A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Oh, nice and quiet!” the woman commented as she glanced around the shop. “No one to pull you away from me today.” She said it with a cheery laugh, and Callie politely joined in, as the likelihood of their being interrupted was slim to none.

  They strolled around the shop, Callie pointing out the music boxes she’d acquired since Mrs. Frey’s last visit. She was pleased to see some interest in two boxes that weren’t bird-themed, since it was growing harder to find new good ones in that style. Her customer, clearly enjoying the experience, eventually chose a box that featured a lovely Japanese-style painting of cherry tree branches with a tiny bird perched in their midst. The tune, “What A Wonderful World,” seemed to fit the mood, and Mrs. Frey smiled as she listened to it, saying, “I’ll take it.”

  As Callie packed it up, Mrs. Frey brought up the spring festival and, as she put it, the “unfortunate happening” there. “I’m so glad I didn’t go after all,” she said, despite Callie assuring her that the hours the public attended had been perfectly fine.

  “Even so, I would have had nightmares just knowing I’d been close to such a terrible thing. I’ve very sensitive that way. My sister, on the other hand, is quite the opposite. She went on her own when I couldn’t make it.”

  “Did she?” Callie waited as Mrs. Frey inserted her credit card and signed.

  “Donna loves festivals.” Mrs. Frey looked up. “But they’re not really my thing. Besides, I knew you wouldn’t have a booth there, so why bother?” She chuckled merrily.

  As she slipped the receipt Callie handed her into her purse, Mrs. Frey looked thoughtful. “Donna said she recognized someone there.”

  “Oh?”

  “The woman taking pictures, with all the costumes. Donna remembered her from Portis. That’s a little town up near Pittsburgh.”

  “Yes, I’ve just learned about that place.” Callie had been thinking about what she’d put in the empty space left by the sale of Mrs. Frey’s music box, but she quickly refocused.

  “Never been there myself. But Donna has a good friend who was in a play, and Donna went up to see her. This was eighteen years ago. She can say that for sure because it was a week after her fortieth birthday and the trip was her special treat to herself. There was a photographer there who did a lot of publicity shots for the theater, including of Donna’s friend. The woman stuck in Donna’s mind because of the special care she took to present her friend, who frankly wasn’t very attractive, at her best. They both appreciated it. Donna thought this photographer was very professional, so she was surprised to see her at the festival running a costume photography booth. It seemed like … oh, I don’t know, a come-down?”

  It was a come-down for Jill, and Callie doubted she would want this information widely known. “She happens to have a friend in Keepsake Cove,” she explained. “It was probably a fun thing for her to do, combined with a visit.”

  Mrs. Frey nodded. “Donna will be glad to hear that. She worries about people, even ones she barely knows.”

  Callie smiled and handed Mrs. Frey her music box, then walked her to the door, which she held as the woman continued to chatter away, barely noticing where she was going. After Mrs. Frey made her way out, Callie remained at the open door, gazing toward Shake It Up! and thinking that Jill might be there at the moment, learning her way around Delia’s shop.

  So Jill had done publicity photos for a theater in Portis. Bobby Linville had done PR work for a theater in Portis, according to Hank. Was it the same theater? Portis was a small town. How many live-performance theaters could it have? Callie planned to check, but it was starting to look like Brian’s conjecture that Jill and Bobby had a connection of some sort just might be spot on. Which moved Jill a notch higher on the suspect list.

  This was good news for possibly getting them closer to clearing Hank. But Jill was a person Delia cared about. Of course, the truth would be the truth, no matter what. But Callie knew she’d need to tread carefully in uncovering it. One mistaken assumption could be devastating to a friendship that she valued highly.

  Twenty

  Back at her laptop, Callie found an email from Todd Wright waiting for her and immediately opened it.

  Dear Ms. Reed,

  Yes, Duane Fletcher was at my home on Saturday night at 11 o’clock. An unusual time to do business, but I was eager to settle on the sale of my painting before leaving on a planned trip, and Mr. Fletcher was willing to both meet my price and pay immediately in full. We had a pleasant drink together afterward, and I believe he left around midnight. I hope that covers all you needed to know.

  Yours sincerely,

  Todd Wright

  Well. That was that. Callie mentally filed the email away under “disappointing information,” at the same time shaking her head at herself for wishing someone she’d come to dislike could be legitimately sent to prison.

  She returned to the search engine and typed in “Portis Theater.” A string of movie theaters came up, along with a single live-performance venue: the Portis Playhouse. Callie clicked on that link and scanned the website. The home page naturally featured the playhouse’s current offering, a new play by an “Up-and-coming playwright!” titled Song of the Iguana. After reading the brief synopsis of it, Callie wished them luck selling tickets, but then again, who knew? Tastes differed.

  She clicked on the “About Us” page, hoping to find mention of either Bobby Linville or Jill in the theater’s history. But the page displayed old photos of its modest beginning in a church basement, then told of a successful fundraiser and community support that led to the building of its beautiful new home about twenty years ago. Photos showed the various stages of construction, inside and out, up to the opening-night ribbon-cutting ceremony. All very interesting, but of no help to her. She clicked out of it and thought for a minute.

  It was almost time to close shop. Should she do so now and run over to Shake It Up! to catch Jill? Callie went out front to check on nearby foot traffic. All looked quiet, as it had been most of the day, so she could safely assume no new customers were coming. She was ready to grab her keys when she spotted Delia and Jill step out of the salt and pepper shaker shop and turn down the street toward Delia’s car.

  Had she imagined it, or had Delia purposely avoided looking her way? Callie shook her head. That wouldn’t have been like her friend at all. Delia was probably preoccupied or deep in conversation with Jill.

  Callie heard her phone signal a text message and smiled when she saw it was from Brian. She’d thought he’d already left to go to Annie’s.

  Coming over in a sec, his text said. Don’t disappear.

  Callie texted back: Too late. Poof! J Then she hurried to close up her register, wondering what was up. When Brian arrived, he had an unexpected invitation.

  “Annie would love to have you come for dinner.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Last minute, I know, and she apologizes, but still hopes you’ll come.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Can she top any of the frozen meals you stocked my freezer with, one of which I was planning to heat up tonight?”

  “Doubtful. But she’ll come close. I’ve taught her a few things over the years.”

  Callie grinned. “I’d love to come.” She felt a twinge of guilt about setting aside her investigative work but told herself she had to eat, after all. “You’ll be staying over, right? So I’ll drive myself.”

  “I’m heading there pretty soon to start work on one of the repair projects. You could come with me and I’ll bring you back later.”

  “No, that’s too much bother. And I’d love a few minutes of down time. I’ll meet you there,” Callie said. Annie’s home was about a fifteen-minute drive from Keepsake Cove, and Brian agreed that her arriving around 6:45 would be fine. He took off, and Callie finished closing up the shop and went back to her cottage.

  Jagger was waiting eagerly, as usual, and
she fed him, then kicked off her shoes and gave him some lap time to make up for having to leave again for the evening. She felt his purrs gradually loosen every taut muscle in her body, which was wonderful, but she had to put an end to it before too long to avoid turning into total mush. A bit of freshening up and a change of clothes, and she was soon out the door.

  The drive to Annie’s through the countryside was always lovely, no matter what the season. But in early May, with the fresh green leaves, emerging blooms, and temperature mild enough to lower her car’s windows, an evening drive was particularly great. Life on the Eastern Shore could be pretty darned good. Except, of course, when things like murders happened. But Callie refused to let any guilt about enjoying herself while Hank was stuck behind bars ruin her mood. She would pick up her work on his behalf later, and likely with renewed energy for having a few hours off.

  Annie’s eleven-year-old, Justin, opened the door at Callie’s knock, and she was struck once again with how much he resembled his father, Mike, with his dark hair and square jaw. “You’re just in time,” he said. “Uncle Brian’s cutting up the chicken.”

  “Smells great!” Callie said, glad to hear that the menu fit the white wine she’d thought to grab at the last minute. It was the only bottle she had on hand and might have originally been a gift to her, though she couldn’t remember for sure. Hopefully it hadn’t come from Annie and Mike.

  “C’mon in!” a woman’s voice called, and Callie followed Justin through the house to the kitchen, where Annie stood filling salad plates from a large bowl, her son Ben lined up forks and knives on the table, and Brian worked at carving a perfectly roasted, golden-brown, crispy-skinned hen. He lifted his knife in greeting.

  “Wow, everything looks wonderful,” Callie said after giving Annie a hug, one that was somewhat awkward between her wine bottle and Annie’s salad tongs. “I haven’t had roast chicken in ages.”

  “You have to have the time to cook it,” Annie agreed. “Justin, get out three wine glasses from the cabinet, will you?”

  “Only three?” He said it with a sly grin that made him look even more like his dad.

  “Yes, three, smartie! Thanks, Callie. That’ll turn this into a real company meal.” To Callie’s relief, Annie didn’t show any signs of recognizing the bottle.

  After asking what she could do to help, she put the potatoes, gravy, and broccoli on the table, then joined them all in settling down around it. Much passing of dishes was soon followed by their concentration on Annie’s good food, punctuated only by short comments and small talk. The salad lettuce, it turned out, had come from Annie’s garden and was tender and delicious.

  “I picked the bugs out of it,” Ben said, which made Justin cry “gross” while Annie declared it very helpful. Callie couldn’t help looking a little more closely at her own salad and happily saw nothing at all that shouldn’t have been there.

  It wasn’t until after the main dishes were cleared and Callie, Brian, and Annie were sipping coffee while the boys went to do homework that Annie brought up the more serious topic.

  “You heard about our little scare last night, right?” she asked.

  “Yes, Brian told me. How is Ben doing?” Callie hadn’t noticed anything obvious, but then, she wasn’t Ben’s mother.

  “He’s still a little jittery. We had a good talk, both when he first told me about it and again this afternoon. Turns out our neighbor across the road happened to see a tow truck show up around two this morning, which Ben didn’t see. So that pretty much explains it.”

  “Which of the two vehicles got towed?” Brian asked.

  “Huh? Oh, our neighbor said he only saw one besides the truck. A van.”

  “But Ben also saw an SUV?” Callie asked.

  “Yes, and he was very sure about that.”

  “So, why did the SUV not hang around?”

  Annie shrugged. “I guess you’d have to ask them. Him. Ben said there were only two men, so probably one for the van and one for the SUV.”

  “And they were arguing?” Brian asked. He reached for the coffee pot Annie had placed on the table and refilled his mug.

  “Seemed to be, according to Ben. He couldn’t hear them, but he thought they looked mad. Their gestures, I suppose. Body language. He remembered that one of them, the shorter one, had a sweatshirt with a number five on it that reflected the light, and he seemed the most upset of the two. What scared him, though—and still does—is that he’s convinced they were burglars because of the stuff they were transferring from the van to the SUV. He’s written this scenario in his head that the two were making off with their loot when they spotted him in the window. He thinks they’ll want to come back and take care of him.”

  “Poor guy,” Callie said. “I don’t suppose there were any burglaries reported?”

  “None that I’ve heard of.”

  “Here’s a thought,” Brian said. “How about we track down the tow truck driver?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Callie said. “If the driver could confirm it was something very ordinary, it would put Ben’s mind at ease. There aren’t too many tow trucks outfits around, are there?”

  “Probably two, maybe three,” Brian said. “Remember when you needed one last fall? I only had to make one call.”

  Callie nodded. She’d called Brian one night after being run off the road and damaging her car. Brian had sent the tow truck and shown up himself, something she hadn’t asked for but deeply appreciated after that nerve-wracking incident.

  “I’ll start with them,” Brian said. “We should be able to get it all straightened out for Ben.”

  “That would be so great,” Annie said. “Thanks.”

  There was no joking follow-up comment, which was unusual for Brian’s sister. It told Callie how concerned Annie was for her young son, though she’d shown few signs of it until then. An example of how worries and pain could be deeply hidden from view. Krystal Cobb, with her daughter’s death, came to mind as another example, along with other people Callie had known.

  Hank, on the other hand, was never one to keep his anxieties to himself. She sighed. Her fondest hope, beyond proving his innocence, was to wave a final goodbye as he drove off to rejoin his band. The first action—proving his innocence—had to happen before the second one could, and was possibly her strongest impetus to keep working and get it done soon.

  Twenty-One

  Lyssa called the next morning as Callie was unpacking a recent delivery—a special order for a customer who collected music boxes with Broadway songs. This one played a tune from Les Misérables.

  “I’ll be taking off for New York pretty soon. Just wanted to check in before I go. Anything new come up?”

  “A couple of things.” Callie got up from the floor and settled more comfortably into her desk chair. “I’ve placed Jill at the same Portis theater that Bobby did PR work for.”

  “Wow. At the same time?”

  “It seems very possible. I looked up the theater’s website—it’s the Portis Playhouse—but I couldn’t find any mention of either of them. Not that likely that I would, I suppose, though there was a page covering the theater’s history. I’ll have to talk to Jill and see what she has to say.”

  “That’ll be tricky,” Lyssa said, “if it’s information she wants to keep hidden.”

  “I know. I’ll need to come up with a plan. Oh, and I discovered a few things about Krystal’s daughter.” Callie told Lyssa about Tiffany Cobb’s DUI-related death and the college she attended. “Hank thinks Bobby may have gone to that same college. From their ages as well as the size of the school, they might very well have been in a class or two together, or at least run into each other.”

  “Well, well, well. Perhaps our clock lady, Rhonda, would know that. She said their daughters went to school together. Think that included college?”

  “It’s possible.”

 
“More questions for you to dig up answers to. I’m sorry. I wish I could pitch in.”

  “No, don’t feel that way. Just concentrate on your interviews for now. What’s the schedule? I’ll want to catch them.”

  Lyssa rattled off the list of talk shows she’d be guesting on and Callie scribbled them down. “I’ll record them all to watch. That’s so exciting!”

  “I guarantee it won’t be after you watch the first two or so. I’ll be repeating myself and probably babbling by then. Ever try to come up with ten different ways to say how you come up with your ideas? As if I knew in the first place. Hah! Oh, shoot,” she went on. “I just remembered I’ll need to pick up a blouse to go with my green jacket while I’m up there. The one I usually wear looks yucky on camera. And I’d better pack the stilettos, much as I despise them. Some of the shows like to stick you up on those tall stools, which means shoes matter. Hate those stools. I got my heels caught on the rungs once and nearly landed on my face. Not a pretty sight.”

  Callie wished her luck, wondering as she spoke if “break a leg” was really the proper thing to say. Lyssa didn’t correct her, just continued to mutter as they discussed other things she needed to remember. Apparently even seasoned pros like her could get nervous, though Callie doubted any of it would show once she got started talking about books.

  A few minutes later Brian called. “I found the garage that sent out the tow truck,” he said. “The driver is out on another call, so I’ll try to catch him when he gets back.”

  “Great! I hope what he has to say will settle things for Ben.”

  “We had a little talk after you left last night. Annie thinks he’s doing better. But it can’t hurt to totally clear it up.”

  “Absolutely. Let me know what you find out.”

  “I will. Hey, is there any chance you could pop in at Ben’s baseball game tomorrow? It’ll be at the park, starting at one. I’m going to close up around one thirty to run over.”