A Fatal Collection

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “That must be a dilly of a virus. I hope you won’t come down with it next.”

  “I’ve taken precautions,” Annie said with a small grin.

  “You’re sliding his food through a slit in the door?”

  “Not that drastic, though I did consider it. With my boys starting summer vacation soon, I can’t be down and out. Have you inspected your front sidewalk, by the way? You know what Kids at Heart got hit with, right?”

  “I do, and I did. Laurie Hart has suspicions about who might have caused it all.”

  Annie pondered a bit, then said, “Duane Fletcher?”

  “So you’ve heard about all that.”

  “Some. I’ve only met Duane a couple of times, but something about him put me on edge.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Annie leaned a hand on her counter, thinking. “It might have just been me. I tend to be a little suspicious of overly friendly people at first. But there’s something else about him.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s hard to pinpoint.”

  Callie wanted to ask if Annie thought Duane capable of the things Laurie was accusing him of, but since Annie had just said she’d met him only twice, she let it go. Sometimes, though, first impressions were spot on. Just the fact that Annie had strong reservations about the man …

  “Well, here’s your bread,” Annie said, interrupting Callie’s thoughts. “I’ve got to lock up and check on Brian before I take off.”

  “Of course. Give him my best, and thanks so much!” Callie tucked the wrapped loaf under her arm and left, realizing as she stepped outside that three women were peering through the glass of her shop door and probably wondering why the lights were on but the door was locked.

  “I’m coming,” she called out to them, and hurried across the street as soon as the traffic allowed. As she opened the door and waved the trio in, she glanced at the clock. It was five thirty. She’d hoped to close up a little before six o’clock to give herself a few extra minutes at the cottage. Would that still be possible?

  “Were you looking for anything in particular?” she asked but got discouragingly vague answers as the three wandered off in different directions, clearly in a browsing mood. At two minutes to six, one of the women finally brought a child’s musical snow globe to the counter. Callie was ready to ring it up when one of the younger women said, “Mom, Ali’s not into unicorns anymore.”

  “She isn’t? Then what does she like?”

  The two conferred as the unicorn globe was put back, and Callie watched her clock’s minute hand move ahead. The third woman suddenly showed interest in one of the better musical jewelry boxes, which Callie didn’t want to discourage, but the potential customer remained indecisive for several minutes while the other two dithered about Ali’s likely preferences.

  In the end, woman number three went off with a promise to think about the jewelry box a little more, and Callie rang up a ten dollar purchase of Disney’s Frozen characters in a musical snow globe. The last two customers were barely out the door before she swiftly turned the lock and pulled the shade.

  Within minutes she was dashing out her back door and into her cottage, hoping Jonathan would be either late or not starving. What, though, with the way things were going, was the likelihood of that?

  Twenty-Seven

  After throwing some cat food in Jagger’s bowl, Callie hurriedly brushed cat hair off the sofa cushions. She jogged upstairs to freshen up and change, then rushed back down to wash and trim her vegetables, mix up the sauce for the salmon, and get the salmon ready for the oven.

  In the middle of all that, she heard Grandpa Reed’s music box playing from inside the roll-top desk. She tried to ignore it, hoping it would soon stop, but as the time crept closer to seven, the music box continued to play in spurts. Finally Callie threw down her towel. She’d had enough.

  “Sorry to whomever or whatever is causing this, but I have a guest coming. I can’t have this bringing up questions I can’t answer.”

  She unlocked the desk and lifted out the music box, then wondered where to put it. If she simply moved it upstairs, the sound would likely carry. Then she thought of the blanket chest at the foot of her bed.

  “My apologies,” she said as she carried it there. “But it won’t be for long. After all, you brought it on yourself,” she chided. She set the music box on her bed, then lifted one thick blanket and a pillow out of the chest. She nestled the box on top of a puffy quilt at the bottom of the chest and covered it with the blanket and pillow. That, she thought, looking down with satisfaction, should surely muffle any music that might play during the evening.

  She’d barely trotted back down the stairs when her doorbell rang—precisely at seven—and she opened the door to Jonathan, standing on her doorstep with a bottle of wine. He was wearing a sports jacket over a shirt and tie with slacks, which made Callie feel instantly underdressed in the blouse and capris she’d changed into. But Jonathan quickly put her at ease.

  “I didn’t have time to go home and change. Mind if I shuck the jacket and tie?”

  “Please be comfortable.” Callie pulled a hanger out of her closet, then took the bottle of wine from him with a smile.

  “Had a few meetings with clients today,” Jonathan explained, slipping out of his jacket. “But I managed to stop in at the hospital, too. Elvin’s still being kept in the coma, so there’s no change.” He looped his tie around the hanger, then undid his top shirt button and rolled up the sleeves. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Not a thing until it’s time to open the wine.” Callie realized she didn’t know if she had a corkscrew, never having had a need until then. “How did you know to bring white wine?” she asked from the kitchen as she began scrambling through the tools drawer. “It’s perfect for what we’re having, which is salmon, by the way.”

  “Sounds great, and I have a confession to make. There’s a bottle of red sitting out in my car, just in case. I must have had a premonition about the white when I picked it to bring in.” Callie glanced over, thinking she was close to overload on hearing about anything psychic-related. She saw Jonathan take a seat and reach out coaxingly toward Jagger, who’d jumped down from another chair. Jagger paused to allow a brief head scratch but then continued on his way up the stairs. Jonathan leaned back comfortably. “Nice place,” he said.

  “You’ve never been here?”

  “Never had the pleasure.”

  “As you can see, it’s space-challenged. No dining room, so we’ll have to eat in the kitchen, I’m afraid.” Callie’s fingers landed on a corkscrew amidst the spatulas, whisks, and peelers, and she pulled it out triumphantly. “But you won’t have to break into the wine bottle with a screwdriver!”

  “That’s good news,” Jonathan said, grinning. “And kitchen dining is fine. I’m so grateful that I’d be willing to sit on your stairs with a plate on my lap.” He glanced around. “All this was Mel’s, I take it?”

  “A hundred percent. I had some of my things sent down, but only clothes and such. Mel’s furnishings were perfect as they were.”

  “I don’t see her music box. Didn’t you say you moved it here from the shop?”

  “I did.” Not wanting to admit where she’d banished it to or why, Callie simply said, “It’s tucked away for now.” She tested her vegetables and the salmon, which had been steaming and baking. “Almost ready here. Would you like to open the wine?”

  Jonathan came over to handle that, and Callie pulled out two wine glasses and set them on the small table next to Aunt Mel’s pretty, floral-patterned plates. She’d found a white tablecloth the night before, which she’d hoped to top with a centerpiece of flowers from the garden. Time had run out on her for that, but she saw there wouldn’t have been room, anyway. All in all, she was happy with her table and only hoped the food would live up to it.

  They took their seats and passed servin
g dishes back and forth. Fairly soon, Callie could see that Jonathan was enjoying everything, as was she, and she relaxed.

  “Love this sauce,” Jonathan exclaimed, dabbing a little more of it on his salmon. “What’s in it?”

  “Top secret,” Callie said, then laughed. “It’s simply dill, lemon juice, and capers mixed into plain yogurt. And a little salt and pepper. It’s my mom’s recipe.”

  “Delicious. And your mom lives where?”

  “A small town in northern California.”

  “That’s where you grew up?”

  “More or less. We moved there when I was ten. I left when I was nineteen.”

  Jonathan nodded and seemed on the verge of asking about the later years. But perhaps picking up that Callie would rather not get into that, he instead said, “I’ve been to northern California a few times. Beautiful area.”

  “It is. Have you always lived here on the Eastern Shore?”

  “Just for the last few years,” he said. “It was cities before that, but I like the peace and quiet and privacy here.” He seemed to stress the word privacy a bit, and Callie, appreciating his restraint regarding her past history, returned the favor. She did wonder about family or other relationships, which Jonathan had barely mentioned so far, but she was fine with waiting until he chose to share more.

  “Elvin mentioned your impressive collection of music boxes,” she said. When Jonathan looked up in surprise, she explained, “This was after he worked on your tree. When you brought him inside to cool down.”

  “That’s right. I remember him looking at them, rather puzzled. There are a lot. But you know about how my grandparents got me started on that.”

  “I do. Tabitha said you particularly like ones with some history attached. She mentioned that because I’ll be traveling tomorrow to an estate sale.”

  “Are you? Where?”

  “A town called Mullica Hill in New Jersey. It’s apparently quite a focal point for antique lovers.”

  “I’ve heard of it, though I’ve never been there. A long drive?”

  “Long enough to make it an overnight.”

  “Probably a good idea. Yes, I do like music boxes with a story attached. It makes the music that much sweeter, to my mind. But it’s still the music that resonates with me.”

  “Yes, I remember that you like Strauss and his era,” Callie said, thinking of the music box Mel had ordered for Jonathan that was delivered with Ode to Joy instead of The Blue Danube that he’d wanted.

  “It’s a special favorite.”

  “So, in Mullica Hill I’ll keep an eye out for anything from that time period.”

  Jonathan smiled.

  Callie mentioned how she’d decided on the last-minute trip partly because of the stresses of the last two weeks. “I’m hoping the time on my own, short though it is, will help me recharge.”

  “I know what you mean. When there have been too many days in a row with difficult clients, I like to decompress with a quiet stroll along the cove. Nothing more relaxing for me than watching the wildlife on the water.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t have that spoiled from now on by Duane Fletcher buzzing by with his new boat, as happened to me a few days ago. He apparently has his own way of relaxing. I did appreciate running into him the other day at the diner.” Callie paused. “But that’s a long story.” When Jonathan assured her he’d enjoy hearing it, she told him about Karl Eggers’s nephew trying every trick he could come up with to get her to sell her shop, then stalking off furiously when she resisted. “Duane rescued me from sinking into solitary embarrassment,” she finished.

  “He can be quite the people person,” Jonathan agreed.

  “I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to imply that you’d been to his house once to discuss financial planning. Was that right?”

  “Hmm? Oh, right! That was some time ago.” Jonathan took a sip of his wine. “Nice place, if I remember. He’d added a sun room to the back of it.”

  “Lots of glass collectibles around?”

  “Some. What really caught my attention was the sheer volume of art he had on his walls.”

  “Oh? What kind?”

  “All kinds. Oils, watercolors, modern, old. No particular taste or theme that I could see.”

  “That’s interesting.” Callie remembered Duane saying that Jonathan had struck him as too interested in his belongings. Maybe he’d just been trying to understand them?

  “They all looked quite good,” Jonathan said. “Seemed like originals, not copies.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “Possibly. But it was the amount of what Duane had that was, well, overwhelming.”

  That was interesting.

  When they’d finished, Callie suggested they have their coffee in the living room, and she shooed Jonathan out of the kitchen instead of letting him help clean up, pointing out how the small space allowed for only one worker. But she’d also noticed the beginnings of a headache—a rarity for her. She put it down to the pressures of the day and hoped that it would go away now that things had wound down. Jonathan had turned down dessert, and she was glad. She wasn’t the least bit hungry for it herself, and it wasn’t as though she’d gone to any trouble over the small cake beyond choosing it at the store. Besides the headache, she was fairly tired and didn’t mind at all having less to deal with.

  She brought out the coffee, then, and found herself glancing surreptitiously at Aunt Mel’s wall clock, then chastising herself for it. Jonathan had been a perfect guest and she shouldn’t be so eager to see him go. But unfortunately, she was.

  So when she offered a refill on his coffee and he declined, Callie was relieved, but then felt instantly guilty. It wasn’t his fault that she was tired and her head ached. She might have hustled those last dawdling customers along a little better and given herself a few minutes to relax.

  “This has been great,” Jonathan said after retrieving his sports jacket and tie and slinging them over his arm. “You’re an excellent cook.”

  Callie smiled but shook her head, knowing how simple her menu had been. “Your wine made all the difference. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Jonathan said. He stepped out the door, then paused to look up. “No motion detector lights yet?”

  “I haven’t had the time.”

  “I can look into it for you, if you like. It’s been a while since mine were installed, but I might still have the name of the firm or could track down a new one.”

  “That would be great, Jonathan. I’d appreciate that.”

  “As I’ve appreciated tonight’s dinner. Thank you again.”

  Callie waited at the doorway until Jonathan was out of sight, then tiredly closed and locked it. As she turned, she saw Jagger coming down the stairs.

  “Well, weren’t you the gracious host,” she began to mock-scold, but he rubbed against her legs so engagingly that she leaned down to pet him. That, however, caused a rush of pain in her head. Callie straightened, carried the used coffee cups to the kitchen, checked that there was food and water in Jagger’s bowls, and then dragged herself off to bed. Two aspirin and a good night’s sleep, she assured herself, would fix her up for the next day.

  Twenty-Eight

  Despite her hopes, Callie woke the next morning feeling as though she’d barely slept and that her head was stuffed with cotton. A strong cup of coffee was definitely needed.

  She discovered she’d never turned on her dishwasher the night before or even added the dirty coffee cups to it, so she finished that job, then downed a glass of juice while the dishwasher chugged and her coffee perked. By the time she’d showered and dressed, she felt slightly better but not very hungry—which she put down to her later-than-normal dinner of the night before—and she passed on breakfast and instead carried a mug of coffee with her to the shop.

  After opening up he
r shop, Callie sank onto a behind-the-counter stool, feeling as energized as an elderly slug. A few customers wandered in but browsed as lackadaisically as she felt, and she attributed that to the ongoing hot weather and humidity that tended to sap the life out of one. When her customers had gone off without buying, she was pleased to see Delia heading toward her door. But once her friend walked in, Callie saw signs of distress.

  “Laurie Hart got Krystal Cobb to call an emergency association meeting tonight,” Delia said.

  “Emergency? Why?” As soon as it came out, Callie knew.

  “Laurie is pushing a vote on paying for an audit on Duane’s bookkeeping. It’s horrible. It’s terribly insulting. Duane doesn’t deserve such an action. Will you come and vote against it? I told Duane I’d round up as many association members as I could to come and support him.”

  Callie gulped. What could she say? She’d already told Laurie she’d back her up on voting for an audit, but she hated to disappoint Delia. Then she remembered.

  “I’m afraid I can’t be there. I’m leaving this afternoon to drive up to an estate sale. I’ll be gone overnight.”

  “Oh! Perhaps you can phone in your vote, then? Though Duane was hoping to have a large presence of supporters. There’ll be a discussion ahead of the vote, which could make all the difference. He’ll be sorry not to see you there.” Delia was nodding to show acceptance of Callie’s answer though she was clearly disappointed. “I’ll tell him about your trip. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “I’m sorry,” Callie said, feeling more regret over Delia’s feelings than Duane’s. But there was always the chance that the examination of the books—if it came to that—wouldn’t turn anything up. For her friend’s sake, at least, she hoped that would be the case.

  “I’ve got to run,” Delia said. “Lots more shops to get to.”

  Delia hurried off. She’d barely disappeared from sight before Callie’s phone rang.

  “Emergency meeting at the library tonight. Seven o’clock.” Callie recognized Laurie Hart’s voice.