Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 03 - Paint Me a Murder (8 page)

I itched to turn the page so I could see it better. “But what comes after ‘precious’? Uncle?” The letters looked like “u-n-c-l.” Maybe he couldn’t spell.

“And, I think.” As soon as Audie mentioned the common word, I could see it. “The word that comes next has me stumped, though.”

Jenna studied it. “F-l-i-u-r-u-s-h. Flourish? Flourishing
might
make sense, precious and flourishing riches, but. . .”

“There’s no ‘ing.’ It looks like jelly tarts to me.” Dina grinned. “At least they’d go with the piecrust.”

“That first letter.” I took a pen in hand and practiced consonants with loops below the line—f, g, j, p, q, z. “My guess is another ‘p.’ It’s like the first letter of precious.”

“Mm, you’re right.” Jenna slipped into her curator voice. “And if we compare letters, we have a p, an e and an s.”

“Make that pl.” Audie suggested “Ple. . .”

“Pleasant!” My mind made the leap.

“‘Precious and pleasant riches.’” I could almost hear quote marks in Dina’s voice.

“Buried treasure.” Jenna and I spoke at the same time.

12

Magda Grace inherited the family penchant for the arts. After high school, she spread her wings in Chicago’s theater community. That led to heartache for the young woman, as she was seduced and gave birth to a child out of wedlock. Magda returned to Grace Gulch and married Matthew Mallory. The couple had one son, Gene.

Over the years Magda Grace Mallory poured herself and her considerable resources into the arts. She refurbished the Orpheum that Mary Grace had built and renamed it the Magda Grace Mallory Theater, affectionately called the MGM. She also contributed widely to the musical education of the town’s youngsters and as her final bequest, planned for the Grace Gulch Center for the Arts.

In the last years of Magda’s life, she was reunited with her long-lost child when her daughter, Suzanne Jay, accepted a position with the MGM.

From
A History of Grace Gulch

Saturday, September 16

“Do you think Brad accepted the mural commission because of the old robbery?” I mused out loud. “He could quote sentence and paragraph from that journal. Maybe he thought it held clues that would lead to the lost treasure.”

“No,” Jenna and Audie said together. He gestured as if to say “you first.”

“He talked to me about old Larry, back when we. . .you know.” She glanced aside for a moment. “A different version of the legend passed down on his side of the family. His great-grandmother never talked about it much, just insisted that Larry had done the right thing. If there ever was any treasure, they never saw a penny of it.”

“All the more reason why he might want to find it.” I argued.

“Even if he did, it wasn’t for personal reasons,” Audie insisted. “More than once, Brad told me he came to Grace Gulch to make restitution. And maybe to restore old Larry’s reputation. I know fanaticism when I see it—plenty of star-crossed actors qualify—and I can tell you, Brad wasn’t after gold.”

“I hope that’s true.” Dina looked wistful.

That’s right
. The truth struck me. Since Brad was Dina’s father, she had descended from Larry Grace. His story was her story.

“Do we need to tell the police what we found this morning?” Dina made more of an effort to do things “by the book” since she had become an official reporter. She said it helped keep the lines of communication open, not to mention it kept her out of trouble.

“I don’t see why.” I shrugged. “There’s no indication that this treasure has anything to do with the fire or Finella’s death or Brad’s disappearance. We’re working on a hunch. If we find out anything concrete in the rest of the journal, we can let them know then.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can view the rest of the journal?” Dina’s mind had followed a different track. We all turned our eyes on Jenna.

“I won’t know until I examine the journal more closely. Monday, maybe Tuesday.”

Jenna had already told us as much. Dina was fishing for something. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing like buried treasure to snag the public’s attention.” Dina trusted her journalistic instincts. “Someone out there must know more than they’re letting on. If the
Herald
prints a story about buried treasure with an offer of a reward, maybe we’ll learn something useful.”

“Now, wait a minute, I don’t want you bringing all of Grace Gulch into this.” Jenna switched into mother-mode.

I could have told Jenna not to take that tactic with Dina. Like Paul in the seventh chapter of Romans, the more you told her
not
to do something, the more determined she became to try it. Forget Paul. She resembled her mother in that regard.

“Well, why not? We need information. Tales of buried treasure and murder will pique the public’s interest.”

“What kind of reward do you want to offer?” I inserted a bit of humor. “A share in the treasure?”

“Another lifetime membership to the Center for the Arts?” Jenna chuckled.

“Nothing big. But I’ve been saving up money for a car. I can sacrifice it for a reward,” Dina said.

She’s serious.

“In any case, I’m going to report what we found today. It’s
news.
So why not get something out of it?”

Audie cleared his throat. “May I make one small suggestion?”

We all looked at him, as if we had forgotten his presence in the room. Once the three of us wound up, we tended to shut out everything else.

“Make the reward anonymous. Have the calls routed to a mail box at the newspaper, that kind of thing. No need to invite trouble.”

We agreed to his suggestion.

“I’ve just made myself a lot of work, haven’t I?” Dina knew every citizen in Grace Gulch would offer their opinion. None of us proposed a better idea. So she rushed off to the
Herald
office to write the story and advertise the reward in time for the Sunday edition.

My mind still circulated theories on what treasure Larry meant when I made it to the store. Gilda had everything under control. Too bad her vintage look—her
only
look—seemed stuck in the ‘70s with polyester pantsuits.

“How’s it been?” I flipped through the receipts Gilda had parked by the cash register. I noticed she had brought a pan of egg and sausage casserole—still nearly full. Oh, well. On Saturdays I always bought frosted sugar cookies from Jessie for any children who stopped by. At least Gilda was trying.

A piece of paper stuck out from the edge of the pan and I moved it. I wouldn’t have read it except my eyes fell on the word “beer.” Liquor as the first item on a shopping list? Some Christians drank alcohol upon occasion, but both Audie and I were teetotalers. Gilda had struck me the same way. I could just imagine Pastor Waldberg’s reaction if he learned we had “demon rum” in our house.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Gilda plucked the paper out of my hand. “I need to buy things for tomorrow’s family dinner.”

“Sounds good.” I managed a weak smile. Gilda’s cooking would be the death of me one way or the other, between clogging my arteries and ruining my reputation.

Saturday raced by, and on Sunday morning I grabbed the
Herald
first. The editor gave Dina’s story a few inches on the front page above a photo of the page with spidery handwriting. The editor must have approved of the sidebar about the reward. She gave two inches to an announcement stating, “Anyone knowing anything about Brad Merriman’s disappearance … please contact …” Dina had taken Audie’s advice and kept the contact information neutral. But people would guess.

What would the police think about the public request for information? They might not care. Brad’s disappearance wasn’t a crime, unless he murdered Finella. If we learned anything connected to the arson or murder, we’d tell them about it.

Our entire congregation buzzed about the buried treasure story. The song leader had to start the first hymn twice before we settled down. Either God had given Pastor Waldberg a special revelation about our discovery, or he changed his message at the last minute. He invited us to turn to 1 Timothy 6, about “the love of money” being “a root of all kinds of evil,” and how true contentment comes from godliness, not worldly wealth. He preached in his typical fiery style, oratory designed to make you sell everything you owned and head to the mission field.

He fell flat today, however. As soon as the last amen thundered from the pulpit, people surrounded me, asking questions about the journal and the mention of treasure. The same thing happened to Jenna and to Dina.

Speaking of Dina, my sister had returned to her crazy-hair-color ways, coloring her hair neon blue throughout. She was taking Brad’s disappearance too much to heart. But how could I blame her? I couldn’t fathom being in her shoes.

The questions repeated themselves. Was it true that we had found Larry Grace’s journal at the studio? Yes. Did it really mention the loot from the bank robbery? I repeated the quote several times, to no avail. Treasure fever had seized our friends.

The crowd thinned before Enid approached me. She drew me aside.

Not you, too
. I wanted to groan.

“I think I’ve figured out the second clue in the treasure hunt, the one about the path of the upright being a highway.”

Oh, the town’s hunt in celebration of the opening of the Center for the Arts. I had almost forgotten with the investigation. “I can’t—”

“I know that. But I’m sure it’s talking about Route 66, and I think I have an idea where, as well.” She lowered her voice. “I noticed that Route 66 is on the mural. If Mr. Merriman knew the location of the ‘treasure’—” A smile skittered across her face “—He might have hidden clues in the mural.”

This suggestion, coming from one of the most level-headed women I knew, deserved my attention. I tucked it away in my brain for further consideration. “If you’re right. . .”

“Oh, phooey. Keep the reward money.” She turned her back and greeted the couple in the next aisle.

After we extracted ourselves from the curious questioners, the family gathered at the Crazy W for our weekly dinner. I had prepared dessert as usual—apple crumble—but Gilda insisted on fixing something as well. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Strange and wonderful smells filled the kitchen all morning. Unfortunately, I also found an empty beer can in the trash. Dad would die of mortification if he found out..

Gilda and Dad fought for position in the kitchen--in the nicest possible way, of course, with plenty of “excuse me’s” and “thank you’s.” Dad set out our everyday china while Gilda searched for table linens. Before she could grind beans for fresh coffee, he had dropped ice into tall glasses and poured tea.

The timer rang for Dina’s high-as-heaven biscuits. Within minutes we gathered around the table to eat. Dad carried out one of his favorite dishes—ham hock with beans. Jenna had fixed a cornucopia of vegetables, her specialty. Dina’s biscuits piled high on the plate, with the welcome addition of a jar of Dustin Murk’s honey.

Gilda brought her platter out last of all, and no one knew quite what to make of it. Mustard, onions, and sauerkraut covered a gigantic coiled sausage.

Audie rubbed his hands together. “Bet you boiled those brats in beer.”

At the mention of beer, Dad looked ready to toss the meat in the garbage, platter and all, but he put a brave face on it. “Always interesting to try new things.”

Gilda nodded assent. “Audie loves home-made pizza. I’ll show you how to fix it. It’s easy.”

Help.

Of course we couldn’t
smell
the beer anymore. Cooking removed alcohol, or so I’d heard. But I had never heard of using it as a marinade. Audie carved up the bratwurst—one of those deli meats I had never tried—with all the skill of a turkey carving. He gave me a slice as long as my foot. So much for taking a small taste.

Dina dived right in. “Mmm, delicious!”

“Good food, good fellowship. What more could a man ask for? ‘A cheerful heart has a continual feast,’ isn’t that right, Dad?”

“Proverbs 15:15.” The two men had an ongoing contest to see who could stump the other with Bible quotes, especially from the book of Proverbs. I hadn’t seen one of them lose yet.

“Gilda fixed us home-made Chicago deep dish pizza the other night. I didn’t know it could taste so good.” Maybe I could distract Dad from the beer-marinated brat.

Gilda beamed.

I took a bite of her new offering—not bad.

“Can you show me how to make the crust?” Dina, the best baker in the family, asked. “I haven’t learned the knack yet.”

“Of course.” Gilda was in her element. “Come by anytime.”

Audie nodded at me, as if to say
well done
. For his sake, I wished I got along better with Gilda. He was right; I wouldn’t mind some mothering as Junior’s birth approached, but I felt too vulnerable to admit my weaknesses to my mother-in-law.

The brat proved the high point of the meal. Dad might have to send the ham and beans home with us.

“Did either of you hear anything interesting about the notice?” Dina took a second slice of brat. “No one told me anything. They just asked questions.”

Jenna shook her head. “Mostly questions and speculation. Everyone mentioned the legend about Larry Grace’s buried treasure.”

I thought about Enid’s interesting comment. “Enid wondered if Brad might have incorporated clues to the location of the treasure in the mural, if he knew any.”

“What? The quote about ‘precious and pleasant riches’?” Gilda spoke up.

“That’s the one,” Dina said ruefully. “Say ‘riches’ and people think buried treasure and gold.”

“They must not know their Bibles.”

Since Gilda was addressing people who went to church every time the doors opened, I didn’t appreciate her comment. But she plowed ahead.

“At least not the King James.”

That was a little better. I had grown up reading the New International Version. Dad had memorized hundreds of verses in both versions.

“‘Through wisdom is a house builded, and by understanding it is established. And by knowledge shall the chambers be filled with all precious and pleasant riches.”