A Vintage Death

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “But he wasn’t always pleasant, was he?” Lyssa asked. “I did overhear him raise his voice to you once.”

  Paula’s eyes darted to Lyssa. “That must have been when I didn’t call the people to pick up the leaves soon enough. Mr. Ashby wanted things done when he wanted them done.”

  “Was that part of your job?” Callie asked. “Not just looking after the food, but arranging grounds maintenance?”

  “I started out just handling the kitchen. But I took care of more things, little by little.”

  “And wonderfully,” Lyssa said, earning her a grateful smile. “So you rose in the ranks, so to speak. That must have been great for your paycheck.”

  “Well … ” Paula hesitated. “We hadn’t actually worked that out yet.”

  She looked so uncomfortable that Callie shifted the subject. Ashby had clearly been taking advantage of his employee, but that wasn’t their focus at the moment. “We know Ashby acted as the host, here at the inn. But how else did he fill his time?”

  Paula thought a bit. “He spent a lot of time in his office, on the phone.”

  “Oh? Handling inn business like ordering supplies or booking reservations?”

  “No, I did all that. Calls for reservations came in on that line.” Paula pointed to a phone at a small desk. “He used his cell phone, mostly, and kept the door closed.”

  Callie grimaced, thinking no help there. Then Paula said, “But once a call came for him on the inn’s line. I answered but said that Mr. Ashby was out. I took a message, and it was an odd one.”

  Callie perked up, and Lyssa sat a little straighter.

  “The caller was Karl Eggers, the owner of one of the shops in Keepsake Cove. He said, ‘Tell that crook Ashby he can bad-mouth me all he wants. I’m not coughing up.’”

  Seven

  Karl Eggers?” Lyssa asked.

  “My next-door neighbor,” Callie said. “He owns Car-lectibles.”

  When Lyssa waited, wanting more, Callie added, “Karl can be blunt to the point of offensive, though it’s generally more bark than bite.” She asked Paula, “How did Ashby react when you passed that message on?”

  “He laughed.”

  “Laughed?” Lyssa asked. “He’s been called a crook and he laughs? Did he say anything?”

  “Maybe something like ‘We’ll see,’ but I’m not sure. Whatever it was, he wasn’t upset. That I remember.”

  Callie met Lyssa’s eyes.

  The desk phone rang and Paula hurried over to answer it. “Foxwood Inn. Oh, hi, Jackie. Yes, please do come in for your shift. We still have guests whose rooms need doing.” She hung up, but when the phone rang again almost immediately, she turned to Callie and Lyssa. “I really can’t talk anymore,” she said before picking up. “Foxwood Inn. Yes, we are open. Our website has photos of all the rooms, but if you’d prefer a brochure … ”

  The two women left her to her work and headed down the hall. Callie was saying she would talk to Karl Eggers about the message he’d left when she suddenly stopped.

  “There’s a door here, somewhere,” she said. “Ashby popped out of it when I came here that first time and nearly gave me a heart attack.” She scanned the wood paneling. “But where is it?”

  “A door?” Lyssa asked. “Really? I never saw that.” She moved closer to examine the intricately carved and trimmed woodwork, nearly pressing her nose against it. Then she cried, “Aha! Here it is. See the crack?”

  Callie leaned in and did see it. “Wow! It blends into the shading of the wood and becomes nearly invisible. Amazing. I wonder where the door leads to?”

  “Well, it obviously can’t be opened from this side. Maybe Ashby’s office is on the other side? I’ll ask Paula. Or one of the cleaning ladies might know. I love the idea of a hidden passage in an old house. If it leads to a dungeon, even better! But I can’t see it having a bearing on the murder, can you? Since Ashby wasn’t murdered here, I mean.”

  “Maybe not, but anything connected to Ashby, especially if it’s mysterious, is worth examining.” Callie glanced at her watch. ”I’d better get back to my shop,” she said, “and drop in on Karl Eggers.” The thought didn’t thrill her, but it needed to be done. She took off, each woman promising to update the other on what they learned, if anything.

  On the drive back, Callie reflected on the difference between looking into Ashby’s murder and the search for answers she’d made some months ago after Aunt Mel’s death. When she’d lost her aunt, she felt on her own and unsure of her suspicions, which had ended up putting her in great danger. It was good to have Lyssa to work with, as well as to have someone who’d watch her back. Though surely there was no danger to worry about in this case. They were just looking for anything to help Dorothy, and when they found it they’d turn it over to the police. End of story. Callie ignored the tiny uneasiness that niggled at her deep inside, which could surely only be her concern that they’d actually find something helpful.

  She had barely opened the door of the collectible model cars shop when Karl Eggers barked, “I won’t chip in for funeral flowers, if that’s why you’re here.” Fortunately there were no customers in the shop, which was what Callie had watched for, though she suspected Eggers’s regulars were accustomed to his brusqueness and not generally startled by it.

  “I’m not collecting,” she said to her burly, dark-bearded neighbor.

  “Good, ’cause I’m not pitching a penny toward anything for Ashby.”

  “You obviously didn’t like him.”

  Eggers blew a noise of disgust.

  “Would you tell me why?” When Eggers glared, she added, “The woman at the Foxwood Inn took your message about not coughing up. Coughing up for what? What was Ashby up to?”

  Eggers glared some more, but Callie ignored it and waited, having learned that Eggers’s seeming hatred of all mankind was not necessarily accurate. Though she doubted she and her neighbor would ever chat amicably over coffee, they had progressed to polite, acknowledging nods. All things considered, that was huge.

  “Looking to squeeze money out of what he had no business doing,” Eggers finally said.

  “Such as … ”

  Callie waited again. Talk about squeezing! Getting anything out of Eggers is like wringing blood out of—

  “The brochures,” he grumbled.

  “Yes?”

  “He expected me to pay him for carrying my shop brochures at his inn.” Eggers harrumphed. “No respectable hotel does that. They’re glad to hand out our material. Just as we do with theirs. Tit for tat.”

  Callie knew that was how it usually worked. She was surprised at Ashby’s action. Then she remembered the second part of Eggers’s phone message. “You said something about his bad-mouthing you. What was that about?”

  “Phhtt! He claimed the rest of the Keepsake Cove shops were going along with his payment plan, and if I didn’t, his guests might—” Eggers paused. Not one for air quotes, he made a disgusted waggle of his head. “They might get a negative impression of my place.”

  “Really! He threatened that?” Not putting out someone’s brochures in a neighborly way was one thing. Actively backstabbing was another.

  “Not in a way that would stand up in court, but I got the gist. He would steer anyone he could away from my place unless I coughed up. He came to the wrong man.” With an air of having said all that needed to be said on the subject, Eggers picked up a model car that had been on his counter to examine it before returning it to its box.

  Callie watched as he did so. “That makes me think of Nancy Drew’s roadster,” she said, nodding toward the model.

  Eggers’s expression asked who?, but his anger cooled half a degree as he turned the car over in his hands. “Mercedes Benz 1936, 500K Special Roadster. Doors open, wheels steer, 1:18 scale. Made by Maisto.” He might not know Nancy Drew, but he knew his collectible cars.


  Callie nodded respectfully. “One more question about Ashby, if you don’t mind,” she said. “He never approached me about that kind of payment for displaying brochures. Do you know who he did ask, besides you?”

  Eggers thought about it. “He threw out Christmas Collectibles and The Collectible Cook as examples. Could be more. Or he mighta just got started.”

  “Right.” Callie decided to ask around. “Thanks, uh, Karl.” They had tentatively advanced to first names some time ago, but it still felt awkward to her. She was grateful that they’d also made it to a calm exchange of information. Compared to how they’d started off, that was monumental.

  Leaving Car-lectibles, Callie longed to immediately head over to the two shops Karl had named, but she still had a business to run, which might be a good idea to check in on. After passing the privacy fence that Aunt Mel had put up between her property and Eggers’s when things were prickly between them, Callie peered into House of Melody. Tabitha was helping one customer while another waited. She hurried inside.

  The waiting customer, it turned out, had chosen a unique and quite charming mini sewing machine music box. Complete with treadle and tiny drawers that opened, it wound up by a key on its side and played when its top was tilted back.

  “I love it,” the woman buying it said, and Callie did, too, though the sight of the miniature scissors glued next to the machine gave her a twinge. She wrapped it carefully and rang up the sale.

  Once the shop had cleared, she asked Tabitha about The Collectible Cook, one of the few Cove shops she hadn’t yet visited, though that number was shrinking.

  Tabitha shook her head. Normally a font of information on all things Cove-related, this was a rare time she couldn’t help. “I’m not much of a cook,” she admitted, “so I’ve never stopped in there. Sorry.”

  “No problem. I’ll be going there myself sometime. Just hoped to get a heads-up on the proprietors. Delia will probably know them.” She told Tabitha what Karl Eggers had said.

  Tabitha’s eyes widened. “Sounds nasty. Do you think there’s a motive for murder there?”

  “No, but it says something about Ashby, doesn’t it? If he was someone who thought and acted along those lines, did he stop there?”

  “Yeah. Sounds like Karl Eggers put a fast stop to things. But if Ashby pushed others harder and got more—I’m talking extortion, here—nobody’s going to want to talk about it, are they? I mean, it would put them in an iffy spot, right?”

  “It would. But sometimes you can learn a lot from what people don’t say, or their reactions. Or other issues come up. I think it’s worth a try.” Callie paused. “Ashby approached Karl, who’s right next door to me, but not me. I wonder why not?”

  Tabitha thought for a minute before grinning. “He went to Car-lectibles, Christmas Collectibles, and The Collectible Cook. He was working it alphabetically!”

  Callie laughed, picturing the man making tick marks on his list. “If so, Delia’s Shake It Up! didn’t hear from him. But I’ll check with her when I can.”

  “Why not go now? And to the other shops, too. I’ll be fine.”

  They heard a small trill coming from Grandpa Reed’s music box, up on its shelf. A nudge or a slip in the mechanism? Who knew? Callie smiled. “I guess I will. Call if you need me,” she said and slipped the light jacket she’d worn earlier back on. Though sunny, it was still October, and she buttoned it up against the slight chill in the air before stepping out. A glance through the Shake It Up! window showed Delia occupied with customers, so Callie crossed the street to Christmas Collectibles.

  When she’d first arrived, in early summer, it seemed odd to see Christmas decorations blinking brightly in its windows. But according to Delia, some shoppers couldn’t get enough of the holiday and loved to add to their collections. The colors of the Christmas shop’s window displays did clash somewhat with the fall decorations that Callie and her crew had spread over Keepsake Cove, but the proprietors had gamely hung an autumn-leafed wreath of golds and browns on the door, which Callie appreciated.

  A peek through the window showed Howard Graham alone in his shop, so Callie went in to be instantly met with a tinkly version of Jingle Bells and a mechanical Santa Claus calling, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” Though she’d heard it before, it still startled her, and she wondered how Howard managed to keep his sanity with that greeting going off every time someone walked into the shop. Howard’s expression, as he looked up, appeared reasonably stable, so apparently it wasn’t a problem.

  The first time Callie met Howard, she’d wondered why thoughts of her childhood pet gerbil, Mr. Nibs, kept popping up. Then it clicked how mouse-like the man was, both in personality and appearance. He often dressed in a combination of grays and browns, which echoed his drab hair and complexion, and he’d done so that day, too. Howard stood out in his shop only because of the contrast to his brightly colored ornaments, figurines, and centerpieces. If he sold something monochromatic, things like hardware, Callie thought, he might totally disappear.

  “How nice to see you, Ms. Reed. How can I help you?” Howard asked it so nicely that Callie felt instantly bad about her musings and banished them. The small desk he’d risen from was piled with paperwork, so Callie decided to get right to the point.

  “I just learned about the arrangement Clifford Ashby was trying to set up with Keepsake Cove shopkeepers. Did he approach you about it?”

  “You mean about the brochures?” Howard asked, suddenly looking nervous.

  “Yes. Did he want you to pay for him to display them?”

  “Didn’t you pay? He told me all the Keepsake Cove shopkeepers were going along with it.”

  “I didn’t find out about it until today.”

  “Oh!”

  “But there was more to it, wasn’t there? I mean, it wasn’t just about handling the shop brochures.”

  Howard turned even paler than his usual color, which Callie wouldn’t have thought possible, and he’d started wringing his hands. “He didn’t precisely spell it all out.”

  “Would you tell me what he implied, then? Please? It’s important, Howard, or I wouldn’t ask.”

  The shopkeeper looked toward his windows as if hoping someone would come and rescue him from an uncomfortable conversation. Callie checked, too, and had an urge to flip the Closed sign on Howard’s door and turn the lock. But she feared the man might then run out his back door. Better to keep things calm. She smiled encouragingly.

  “He … he talked about all the connections he had, people who wrote about collectibles on blogs or newsletters, and about those review sites that come up when you do a search on a business. He said business reputations could be destroyed with a few well-placed words!”

  “Wow.” Callie could see the possibilities. Perhaps not from one or two review sites. But if a flood of negativity appeared online, it could be devastating. “So you paid what he asked?”

  Howard nodded. “He called it a monthly service charge for handling my advertising materials at his inn.” He named a sum that, while modest, would add up nicely for Ashby if many of the Keepsake Cove shops kicked in. “He never actually said he’d cause anything bad to happen online or wherever, but I couldn’t take the chance. Our busy season is coming up! We depend on it to carry us during the slower times.” He looked at Callie miserably.

  “I understand,” she said soothingly. “Was that all he proposed?”

  Howard nodded vigorously. “It wasn’t so much, when you think about it,” he said defensively. “And Ashby did say, well, not in so many words, I guess, but I got the definite impression that he would put up some positive reviews on those sites. And that’d be a good thing.”

  So Howard had managed to put a positive spin on the whole disagreeable business.

  Callie glanced back, and seeing a customer heading their way, knew their discussion was over. “Thank you for telling me this,
” she said and turned to go.

  As she put her hand on the doorknob, Howard asked, “You won’t mention this to my wife, will you? I mean, I never entered anything in the books. She wouldn’t be happy about it.”

  Too bad Ashby hadn’t talked first to Mrs. Graham, Callie thought. She’d never actually met the woman, who seemed to be perpetually out of the shop for one reason or another, but if Howard’s anxiety over her learning about what he did was any indication, his wife might have reacted much as Karl Eggers had.

  “No, Howard, I won’t say anything to her,” Callie promised and left. The police, on the other hand, might be another matter.

  Eight

  C allie checked the time, then hurried down the street toward The Collectible Cook. It was at the far end of Keepsake Cove, but if she was in luck and the shop wasn’t flooded with customers, she’d have just enough time to talk with the Moores, who owned it. Tabitha hadn’t been able to tell her anything about them, and all Callie had been able to dig up was their names—Jerry and Renata Moore—as listed on the Keepsake Cove Shop Owners’ Association list.

  She slowed down to glance into Kids at Heart, Laurie and Bill Hart’s vintage toy shop, thinking she’d like to pop in and pick their brains about the couple she was going to meet. But she saw Bill busy ringing up a sale and Laurie on the phone, so Callie resumed her pace. She glanced across the street at Stitches Thru Time, which appeared to be open but quiet, though it was hard to tell from that distance. She’d stop in on her way back if she could.

  Callie found The Collectible Cook just to the left off the main street, where she could see a few browsing customers inside. She waited, studying the shop’s collection in its window. She realized she’d expected to find antique kitchen items, things like brass kettles or cast-iron skillets that she remembered seeing on a long-ago visit to Colonial Williamsburg. What she found instead were pieces she recognized from Grandma Reed’s kitchen and even her mother’s, things like stainless steel tea kettles, ceramic cookie jars, and aged Better Homes and Gardens cookbooks with faded red plaid covers. There were even a few Corningware dishes with the familiar blue flowers.