•
Annie and Mike’s house was easy to pick out with two young boys on bikes, obviously eager to get going, circling the driveway. The modest two-story sat on a large lot, its neighbors on each side barely within shouting distance and dense trees at its back. As they pulled up, Callie spotted a vegetable garden on one side, several of its plants already tall enough to be staked. The boys called out greetings, and Annie came out on the porch to wave them all inside.
Brian grabbed the cooler and Callie followed, tramping across the wide porch past white-painted rocking chairs and into the welcoming, comfortable-looking living room. Annie’s husband, Mike—a friendly grin splitting his five o’clock shadow—rose from the sofa and was quickly introduced to Callie. Then everyone started talking at once as Annie gave directions for filling bike bags, grabbing helmets, using the bathroom one last time, and heading out the door.
“Your bike is the green one,” Mike told Callie as they gathered back outside.
“It’s Jenny’s,” Ben informed her. “She lives over there.” He pointed to the brick house down the road.
“I’ll try to get it back to Jenny in one piece,” Callie said, testing the height of the seat and finding it good.
“We’ll go easy on you,” Ben said, pulling his helmet over hair as dark as his dad’s. “Mom said you’re probably not as tough as us.”
“Ben!” Annie cried. “That’s not exactly what I said.”
“That’s okay,” Callie said, laughing. “I’m sure it’s true.”
“We won’t be going very far,” Mike said. “And we stop when anyone calls out that they need a break.”
They lined up, Mike in the lead, followed by Justin and Ben, then Annie, Callie, and Brian. Mike reminded the boys of the rules and then they kicked off, the six of them pedaling on the wide shoulder with little traffic to worry about in either direction.
The temperature had dropped from steamy to just warm, and Callie enjoyed the comfortable pace, which allowed her to take in the scenery with minimal pedaling effort. Justin and Ben chattered the entire time, pointing out friends’ houses, sharing tales of past rides, or trading jokes. An occasional car horn tooted as it passed by, giving the group a wide berth, and Callie joined in with the Barbario family’s waves and calls.
After a good half hour, or so, Mike turned into the picnic area of the cove. Callie pulled even with the others on the lightly graveled ground and braked. “It’s beautiful,” she said as she gazed around her. The water was clear and calm except for ripples from several paddling ducks. Tall trees shaded the picnic area on each side, and the only sound was the occasional chirp or quack.
“Mom! We forgot bread for the ducks,” Justin cried.
“No we didn’t.” Annie opened one of her bags and pulled out two Ziplocs filled with bread chunks. She handed them to her sons, who quickly ran to the water’s edge. “Don’t get your shoes wet!” she called. The adults then got busy brushing off one of the picnic tables and laying out the food and drinks.
Once they all settled down and dug in, Callie thought she’d never enjoyed a meal so much, and she said so.
“You worked up an appetite,” Annie explained. “Everything tastes great when you’re hungry and outdoors.”
“Hey,” Brian protested. “I put some effort into these sandwiches, you know. No baloney and Wonder Bread here.”
Annie laughed. “I know. Just pulling your chain. You did a great job, bro.”
“So great,” Mike said, “that I’ll have another ham and Swiss, if someone will please pass one over.”
“That used to be my favorite,” Callie said, handing it to him. “Until I tried the veggie.” She crunched down on a crisp pickle spear.
“Business doing okay?” Mike asked Brian amiably.
“It’s picked up since a certain shopkeeper moved in across the street,” he said, grinning.
“Oh, come on,” Callie said. “I don’t eat that much. And when I do stop in, your place is usually hopping.”
“This is Keepsake Cove prime time. Everyone’s busy this time of year.”
And yet, Callie mused, Duane Fletcher closed his shop two weeks ago to go to Baltimore.
“We’re finished,” Justin announced, jumping up. “Can we wade in the water?”
“If you stay close to the edge. You know the cove drops off suddenly.”
“We know.” Justin and Ben had their shoes and socks off in a flash and raced each other to the narrow strip of sand.
“Is swimming allowed?” Callie asked.
“It is, but not for these two,” Mike said. “Not until they’re older and we’re confident about their abilities. For now they swim in our neighbor’s pool.”
Callie checked the curved shoreline, seeing only dense trees. “I don’t see any Keepsake Cove shops. How close are they?”
“They’re over to the left,” Brian said, pointing across the water to the other side. “See that small clearing? That’s another picnic area, just off Keepsake Drive, which bends toward it. Probably a half mile from your shop.”
“Really! I’ll have to walk over sometime.”
Justin and Ben, having had enough of kicking through the water, begged Mike and Brian to play catch, which they willingly agreed to, moving away from the table to an open area. Annie turned to watch her family, a fond smile spreading over her face, and Callie, watching, felt the close bond among the five.
It brought back a long-ago memory of a time she and her parents visited Grandpa and Grandma Reed. Aunt Mel was there, and they were in her grandparents’ big yard—or at least it had seemed big to Callie at the time. It was a summer evening like this, and eight-year-old Callie kicked around a soccer ball with her father, who was still healthy and active. Aunt Mel had joined in, she remembered, and the others had looked on as fondly as Annie was now, calling out and cheering for any small successes on her part.
She’d felt happy and so well loved. But now four of those people were lost to her, and the fifth—her mother—was half a world away with a new husband. Not exactly lost, but not in her daughter’s life very much, either. Callie knew that was okay. She was all grown up and couldn’t expect to be cheered on anymore. She’d been handed an amazing parting gift from Aunt Mel, pointed in a new direction after a wrong turn, and she had her memories.
She watched Justin and Ben laugh as they tossed balls too wild for either Mike or Brian to reach or rushed to stop a missed catch before it rolled into the water. She knew they thought these times would last forever. But things happen. She could only hope for their sake that they happened much, much later.
The noise of a motorboat drew her attention to the cove. She watched as the boat roared closer, a single person, a man, handling it, and she frowned. The noise had destroyed their peace and sent the small family of ducks squawking and scrambling.
“That’s Duane Fletcher,” Brian said. He’d paused, ball in hand and shielding his eyes from the sun. “Looks like he’s got a new toy.”
“Another one?” Annie said, and Callie grimaced as she watched the Glorious Glass proprietor circle the cove, churning its previously glass-like surface with seeming abandon. Duane, it appeared, had many interests—and many sides to him. Callie wasn’t finding this one all that likeable.
Twenty
The next afternoon, Callie went to see Orlena Martin at her shop, Treasured Boxes, crossing the street toward the Keepsake Café and then heading left. After his appearance in the cove the night before with his new boat, Duane Fletcher was on her mind, and Callie wanted to pry more information about him from Orlena if she could.
She didn’t stop into the Café on the way, preferring to parcel out her time with Brian. She’d enjoyed the bike excursion thoroughly. Annie’s family was a delight, and that included Brian. But it was important to her to keep things on a friends basis for the time being. As for later on, who knew?
But she didn’t want to falsely encourage him. He was much too nice for that.
She approached Treasured Boxes and peeked in the window, seeing an array of stunning boxes—large and small, wood, metal, square, heart-shaped, and more. One more example of the amazing variety of collectible merchandise that the Keepsake Cove shops offered.
When she walked in, a customer was just leaving, and Orlena greeted Callie like a long-lost relative, engulfing her once again in a great hug. She wore a different caftan-like dress this time, but it was just as brightly colored. Bracelets jangled on her wrists, and her fingers were loaded with sparkly rings. That, along with the woman’s vivid personality, made her an official go-to person, Callie decided, for any perk-me-up days that might occur.
Orlena gave her a tour of the shop, clearly proud of it. She pointed out the uses for various boxes beyond the decorative. “These smaller ones are perfect for special jewelry pieces. Customers sometimes come to me straight from Pearl Poepelman’s place, wanting a special gift box for a necklace or bracelet they just bought from her. These larger ones would hold an heirloom family Bible very well,” she continued. “And I sold a few of these much bigger boxes to families who wanted to store their father’s or grandfather’s military memorabilia. I have something for everyone.”
“It appears you do,” Callie said, picking up an exquisite velvet-covered box topped with an ornate silver medallion.
“That could hold more jewelry,” Orlena said. “Then there’s these lovely tea boxes, antique salt boxes, and boxes that are simply beautiful to look at.”
“They rival my music boxes,” Callie said. “And some of those are very ornate.”
“Everyone should own something beautiful, something that gives them pleasure just to behold. Don’t you think?”
Callie smiled. “I do. Even if it’s as simple as a lovely stone or a shell that they found on the beach.”
“But much better if they come to my shop and buy.” Orlena laughed heartily. “Or your shop, my dear. How can I help you, now that you have seen my wares? I have a feeling you didn’t come only for that. Am I right?”
Callie looked over in surprise. Was she as transparent as Tabitha claimed?
“Don’t worry,” Orlena said. “I am good at reading people. Very helpful for a shop owner. I can usually tell what a customer really wants, even though they might tell me something different. Now, what can I do for you?”
“Well,” Callie said, hesitating. “I’m trying to figure out a few things.”
“Yes?”
Callie had intended to circle around the topic of Duane Fletcher. But now she was sure Orlena would see through that. She went, therefore, straight to the heart of the matter. “I think my aunt may have been murdered.”
“Oh!” Orlena’s large eyes seemed to double in size, but she quickly composed herself. “Have you talked to the police?”
“I have no proof. All I have is my own suspicion.” And possible messages through Grandpa Reed’s music box, though Callie wasn’t ready to bring that up. “No one I’ve suggested it to so far seems to agree, but I just can’t buy the idea that Aunt Mel slipped and fell. It doesn’t work for me.”
Orlena was quiet for a while, and Callie wondered if she’d made a mistake. After all, Orlena didn’t really know her. She might think Callie was delusional, or a troublemaker, or worse. But then the older woman said quietly, “It never worked for me either.”
Callie let out a sigh. Maybe she wasn’t totally crazy after all.
“I never said anything,” Orlena continued, “because what did I know about it? I wasn’t there, looking over the scene, was I? But I never understood why Mel was in her shop in the middle of the night. Do you?”
“No. I admit I didn’t know my aunt that well. We hadn’t seen each other for years, though we did keep in touch. So I can’t say for sure that this was an unusual thing for her to do. But I do know she was healthy and active. She told me how she walked regularly and enjoyed playing tennis. I know of no reason she would have lost her balance so fatally.”
Orlena nodded. “She always struck me as strong and healthy. But if she did not fall on her own, then someone pushed her, or struck her. Who? And why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Do you have any thoughts on that?”
“I wish I did, my dear,” Orlena said, shaking her head sadly. “But because I never truly convinced myself that it could have been murder, I also blocked considerations of who could have done it. We play little mind tricks with ourselves sometimes, don’t we?”
“We do,” Callie said, again thinking about Grandpa Reed’s music box. Had she been doing the same? “Since I can’t prove that someone was in the shop at the time of Aunt Mel’s death, all I’ve been able to do is look for motives, and when I think I’ve found one, I look for opportunity.”
“Opportunity? But, dear one, it happened in the middle of the night. Everyone can claim they were fast asleep in their beds.”
“I know, and if they were alone, who can prove they were or weren’t? So that hasn’t eliminated anyone, so far. Next I’ve wondered who could have got into the shop. It was locked. Did someone have a key?”
“That is something I would not know.”
“What about Karl Eggers?” Callie asked, and she saw Orlena’s brows shoot up.
“You think Mel would have given Karl a spare key?”
“It’s just a thought. I know they weren’t on good terms at the end, but were things better in the beginning? Might she have given him a key in the past, so he could watch over her shop while she was gone?”
“Highly doubtful,” Orlena said. “Highly. Things were better between them years ago, yes, but that only meant they were on speaking terms. Mel would not have gone to Karl for a favor of that kind. Delia would be much more likely.”
“Delia had a key to Mel’s cottage but not the shop. That’s what she told me, and I believe her. I saw the grief on her face after my aunt died. It was real.”
“I agree. They were close friends, plus Delia couldn’t hurt a fly, literally. I have seen her carry insects out her door to set them down on the grass rather than squash them.” She paused. “As I would. I don’t like bugs.” A deep chuckle rolled out. She shook her head firmly. “Delia could not by any means be a murderer.”
Callie nodded. It was what she’d decided long ago. “Karl, then, wouldn’t likely have had a key, but he did want my aunt’s shop in order to expand his business. He’s clearly an angry man who likes to get his own way and not the type to coddle bugs or anything else. Is he capable of committing murder to get what he wants?”
Orlena sank down on a nearby stool, seemingly unable to consider a question like that while on her feet. “How can one know that?” she asked. “Until it happens.”
“From past actions.” Callie pulled a second stool closer and sat down. “You feel Delia isn’t capable of murder because she’s demonstrated how much she values living things. Has Karl shown the opposite? Cruelty to animals, perhaps? You’ve known him much longer than I have.”
Orlena’s eyes turned upward as she searched her memory. “No,” she said. “Karl is brusque and sharp-tongued, but I have never known him to be outright cruel.”
“He doesn’t treat Elvin very well.”
“True. He doesn’t like Elvin near his shop. He worries the poor man will scare away customers. And,” she said, turning to look at Callie directly, “I can’t say I truly blame him.” At Callie’s wince, Orlena challenged her. “If you did not know Elvin and saw this big, bearded man in dirty denims, scowling and blocking your way to a shop, would you ask him to please move or would you turn on your heel and go somewhere else?”
Callie remembered how Elvin had frightened her that first evening she’d encountered him in the dark. “I see your point. But there are kinder ways of going about it.”
“Of co
urse. But there are worse ways, too. Karl can be harsh, but I’m not able to say more than that. I’m very good at reading people, yes, but there is no way to see what is far below the surface. The kind of evil that moves one to commit murder, I fear, will be buried very deeply.”
“That’s a frightening thought.”
“But something you should not forget.”
A customer walked in, and Orlena’s grim look vanished with a blink. “Good afternoon!” she said, rising from her stool to welcome the woman with a broad smile.
Callie waited, mulling over Orlena’s words as well as what to ask her next as the shopkeeper dealt with her customer, helping the woman choose the perfect box for a collection of photographs. After the woman left and Orlena returned to her seat, Callie decided to bring up Aunt Mel’s mysterious Tom. Though it felt a little like a betrayal, she told herself Aunt Mel was past needing her secrets kept. It was important to see if Orlena could tell her anything useful.
“I discovered,” she said, “that my aunt had a hidden romantic relationship. So far, I’ve been able to find out very little about it, but my guess is this man would be one person Mel would let into her shop at that time of night if he asked her to—especially since I was staying at the cottage at the time. Do you know anything about him?”
“Ah, so you found out about that. That was something I picked up on, but only that the situation existed. Nothing more. I could see that Mel wanted to keep it to herself, so I did not pry.”
Callie was beginning to deplore the existence of conscientious people who respected others’ privacy. If Aunt Mel had been surrounded by nosy busybodies, perhaps she’d still be here! “She never dropped a clue as to who he was or where she went to meet him?” she pressed, frustration slipping into her voice.
Orlena shook her head. “I imagine Delia has said the same, am I right? If her best friend and close neighbor did not know, there’s little chance I would, is there?”
Callie sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you should know. I just wish you did know.”
A Fatal Collection Page 15
