by Shelly West
One particular theory had gained town-wide popularity by noon: The body Grandma tripped over just had to be the same one reported to the sheriff. About a hundred people had visited the antique store, all hoping for Grandma to confirm the theory to be true.
“I have nothing to say on the matter,” Grandma would answer, “unless, of course, you want to buy something first.” Not that she could confirm the theory either way, but nobody seemed to fault her for that.
Grandma made quite the profit that day, probably enough to make up for any money she lost while in the hospital. Abigail was starting to understand why the store had been in business for so long: Grandma had a way about her that made people happily part with their money. And Grandma would make sure they bought an antique that fit their interests, so everyone left happy.
Abigail couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the residents, though. She wanted nothing more than to insist they close up shop for the day so she could have Grandma all to herself. It seemed inevitable, however, that they wouldn’t get peace until everyone in town confirmed with their own eyes that Grandma was still very much alive.
The hours wore on, with Abigail and Grandma answering the same questions over and over, until finally, it seemed, the entire town had passed through. It was nearing the end of the day, and Abigail was half tempted to close early.
She started to make her way to the door to lock up when she saw a redheaded man pull into the side parking lot. Abigail gasped, remembering him as the first customer she had. “Grandma,” she said, her voice a sharp whisper. “I forgot to tell you. When you were in the hospital, some redheaded guy came in here, asking questions. And it looks like he’s back!”
Grandma looked up from the till where she was counting money. “Oh? What kind of questions?”
Before Abigail could answer, the man walked through the door. Grandma squinted at him. He squinted back. Abigail cleared her throat.
Grandma broke the silence. “You look oddly familiar.”
The man straightened his collar. “I don’t believe we have met.”
Abigail said, “But we have. How are you liking that paper weight?”
He blinked at her. “Oh. It does its job.”
Abigail pursued further, “Still looking for a fellow redhead?”
The man looked away. “Not any longer.”
Grandma walked around the checkout counter, peering more closely at the man. “Is it Reginald you’re looking for? Are you two related?”
“I already said I’ve given up on looking for him. And besides, I’d rather not say much about myself. I know how the rumor mill is in these small towns.”
Grandma smiled. “You must be related, then. Reginald had a similar distaste for small towns. But why aren’t you looking for him anymore?”
“It doesn’t matter. Now, would you be kind enough to tell me what he bought here?”
Grandma frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t. I take my customers’ privacy very seriously.”
“He’s my business partner, and he used funds from our business to buy something here. We share a credit card, so I am a customer of yours.”
Grandma glanced at Abigail, hesitating to say anything. “You really ought to talk to the cops if you’re trying to find him. He’s been missing for a while now. I could give you the number to the sheriff…”
The man took a step back. “Never mind. I thought you would be more willing to help a fellow business owner.”
He waited to see if that’d change Grandma’s tune, and when it didn’t, he left in a huff.
Abigail waited until he pulled out of the parking lot, noting his license plate number. She then headed for the checkout counter, finding the card he had given her when they first met.
“What’s that?” Grandma asked, watching Abigail’s every move.
“A business card he gave me.” She wrote down his license plate number on the card, then handed it over to Grandma. “Just has his phone number on it. He inked out any other information.”
Grandma studied the card. “How odd. So he’s a business partner of Reginald?”
“Maybe even a brother. You seemed to imply Reginald was a fellow redhead.”
Grandma nodded. “Yes, they very well could be related. When he first walked in, for a half second I thought he was Reginald. Do you think he might be involved in whatever happened here?”
Abigail shrugged. “Beats me. Though when he first visited, it seemed like he was trying to figure out where Reginald was.”
“So whatever Reginald had been up to, he must not have told his apparent business partner?”
“Seems that way.”
“And now he’s snooping around, trying to find answers. If that’s the case, I feel for him, but he should be talking to the police if Reginald is missing, not investigating on his own.”
“There must be a reason he doesn’t want to talk to the cops.”
“Yes. It’s all very strange.” Grandma checked one of the hanging clocks and remarked, “What a day. Let’s close the shop.”
Abigail turned over the ‘Closed’ sign and locked up. “Good. I was hoping we could talk. It’s been so busy that we really haven’t had a chance to catch each other up.”
Grandma smiled warmly. “How about some homemade hot cocoa by the fireplace? The perfect catching-up conditions.”
Abigail perked up. “That sounds great. I’ll start the fire while you get the cocoa.”
*
Abigail walked through the kitchen into the cozy little living room that was next to it, while Grandma rummaged through her cabinets.
Abigail knelt by the modest stone fireplace and opened the brass trimmed folding glass doors, followed by the mesh screens. She then poked her head inside, turning up to check the damper, making sure it was wide open. Seeing she was all set, she grabbed a couple of logs from a basket on the floor and carefully arranged them on the metal grate.
When Abigail was satisfied with her stacking, she brushed her hands together and looked for the kindling and matches. She found a cast iron frog resting on the hearth, carrying a box of tall matches on its back. Beside him in a small basket were little bundles of kindling.
She placed the kindling onto some logs, lit a tall match and brought it to the kindling, which quickly lit up, then she sat back as the logs crackled. Within moments a roaring fire warmed the room. Abigail closed the mesh screens, but left the glass folding doors open.
She stood up and turned to see Grandma in the kitchen, stirring a pot of cocoa on the gas stove. “Whatcha think, Grandma?”
Grandma leaned to look at Abigail’s handiwork. “You’re a regular Girl Scout. Now grab a seat and I’ll be along shortly.”
“You sure I can’t help?”
“Oh no, dear. I’ll be right there.”
Abigail took a seat in a wing-backed chair facing the fireplace, leaving the padded rocker open for Grandma. Thor found a spot to lay directly in front of the fire as an old clock ticked away from atop the fireplace mantel.
Soon Grandma walked over to her, carrying two mugs, and handed one to Abigail.
Missy shadowed Grandma, waiting for her to sit down so she could claim her lap. Grandma picked up a soft blanket that was hung over her chair, sat, and patted her lap. Missy wasted no time hopping up. Grandma then placed her mug on a small table positioned between the two chairs, then situated the blanket over her legs.
Abigail sipped from her mug, the rich chocolate and mint flavors taking over her senses. “Wow, this is heavenly.”
“I put extra marshmallows and grated dark chocolate in yours,” Granny replied before gingerly taking a sip from her own mug. She placed it back down and pet Missy, who was already fast asleep on her lap. “Sweetheart, do me a favor. You see that old chest to the right of the fireplace?”
“Yes.”
“Could you open it and bring me the big photo album inside it?”
“Sure thing.” Abigail got up and walked over to the antique wooden chest, opening
its heavy lid. She found the large album and lifted it out of the chest before bringing it over to Grandma.
Grandma placed it on the left armrest of her chair so it would be close to Abigail, then opened the leather-bound cover. The first page had the surname ‘Lane’ in gilded letters. Grandma put on her reading glasses.
Abigail leaned in closer to Grandma as she turned the pages and looked at the pictures. “Is that Grandpa?” Abigail asked, seeing a tall man standing beside a young woman who had Grandma’s sharp eyes.
Grandma lightly touched his image. “Yes, that’s him.”
“You and I really look alike, huh?” Abigail asked, not wanting to pursue the drama of the past just yet, it being their first real day together.
Granny smiled. “It would seem you definitely take after me.” She reached out and touched Abigail’s raven black hair. “You even have the same color hair I used to have… very long ago.”
They continued to look through the pages of the album with Grandma pointing out various long-lost relatives and sharing with Abigail little stories about each of them.
After a while, Grandma shut the book and asked Abigail to return it to the chest.
“I wish I could see pictures from your life, Abigail. All I have are the few your mother sent to me.”
Abigail remembered the school pictures of herself that she had found in the upstairs hallway. “You know what, Grandma? It just so happens I have a photo album on my phone.” She took out her phone and tapped open the photo album application before handing it over to Grandma.
Grandma sat back to reposition her glasses as she looked at the pictures. She brought the phone down after a few swipes and asked, “Is this tiny little fella Thor?”
Abigail laughed. “I know, right? When I first got him, he was half a year old, so not quite a giant yet.”
Thor’s head lifted and he looked at the both of them as if he understood they were talking about him. He snorted, then turned his head toward the fireplace, perhaps embarrassed by the pictures of his adolescent years.
They both chuckled, drank their cocoa, and continued chatting about their past. After a few minutes, however, Abigail noticed Grandma’s eyelids were getting heavy. She didn’t want to cut things short, but she also didn’t want to keep the delicate old woman from resting. “Grandma, you had such a long day. You want to head upstairs?”
“That sounds like a good idea. If I could, I’d stay up all night catching up with you, but I think this old gal’s gotta get some rest.”
Abigail shut the fireplace glass doors, then helped Grandma head up the stairs. As plucky as Grandma was, Abigail still couldn’t help but worry about her tripping, so she insisted on staying by her side all the way up to the landing.
Grandma accepted her help with grace, and soon they stopped outside the master bedroom door. “Seems we never got around to catching up,” Grandma noted. “How about this? I’ll close the shop all day tomorrow, that way we can make up for lost time.”
Abigail smiled. “I would love that.”
“I love you, dear.”
Abigail hadn’t expected to hear such words. “Wow, I… I love you too, Grandma.”
Grandma pinched Abigail’s cheek then headed into her bedroom, with Missy zipping through the door right behind her.
Chapter 15
Abigail woke up bright and early only to find Grandma was still sound asleep, recovering from the excitement of yesterday. Abigail herself didn’t stand a chance of falling back asleep, so she tiptoed past the bedroom and down the stairs.
A few days ago she had noticed a local newspaper on the counter dated last Thursday, so curiosity led her to the front porch to see if a paper had been delivered this morning too. There certainly was quite a bit of news to report.
She opened the door to find the newspaper on the steps. As she let Thor out into the front yard to do his business, she unfolded the paper and gave it a gander.
The body, of course, was front page news. Quite the contrast to the city’s newspaper, where dead bodies were buried below news of yet more corruption.
Large block letters filled the headline identifying the body: Reginald Grimes.
Abigail gasped, though she wasn’t sure why she was surprised. He had been missing, and before now, nobody had put a name to the body Grandma had tripped on.
Abigail returned inside with Thor and sat down on the creaky rocking chair to read further. She knew the first part of the story, if only because it had circulated through the rumor mill: Some local teens had found the body washed up on shore.
But the following details were new to her: The body had been wrapped up in a garbage bag and weighed down with some rocks. Autopsy reports suggested that Reginald was killed by a bullet wound to the chest.
“Yeesh,” Abigail mumbled. “Does the mob operate all the way down here?” She looked over at Thor, who didn’t seem convinced this was a mob hit. “Well, you gotta better theory, big guy?”
Thor sneezed and took this opportunity to lay his head down on Missy’s bed. Considering his size, it was more of a pillow than a bed, but a comfy pillow nonetheless.
Something on the tip of Abigail’s mind nagged at her. The ship in a bottle—well, the ship out of a bottle, as was the case now. It had to have some significance, but what?
Still, if it had really been important, Abigail reasoned it would have been stolen. What was more likely the case was that it had been knocked over during whatever occurred before Grandma had come downstairs to investigate.
But why was there a midnight scuffle in the antique store in the first place?
Abigail groaned. These questions had to be answered before she returned to the city. She couldn’t leave Grandma alone when the killer might still have unfinished business to settle. And she only had so much time off before she risked losing her job.
She remembered the man from the previous evening who had been asking for Reginald, and for a moment she considered calling him.
That was, until a knock on the door made her jerk back so hard, she almost tore the newspaper in half. Thor let out a low growl, and Abigail searched around for something sharp. An antique sword glinted in the morning light, as if calling for her to wield it.
And so she did.
Feeling sufficiently armed, she approached the door.
*
Abigail opened the door to find Lee standing on the porch, one to-go coffee cup in each hand. He nearly flung them both over his shoulder when he noticed she was armed.
“Whoa there!” Lee said, taking a step back. “I know we got off on the wrong foot last time, but greeting me with a sword in your hand is a bit excessive!”
Abigail shrugged. “I’m a little paranoid right now, what with the murder and everything.” She eyed the coffee cups suspiciously.
“Anyway,” Lee continued awkwardly. “I was hoping we could start anew. I brought you some coffee… Black, just the way you apparently like it.”
“How do you know how I take my coffee?” Abigail demanded, though her suspicion didn’t stop her from gladly accepting the cup with her free hand.
“Sally said so. Can I come in?”
Abigail took a sip of the coffee, recognizing at once that it had been brewed with Sally’s special beans. “Oh, fine. You’re unbanned for the time being, but don’t test your luck.” Abigail moved aside and set the sword on the counter.
Lee walked inside, nearly flinging his coffee cup over his shoulder again, this time because of Thor’s menacing glare.
He still was suspect number one in Abigail eyes, so she decided if he hadn’t won her over by the time she was finished with her coffee, she’d ban him again. “So what do you want?” she asked.
Lee looked up the stairs. “I was wondering how Mrs. Lane was doing.”
“She’s good. Resting at the moment.”
“I’m glad she’s recovering so quickly.”
“Are you?” Abigail inquired, peering at him as she took a sip.
Lee loosene
d the collar of his flowery dress shirt. “Y-yeah? So how long will you be staying here?”
“Not sure. I want to stay long enough to get to know Grandma a bit, and to be sure she’s safe. I won’t feel comfortable leaving her alone until the killer is caught.”
“Yeah, I understand that.”
Abigail was about a third of the way through her cup. Lee was running out of time to prove himself to her. She continued, “What’s your deal, anyway? What do you do?”
“I run a ship repair shop down at the marina. I fix everything, from small boats to yachts.”
Easy access to the sea, huh? Access to a marina, in the early mornings, a seemingly good spot to dump a body… But then again, everyone in town had access to the sea, didn’t they? “You ever do work on that pirate ship?”
“The Lafayette? Oh, no. That’s a different beast entirely from modern boats. And it’s not a pirate ship; it’s a whaling ship. The Fischers used to own it, until they donated it to the town as a historical artifact.”
Abigail thought of the model ship, and her suspicions were raised again: “You must have a thing for boats then, huh?”
Lee pondered it. “I love being on a boat. Repairing them… Eh, not so much. Boat owners are the worse. Want their boats fixed yesterday, and it’s only me and my one employee running the place.”
“If you don’t like it, then why do it?”
“It was my dad’s business. After he died a few years ago, I had to take over.”
“No other family member to hand the place off to?”
“Nah. I don’t have much of a family, really. Maybe you’re familiar with my last name: Lebeau.”
“Nope.”
Lee blinked. “Oh. Well, we have a checkered past, to put it kindly. Not that I’m involved in it. My father steered far from the family drama. Well, families.”
“I’m totally lost, dude.”
Lee let out a sigh and sipped his coffee for relief. “Yeah. Lucky you, then. Because the rest of the town is well aware of the family rivalry. It’s been going on for centuries between the Lebeaus and the Fischers.”
