“Actually, I came to do a few things with my house. I didn’t know about the festival until I got here. But it was more than a disappointment for a lot of people, wasn’t it? I mean, it totally crashed!”
Krystal flinched at the blunt statement. She’d doubtless been dancing around the subject with her customers. “Well, yes. We were forced to close down after what happened.”
More circumspection. Callie took her cue from Lyssa for directness. Maybe keeping Krystal a little off balance would be useful. “What happened was a murder, of course,” she said. “The murder of a man that you seemed to know.”
“Me! Why would you say such a thing?”
“Because you were seen talking with Bobby Linville around ten o’clock. Arguing, actually.”
“Oh!” Krystal looked from Callie to Lyssa. “But that was nothing! Nothing to do with his murder, I mean.”
“What was it about?” Lyssa asked.
“It … it was about money.” Krystal’s expression darkened. “Mr. Linville thought he could demand more from us since the band was going over so well with the crowd. I told him we intended to stick to the contract. He then threatened to cancel their performance for the next day, which I told him was despicable. I was furious!”
“I see,” Callie said. “But why did he come to you and not Duane about that?”
“I told him he needed to see Duane when he first mentioned money to me. He said he couldn’t find him.”
“So how did it end?” Lyssa asked.
“It ended with me threatening legal action if they didn’t honor the agreement. But he just laughed. He must have guessed we didn’t have the finances to back that up. He told me to come up with the extra pay by morning or they would pack up and leave. Then he walked off. He knew he had me in a bind. If our headliner band wasn’t there, people who showed up expecting it would never trust our events again. Of course, things pretty much turned out that way anyway.” Krystal sighed. “I tried to reach Duane, but he wasn’t answering his phone. I didn’t talk to him until the next morning when he called me about the body. Bobby Linville’s body.”
“I don’t suppose you brought up Bobby’s squeeze tactic at that time,” Lyssa said.
“Not then, no. I did tell him later.”
“Did Duane say why he hadn’t picked up your calls?”
Krystal looked puzzled. “Why would he? It didn’t matter anymore, did it?”
Maybe not, but Callie decided to find out herself. Knowing the location of as many people as possible during that critical time period was important. “Did you stay at the festival much longer after talking with Bobby?”
“Maybe for half an hour or so. When I couldn’t get Duane by phone, I looked around for him. But then I gave up and went home. I was sure he’d get the messages I left. Though what we were going to do, I had no idea.” She looked from one to the other. “Now, why all these questions?” If they’d had Krystal off balance for a while, she’d apparently regained her footing and once again sounded like her call-to-order self.
“I’m trying to learn as much as possible about Bobby Linville’s movements that night,” Callie said. “It could help uncover what really happened and who really killed him.”
“Oh! You mean, you think the man they arrested isn’t …?”
“I’m sure he isn’t the murderer. I know Hank very well. He isn’t capable of such a thing.”
“I didn’t realize you knew him. I’m sorry about that. I wish I could help you more.” Krystal looked sincerely regretful. “But as I said, shortly after Mr. Linville and I ended our, ah, discussion, I went home, so I can’t tell you any more about what he was up to.”
Lyssa had been glancing around, and she changed to a chattier tone. “Do you live in one of those little cottages they have here? Behind your shop? I know not everyone uses them.”
“No way! They’re much too small. Even though it’s just me, I need more space.”
“I know what you mean,” Callie said. “Half my clothes have to be kept in storage.” Having seen Krystal in dozens of different outfits over the past year, she couldn’t picture her being okay with doing that.
“Exactly!” the older woman confirmed. “I use the cottage for storing my shop inventory.” Her shop phone rang, and she excused herself to answer it.
“I think we’ve learned all we can for now,” Lyssa said quietly to Callie.
Callie nodded agreement. When Krystal had finished her call, she thanked her for her help. As they were about to leave, Lyssa said, “Oh, by the way, one of the projects I hoped to get started on at my house was fixing the landscaping. Things like replacing overgrown bushes. I could use a recommendation, if either of you has one.”
Callie looked blank. Elvin Wilcox had done basic yard work for her but he wasn’t a landscaper. Besides, he’d moved away a while ago.
Krystal said, “I think you’d be happy with Gavin Holder.” She picked up her cell phone and began to scroll. After a moment she read off the man’s contact information, which Lyssa added to her own phone.
“Perfect. Thanks!” They took off then, and once outside the shop, Lyssa said, “Well, we know a little more about the murdered guy. A slime ball. But it doesn’t put us any closer to finding out who killed him.”
“Not yet, but it might inch us closer. I’d like to learn a little more about Krystal.”
“Why?”
“Well, she’s a bit of a mystery to me. Even Brian couldn’t tell me that much. If we’re going to take her at her word about Bobby Linville, I’d like to understand where she’s coming from. Brian thought she might be good friends with Rhonda Furman, another Keepsake Cove shopkeeper. I looked her up, and her shop’s on one of the side streets, not too far from here. Want to come?”
“Sure, why not. What’s her shop carry? I assume we’re going to play customers. Or at least I am.”
“Vintage clocks.”
“Okay, that works. I wouldn’t mind adding one to the house.”
“As long as you’re good with an eclectic look,” Callie said. “Rhonda’s stock will probably lean heavily toward cuckoo clocks.”
“Hmm.”
Callie laughed at the pained look on Lyssa’s face. She remembered the Kit Kat clock she’d seen at The Collectible Cook, a shop that had closed last fall for serious reasons. That kitchen clock, with its moving eyes and black pendulum tail, would have provoked an even worse expression on Lyssa’s face. Or maybe not. Lyssa’s tastes were unpredictable. It would be interesting to see what she gravitated to at Timely Treasures.
Fourteen
“G ood lord!” Lyssa muttered. “The entire shop is pulsating! This place should have been called The Ticking Time Bomb.” A grandfather clock behind her suddenly bonged, and she jumped. “Just what I’d love in my house,” she said, turning to look. “Something to wake me every hour on the hour.”
“And probably on the quarter hour,” Callie added.
“Lovely.”
“You should visit Howard Graham’s Christmas Collectibles. A life-sized Santa Claus greets everyone with ‘Ho-ho-ho, Merry Christmas!’ as ‘Jingle Bells’ plays.”
Lyssa shuddered. “I’ll pass on that, thanks. Thank goodness most of the other shops around here have better sense.”
Callie didn’t see any Kit Kat clocks, but she did spot one labeled Klocker Spaniel that had a red-painted dog face. Along with the kitschy-ness, though, there were several lovely pieces. Callie understood how shopkeepers needed to stock a little something for everyone.
Rhonda Furman had leaned out of her back office as they’d walked in, a phone held to her ear, and promised to be right with them. When she finally stepped out, Callie was surprised, realizing she’d expected someone closer in appearance to the stylishly dressed and coiffed Krystal. Rhonda looked much more grandmotherly, with a hairstyle from the Princess Di era and a shirtdress
that could have hung in her closet at that time, too. Nothing wrong with either, of course; just miles away from Krystal’s up-to-the-minute style.
“So, what can I do for you ladies—oh! You’re Callie Reed, aren’t you? I’ve always meant to stop in at your place and say hello. Now you’ve saved me the trouble!” She turned to Lyssa. “And you’re that author, aren’t you. How exciting!”
Lyssa admitted she was “that author” who’d done the book event in Keepsake Cove last fall, and she gave her actual name but pooh-poohed the idea of excitement. “We’re actually very boring people. It’s our books that are exciting. We spend hours and hours at our computers, which is why it’s good to get out once in a while. I’ve been slowly putting my new house together and thought I might like a decorative clock of some kind over the mantel. I’m not into cuckoo clocks. Got anything a little more modern?”
“Oh heavens, yes!” Rhonda steered Lyssa toward a section at the back where a variety of choices were displayed on the wall. Callie hung back, interested in a table of small clocks, one of which reminded her of a clock Grandma Reed had owned. What had happened to it, she wondered. Aunt Mel had inherited all of Grandpa Reed’s music boxes, but Callie hadn’t seen any of her grandmother’s things in the cottage. Perhaps the size of the place had simply made keeping them impossible.
“Oh, I love that one!” Lyssa cried, waving Callie over to see a zigzag-shaped metallic piece that had the hands of a clock but not much else to identify it as such.
“Art Deco,” Rhonda said.
“Doesn’t it look exactly like something Hercule Poirot would have on his wall?” Lyssa was clearly enamored. “I’ve got to have it.”
Rhonda smiled happily and reached to take the piece down. Callie wasn’t sure if Lyssa truly loved the item—for which Callie couldn’t see much to get excited about—or if she was trying to put Rhonda in a cheery and hopefully chatty mood. A glance at the price tag caused her to suck in her breath. At that price, Rhonda should spill her social security number to them along with several passwords.
As Rhonda gathered packing materials, Lyssa said, “We just came from Forever Dolls. Some nice things there, too.”
“Yes, Krystal manages to find wonderful dolls. She has quite a knack.” Rhonda lowered Lyssa’s clock into a box cushioned with bubble wrap. “I’ve learned a lot from her over the years. We go way back.”
“Do you?” Callie asked. “You’re from Pennsylvania?”
Rhonda looked up, smiling. “Baldwin, just outside of Pittsburgh.”
“Baldwin? Is that where the pianos come from?” Lyssa asked.
“No, those actually originated in Cincinnati,” Rhonda said. “I found that out after being asked the question several times and finally looking it up. Our town was named after a congressman from the nineteenth century, Henry Baldwin.”
“Ah, Henry,” Lyssa said, nodding. Callie smiled, sure that her friend had never heard of the man, or the town, in her life. “So, what, you and Krystal went to school together or something?”
“No,” Rhonda said, chuckling. “Not that far back. But our daughters went to school together. That’s how we met. Krystal was president of the PTA.”
“I’m not surprised,” Callie said. “She has a talent for leadership.”
“Yes, she does,” Rhonda agreed. She added a layer of bubble wrap over Lyssa’s clock.
“That’s nice, staying friends for so long. Did your daughters do the same?” Lyssa asked.
Rhonda’s face clouded, and Callie expected to hear that the daughters had had a falling out somewhere along the line. She was startled, then, when Rhonda instead said, “I’m afraid not. Krystal’s daughter, Tiffany, passed away.”
“Oh! I had no idea,” Callie said. “An accident?”
Rhonda bit her lip and looked like she regretted saying anything. She shook her head. “A sad story, but it’s Krystal’s to tell.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry for her.”
“She’s been very strong,” Rhonda said. “But as sometimes happens, her marriage didn’t survive.”
“Grief can drive people apart,” Lyssa said. “Instead of pulling them together.”
“So true. But Krystal’s been amazing. She’s picked up the pieces and thrown herself into making a new life. When my husband’s job brought us to Maryland, she encouraged me to turn my passion for clocks into this business, now that our kids are on their own.”
“Good for her,” Callie said. “And for you, too. It’s not easy making a new beginning.” She thought of her own new start in life and the struggles it involved.
“It isn’t easy,” Rhonda agreed. “But the rewards can be great.” She clipped a small handle onto the string she’d wrapped around Lyssa’s box.
To shift the focus to the night of Bobby Linville’s murder, Callie asked, “Did you have a booth at the festival?”
“I didn’t. Don and I were away the entire weekend.” Rhonda’s eyes lit up. “To meet our newest grandchild. Our son and daughter-in-law’s little boy. Such a sweetie! We didn’t get back until late Monday and have been playing catch-up ever since. Too busy even to go to the association meeting!”
Rhonda’s smile stretched from ear to ear, and Callie returned a version of it. But to forestall a detour from her subject, she quickly asked, “So you probably didn’t learn about what happened until you came back, huh?”
“No, and what a shock. Some stranger found dead on the festival grounds!”
“Not exactly a stranger,” Lyssa said. “It was the manager of the band that was booked for the festival.”
“Oh?” Rhonda apparently hadn’t fully caught up since her return.
Lyssa nodded. “His name was Bobby Linville, and—” She stopped when Rhonda blanched. “Did you know him?”
“No!” Rhonda insisted, shaking her head. She swallowed and added more quietly, “I mean, I thought I did at first. The name. It’s very close to someone else’s I happen to know. But, no, it’s not him.” She laughed in an odd, gargling way. “It just caught me for a moment. Sorry.”
“You’re sure?” Callie asked.
Rhonda flapped a hand, looking embarrassed. “Yes, absolutely. So it was the band manager? What a shame. And terrible, of course.” She picked up Lyssa’s box. “Well, here you are!” she said, handing it over. “Thank you so much. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will,” Lyssa said automatically.
“So nice to meet you both,” Rhonda said. “I’ll have to stop over to see your shop, Callie.” She was talking a little more rapidly. “You’ll have to excuse me now. I have a few calls to return. Still catching up! Thank you, and come again!”
Dismissed, Lyssa and Callie had no choice but to leave, though Lyssa pulled Callie up once they’d walked a short distance away.
“Sound fishy to you?”
“I think she recognized Bobby Linville’s name.”
“But she didn’t want to say so. Why not? What is she hiding?”
“I wish I knew,” Callie said, looking back at Timely Treasures. “But she’s obviously not going to tell us. We’ll have to come up with some other way of finding out.”
Fifteen
Lyssa wanted to take her clock home as well as give the land- scaper, Gavin Holder, a call, so Callie headed back to House of Melody where she found Tabitha sweeping imaginary grains of dust from the shop’s floor.
“Not much business,” Tabitha explained.
Callie nodded. “It seems like that all over the Cove. Lyssa probably made one of the few buys of the day.” She told Tabitha about her visit to Timely Treasures and Forever Dolls, along with Rhonda Furman’s surprising reaction to hearing Bobby Linville’s name.
“That’s weird,” Tabitha said. “I mean, how many names sound like Linville that could have made her think of someone else? She must be covering up.”
&nbs
p; “But for who? Not herself. Rhonda was miles away all weekend and obviously didn’t know it was Bobby who was murdered. Krystal, on the other hand, actually had a fight with Bobby at the festival.” Callie shared what Jill had seen, as well as Krystal’s explanation for the argument.
“Oooh. Something’s definitely up. Rhonda said she and Krystal are old friends. Rhonda must know something.”
“Which she’s not about to spill. I wonder if Hank might know about a connection between them? Or one of the other band members?”
“Maybe! Oh, by the way, nobody’s had any luck tracking down the bar Hank was in Saturday night. Yet.”
Callie noticed Tabitha hadn’t put it as “the bar Hank said he was in,” and she appreciated that.
“Of course, it’s early days,” Tabitha went on, “and none of us has had piles of free time to work on it.”
“I understand. I’m grateful for any bit of help.”
The door opened and a customer walked in with a look about her that signaled serious shopping rather than “just looking.” Tabitha, excited to have someone to wait on, hurried forward to help. Knowing she wouldn’t be needed, Callie left the woman in her assistant’s highly capable hands and went to the office. There she sat at her desk and gathered her thoughts.
She wouldn’t be able to talk to Hank until he called her again, and the timing of that was unpredictable. She had the contact numbers of the other band members from Lyssa, but, though she knew everyone from Hank’s last band well, she hadn’t even met these new guys. Everything she knew about them came from watching their performance at the festival and from the episode she and Brian witnessed between sets. One of them had pulled Hank away when his fury with Bobby escalated. That had been Randy Brewer, the fiddle player Hank introduced on stage as his collaborator on the next song. Randy was who she’d call.
She glanced at the clock. The time should be good—not too early or too late. She knew all too well the habits and routines of professional musicians, who worked late and generally slept late. She pulled out her phone, found his number, and pressed call.
A Curio Killing Page 8
