A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Before Callie had two moments to think about that, Lyssa pulled out her phone and calmly tapped at it. “Any idea where Krystal lives? I think we should head over there, don’t you?”

  Thirty-One

  Lyssa found Krystal’s address on the internet, clucking at the same time that nothing was private anymore. She and Callie were heading toward her red Corvette, which she’d parked a short distance from the café, when Callie noticed Duane walking in their direction. He spotted her at the same time and hailed her as he picked up speed. She had no choice but to wait.

  “Hey!” he said brightly as he approached, then said to Lyssa, “Heard you were on TV. I sure wish I’d caught it.”

  Lyssa smiled politely and pooh-poohed the idea that he’d missed anything important. “You heading to the café?” she asked. “Half the town seems to be gathering there because of their power being out.”

  “No outage at my place, thank goodness. Except of food!” He chortled, then said to Callie, “I saw you and Brian at Dave’s Pub last night. Just as you were leaving, though, so it was too late to catch you. My bad luck.”

  “Oh, were you there?” Callie blinked innocently. “I guess we missed you. The place was pretty crowded. Do you go there much? I’d never been.”

  “Oh, off and on, for a change of pace. The food there is pretty decent. But their clientele can get a little rowdy, so I generally take a booth at the back.”

  “It seemed fine last night. Gavin Holder was at the bar. He’s a fairly quiet guy.”

  “Oh, yeah. Gavin. Saw him.”

  “And we’ll be seeing Gavin very soon, I hope,” Lyssa said, pulling open her car door as a broad hint. “He’s my landscaper. I need to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  “He’s working at your place now?”

  “Not at the moment.” Lyssa slipped behind her wheel and Callie opened the passenger door. “But we’ll track him down.” She turned on her ignition as Callie climbed in and buckled up, then waved and drove off, her sports car motor purring. Duane stood where he was on the sidewalk, watching them go.

  “Lordy,” Lyssa said, looking in her rear-view mirror. “He looks as though we abandoned him. What did he expect? That we’d spend the rest of the morning chatting with him?”

  “Maybe he wanted to pump you about how to get booked on TV. He’s a schmoozer. Except for last night at the pub, but maybe because it was the end of the day. As Brian said, even talkers can run down. Mornings, he’s probably raring to go.”

  Callie was curious to see Krystal’s house. Like all Keepsake Cove shop owners, Krystal had a cottage built behind her store, but some felt that the houses were too small for their needs. What requirements did Krystal, who lived alone, have that had made her decide to pass on the convenience of the cottage for the added expense of living in a different house?

  When Lyssa pulled up to Krystal’s address after a fifteen-minute drive, Callie saw a pretty Cape Cod set behind an expansive green lawn. The driveway curved gracefully toward a bricked walkway, which in turn led to a cozy front porch. That alone explained the woman’s decision to Callie, who would have loved a front porch like that to sit on. She recognized Gavin Holder’s van parked in front of the garage.

  “They’re probably all in the back,” Lyssa said, cutting off her engine. “Might as well head right over.”

  When they rounded the corner of the house, a bright blue pool sparkled into view.

  “Wow!” Lyssa said, taking it in. “Nice.”

  The broken tree in question had already been cut down, and Gavin and Earl Smith were busy slicing it into manageable pieces. The endangered fence that Rhonda Furman had mentioned was apparently what enclosed the pool and its patio. An umbrella-topped table and four chairs sat at its edge.

  As they stood watching the two men work, Krystal’s voice called out a surprised good morning, pulling their attention to the shadows of a screen porch. The association president pushed open a squeaky-hinged door and stepped out. She was dressed impeccably, even on a day off, in cream-colored slacks and a white linen shirt. Callie and Lyssa went over to meet her.

  “Sorry for barging in,” Lyssa said. “I heard Gavin was here, and I wanted to talk with him. Thanks for the recommendation, by the way. He’s been doing a good job over at my place.”

  “I thought he would. And you’re not barging at all,” Krystal said. “I’m delighted to see you both. Do join me for a cool drink. I have plenty on hand ready for the men as soon as they take a break.” She ignored their polite protests and led the way back into her screened porch, to a table with a full view of the yard.

  “I’m truly delighted with the company,” Krystal claimed as she poured glasses of lemonade from a large pitcher. “Watching the tree come down was exciting. But the rest of it has become rather boring.”

  “Your pool is beautiful.” Callie took the glass held out to her.

  Krystal smiled. “The water hasn’t warmed up enough to use. But once it is, I look forward all day to swimming laps. It’s relaxing, but at the same time it wears me out enough to get a decent sleep.”

  “Working all day in your shop isn’t enough?” Lyssa asked. “That would wear me out.”

  Krystal shook her head. “When you reach my age, your brain doesn’t want to turn off. Mine seems to search for unfinished business the minute I turn in.”

  “I hate to think about what mine will find, what with all those crazy scenes I’ve written into my books.” Lyssa cackled. “Oh, the guys are taking a break. How about I take their drinks out? That’ll give me a chance to talk to Gavin.”

  Krystal didn’t argue, and Lyssa was soon out the door carrying two frosty glasses of lemonade to the men. Callie suspected Earl would prefer a cold beer, but if so, he was out of luck.

  After watching for a minute, Krystal invited Callie inside. “I want to show you my new kitchen. Oh, but you’ve never seen the old one, have you? Terrible of me! I should have had you over ages ago.”

  Callie followed her into a bright kitchen, where Krystal talked about the many decisions she’d made on countertops, floor, and wall colors, something Callie had never gotten into herself. Her past living quarters had all been rented and temporary, and her current one had come so beautifully done by her aunt that she hadn’t wanted to change a thing.

  Krystal’s living room faced the front yard, its large windows letting in plenty of light. It was also beautifully decorated but looked seldom used, one of those rooms that the owner only passed through. The same with the dining room. Callie wondered where Krystal spent most of her time. She’d mentioned swimming laps, and of course the screen porch was cozy, but both required warm weather. Where did she unwind when it was colder? Or darker?

  Krystal’s phone rang and she excused herself to answer it, stepping away from Callie, who, after a few moments, decided to wander. A short hallway brought her to a cozy den. The door was open, so she could see a well-worn chair and hassock, which she thought answered her question. There was also a glass-fronted cabinet. Inside were several dolls, which at first wasn’t surprising, since Krystal owned a collectible dolls shop. But a closer look showed that these weren’t the type she would carry in her shop. Callie recognized ones similar to those she’d had years ago, popular and ordinary. They looked well played with. Had they belonged to Krystal’s daughter, Tiffany?

  She heard Krystal’s voice a bit nearer, apparently wrapping up her conversation. Callie went back to the kitchen.

  “Sorry about that.” Krystal pocketed her phone. “Something always comes up to do with the association.”

  “A problem?”

  “No, just another shopkeeper who doesn’t come to meetings and therefore is never up-to-date on things. Wanted to know when we were going to reimburse booth-holders for the festival day we lost.” She sighed.

  “Why would they call you and not Duane?”

  “
Duane’s apparently not answering his phone.” Krystal pursed her mouth in annoyance. “Just as he wasn’t when I tried to call him at the festival about Bobby Linville’s demand for more money.”

  “Lyssa and I met him on his way to the café, so he must turn his phone off when he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Actually, he told me that when you were trying to reach him that Saturday night at the festival, he was on his way to buy a painting. He apparently decided he was off duty as the association treasurer.”

  Krystal snorted softly, still looking annoyed. “Another painting. He must have a storage facility somewhere full of them!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen the same picture twice at his house. He obviously can’t resist buying them, but then runs out of room. Why he doesn’t just buy a bigger house is beyond me.” Then she laughed. “Maybe he can’t afford it after buying all those paintings! Well, to each his own. We’re all a town of collectors, after all.”

  “Yes, we are. I haven’t actually started collecting music boxes for myself, but I’ll always keep my grandfather’s music box because of the special memories attached to it. I imagine you do that, too.”

  Krystal’s eyes softened for a moment, and Callie wondered if she was thinking of the dolls she kept in her den and of the daughter who’d probably owned them. But then the woman’s mouth tightened and a flash of hot anger ran over her face. As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. Krystal smiled tightly. “We should probably get back outside. Gavin Holder might be waiting to be paid. Oh, and that bumbling helper of his. The next time Holder does a job for me, he’s going to have to bring someone who doesn’t just yammer on and on when he should be working.”

  She clicked briskly across the tiled floor of her kitchen and pushed open her back door, not looking back to see if Callie was following.

  Thirty-Two

  O n the way back to Keepsake Cove, Callie told Lyssa about the dolls she’d seen, and about Krystal’s surprising flash of rage.

  “Rage?”

  “That’s what I have to call it, though it only lasted an instant. We were talking about collections and memories. At first she seemed to have pulled up fond ones, then that changed quickly.”

  “She lost a daughter, as we know. The memory of that would be full of sadness. So the anger associated with it—”

  “—would be aimed at whoever she might blame for the daughter’s death.”

  “Which we’d like to think is Bobby Linville. Remind me. Do we have a connection between Bobby and the daughter?” Lyssa slowed for a sharp curve.

  “They attended the same college at the same time. A small one.”

  “So they could have known each other.”

  “Seems possible. Then Tiffany died a few years later while driving under the influence.”

  “And Bobby also had a drinking problem,” Lyssa said.

  “Yes.”

  “I think we have a connection. He could have drawn her into an alcohol problem with him, which later caused her death.”

  “Just speculative,” Callie pointed out.

  “But”—Lyssa paused to negotiate a sharp curve—“there’s too much there to be simply coincidental. If a relationship with him didn’t actually lead to her death, couldn’t Krystal at least have blamed him for it? He disappears, then shows up after all these years at the Keepsake Cove festival. He and Krystal meet face to face, and within hours he’s dead. Coincidence? I don’t believe it.”

  “But remember that Rhonda Furman, who’s known Krystal for years, didn’t connect Bobby to Tiffany. Only to selling herself a lemon of a car.”

  “If she’s Krystal’s good friend, she might be protecting her.”

  “True. But it’s still speculative. There’s nothing we can take to the police yet.”

  Lyssa had to reluctantly agree with that and was silent as she drove into Keepsake Cove and down its quiet main street. At least half of the area would be open and lively on Tuesday, or maybe the whole street if the power company was able to restore electricity to the rest of the properties. That is, except for Callie’s house, which needed much more repair work. She groaned silently, then quickly shook it off. It was a problem, but there was a worse problem on hand to solve—the murder of Bobby Linville.

  “Mind if I drop you off across the street?” Lyssa asked, pulling up in front of the café. “I’m going to head straight on to pick up a few groceries.”

  “That’s fine.” Callie unbuckled and climbed out, promising to call if more things came up. She was standing at the curb, waiting as Lyssa drove off, when she heard the café door open behind her.

  “Nice car, isn’t it?”

  Callie turned to see Duane. “It is.”

  “Did she find Holder okay?”

  “Yes,” Callie answered, taking a step off the curb.

  “Where was he?”

  Callie sighed and stepped back. “At Krystal Cobb’s. She needed a tree cut down.”

  “A tree! Wow. That’s a big job. Hope it’s going okay.”

  “He was nearly done when we got there. By the way, while we were there, Krystal had to field a call for you from an association member. Have you turned your phone back on?”

  Duane patted his shirt pocket confidently. “Back in action. I hate being bothered during a meal.”

  “Or whenever you take yourself off duty, like when you left the festival that night.”

  “Then, too,” he agreed cheerfully. “You know, I was thinking about what you said about Krystal not being able to reach me then. I realized later that I actually didn’t have any missed calls from her that night. So I don’t know what that was all about.”

  “Really? No missed calls?”

  “I guess she could have misdialed,” Duane said. “Sometimes I do that. Click on the wrong contact by mistake. It happens. Oh, by the way, I meant to tell you this earlier. Last night at the pub, sometime after you left, I happened to hear this guy—one of the regulars—talking about Delia’s friend. The photographer?”

  “Jill? What about her?”

  “Well, he was a little drunk, so I don’t know how much credence to give to it, but I got the impression he was at the festival and had his eye on her. Thought she was, in his words, pretty hot.”

  “He had his eye on her? Who was this?” Callie thought immediately of Gavin Holder, but it didn’t sound like him.

  “Just someone who tends to ramble on a lot after a couple of beers. A scruffy kind of guy. I’ve seen him there a lot. Name’s Earl something.”

  “Earl Smith?”

  “That’s probably it. Anyway, if you see her, you might give her a heads-up. I don’t know if he’s any real trouble, like a stalker or anything, but she might want to keep an eye out.”

  “I’ll let her know. Did he say he actually knew her?”

  Duane shook his head. “Not that I heard.”

  Callie pictured Gavin Holder sitting at the bar and couldn’t imagine he would put up with hearing that kind of talk about Jill. She asked Duane if Holder was there when this happened.

  Duane shook his head. “I don’t really remember. Hey, maybe it’s a big nothing. But I thought I’d pass it on. Forewarned is forearmed and all that, right? Well, gotta go. Things to do.”

  Duane walked off, and Callie stepped back into the street to finally cross, but with more things on her mind than she’d had at the start.

  Instead of returning to her own cottage, she went to Delia’s. She found her in the yard, where she’d brought her parakeet out in his Victorian cage for a little sun. Delia was dead-heading her daffodils and looked up as Callie approached. Callie asked if Jill was around.

  “She’s probably in the shower. Want to come in and wait?”

  “No, thanks. Would you tell her something?” Callie shared Duane’s tale about Earl Smith.
“I don’t know if it’s anything to be concerned about, though Duane thought it might be. Would you let me know if Jill knows this guy or not?”

  “Sure. He sounds creepy.”

  “Maybe. He’s shown up on the radar lately in some odd circumstances.” She told Delia about the van breaking down in front of Brian’s sister’s house. “I’m still not sure what to make of him.”

  Delia looked concerned. Then her face suddenly lit up. “Oh! I think the electric company truck is here!”

  Callie turned and saw flashing yellow lights coming from the street. “Great!” she said. “Looks like you’ll have your power back soon. I’m going to check on when my siding people will be here. Then maybe I’ll get back in business before too long too.”

  “Oh, I hope so. But don’t forget you’re always welcome to whatever you need at my place. Oh, to be able to cook again!” Delia said, clapping her hands together in joyful anticipation.

  Oh, to be able to blow-dry and curl my hair, watch something on TV, and most importantly, run House of Melody properly again. Callie left Delia to her own joys and returned to her unlit cottage, which was likely to remain so for a discouragingly long time.

  Thirty-Three

  Callie fixed herself a peanut butter sandwich in her dim kitchen by the light of the cottage’s small windows. She could have gone to the café for something more substantial, but she wanted a little down-time to think things over, time she wouldn’t get if the café was bustling.

  What did it mean if Earl Smith had been watching Jill at the festival? Anything or nothing? Had she been right to let Jill know about it?

  Callie began to wonder about this. Earl didn’t strike her as a dangerous man, more as someone living on the edge while scrounging up low-paying, temporary jobs. But she couldn’t claim to know the man well. One thing she did know was that if he was hanging around the festival that day, she wanted to learn what else he might have seen. Brian had Earl’s contact number. She’d get it from him and go from there.