Left Holding the Bag Read online

  “I’m trying to get more exercise. Norman wants to drive back down to the cabin this weekend and check out some of the nature sites in the park.”

  “The park?”

  “Well, I haven’t learned just what to call it, but it’s all those recreational and nature areas between the lakes.”

  “Ah, the Land between the Lakes. And you’re going, I assume.”

  “Would I miss it?”

  “He wants to go to the planetarium for sure, and he’s talking about this working farm where everyone is in original 19th-century clothing, and they’ve kept everything authentic. I figure I’ll see some vintage quilts while I’m there.”

  “I didn’t realize they have a planetarium. I always loved to visit the one in Chicago with my parents,” Sarah reminisced.

  “I don’t think it’ll be as fancy as the Adler, but they have shows on the constellations and black holes, stuff like that. He wants to go over to their observatory where you can look through these strong telescopes. He’s excited about it, and I’ll enjoy being with him. I’m looking forward to the 19th-century farm myself.

  “And being with Norman?”

  Sophie giggled. “And being with Norman.”

  “Will his family be there?”

  “Not this time,” Sophie said coyly.

  “I see,” Sarah teased, and Sophie blushed.

  Sarah poured their coffee and set the cookie jar on the table. “These are the real ones,” she assured Sophie who was always afraid she’d accidentally get one of Charles’ non-fat, sugar-free cookies. “So what do you have in your tote bag?” Sarah asked, hoping to see one of Sophie’s latest quilting projects.

  “These are the 3x5 cards. I was afraid something might happen while I’m away and you wouldn’t have access to our records.”

  Sarah smiled. Her friend took her documentation responsibility very seriously.

  “I’m glad you brought them, but we probably won’t be needing them this weekend.”

  “Weekend? Didn’t I tell you? We’re going to be gone for a week, maybe longer!”

  “Really? That’s a surprise. What about Emma?”

  “Oh, she’s going too. It’s a little family vacation, but I think the main reason Norman wants to go right now is that this is the best time to see the bald eagles. He has a thing about eagles. In fact, he’s got me watching the eagle cam.”

  “What’s an eagle cam?” Sarah asked.

  “It’s a camera set to observe an eagle’s nest twenty-four hours a day. You watch on the computer. I’ve seen the mother and father taking turns sitting on the eggs and once I saw babies breaking out of their shells. Once the nest was full of fish. Then one day when I went online to see how they were doing, everyone was gone. I was actually sad, and I find myself wondering if the babies made it okay. Anyway,” she added looking embarrassed about revealing her soft side, “I can see how he got hooked.”

  Changing the subject, Sophie asked, “Where’s Charles today?”

  “He was on his computer all morning, when he suddenly hurried through the house, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and said he needed to see Detective Halifax.”

  “Have you met this fellow?”

  “Yes, he came here to talk to Charles a week or so ago while you and I were at the quilt club. He seems to be open to the idea that Darius might be innocent, at least of the murder.”

  “But he’s with the police department. Why would he be working with Charles to prove it’s someone else?”

  “Charles told me that the detective was raised by his mother. His father was with the department and was killed in the line of duty when Hal was only eight. Lieutenant Stokely, Charles’ previous supervisor…”

  “The man that just died?”

  “Yes,” Sarah responded, looking distressed. “It’s been hard on Charles. Anyway, Matt brought Detective Halifax into the department a few years ago and mentored him. Charles thinks the young man might have seen Matt as a father figure…”

  “Do you think he might be transferring some of that on to Charles?”

  “Interesting thought. I think it’s possible.”

  “Well, he couldn’t pick a better role model.”

  Sarah smiled. “I agree.”

  * * *

  “Come on in, Charlie, but close the door,” Detective Halifax said rather formally when Charles arrived. Charles could see his desk was covered with file folders and he was frantically making notes. He finally pushed the yellow pad aside, sighed, and looked at Charles.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  It took a moment for Charles to respond as his thoughts went back to the many times he stood before Matt, seeing his friend lost in his work and reluctant to break his stride just as Hal was doing. He had to shake the memory out of his head before he could speak.

  “I know you’re busy, Hal, and I’m sorry to barge in, but I’ve been looking into the girl’s father’s background. Did you know that Waterford was a prosecuting attorney before he got into politics?”

  “I heard something about that. What are you thinking?”

  “Do you suppose one of the dirtbags he prosecuted might have…”

  “A revenge killing?” Hal responded, jumping way ahead. “You think some guy he prosecuted came after him?” the detective asked doubtfully.

  “I think it’s possible…” Charles responded defensively.

  “But his daughter, Charlie? Why his daughter? Why not Waterford himself?”

  “I suppose the guy could have figured losing his daughter would cause Waterford the most pain?” Charles replied, beginning to doubt the theory himself.

  “I don’t know, Charlie,” Hal added shaking his head. “This sounds pretty farfetched. I need to munch on it for a while. I’ll give you a call.”

  As he was returning home, Charles saw Sophie slowly walking away from his house. He pulled over and called to her, “Hey Cutie, want a ride?”

  “Do I ever!” she responded, walking much faster once she was heading for his car.

  “What are you doing on foot today anyway?” he asked as he circled past his own house which sat on the cul-de-sac and drove the few blocks to Sophie’s house.

  She told him about the trip and her crash plan to get in shape before they left.

  “Not the way it works, my dear,” Charles responded. “You could end up too sore to enjoy the trip if you overdo it.”

  “Thanks, Charles. I needed an excuse to stop this craziness. Will you come in for pie? It’s real,” she added as an enticement.

  “Can’t do it, Sophie. Those tests the doc ran last week showed lots of plaque building up. I may need surgery, but we’re going to try changing my meds first. In the meantime, I’ve got to be on a rigid diet and increase my workouts.”

  “Sorry Charles, and I won’t try to tempt you. We need you to stay with us. You probably heard the ambulance the other night? Sam Blackstone is gone, just like that. I don’t know what’ll become of his wife. He was her caregiver, and there’s no other family. She’ll probably end up over at the nursing home.”

  Charles sat with the car running, thinking about the Blackstones. It was suddenly very easy to turn down Sophie’s pie.

  “Have a great trip, Sophie,” he said as she was getting out of the car.

  “Oh,” she turned and added, “Sarah has all the 3x5 cards in case you folks need them.”

  “Thanks, Sophie,” he responded, smiling inside. Such a special lady.

  As he walked into his own house, Sarah said, “Did I just see you picking up a woman off the street?”

  “You did at that,” he responded giving her a gentle pat. “Thank you for taking such good care of my diet,” he added more seriously.

  “I plan to keep you around,” she responding, realizing that Sophie must have told him about the Blackstone’s.

  Chapter 18

  “Come on, Charles. We need to leave, or we’ll be late.”

  “Late?” he responded, temporarily forgetting their commitme
nt.

  “Late for serving dinner,” she replied in a slightly impatient tone. Sarah had assured Sophie that she and Charles would cover for her and Norman at her church’s dinner for the homeless.

  “I don’t know how to do this,” Charles complained as he drove into town.

  “It’s easy. You just scoop up food, plop it on a plate and pass it to the next person in line. I’ll make sure you get mashed potato duty, okay? You know how to serve mashed potatoes, don’t you?”

  “I suppose. Do I get to eat?”

  “You certainly may if you want, or we can stop off at La Bonita’s afterward. Bernice and Andy love it there. It’s romantic…” she added flirtatiously.

  “Well, how can I resist. Okay, I’ll scoop mashed potatoes if it will earn me a Tex-Mex meal with enchiladas and…”

  “Hold it,” Sarah interrupted. “I don’t think they’ll have anything you can eat right now. The doctor said you can have those things once in a while after they get your numbers down, but you’ve only been on the new medication for a couple of weeks.”

  “How about chili? That can’t be too bad, can it?”

  “Hmm,” she responded thoughtfully. “Beans are good, and the sauce would be okay. I wonder if they offer it with chicken instead of beef.”

  “This is discouraging,” Charles responded. “Those mashed potatoes are starting to sound just fine.”

  “How about this. If they don’t offer any chicken dishes, we’ll ask them to make you a taco salad with lots of extra lettuce and tomatoes, less chili, and no cheese.”

  “And I still get the romantic atmosphere?”

  “Absolutely,” she responded, “and a glass of red wine.”

  “I’m game,” he agreed.

  When they arrived at the church, there was already a line waiting for the doors to open. Charles drove around to the back and unloaded two crockpots filled with green beans that had simmered all day with onions and ham. “Where do I put these?”

  “I’ll show you. Sophie brought me over before she left and taught me the ropes. It will be easy. There are people in charge. We’re just here to serve.”

  “Scoop potatoes, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Hi, I’m Rev. George,” the young preacher said. “You must be the Parkers.” Sarah wondered how he knew but soon realized that everyone else was there and at their stations. Rev. George led them to their spots, Charles in front of a tray of yellow squash and Sarah next to him serving meat loaf.

  “These aren’t potatoes. How do I do it?” Charles said, feigning incompetence.

  “Just like potatoes,” Sarah assured him. “One heaping scoop on each plate and some people might say they don’t want any, and others might ask what it is.”

  “And it is…?”

  “Squash, Charles. Squash,” she responded impatiently. “Have you ever been in a kitchen?”

  “I have a wife for things like that,” he responded, and she shot him a look that could kill until she noticed the sly grin on his face and realized he was teasing her.

  “You’ve served at these dinners before, I assume?” he asked in a more serious tone.

  “Not here, but yes. It’s been years. The church we went to back home offered dinners too.” She realized she was still thinking of the place she raised her children as home. She glanced at Charles, hoping she hadn’t hurt his feelings, but he was happily talking with the man coming through the line.

  “You’re sure you don’t want any? It’s squash, you know,” he was saying with authority, “and delicious.” He winked at his wife and went on to the next person in line.

  * * *

  “Sophie,” Sarah exclaimed. “I was wondering if we’d hear from you today.”

  “I just wanted to make sure everything worked out at the church dinner last night. How was Charles with it?”

  “He was reluctant at first, but he had a great time in the end. He even recognized a couple of the older guys and stayed late to talk with them. Are you having a good time?”

  “A fantastic time,” Sophie responded. “We’ve been at the cabin for the last couple of days just relaxing, but today we went out for a ride through some of the surrounding small towns and here’s the exciting part. We stopped for lunch, and there was a consignment shop across the street with the cutest little sewing machine you ever saw in the window.”

  “A little machine?” Sarah questioned. “Do you know what kind?”

  “It’s a Singer and comes with a case and everything. It only weighs eleven pounds and would be perfect for taking to the meetings, but I don’t know if they’re asking too much. Is Charles home? Maybe he could check on his computer.”

  “He’s right here. Charles,” Sarah called to him. “Sophie wants to speak to you.”

  Sophie told him about the machine as he headed for his computer. “Okay, you say it’s called a Featherweight?” Charles responded.

  “Yes, a Singer Featherweight. It’s just a little machine and would be perfect for carrying around, and it looks easy enough to use. It doesn’t have all those scary buttons and switches and blinking lights that Sarah’s has.” As she was talking, she could hear the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard.

  “Okay, here are a bunch of them for sale. Do you know what year it was made?”

  “The man is checking now. Do you see the prices?”

  “Yes, here’s one for $52 that looks like it was run over by a semi,” he responded with a chuckle. “And here’s one for $279 that is dated 1957 but it doesn’t look too good either. What are they asking?”

  “$399,” she responded. “Does that seem high?”

  “The $279 one doesn’t have a case or accessories,” Charles added.

  “This one has both. Keep looking at prices.”

  “Okay, here’s one but it’s sold. Too bad you missed it. It was in mint condition and had the emblem for the 1933 Chicago World Fair, and it sold for just $3200,” he teased.

  “Charles, be serious. Should I pay $399 for this one? The man just told me that its birthdate is 1948.”

  “Birthdate?” Charles questioned. “Are we still talking about a sewing machine?”

  “Yes,” Sophie chuckled. “The proprietor said it’s tradition to refer to the year a Featherweight was built as its birthdate.”

  “Okay, let me reword my search for ones with a 1948 birthday.”

  Sophie waited eagerly while Charles checked out several sources.

  “Okay, I can find them from $250 to $550, depending on the condition and what comes with them. How does this one look?”

  “It looks excellent, Charles. I don’t see a scratch on it, and even the case is in good condition.”

  “And does it have attachments?”

  “Yes, the case has lots of doodads inside. Sarah will know what they are,” Sophie added confidently.

  “Well, looking at the ones for sale online, I see a really nice one here for $499 and another for $425. And there’s the one for $550 I mentioned earlier, but I think it’s probably overpriced. There are several others in the $200 to low $300 range, but they have scratches, and the cases are pretty worn looking. One doesn’t have any attachments. What did you say he’s asking?”

  “$399,” Sophie replied.

  “Are you on speaker?” Charles asked.

  “No, I’m outside. Why?”

  “Well, the machine that you’re describing is on these websites at the higher end of the range. I’d say it’s a great deal at $399, but why don’t you try to get him to come down. Did you make sure it operates?”

  “I don’t know how to use it, but Sarah will teach me. The salesman sewed a few stitches and showed them to me. I looked at both sides just like Sarah does and the stitches looked fine to me.”

  “Is Norman with you?”

  “No, he walked up the street to the hardware store. I was just waiting here when I spotted this machine in the window. Should I wait for him?”

  “No, why don’t you see what kind of deal you
can make with this guy. You probably stand a better chance on your own, especially if he doesn’t spot Norman’s Mercedes.”

  “Thanks, Charles. Tell Sarah I’ll let her know how it works out.”

  Several hours later, the phone rang again, and Charles could see it was Sophie, so he handed it to Sarah without answering.

  “Sophie, did you get it?”

  “I sure did. Tell Charles we compromised at $375 and it’s in the car. I can hardly wait to show it to you.”

  “Charles wanted me to ask you if your new Featherweight came with an instruction manual.”

  “Oh my,” Sophie responded sounding worried. “I didn’t see anything like that, and I didn’t think to ask. I just figured you’d know how to use it. Don’t you?”

  “I’ve never used one, but the reason Charles wanted me to ask you is that he found a 1948 Featherweight manual online. He’ll order it for you.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. How much was it?”

  “It’s our gift in exchange for you letting me play with your new toy.”

  They were both excited as Sarah told her friend some of the things Charles had learned during his computer searches. “After he talked to you, he learned that the Singer Featherweight was introduced at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1933.”

  “Ah, that explains the three thousand dollar one,” Sophie responded. “A real collector’s item.”

  “He said that some quilters collect Featherweights just about as compulsively as they collect fabric.”

  “You mean this might just be the beginning?” Sophie responded with an excited chuckle.

  “He said this will be a good investment, too. They are highly valued by collectors, especially in good working condition.”

  “Well, I just wanted something light enough to take to the meetings. I didn’t realize I was joining a cult. Besides, I bought it mostly because it was so cute!”

  Sarah laughed. Her friend had a history of being attracted to things that were miniaturized. She had an antique wooden printer’s tray hanging on her wall filled with an assortment of tiny china collectibles.

  “When are you coming home?” Sarah asked.