CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

I picked myself up off the floor and dusted my bruised ego with as much dignity as I could muster and I followed the blue booties and the green scrubs to a wry smile, a scruffy chin, curling black hair, and chocolate-brown eyes.

Pete Erickson’s right eyebrow rose, and my heart thumped once and then thumped off when I remembered Susie. I looked past him to make sure the elf hadn’t followed.

“Morning, Doc. Have a cookie.” Dad to the rescue.

“Don’t mind if I do.” After one bite, his eyes closed, and Pete moaned in delight. “Ida has made the best snickerdoodles since for-e-ver.”

“What makes you think I didn’t make them?” I set my fists on my hips.

He snorted and raised both eyebrows. It was worth a try. I relented. Then he examined the scene. “What are we doing here?” he said conspiratorially.

Ricky whispered, forcefully, “She’s back.” He grabbed Pete’s hand and hauled him into the room. Pete’s foot caught on a wheel, and he teetered over me for a second before Dad pulled him upright. Dad to the rescue again—maybe.

“Is this the visitor Rachel has been hounding me about?” Pete asked. Ricky nodded. “I have to take a look.”

“It’s Daniella Jericho,” I said.

He briefly glanced down the hall to make sure. He closed the door and leaned against it. “You can come out now, Carlee.” She lowered the linen. “Do you know Daniella?” She shook her head. “I wonder what she could want.”

Carlee looked at me. I looked at Dad. Dad looked at Pete and Pete watched Ricky scarf down a piece of Ida’s satiny fudge until all that remained was a brown smudge on his chin. A sharp rap interrupted our staring contest.

Pete inhaled. Carlee tossed the sheet back over her head. Dad closed the lid on the box of treats. Ricky rolled his chair forward to use as a battering ram against whoever might be on the other side of the door. Pete opened it but blocked the interior.

“Dr. Erickson,” Rachel said officiously. “Officer Rodgers says he’s here to deliver papers to a juvenile patient we might or might not have.”

“Hi, Dan. Can you give them to me?”

“Doc. I’d prefer to deliver them myself, but you can sure witness the delivery.”

Pete stepped from the threshold. We could’ve looked guilty of something as mundane as holding an illegal card game but instead we were caught red-handed stealing cookies from the box on Dad’s lap. Rachel huffed. Dad grinned and offered the box. Officer Rodgers closed his eyes and hummed after his first bite of the fluffy white divinity. Rachel looked right and left and snatched a peanut butter cup before she stomped away.

“Dan, you know the Wilks.” Officer Rodgers nodded. “And this scamp is Ricky. You’ve got to watch out for him.” Pete ruffled his hair and Ricky giggled.

“Carlee Parks—”

“It’s going to be Carlee Bluestone soon.” Her head popped out from under the covers.

“Carlee Parks,” Officer Rodgers said again. “I’m required to deliver these papers into your hand, inviting you and your representative to a reading of the last will and testament of Grace Loehr to be held immediately after the burial service which has been expedited to Monday afternoon at three thirty.”

Chewing stopped.

Officer Rodgers took another piece of divinity and said, “Have a nice day.”

Tears formed in Carlee’s eyes, and I wished CJ wasn’t miles away. Ricky’s mouth fell open when Dad set the treat box in his lap. Then Dad sat next to Carlee and patted her hand. “We’re all here for you, doll.”

She snuffled and pulled the pages out of the envelope. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Can you read it?” she said, thrusting the papers into Dad’s hands.

He scanned them. “The first page is a copy of a request for the funeral to be held as soon as possible because one of the beneficiaries has time-sensitive duties elsewhere.”

“Who made the request?” I couldn’t imagine anyone in that much of a hurry.

“That’s odd. It says the request came from Jordan Quintz. I thought he said he was moving here. Doc, are you finished with the autopsy? Anything hinky?”

Pete gave him the look. “You know I can’t discuss that with you, Harry.”

“So that’s a maybe. The reading of the will at the office of Dorene Dvorak is scheduled immediately following the service, the particulars of which are spelled out in detail, and she included an accounting for everything Grace had prepaid.” He read the next few pages. “She wrote her obituary for the newspaper and created a memorial video. Grace selected the music and musicians she wanted for her service, and the pallbearers—Pete, you and Katie are on the list.” I sucked in a breath. “She named the officiant, the eulogist—Lance Erickson.” Dad looked up to gauge Pete’s reaction. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “She appointed readers and chose scripture passages. Her burial plot and headstone are bought and paid for. She even chose the clothes she would wear. And Carlee, dear.” He removed his glasses. “You’re one of Grace’s heirs.”

“Let me see that.” She grabbed the pages and her eyes flew across the words, her lips a blur as she silently read. “I’m not the only one.” She handed the pages to me.

The beneficiary list included the Midwest Minnesota History Center, Jordan Quintz, McCall’s Studio for the Arts, and some I didn’t recognize, but the last name on the list caught my eye—Ida Clemashevski.

The door swung open. I jumped, anticipating being caught by Daniella.

Instead, a lilting voice said, “Who’s having a party without me?

Lorelei waltzed into Carlee’s room, getting smaller by the minute, and handed a huge box of chocolate truffles to the patient. “You’re looking great! How are you feeling, really?”

“That’s our cue, Dad. Get well, Carlee. And you, be good, Ricky.”

Dad’s forlorn look could only mean one thing. I deprived him of his favorite treat—more chocolate—and I’d have to make it up to him.

Pete caught up to us before we were claimed by the elevator. “Harry, I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you, but you know how rumors get started. I can’t talk about Grace. I can say with complete confidence, and I won’t be divulging any secrets if I tell you Phillip McCall died with strychnine in his system. Tragic end to a creative genius.”

“Did you know him well?’

“Not well.” The serious look he gave me could mean anything. “Katie, keep yourself safe. And watch out for Ida.”

The elevator doors opened, and Dad and I stepped in. I wiggled my fingers and Pete disappeared behind the doors.

“Was he trying to tell us something without telling us something?” Dad asked.

“I’m not sure. But let’s head out to the history center. I have a few questions for Mrs. Nygren.” Dad perked up so I was safe for the time being as long as I scrounged some chocolate.

The ship loomed large in the frosty gloom. I gave Dad my phone and the app took him to the doorway so he could attempt our geocache. He counted seven columns then down to the second row and pulled the brochure. We paraded up the gangplank behind a dozen or so guests.

“Looks like you have a crowd today,” I said to our ticket taker.

Derek sat, happily raking in the money. “Yeah, but kind of ghoulish. There was talk of murder and some heard about the two old biddies’ fight—”

My ire curled around my ears. “It wasn’t a fight.”

“Just telling you that it’s been great for business.”

“Any geocachers?” Dad asked.

“We’ve had a few come through and they loved the mystery and the solution, so good on ya.”

“I’m here to try it out.” Dad dug out his wallet, but Derek waved us through.

“No money from you, thanks. And I’m sure Mrs. Nygren will be happy to see you. She’s hanging out by the bridge.”

We knew the way to the grand staircase. Dad decrypted the cypher and then verified where we needed to go next with the map guide on the wall. When we mounted the steps to the bridge, we saw Mrs. Nygren but she didn’t seem happy. Neither did the short fur-covered woman talking to her. The deadly venom in Daniella’s eyes stopped me in my tracks. Dad plunged forward.

“Ms. Jericho, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her look relaxed a bit when she shifted her focus to Dad. He could be quite charming.

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet.” He extended a hand. “Harry Wilk.”

“We’ll talk later, Yvonne,” she said over her shoulder. A fake smile covered her face, and she snaked her hand around his arm and led Dad toward the First-Class Dining Saloon.

“I was just telling my daughter,” he said with a nod in my direction, “how fortunate we are to have such generous benefactors of the health care system, the arts, and the history center in a town this size, built by hard work and maintained by caring individuals who can afford …” Their voices drifted as they disappeared into the exhibit.

Mrs. Nygren sniffed and looked like she might cry.

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitated. Then it all came pouring out. “The hospital board planned to donate a percentage of the pledged funds in lieu of rent. With Grace gone, it’ll be difficult to collect both her substantial pledge and Daniella’s.” The tears began to flow freely, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. “There were no back-up provisions for payment when someone dies. If there was no formal gift made in Grace’s estate plan, her donation will be zero and Daniella worded her pledge to match Grace’s.” Her voice squeaked. “I don’t know what will happen to the exhibit now.”

“But the history center is named in Miss Grace’s will.” Oops. I overstepped.

Mrs. Nygren stopped crying. “Do you mean we will collect the pledge?”

“I don’t know the terms.” What could I say? Then I spotted Officer Rodgers stepping briskly our way.

“Katie?” He looked confused by my presence. “Yvonne, I have an invitation for you or another representative of the history center to attend a reading of Miss Grace Loehr’s last will and testament, Monday after the funeral service at the offices of Tupy, Dvorak, and Sticha. Have a good day, ladies.”

She clutched the envelope to her chest with a little disbelief and a lot of relief. The invitation could save the day.

“I need to find Daniella.”

“And I need to find my dad.”

They hadn’t gotten too far in the exhibit. Dad took one look at my face and disentangled himself from Daniella with a promise of catching up soon.

“Officer Rodgers is delivering the invitations, if you can call them that. I think we should be home for Ida. I don’t know how much more she can handle, but I don’t think she expected to be a beneficiary of Miss Grace’s estate.”

We made tracks, as they say, going as fast as the road conditions allowed, but we were still behind Officer Rodgers. We pulled into the drive, and he nodded as he walked to the end of the sidewalk and got into his cruiser.

Ida sat at her kitchen table, staring.

“Ida?” I put water on for tea and dug around in her cupboard for her favorite, Earl Grey. Dad trooped in carting another favorite, Midleton. He poured a short glass and set it in front of Ida. She picked it up, examining it from all sides and finished it off in one gulp followed by a shudder. Dad poured another.

“Why on earth would Grace name me in her will? Why?”

“You were her friend.”

“But she ignored me for decades and we were just getting reacquainted.”

“From all you’ve told us, she was a good soul. She wanted a life of performance and for many years, she got that.”

“She lived the dream.” Ida sipped at her second glass. “I understand the bequest to Carlee and Ana, and maybe even the Quintz family, but what could she possibly want to leave me?”

That was the question.