Stitch Me Deadly, page 17
“Hi, guys,” she said when we approached. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine,” I said. “You look terrific.”
She smiled. “For a blimp, you mean?”
“For anyone,” Mom said.
“By the way,” I said, “do you have all the ladies in town knitting and crocheting blankets?”
“Not all of them,” she said. “There are a few knitters and crocheters I’ve commissioned to do blankets and layette sets. Are you mad that I didn’t ask you?”
“Oh, no,” I said. “I just wondered why there has been a run on white yarn in the shop. So, thank you for that.”
“You’re quite welcome. I figured I’d given you enough to do. . . . Not that you’re finished yet.”
“I’m so sorry about Mr. Gray,” I said.
“Yeah, me, too. Did you bring your magnifying glass so you could look for clues?” she teased.
“No. At least, I’m not being that conspicuous.” I nodded toward Mr. Gray’s secretary. “What do you know about her?”
“Marsha? She’s got the personality of a mop, but she knows her stuff,” Riley said. “Or I guess I should say she knows Mr. Gray’s stuff. She’s been his only secretary for the past twenty or so years.”
“Wonder if she’d know anything about Mrs. Ralston’s past,” I said.
Riley closed one eye and wrinkled her nose. “Maybe. Maybe not. Mr. Gray was protective of Louisa. If she had secrets she wanted kept, he’d have kept them even from Marsha.” She gave a slight shrug. “Still, now that he’s gone, he’d have wanted to fulfill not only his own last wishes but those of his clients, too . . . especially Mrs. Ralston. It wouldn’t hurt to talk with Marsha. Want me to go with?”
“Please,” I said. “She doesn’t strike me as very friendly.”
“You two go ahead,” Mom said. “I see Cary, and I want to say hello.”
Riley and I walked over to Marsha. She was wearing a brown tweed suit and brown shoes, and she was crumpling a tissue in her hand.
Riley hugged Marsha. “I’m truly sorry about Adam. Dad, Mom, and I loved him very much. Mom would’ve been here, but she has a terrible cold.”
“Thank you,” Marsha said. “And thank her for the flowers. They’re lovely. They’d have meant a lot to him.”
“You’ve met Marcy, haven’t you?” Riley asked.
Marsha nodded stiffly. “You were there that morning.”
“Yes, I was,” I said. “I, too, am really sorry for your loss. Mr. Gray seemed like a delightful person.”
“He was.”
“Was anyone besides me there that morning?” I asked. “I understand Mr. Gray’s appointment canceled, but was I the only one who came to see him?”
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Ellis came by . . . and Eleanor. Eleanor had been coming by on a regular basis. She’s studying to be a paralegal, you know. Mr. Gray was letting her gain experience in his office.”
“Anyone else?” Riley asked.
“No,” Marsha said. “What’s this about?”
“We were simply wondering about Mrs. Ralston’s charity,” Riley said. “What will happen to it now that Mr. Gray is gone?”
“If unclaimed within three months, the funds will go to a children’s home in Portland,” Marsha said.
“Unclaimed?” I asked. “By whom?”
Marsha’s eyes darted from side to side. “Excuse me. I need to speak with Judge Hoenbeck.”
Riley turned her mouth down at the corners as Marsha made her hasty exit. “We need to dig a little deeper there.”
Chapter Twenty-two
On Sunday afternoon, Mom and I were in the living room watching the movie she’d told me about yesterday—No Man of Her Own. She’d gotten me interested in it, and I’d had to rent it. The credits were rolling, and Mom and I were dabbing our eyes and wiping our noses with tissues from the box I’d put on the coffee table in anticipation of our reaction to the movie.
When the phone rang, Mom turned off the TV and said she’d take Angus for a walk. It was Riley on the phone.
“Hi,” she said. “Keith went to play basketball with some friends, so I got on the laptop to research that charity Marsha told us about.”
“What were you able to dig up?” I asked.
“Louisa Ralston set up a trust about twenty years ago under the name Ivy League. That seemed weird to me, so I did a search through the corporation commission for nonprofits or sole proprietorships under the name Ivy League.”
“Ivy League,” I said. “Like the schools?”
“Yes, although I’m sure she only used that as a cover. Maybe it was so she could tell her husband she was instituting a girls’ scholarship fund at an Ivy League school or something.”
“Then Frank’s name isn’t on the trust?” I asked.
“No. It’s in Louisa’s name and Ivy League only,” Riley said. “The trust was to revert to Ivy League through its administrator, Adam Gray, upon Louisa’s death.”
“So what happens now that Adam is dead?”
“The same rules apply,” said Riley, “only now the trust will have to be administered by someone else. Here’s the catch. If Ivy League doesn’t claim the trust within three months of Louisa’s death, the money in that trust reverts to Sunshine Manor, which seems to be some sort of children’s home in Portland.”
“Seems to be?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t find any business records from Sunshine Manor, and I went back ten years.”
“Do you think Sunshine Manor is now defunct?” I asked. “And if so, what happens to the trust in that case?”
“That’s one of the things that’s so strange about this whole deal,” Riley said. “The clause stipulating that the money would revert to Sunshine Manor if unclaimed was added only about a year ago.”
“But you couldn’t find any tax records for them doing business?” I asked.
“Exactly.”
“Which means what?”
“I think it means somebody was setting Louisa Ralston up in order to inherit the money that she’d earmarked for someone else,” Riley said. “I believe Sunshine Manor is a dummy corporation.”
“But wouldn’t either Louisa or Adam Gray have checked that out before making the company a beneficiary of Louisa’s will?”
“Of course,” Riley said, “which is what makes me think the corporation was submitted to them by someone they both trusted.”
“Were you able to find out anything else about Sunshine Manor?”
“Not yet,” she said, “but I’m still digging. I did find out that Louisa Ralston set up a sole proprietorship with herself and—are you ready for this?—Ivy Larkin as the sole shareholders. She called the corporation Ivy League.”
I gasped. “That means Louisa did have a child by Edward Larkin.”
“Right. But where is she?”
“We have to find out,” I said.
“And we have to find out who’s behind Sunshine Manor,” Riley said.
When Mom and Angus returned, I told her what Riley had discovered. “I need to call Ella Redmond and tell her she was right about Ivy all along.”
Mom started shaking her head. “Don’t you dare.”
“Why not?”
“All along you’ve said you don’t want to help Devon Reed publish a bunch of garbage about Louisa Ralston,” she said. “If you call Ella Redmond, you might as well make it a three-way call so he can hear it firsthand.”
“I hadn’t thought about that, but you’re right. She made it obvious today that they’re a team.” I frowned. “How else can I track down Ivy Larkin?”
“I’ll help you. Plus, Riley is working on it.” Mom nodded. “If she can be found, we’ll find her. Is the Tallulah County Historical Society open today?”
“I believe so,” I said.
“That might be a good starting point.”
We checked and learned the society was open until five o’clock. We had two hours. Mom put Angus in the backyard, and I made a quick call to Riley to let her know what Mom and I were doing. She told us to keep her posted and said that she would continue searching online for information about Sunshine Manor.
When we arrived, no one but the desk clerk was around. Glad for some privacy, Mom and I took a brochure with a list of exhibits and their whereabouts.
“I’m going to start with some photographs,” I said. “Maybe if I see a young Louisa Ralston, I’ll recognize her.”
“I’ll look for records about the orphanage,” Mom said.
The desk clerk was an elderly woman with tightly curled white hair. “May I help you with something?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re looking for records pertaining to an orphanage or children’s home that was located near here in the late nineteen thirties and early nineteen forties.”
The woman nodded. “The Tipton-Haney Home. It was an orphanage, but the place had volunteers who were unwed mothers.”
“Do you remember anything about the Tipton-Haney Home personally?” Mom asked. “Do you recall any of the volunteers who may have worked there?”
“Not really,” the woman said. “They were discreet.” She smiled. “But, then, I was a little girl during its heyday, and I used to eavesdrop on my motherʹs quilting circle to hear the gossip.”
“Did you ever hear any gossip about Louisa Ralston?” I asked.
“I did . . . although at the time, she was Louisa Connor. I remember her story because Louisa was a nice girl, came from a good family, and was as pretty as could be. I’d admired her and had hoped to grow up to be like her.” The woman shook her head ruefully. “I know Louisa thought Edward Larkin was going to marry her.”
“What was he like?” Mom asked.
“Oh, he was a rake,” the woman said. “He was handsome, had dimples you could swim in, and eyes as blue as the sky. There wasn’t a girl in Tallulah County who didn’t have a crush on Edward. And he knew it.”
Now was the time to ask a leading question. “How do you think Louisa got so taken in by him that she allowed herself to get pregnant with his baby?” I asked.
“She thought he was going to marry her, of course. Their engagement was in the newspaper and everything.” The woman clicked her tongue as she shook her head ruefully.
“Then what happened?” I asked. “I heard Edward enlisted in the army. Was he drafted?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said.
“Then why didn’t he and Louisa get married?” I asked. “You see, Louisa was in my shop the morning that she died, and she was asking me to help her find ‘ivy.’ I’m wondering now if Ivy might’ve been her daughter.”
She shrugged. “It’s possible. Even though Edward had the reputation of a skirt-chaser, he’d settled down and seemed committed to Louisa. No one imagined that he would jilt the poor girl so close to the wedding like he did. Men just didn’t take their commitments that lightly back then.”
Mom nodded. “And Louisa volunteered at Tipton-Haney House in order to have her child. Do you think she intended to keep the baby?”
“I don’t know. When Louisa Connor volunteered at Tipton-Haney House, people were merely speculating,” the woman said. “Had she left with a child, everyone would have known for certain she’d had the baby out of wedlock.”
“But Louisa missed that baby,” I said. “I think she was grieving for the child in her final days.”
“I suspect you’re right,” the woman said.
“Why couldn’t she have moved away?” I asked. “Or had someone else take the baby so she could still be a part of its life?”
The woman smiled. “My dear, those are questions only Louisa Ralston could have answered.” She moved from around the counter and took us to a section of the museum dedicated to the Tipton-Haney House. “Let me know if I can be of further assistance to you.” She looked at her watch. “We close in an hour.”
We looked through the documents and photos pertaining to Tipton-Haney House. There was a framed group photo with an accompanying newspaper article that caught my eye.
“Mom, look.” I pointed out the girl I thought to be Louisa and the baby from the locket. “These are the same photos from the locket. Louisa must’ve used the ones from this original photo.”
“It does look like them,” Mom agreed, “but why isn’t Louisa holding her baby?”
Neither Louisa nor any of the younger girls in the photograph were holding babies. Some were standing with older children, holding the toddlers’ hands or with their hands on the children’s shoulders. All the babies, however, were held by elderly women.
The article explained that Tipton-Haney House employed social workers and accommodated young ladies who wished to learn to care for children. The article claimed that by living at Tipton-Haney House, the volunteers learned to run a household and meet the needs of a family.
“She isn’t holding her baby,” I said, “because Tipton-Haney House tried to debunk the idea that it was a home for unwed mothers. I think the Tipton-Haney House staff members and whoever these old ladies were—volunteers maybe—were really trying to protect these young women’s reputations and do what they thought was best for them.”
“Look,” Mom said, pointing to some adoption records contained in a glass case. “They called the children by their first names only . . . to further protect the birth mothers, I suppose. See? Baby Anne ... Baby Benjamin ... Baby Lenore . . .”
“Baby Ivy,” I said. “There it is.” I looked closer. “Baby Ivy was adopted by Arthur and Mildred Sutherland.”
As we started to leave the Tallulah County Historical Society, I asked the museum volunteer about Frank Ralston. “What was he like?” I asked. “Did he know people had questioned Louisa’s reason for working at Tipton-Haney House?”
“Frank Ralston was a vile-tempered man prone to drink,” she said. “As I’ve already told you, Louisa was a lovely girl. And she came from a good family. When Frank Ralston started courting her, she couldn’t very well turn him away.”
“She married him to save her reputation?” I asked.
“I think so,” the woman said.
“Do you believe she grew to love him?” I asked.
She smiled. “No one can truly speak about anotherʹs heart. I’d like to think she did. And they had that beautiful son.”
“I’m sure she loved him,” Mom said. “I heard he died.”
“He did. He had an aneurysm. It was very sudden and very sad,” the woman said. “Frank died not long after that of heart failure.”
I had the sudden macabre thought that it might possibly have been heart failure by Halumet, although I seriously doubted the drug had even been developed at that time. I also doubted I would ever get to the point where I wouldn’t question another death deemed heart failure.
“We should be going,” I said. “It’s almost time for you to close up. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”
“Anytime,” she said.
As Mom and I went out to get into the Jeep, I murmured, “Arthur and Mildred Sutherland. At least it’s a start.”
Chapter Twenty-three
When we got home, Mom started making dinner. I fed Angus and then called Riley to give her an update.
“I’m still searching for corporation information on Sunshine Manor,” Riley said, “but I haven’t found anything yet. I’ll keep looking. In the meantime, you start feeding Arthur and Mildred Sutherland through genealogy sites.”
“I will. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Ditto.”
“By the way,” I said, “is Marsha still working in Mr. Gray’s office?”
“She’ll be there this coming week sorting through files, calling clients, and trying to get everything in order. Why?”
“I’m thinking of paying her a visit to see what—if anything—she knows about Ivy Larkin,” I said.
When I hung up, I went to see if Mom needed any help in the kitchen. She had her sleeves rolled up and was making meatballs. I washed my hands and began helping her form the meat and put it in the frying pan.
“Did Riley have anything new?” she asked.
“Not yet. She told me to run the Sutherlands through some genealogy Web sites to see what I can come up with.”
“I can do that while you’re at work in the morning.” She smiled. “You know I enjoy my lazy mornings. Besides, I have a videoconference with Tony Hammonds, the producer for the new movie, tomorrow morning.”
“Have you worked with Mr. Hammonds before?” I asked.
“Once. He produced Murderous Symphony. He’s a good guy . . . very easy to work for.”
“Good. When do you have to get back?”
“Not for a week or so,” she said. “I’m here for as long as you need me, sweetheart.”
“I appreciate that, Mom, but don’t let me get you in trouble or cost you a job. I’d never forgive myself.”
“I’ve tossed the salad,” she said, effectively changing the subject. “And we’ve almost got the meatballs formed. I’ve got the water boiling for the spaghetti. But what’re we having for dessert?”
I rolled my eyes. “You could’ve just said you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“No, seriously, what’s for dessert? We need to live it up while I’m here.”
Smiling, I opened the freezer, where I had a small strawberry cheesecake. “Will this do?”
“Perfectly.”
I set the cheesecake on the counter to thaw. I really did hope this matter with Louisa Ralston would be resolved before Mom left to go back to work.
I set the alarm and got up early Monday morning. I wanted to go by MacKenzies’ Mochas and get coffee and muffins to take to Adam Gray’s office. If I got there just after Marsha did, I would have at least an hour to talk with her before I needed to get back and open the Seven-Year Stitch.
I filled Angus’ bowl with food, and as I got dressed, I let him play in the backyard. I brought him back in before I left. He whimpered, but I kissed him on top of the head and assured him he’d have company as soon as Mom woke up.
It was a good thing the coffee shop itself was warm when I arrived at MacKenzies’ Mochas, because my reception there was decidedly cool. Sadie was behind the counter this morning.
