Eighteen
W hen Callie left the café, she glanced across at House of Melody. There was no sign of customers or an apparent need for her, so she turned left instead of crossing the street. She wanted to talk to Laurie Hart.
Kids at Heart was quiet as well, and Callie wondered how long it would be before Keepsake Cove would draw crowds again—if ever. Would the pre–Mother’s Day sale be enough? This worry seemed to be on Bill and Laurie’s minds, too, as they both looked up expectantly at her entrance into the vintage toy shop and seemed just a bit disappointed to see her.
“Sorry I’m not a customer,” Callie said.
Laurie laughed. “We’re always glad to see you. But your place must be just as slow if you’re able to be out and about.”
“It is, though some business has come in spurts. Not like it used to, though.”
“Just to be clear,” Bill said, “we don’t blame you one bit.” He pushed up one sleeve of the Mr. Rogers–style sweater he often wore. Laurie was in her usual back-room denims, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. “Laurie told me about Duane trying to place the blame on you,” Bill said.
“That’s what I came to ask about. Duane just apologized to me for that, and he said he’d straightened it out later with Howard. But Howard wasn’t the only one who heard it. Did Duane come by to do the same thing with you?”
Laurie made a choking noise. “Are you kidding? Duane crosses the street to avoid walking too close to our shop.”
“So I’ll take that as a no,” Callie said, one side of her mouth curling. “I thought that might be the case, not that it matters all that much. Just a minor irritant.”
“And one more indication of the man’s character,” Laurie added.
“We’re really sorry about that band member being charged,” Bill said. He moved a red and gray wooden airplane away from partially covering a collapsible spyglass, both of which had probably been polished and touched up by Laurie before being set out for sale. “We didn’t realize until recently that you and he, uh …”
“Used to be an item,” Callie finished for him. “Emphasis on used to be. But it means I know him well enough to be sure of his innocence. I just need to find the guilty person.”
“Can you make it Duane?” Laura asked.
Callie grinned. “I can only make it who it really is. Duane is probably off the hook.”
“Darn.”
“But I’ll double check his alibi.”
“Good. Hope it doesn’t hold up. I still believe he’s been siphoning from our association treasury for years. All those vacations, new cars, and other stuff.”
“Honey,” Bill said, “the association doesn’t have enough money to pay for those things as well as its bills. It’s all been explained.”
Laurie huffed. “Explained by him! I don’t buy it.”
This argument had been going on between the Harts for as long as Callie had known them, and before. Somehow they managed to keep it amicable and respect each other’s opinion.
Having no answer handy to settle things, Callie changed the subject. “I learned something yesterday about Krystal that was awfully sad. Perhaps you already knew about her daughter?”
“That she had died?” Laurie asked, nodding. “I can’t imagine dealing with something like that.”
“Do you know what the cause was, or how long ago it happened?”
“I think the girl—her name was Tiffany, by the way, which I remember because it seemed exactly the kind of name Krystal would choose for a daughter. Anyway, I think Tiffany was college-aged, but I don’t know what happened. Maybe a car accident?” She shrugged. “How did you hear about her?”
“Through Rhonda Furman, when she explained how she and Krystal had become friends. She didn’t want to go into details, which I could understand.”
“It must be difficult for Krystal,” Laurie mused, “selling beautiful dolls every day to people who probably talk about buying them for their little girls, or maybe granddaughters. She’s constantly reminded of her own loss.”
“No other children?”
Laurie shook her head.
Bill had wandered away during the discussion, and Laurie nodded in his direction, explaining softly, “Bill doesn’t like gloomy subjects. Which is probably why he tries to think the best of everyone, including Duane.”
“Then I’m sorry I brought it up in front of him. May I ask one more thing, though? Did you see anything at the festival on Saturday night that might help me find Bobby Linville’s murderer?”
“Oh, gosh. I didn’t even know who Bobby Linville was at the time, so probably not. But …” Laurie scrunched her face, thinking back. “There was this one odd thing.”
“Yes?”
“I saw Gavin Holder. Do you know him?”
“The landscaper? Lyssa just hired him to work on her yard.”
Laurie nodded. “He did a little work for us too. He’s good. So I was surprised to see him doing what looked like clean-up work on the festival grounds. Anyway, I was going to go over and say hi when I realized he was kind of frozen and staring at someone standing next to the stage. It was a guy, about fifty-ish, wearing a brownish sports jacket. He had a bit of a belly.”
“That sounds like Bobby Linville.”
“Okay, good. So, Linville was looking down at his phone and didn’t notice Gavin. I started over, but then I saw the look on Gavin’s face and stopped. It was, oh, I don’t know exactly how to describe it. Disgust? Anger? Whatever it was, it was pretty intense, and I decided I didn’t want to get in the middle of it. I turned around and walked the other way.”
“You’re sure this look was aimed at Bobby?”
“Absolutely. There were other people around, sure, but the guy with the phone had a pretty good space around him. It was definitely aimed at him.”
“So you just saw that look. You didn’t see them actually talk?”
“Nope, that was it. Is that any help?”
“It might be.” Callie mulled it over. “Can you tell me anything more about Gavin, other than that he’s a landscaper?”
Laurie shook her head. “Sorry, that’s all I know. Maybe Bill—?” As she craned her neck to call to her husband, a customer entered the shop. Bill immediately moved forward to greet him, and Laurie shrugged. “I’ll ask him later and let you know, okay?”
“That’s fine. I’d better get back to work, too. Thanks, Laurie.”
Callie left, planning to call Lyssa and share this bit of information. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe Gavin Holder had simply seen Bobby toss a piece of trash on the ground instead of into the basket. But then again, maybe not.
Two people were browsing through House of Melody when Callie got back, which after the slow-down seemed like a crowd. Tabitha took care of the younger woman, who had a gurgling baby, when she brought her choice to the counter—a lullaby-playing globe with a pink teddy bear inside. Callie lingered nearby while Tabitha was busy, in case the second browser had questions. But that woman eventually smiled and said, “Just looking today,” then left.
“I did have another sale while you were out,” Tabitha said, consoling Callie with a shoulder pat.
“That’s fine,” Callie said, laughing. “Can’t win them all.” She felt the phone in her pocket shiver, signaling the arrival of an email, and pulled it out to check. Duane had sent her the name and email address of the painting’s seller. She’d expected a phone number, but this was at least something. She’d contact the man, but first she wanted to talk to Lyssa. A glance at the time reminded Callie that Tabitha would be leaving soon. Better to do it right away. “I’ll be in the back for a minute,” she said before hurrying off.
“Lyssa,” Callie said when her friend picked up. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah, Gavin’s gone back out and is working like a beaver. This place is going to look great. I had him
come inside for a break, and we had a nice chat over iced tea and cookies. Store-bought ones, of course.”
“And …?
“Not that much, actually. Sorry. I was hoping Gavin would have lots to tell about things going on at the festival, what with him walking around the grounds all day. He’s not much of a talker, though, and apparently focuses only on his work. I had to remind him of our murder victim’s name, and his only reaction was a grunt. Nothing like our clock shop woman, Rhonda.”
“That actually is interesting,” Callie said. She told Lyssa what Laurie had seen.
“Whoa! So Gavin was holding back on me. Sounds like he knew Linville.”
“It seems like it. Unless he’s in the habit of glaring at complete strangers.”
“Doubtful. He comes across as a quiet kind of guy who minds his own business. ’Course you know what they say about the quiet ones.”
“That they’re quietly plotting crimes?”
“Something like that.” Lyssa chuckled. “I did get one tiny nugget out of him,” she continued. “He’s from Pennsylvania.”
“Hmm. Another one to add to the growing list. It’s a big state, though. What part?”
“I couldn’t pin him down. Just that it was a small town nobody ever heard about. I mentioned places I’ve been to—or said I’d been to—to try to narrow it down, tossing in things he might comment on, like how I loved the soft pretzels in Philly or how the Steelers did last season. No bites. Not even on the pretzels.”
“That’s kind of suspicious in itself, wouldn’t you say? It’s like he was purposely hiding where he’d lived.”
“Yeah, I think so too. The Pennsylvania comment only came out when he was talking about plants and where they grow best. He might have been off his guard. Hey, maybe while I’m gone, you could come by and talk with him? Pump him a bit? There are some plants that are back-ordered, meaning a lot of the work will have to wait till they come in. I also wouldn’t mind having someone check on things for me. If it’s convenient, I mean.”
“I’ll be glad to do that while I can. It’s just … well, I’m not real sure how long I’ll be around next week.”
“What? Where’re you going?”
“I might be going to Oregon.” Callie explained about her mother and her own dilemma over leaving town.
“Uh-oh. Bad timing, huh? But she’s your mom. Don’t you think you’d better be there?”
“Any other time and I’d be on that plane in a flash. But I worry about leaving Hank. Then there’s the fact that after thinking it over, I’ve become just a little suspicious of the timing of this surgery. I know my mother and how she felt about Hank. She isn’t past being a tiny bit manipulative.”
“I’ve heard of fake fainting spells,” Lyssa said. “But going through surgery to pull your daughter away from an ex would be carrying it a little far.”
“I know. So that’s why I’m wavering.”
“Well, I wish I had a solution for you. Looks like the only answer is to solve this murder real fast.”
“I wish,” Callie said, adding, “But if wishes were fishes, we’d all … how does that go?”
“Badly. It goes badly ’cause wishful thinking will get us nowhere. So enough of that. We’ll both do everything we can do while we can. And that’s that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Callie smiled, liking Lyssa’s no-nonsense approach. She ended the call and, following her friend’s direction, turned to her laptop, ready to get moving—while she could.
Nineteen
Callie typed up an email to Todd Wright, asking about the art- work Duane said he’d purchased from him on Saturday night, and the time and place. She worded it carefully, claiming only to be aiding in the investigation of the murder that had taken place at the Keepsake Cove festival—which she was. Just not at the request of anyone official. She hoped Wright wouldn’t question that. She sent it off, then looked up as Tabitha appeared in the doorway.
“Time for me to go—unless you need me to hang around a little longer?”
“No, that’s fine.” Callie rose and followed her to the front of the shop. “Do you know anything about Gavin Holder?” she asked as her assistant slipped a light sweater over her tee.
Tabitha shook her head. “Never heard of him. Who is he?”
“He’s a landscaper. He took care of the grounds during the festival.”
“Huh.” Tabitha pulled her purse out from under the counter and slipped the cross-body strap over her head. Watching, Callie realized something with a shock.
“You haven’t been dressing up! No vintage character outfits lately.”
Tabitha grinned. “You just noticed? I’ve been out of character all week.”
“But that’s so out of character for you! I mean, dressing, um, creatively is your thing.” On Callie’s first day as the owner of House of Melody, Tabitha had shown up for work looking exactly like a 1940s-era Joan Crawford, complete with super-wide shoulder pads, seamed stockings, and open-toed shoes. Even her hair and makeup had matched, so much so that Callie hadn’t recognized the tie-dyed hippie she thought she’d hired the day before.
“Every so often I take a break. It’s kind of a psychic cleansing. Clears my head. Plus, I’ve been crazy busy with my beading lately and haven’t had the time to spend on it. It can’t just be slap-dash, you know. When I do character, it has to be totally right.”
Callie agreed that Tabitha never put together her “looks” halfway. Whether it was Lieutenant Uhura from Star Trek or simply a poufy-haired woman of the ’80s, her assistant got all the details right. It was nice, though, to see the real Tabitha once in a while.
“I’m glad your beaded jewelry is picking up.”
“Yeah!” Tabitha’s eyes lit up. “Having that display here in the shop during the festival really helped. It brought me a bunch of new customers. Fingers crossed it keeps up!”
She hurried off to work on her burgeoning home business. Callie was truly happy for her, but also aware that she might be losing an excellent employee if things continued to go so well.
“What will I do without Tabitha?” she asked aloud, turning to Grandpa Reed’s music box high on its shelf. The music box remained silent, once again stirring sad feelings within her. Though the box’s unexpected playing had unnerved her at first, and she’d been reluctant to say what exactly it all meant, Callie had grown comfortable with the idea of being watched over. Had it finally ended, and had Aunt Mel moved on?
If so, she knew she should be glad. But it only added to her feeling of being deserted lately. Brian would be staying at his sister’s place. Lyssa would be in New York. Callie glanced around her empty shop. Even her customers seemed to have abandoned her.
She shook herself. Enough of that. At least if her customers weren’t there it gave her time to spend on Hank’s problem. As Lyssa had pointed out, she needed to work faster during the time available. With that thought, she went back to her office and plopped down in front of the laptop. Time to do some serious internet searching.
First on her agenda was looking up Krystal’s daughter. Callie typed in “Tiffany Cobb” and watched as the results came up. With no middle name to include, there were several Tiffany Cobbs to sift through, but knowing the girl’s approximate age and location helped. Soon Callie found her obituary, archived on a funeral home’s website.
A photo showed a girl clearly younger than the age at which she’d died, which was twenty-four. Tiffany looked about seventeen; perhaps it was a high school graduation photo. The obituary named Krystal and her husband at the time, Robert, as parents, along with two surviving grandparents. There were no siblings, as Laurie had mentioned, and no cause of death was given.
The obituary also listed the high school Tiffany had graduated from, along with sports and activities she’d enjoyed. Then it mentioned that she’d attended Clayton Daniel College.
Daniel! Wasn’t that the same college Bobby Linville had gone to, according to Hank? Callie clicked back to her search engine and typed in “Clayton Daniel College,” finding that it was located in the Pittsburgh area, which fit what she knew about Bobby. She returned to Tiffany’s obituary and reread it. Attended Clayton Daniel. So she hadn’t graduated. Neither had Bobby, according to Randy Brewer. Callie knew Bobby’s age from the newspaper report of his murder: forty-six. That was a year older than Tiffany would be if she had lived. Clayton Daniel was not a large school. It seemed highly possible they would have known each other. Had they?
Tiffany’s obituary didn’t give any occupation at the time of her death. Thinking that was odd, Callie went back to her original search on the young woman. It didn’t take long to discover a newspaper article that revealed Tiffany’s manner of death: a fatal car accident, single vehicle involvement, no passengers, with driving under the influence as the cause.
Callie sat back and absorbed that, several emotions running through her along with the information, including sympathy for Krystal for losing a daughter that way. But the situation Jill had described, of Krystal and Bobby arguing at the festival—hissing at each other, as she’d put it—came to mind. Had it really been about more money for the band? Or was there an older and much deeper reason for Krystal’s anger?
Callie was ready to begin a new search when she heard her shop’s door open. An interruption that normally would have brought a smile to her face instead made her groan. But she hopped up, put on a welcoming face, and went out to meet her shopper.
The customer was Mrs. Frey, a regular who’d bought many music boxes from Aunt Mel and then added a couple to her collection during Callie’s tenure. When Mrs. Frey first visited House of Melody after Callie inherited it, Tabitha had greeted the gray-haired woman by name and thrown Callie a look that signaled there’d be notes on her in Aunt Mel’s list, an important document Callie had copied to her phone. There she’d learned that Mrs. Frey liked bird-themed music boxes. She’d watched Tabitha guide Mrs. Frey over to those, and ever since that day she’d made sure to watch for similar unique pieces to have on hand. Her smile grew genuine, since she not only liked Mrs. Frey but could reasonably expect to make a decent sale.
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