Read Online 3 Coming Unraveled by Marjorie Sorrell Rockwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Marjorie Sorrell Rockwell
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Their regular room at the senior recreation center was booked, so they met at the Caruthers County Historical Society. The office was cramped but provided convenient access to Cookie’s filing cabinets.
“I know where the money came from,” she announced.
“What money?” said Lizzie, distracted by being late for an appointment with her hairdresser. Lee Ann would charge her whether she showed up or not.
“The money in the quilt. Pay attention, hon.”
“Oh, right.”
“So tell us,” demanded Bootsie. A no-nonsense gal, she had little patience.
“What do you know about the Fire of 1899?” Cookie asked, as if she were a history teacher addressing a class.
“Not much,” admitted Maddy. “Just that most of the town burned down.”
“Half.” Cookie spread a faded map across her desk. “The south end was completely engulfed in flames, all the buildings lost. The firemen made a stand, stopping the conflagration within a block of town hall.”
“Didn’t it start at the First Wabash National Bank?”
“That’ s right. Burned to the ground. Even melted the vault. Cleaned First Wabash out of some two million dollars, according to this report.” She laid a yellowing newspaper atop the map. The headline read: FIRE LEVELS TOWN.
“What started it?” Bootsie wanted to know.
“No one knows for certain, but according to this account in the Burpyville Gazette it was thought to be ‘spontaneous combustion of paint fumes.’ Seems the bank had been painted the day before.”
“You don’t think so, do you?” Maddy was a quick study.
“No, I think the bank was set on fire to cover up a robbery. That’s where the money in the quilt came from.”
“ Stolen by my husband’s great grandfather?” gasped Bootsie.
“We know Abner Purdue came into money about then. Used it to start E Z Seat. His wife made that ugly old quilt the same year.”
“And she left the quilt to her grandson ’s wife,” Lizzie nodded. “Now I have to go. I can’t keep Lee Ann waiting.”
“Actually, to her son Bobby Ray,” corrected Cookie.
“If you say so,” shrugged Lizzie, gathering up her quilt squares.
“Just a minute,” said Maddy, waving for her friend to sit back down. “We have to solve this mystery.”
“Oh, okay. But the answer is as plain as the nose on your face. Bobby Ray told his two friends about the money in the quilt and they pushed him into a quicksand bog so they could steal it, right?”
“Something like that,” beamed Cookie Bentley, proud of her connect-the-dots theory.
≈≈≈
Police Chief Jim Purdue nodded his head. “Looks like the Quilters Club has solved another puzzle,” he agreed. They were gathered in the mayor’s office there in the Town Hall.
Beau was seated behind his desk. “I’ve gotta admit it all makes sense,” he said. “ A bank robbery. That money had to come from somewhere.”
“Who’s money is it now?” asked Jim.
“Beats me. Better call the state boys and let them sort it out.”
“Before you do that,” suggested Maddy, “why not confront Harry Periwinkle with this and see if he confesses. He might know where Jud Watson is hiding.”
“ Not a bad idea, but I’d have to have his lawyer present,” the police chief pointed out.
“So call Mark,” she said. “He should be at his office.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mark Tidemore met the entourage at the Caruthers corners Police Department. “Sorry,” he said to them, “but only the Chief gets to question Harry Periwinkle. The rest of you have to wait outside.”
“But –”
“Those are the conditions,” the attorney said, avoiding the stares of his in-laws.
“C’mon,” said Beau Madison to the members of the Quilters Club. “Let’s walk down the street to the DQ. I’ll buy everybody a milkshake.”
Mark looked at his shoes while everyone but Jim Purdue filed out of the room. The police department was a small brick building: Inside there was a reception area with a long
“I know where the money came from,” she announced.
“What money?” said Lizzie, distracted by being late for an appointment with her hairdresser. Lee Ann would charge her whether she showed up or not.
“The money in the quilt. Pay attention, hon.”
“Oh, right.”
“So tell us,” demanded Bootsie. A no-nonsense gal, she had little patience.
“What do you know about the Fire of 1899?” Cookie asked, as if she were a history teacher addressing a class.
“Not much,” admitted Maddy. “Just that most of the town burned down.”
“Half.” Cookie spread a faded map across her desk. “The south end was completely engulfed in flames, all the buildings lost. The firemen made a stand, stopping the conflagration within a block of town hall.”
“Didn’t it start at the First Wabash National Bank?”
“That’ s right. Burned to the ground. Even melted the vault. Cleaned First Wabash out of some two million dollars, according to this report.” She laid a yellowing newspaper atop the map. The headline read: FIRE LEVELS TOWN.
“What started it?” Bootsie wanted to know.
“No one knows for certain, but according to this account in the Burpyville Gazette it was thought to be ‘spontaneous combustion of paint fumes.’ Seems the bank had been painted the day before.”
“You don’t think so, do you?” Maddy was a quick study.
“No, I think the bank was set on fire to cover up a robbery. That’s where the money in the quilt came from.”
“ Stolen by my husband’s great grandfather?” gasped Bootsie.
“We know Abner Purdue came into money about then. Used it to start E Z Seat. His wife made that ugly old quilt the same year.”
“And she left the quilt to her grandson ’s wife,” Lizzie nodded. “Now I have to go. I can’t keep Lee Ann waiting.”
“Actually, to her son Bobby Ray,” corrected Cookie.
“If you say so,” shrugged Lizzie, gathering up her quilt squares.
“Just a minute,” said Maddy, waving for her friend to sit back down. “We have to solve this mystery.”
“Oh, okay. But the answer is as plain as the nose on your face. Bobby Ray told his two friends about the money in the quilt and they pushed him into a quicksand bog so they could steal it, right?”
“Something like that,” beamed Cookie Bentley, proud of her connect-the-dots theory.
≈≈≈
Police Chief Jim Purdue nodded his head. “Looks like the Quilters Club has solved another puzzle,” he agreed. They were gathered in the mayor’s office there in the Town Hall.
Beau was seated behind his desk. “I’ve gotta admit it all makes sense,” he said. “ A bank robbery. That money had to come from somewhere.”
“Who’s money is it now?” asked Jim.
“Beats me. Better call the state boys and let them sort it out.”
“Before you do that,” suggested Maddy, “why not confront Harry Periwinkle with this and see if he confesses. He might know where Jud Watson is hiding.”
“ Not a bad idea, but I’d have to have his lawyer present,” the police chief pointed out.
“So call Mark,” she said. “He should be at his office.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mark Tidemore met the entourage at the Caruthers corners Police Department. “Sorry,” he said to them, “but only the Chief gets to question Harry Periwinkle. The rest of you have to wait outside.”
“But –”
“Those are the conditions,” the attorney said, avoiding the stares of his in-laws.
“C’mon,” said Beau Madison to the members of the Quilters Club. “Let’s walk down the street to the DQ. I’ll buy everybody a milkshake.”
Mark looked at his shoes while everyone but Jim Purdue filed out of the room. The police department was a small brick building: Inside there was a reception area with a long
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