A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “What do you mean?”

  “My publisher called. One of their big gun authors had to cancel out of a round of talk show appearances, and they want me to take her place.”

  “How exciting!”

  “Yeah, it is. But it means being up in New York. It’s something I can’t really pass up.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “It’s not until the weekend, so I have a little time to keep working on this murder stuff before I go. After that, I’ll have to leave it in your hands. Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I’ve appreciated your help and support, but this is so not your problem. You need to pay attention to your writing career.”

  “I’d do both if I could. And maybe I can. I mean, we can still check in with each other when I’m away, right? Or maybe by some miracle this whole murder thing will be cleared up in twenty-four hours.”

  Callie doubted that. She felt like she’d accomplished very little and had such a long way to go. What could the two of them dig up in such a short time? And not long afterward she might have to fly off herself, which didn’t leave them more than a few more days.

  “Oh! Gavin’s taking a break. I’m gonna go. I’ll get back to you if I get anything useful out of him.”

  Callie hung up and stared at her computer screen for several moments, trying to organize her crowded thoughts. Then her phone rang again. It was Hank, calling from the detention center.

  Once she was put through, Callie quickly said, “Hank, I’m glad to finally hear from you. I was hoping you’d call yesterday. I wanted to ask—”

  Hank cut in. “I’ve been sick.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been sick, babe. Some kinda stomach bug. Half the people here’ve come down with it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Hank. What are they doing for you?”

  “Lined me up in a bed alongside everyone else who’s as sick as a dog.”

  “Is that where you are now?”

  “Naw, I’m out. Over it, they say. But I’m still draggin’.”

  Callie believed him. Hank, for all his faults, wasn’t one to exaggerate his illnesses. “Have you talked to your lawyer lately?”

  “Uh-uh. But he might come over today. Or tomorrow.”

  “Good. Hank, I talked to Randy Brewer yesterday.”

  “Randy? Where’s he now?”

  “He said they were about to leave for a gig somewhere in Ohio.”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember.”

  “He said they all feel terrible about having to leave you behind.”

  “Yeah, I know. I talked to him, that day they arrested me. I told him not to worry. I know how it goes. The only thing …”

  “Yes?”

  “They might need to replace me in the band. If this drags on too long, they’re gonna have to. I know it.”

  “They could get someone short-term, you know. Don’t worry about that for now. One problem at a time. And if I’m going to help you out of this, I need you to tell me everything you know about Bobby. First thing—Randy placed Bobby in a town near Pittsburgh named Baldwin. It was when he attended college, so I’m guessing he either commuted to school in Pittsburgh or lived in Baldwin between semesters. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Baldwin?” Hank was silent for a while, and Callie pictured him rubbing his chin with the two-day growth of beard he carefully kept, which he thought gave him a Tim McGraw look. Did he still have it? Or had they made him shave it off? Surely that wasn’t required in detention centers, only in prisons. A random thought that had no use and only caused her to grimace.

  “I don’t remember any town called Baldwin,” Hank finally said.

  “Did Bobby mention his college?”

  “Let me think. Yeah, I think he did. He’d brag about how he breezed through his classes after barely openin’ a book. Until he got kicked out, of course. I think it was his drinkin’ that did it.”

  “And the name of the school?”

  “Huh! It’s in here somewhere ’cause I know he told me. Wait! Got it! It was Daniel. Somethin’ close to, like, Jack Daniels. I remember ’cause he used to joke that he liked Seagram’s better.” Hank grunted. “That was when he was telling us he’d sworn off his drinking. Shoulda been a clue, right? But we were too dumb to see it.”

  “Daniel? Okay, great. Do the names Krystal Cobb or Rhonda Furman ring any bells?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “How about a town named Portis?”

  “Portis, Portis, Portis … yeah, that does! There’s some kind of theater there. Not a big one, but big enough that Bobby did PR work for it. Got paid peanuts, but he said he learned a lot he could use in his later jobs so it was worth it.”

  “Terrific! That should help a lot, Hank.”

  “Will it get me out of here?”

  “Not right away. But it’s a step forward.”

  “I don’t need an effin’ step, babe. I need out!”

  Callie sighed. “I know that, Hank. I can only do what I can do. I’m not a miracle worker.”

  “Yeah, sorry, babe. It’s just … sorry.”

  A voice broke in, announcing the end of the call, and they said quick goodbyes. Callie hung up, telling herself to stay patient. She wasn’t doing this because Hank was a perfect human being. She was doing it because he, like every other human being, deserved justice, and because she believed in his innocence. She didn’t need to be thanked or appreciated, though it would be nice not to be yelled at. Then again, she wasn’t the one sitting behind bars, was she?

  Seventeen

  Callie felt a strong need to talk with Brian. She hadn’t brought up her mother’s request for a visit with Lyssa after finding out that the author herself would be taking off; she didn’t want to put a damper on Lyssa’s excitement over her terrific publicity opportunity. But Callie was still trying to figure out what to do. Not that she expected Brian to decide for her, but it would help to talk. She waited until she was sure his lunch time rush was over, then left the shop to Tabitha and trotted across the street.

  One couple was paying their bill at the register as she walked in, and the tables were empty, which was perfect. Brian greeted her with a light-up-the-face look as he completed the transaction, then leaned across the counter after the couple walked out as she slipped onto a stool.

  “Hi!” he said, taking her hands in his. “Good timing. I was going to drop by a little later.”

  “Oh? What about?”

  “To let you know I won’t be around too much after-hours for a while. Annie’s had a scare,” he said, referring to his sister. “Actually, it’s Ben who had the scare.”

  “What happened?”

  “Seems that Ben woke up sometime in the night to use the bathroom. When he went back to his room, he saw a dark van and an SUV stopped in front of the house, near their driveway. There was a bright moon, so even without streetlights, Ben said he could see pretty well. He saw two men moving back and forth, carrying things, and they seemed to be arguing. As Ben watched, one of the men stopped and looked toward the house. Ben thinks he looked straight at him. Annie keeps a night light on in his room, so it’s possible he could have seen Ben’s face at the window. Anyway, it scared Ben—he’s just turned nine, you know—and he ran over to Justin’s room and climbed into his bed.

  “Annie and Mike’s room is at the back of the house, so she didn’t hear anything, and Mike is away on a business trip. When Ben told her about it this morning, she went out and found tire tracks and lots of footprints in the soft shoulder of the road. She doesn’t know what went on, but she says Ben is pretty shaken up. He seems to think the two men could be back to do who-knows-what even though she’s tried to reassure him. She asked if I’d stay over until Mike gets back, to make Ben feel safer.”

  “Gosh, of course! If I lived in that remote spot, I’d probably feel
the same way.”

  “While I’m there, I can fix a couple of things for them. Mike’s not the handiest guy.”

  “You’re a good brother.”

  Brian shrugged. “She’s helped me out plenty of times. We’re family, after all.” Annie had stepped in once to keep the café running when Brian had come down with the flu. She also pitched in, off and on, when Brian just needed extra help. Much as they liked to tease each other, Callie knew they were always there for each other.

  “Is Justin okay?” Ben’s brother was two years older and probably not as skittish.

  Brian grinned. “Justin never woke up, but he took it as an opportunity to push for a dog again, which isn’t going to happen with Mike’s allergies. He seemed glad to know I’d be staying over.”

  “You’re much better than a dog,” Callie deadpanned.

  “Glad to hear it.” Brian said, grinning. “I can compete with the boys on Xbox. I’d like to see a dog do that.”

  “Not without thumbs,” Callie said, shaking her head.

  “There you go.” Brian did a double thumbs-up.

  “Well, I’ll miss having you around after-hours, but I’m glad you’re able to help Annie out.” Callie paused. “I might be taking off in a few days myself.”

  “What, something to do with Hank?”

  “No, just the opposite. It would actually pull me away from helping him.” Callie told him about her mother’s upcoming surgery and her desire to have her daughter with her. “It’s fairly routine surgery. I mean, not like a heart transplant or anything like that. But I know my mom, and she’ll be a basket case until it’s over with. It sounds like my stepfather is just as bad.”

  “And you’re the calm one?”

  “At least as far as medical procedures. I guess I got that gene from my dad. Any other time, I’d happily jump on a plane, but right now …”

  “Would Skype be enough for her? Or Facetime?”

  “I thought about that, but I doubt it. Would Facetime make Annie and the boys feel safer?”

  “No, but then it’s not the same thing. I could physically chase away an intruder. You can’t keep your mom from getting the surgery she needs.”

  “Right, but I can hold her hand and distract her. That’s what she needs. She’s going to get the surgery. She wants it so she can get back to doing the things she loves. It’s just thinking about it that she has such a hard time with.”

  “Then you’ll have to go.”

  “But that means leaving Hank in a lurch. I’ve barely scratched the surface of what really happened to Bobby Linville. I’ve dug up a few leads, but it’ll take a lot more work and time to follow them. And Lyssa’s taking off soon.” Callie explained about Lyssa’s great publicity turn in New York.

  “I’ll still be here at the café during the day,” Brian reminded her. “People talk a lot while they’re eating, and I can’t help hearing. Then there’s Delia, who’d certainly be willing to do what she can.”

  “I know she would, but there’s a problem. I’ve put her friend on my list of possible suspects.”

  “Jill?”

  “Just possible, at this point. But she has a connection to a small town where Bobby worked at one time.” Callie told him about Portis, where Bobby and Jill had both worked, and then about nearby Baldwin, which might connect Bobby in some way to Krystal Cobb and her good friend Rhonda Furman. “Rhonda is cleared. She was out of town during the festival. Still, she denied knowing Bobby even though the look on her face when I said his name told us otherwise.”

  “So she’s hiding something.”

  “Clearly, and my guess is that it has to do with Krystal. Do you remember when we were standing in line at the ice cream stand and Krystal was in front of us? Bobby came toward us and I assumed he was coming to hassle me again about promoting the band. But then he suddenly froze and turned on his heel. I’m wondering if it was because he saw Krystal.”

  “But he was seen talking to Krystal later on.”

  “Arguing. Krystal gave me her explanation, which is that Bobby wanted to squeeze more money from them. What if she’s lying, and instead of Bobby finding her, she confronted him?”

  “About what?”

  Callie shook her head. “That I don’t know.”

  “Since we’re conjecturing, here’s one more thought. Might it have been Jill, not Krystal, who Bobby saw and who caused him to suddenly bolt?”

  Callie frowned. “I never thought about that, but you’re right. Jill’s photo station was next to us. And she was upset about the torn costume right about then, wasn’t she?”

  “That was just after Bobby took off.”

  “So maybe she and Bobby recognized each other, he beat it out of there, and she got upset at seeing him and took it out on her customer.”

  “All possible. But still conjecture.”

  Callie sighed. So much more to find out. People to question. Things to do on Hank’s behalf that she couldn’t do from the other side of the country. She was mentally angsting over that when the café door opened.

  “Hey! Thought I was in the wrong place for a minute!” Duane pointed at Callie and laughed at his own joke as he walked in. “Still open for business?” he asked Brian. “I was hoping to get a sandwich to take out. Lost track of time, and now I’m starving!”

  “Sure. What can I get you?”

  “Chicken salad on a sub roll, if you got it. Oh, and some fries. And a Coke. Large.”

  “Coming right up.” Brian went off to the kitchen, leaving Callie facing a man she didn’t like very much. But she had questions for him, too, so she swallowed her feelings and conjured up a polite smile.

  Duane obviously picked up on the coolness, because he said, “I think I owe you an apology.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was out of line with some of the things I said.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “This big mouth of mine doesn’t always seem to be connected to my brain.” Duane rapped his head and made a goofy face.

  Callie wasn’t amused. “You knew I had nothing to do with your hiring of the Badlanders. We’d even talked about it.”

  “You’re right. But that little weasel Howard Graham just kept snap, snap, snapping at me until I said whatever came into my head just to shut him up! My bad, totally. I did go to him later on and correct it.”

  Had he? Howard wasn’t the only one in that group who’d heard it. Had Duane gone to all of them? Callie decided to let it go. “Since you’re here, there’s something I’d like to ask you, about the time surrounding Bobby Linville’s murder.”

  “Uh-oh!” Duane laughed. “Sleuthing again? I thought you’d sworn off after what happened the last time.”

  Callie didn’t recall telling Duane any such thing, though she’d told herself that privately. “When someone you know is being wrongly charged, nobody with a conscience simply stands by and does nothing.”

  Duane held his hands up defensively. “Understood! No problem. Ask away.”

  “Okay. Krystal Cobb said she couldn’t reach you on Saturday night after Bobby demanded more money for the band. This was from about ten o’clock, during the festival, until the next morning. Why didn’t you answer her calls? Where were you?” She put it bluntly, not in the mood for coddling.

  “Where was I? Wow. You’re really serious about this. Am I under suspicion, Officer Reed? Got your handcuffs ready if I don’t have the right answers?”

  Duane’s joking was getting under Callie’s skin. “Everyone is under suspicion at this point. And I’m serious about it because an innocent man could be sent to prison.”

  “Okay, I get it. But I do have an alibi. By ten o’clock or so, I’d had it up to here with the festival after nonstop working on it for weeks and at it since dawn that day. Everything was going well and looked to be winding down, so I took off a little be
fore ten. There was nothing more for me to do, I thought. Of course I didn’t know what Linville was going to try with Krystal.”

  “You went home?”

  “No. I went to look at a new painting.”

  “A painting?”

  Duane nodded. “I’d been negotiating online about it. A private seller. We agreed on the price if I could pay immediately, and I knew the opportunity would slip by if I didn’t take advantage of it. Other buyers were lurking. So I arranged to dash over. It was a good hour’s drive, but I got a beautiful piece at a bargain price.” He looked highly pleased with himself.

  Callie remembered hearing that Duane’s home was filled with plenty of original artwork. She’d wondered at the time how he could afford such art, as well as several other expensive items, on the income his glass shop brought in, which couldn’t be that much greater than the income of other Keepsake Cove shops. This was one of the reasons Laurie Hart had suspected he was pilfering the association’s treasury, although that had proved not to be the case. As Duane eventually explained, with obvious annoyance and only after Laurie’s pressuring, he had benefitted from wise investments of a family inheritance.

  “I think you’d find this painting particularly interesting,” Duane was saying. “It’s a young woman holding what looks like a music box. Or it might be a jewelry box. Either way, it’s quite lovely. You’ll have to come see it.”

  Brian came out of his kitchen with Duane’s sandwich and fries, then filled a large paper cup with soda. “Here you go.”

  “Great!” Duane quickly paid and grabbed his bagged-up lunch. “I’d better get going. Had to lock up the shop. I hate to miss too many customers. Are we good?” he asked Callie. When she hesitated, he added, “I can send you the number of that seller. He’ll back me up. Will that do?”

  “That’d be great.”

  “Terrific. Then I’m off. See you!”

  Brian looked at Callie curiously. “What was that about?”

  “Oh, Duane just took himself off my suspect list,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Then she added with a wry twist of her lips, “At least for now.”