“Not at all. Give my best to Dorothy. Oh, and would you ask her if I could have her permission about something?” She explained about Paula’s refusal to allow Lyssa to explore behind the hidden door at the inn. “Just a note or a call to Paula saying it’s okay is all we need.”
Jane promised to do so and took off. Left alone, Callie gazed idly around the shop. She wandered over to a shelf filled with small items. One intriguing piece caught her eye: an oval, wooden sewing case, barely two inches long, whose ends had been pulled apart to show a small spool of thread, a thimble, and a paper of needles and pins. The wooden edges of the spool looked darkened and dry from age, though the case itself was well polished. Callie smiled, imagining the woman from another era who would have carried and used such an item.
The rows of thimbles nearby were beautiful, many of them ceramic and colorfully decorated. Dorothy had been right to point out that the size and number of much of her stock made it impossible to protect them with security tags. Anyone so inclined could easily walk off with most of the merchandise, including the scissors that had murdered Ashby.
Callie browsed some more, but her thoughts went back to Jane and the woman’s emotional reactions to so much of what had come up, most recently George Cole’s kind visit. Perhaps the stress was getting to her, too? But then she remembered their first meeting, on the day of the Keepsake Cove fall decorating, before the upsetting events had begun. Jane had flushed when she’d asked after the reason for her sudden visit. With Dorothy so delighted to have her cousin there, it had seemed a surprising reaction, though it could mean nothing. Jane might be one of those unfortunate people whose feelings tend to inconveniently display themselves whether happy, sad, or somewhere in between. It also implied a tender heart, which was exactly what Dorothy needed at the moment.
“Dorothy was so pleased with the dinner,” Jane said, returning from the cottage. “Please give Mr. Greer her warmest thanks. And she will call Paula about allowing you to look around, though she says she never came upon anything particularly odd at the inn during her brief time there.”
“That’s good to know, and we might not find anything of interest, but—” Callie stopped as she realized that Jane’s attention was caught by something, and she turned to see what was going on. An elderly woman had reached for the shop’s doorknob but a younger woman came up to stop her. She whispered something in the older woman’s ear and steered her firmly away from Stitches Thru Time.
Callie winced. “Don’t let it bother you too much,” she said to Jane. “Once the truth comes out, things will get better.”
When she left a few minutes later, she wished she’d been able to do more than offer a platitude with very little to back it up. It was time, she told herself, to come up with something concrete.
Eleven
When she got back to the shop, Callie phoned Lyssa and told her about Dorothy’s permission to look around at the inn. They agreed to do so together, after Callie had closed the shop. She had just hung up when Delia walked in and raised a subject that had temporarily slipped off her radar.
“We should review preparations for Lyssa Hammond’s book event. It’s only four days away, you know.”
Callie winced. “You’re right. Dorothy was going to handle some of the last-minute things. That’s out of the question now.”
“The entire park is available again, now that the police have finished with the crime scene. Thank goodness, at least, that it didn’t happen close to the bandstand area where we’ll be. And I’ve been checking the weather forecast. No rain predicted … so far.”
Callie didn’t like the “so far” part. “Tell me again why we decided to have it outdoors?”
“Because we wanted room for lots and lots of people. People who would leave the event in a happy mood and head for our shops. Remember? Keepsake Cove shops will remain open extra late that day.”
“Oh, yeah. We probably decided all that back in August when there hadn’t been a drop of rain the whole month, right?”
“Probably.” Delia grinned. “But we did arrange for a tent, which I can call to double check on, as well as the people bringing chairs. Is Brian handling concessions?”
“He is, and I’ll check to see if he needs helpers. I arranged for a hay wagon to be there, and I have volunteers to add pumpkins and ghostly decorations.”
“You know what would be great?” Delia asked. “Spooky music playing as people arrive. And maybe as background when Lyssa is reading from one of her books. What do you think?”
“I like it, but how do we get it? Know anyone who can set up a sound system for that? Someone we can afford?”
Delia screwed up her face. “Not offhand. Maybe Tabitha would know?”
“Possibly. Let me start writing this all down. With murder on my mind—past tense only, of course—almost everything else has been pushed out. Poor Jagger is lucky if he gets fed on time anymore. Though he does make sure I hear about that.”
“I know what you mean. Just the other day, I—oh! I just had a thought. Jerry Moore might be able to do the sound system. I remember their grand opening. He had music playing through a loud speaker with regular announcements about the specials going on at The Collectible Cook. Some of his immediate neighbors weren’t too thrilled with it, but it was effective. I’m pretty sure he set it up himself.”
“I’ll check on the tent and chairs if you’ll take on talking to Moore. I was just there yesterday, and that was enough for a while for me.”
Delia nodded knowingly. “Will do. He might insist on payment, even though this is supposed to be a volunteer effort by the association. I’ll see if I can convince him that it’s his civic duty.”
“Hope that works. Oh, before you go, there’s another thing I wanted to check with you.” Callie explained about Ashby’s shady payment pressure on certain shopkeepers. “Did he approach you?”
“No, he didn’t,” Delia said, looking astonished.
“Me neither. It worked with Howard Graham, unfortunately, but not Karl or the Moores. I guess you haven’t heard about this happening to anyone else?”
“Not a word. I can ask around, though.”
“Karl thought Ashby might have just got started, and Tabitha thought he was doing it alphabetically, which might be why you and I didn’t get the pitch. Who would be next after The Collectible Cook?”
Delia thought. “There’s Dave’s Disney Collectibles. I can’t think of any E’s. I’ll need to look at the association list. But I can stop in at Dave’s and ask when I talk to Jerry Moore.”
“That’d be great. And good luck with Jerry.”
Delia held up crossed fingers and took off, Callie once again grateful to her helpful neighbor. She made her call about the chairs and tent and checked with her volunteers between customers, and things seemed to be pretty well in hand. The only item she couldn’t put a nice, big, satisfying check mark next to was the weather, but she wasn’t going to worry about it then. She’d think about that tomorrow.
Callie was in the shop’s back office when she heard the front door open. She’d been looking into an order, which appeared to be in transit, so she put her laptop into sleep mode and went out. To her surprise, she found George Cole waiting.
“Nice to see you, again,” she said. She remembered Lyssa mentioning House of Melody to Cole, but he hadn’t seemed terribly interested at the time. Perhaps he’d come about something else? “What can I help you with?”
“I wondered … ” Cole paused, gazing about the shop a bit uncomfortably. “That is, do your music boxes come with all kinds of tunes?”
“They do. We have many choices here in the shop, but I can also track down and order specific tunes. What were you looking for?”
“The Surrey with the Fringe on Top. That song from Oklahoma? It’s old, I know. Any chance you’d have it?”
“I’m afraid that’s not in our cu
rrent stock.” Callie pulled a large catalogue up from behind her counter. “But let’s see what I can find.”
She asked a few more questions about the style of box and price range, but Cole seemed much less concerned about that than the music itself, so she pointed out a few boxes in the catalogue that could be ordered with a choice of tunes, including Surrey, and let him study them. After a few minutes he pointed to a very pretty rosewood jewelry box.
As Callie wrote up the order, Cole seemed to feel he should explain. “It was one of my late wife’s favorite songs. I thought my daughter would like it. Her birthday is coming up.”
“What a nice idea. I’m sure she’ll love it.”
Cole looked a bit uncomfortable again, and Callie assumed it was from thinking about his late wife. She was about to lead the conversation toward more upbeat thoughts of daughters and birthdays when he brought up his wife again.
“Margaret was a good singer.”
Callie smiled and nodded.
“Not professional,” he added. “But she enjoyed it.” He paused. “We came here a few years ago, you know, before she got sick. This area, I mean.”
“Oh, really?”
“Stayed at the Foxwood Inn then, too. Previous owner at that time, not Ashby. It’s the reason I arranged to stay on after my business was done. Kind of a sentimental journey.”
Callie was used to customers sharing stories behind their music box collecting, so she wasn’t too surprised to hear Cole ramble on, though it wasn’t strictly about music boxes. When he seemed to have come to an end, she brought up a related topic.
“Lyssa told me about the strange noises you heard during this recent stay at the inn. Had you heard anything like that during your first visit?”
“Not at all. Well, the usual groans you’ll get from an old structure. But what I heard this time was different.”
“From the other side of the wall?”
“It seemed like that. Like the creak of a floorboard. Something you might hear outside your door when someone walks by. But this was solid wall, not a doorway.”
“The wall between your room and the next?”
“No, the back wall of my closet. An outside wall.”
“Could something have been scraping it on the outside? A tree branch, perhaps?”
“There is a tree there, so it could be that, I suppose. It just didn’t sound like a branch to me.”
Callie handed Cole his copy of the order. “I’ll be at the inn tonight. Lyssa and I have permission from the owner to look around. Would you mind if we checked your closet?”
“Be my guest. But I can’t guarantee you’ll hear anything.”
“Have the strange noises stopped since Ashby was murdered?”
Cole paused, thinking. “For the most part,” he said. “I can’t be one hundred percent sure.” He made a rueful laugh. “But then, who knows? Maybe I’ve imagined it all!”
Callie had to agree that it could be the case. A single noise heard when half asleep could certainly lead a person to thinking they’d heard more, or believing they’d heard something very different. But she still wanted to see—or listen—for herself.
After Cole left, she began to close up, having seen few shoppers lingering out on the sidewalks. She was interrupted by a call from Delia.
“Good news,” Delia said. “Jerry Moore will set up his sound system for the book event.”
“Yay!”
“And,” Delia added, “at no cost to the association.”
“Great! How did you manage that?”
“With surprisingly little effort. Renata jumped in first to fuss about the time, trouble, and possible expense involved, but after letting her rag on, Jerry just said, ‘I’ll do it. No problem.’”
“Wow. Maybe I’ve misjudged him.”
“Maybe,” Delia agreed, though doubtfully. “He is, on the other hand, married to Renata. I could have smacked her at one point.”
“Delia!” Callie knew her sweet-natured neighbor would never do any such thing, but it was still shocking to hear her say it. “What about?”
“She was bad-mouthing Dorothy terribly.”
“Wow. When I was there, it was all ‘my dear friend’ and ‘please give her my love.’ What did she say to you?”
“Utter nonsense. Claiming she’d known Dorothy for years and had always been aware of her bad side.”
“Oh! How awful. Is it true? I mean about having known Dorothy a long time? I thought they just met here at the Cove.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have time to stop at Stitches Thru Time. One of us should ask her about it.”
Callie heard Grandpa Reed’s music box ding behind her. Encouragement? Or a simple slip caused by vibrations from a passing truck? Either way, she knew she’d look into it. Statements as vicious as Renata Moore’s could not be left unchallenged.
After she finished closing up her shop, Callie went back to her cottage, feeling sorry for Dorothy but also energized to work harder at resolving her terrible situation. Lyssa had requested dinner at the inn, so Callie filled Jagger’s bowl, then popped a block of frozen leftover stew into the microwave before stretching out on her sofa. In a minute or so, Jagger joined her, and she relished the downtime as she stroked his furry body and scratched behind his ears.
“Are we on the right track?” she asked as the cat shifted to make himself comfortable while emitting loud purrs. “We’ve stirred up a lot of questions, but are we getting any closer to finding the answers?”
Jagger nudged her hand, which had paused in its petting.
“Who killed Clifford Ashby and why? It was such a bizarre way to kill him, with a pair of old but very sharp scissors. Did somebody plan it that way in order to implicate Dorothy? How did they get Ashby to the park late at night? And what, if anything, does it have to do with hidden doors and strange noises at the inn?”
She glanced at Jagger, as if for a response, but all she heard was the ping of her microwave. At least she had an answer for her growling stomach. That, Callie thought as she gently eased the cat off of her lap, would have to do. At least, she amended, for now.
Twelve
Lyssa was waiting, once again, on the graveled driveway as Callie arrived at the Foxwood Inn. The wind had picked up and the spikes of the author’s red hair stood up straighter than usual from the gusts. She hugged her cotton jacket tightly to herself.
Callie was glad to have thrown on a warm hoodie, and she pulled the hood up after climbing out of the car. “Is Paula here?” she asked as she scurried over.
“Cleaning up in the kitchen.”
“And she got the word from Dorothy?”
“Yup. We have the run of the place.” Lyssa turned away from the latest gust. “Let’s get inside before I blow away.”
They dashed inside, several leaves blowing in with them, and Callie instinctively bent down to grab them.
“I’ll get those. Don’t worry,” a broad-faced woman called as she came down the stairway. “I left the extra blanket you asked for in your room,” she told Lyssa.
“Thanks, Jackie. Shift over?” Lyssa asked.
“More than over. Kelsey’s quit, so I’m doing it all myself. Those young ones come and go a lot. Don’t mind the extra hours, though. Extra time means extra pay, which I can always use.”
“Have you been working here a long time?”
Jackie put her hand on her hip and blew a strand of hair off her face. “Thirty years, I guess. And my mother before me.”
“Really!” Callie said. “So you must know every inch of the place.”
“I ought to,” Jackie said, laughing. “Probably cleaned every inch a few hundred times.”
“Have you heard any strange noises?” Callie asked. “I mean, noises that seem to be coming from behind the walls?”
Jackie tilted her head, a small
smile curling her lips. “You mean, like, ghost noises? No ghosts here, at least none that I ever saw. You’d think there would be, a place this old.”
“How old?” Callie asked.
“Built before the Civil War. Or the War Between the States, as some call it. Early 1850s, I’m sure.”
“That’s old all right,” Lyssa said. “Anyone famous live here?”
“No presidents or ones like that. I heard a Quaker family owned it first, but I don’t know the name. But now you’re here, Ms. Hammond, they can say someone famous stayed here!”
Lyssa laughed. “And have to hear ‘Who?’ every time? That’s great, though, that the house has lasted so long. So many were just torn down.”
“Or burned down,” Jackie added. “Lots of candles and kerosene lamps around in those days. It’s a wonder anyone lived through it. Well, I’m off. Have a good night!”
“You too.”
They waited until Jackie had pulled the door closed behind her. Then Lyssa said, “If George Cole has heard odd noises, you’d think someone working here would have, too.”
“You’d think. But Jackie isn’t here twenty-four seven.”
“True. Well, let’s get a look at what’s behind that invisible door.” Lyssa led the way into the kitchen, where they found Paula wiping down her work counter. Pots and pans had been washed, and the stove gleamed. She glanced up as they walked in, not looking all that pleased to see them, Callie thought. Perhaps she was ready to leave, too, and they were holding her up? Callie realized she didn’t know if Paula lived on the premises.
“All done?” Lyssa asked. “That poached salmon was amazing tonight,” she said, coaxing a smile from Paula. “So, is Ashby’s office locked or what?”
Paula left her cloth on the counter and moved to the stove, where she pulled a set of keys off a hook on the wall. “It’s through here.” She led them down a short hallway that ended at the underside of the hall stairs Jackie had just come down. On each side of the passage was a door.
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