A Fatal Collection

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Orlena nodded understandingly.

  “Then what about Duane Fletcher?” Callie asked, her disappointment causing her to bring his name up too abruptly.

  “Duane?” Orlena stiffened slightly, but if it was from surprise, annoyance over the continuing questions, or something else, Callie couldn’t say.

  “There were problems between him and Aunt Mel,” Callie explained. “I need to understand how serious they’d become.”

  “That was something between the two of them. It was not my business.”

  “This wasn’t about my aunt’s personal life. It had to do with the Keepsake Cove Shop Owners’ Association.”

  “I have already told you that I’ve kept my distance from that group’s squabbles.” Orlena got up, sending a strong signal to Callie that she’d had enough of the discussion.

  “I’m sorry, Orlena, if I’m treading on sensitive ground … ”

  “There is nothing sensitive about it,” Orlena said, her eyes flashing briefly before she composed herself, bringing up a smile. “I’ve just grown very, very tired of all this talk about Duane Fletcher. Either keep him on as treasurer or replace him. I don’t really care. But this endless insinuation! It needs to be over.”

  “It needs to be settled, I agree. And there’s a push to have the association’s books audited. The thing is, Aunt Mel was the one who brought up the whole debate. I’ve found evidence that she was suspicious of Duane’s accounting. She began scanning her committee expenses before turning them over to Duane. If he realized that, and had been covertly inflating the expenses, that gives him a motive to break into her shop somehow to erase those scans.”

  “And then kill Mel?” Orlena’s tone was skeptical.

  “It might not have been in his plan. But if she caught him, he might have thought it was his only way out.”

  Orlena shook her head firmly. “I have never seen anything like that in the man,” she insisted. “Duane gets along with everybody. Any disagreements usually end up with the other person apologizing. Duane would never need to resort to violence.”

  “What about that evil that could be buried too deeply to see?” Callie asked quietly. “Isn’t it possible that we only see what Duane lets us?”

  Orlena rubbed at her temples. “All this talk of murder is too distressing.” She smiled at Callie. “I should stay happy for my customers, no?” She walked to her window and spotted an older couple heading toward the shop. “And there they are. Enough sad talk. I wish I could solve your problem, my dear, but I am only me. Orlena. Not a magician who can snap her fingers and pull answers out of the air.”

  The couple arrived, and Callie politely left, feeling that she’d handled things badly, particularly about Duane. If she’d been better, more subtle, cleverer, she was sure she would have learned something from Orlena about the man, something the shopkeeper was clearly holding back. As she walked to her music box shop, she wondered if she would ever discover the truth about Aunt Mel’s death. Or would she only continue to annoy and antagonize Keepsake Cove shopkeepers but with no results? Somebody must know what had really happened that night. Somebody other than the killer. But who?

  Catching a glimpse of Tabitha through the window, Callie thought that her assistant’s answer would be that Aunt Mel knew and was trying to tell them through Grandpa Reed’s music box. Was she? Callie shrugged. If her aunt was, she’d chosen a very inefficient way of communicating.

  She walked into her shop and was greeted in an intriguing way. “You’ll never guess who just called,” Tabitha said.

  Twenty-One

  Callie had to wait for the follow-up to her assistant’s statement as the phone rang and Tabitha reached to answer it, making a “hold on” gesture.

  “House of Melody,” Tabitha announced, and Callie, her curiosity piqued but necessarily suspended, continued on to the office to get back to work. She’d pulled up recent orders on the computer when Tabitha joined her.

  “That was Mrs. Weaver, checking to see if her special-order anniversary music box came in yet, which it did. She’ll come by tomorrow.” Tabitha grinned. “Or maybe the next day, or the day after that. We’ll see.”

  “So, who called while I was out?”

  “Oh, right! You’ll never guess. But I already said that, didn’t I? Mark Eggers!”

  “Mark Eggers?” Callie asked, puzzled.

  “Karl’s nephew. The one he wants to manage a collectible train shop for him.”

  “On the House of Melody premises.”

  “That’s the one. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t actually say, but we can guess, can’t we? He left his number, and he asked very, very politely if you would please call him back.”

  “Hmmm.” Callie twirled a lock of her blond hair with a finger. “Think I should?”

  “A call couldn’t hurt, I guess. You could always hang up.”

  Callie twirled a bit longer. “Why not? Where’s his number?”

  Tabitha ran back to the front counter and got it for her, then waited as Callie put it in.

  “Mr. Eggers? It’s Callie Reed. You called earlier?”

  “Yes, Ms. Reed,” a smooth male voice responded. “Thank you so much for calling back. I wondered if we could meet? There’s something important I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Does it have to do with my selling my shop?”

  “I’d really rather wait until we can sit down together. Could we meet for drinks or coffee this evening?”

  Callie thought about that. She was interested enough to want to meet the man and perhaps learn a little more about Karl. Meeting at a public spot seemed like a good idea, better than him coming to her shop. She could always leave if she didn’t like how things were going. “Coffee would be good,” she said. “After I close up. Six fifteen.” She suggested the diner Jonathan had taken her to on the day her boxes had arrived from West Virginia, and Mark Eggers agreed.

  “You’re meeting him?” Tabitha asked, her eyebrows raised.

  “He sounded reasonably normal.”

  “Want me to grab the booth behind you?”

  Callie laughed. “It’ll be fine. I’m curious to see what the man has to say.”

  “I am too, frankly. We know what he’s got in mind. How he thinks he’ll talk you into it will be interesting. Just,” Tabitha added, looking serious, “be careful.” The shop phone rang again, and as Tabitha went to get it, Callie mulled over what she might have gotten herself into.

  •

  The hostess at the front of Dino’s Diner greeted Callie as she walked in. “One?” she asked.

  “Actually, I’m meeting someone,” Callie said, realizing she didn’t know what Mark Eggers looked like. As she glanced toward the seated diners, a man in his mid-thirties approached her from a bench where he’d been waiting.

  “Ms. Reed?”

  Callie smiled. “Mr. Eggers?”

  They shook hands and followed the hostess to a table beside a window.

  Eggers was about Callie’s age and had his uncle’s burly frame. Unlike his uncle, though, he was clean shaven, which gave him a much less fierce appearance. His manner, as it had been on the phone, was mild and polite—again, unlike his uncle. But Callie was reserving further judgment until they’d chatted a bit more.

  They ordered coffee and made small talk about the current hot weather. Once they’d stirred in their sugar or cream and taken first sips, Eggers got down to business.

  “Ms. Reed,” he began, then asked, “Okay if I call you Callie?” Callie dipped her head in assent and he began again. “Callie, I know my uncle is not the easiest person to get along with.”

  “All he’s done since I’ve arrived here is demonstrate how much he’d like me to leave.”

  Mark let out a rueful laugh. “If it helps, he’s like that with nearl
y everyone.”

  “Then I can’t help wondering how he manages to deal with customers. People on the verge of handing over their money generally prefer to be treated more pleasantly.”

  “My uncle knows collectible cars,” Mark said. “He’s amassed the best selection in the area. That’s all that the most rabid collectors care about. It’s what they’ll travel miles to find. ”

  Rabid. That word seemed to fit Karl Eggers as well, to Callie’s mind. “Has he always been so angry?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it anger,” Mark said. He took a swig of his coffee. “He’s simply very sure about how things should be and has little patience for when they’re not.”

  Simply? Callie thought, raising her eyebrows. She was aware of dictators who’d had the same attitude.

  Mark shrugged. What can you do? was written on his face. “It’s who he is. We’re used to it—the family, I mean. And he has many good points.”

  “That’s nice to know,” Callie said. “He’s apparently single. Has he ever been married?” She expected the answer to be no, or very briefly.

  “He was,” Mark said. “But it ended tragically when my aunt died.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Callie said, having a flash of sympathy. “Illness?”

  “Accident. He doesn’t like to talk about it much.” Mark lifted his coffee cup to his lips, signaling that he wasn’t going to either. “What I wanted to discuss with you tonight was your shop.”

  Callie nodded, not surprised.

  “I’m sure you know my uncle would like to expand his business with a collectible trains shop, and that he needs to keep it close to his existing shop.”

  “I know that he’d like to keep it close to his shop.”

  Mark ignored her input and continued. “He’s offered me the position of manager of that train shop. Callie,” he said, looking earnestly at her, “I really need that job.”

  Uh-oh.

  “I was downsized recently from my last position, just before my wife and I had a new baby.” He reached into his pocket to show Callie a photo of a red-faced newborn, swaddled in a hospital blanket, eyes squinting with a “what just happened here?” look. “Mark, Jr.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled as he looked at the photo again before pocketing it. “We’re very proud of him. But, as I’m sure you can understand, it makes for a situation where bringing in a steady income is pretty urgent. That, combined with my uncle’s need for expansion, has moved him to make you a very generous offer.” Mark paused, and Callie could see from his excited smile that he expected her to be blown away by what he was about to say. “Uncle Karl is offering ten percent over his previous offer to your aunt—which was quite good to begin with—for an immediate buy-out of your shop and cottage.” When Callie opened her mouth to answer, he raised his hand. “And … he’s willing to give you ample time to sell off your inventory or to relocate, whichever you prefer.” He stopped and waited, possibly assuming she needed a moment to catch her breath.

  Callie did take a moment, but it was to choose the right words, not to recover from heart-palpitating joy. “I’m sure,” she said, “that’s a very generous offer—if I were interested in selling. But I’m not. I’m sorry.”

  “Ten percent higher!” he repeated. “You’d never get an offer like that in today’s market.”

  “Perhaps I wouldn’t. But that doesn’t matter, anyway, since I want to stay.”

  “You want to stay? I understood your sudden inheritance caused you to be abruptly uprooted. Wouldn’t you want to return to the life you were forced to leave?”

  Not hardly, Callie thought, trying not to smile. “I’m actually very happy with the change,” she said.

  Mark looked incredulous for a long while, then collected himself and moved on to what apparently was Plan B. “If that’s the case, then my uncle has another offer. He will pay you a generous fee for the rental of half your shop.”

  “Half my shop?” Callie asked, not sure she’d heard right.

  “Half the space, so that we could set up our collectible trains, and you would keep the other half for your music boxes.”

  Callie’s face must have shown the shock she felt because he hurried on. “Think of it. With two shops in one, we’d double the foot traffic! Customers who came in for trains would move along to your side as well to browse and buy, and vice versa. It would be a win-win situation!”

  “Mr. Egg—ah, Mark, I barely have enough space for my inventory as it is. Keepsake Cove shops are not large.”

  “No problem,” he declared. “There’s plenty of vertical space to be used. And we could think about an addition at the back later.”

  “Do you really believe our particular customers would be inclined to cross over? I mean, collectible trains and music boxes? They don’t exactly appeal to the same collectors.” Before Mark could jump in with another argument, she shook her head firmly. “No. That’s not anything I would consider.”

  Mark Eggers was silent, his face taking on some color, and Callie was fairly sure he wanted to call her responses the stupidest things he’d ever heard. For her part, she would have loved to say that just because he and his uncle wanted her premises didn’t mean she had to sell or share them. Much as Karl might love to be a dictator, it was still a free country, last she checked.

  They sat, each fuming internally, until Mark jumped up, shaking the table enough to rattle the salt and pepper shakers at its side.

  “Fine! I thought you would be more reasonable about this, but apparently there’s no room for business sense in that blond head of yours. I should have expected that. Good luck trying to meet your mortgage payments by selling your little wind-up boxes. We’ll probably get your shop anyway after the bank forecloses!”

  His voice had risen with each word, drawing the astonished stares of half the diners, including Callie’s. He threw a few bills down for the cost of the coffee and stomped off. A stunned silence lingered in the restaurant, much to Callie’s embarrassment. She felt trapped, since she couldn’t very well leave until she was sure Mark Eggers was totally gone, nor was she about to apologize to the room for her companion’s bad behavior. That was his job. She lifted her cup stiffly and sipped, and waited for normal conversations to resume around her. Although normal was probably too much to hope for.

  She was staring out the window—and away from nearby tables—when she heard the sound of a throat clearing. Duane Fletcher stood there, smiling apologetically.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said. Then he started to grin.

  The grin set Callie to giggling, and he joined her in a body-jiggling laugh until they both had tears in their eyes.

  “May I sit?” he asked, wiping his eyes, and Callie swept a hand toward the opposite bench.

  “Room for business sense in that blond head?” Duane quoted as he settled in. “My God, what era was the man teleported from? Who says things like that anymore?”

  “He’s Karl Eggers’s nephew.”

  “Aha.”

  Callie nodded. “Certain genes apparently run strongly in that family’s DNA.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you took the brunt of them. Looks like you’ve had only coffee. Would you be interested in staying for dinner? I planned to eat alone, but I’d love the company.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” Callie said, grateful to him for erasing the embarrassment of Mark Eggers’s dramatic exit, though the image of Duane buzzing the cove with his boat edged in. She pushed it back, at least for a while.

  A waitress, who Callie suspected had purposely hung back, suddenly appeared to clear the cups, and Callie and Duane quickly chose and gave their orders. Then Duane turned to Callie. “Mind if I ask what encouraged you to share a table with Karl Eggers’s nephew?”

  “Curiosity,” Callie said. “I was pretty sure what he wanted, which was my
shop. Karl wants to expand, you know. I was interested to see how he might approach it. I also thought I might learn a little more about Karl.”

  “And did you?”

  “His offers have escalated enough to tell me he’s really desperate to grab House of Melody. And I did find out something I hadn’t known, that Karl lost his wife through an accident.” Duane nodded, so she asked, “Do you know what exactly happened?”

  “It was before Karl moved to Keepsake Cove. He’s never been exactly cozy with the rest of us, so that’s all I know. I’m not even sure how I happened to hear that.”

  Their orders soon came, diner food which Callie assumed only needed to be nuked, though her chicken scampi smelled pretty good. She and Duane turned to their food—he got spaghetti and meatballs, with a side order of French fries—and they chatted intermittently about more innocuous things. Duane brought up his new boat.

  “I saw you with it, actually,” Callie admitted. “Last evening in the cove.”

  “You should have waved. I would have given you a ride!” Duane tore off a chunk of garlic bread and popped it in his mouth.

  “I tend to get seasick,” Callie said, closing that door.

  “A shame,” he said between chews. “By the way,” he said, “I noticed you here once before with that financial planner guy, Jonathan Harman. Are you seeing him?”

  Callie squirmed at the question, unsure where it was leading. If she said no, was Duane going to suggest a date? But she didn’t want to pretend anything. “Just friends,” she said. “Or a friendly customer. He had rescued me from having to cook after an exhausting day.”

  “I just thought I’d bring something up in case you were.”

  “Oh? Bring up what?”

  Duane shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. Just something that bothered me about him. You know, a word to the wise to avoid problems down the line? But if you’re not dating or anything … ”

  “We’re not dating, but I don’t mind getting other people’s opinions. I’ll ultimately make up my own mind, of course, once I get to know folks better.”