1 The Underhanded Stitch by Marjory Sorrell Rockwell Page B
Authors: Marjory Sorrell Rockwell
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have it?”
“No, the man who stole it from you has it.”
“Stole it from me? I never really had it.”
“Yes, Paul, you did. It was right where your granny said it was – under the Town Hall – in you r quilt.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the patchwork quilt hanging over his mantle. “It’s in there?”
“It was.”
“Where is it now?” His eyes were squinted, studying her carefully to ascertain whether she was telling him the truth or not.
“Like I told you, in the possession of the man who stole it. But you can get it back.”
“How?”
“First, you have to hire a lawyer,” she instructed.
“I don’t know any lawyers,” said Paul. “Old man Dingley used to handle my matters, but he retired.”
“A new attorney is taking over his practice.”
“Oh, is he any good?”
Agnes couldn’t hold back. “My daddy’s the best lawyer in the whole wide world. Grammy says he’s a shark.”
“Well, now. Drumming up a little family business, are we?”
“Do you want to recover the ring?” said Maddy with an air of finality.
“Okay, what’ve I gotta do?”
≈≈≈
“One more thing,” said Maddy to her granddaughter. “Let’s go sit in on the town selectmen’s meeting. It should be just getting started.”
“Why, Grammy?”
“We want to see the mayor in action.”
“That sounds boring.”
“Maybe, but detective work takes patience. Just like quilt-making.”
They took a seat on the front row, a clear view of the podium. The small auditorium in the Town Hall was filled with long benches, deliberately uncomfortable so no one would be inclined to prolong the meetings.
“I’d like to call this session to order,” said Mayor Henry Caruthers, pounding the gavel with his left hand. “Today, we have a large agenda to cover. First up, a vote on whether the DQ’s sign is too large per town ordinance. Who’s going to speak on behalf of the Dairy Queen?”
“Time to go,” whispered Maddy, slipping out of her seat with the stealth of a ninja.
“Go? We just sat down,” hissed Agnes. “I wanna hear ’bout the Dairy Queen sign.”
“Come along, young lady. We got what we came to see.”
≈≈≈
“Henry Caruthers may be a weasel, but that doesn’t make him a thief,” observed Maddy’s husband. “What makes you so sure he stole the ring?”
“Trust me on this, Beau. I have my reasons.”
“Proof?”
“Sort of.”
“You can’t convict a man on ‘sort of’ proof. Ask your son-in-law if you don’t believe me.”
“Mark the Shark is going to help me nail Henry Caruthers,” she said matter-of-factly.
“So what proof do you have that the mayor’s guilty?”
“He’s bad at sewing.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Red Letter Day
M ayor Henry Caruthers had been surprised to receive the letter. The letterhead had a Caruthers Corners address, but he’d never heard of the firm.
MARK TIDEMORE
ATTORNEY AT LAW
Attention: Henry Jacob Caruthers,
You are hereby notified of a legal proceeding against you by Paul Ferdinand Johnson (“Complainant”), wherein it is alleged and sworn that you did willfully steal one valuable object, a ring set with a ruby stone (“Property”), on or about May of 1998 from said Complainant, and in addition to filing criminal charges with the Caruthers Corners Police Department, you are hereby being notified of a civil proceeding against you demanding return of said Property.
Et cetera, etc.
Sincerely yours,
Mark Tidemore, Esq.
“Well, jerk my chain and call me stupid,” cursed the mayor. He stormed out of his office, yelling to his assistant that he would be gone for the rest of the day, to cancel all his appointment. He headed straight to Caruthers Corners Savings and Loan on the south end of Main Street, a one-story brick edifice that looked like a cracker box, but was as sturdy as a maximum-security prison.
Mayor
“No, the man who stole it from you has it.”
“Stole it from me? I never really had it.”
“Yes, Paul, you did. It was right where your granny said it was – under the Town Hall – in you r quilt.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the patchwork quilt hanging over his mantle. “It’s in there?”
“It was.”
“Where is it now?” His eyes were squinted, studying her carefully to ascertain whether she was telling him the truth or not.
“Like I told you, in the possession of the man who stole it. But you can get it back.”
“How?”
“First, you have to hire a lawyer,” she instructed.
“I don’t know any lawyers,” said Paul. “Old man Dingley used to handle my matters, but he retired.”
“A new attorney is taking over his practice.”
“Oh, is he any good?”
Agnes couldn’t hold back. “My daddy’s the best lawyer in the whole wide world. Grammy says he’s a shark.”
“Well, now. Drumming up a little family business, are we?”
“Do you want to recover the ring?” said Maddy with an air of finality.
“Okay, what’ve I gotta do?”
≈≈≈
“One more thing,” said Maddy to her granddaughter. “Let’s go sit in on the town selectmen’s meeting. It should be just getting started.”
“Why, Grammy?”
“We want to see the mayor in action.”
“That sounds boring.”
“Maybe, but detective work takes patience. Just like quilt-making.”
They took a seat on the front row, a clear view of the podium. The small auditorium in the Town Hall was filled with long benches, deliberately uncomfortable so no one would be inclined to prolong the meetings.
“I’d like to call this session to order,” said Mayor Henry Caruthers, pounding the gavel with his left hand. “Today, we have a large agenda to cover. First up, a vote on whether the DQ’s sign is too large per town ordinance. Who’s going to speak on behalf of the Dairy Queen?”
“Time to go,” whispered Maddy, slipping out of her seat with the stealth of a ninja.
“Go? We just sat down,” hissed Agnes. “I wanna hear ’bout the Dairy Queen sign.”
“Come along, young lady. We got what we came to see.”
≈≈≈
“Henry Caruthers may be a weasel, but that doesn’t make him a thief,” observed Maddy’s husband. “What makes you so sure he stole the ring?”
“Trust me on this, Beau. I have my reasons.”
“Proof?”
“Sort of.”
“You can’t convict a man on ‘sort of’ proof. Ask your son-in-law if you don’t believe me.”
“Mark the Shark is going to help me nail Henry Caruthers,” she said matter-of-factly.
“So what proof do you have that the mayor’s guilty?”
“He’s bad at sewing.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Red Letter Day
M ayor Henry Caruthers had been surprised to receive the letter. The letterhead had a Caruthers Corners address, but he’d never heard of the firm.
MARK TIDEMORE
ATTORNEY AT LAW
Attention: Henry Jacob Caruthers,
You are hereby notified of a legal proceeding against you by Paul Ferdinand Johnson (“Complainant”), wherein it is alleged and sworn that you did willfully steal one valuable object, a ring set with a ruby stone (“Property”), on or about May of 1998 from said Complainant, and in addition to filing criminal charges with the Caruthers Corners Police Department, you are hereby being notified of a civil proceeding against you demanding return of said Property.
Et cetera, etc.
Sincerely yours,
Mark Tidemore, Esq.
“Well, jerk my chain and call me stupid,” cursed the mayor. He stormed out of his office, yelling to his assistant that he would be gone for the rest of the day, to cancel all his appointment. He headed straight to Caruthers Corners Savings and Loan on the south end of Main Street, a one-story brick edifice that looked like a cracker box, but was as sturdy as a maximum-security prison.
Mayor
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