A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  The rest of the afternoon saw one more small sale, and she laughed ruefully over the fact that at least she hadn’t wasted any electricity by staying open. She locked up, then trotted over to the café where Brian promised to have one of her frozen casseroles warmed up and ready to eat.

  “I’m sorry to just hand it over like this,” he said. “But I have to leave for the airport soon to pick up Mike.”

  “This is fine,” Callie assured him, taking the hot, towel-wrapped dish from him. “So Mike’s coming home, huh?”

  “Annie and the boys are excited. It was touch and go for a while if he’d make it back in time. There’s some sort of school project that has Justin going in with Mike to his office tomorrow, and they were both looking forward to it.”

  Callie was sure that Brian was looking forward to sleeping in his own bed once again, though he had been more than happy to help his sister out.

  “Say hi to Mike for me.” She carried her dinner to the cottage, set up the battery-powered light, fed her eager cat, and sat down to feed herself.

  It was after she’d cleaned up the best she could with her limited resources and sat down to relax that the cottage’s landline rang.

  “Callie Reed?” a hushed-sounding voice on the other end asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Doesn’t matter. But I can tell you what Earl was up to.”

  Thirty-Five

  Callie sat up straight at the words that came through the phone. “Who is this?” she demanded again.

  “Earl was my pal. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. Someone’s gotta know.”

  The voice was male, Callie was pretty sure. But with the raspy sound of it that was all she could say.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me.”

  “No, I have stuff that’ll prove it. I’ll give it to you.”

  “Stuff? What do you mean stuff, and why not give it to the police?”

  “Uh-uh. No cops. I figure you can do that.”

  “Why me? And how did you get this number?”

  “Look, I know you two’ve been askin’ around. Earl had your boyfriend’s number. But he’s not answerin’. So it’s gotta be you. You’re not so hard to find.”

  She wasn’t. But she wasn’t about to meet up with anyone who said he couldn’t talk to police, and she said so.

  “Yeah, okay, I get it. But we can meet at Dave’s. They know me there. They can tell you me and Earl go way back. I’m doing this for him. Sticking my neck out! But I can’t hold on to this stuff. Just let me give it to you. His and that other guy’s murder, that’s bad stuff!”

  “Other guy’s? Do you mean Bobby Linville?”

  “Yeah! Earl got sucked into the same crap. Look, I gotta go. I’ll be at Dave’s in half an hour. Ask for Earl’s pal Jimmy. You gotta do this!”

  The line went dead. Callie thought hard. Should she go? This person claimed that Earl Smith had been murdered and promised some sort of evidence that might also help Hank. Could she believe him? Then again, did it matter? She could meet him in a safe place, so why not?

  Her first wish was to go with Brian, but he’d left for the airport and wouldn’t be back in time. What about Lyssa? Callie picked up her phone. The call to Lyssa’s cell phone went to voicemail. She left a message about her hurry-up trip to the pub, then tried Lyssa’s landline. That call wasn’t picked up either.

  What should she do? She was losing time just thinking about it. “Jimmy” might not be willing to wait around. Callie chewed at her lip for several moments, then grabbed her keys. This could be the break that she—and Hank—needed. She couldn’t let it slip by.

  As she drove out of Keepsake Cove, Callie tried to keep her hopes realistic. She’d met Earl and could see he wasn’t the brightest bulb, to put it mildly. She shouldn’t expect his pal Jimmy to be either. Whatever he had to tell or give her might be a waste of her time. But there was always the chance he might have something to at least point her in a good direction. She held on to that idea.

  She’d set her GPS to guide her to Dave’s Pub, since she hadn’t paid close attention when Brian drove them there. She was glad she did, since part of Dave’s neon sign wasn’t working and she nearly passed _ave_s _ub despite the robotic voice claiming she’d reached her destination.

  The parking lot was crowded. A sign in the window proclaiming Tuesday night to be Ladies Night, 1/2 Price Beer! was likely the reason. After searching, she squeezed into a spot at the side of the building, butting up against thick shrubs. She locked her car and headed to the front entrance, following two couples already on their way in.

  The pub was as crowded as she’d expected by this time of night, with standing room only around the bar. How to connect with “Jimmy” might be a problem. Callie slowly worked her way to the bar to order a small ginger ale from Dave, then leaned in closely to be heard above the din. “Is Earl’s friend Jimmy here?” she asked.

  “Jimmy? Which one?” Dave asked. “Miller? Saunders? Green?”

  Callie’s heart sank. “I don’t know. He said he and Earl went way back.”

  Dave glanced around but clearly didn’t have more than two seconds to spare. He shook his head. “Sorry.” He went off to serve another customer.

  Callie picked up her soft drink and started to wander. Hopefully, Jimmy could identify her. She’d made it to the pub within half an hour. The rest was now up to him.

  Wandering through a busy pub and checking male faces, she quickly found, was not the best course of action for a woman on her own.

  “Hey there, pretty lady, buy you a drink?” was something she began to hear often. Her best course of action was to repeat, “Meeting someone” and keep moving, not the easiest thing to do in the crowded space. Where was Jimmy?

  Fifteen minutes went by. She’d just turned away one of the more persistent men when she bumped into someone. Turning to apologize, she was surprised to see Duane Fletcher. He looked equally taken aback.

  “Hey! Nice to see you again.” He glanced around. “Brian here too?”

  “No, he couldn’t make it.” Callie wasn’t thrilled to run into Duane, but since he seemed to be at least a semi-regular at the pub, she hoped he might be able to help her. “I’m trying to find a man named Jimmy. He was a friend of Earl Smith. Would you happen to know who that is and if he’s here?”

  “Jimmy?” Duane rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I think I know who you mean.” He craned his neck to search through the crowd. After several seconds he cried, “Aha! There he is. Near the back.” He pointed.

  Callie looked. “Which one?”

  Duane stepped to the side to give her a better view. “The one in the black T-shirt, with longish hair. See him?”

  Someone stepped in front of her, briefly blocking her view. When he moved, Callie stretched her neck, searching for the person Duane had described. “The one with the goatee?”

  “Right! Want me to go with you?”

  Callie got his point. Jimmy didn’t exactly look like someone you’d want to run into in a dark alley. But this was a crowded pub. And they needed to talk privately.

  “No thanks. I’ll be fine.” Someone bumped her elbow, which splashed a bit of her ginger ale over her hand.

  “Want me to hold that for you until you come back?”

  Callie shook her head. She had no desire to return. Instead she took a long drink, to avoid more spills, and began working her way through the crowd, keeping her eye on Jimmy as well as she could.

  Why hadn’t he been trying to find her? As she drew closer, she was frustrated to see him moving farther away. She followed, then stopped when she realized he’d gone into the men’s room. There was nothing she could do except wait nearby—and fend off more “buy you a drink?” offers.

  Jimmy took a long time, and Callie sipped her ginger ale as she waited, growing more and more annoyed. When he finally
reappeared, she hurried over.

  “Jimmy?”

  The black-shirted man kept on walking.

  “Jimmy!” Callie repeated more loudly.

  He looked over. “Talkin’ to me?”

  “Aren’t you Jimmy?”

  He shook his head. Then a smirk appeared. “But I could be, if you want me to.”

  He stepped closer, but Callie quickly turned away. “Never mind, sorry.” She kept on moving. Thanks, Duane, she silently cursed. Thanks a bunch!

  What to do? Had Jimmy not turned up after all? Or was he having as much trouble finding her as she was with him? She checked the time. Over half an hour had passed. The noise and the crowd was getting to her. The room was much too hot. She felt tired. Exhausted, actually. She should go. This had been a total waste of time.

  She struggled to wind her way again through the crowd. It seemed a lot harder than before. Too many people bumped into her. Or was she bumping into them?

  “Hey, there!” somebody cried as she stumbled, nearly dropping her glass. She apologized, confused.

  “Here, let me take that from you.”

  Callie turned to her right. It was Duane. He took the glass and set it on the bar.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m …” She couldn’t seem to find the word.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her arm. “You need to get some fresh air.”

  She let him walk her out the door. The cool air felt good. “My car …” She pointed vaguely to the side of the building.

  “I’ll drive,” Duane said, turning her firmly in another direction.

  She climbed into his SUV, needing help. When she fumbled with the seat belt, he leaned over to do it.

  Then everything went black.

  Thirty-Six

  Callie woke up in the dark. But where? She was lying on her side on something. Cardboard? Her hands were bound behind her! And her feet! What was going on?

  She tried to pull herself up. Bending her knees gave her some leverage, but when she lifted her head, the rush of dizziness stopped her. How did she get here?

  She remembered being at the pub and walking outside with Duane, and … That’s where her memory stopped. Had Duane done this to her?

  As if in answer, a wide door began sliding upward, letting light into her enclosure, which seemed to be some kind of a shed. The light came from a car’s headlights, angled slightly but with a glare that made her blink. After a moment, she was able to perceive a figure outlined in the doorframe, a figure whose rounded shape she instantly recognized. Duane Fletcher stepped forward.

  “Good. You’re awake.” He held a roll of duct tape and a box cutter. Callie eyed the box cutter nervously. “I couldn’t gag you right away,” he explained as he ripped loose several inches of the tape. “You might have died on your own vomit. Died too soon, that is. I need to keep you alive a little longer.” He sliced off a section of tape.

  “Why, Duane?”

  “Why do you have to die? Because, my dear, you were getting much too close. If you’d just minded your own business you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He paused and tsked to himself. “Partly my fault, of course, for hiring that band. That name, Linville, didn’t click soon enough. And then your old boyfriend gets blamed for his murder, which would have been just fine with me except it got you all worked up and snooping around. That’s your fault, and now you’re paying for it. Sorry, sweetie.”

  He leaned down and, despite Callie’s efforts to turn away, quickly slapped the strip of duct tape over her mouth. “Can’t have you calling for help, can we? Somebody might actually hear, though the chances of that are pretty slim.” Duane straightened up. “Uncomfortable, I know. But it won’t be for too long. Try to think of it that way.” He chuckled.

  Callie struggled to lift her head in order to see Duane’s face. Could he really be doing this? How had she missed seeing the monster that he was?

  “Don’t bother,” he advised. “Waste of energy.” He paused, appearing to think. “It’ll be a few more hours, but I’ll be back. Got to get that kid, Ben.”

  At Callie’s horrified squeal, he added, as though it were obvious, “He saw me! Oh, I already destroyed the sweatshirt, the one with the big number five on it you were running around asking everyone about. But the kid saw me from the window. I can’t take a chance he’ll point me out. It’s all Earl’s fault, you know. That stupid van of his. But I was in a pinch and had to use him. The stolen—or as I prefer to call it, relocated—artwork, you know.” He waved one hand around the shed. “You’re surrounded by some of it, by the way. Too bad you can’t appreciate it. Nice stuff! Anyway, it was my mistake hiring him, I admit that. And then when he showed he couldn’t be counted on to keep his mouth shut … well, that settled it.”

  He started to turn, then stopped. “In case you want to know—hey, it’ll give you something to think about while I’m gone—Linville worked with me at one time on this, very briefly and a long time ago. His memory, unfortunately, was better than mine, and when he showed up with the band, he saw an opportunity to get money out of me. I played along and said I’d meet him back at the festival after everyone was gone. I brought my gun instead of the cash he wanted, but then I spotted that music box sitting there. Just the right size and weight and much quieter.” Duane chuckled. “Maybe that could be a good selling point for those things. Pretty, plays music, and convenient for killing someone!”

  He clapped his hands together briskly. “Well, gotta go. Busy day coming up.” He stepped back and pulled the door down, shutting out any light. Callie heard a lock turn, then a car door slammed shut. Within seconds the car started and drove away.

  Ben! He was going to grab Ben and then kill them both! The thought was too horrible to believe. But Duane had already killed—first Bobby Linville, then Earl Smith. Who knew if there were others? He was cold-blooded about it too, removing people as they got in his way. Callie and Ben had both posed a threat to him, so now it was their turn. All to protect a scheme that made him money. Lots of it, apparently.

  In the brief time the shed door was open, Callie had glimpsed some of the objects surrounding her. She’d seen brown, paper-covered rectangular shapes scattered about that were probably paintings, and large and small boxes that must hold other pieces of art. Duane’s tale of Bobby Linville’s involvement in his “relocation” scheme reminded her of her mother’s description of Bobby’s drop-in visit with Hank. His annoying appraisals of her decorative pieces sounded like he’d spent time with Duane. That inflated opinion of his own abilities must also have convinced Bobby that he could handle blackmail, and that mistake had led to his death. It had been Hank’s bad luck to get caught in the middle.

  If she didn’t get out of there, Hank would be tried for Bobby’s murder. That was bad enough, but now Duane was threatening nine-year-old Ben’s life! She had to do something to stop that. But how, when she was bound hand and foot and locked inside a shed that was who-knows-where! Getting herself loose seemed impossible, and with no chance of anyone knowing where she was, rescue wasn’t going to happen. There was nothing she could do to save herself and Ben!

  Callie had already been plunged into darkness when Duane closed the shed door. Now a deeper darkness enveloped her, brought on by the comprehension of her helplessness. Tears flooded her eyes, and it was only the duct tape covering her mouth that kept her from sobbing.

  As she struggled, in this state, she heard a faint sound coming from nearby. Inside the shed but some feet away. Callie held her breath and concentrated, gradually recognizing a unique ringtone. Her cell phone was there! Duane must have tossed her purse in with her, figuring she’d never be able to reach it. Maybe he was planning some sort of accidental-appearing death and wanted it found with her. If she could get loose, she could call for help! She had to do it.

  Callie’s despair lifted as she began to think hard. Wh
at had she seen while the door was open that could help her? There were the paintings and the different-sized wooden crates. Crates sometimes had sharp edges. Could she use that?

  Energized, she struggled to get herself more upright. After many leg swings and body rolls, some painful, she managed to leverage herself onto her knees. A wave of dizziness passed over but quickly cleared. Whatever Duane had slipped into her ginger ale was apparently wearing off. That helped. What next?

  She was near a large wooden crate. With her ankles bound together it was difficult, but by inching her knees, she managed to align herself next to one of its edges. The next struggle was to press her wrists, bound together behind her, against the wooden edge. It required much contortion, but she eventually did it and began to scrape the duct tape on her wrists against the crate.

  If her hands had been in front of her, there would have been little problem. As it was, the awkwardness of moving them up and down behind herself, with enough pressure against the wooden edge, all while maintaining her balance, brought grunts of frustration. But she kept working at it as pain shot through her shoulders and knees. What pushed her on was the thought of Ben being snatched by Duane.

  How did the shop owner hope to accomplish that? Break into Annie’s house in the middle of the night? Brian must have already brought Mike home from the airport, and she couldn’t see Duane risking a break-in.

  It would have to be when Ben was out of the house. Perhaps on his way to school? But surely Justin would be with him at their bus stop, which would make it too difficult. Then she remembered with horror that Justin was going to Mike’s office the next day instead of school. That meant Ben would be at the bus stop by himself and vulnerable!

  How much time did she have before Duane could act? Callie had no idea how long she’d been locked in the shed, though there were no slivers of daylight showing around the edges of the door. But did that mean it was still nighttime, or simply that the door fit tightly? Either way, time was running out, which meant she had to keep working to get loose.