Family Matters by Laurinda Wallace

kitchen’s screen door, carrying the pile of take-out containers. Her mother’s gray and fading auburn hair looked freshly done. It was a new cut, but no new color. Theresa had recently announced she was done being a slave to the monthly coloring drill. Her father was in stone-colored Dockers and a blue golf shirt that complimented his wavy silver hair.
    The fish was excellent, as always, and Gracie updated her parents between bites on the events of the past week—funeral, Isabelle, robbery, and bite incident. Bob Clark looked at his daughter with concerned eyes.
    “Are you doing all right then, Gracie?”
    “Well, I’ve had some moments, but I think it’s under control.” Gracie plunged a fork into the coleslaw dripping with mayo.
    Gracie’s mother wasn’t convinced, by the look she exchanged with her husband.
    “You probably need to get some reliable, experienced help, so you can concentrate on running the business,” her mother said, taking a bite of her broiled fish.
    “We’re working on it. I put a posting on that new Deer Creek Help Wanted site, an ad in the Pennysaver, and I called the employment agency in Warsaw. With Marian, things are off to a good start. We’ll see how Joe works out.” Gracie closed the lid on the take-out container. “I need one more full-time person, and I think we can handle things. Of course, it depends on whether we have any business after this week of major disasters.”
    “It’ll work out. You and Jim have good business heads. And, Gracie, you need to take care of yourself. You don’t want to end up with…umm, problems again.” Her father wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and threw his container in the kitchen’s stainless steel trashcan.
    “I’m fine and don’t worry.” Gracie’s voice was sharp. “I need to be busy, which reminds me, I’ve got to see Uncle Stan. He should be down at the VFW tonight. I’ll let you both get caught up on some sleep.” She picked up her mother’s container and hers, tossing them in the trash. Haley scrambled from under the kitchen table, her toenails clicking on the hardwood floor.
    “Here’s my roll, Haley,” Theresa laughed. “You’re always so good until we clear the table. What do you need to see Uncle Stan about?” she queried as she wiped down the blue laminate counters and table.
    “Well, I didn’t tell you the part about the books.”
    “What books?” Her father put the newspaper he was reading on his lap and raised the recliner.
    “Uh, well, Uncle Stan gave me a bunch of old books the day of the funeral. Isabelle is hot to have them back. She’s practically threatened me.”
    “Are they valuable or sentimental to Isabelle?”
    “Not really, but he had newspaper clippings about Charlotte’s accident, her death certificate, and some other papers stuck in the books. I gave some of them back already to keep the peace.”
    “Really!” her mother exclaimed. “Bob, can you take the garbage out?”
    “And the strangest part is that Charlotte’s diary was in there too.” She pulled Haley’s leash from her large bag.
    Theresa clutched the dishrag and leaned against the counter. “No wonder Isabelle is upset. That should all be hers. Stan is really having a hard time and isn’t thinking clearly. Plus you have a gift for getting her going, but I think this may be over the line.” Theresa rinsed the cloth under faucet, draping it over the sink divider. She wiped her hands on an apple-patterned kitchen towel.
    “Well, I don’t think so. I think he wants to keep Charlotte’s things away from Isabelle, but I need to know why he gave them to me. Was there anything fishy about Charlotte’s death?”
    Her father stepped back into the kitchen with the newspaper in his hands.
    “Fishy?” He folded the paper and threw it in the recycling box by the trashcan.
    “Well, wasn’t the investigation cut short? Didn’t Aunt Shirley just want to move on?” Gracie clipped the leash on a squirming Haley.
    “It