A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  It wasn’t one of her top-of-the-line music boxes, but it was definitely priced higher than her quick-sale, touristy ones because of its quality design and construction. “Who-eee!” Hank said as he found the price tag. Then, to Callie’s surprise, he said, “I’ll take it.”

  “Hank, you don’t have to—”

  “No, I want it. It’s nice. I like it.” He carried it over to the counter and pulled out his wallet.

  What was he up to? Callie couldn’t help wondering. Hank didn’t normally go in for things like music boxes, preferring to funnel most of his cash into career-related items: guitars, performance clothing, and such. This, for him, was a big stretch.

  “You’re sure you want to spend—?” Callie stopped herself, not wanting to actually say that it might be a bit pricey for him.

  Hank grinned, picking up her drift anyway. “Things are goin’ good. Bobby’s booked us solid. Plus”—he paused dramatically—“he’s got a record deal for us in the works.”

  “Really! That’s fantastic! So joining up with him was a good move, huh?”

  “Looks like,” Hank agreed, nodding. “I wasn’t so sure at first, remember? Bobby’s had his ups and downs, mostly due to his drinking problem. But he’s got himself back on track and that’s all in the past. Things are lookin’ pretty fine, babe.”

  “I’m happy for you, Hank,” Callie said, and she really was. Although she and Hank were better off apart—make that much better off—she continued to wish him well. “I hope the record deal turns into all you’ve always hoped for.”

  “Could be,” he said, nodding, a deeply pleased smile on his face. “Could be.” His phone dinged and he pulled it out of a shirt pocket to read the text. “It’s from Bobby,” he said. Seeing Callie’s eyebrows shoot up, he grinned but shook his head. “Not about the deal. Just wants help checking the equipment. You gonna come to the show?”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Eight o’clock. Prime time. Someone else is the warm-up act.”

  Callie smiled, remembering all the times Hank’s band had been the lower-ranked and lesser-paid opening act. Again, Keepsake Cove wasn’t exactly Nashville, but she was glad he was feeling good about it. “I’ll be there.” She handed his credit card back and passed over the packed-up music box, noticing its weight despite the compact size. “Be good to it,” she said with a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  Hank winked, touched his hat brim in a salute, and headed out. Callie watched as he walked past her shop windows, then glanced down at her copy of the receipt. Not too long ago she would have wondered if Hank’s payment would go through. Happily—for both of them—it didn’t seem to be a concern anymore.

  But Hank being in Keepsake Cove so unexpectedly was a bit staggering. How was she going to deal with it? How had it come about without her knowing? That last question answered itself fairly quickly: she hadn’t been on any planning committees. But who was? Callie picked up her phone to find out.

  “Duane Fletcher headed the entertainment committee,” Delia informed her. “I knew the band’s name but not who the members were. Even so, I might not have recognized Hank’s name. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to apologize for. Duane either. Come to think of it, if Duane had actually asked how I felt about booking Hank’s band, I wouldn’t have stood in his way. I’m just feeling a bit blindsided. But that’s nobody’s fault, except maybe Hank’s. He could have let me know.”

  “How awkward will it be?”

  “Well, I told Hank I’d come to his show, which is fine. But I expected to go with Brian. I don’t know how he’ll feel about it.”

  “Brian’s a sensible guy. He knows that relationship is all in the past, right?”

  “He should. I’ve told him so, more than once.”

  “Then just get everything out in the open and over with. The sooner the better, I’d say.”

  “You’re right, of course, Delia. Thanks. Has your friend arrived yet, by the way?”

  “Jill texted that she’ll be here by seven. She told me not to fix dinner since she couldn’t guarantee when she’d arrive, so we’ll be going out. Want to join us?”

  “I’m sure you’ll have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll wait till tomorrow to meet her.”

  Delia didn’t argue, only promised to bring Jill over. After they hung up, Callie glanced across the street at the Keepsake Café. Though it was closed, she could see some of the lights on, which meant Brian was busy in the back. She pressed his number on her speed dial.

  “Hey!” he said, picking up.

  “Hey, yourself. I’ll be closing up in half an hour. Want to head over to Dino’s for something to eat?” Brian had a café’s worth of food at his fingertips, but it was dinner food that they needed. Plus, Callie knew he enjoyed getting away from his stove once in a while. “My treat,” she added as further enticement.

  “We’ll see about that, but yeah, it sounds great.”

  Since the weather was great, they decided to walk the few blocks to the diner in the commercial part of Mapleton rather than driving there in Brian’s refurbished 1967 Chevy Impala. Callie figured that along the way, she could get the news out about Hank’s presence at the festival, quickly resolve any questions, and free up the rest of the evening for pleasant relaxation.

  She glanced up at Grandpa Reed’s music box. Had she heard a tiny ping come from it? Probably not. After all, what could possibly be a worry with such a simple plan?

  Three

  Callie waited for Brian in front of House of Melody after closing up the shop and making a quick trip back to her cottage to feed Jagger, the large gray cat she’d inherited along with everything else of Aunt Mel’s. Besides fluffing her blond hair and adding a bit of color to her cheeks and lips, she’d changed from her skirt and blouse into jeans, a tee, and a light hoodie. Dino’s Diner was not a dress-up kind of place by any means, though it had reliably good comfort food. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of it, and she was glad to see Brian appear soon and jog across the street toward her.

  “Nice night,” he said, taking her hand as they turned to start their walk.

  “It is.” Callie answered, liking the feel of her hand in his much larger one. She also liked that he smelled lightly of Irish Spring, which blended nicely that evening with the scents of newly cut grass and the many spring blooms in the air. She’d left her hoodie unzipped and pushed the sleeves up, knowing the still-bright sunshine would keep her warm on the walk over. The trip back, after the sun set, would be a different story, though not by much.

  They walked in comfortable silence for a while, glancing into the Dickensian-style shop windows filled with colorful collectibles. Pearl’s Bangles and Beads displayed its rows of vintage necklaces and bracelets. Next to it, Dorothy Ashby’s collectible sewing shop was filled with beautiful thimbles and sewing baskets, and beyond that was a new shop totally devoted to John Wayne memorabilia. Callie had a feeling Hank had stopped in at that one.

  They crossed a street, and Callie cleared her throat. It was time to bring that ex-boyfriend up.

  “I had a surprise visitor this afternoon.”

  Brian looked over at her.

  “Totally unexpected,” she added. “It was Hank. Turns out his band is booked for the festival.”

  “Oh. Wow. That is a surprise.”

  Callie couldn’t tell from his tone exactly how Brian felt about the news. “Turns out Duane Fletcher handled the entertainment arrangements,” she said. “I’m sure he was simply looking for good but affordable.”

  “And are they?”

  “They’re probably good, though this is a new band for Hank so I’ve never heard it. All I know is that he’s pretty happy to be in it, and that says a lot. I have no idea about the affordability part.”

  “We’ll find out eventually,” Brian said. “When Duane gives his treasurer’s report. That is, unless
Laurie Hart’s already demanded an accounting.”

  Callie smiled, first at Brian’s reference to Laurie’s ongoing squinty-eyed view of Duane’s handling of the Keepsake Cove Shop Owners’ Association’s money. But also at his apparent focus on the festival budget rather than Hank’s presence. Apparent. She probed further.

  “So, as I said, Hank surprised me when he showed up at the shop this afternoon. I don’t expect to see much more of him, though I do want to hear the new band.”

  “Sure. Me too.”

  “Really?”

  Brian grinned at her. “Of course. And I’ll be pinned to your side every minute, watching him like a hawk with a dark, warning scowl on my face. Isn’t that the general routine?”

  Callie laughed. “Pretty much. Let me see the scowl, though.”

  Brian pulled his brows together, jutted his jaw, and made grunting noises.

  “Good. Just the right Neanderthal touch. Can you keep it up while line dancing?”

  “Uh-uh. That’s where I draw the line. Not the scowling. The dancing. Definitely not my thing.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you off the hook on that one.” Callie smiled to herself, happy with the message she’d received that Brian could be adult about the situation. Well, except for the Neanderthal business.

  They arrived at Dino’s and waited their turn to be seated. Within moments, a hostess was leading them through the large restaurant. As they followed, Callie heard her name called out and looked to the left to see Delia waving and beckoning.

  “I’ll just run over and say hello,” she said to Brian, who nodded and continued on to claim their table.

  “Hi!” Callie greeted Delia, then turned to the thin, dark-haired woman sitting across from her. “You must be Jill. I’m Callie Reed. Delia’s been so excited about you coming.”

  “Callie’s my next-door neighbor,” Delia added. “My wonderful next-door neighbor, I should say.”

  Jill smiled. “Glad to meet you, wonderful-neighbor Callie. It was so great of Delia to get me a spot in the festival. And to put me up, too.” Jill was forty-something, near Delia’s age since they’d been classmates, but Callie thought she looked older—possibly from the few streaks of gray running through her pulled-back hair, but also from the shadows under her eyes and a general look of tension. Those hinted at a tougher life. “I expect we’ll see a lot of each other in the next few days,” Jill said.

  “I hope so,” Callie said. “But it’ll probably be in fits and starts. I think we’ll both be kept pretty busy.”

  “Gosh, I sure hope we’re busy,” Jill said. “I could really use the extra cash.”

  “You’ll be a big hit at the festival,” Delia assured her. “I’ll steer plenty of people in your direction.”

  “I will, too,” Callie said, then glanced back to see that a waitress had come up to their window table. “I’d better go. So nice to meet you, Jill. Best of luck!” She hurried off and slipped into the chair opposite Brian. As he gave his order to the waitress, she glanced over the menu, though she’d already half-decided on the broiled fish platter. Now that she lived on the Eastern Shore and was surrounded on three sides by water, the abundance of super-fresh seafood had heightened her taste for the dish.

  “That’s Delia’s friend,” she told Brian after their waitress took off. “The one who’ll be doing the costume photography at the festival.”

  “Ah. So she made it.” Brian reached for a breadstick and broke off an end.

  “She seems anxious about getting enough business. I hope it works out for her.”

  “That’s always the unpredictable part with these things. Could go either way. At least she didn’t have to invest in supplies, since she must already have the camera and the costumes.”

  Callie heard the unspoken concern that was always a part of Brian’s budgeting—estimating the right amount of food to have on hand for his café, especially during special events. At least her music boxes, like Jill’s costumes, weren’t perishable. “Yes, if it doesn’t turn out well for her, all she’s lost are her travel costs and, of course, her time. What that means to her, of course, we don’t know.”

  Their food arrived, and they turned to it and to other subjects. Callie glanced over at Delia’s table occasionally and saw her chatting away with Jill, apparently having a great time catching up.

  She was glad for that. Delia lived alone in her cottage, just as Callie did, and though she had many friends in Keepsake Cove, Callie occasionally sensed loneliness in her. There had been that unfortunate disappointment with Duane Fletcher last summer. Duane could be quite charming and personable when he chose, and Delia, like many others, had been drawn in by it—and her feelings were of the romantic kind. But that had cooled quickly when a petty side to Duane showed itself during Laurie Hart’s challenge to his association bookkeeping. Delia had seemed fine since then, but Callie liked seeing her better than fine, as she was now.

  They’d finished their meals, and Brian had leaned back to enjoy his coffee, when Callie saw a strange look cross his face.

  “What …?” she started to ask, when that familiar baritone voice once again rang out behind her.

  “Babe!”

  Oh, Lord. Callie turned slowly. “Hank.”

  “Hey, spotted you through the window. What a coincidence!” Cowboy hat, boots, denims, and all, Hank loped across the diner toward her. “Bobby said, ‘Where do you want to eat?’ and I said, ‘Oh, just pick any place, I don’t care,’ and he picks the place you’re at! Who’d a’ guessed!”

  Before she knew it, Hank had pulled her to her feet and engulfed her in a hug. His shoulder blocked her from seeing Brian and nearly prevented her from drawing air. He released her and waved at the man a few steps behind to hurry over. “Callie, this is Bobby Linville.”

  Bobby, forty-something with thinning hair and a noticeable paunch beneath his open sports jacket, caught up, and before Callie could get out a word, claimed to have been looking forward to meeting her ever since finalizing the band’s gig at Keepsake Cove. “Hank here talks about you all the time!”

  A cough from Brian turned their heads in his direction.

  “Hey, man,” Hank said, seeming to notice Brian for the first time. “Sorry about that. We interrupting?”

  “Not at all. Brian Greer.” Brian had stood and held out his hand.

  “We were just finishing dinner,” Callie said as Hank and Bobby reached over to shake hands, noting Brian’s more-than-polite demeanor and grateful for it. “So we’re leaving soon. But we’ll both see you at the festival. Tomorrow, right?”

  Hank looked back and forth between Brian and Callie. “Yeah, tomorrow. You’re gonna love the new music. Oh, hey!” he said, spotting movement outside. “There’s the rest of the band comin’ now. We’ve been settin’ up and rehearsin’ for hours. Everyone’s starved.” He turned to Bobby. “Let’s go grab us a table, huh?”

  “Right.” But as Hank turned to go, Bobby reached into the bag he’d been carrying and pulled out a thick batch of papers. “Got these printed up just today,” he said to Callie. “You can put these in your store window. Music boxes, right? Good connection, music and all, you know. Hand them out to your customers. Tell them how you and Hank go way back. They’ll love it!” He pressed them into Callie’s hands with a wink, nodded at Brian, and headed off after Hank.

  Callie looked over at Brian sheepishly and sank into her chair. “Sorry.”

  Brian’s lips twitched. “Maybe he’d like you to wander through the Cove, too, passing those out.”

  “I’m sure he would.” Callie looked toward Bobby as he worked his way through the restaurant. He was stopping at tables and handing out his fliers to surprised diners. Then she glanced at Delia and Jill’s table. They were out of Bobby’s path, but Delia was watching with some curiosity. Jill, however was a different story. Her face showed … well, Callie couldn’t sa
y for sure, not knowing the woman well. Was it simply disapproval? No, it appeared much stronger. Callie thought that what she was seeing on Jill’s face was shock and pure disgust.

  Four

  The festival was set to open at ten that morning, but Callie could already see more people on the street than usual as she raised the shade at House of Melody. The Keepsake Café was definitely busy, which boded well for merchants like her, since Brian’s patrons generally headed off to shop after eating.

  A few shop owners had set up booths on the festival grounds, especially those with more portable wares like Pearl and her vintage jewelry or Howard Graham and his collectible Christmas ornaments. Even Delia had hired someone to handle a booth for Shake It Up! merchandise while she tended to the shop itself. But Callie’s music boxes didn’t transport very easily, and so she had elected to wait—and hope—for festival goers to come to her.

  With that thought in mind, she expected it to be a customer when the door dinged as she was stooped behind the counter. To her surprise, it was Duane Fletcher who walked in. His shop, Glorious Glass, was several blocks away, so this was a rare occurrence. Many shopkeepers took walking breaks during the day, especially when the weather was good. But Duane was not one for regular exercise, as the extra pounds on his five-foot-six frame attested. Callie assumed he’d parked his car somewhere nearby.

  “Good morning,” Duane called. He glanced around. “Good, you’re alone. I took a chance to come over and apologize.”

  “Apologize?”

  “I’ve learned about the uncomfortable situation I put you in. Please believe me, I had no idea.”

  “Oh! You mean about Hank?”

  “If I could cancel their contract, I would. But at this point—”

  “No, I’d never ask for that! Even if you had time to get another band. It’s fine, Duane. Really.”

  His expression cleared. “You’re sure?”