Murder and leather work: A phone call that led from a feel-good story to a much darker tale, including a murder near Frannie

What began as a phone call to the Lovell Chronicle several weeks ago seemed, at first, like a heartfelt, feel-good story about a cherished item returned and a long-lost connection restored. But it also opened the door to something deeper: a story of loss and a connection that refused to disappear with time. Only later did it begin to reveal a much darker history, including murder.

That journey began for me with a call from Diane Rodgers, a warm and soft-spoken woman with a strong Texas twang who wanted to share a remarkable act of kindness. She explained that she had recently received a purse made by her father nearly 50 years ago, mailed to her by a woman she had never met. It had taken years, dead ends and the determination of her children for the two ladies to finally find one another.

The purse itself had surfaced in an unlikely place. In 2010, Stephanie Redfern of Lansing, Michigan, bought the beautiful leather purse for $4.99 at a local thrift store. Drawn to the craftsmanship, she noticed a stamp inside: “Frannie Leather Company.” Curious about its origin, she posted photos online, hoping someone might recognize the maker.

Time passed. The online post went quiet, and Redfern held on to the small purse that had come to mean so much to her.

At nearly the same time, Rodgers was thinking more about her father’s work and making her own efforts to connect with anything that might shed light on his story. Her mother, Patricia McIntyre, had always been hesitant to share details about Diane’s father, George, other than that he died in 1980 when Diane was only 3 years old.

What Rodgers did not realize was that her children were quietly searching, too. They thought it would be incredible to find something their grandfather had made to give to their mother.

They managed to find Redfern’s original post, and with little more than a username and fragments of information, they followed digital breadcrumbs across the internet until they finally connected with her. They shared the story of their grandfather and what it would mean for their mother to hold something he had made. Redfern refused any payment and chose to mail the purse to Rodgers, covering the shipping herself.

They surprised Rodgers last year with a gift better than anything she had ever received.

What she was given was a hand-tooled leather purse in soft tan leather, featuring floral scrollwork and a deer motif. With deep carving, laced edges and a metal clasp, it reflects the craftsmanship of handmade western leatherwork.

When it arrived, Rodgers shared the moment on Facebook.

“Today, I held that purse in my hands,” she wrote. “A piece of my father’s heart. A piece of his story that somehow found its way back to me after 45 years.”

When contacted this week, Redfern shared her side of the story.

“I purchased the purse in Lansing, Michigan, in 2010, from a local thrift store,” she said. “I was instantly drawn to it because of the beautiful, tooled leather craftsmanship. I had just graduated from Michigan State University with a degree in Fisheries and Wildlife, and the deer on the back made it a perfect fit for me.” She said she was thrilled to send it back to someone who would cherish it more than she ever could.

One detail that immediately stood out to Rodgers was that the purse was stamped, Frannie Leather Company.

For Rodgers, that stamp was a direct link to her father and to a short chapter of her life she has spent decades trying to piece together. Her father made leather goods in Frannie from 1976 to 1980. Those years were the only time he had to leave pieces of his work behind before he was tragically killed. Shortly after his death, she and her mother moved away trying to put their time in Frannie far into the past.

That all changed when she received the priceless purse. It renewed her interest in her father’s story and ultimately led her to me and maybe more than she ever wanted to know about her father, George McIntyre.

As I continued working on this story, it also led me down a path of discovery into the life of Diane’s father and the almost unbelievable life he led.

Some longtime readers may remember the Frannie Leather Company, a small but well-equipped shop that operated from about 1977 to 1981. Run by George and Patricia McIntyre, who had moved to Wyoming from the Boston area, the shop specialized in custom leather goods and repairs, including purses, saddlebags, saddles, tack, boots and shoes. Inside, it held an impressive collection of leatherworking tools and stamps. Despite the quality of the craftsmanship, demand in the area was limited and competing with larger, more established shops in Lovell and Powell proved difficult.

Rodgers said she was told as a child that her father learned leatherworking from a Native American man he knew while living in Montana and that he took great pride in both the skill and the tools of the trade.

Life was difficult for George and Patricia McIntyre. In addition to caring for a young child, Patricia lost her mother, Malvinna “Bunny” Quinn, unexpectedly just months after they arrived. A year later, the couple endured another devastating loss when their daughter, Gigi, who was born with Down syndrome, died before her first birthday following complications from heart surgery.

That string of tragedy reached a horrific climax when George McIntyre was killed during an alcohol-fueled fight in 1980 near Warren.

After her father’s death, Rodgers said she and her mother sold what they could from the shop, but her mother held on to most of the leatherworking tools, including thousands of stamps. It was only after her mother’s death in 2019 that Rodgers was able to reconnect with those tools once again and with the weight of what they represent.

That reconnection and receiving the special leather purse led her to call the Lovell Chronicle and sent me down a winding path that stretched from Boston to ships attacked by kamikaze pilots in the Pacific Ocean to the brutal murder of two men near Harlem, Montana. It is a story I will continue telling next week.