“Bobby Ray fell in the quicksand. End of story.”

“Maybe you could help them find the remains. Give closure to his mother. That might be looked on favorably.”

“There’s a zillion miles of Never Ending Swamp. I couldn’t find my way back
to that patch of quicksand even if I tried.”

Mark the Shark shifted his weight, making the metal chair screech on the cement floor. “According to the US Park Service it’s slightly over four hundred acres in size.”

“That’s a zillion acres to twelve-year-old boys,” Harry waved the words away. “Bobby Ray’s dead and gone. So I used his identity as a little joke, big deal.”

“Not a very good joke. You gave his mother false hope.”

“Didn’t either. That old biddy never believed I was her son from the git-go.”

True enough. “What about Jud Watson’s mother. Can’t you let her know what happened to her son?”

Harry looked out the cell window again, considering his words. “He’s alive,” he said at last. “But I can’t help it if he doesn’t choose to call his mama. He hates her, that old witch. Used to beat him with a belt when he was a boy. I’ve seen the strap marks on his back.”

“So you know where he is?”

Harry chuckled. “Not at this precise moment. But I’d guess he’s halfway to Canada.”

≈≈≈

The Quilters Club was holding a meeting at the rec center, an emergency session. “We’ve got to come up with a plan to inspect Maud Purdue’s quilt,” Maddy Madison was insisting. She was a pretty woman, late ‘50s, wheat-blonde hair, maybe 10 pounds overweight – “more to hug,” as her husband Beau liked to say.

Bootsie, being the police chief’s wife, was more cautious. “We can’t just break in and steal it,” she shook her head. “
Maybe we could just ask her to see it?”

“We tried that,” Liz
zie reminded her. “That’s a dead end, f’sure.”

“I agree,” admitted Cookie. “But that doesn’t justify burglary.”

“We’re not stealing the quilt,” Maddy explained. “Merely looking at it.”

“You’re still talking B&E,” said Bootsie, using the cop lingo she
’d heard at home.

“What’s that?” frowned Maddy.

“Breaking and entering – a serious crime.”

“Not if we have permission.”

“And how do you intend to get that?” Cookie raised her eyebrows. A slender brunette, she was quite attractive, keeping herself up now that she was married to Ben Bentley. Her first husband had died a few years back in a tractor accident.

“Watch,” said Maddy, picking up her little flat iPhone and tapping in some numbers. “Hello, Maud. This is Maddy Madison
. Following up on the other day, can we drop by and see your grandmother’s quilt sometime? Yes? When? Oh, well, call me when it’s convenient. Yes, I know you need time to grieve. Will there be a memorial service, now that you know what happened to your son? Well, let me know.”

Bootsie wrinkled her forehead. “What was that?”

“Maud agreed we could see the quilt.”

“When?”

“Never probably. But I’m going to take that as an invitation to drop by on our own schedule.”

That schedule was 2 a.m. the next night.

Chapter
Ten

“Think you can do it?” Maddy asked her granddaughter. The Quilters Club, including Aggie, was gathered around the big oak tree in Maud Purdue’s yard. They were eyeing the attic window.

“Of course, I can do it,” replied the girl. “You ought to see me on the monkey bars at school.”

Agnes Tidewell was spending the night at her grandparents’ house. Her mom and dad had driven down to Indy for dinner and a show, celebrating their two-year anniversary of moving back to Caruthers Corners. At the time they had been on the verge of divorce, but the change of venue had worked wonders. No longer did Mark the Shark work the long hours he’d faced in Los Angeles. Milly had just announced she was expecting a third child, another reason to celebrate.

“Don’t you go breaking your neck,” admonished Liz
zie, having second thoughts about this perilous mission. “You mother would never forgive us.”

“Don’t worry. A piece of cake,”
Aggie said, shimmying up the tree trunk. Climbing limb to limb, she reached her goal in minutes – the small attic window.

“Is it locked?” whispered Bootsie in a stage voice.

Aggie tried lifting it, nearly losing her balance.

“Watch out!” screamed Maddy, loud enough to wake Maud and all the
Purdue family ghosts. But nobody seemed to be stirring inside the two-story Victorian structure.

“It’s open,”
Aggie reported, lifting the sill high enough to crawl inside. The window was small, but so was Aggie, about 80 pound tops. She disappeared inside the Purdue attic in about three seconds flat.

“See? It’s not breaking and entering if the window is unlocked,” rationalized Maddy.

Bootsie merely rolled her eyes heavenward.

“It’s
packed in a cedar trunk,” hissed Maddy, remembering the words of Maud Purdue.

Aggie’s honey-blonde head appeared at the window. “Is it reds and oranges, but all faded?” she called down to her co-conspirators.

“Yes,” nodded Cookie.

“Did you find it?” asked Maddy.

Aggie nodded. “Here it is,” she said, pushing the armful of fabric out the narrow window.

“I’ve got it,” huffed Bootsie, stepping under the falling quilt. A stocky woman, she’d excelled in volleyball at college and still had good reflexes.

The patchwork quilt landed on her head, draping over her like a tent. “
Mmft
,
hmpt
,” she said from under the thick cloth. It translated into words not meant for Aggie’s ears.

“Okay, climb down very carefully,” instructed Maddy, shaking a finger at her spunky granddaughter.
“But close the window first.”

Ten minutes later they were in
Lizzie’s Lexus heading toward the Madison house on Melon Pickers Row.

“Good job,” Maddy
congratulated the team.

“Roger that,” replied Aggie, a remark that struck everyone as funny. The four women and young girl all burst into fits of laughter as they pulled into the driveway at 3 a.m., purloined quilt stowed in the back.

≈≈≈

“Did you go out last night?” Beau Madison asked over breakfast. He liked a hearty Midwestern starter for his day
– scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, OJ.

“Why do you ask?” his wife dodged the question.

“Someone forgot to close the garage door.”

“That was when I was putting the garbage out,” she said
, shoveling another helping of eggs onto his plate. “City pickup this morning,” she reminded him, not that he wouldn’t know as mayor. Monday morning and Thursday morning, contracted out to Pete Turner, who had a dump on the west side of town. Turner’s Trash Heap, it was called.

“Oh right,” he mumbled, studying the
Burbyville Gazette
. He tried to stay up on local happenings. “I see Janey Baumgartner had twins,” he added. “Bet her husband Errol didn’t bargain for that windfall.”

Maddy glanced up from the sink, where she was soaking the cast-iron skillet. “Errol? Isn’t he Edwin Baumgartner’s grandson?”

“You mean the old coot who owned the farm next to the Never Ending Swamp? Yeah, I think so.”

“I wonder if the family knows more about what Edwin saw the day those boys disappeared.”

Beau looked up from the paper. “I’m sure Jim Purdue’s already questioned them about it. Him or the State Police.”

“Or the new
s media. There was quite a stir when everyone thought Bobby Ray had returned from a soggy grave. Even you got interviewed by CNN.”

“My fifteen minutes of fame,” he chuckled. “Sure
do wonder what happened to those boys.”

“So do I,” said Maddy.

≈≈≈

Being that school hadn’t started yet, Aggie got to go
to Burpyville to see the Haney Bros. Circus and Petting Zoo with her Uncle Freddie. Maddy and Amanda agreed that it was a good thing to encourage Freddie to go out in public. He couldn’t hide away like the Elephant Man for the rest of his life.

A date had opened up at the Burpyville Mall, so the Haney Bros. Circus pulled up stakes. Another member of the circus
– Big Bill Haney’s brother William – showed up with a large truck and the caravan carrying elephant and lion and horses, etc. lumbered off toward the adjacent county.

Big Bill and Little William Haney stopped by the mayor’s office on the way out of town to leave a handful of free passes. Although they claimed to be twins, they looked more like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in that movie called
Twins
.

Aggie had mixed feeling about going to the circus. This was the day that the
Quilters Club had set aside to examine Maud Purdue’s lumpy old patchwork quilt for clues. They had waited a couple of days to see if the woman noticed that it was missing, then with a collective sigh agreed to meet today at 2 o’clock at the rec center.

Nonetheless,
Aggie laughed and giggled as Sprinkles the Clown did a dance with Sneezy the Baboon. Big Bill Haney made the lion jump through a hoop and Little William led Sleepy the Bear around like a puppy on a leash – a fuzzy, 300-pound puppy that is. And best of all, Bombay gave her a ride atop Happy the Elephant.

Whoooo-ee!