A Fatal Collection

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Sure,” Duane said. “And as I said, it’s just a feeling I got. A not-so-great feeling when the guy came to the house one time to talk about financial planning. I know my way around finances pretty well, but I thought I’d at least listen to his pitch. See if he had any new ideas. The whole time he was there, though, I got the impression he was … oh, how do I put it? It felt like he was casing the joint.”

  “Casing the joint?”

  Duane laughed. “I know. Sounds like something from a gangster movie. But that’s exactly how it came across. As though Jonathan Harman was putting mental price tags on everything I own. It was kinda creepy.”

  Callie didn’t know what to make of that. “What are you saying? That he intended to break in and make off with your things?”

  “No, nothing like that!”

  “He is a financial planner. Perhaps he was just estimating your buying habits versus your income?”

  “Buying habits, sure. If you’re talking about big ticket items, that would make sense. But Harman seemed much too fascinated with every little thing around him. It felt, I don’t know, opportunistic, like he’d misrepresented his reason for being there, and I didn’t trust him because of it.” Duane laughed ruefully. “Then again, it might have just been me.”

  Callie smiled politely, unsure how to take any of that. She’d never picked up any vibes of the kind from Jonathan, though, of course, he’d never been to her cottage other than to quickly carry groceries in. But she did remember that Jonathan had told her he’d been in Duane’s shop yet hadn’t said a word about being in Duane’s home to discuss financial planning. Did that mean anything? Had he omitted that for some reason? Was Duane being truthful?

  Movement in the aisle caught Callie’s eye, and she saw someone being led in their direction by the hostess. It was Delia. Delia spotted her at the same time, and Callie watched her friend’s face light up. But Delia then saw who was with Callie, and her face quickly fell.

  “Delia,” Callie called to her. “Come join us.”

  Duane, startled, looked up, and then he stood, seconding the invitation.

  Color rose in Delia’s face. She looked flustered. The hostess paused, waiting for her decision.

  “No, no,” Delia stammered. “Thank you, but no. I wouldn’t dream … that is, I really can’t stay. I should be getting take-out, as a matter of fact. Lots of work to do at home, you know.” She backed away, then pivoted and hurried off. Callie considered running after her to explain why Duane was with her but feared she’d only embarrass Delia more with Duane looking on. She felt awful but helpless, which morphed into anger with Duane—who was, after all, the root of it all. Why didn’t he see how Delia felt?

  But Callie reminded herself of the suspicions she had of the man, which she’d conveniently put aside when he joined her. If those suspicions were ultimately proven to be true, she should instead be glad that Duane didn’t encourage Delia. The problem was, Delia wasn’t going to see it that way, at least for now.

  Callie realized she was partly to blame and scolded herself. There she was, chatting and laughing with Duane, giving Delia a mistaken impression in the process, instead of peppering him with questions on important points as she should have.

  “Getting dessert?” Duane asked, blithely unaware of Callie’s dark musings regarding him.

  “Hmm?” Callie blinked. “Oh, um, yes. Good idea.” She nodded, then smiled. It was a very good idea. She’d have more time to actually do something productive.

  Twenty-Two

  Duane hadn’t needed urging to order dessert for himself, and he dug into his chocolate pie à la mode with relish. Callie had ordered a small dish of ice cream, which, after finishing only half of her mega-sized dinner, she was only able to pick at.

  “So,” she said, tasting a dab of ice cream, “I was wondering about taking a booth at a festival. They sent me—my aunt, actually—an application. I’d have to transport a lot of my stock and spend two days there, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Have you done things like that? Is it worth it?”

  Duane nodded, having just scooped up a generous forkful of pie. “Several times,” he said when he could talk. “But never too far from home. I’m trying to build clientele at those events, not necessarily make sales on the premises, although that’s always nice.”

  “I’d have to close my shop at least part of the time. Tabitha wouldn’t be able to take over full time. But then, so do you, I suppose. Or do you get someone to run your shop while you’re gone?”

  “No, I close up.”

  “And you don’t mind losing the business?”

  “It generally balances out,” he said. “Plus,” he added with a small grin, “I look at it as a small vacation. A couple nights in a nice hotel, great restaurants, a lot of it tax deductible as business expenses. And both Baltimore and the DC area have casinos, now.”

  Callie smiled back, though the thought of tossing away her money at a roulette wheel or slot machine didn’t appeal to her. Apparently it did to Duane, unless he’d come up with a magical method that guaranteed winning.

  “The festival I’m talking about,” she said, “is in a small town in Pennsylvania, just north of the Maryland line.”

  Duane shook his head. “Too far. Waste of effort. Stick to the cities.” He worked on another forkful of pie. “The bigger shows also give you a chance to see what’s available. Scores of wholesalers come by with special offers. You get to know a lot of people. The last one I went to was at the Baltimore Convention Center. Huge.”

  That must have been the one happening when Aunt Mel was killed, Callie thought. “Frankly, it sounds exhausting,” she said. “Noise, crowds of people constantly coming and going. I’m probably not as much of a people person as you and wouldn’t do as well with that kind of thing. Plus, I seem to catch whatever bug happens to be going around.”

  “Not much danger of that during warm weather. Fall and winter are the flu and cold seasons.”

  “Oh, right,” Callie said. But Duane had told Delia he’d stayed home from Aunt Mel’s funeral because of a bad cold he’d caught at the glass show. She pressed a little more. “So that show at the Baltimore arena was recent?”

  He held up two fingers. “Couple of weeks ago,” he said when he could.

  “And you always stay in town instead of commuting back and forth?”

  “Always.” Duane scraped at his plate for the few remaining crumbs. “Except once.”

  Callie lifted her eyebrows questioningly.

  “The time that handyman was doing some work for me.”

  “Elvin?”

  “That’s him. I had him fixing the roof on my shed after doing the same on the sun room I added at the back of my house. Heavy rain was predicted, so I didn’t want to put it off. But I didn’t like the thought of him being around without me there, at least overnight. So I drove back and forth, and even dropped by in the middle of one of the days, just to let him know it could happen.”

  “But that wasn’t during the latest show?”

  “Last fall. Wore me out, all that driving, but it had to be done. Cost me plenty in gas, but I still made out. The guy works cheap,” he said with a grin. “Well, this was great!” he said, wiping his hands with a paper napkin. He’d nearly licked his platter clean. “We should do it again sometime.”

  “Yes,” Callie agreed weakly, wishing she’d come up with better questions to ferret out more from him. Besides the fact that Duane must have lied about having caught a bad cold at the last glass show, all Callie had learned was that, although willing to hire Elvin at a bargain price, Duane had a low opinion of his trustworthiness. Not exactly helpful as far as Aunt Mel’s death was concerned, but it told her something about the man himself.

  She picked up her box of leftovers—Duane had none—and led the way out. At least she’d come away with another night’s dinner.

 
; •

  When Callie got home, she looked toward Delia’s cottage and saw only a single light on in an upstairs room. A clear signal that her neighbor didn’t want visitors. She sighed and let herself into her own cottage. She welcomed Jagger’s excited greeting, even knowing it was based more on “Callie, Food Source” than on herself as a person. She’d take what she could get. After filling Jagger’s bowl and leaving him to it, she tried calling Delia but got only her voicemail. She sighed again and went upstairs to change into comfy pajamas. She was in for the night.

  Gathering up a basketful of dirty laundry, Callie carried it down to start a load, feeling low as she thought of Delia possibly sitting unhappily in her room and unsure if things could be fixed between them. If she had come away from the diner with the conviction that Duane was either guilty or innocent of killing Aunt Mel, it would have been worth it. But she didn’t feel any closer to that verdict than she’d been before. Plus, she still had the unpleasant memory of how the meeting with Mark Eggers had ended.

  Gloom threatened to descend, and Callie fought against it by keeping busy—folding laundry, listening to music, clearing away more of the boxes from West Virginia, until fatigue finally sent her to her bed. Before turning off the light, though, she checked through the emails on her phone. Maybe by some miracle she’d find one from Aunt Mel’s reunion organizer with information about Tom.

  The miracle didn’t appear, but as she continued scrolling and deleting spam, her phone rang. It was Hank. Any other time she would have let it go, but at the moment, answering the call seemed preferable to being left alone to sink further into her dark mood.

  “Hey, babe, you picked up!”

  “Hi Hank. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem. Our gig tonight got canceled. Outdoors and bad weather.”

  “I’m sorry. Will they make it up?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

  “Why aren’t you out with the gang?” she asked.

  “Just didn’t feel like it, you know? I mean, I was all hyped up for the gig, and then it’s like, nothing else is good enough. Except talking to you. Thanks for picking up.”

  “You’re welcome,” Callie answered, still surprised, actually, that she’d done so and that she didn’t feel like hanging up.

  “Everything okay with you down there?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, thinking she at least had a roof over her head and a source of income, so no justifiable complaints.

  “You don’t sound all that sure about it.”

  “Everything’s fine.” She wasn’t about to go into what was really weighing on her, or Hank would be on the road in a flash to try to fix things. Not that he had a prayer of actually accomplishing it. But sometimes he could be sweet in that way. “It’s just one of those days,” she assured him.

  “Know what you mean. Used to be a lot better, though, remember?”

  She did. There had been plenty of good times.

  “Remember that time … ” He launched into describing a night that Callie remembered well, when they both had been so young and everything was new and exciting. Hank’s band had been playing to a good crowd. His solo got a standing ovation, and he’d pulled her up on the stage to share his moment. Okay, it wasn’t Nashville, but it felt as good as, at the time. And Nashville was just a step or two away, or so they’d convinced themselves. It was a thrilling night.

  But there were good times away from the spotlight as well. Great friends, unexpected fun events along the way. Callie enjoyed thinking back on it and laughed along with Hank as he reminisced. She allowed herself to feel nostalgic, partly because she’d been feeling so down, and maybe also being half asleep. But she snapped back to reality when Hank coaxed, “How about you come up for a few days?”

  “No, Hank.”

  “C’mon. We could—”

  “No, Hank. Sorry.”

  “I could come down there.”

  “Don’t even think of it, Hank.”

  “But I thought—”

  “You were mistaken.” Why had she opened that door even a little bit? Didn’t she know how quickly he could wriggle that pointy-toed boot of his into the smallest crack to worm his way in? “Hank,” she said. “It was good talking to you, but that’s it. I’m going to say good night and that’ll be the end of it. Okay?”

  “But—”

  “Good night, Hank.”

  She hung up and stared at the phone, waiting for it to ring. When, after a full minute, it didn’t, she exhaled and set it down. She turned off her light, chastising herself for her moment of weakness and sure she’d toss and turn half the night as punishment. But when she was eventually awakened by her phone’s ring, a glance at the clock told her several hours had gone by and it was nearly six. She grabbed the phone, sure it was Hank and furious that he would call again. Then she read the caller ID: Brian Greer.

  “Brian?” she said, shaking the fuzziness from her head.

  “Callie, sorry if I woke you. I just learned that Elvin is in the hospital. It sounds serious. I’m heading over there and wondered if you’d come? I could use a little help.”

  “I’ll be ready in five.” She didn’t waste time asking what had happened but swung her legs over the edge of the bed and jumped up to grab some clothes.

  She’d get the details on the way over.

  Twenty-Three

  Brian’s classic red Chevy was waiting at the curb as expected when she hurried out in cropped pants, a freshly laundered shirt, and sneakers, her hair hastily tied back. She slid into the passenger seat and buckled up, then gratefully accepted the personal-sized thermos of coffee he held out to her.

  “It’s last night’s, reheated,” he said. “But I figured it’d still be better than anything from the hospital vending machine.” He waited for her to take a drink before pulling away from the curb, then told her what he knew.

  “Elvin crashed an ATV into a tree sometime around two this morning. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, so I’m guessing head injury. At the least.”

  “How awful!” Callie cried. “Where did it happen? Whose ATV? His?”

  “Somewhere in the woods behind the cove. And no, it couldn’t have been his, that’s for sure. But I don’t know whose it was.”

  She mulled over the information for a moment as he negotiated a left turn on the way to the highway. “Who called you?”

  “The hospital. Elvin had a card in his wallet with my name and number listed as his emergency contact. Apparently I’m the closest thing he has to family.”

  “How sad,” she said, and saw Brian glance at her with amusement. “I mean, of course, sad that he has no family, not that you—”

  “I know. But,” he said, “stand-in family that I am, I want to chew him out for doing such a stupid thing.” His tone turned solemn. “I hope I get the chance.”

  Callie reached over to squeeze his arm. She barely knew Elvin and felt pretty bad. She could only imagine how awful Brian must feel.

  •

  The early Sunday morning traffic was light, and they made good time to the medical center. The trip, Brian told her, would normally have taken forty minutes. They made it in twenty-five. Negotiating the huge campus, parking, and locating the area where Elvin would be took another frustrating fifteen. But once they finally spoke to someone who could update them on his condition, what they heard was “He’s in surgery right now. It could be a while.”

  They were directed to the waiting area by the kindly but busy woman behind the desk and took seats, though within seconds Brian was up and pacing. Hospital staff passed to and fro and friends or family of other patients came and went, often collected by aides while Callie and Brian were left to themselves.

  Brian, his adrenaline eventually worn down, sat on the stiff plastic couch beside Callie. “I hate hospitals,” he said, his hands clasped over
his knees.

  “Not my favorite place either,” Callie agreed.

  “I mean, I really hate them.”

  She looked over at the intensity of his tone.

  “My brother was sick a lot when I was a kid.”

  “Your brother?” This was the first Callie had heard of a brother.

  “Yeah. He died when I was twelve. He—Pauly—was only eight.” Brian’s voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat noisily.

  “That must have been tough.”

  Brian nodded. “There were so many hospital stays. Starting when he was just a baby. Each one longer, none of them doing any good, at least as far as I could see. It got so I hated the smells that hit you when you first walked in. I can’t stand the smell of antiseptics to this day. It brings it all back.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Callie put a hand on his arm and felt the tension in it. She understood, now, why he’d asked her to come. He wouldn’t have wanted to put Annie through a similar reaction.

  She remembered the hospital visits to see her dad during those final weeks. She’d been older than Brian was with his brother, almost seventeen, which probably made it easier. Although easy wasn’t exactly the word she’d choose. Still, being nearly grown up was better than twelve. She wasn’t about to bring any of that up, though.

  “Would you rather wait outside? I could call you as soon as I hear something.”

  “No. I’ll be okay. Just thought I should explain why I’m so jumpy. That, plus worrying about Elvin.”

  Callie searched for some means of distraction. The TV mounted on the wall spouted news that they’d already heard three times. The months-old magazines scattered around weren’t going to do it. “Would you like to tell me,” she asked, “how you manage to come up with some of the amazing specials on your café menu? Things like the veggie sandwich on nut bread. Are they state secrets, or can you talk about it?”

  Brian looked over, his eyes showing awareness of what she was doing. But she saw appreciation along with a spark of interest.