A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Hank took the seat across from her. “Thanks for comin’.”

  “How are you?” she asked, really wanting to know.

  “See this bruise?” He pointed to a bluish mark near his eye.

  “What happened?”

  “Got caught in the middle of a fight between two crazies. There’s a couple more under this getup. Babe, I got to get out of here.” He’d said that before to her, but this time Hank sounded worn down, as though he’d become resigned.

  “I’m working on it, Hank. I’ve been finding out things from a lot of people and I might be getting somewhere. But right now I need an answer from you. Explain to me why you didn’t get bail.”

  Hank leaned back and exhaled loudly. After a long pause, he said, “Okay. I should have told you about this a long time ago, but … I didn’t.” He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes darting around like he wished he could get up and pace. Callie figured that wouldn’t be a good idea.

  “All right. It’s like this.” Hank leaned forward, gripping his hands together tightly on the table. “This was before us, you know. There was this other girl. Stacy. She turned out to be a big mistake. Anyway, I’d been scraping along in some rinky-dink bands, barely making ends meet, until I had this windfall.”

  “With the band?”

  “No, gambling. We were in Vegas. I got lucky—really lucky—at roulette. And I didn’t report it.” Seeing Callie’s look, Hank scrambled. “Babe, it was the first time I had any money like that at all! Yes, I should have paid the taxes, but I was stupid and didn’t.”

  “And that’s why you were denied bail?”

  “Not exactly.” A second, long pause. “Stacy? Well, when we broke up, she was really mad. I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear, but she was the kind who thinks they’re the one who calls things off, never the one who gets dumped. So she went and turned me in to the IRS.”

  Callie winced and waited, suspecting that wasn’t the end to Hank’s story.

  “When I found out what she did I got mad, and we had a real shoutin’ match. Just words, I swear. But it was loud, and a lot of people overheard.”

  “And?”

  “And she got hurt, but it wasn’t because of me. It was her own fault, wearing those skinny heels and not lookin’ where she was going. So she fell down these steps and got hurt, bad enough to go to the hospital. That’s when she pointed the finger at me.”

  Callie groaned.

  “Yup. I got charged with assault on top of tax evasion and did some time. Not much, but it’s twice as hard when it’s for something you didn’t do—I mean, the assault thing. And I hated it so much that I never wanted to talk about it, so I never told you about it.”

  Callie nodded automatically, but she was processing Hank’s story, understanding better why he was stuck where he was. A previous record that included violence. A current charge of murder. And maybe considered a flight risk since he didn’t have roots in the area. She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Hank mouthed off at his hearing on top of all that. He would call it standing up for himself, but it wasn’t the time, and a judge wouldn’t have appreciated it. Whatever had happened, Hank was where he was.

  They moved on to talk about what Callie had dug up about Bobby Linville. Hank was surprised to hear about certain incidents, but not about Bobby’s behavior.

  “Yeah, I can believe that,” he said when Callie told him about Bobby’s treatment of Jill. “Especially now, after seeing how he bungled the band’s record deal. He probably got himself in too deep with all his phony promises, then got scared and went on a binge or just took off.”

  Callie shared Rhonda Furman’s tale about the car sale, and he shook his head. “Wish I’d known what a con man he was. He sure conned me.”

  “How did he get into band management?” Callie asked. “Surely the Badlanders wasn’t his first.”

  “No, he managed others, but I don’t know exactly who. Maybe Randy can tell you.”

  “I’m wondering about this because he seems to have jumped from one thing to another. My mother told me about you and Bobby dropping in on her a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh, yeah. That was Bobby’s idea. We were in Portland, and I mentioned you and your folks having lived there. Going to see your mom seemed like a good idea at the time.” Hank grimaced.

  “Bobby gave Mom the impression he had connections in the art world.”

  “Yeah. Who knows? He didn’t explain that to me.” Hank shrugged. “Probably just more of his talk.”

  “Five minutes!” a guard called out, warning that visiting hours were coming to an end.

  “Listen,” Hank said, leaning forward. “I really appreciate your coming and all you’re doing for me. I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d just walked away. I’ve been a jerk sometimes, I know. And I’m really sorry. Having the time to think a little, here, I’ve seen that, and I wish it’d been different. When this is all over, you’re going to see a changed man.”

  “Hank, I’m glad to hear that, but …” Callie’s immediate thoughts were that she hoped not to see much of him at all after it was all over, and that he shouldn’t be thinking otherwise. She was trying to think of the best way to put it when a loud buzzer sounded, ending the session. Detainees stood and left with guards, Hank looking over his shoulder one last time, and Callie tried her best to look encouraging.

  On the drive back, she thought about Hank’s past run-in with the law. Though she’d tried not to show it, it had shaken her to hear news like that come from a person she thought she’d known so well. Brian had mildly questioned her faith in Hank’s innocence, suggesting he might have changed since she’d seen him, and Callie had remained steadfast in her belief.

  But now she knew that Hank had kept a significant part of his past hidden from her for years! Was that all he’d kept from her? Had he been totally honest about the night Bobby was murdered? The thought was distressing enough to make Callie want to push it away. But she knew she’d have to keep it with her from that point on as she continued to search for the truth.

  The truth, she realized, just might turn out to be something she didn’t want to find.

  Twenty-Six

  Callie relieved Tabitha at the shop and was looking over an order written up for a specialty music box when Lyle Moody walked in.

  “Mr. Moody!” she said. “What a nice surprise.”

  “Lyle will do,” he said in his deep-pitched but quiet voice. “If that’s all right with you, ma’am.”

  “Of course. And I’m Callie.”

  The proprietor of the John Wayne memorabilia shop nodded and touched two finger tips to his forehead, causing Callie to picture a cowboy hat perched there, which would blend well with his denims and checkered shirt. White sneakers, however, completed his outfit instead of boots.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine Lyle shopping for a music box, but stranger things had happened.

  “Well, I happened to have a little something to tell Mr. Greer, but I see his café is closed. I wondered if you’d pass it along for me?”

  “Brian? Sure, I’d be glad to.” Although Lyle Moody was a newcomer to Keepsake Cove, he’d apparently already been informed or picked up on the relationship between Callie and Brian, casual though it was.

  “I happened to be at a garage that he contacted about a certain van. My ornery pickup has been having engine troubles lately. As I was waitin’ on it, I couldn’t help overhearing Joe, who handles most of the tow truck jobs, talking about the call.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t know what Mr. Greer needed to know about the van, but I know a little about the owner. If he’s wanting to hire him, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “You know Earl Smith?”

  “Just enough to know he’s not reliable. I was having a beer with Gavin Holder, the landscaper, the other
night, and Smith was running off at the mouth after a few too many.”

  Callie perked up at mention of Holder’s name but stuck with Smith for the moment. “The reason Brian was asking about the van,” she said, “was that it apparently broke down in front of his sister’s house in the middle of the night, worrying her young son. There was some transferring of items from the van to another vehicle. He wanted to be clear about what was going on.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I’m not surprised at the breakdown. According to the guys at the garage, the thing’s just this side of falling apart. Not too bright of Smith, since he uses it for hauling jobs when he can get them. That’s what I wanted to warn Greer about.”

  “That was good of you, Lyle.” So the argument going on in front of Annie’s house must have been between Smith and whoever had foolishly hired him and ended up finishing the haul themselves. “Do you happen to know how to reach Mr. Smith? Not to hire, but Brian might have more questions about the incident the other night.”

  Moody shook his head. “Somebody at Dave’s Pub might know. I got the feeling Smith is a regular.”

  “Thanks. You mentioned Gavin Holder. He’s doing landscaping for a friend of mine. It’s taking shape very nicely.”

  Moody nodded. “He’s a pro. Knows what he’s doing.”

  “My friend said he seemed anxious for the work. That’s surprising to me, since good landscapers are usually pretty busy this time of year.”

  “Gavin’s new to the area, like me.”

  “Did you know him before moving here?”

  “Nope, just ran into each other at the pub once or twice and started talkin’.” Moody smiled, adding, “More about John Wayne than about flowers. But he sounds pretty experienced in his line of work. Your friend’s most likely in good hands. Well, I’ll be on my way. Just wanted to pass on that little nugget about Smith.” He started to turn, then stopped. “Oh, and I’m sorry about your other friend. Hope things work out for him.”

  “Hank? Thank you.”

  “He stopped in at my shop that first day he was here. Didn’t buy anything, but that’s okay. He sure didn’t seem like anyone who’d do what they say he did.”

  Callie hadn’t thought so either, and she’d been so sure about that. Yet Hank’s admission of what he’d hidden from her had shaken that conviction. She didn’t say so to Lyle, and simply thanked him.

  Later that night, Callie turned on her recording of the first talk show Lyssa had appeared on earlier that day. She’d fixed a mug of tea and curled up on the sofa with Jagger by her side. Though it looked like Lyssa would appear later in the program, she watched from the beginning, enjoying the chatter and the luxury of a small break from thoughts of murder.

  When the chatter got to be a bit much, Callie fast-forwarded, stopping when one of the hosts held up Lyssa’s latest book. She listened to the glowing introduction, after which Lyssa walked into view. Callie sat upright, excited to see her friend on TV exchanging hugs with the show’s hosts and looking wonderful in her green jacket with a new blouse and a dark pencil skirt. The total image said successful author, at least to Callie, but Lyssa’s easy, joking manner made her relatable and perfect for daytime viewers.

  She enjoyed the interview, and the fact that, if Lyssa was as nervous as she’d sounded on the phone, it never showed. When the segment ended, she pulled up a recording of a show that had taken place later in the day. When Lyssa appeared in that one, she’d changed into a dress. New clothes, new hosts, but the questions and discussion were much the same. Though Lyssa tried to vary her answers, there was only so much she could do. Her prediction that Callie would quickly become bored was turning out to be on point, though it was still fun to see a friend on the screen.

  When the second show ended, Callie turned off the TV. Lyssa’s next appearance would be on a late late show, which was much too late late for Callie. She would catch it another time. She put her mug in the sink and went upstairs, Jagger following closely behind.

  A loud boom woke her in the middle of the night. Callie sat straight up. What was that? She waited, listening, but heard nothing more. Then she swung her legs down and climbed out of bed. When she stepped into the hallway, a flash of light from below caught her eye.

  She hurried to the top of the stairs and saw the flash again, realizing it came through her front window. After running back to her room to grab her cell phone, Callie dashed down the stairs and to the window. More flashing light. But she also smelled smoke.

  She yanked open her front door and saw flames to her right, licking the corner of her house. She immediately pulled up the Emergency SOS on her phone and called for help, then rushed back inside, intent on finding the fire extinguisher Aunt Mel had stored in the kitchen. After scrambling through the clutter on the floor of the narrow pantry closet, Callie laid her hands on it. She ripped off the safety pin as she ran outdoors, praying that the device was still operable.

  The flames were concentrated on the side of her cottage, underneath the electric meter. Callie aimed her extinguisher’s nozzle and pressed down. A whoosh of white gas flew out, and the flames quickly died down.

  As her extinguisher fizzled out, so did the breath she’d been holding in. Her fire was out. Her head swiveled as she heard sirens in the distance. Possibly unneeded but still wonderful to hear. Then she remembered Jagger. Callie dashed back into her cottage and up the stairs, hoping against hope that the large cat wasn’t hiding. To her relief, she found him still on her bed, and she scooped him up. Hearing the roar of the fire truck pulling up, she carried Jagger down the stairs and out of her cottage to meet the truck at the street.

  “It’s back there,” she yelled, struggling to hold tight to her now-panicked cat. “I think I put it out.” She got out of the firefighters’ way as they took over in a rush of activity. As she watched, dazed, Delia miraculously appeared in her robe and slippers and pulled Callie into Shake It Up! With the brightness of the fire truck’s flashing lights illuminating the shop, Delia led Callie directly to the back office and closed the door behind them, allowing her to put a frazzled Jagger down and draw a deep breath.

  “Here,” Delia said, pulling a stand-by raincoat off its hook and wrapping it around her friend, who’d begun to shiver in her thin pajamas, and not only from the cold. Callie slid her arms through the sleeves and went to the office window, from which she could see several firemen at the back of her cottage. They weren’t rushing anymore, which she took as a good sign.

  “I think the worst is over.”

  “Thank God. What happened? What caused the fire?”

  “I don’t know! It was just suddenly there. There was a loud boom that woke me up. Otherwise I might not have discovered it.”

  “That woke me, too. I think it came from the breaker on the pole out front.”

  “The flames were under my electric meter. Would that have affected the pole breaker ?”

  “They’re connected. When a tree branch landed on the lines once, during a storm, the breaker out there boomed just like that. And all our power went out.” Delia clicked a wall switch on and off to no effect. “See? We’re out.”

  “Wow,” Callie said, still stunned. “But where did that fire come from?” She saw two of the firefighters conferring at the corner of her yard. “I’m going out. Maybe they’ll have some answers.”

  She left Jagger with Delia and crossed her friend’s small yard to her own, where she identified herself as the cottage’s owner.

  “Looks like you had an arsonist at work here,” a firefighter told her after confirming the fire was out. “Somebody built a nice pile of wood and paper right under your electric meter. Looks like minimal damage to your house, mostly to the siding, but the meter’s a loss. You’ll have some internal damage to the wires and your breaker.”

  An arsonist! “Why would somebody do that?”

  “It’s weird,” he agreed. “W
e’ve reported it. We also notified the power company about the outages, but it might be a while before they can get here. They’re dealing with a major problem farther east of here. Freak wind storm and lots of lines down. They’re stretched pretty thin right now.”

  Callie sighed. “Is it safe for me to go back in?”

  The man nodded. “Soon. We’re still checking to make sure the fire didn’t extend internally, but so far it looks fine. I should be able to give you the final okay in a few minutes.”

  Callie thanked him, and then spotted Karl Eggers standing at the fence opening between their yards. She went over to tell him what she’d learned.

  “So,” he growled, “some idiot thought it would be fun to light fires and close down people’s shops for the next day. Like the murder wasn’t bad enough for business.”

  Callie understood the feeling. Her business was just starting to pick up again, and now her shop and several others would be dark until the power company showed up. Who was the arsonist and why would he—or she—do such a thing?

  It was clear to Callie that she’d been the target, the surrounding shops and homes simply collateral damage. Had her questions about Bobby Linville’s murder triggered this response? If so, it meant she’d asked them of the right person. If she only knew who that was.

  Twenty-Seven

  O nce the fire truck left, Callie retrieved Jagger from Delia’s office and took him home. She tried to get some sleep, but found it next to impossible as adrenaline and a multitude of unanswered questions continued to swirl. Exhaustion won out eventually. She dozed off just as dawn was breaking, managing to catch a couple of hours. She woke to bright sunshine coming through her unshaded window and into her eyes. She checked her phone for the time: 9:05. Still groggy, she nonetheless dragged herself out of bed. Her rest time was over. A quick shower revived her somewhat, and she dressed and pinned her limp hair out of the way. With the power out, there’d be no hair dryer use that day. Or coffee maker.