Mysterical-E

He Said, She Says

The Law & Daughter Series
by John M. Floyd

To solve crimes, it’s not enough just to be smart. You also have to be a good listener . . .

THE QUILTING PROJECT

by John M. Floyd

Sheriff Lucy Valentine was on her way out of the office when her desk phone rang. She shifted her doughnut from the right hand to the left and picked up the receiver.

“Lucy? I need to report a burglary.”

She sighed. Her mother, Fran Valentine, attracted trouble like honey attracted ants. “Who was burgled?” Lucy asked, chewing.

“I was. Are you eating a doughnut?”

“What was stolen, Mother?”

“A garden rake,” Fran said.

“A what?”

“A new, top-of-the-line, expensive garden rake. Somebody broke into my garage.”

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. “You have a carport,” she said patiently. “How could someone break in?”

“It’s still a burglary. Send one of your deputies over here.”

“What? You want me to send a deputy?”

“In fact, I want you to send Malone. Zack Wilson’s so old he probably couldn’t remember where my house is. I’m surprised he remembers where his house is.”

“No offense, Mother, but you’ll have to wait—I got bigger crooks to fry. Marge Hudson just got back at noon today from a trip and found somebody’d stolen her prize quilts. I’m on my way there now.”

“Good grief. Those are worth a fortune.”

There had been a writeup in the paper about Marge’s quilts the other day, complete with photos. Maybe they were valuable to somebody, Lucy thought. To her they just looked like quilts. “You think the thieves could sell them?”

“Sure they could. They will.”

A short pause. Lucy could picture her mother’s frown, could almost hear her thinking.

“I think I’ll head over there too,” Fran added.

“Why?”

“Why not? We victims have to stick together,” Fran said.

Ten minutes later Lucy arrived at Ms. Hudson’s house. Deputies Malone and Wilson were there already, stringing crime-scene tape. Fran was nowhere in sight, but before Lucy had a chance to savor that fact, her cell phone buzzed. The display said FRANCES VALENTINE.

“What is it, Mother?”

“You know the Bassett brothers, the yard service?”

“I think so—”

“They use mulching mowers only,” Fran’s voice said. “Home & Garden TV says that’s good for the grass.”

“HGTV? I thought you only watched cop shows.”

“Well, you’ve been wrong before.”

Lucy heaved another sigh. “For God’s sake, Mother, what does a lawn-care service have to do with—”

“Today’s Tuesday,” Fran said, “and the Bassetts always work Marge’s side of town on Tuesday, so I figured they might’ve seen something. I couldn’t reach ’em on their phones, but I called around and Hattie Lipscomb said sure enough, she’d seen them mowing Marge’s yard this morning. She saw ’em loading trash bags full of grass clippings into their pickup.”

Lucy looked at the lawn. It was indeed freshly cut. “So?”

“So? Aren’t you listening? They might remember seeing somebody, or at least a car.”

That was true. “Okay, you have a point. I’ll check with them, after I talk to Marge.”

“Leave it to me,” Fran said.

“Wait, Mother—” But the connection had gone dead. Lucy groaned, repocketed her phone, and trudged to Ms. Hudson’s front door.

As it turned out, Marge Hudson had nothing to add, nor did Hattie Lipscomb, who had just walked over from next door. Marge confirmed that she’d returned only an hour ago from a trip to visit her daughter in Tupelo, and had found that a back window into her sewing area was broken and wide open. All her quilts were gone without a trace. Both deputies had already checked things out, and Lucy took a look, also. The sewing-room window appeared to have been both the entry and exit point. It was obvious the thieves were local—they’d known exactly what to look for.

Outside again, Lucy found Deputy Zack Wilson leaning against his patrol car. The other cruiser was gone. “Where’s Malone?” she asked.

Wilson pointed east. “Your mama phoned him a minute ago and asked him to meet her, up the street.”

“And you guys didn’t tell me?”

“We figured she had called you too.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and was marching to her car when she got another call. Fran again.

“We got ’em,” she said.

Lucy stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“Deputy Malone and I have been talking to the Bassett brothers. I was on my way to Marge’s and spotted them doing Ben Wasson’s yard and something funny hit me, that Hattie had said. I called Malone and when he got here I had him ask the Bassetts if we could look inside the garbage bags they had stowed in their truck. They looked nervous, so we knew something was up. Malone climbed up into the truck bed and opened the bags—”

Lucy waited.

“—and found Marge’s quilts.”

Lucy gasped. “What?”

“They’d wadded them up and stuffed them into oversized trash bags and carried them out. Pretty smart, except that they then decided to mow a few more yards with the loot right there in their pickup. Can you believe that?”

“Wait a second,” Lucy said. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“How’d you decide to ask them what was in the trash bags?”

“I saw my new rake lying in their truck, that’s how. If you’ll steal one thing, you’ll steal another.”

“Come on—that’s not enough to go on, Mother. How’d you know for sure?”

“I told you, it was something Hattie had said to me.”

Lucy waited a moment, then said, “Well? You gonna tell me what it was?”

Another silence. This time Lucy could picture Fran smiling.

“She’d told me she saw the Bassetts loading bags of grass clippings into their truck.”

“So you said. What about it?”

“Mulching mowers,” Fran said, as if lecturing a slow student, “don’t eject the cut grass—they work it directly into the lawn. Therefore . . .”

“There would be no clippings to collect,” Lucy answered, her voice hushed. “And no need for bags at all.”

“Correct, my dear Watson.”

Lucy couldn’t help grinning. She felt herself shaking her head in wonder. “Not bad, Mother. Not bad at all. Maybe it’s paid off, you watching all those detective shows.”

Fran chuckled into the phone. “HGTV,” she said.