A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Once downstairs, she stepped outside to get a look at the damage in daylight. She was groaning over it when her cell phone rang. It was Delia.

  “I picked up coffee and breakfast sandwiches in Mapleton. Come on over!”

  “Delia, you’re a saint!”

  Callie slipped through the break in the greenery between the two cottages and saw her friend standing at her door. “I waited to see some signs of life,” Delia said. “Didn’t want to wake you. The coffee’s staying nice and hot in my big thermos.”

  Callie expected to see Jill, too, as she walked inside, but Delia’s living room and kitchen were both empty. She realized she hadn’t seen Jill the previous night, during all the commotion from the fire, and asked Delia about it.

  “Jill has been having trouble sleeping, so she picked up an over-the-counter sleep aid. Sometimes those things can really knock you out. But I’m glad she’s finally getting some rest.” Delia waved Callie to the kitchen and told her to pick out a sandwich while she poured out a coffee.

  As she unwrapped her sausage and egg-filled muffin, Callie thought about Delia’s housemate. Was Jill really still in bed because of a sleeping tablet, or could she possibly have tired herself out during the middle of the night, gathering wood and setting a fire? Delia had told Callie once that she herself was a sound sleeper. She might not have heard Jill if she’d slipped out of the house.

  Shortly after Delia joined Callie at the small table, they heard sounds of movement upstairs, followed soon by dragging footsteps on the steps as Jill called out, “I smell coffee!” When she appeared, wrapped in a robe and looking bleary-eyed, she stopped at the edge of the kitchen, surprised to see Callie. “Oh! Hi!”

  “We’re having a fast food breakfast today,” Delia said, getting up. “But the coffee’s good. Come on in. You can take my seat. I already ate.”

  “Fast food? How come?” Jill asked, staying where she was. “Not that I mind. All I really want is coffee.”

  “You must have been out like a light! There was quite a bit of excitement last night.” Delia told her what had happened and that cooking on her electric stove wasn’t going to happen for a while. Callie watched Jill’s face but saw only normal shock and surprise, muted somewhat by sleepiness.

  “Wow! And I slept through all that? Amazing.” Jill pushed a straggly bunch of hair back from her face.

  “You might want to cut your dose of that pill in half next time,” Delia said. She put Jill’s coffee on the table and waved her toward it. “Sit.”

  Jill seemed reluctant, saying she could take her coffee into the living room, but when Delia insisted, she took the seat across from Callie and began to sip her coffee. Callie told her more about the damage to her electric meter and the cottage’s siding, along with the firefighter’s statement that it had been arson. Jill shook her head but didn’t appear all that alarmed. Simply groggy from the sleep aid? Difficult to say.

  Callie munched on her sandwich a while, then told both women about her visit to the detention center to see Hank. Delia glanced sympathetically over her shoulder from the sink as she listened, but Jill continued to focus on her mug. Callie didn’t bring up Hank’s explanation for his bail denial, but she told about things he’d gone through since being locked up.

  “He picked up some kind of bug that made him sick enough to be in the infirmary for a while. And he got caught in the middle of a fight between other inmates. He’s also very worried about losing his spot with the band. They have to keep performing, and they could decide to fill his place, maybe with someone they’ll like better. This could be really tough for him, the longer it goes on.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Delia said, full of sympathy.

  Jill nodded and mumbled agreement before lifting her mug for another sip.

  Wanting to get at least some kind of response out of Jill, Callie tried a new subject. “I stopped at Lyssa’s on the way to the detention center yesterday, to see how her landscape project was going.”

  Delia brightened. “I didn’t know about that. What is she getting done?”

  “A lot of tidying up, with old, overgrown shrubs removed. That’s what’s happening now, and it’s already made a big difference. Then there’ll be new plants put in—perennials and low-maintenance things.” Callie turned to Jill. “The landscaper, by the way, is from Portis. Gavin Holder. Perhaps you knew him?”

  Jill’s still-droopy eyes shot open, but she instantly looked down again. “Holder? I don’t know. Sounds familiar.”

  “He also worked at the Portis Playhouse, doing grounds management at the time the new facility opened up.”

  “Then I must have run into him. He’s here, now?”

  “Fairly new to the area and just getting started. Turns out he was the groundskeeper for the festival.”

  “Oh! That’s a change.” Jill’s face showed the first signs of genuine concern. “But it sounds like he’s got a good project with your friend. I’m sorry I didn’t see him.”

  “We could run over there if you like,” Delia said, “and say hello. I wouldn’t mind seeing Lyssa’s yard take shape. Is she there?”

  “She’s in New York right now,” Callie said. “But I’m sure she’d be glad to have more people checking on it for her.”

  “No.” Jill shook her head impatiently. “I have too much to do. Calls to make. I can’t waste the time.” She got up and plopped her mug in the sink. “I’m getting dressed.”

  As they heard her rush up the stairs, Callie looked at Delia, who seemed just as surprised by Jill’s outburst but said nothing. After a moment she took the seat Jill had vacated. “More coffee?” she asked weakly.

  Callie shook her head. “Delia,” she began carefully, “do you have any concerns about Jill?”

  Delia sighed. “She’s had problems. Things haven’t been easy for her.”

  “I know you’ve been trying to help her, and that’s wonderful of you. But you didn’t know about her past relationship with Bobby Linville. Does it worry you that she didn’t tell you?”

  “She had good reason not to. It was a time in her life she didn’t want to revisit. I have to respect that, Callie. I don’t need to know everything about everyone.” Delia fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers at the edge of the table, realigning them, then brushed a few crumbs together.

  Callie broke the silence. “I agree about a person’s right to privacy. But there’s a point when honesty is needed. Required.”

  Delia looked up. “Yes, I know. We’re getting there, I think. It’s just something I prefer to take gently.”

  Callie nodded. She’d leave it there for now. “I’d better get started lining up repairs for my damage,” she said, getting up. “I’ll make the calls from Aunt Mel’s landline, to save my cell until I can charge it again.” She thanked Delia for the unexpected but highly appreciated coffee and breakfast.

  As she left, she glanced back at Delia gradually closing the door. She couldn’t say at this point if her friend was right to give Jill such leeway. But since she had no concrete evidence to argue otherwise, she had to trust—and hope—that things would work out for her.

  Twenty-Eight

  W hen Callie saw Brian heading toward the café’s front door later, she waved and hurried over.

  “I guess you haven’t heard about last night,” she said.

  “I just got here from Annie’s,” he said, his keys in hand. “What happened?”

  “For one thing, the café probably has no power.” Callie told about her fire and its far-reaching effect. “We don’t know how long it will be until it’s restored. I hope your food will be okay.”

  Brian smiled and shook his head. “I should be fine. With the possibility of a hurricane always looming, I couldn’t afford not to have a generator. What about you? How about we bring those frozen meals from your freezer over here.”

  “My dinners! I fo
rgot about them! Do you have the space?”

  “Plenty. Mondays are when I stock up. Let me get the generator going, then I’ll come over and help carry your stuff.”

  Callie went back to her cottage and pulled out her laundry basket. When she heard the generator chugging and saw the café’s lights go on she got to work, filling the basket with Brian’s frozen casseroles. He showed up within minutes with a cardboard box, but Callie showed him the damage from the fire first. That brought a low whistle.

  “You were lucky it didn’t spread farther than that.”

  “Believe me, I realize that. Whoever did it might not have expected the loud boom it caused on the street pole. That’s what woke me up.”

  “Or they knew exactly what they were doing and planned this limited damage.”

  “As a warning to me? I thought of that too. It’s a pain and a major hassle, and it’ll slow me down. But it’s not going to stop me. It only makes me more determined.”

  Brian nodded. “Which is what I expected. Your arsonist obviously doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

  Callie smiled, glad he wasn’t urging her to drop her investigation to be safe. “Well, that puts you in the clear then, I guess!”

  Brian grinned. “That, plus the fact that I’m terrible at building fires. Really struggled over that badge in Boy Scouts. Let’s take care of your food before it thaws.”

  They went inside and transferred an unopened carton of milk and several perishables from the refrigerator to the cardboard box. “Come over to the café for any meals until things get fixed,” he said, spurring a grateful smile from Callie.

  She told him about Delia’s early morning breakfast run as they carried their loads across the street, then shared her thoughts about Jill while they emptied it all into the café freezer and refrigerator.

  “Oh, and Lyle Moody wanted me to tell you something. He came into the shop yesterday after you’d already gone.” Callie related what Lyle said about Earl Smith.

  “Hmm. That makes me just a little curious. I think I’d like to know a little more about Smith. Feel like a little pub food tonight?”

  “You mean at Dave’s Pub? Sure.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven. With luck we’ll run into Smith. If not, Dave might have more to tell us about this man or how to get in touch with him.”

  Callie left Brian to his work of getting things ready for Sunday lunch. The shops at their end of Keepsake Cove would be dark and therefore draw fewer people that direction, but Brian didn’t seem too worried about losing customers. “People will still be hungry. They know where I am.”

  Callie had already decided to open her shop for the afternoon and at least try to accommodate any customers that wandered her way. She’d scrounged around and found a small battery-powered lamp of Aunt Mel’s to put in the window as a sign that she was open for business, plus the lamp could be carried to darker corners as needed. She’d have to handle credit card sales manually but it was doable, as were cash sales, of course, and orders. Her next plan was to make a sign to put out on the sidewalk, perhaps a sandwich board if she could manage it.

  With those many thoughts running through her mind, Callie was ready to cross the street when she glanced to her left. Howard Graham stood outside his Christmas Collectibles shop, two doors down, talking with Pearl Poepelman. He appeared agitated, and Callie guessed he’d just learned of the power outage. She was reasonably sure that Pearl had been told what had happened by Delia and had subsequently related it to Howard; Callie felt no need to add to the explanation, especially knowing how badly Howard tended to take any bump in the road that affected his business.

  She saw him turn in her direction. She waved quickly and then trotted over to House of Melody before he could call out, hoping he wouldn’t follow. She wasn’t to blame for the fire that led to the outages, but she also wasn’t in the mood for even the slightest hint that she could have done something to prevent it and thus save Howard his latest tribulation. Once she was inside, she peered out her window and saw Pearl edging Howard into his shop.

  “Thank you, Pearl,” she murmured. “If you could manage to lock him in, all the better.”

  As expected, Callie had few customers during the early part of the afternoon. When she grew hungry, she had little hesitation about locking up temporarily to run over to the café for a take-out lunch. She checked the power company’s website on her phone while she waited at Brian’s counter.

  “Looks like they still have plenty of work to do on the windstorm outages,” she said as Brian brought over her bagged sandwich and drink. “Nobody’s likely to show up here for a while.”

  “If I have to keep the generator going overnight, I’ve got enough gas,” Brian said. “It’ll be noisy though.”

  “A small price to pay for access to food and electricity. My phone’s power is running low,” she said, pulling out her charger. “May I leave it here?”

  “Of course. At no—ha!—extra charge.” Brian glanced out his window. “Looks like you might have a customer.”

  “Wouldn’t you know. Just when I take a little break.” Callie grabbed her bag and hurried out, hailing the woman who was peering into the shop and welcomed her in after unlocking the door. She ended up making a sale—small, but at least a sale. And her customer promised to let others know that Callie’s shop and several others were open at the darkened end of Keepsake Cove.

  “I just came from Forever Dolls,” her customer continued, referring to Krystal Cobb’s shop. “The woman in there didn’t say anything about power being out over here, and I almost turned around when I saw how closed up all the stores looked. Maybe she didn’t know or hasn’t heard? She seemed a little out of it, frankly. Half asleep.”

  “Really? The owner?”

  “I guess that’s who it was.” The woman described Krystal to a T. “Must have had a late night.”

  “Possibly,” Callie agreed. But doing what? Could Krystal have been her arsonist? Callie couldn’t picture the perpetually well-dressed and polished association president slinking about in the middle of the night to set fires, but she made a mental note of the information and stored it away.

  Brian picked her up at seven for their pub date, the top down on his classic red convertible.

  “Is that okay?” he asked as Callie climbed in. “The weather’s great, but Dave’s is a few miles out of town. It might get a little windy as we pick up speed.”

  Callie laughed. “I haven’t been able to do a thing with my hair besides tie it back ever since the power went out. Wind won’t make it any worse.”

  “It looks fine,” he assured her, though she remembered with a smile that Brian had never noticed the few times she’d thought her hair looked particularly good after a trip to the salon. But she appreciated the effort.

  “How was Ben’s baseball game?” she asked. With all their discussion of the arson, she’d forgotten to ask before.

  “His team lost, eighteen to ten.” Brian laughed ruefully. “Eight- and nine-year-olds aren’t that great at fielding. Ben seemed a little off. I did explain to him why the van was in front of his house in the middle of the night, and he seemed to get it, but I think the scare is hanging on. Annie hoped the game would take his mind off of it, but it looked like it was the other way around. He didn’t seem able to focus.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “How did things go at the detention center?” Brian asked.

  “Fairly depressing. I wish Hank could remember where he went and got drunk that night after chewing Bobby out. Confirmation of his alibi could solve his problem in a jiffy.”

  “And yours,” Brian added.

  Callie sighed. “Yes, and mine.” She turned to him. “And to some degree yours, too, for having to listen to all this. I know it must be a pain, but I am grateful for your support.”

  Brian turned to smile at her and reached
over to give her hand a squeeze. Callie appreciated it, but knew that Brian would be just as happy as she would be to wave a final goodbye to Hank. As he left to rejoin his band, that is, not left in a police van on his way to prison.

  Twenty-Nine

  Callie didn’t know exactly what to expect as they drove to Dave’s Pub. The plain, no-nonsense name indicated a male-oriented, no-frills kind of place that would appeal to guys like Lyle Moody and Gavin Holder, who both ran their own businesses but were down-to-earth types (Gavin literally so). But it also had drawn Earl Smith, who Lyle had described as unreliable and barely scraping by but who somehow managed to scrounge up enough money to pay for pub beers. What could Dave’s Pub offer to such a range of patrons?

  She discovered as they walked in. A horseshoe-shaped bar dominated the area, with a few booths placed against pine-paneled walls. Mounted animal heads decorated those walls, along with several framed, outdoorsy photos. A pool table and a jukebox filled the remaining space in the back. The aroma of beer saturated the air, but also the scent of fried onions and burgers. Vegetarians would need to search elsewhere, Callie suspected.

  “How ’do, folks,” the burly man behind the bar greeted them, the rolled sleeves of his white, button-down shirt exposing the edges of dark tattoos. “Food, drinks, or both?”

  “Both,” Brian said, glancing at Callie, who nodded.

  They chose to sit at the bar as the best location for conversation, both exchanged and overheard. The bartender, whom they quickly learned from other patrons’ banter to be Dave, slid two laminated menus over to them, then crossed to the other side to take care of a customer who’d signaled for a refill with his raised glass.

  The menu was surprisingly varied and leaned heavily toward deep fat fried. Callie chose a shrimp platter while Brian went for the Chesapeake burger that promised a crab meat topping on its grilled ground beef. Both added a tap beer to their orders, which their bartender pulled immediately. He lingered after setting down the glasses. “Folks new to the area?”