Laurie told Callie, and probably everyone who would listen, that Duane had revealed his true character through his spiteful actions and that she still believed the audit that had been voted for would reveal many irregularities.
Unsurprisingly, Delia’s feelings for Duane had cooled considerably after hearing what he’d done to the Harts. “He’s not the person I thought he was,” she said, though Callie heard that Duane still had several supporters. Apparently charm and charisma carried one a long way, but time would likely tell.
Tabitha had offered to come in early again that day, but Callie assured her she was ready to return to the usual schedule. She was glad, though, that customers so far had been few. The woman who’d kept her late the night of her dinner with Jonathan returned to buy the musical jewelry box she’d been looking at, so that definitely made up for it.
“I told my husband he could consider this my birthday gift,” the customer told Callie as she watched her pack up the jewelry box. “He was happy not to have to come up with anything himself and didn’t even ask what it cost.”
As the woman left, clutching her package protectively, Callie saw Orlena approaching and went to meet her colorfully dressed neighbor at the door.
“Thank you, my dear,” Orlena said as she floated in wearing another multi-colored caftan, though her mood didn’t seem to match its brightness. “I noticed you were here and wanted to see for myself that you are all right.” She held Callie by the shoulders and inspected her earnestly before crushing her in a great hug. “I was horrified to hear what you went through,” she said, “but so relieved to see you’re well. You are, aren’t you?” She held Callie out again at arm’s length.
“I am,” Callie assured her. “The flu might actually have been worse than my injury, and I can’t blame that part on Jonathan.”
“Evil man! If he had been to my shop, I might have seen him for what he was and been able to warn you. But we never came face to face.”
“He was clever at keeping his true self hidden,” Callie said.
Orlena paused. “I did want to make sure you’re well, but I came here for another reason also,” she said. “To explain myself.”
Callie waited.
“I held back my true thoughts about Duane Fletcher when you asked about him, and also when Laurie Hart begged me to vote for the audit. I had my reasons, and I’m sorry to say they were not unselfish.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t for myself,” Orlena assured her. “But family is next to one’s self, is it not? It was for my baby sister. Alyshia needed Duane’s goodwill to start up her restaurant. He has been considering investing in it, which is absolutely necessary. How could I say anything against him when my sister’s future lay in his hands?”
“I understand.”
“I have never had a good feeling about him, but not concerning his honesty. What I have seen and never liked was what just came out in his actions against the Harts—his deep-down, petty meanness. But he has money to invest, and I convinced myself to overlook a lot if he would help my baby sister reach her dream. Though I did warn her about his other side.”
“And she’s okay with it?”
Orlena nodded. “Alyshia said that if his check cleared, everything else between them after that would be through the bank. He would only be a silent partner while she ran the restaurant. And it will be a good restaurant, believe me! But,” she went on, “I tell you this in confidence, you see, because maybe people who don’t like Duane won’t come to my sister’s restaurant if they know he is involved with it, and that wouldn’t be right. But I know I can trust you. You are a good person. I wanted you to understand my silence.”
“It was totally reasonable,” Callie assured her. “When I asked you about Duane, you know, I had in mind a much worse crime than disrupting someone’s shop. It turns out he wasn’t guilty of murder, so no harm done. What kind of restaurant will your sister have?”
Orlena smiled broadly. “Caribbean, of course! Ackee, callaloo, curry shrimp! It will be wonderful.”
And won’t compete with Brian’s café, Callie was pleased to realize. “Sounds intriguing. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“Looking forward to what?” Tabitha asked as she walked in.
“To my baby sister’s new restaurant,” Orlena answered. “But it won’t be ready for a while. In the meantime, Tabitha, you and I must be sure to watch over our friend after what she has suffered—you with your cards, me with my third eye. We will keep her safe from now on.”
“Great,” Callie said. “Just wrap me in bubble wrap right now and keep me from talking to any strangers for the rest of my life. Sounds like fun!”
Orlena laughed heartily and gave Callie a farewell hug. “No bubble wrap, dear one. But you will have to listen to our warnings. Right, Tabitha?” she asked on her way out the door.
“Well,” Tabitha hedged until Orlena had moved on, “I guess it would help if the warnings were more specific. I thought someone might be a danger to you, but I couldn’t point out exactly who or how.”
“That’s pretty much the way everything is though, isn’t it?” Callie asked. “We get hints and clues, but it’s up to us to put it all together. I know I’ll be a lot more alert from now on.”
Tabitha nodded. “On another note, Laurie and Bill’s sidewalk is fixed and they’re good to go.”
“And that should be the end of any other problems caused by Duane.”
“And by Jonathan,” Tabitha added, “now that he’s in custody. With solid proof to keep him there.” She paused. “Has Mel’s music box been quiet?”
“It has. Ever since it woke me up in the middle of the night when Jonathan was in the house. Maybe I’ve heard the last from it.”
Tabitha cocked an eyebrow but made no comment. “You’re keeping it, right? I mean, now that you know how valuable it is, you could … ”
“That music box has more value to me in a whole other way,” Callie said. She would never part with it, but she hoped she’d reached the end of any more “messages” from it, and, in particular, the need for them.
She thought about how her phone had rung that night in the shop, just as her ability to stall Jonathan was about to run out. Delia, who’d frantically called Brian and Karl, said she hadn’t tried to call her. And later, when Callie checked, there was no record of a call to her phone at that time.
That didn’t completely surprise her, after all that had already happened, but she decided to keep it to herself. Some things, she felt, were best left unsaid.
•
That evening, Callie was checking emails on her phone while curled up on the sofa with Jagger when she saw one from a name she didn’t recognize: Thomas Hodder. She stared at it for a moment until it came to her. Tom. She opened it.
Dear Ms. Reed, it began. Patty Wilkens informed me you were interested in contacting me in regards to your aunt, Melodie Reed. I would be very happy to speak with you.
He gave a cell number and invited her to call that evening.
Callie stood and walked around her small living room for several minutes. What would she say? What would he say? Finally, she made the call.
“This is Callie Reed,” she said. “Mr. Hodder?”
“Yes, this is Tom. Thank you for calling. I wasn’t brave enough to speak to you at Melodie’s funeral. But I’m ready now.”
“I think I have most of the answers to the questions I had, Mr. Hodder. You were someone very special to my aunt. I don’t need to pry any further.”
“No, you have the right to understand, Ms. Reed. I think Melodie would want it.”
Callie waited while Tom cleared his voice. “Melodie and I were very dear to one another back in high school. But we were young, things happened, and we foolishly separated. We found each other again at the twenty-fifth reunion. Twenty-five years! So much time, and yet it was as
if no time at all had passed. Nothing between us had changed. We knew we both felt the same. The problem was, during those years I had married.”
Yes, Callie thought that might be the case.
“You might ask, Ms. Reed—”
“Callie, please.”
“Callie, you might wonder why, if I felt such love for Melodie, why didn’t I divorce my wife so we could be together? It wasn’t, however, so simple. My wife, you see, has suffered for several years with severe mental illness. She’s been hospitalized much of the time. None of this is her fault, of course, but I simply couldn’t leave her. I’m all she has, the last thread connecting her to reality.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Melodie understood,” Tom continued. “And when I sometimes weakened under the stress and vowed I would free myself, she wouldn’t let me. She said our time would come. I don’t know what I would have done without Melodie during some of the worst times. She helped me through them and kept me sane. I miss Melodie terribly,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was at the funeral, as I said, but I blended in as one of the many who were there. I needed to say that final goodbye.”
“I’m glad you were there. I wish we’d met.”
“I wish things had been different, and Melodie and I had never parted all those years ago. What’s that quotation?” he asked. “The saddest words are ‘what might have been’?”
“Something like that.” Callie’s heart ached, not only for her aunt but for this man whose life might have been so much happier had he made the right decision at the right time.
“Well, that’s my story, our story. Thank you for letting me tell it. I won’t take up any more of your time.”
“I have plenty of time,” Callie said. “I’d be very happy to meet, Tom, if you’d like.”
“Let me think about that,” he said. “I’ll get back to you.”
“Please do.” They said goodbye and Callie sat, stroking Jagger lightly and thinking of all she’d just heard. The music box, she realized, had remained silent during the call. Did that mean Aunt Mel was at peace? She hoped so.
After quite a while, her phone rang, and Callie smiled as she saw that it was Brian.
“Hi,” he said. “I wondered how you were doing. How did your first day back in the shop go?”
How did it go? Callie thought about her early skepticism about things “settling down.” In some ways, though, they had. Orlena had explained her mysterious reticence, and Tom’s phone call had answered her remaining questions. But talking with Tom also stirred up plenty of the emotions concerning her aunt that Callie had only just begun to deal with.
“Fine, but tiring,” she said.
“Too tired to go for a little walk? There’s a gorgeous sunset right now. And I’ve got ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” Callie smiled, thinking that sometimes the right decisions at the right times were a lot simpler. “See you out front.”
As she started to pull the cottage door closed behind her, she paused to listen. Not a sound came from inside the roll-top desk.
“Good night, Aunt Mel,” she whispered. “And, thanks.”
the end
Acknowledgments
No book reaches publication through the efforts of one person alone. My thanks go out first to my husband, Terry, for his ongoing support as well as the countless times he helped me out of the tight spots I’d written myself into. I’m also grateful to the members of my critique group—Shaun Taylor Bevins, Becky Hutchison, Sherriel Mattingly, Debbi Mack, Bonnie Settle, and Marcia Talley—for catching problems but also sharing their enthusiasm. Many thanks to Terri Bischoff, Sandy Sullivan, and the entire Midnight Ink team for their final, careful molding of my loose pages into a polished book. And of course to Kim Lionetti, whose agenting skills got the whole thing started.
About the Author
Mary Ellen Hughes is the bestselling author of the Pickled and Preserved Mysteries (Penguin), the Craft Corner Mysteries (Penguin), and the Maggie Olenski Mysteries (Avalon), along with several short stories. A Fatal Collection is her debut with Midnight Ink. A Wisconsin native, she has lived most of her adult life in Maryland, where she’s set many of her stories. Visit her online at www.MaryEllenHughes.com.
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