A Vintage Death

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Now Tabitha turned her attention to the music box sitting by itself on the high shelf behind the counter. “Hmm. Looks like I must have skipped that the last time I ran the duster around.”

  Callie glanced up at the Plexiglas case, complete with lock, that now enclosed Grandpa Reed’s music box. It had always been a valued family item, holding fond memories of her grandfather, who had started the original music box collection around which Melodie had built her shop. But having recently learned of the music box’s monetary value, Callie had decided to store it more securely. Tabitha had insisted that its habit of turning itself on, on occasion, was Aunt Melodie sending her niece a message; after too many “coincidences,” Callie no longer scoffed at the idea, though it still strained all she’d believed up until then. Thankfully, with her aunt’s murderer identified and caught, the music box had been relatively quiet, and Callie hoped it would become even more so.

  A customer walked in, one that Callie recognized as a regular who had made it onto Aunt Mel’s list of serious collectors. The woman studied Tabitha for a moment before asking, “Jane Wyatt?”

  Tabitha shot a triumphant look at Callie, who shrugged. The customer, Callie thought, might have had an advantage, being close to her grandmother’s generation. Score one for that age group.

  After lunchtime, Dorothy Ashby surprised Callie by stopping in. “Jane’s watching my shop for a few minutes. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been hearing lovely comments on your decorations. You did a wonderful job!”

  “It was definitely a group effort,” Callie said. “And a lot of fun, wasn’t it, with everyone working together yesterday?”

  “Oh yes,” Dorothy said. “It’s what I love about Keepsake Cove. We have our differences now and then, but we pull together when needed. It’s what impressed Jane so much.”

  Callie smiled. “How long will she be staying with you?”

  “She hasn’t really said. As long as possible, I hope. Jane and I were like sisters growing up. Life separated us, at least geographically, so it’s wonderful to spend a good amount of time together.”

  “You said she drove up from Charlotte. Is her family there?”

  “They are. Richard, her husband, passed away some years ago. Much too young. But he and Jane were fortunate to have children, which Clifford and I did not. Her two daughters are married, and her son seems to be heading that way with a wonderful young woman. Jane’s very pleased that they’re all living nearby.”

  Callie thought of Jane’s flustered reaction to her question on the timing of her visit, at least if she’d read the situation right. Since she was unlikely to ever learn about possible problems in Jane’s family, Callie could only hope that whatever appeared to worry the woman would work out okay. Since Dorothy still seemed excited about the unexpected visit, nothing had apparently come up between the cousins.

  Dorothy had been wandering casually through Callie’s music boxes as she spoke, and she smiled over a tune that played as she lifted one lid. “Jane would love to see these,” she said. “She was always the musical one in the family. She plans to browse around the shops this afternoon, so I’ll tell her to start in this direction.” Dorothy glanced at the clock. “But,” she said briskly, “that can’t happen until I get back, can it?” She headed for the door and paused before stepping out. “Toodle-oo! Love your dress, by the way, Tabitha.”

  Tabitha smiled and returned the older woman’s wave, but as Dorothy hurried past the front window, Tabitha turned to Callie.

  “Toodle-oo?” she asked.

  “It probably comes from the time period of the dress,” Callie said. “I’d take it as a kind of homage.”

  Tabitha, looking uncertain, shrugged her plaid-covered shoulders, the white cuffs on her sleeves rising in unison. “Whatever.”

  When Callie opened up her shop the next morning, she thought about Dorothy’s cousin, who hadn’t stopped in the previous afternoon after all. Assuming there’d been a change of plans, she wondered if Jane would come by that day. But as she wandered through the tables, realigned a few music boxes, and generally checked on things, she was surprised when instead of Jane, Lyssa Hammond came through her door.

  Though the author had promised to stop by the music box shop sometime soon, she didn’t appear to be prepared for a day of shopping. Wearing blue jeans and an oversized flannel shirt, she looked like she’d dressed in a hurry. Her red hair flopped limply, as though it had been finger-combed as an afterthought.

  “I’m glad I found you,” Lyssa said. “I needed to get away from the Foxwood Inn again. This time it’s because of something pretty awful.”

  Callie hurried forward, hoping that this storyteller of the macabre and supernatural was simply being dramatic. The grim set of the author’s jaw told her otherwise.

  “It’s Ashby,” Lyssa went on. “They found him dead early this morning. Stabbed. From what I heard, with a pair of vintage scissors.”

  Four

  Lyssa had been gone for half an hour when Delia rushed into House of Melody from her shop next door. “Did you hear?” she asked.

  From the distressed look on Delia’s face, Callie knew what she was referring to. “Clifford Ashby?”

  “Yes. In the park, right where we’ve been planning to have Lyssa Hammond’s book event!”

  “She was here earlier,” Callie said. “That’s how I learned about it. She said the police rousted everyone at the B&B at the crack of dawn after a jogger found the body. The police wanted to know what Ashby was doing in the park, probably very late at night. As far as Lyssa could tell, nobody at the B&B had an answer.”

  “That’s so weird. Do they think it was a mugging? This is Keepsake Cove. We don’t draw crime like that here. But I suppose it could happen.”

  Callie hated what she had to share next. “The murder weapon was a pair of vintage scissors.” She paused a moment to let that sink in. “I doubt muggers use weapons of that sort.”

  Delia stared at Callie incredulously. “Oh, gosh. I don’t believe it for a moment, but … oh, poor Dorothy!” They both knew what it meant. Dorothy would be an immediate suspect.

  “Let’s wait until we learn more,” Callie cautioned, and Delia nodded. It made sense and was, in fact, all they could do. But it wouldn’t keep either of them from worrying.

  As Delia returned to her shop, Callie watched through her window, then glanced over at the Keepsake Café across the street, where Lyssa had headed after breaking her news to Callie. Breakfast at the Foxwood Inn was not happening that day, she’d told Callie, as the woman who handled the cooking was too agitated, as well as occupied with talking to the police. Callie would have loved to run over to the café herself to talk with Brian, but the place looked much too busy for any private conversation. Patience would have to be the rule of the day. That, and keeping up a cheery manner for customers who would likely have no idea what had happened and how it was affecting the shopkeepers of Keepsake Cove.

  Callie turned from the window to draw comfort from her array of music boxes. She lifted the lid of her newest favorite, a beautiful octagonal wooden jewelry box that played Clair de Lune, as soothing a piece of music as existed, Callie felt. As she listened, her gaze wandered toward Grandpa Reed’s music box up on its own shelf. It had plagued her with its disconcerting trills from the time of Aunt Mel’s death up until her murderer had been caught … What would happen now, with another murder in Keepsake Cove? Would notes of The Skaters’ Waltz sound out on their own again?

  “I love that tune!” an unfamiliar woman cried as she entered the shop, referring, Callie realized after a startled moment, to Clair de Lune.

  Callie smiled, slipping into shopkeeper mode and to the business at hand. Thoughts of murder and all it entailed would have to wait for a while.

  When Tabitha arrived for her shift, it was in a simple dress of soft mauve with matching tights, which told Callie that she’d
heard the news.

  “I went home to change after I ran into Laurie Hart,” Tabitha explained. “I didn’t know Clifford Ashby, but I do know Dorothy. Even if I don’t see her today, it only seemed right.”

  Callie smiled at her thoughtfulness. “I’d love to see Dorothy, but I don’t think that’s going to happen today.”

  “Laurie said she saw both Dorothy and her cousin being driven off in a police car early this morning,” Tabitha said as she rounded the counter. “Stitches Thru Time is closed and dark.”

  Callie found the image of the two women in a police car troubling, which must have shown, since Tabitha added, “It’s just routine, I’m sure. Talking to the widow and all, even if the couple has been separated.”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid there’s more.” She told Tabitha about the scissors.

  “Wow, yeah, that’s a lot more. But still,” Tabitha said, “even if they’re Dorothy’s scissors, who’s to say who actually used them? I mean, Dorothy’s fingerprints should be on her own scissors, right? But maybe they’ll find a second person’s fingerprints. The actual murderer’s!”

  “That would be great, and it would end things right there. But if there’s no fingerprints … ? Well, as I said to Delia, no use worrying until we have to.” Callie dusted her hands together briskly, intending to keep busy and her mind on business.

  Unfortunately, as the day wore on, Keepsake Cove shopkeepers kept dropping in, looking for new information or simply rehashing the old, which didn’t help Callie’s resolve. Occasionally, when someone brought up the possibility of Dorothy being involved, both she and Tabitha argued firmly against that idea. But the more time that passed with no word of Dorothy returning to Stitches Thru Time, the more concerned Callie became about her friend.

  A few minutes after five, when Tabitha had gone and the shop was still open but quiet, Callie saw Brian step out of his café and lock up. Since the Keepsake Café served only breakfast and lunch, it wasn’t unusual for it to close at five. But Brian always had plenty to do after closing to get ready for the next day. His leaving early signaled that something was up.

  Callie watched as he walked across the street toward her shop, a light jacket thrown over one of his favorite roll-sleeve plaid shirts that was tucked easily into his slim jeans. Callie was always impressed, and a little jealous, over how Brian managed to stay trim despite being around food all day. Working on his antique car, plus regular bike hikes around the area, a couple of which Callie had joined in on, all helped, she was sure.

  As she held the door open for him, he leaned down to give her a quick kiss, but in a distracted way. From his troubled look, she knew he hadn’t come about anything good.

  “I had the TV news on while I was in the kitchen,” he said as he came in.

  “Did they report about Clifford Ashby’s murder?”

  Brian nodded. “And brought up Dorothy.”

  “In what way?” Callie asked, hoping it was only as the widow.

  Brian drew a deep breath. “They didn’t actually use the phrase ‘person of interest,’ but their tone implied it.”

  “Darn!” Callie had half expected it, but it was still upsetting. “Why does the news have to mention anyone at all unless they’re actually charged? It’s so unfair when there’s no actual evidence!” She paused. “There isn’t any—I mean, against Dorothy—is there?”

  “The murder weapon belonged to her,” Brian said. “That’s apparently been verified.”

  “Is that all? She has a shop full of vintage scissors. Anyone could have bought them or got hold of them somehow?”

  “There’s the fact that she’s still legally married to Ashby, which, I assume, means all his assets would go to her. And with their being estranged, there’s always the chance of something having happened between the two of them that we don’t know about but the police do.”

  He looked at Callie grimly. She knew Brian felt at least as bad about it as she did and possibly more so, since he’d known Dorothy much longer. Though she wouldn’t call the two close friends, Callie had witnessed an easiness between Brian and Dorothy that came from genuine fondness and trust.

  “Is Dorothy home now?” she asked.

  Before Brian could answer, two customers walked up to House of Melody’s window, chatting loudly and pointing as they studied the display Tabitha had set up. When one moved toward the door, Brian said, “I’ll head over to her place and see. If I get to talk to her, I’ll let you know.” He squeezed Callie’s hand and stepped aside as the two women entered, then silently lifted a hand in farewell as he slipped out. Callie nodded, then worked at putting on a good face for her customers.

  Callie spent a restless night trying to convince herself that no news was good news but not succeeding. At one point she heard the soft thump of Jagger jumping down from the foot of her bed, usually a preferred spot for him, and could imagine his attitude of disgust at her endless tossing and turning. She gave up around six, when it was still chilly and dark outside, and padded down to fix coffee and check the internet for any information on the murder. Unfortunately, crime in Keepsake Cove was edged out by bigger stories in Baltimore and Washington, DC, so she sipped her coffee, ate a piece of toast, and eventually showered and dressed for the day.

  Around nine thirty, after having readied her shop, she was surprised to see Lyssa Hammond heading her way once again. Lyssa’s bright red hair was back to its carefully spiked mode, and her chunky purple sweater, slim-cut jeans, and boots looked more purposefully chosen than her outfit of the day before. Her walk was brisk and decisive and made Callie, who’d been drooping from lack of sleep, straighten in expectation.

  “There you are!” Lyssa cried as she threw open the door to House of Melody.

  “Yes,” Callie answered, wondering where else Lyssa thought she would be. “Is something up?”

  “What’s up is that a helpless woman in this town is in danger of being railroaded if someone doesn’t step in and do something about it quick. I hear you’ve got experience in this kind of thing, so it should probably be you. But I’m willing to help. Are you up for it?”

  Callie gaped in surprise, and in that pause of a few seconds, she heard the notes of The Skaters’ Waltz sound out from Grandpa Reed’s music box.

  Five

  Experience? Me?” Callie managed to ask.

  “Well, yeah,” Lyssa countered, not actually saying duh but her tone implying it. She didn’t appear to have noticed the music box’s playing, which had mercifully stopped. “When you told me you’d inherited from your aunt, you conveniently left out the part about her being murdered, so I had to hear that from someone else. With the police calling that death ‘accidental,’ the murderer would have gotten clean away with it if it weren’t for you, right?” Lyssa had her hands on her hips, daring Callie to deny it, which of course she couldn’t.

  “I, well, yeah. Probably.”

  “Uh-huh. So you’ve got the smarts to know when things aren’t right. And pinning Clifford Ashby’s murder on his wife isn’t right. I’ve just talked to her, and I’m convinced of it.”

  “You talked to Dorothy? She’s home?”

  “She’s in her shop. But she’s a total wreck. Come see for yourself.”

  Callie only had to think about that for a moment. She was on her own at the shop, with Tabitha not due to arrive for another half hour. But she was eager to see Dorothy and didn’t need Aunt Mel’s prodding on that score. House of Melody would survive being closed for a few unscheduled minutes. She grabbed her keys and followed Lyssa out the door.

  “What made you go to Stitches Thru Time?” she asked Lyssa as they hurried down the street.

  “It was from listening to a lot of talk yesterday during breakfast at the café. I learned a long time ago that if you stay quiet, people tend to forget about you and say a lot of things to each other that can be overheard. I heard plenty of conjecture
about Dorothy Ashby and how she might benefit from her husband’s murder.”

  “Oh, gosh.”

  “I know, and the ones who spoke the loudest and with the most conviction that the police need not look any further had nothing to back it up. So I decided to meet the woman and see for myself. Within two minutes, I couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to stab a man to death with a pair of scissors, or with anything else for that matter. But,” Lyssa said, looking over at Callie, “I realize that’s a quick assumption. You know her better.”

  “I do, and I agree with you. Brian Greer, who owns the Keepsake Café, feels the same, and he’s known Dorothy even longer. Did you talk to him at all yesterday?”

  “Nothing beyond giving my food order. He was pretty busy, in and out of his kitchen the whole time I was there.” Callie hadn’t heard back from Brian the previous evening, so she assumed he hadn’t been able to talk to Dorothy, either.

  When she and Lyssa arrived at Stitches Thru Time, Callie paused to look through the window. Dorothy sat alone behind her counter in an attitude and posture of such abandonment that Callie’s heart went out to her. She took a deep breath, then led the way into the shop.

  Dorothy brightened a little at sight of them, but her eyes remained sunk in deep shadows. She pulled herself up and came out from behind her counter, and Callie wrapped her in a hug, dismayed to feel trembles in the older woman.

  “I’m so sorry, Dorothy,” she said, before letting her go.

  “Thank you, Callie.” Dorothy stepped back, blinking away tears. “It’s been a lot to deal with. The love between Cliff and me withered long ago, but still, after so many years together … for something so terrible to take that person … .” Dorothy let out a small sob but drew a deep, controlling breath. “And on top of that, to have to face all those questions from the police. The insinuations.”