A Vintage Death

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Right after she disconnected, the phone immediately rang. “Is that Lyssa Hammond thing tonight?” the caller asked.

  It wasn’t the first such call she’d received, and she expected it wouldn’t be the last. She wished she’d set up a recording on another number with the event information, but it was too late now.

  She was relieved to see Tabitha walk into the shop, and not surprised that her assistant’s costume of the day was a black dress and pointy witch’s hat.

  “In honor of Lyssa Hammond, of course,” Tabitha said. When Callie told her about Lyssa’s plan to arrive in a hearse, Tabitha clapped her hands. “Love it! This is going to be so great! Think it’ll translate into sales here afterward? I mean, people don’t normally associate ghosts with music boxes.”

  “Or with salt and pepper shakers or collectible cars. We’re hoping that everyone who shows up will be in such a good mood that they won’t want the evening to end and will hang around and shop.”

  “Then again,” Tabitha said, rolling back one long black sleeve, “if they knew about Aunt Mel and Grandpa Reed’s music box … ” She flicked her eyes toward the music box in question, sitting in its Plexiglas case on the shelf behind the counter.

  “And they won’t know, right? Because we don’t really know that Aunt Mel is communicating. It could all be coincidence.”

  Tabitha shot her a knowing look but said nothing, and the music box remained mercifully silent as well. After a long pause, the phone suddenly rang, causing Callie to jump. Tabitha reached for it and calmly recited “House of Melody” along with a greeting. She listened for a moment, then gave directions to the Keepsake Cove Park for the evening’s event.

  “They’ve been calling all morning,” Callie said when she hung up.

  “Good. That means a great turnout.”

  “Hope so. The books are getting closer and nothing has caught fire in the last twenty-four hours. So far, so good.”

  She left Tabitha in charge of the phone and went back to her office, thinking she’d take a moment to search online again for George Cole using Lyssa’s latest info.

  She typed in his name, along with Greenock, Virginia, and then sat back and waited. It didn’t take long. A few lines of an article in the Greenock Gazette showed up with George Cole’s name, but it was in the paper’s archives. In order to access it fully, she needed to subscribe to the newspaper, which she quickly decided was worth it. After a few minutes of tapping in the required information, including her credit card number, the door to the archives opened, and she was in.

  The article turned out to have been published thirty-eight years ago. It was a “local boy makes good” story, talking about how George Cole, after graduating from James Barbour High School, had gone on to excel at the University of Virginia, earning a degree in economics, and had taken a job as a business analyst with Liberty Mutual Surety. He would be working in the company’s Richmond offices. Well, that sounded positive. It was, however, thirty-eight years ago, and a lot could have changed in the local boy since then.

  Curious about the size of Greenock itself, Callie left the newspaper site. From Wikipedia she learned that the population of the town was currently 6,541. Forty-some years ago it likely had been smaller, which explained an article like the one on George Cole appearing in the newspaper.

  She went back to the newspaper archives to look for more. After refining her search, she found a mention of George in the guest list of a local wedding. His name was buried among many others, and Callie was on the verge of clicking away when she thought to scroll upward to check the names of the bride and groom: Dorothy L. Jenkins and Clifford F. Ashby. The bride was attended by her cousin, Jane A. Jenkins.

  Callie sat back in astonishment. George Cole had attended Dorothy and Clifford’s wedding, which took place in Greenock, Virginia, some four decades ago. Since weddings were usually held in the bride’s home town, the news story on it was likely because of a connection that Dorothy, and possibly Jane, had to Greenock. Clifford, so far, was up for grabs. But George hadn’t said a word about all this to Lyssa or Callie. Nor had Jane. What did that mean?

  Callie didn’t have time to mull it over, since she could hear Tabitha dealing with a customer as the shop door opened for another. She went out to lend a hand, though she ended up answering more questions about that evening’s book event than about her music boxes. Her customer did buy a small musical globe before leaving, and Tabitha made a sale on a vintage rotary telephone music box.

  As both customers walked out, a third walked in, and Tabitha stepped up to greet her. Callie hurried back to the office to make a quick call to Lyssa.

  “Sorry to interrupt whatever you’re doing,” she said, “but I just learned something I thought couldn’t wait.” She gave Lyssa the details of her online search.

  “That devil! He never said a word about knowing those two. And remember when he told me about seeing Jane from the window of his room, talking to Cliff Ashby the afternoon of the murder? He said it as if he didn’t know who she was. I only guessed it was Jane because of the sweater he described.”

  “I also remember you said it seemed to have just slipped out. You said he looked like he wished he could take it back.”

  “That’s right. But what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. But George hasn’t been totally open with us,” Callie said. “I thought you should keep that in mind when you’re talking with him from now on.”

  “Absolutely. By the way, Paula’s making an early dinner for us at the inn, at my request. Want to join us? She always makes plenty, and it’s always delicious.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll need to be at the park making sure everything’s in shape. I’ll probably grab something from Brian’s concession stand.”

  “That’ll be good, too. See you tonight!”

  After disconnecting, Callie thought for a minute, then pressed in the number for Stitches Thru Time. She needed to get the relationship between George, Dorothy, and Jane straight, and the best way was to go right to the horse’s mouth. The phone rang at the shop, and she readied her questions. But instead of Jane picking up, Callie heard Dorothy’s voice in the prerecorded message stating that the shop was closed.

  “Please leave a message,” she asked, “and your phone number after the beep.”

  Callie didn’t wait for the beep but called the number at Dorothy’s cottage instead. Perhaps they’d given up on waiting for customers, or it might be a brief closure. She drummed her fingers as she listened to the rings at the other end. After four, she heard Dorothy’s voice say hello. She began to talk until she realized that Dorothy was still speaking. It was another recording, asking the caller to leave a message.

  “Dorothy, it’s Callie. Would you call me, please?” She recited her number and hung up, unsure what was going on. It could be something or nothing. All Callie could do for the moment was wait for Dorothy to call her back.

  By six o’clock, Callie had been kept busy enough between customers and ongoing calls about the book event that thoughts of Dorothy had flown. It was time for her to put House of Melody in Tabitha’s capable hands and head over to the park. Tabitha had long ago agreed to stay late, leaving Callie free to oversee whatever needed overseeing. One load, at least, had been lifted from her shoulders when the book store called.

  “They’re here!” the store’s manager had announced, referring, of course, to Lyssa’s books. “There’s boxes and boxes of them. We’ll be loading them up soon.” The two women had laughed with relief, with Callie very happy to cross that problem off her list.

  Keepsake Cove looked wonderfully festive as she drove down the street, her banners and decorations glowing brightly in the setting sun. Soon it would be dark, and the street lights would take over. The weather was cool but dry, and only a light breeze rustled the fallen leaves. It was a perfect night for an outdoor Halloween-themed book event, weather-wis
e. All that remained was for a few dozen other things to fall into place as planned, but she wasn’t going to let that stress her. One step at a time had become her mantra.

  After parking and walking the short distance to the park, Callie was delighted to spy a new wagon in place, filled with hay, a scarecrow, and carved jack-o’-lanterns. Del Hodges hadn’t exaggerated about locals pulling together. That, of course, included the people on her decorating committee, who must have scrambled to find replacements for the burned items. She continued down the wide paved path that cut through dense trees and soon reached the cleared gazebo and tent area. Annie hailed her from the concessions tent.

  “Is she here?” she called.

  “Lyssa’s going to make her grand entrance at the last minute,” Callie said, then paused for dramatic effect. “In a hearse.”

  Annie squealed. “The crowd’s going to totally love that.”

  Callie glanced around at the empty tent. “Assuming there is a crowd. Shouldn’t people be arriving?”

  “This is the Eastern Shore, Callie. Things are more leisurely here. Don’t worry. They have another thirty-five minutes to show up. Want a sandwich? I’ve got a bunch, and Brian’s bringing more.”

  “My stomach’s full of butterflies. Got anything hot to drink?”

  “Not yet, sorry. How about a chilled green tea?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  Callie turned to examine the area. All looked pristine and ready, the folding chairs neatly in place and ghostly decorations hanging from every possible location. Annie was holding out the bottled tea when an ear-piercing screech nearly made her drop it.

  “That’s Jerry Moore,” she said, once she could speak. “Or rather, his sound system. He’s been testing it—and damaging my eardrums—since I’ve been here. Jerry!” she shouted into the air. “Cut it out!”

  In response, they heard maniacal laughter coming through a speaker, followed by creepy organ music.

  “Where is he?” Callie asked. She took a swig of her tea and wiped a stray drop from her lips.

  “Somewhere out there.” Annie waved vaguely toward the shrubbery behind the gazebo. “He’s been setting up speakers all over. When it’s not screeching, it sounds pretty good.”

  “Great. Did Renata come with him?”

  “I haven’t seen her. I suppose she might come later on her own. Why, did you need to talk with her?”

  “Well, mostly keep an eye on her. Jerry warned me that she and Dorothy have had words recently. Harsh ones. He hoped they wouldn’t run into each other tonight.”

  “Think that’s likely? I mean, I thought Dorothy was keeping a low profile lately.”

  “She is, but after letting out her anger toward Renata, she might also decide enough is enough and show up. She certainly deserves to be here after all the work she did with us early on. I tried to reach her this afternoon but got no answer.”

  “That’s odd,” Annie said. “But maybe she was resting.”

  Callie nodded. That was the most likely explanation. She wished, though, that she’d thought of stopping by Stitches Thru Time on her way, just to check. Should she call Dorothy again? She started to reach for her phone but then saw a small van approaching. As it closed in, she read the logo on its side: Mapleton Mysteries and More. The books had come!

  She set down her tea and hurried over to lend a hand as a man and woman popped out from the front seat and slid open the side door. While Callie helped lift out boxes to stack on the dolly, Brian’s Impala pulled up. Annie and Brian were soon unloading cartons of food and drink from the trunk and carrying them to the concession stand, weaving between the book people.

  Laurie Hart had spread an orange-and-black tablecloth over the signing table in the gazebo, and she shook out a second one to cover the book table. Callie, who’d followed the loaded dolly with one of the final boxes, deposited it on the floor next to the table at the direction of the bookstore people. “We’ll spread out a selection of the titles on the tabletop and replenish as needed.”

  Seeing that they had things well in hand, Callie went back to concessions. “Need any help?”

  Annie was unpacking cartons as Brian plugged electricity into his various heating elements. “We’re good, thanks,” he said. “Should have coffee ready in a few minutes.”

  “Great! Hey, people are coming.”

  “I’ll move my car out of the way in a minute.”

  “Want me to do it for you?” Callie asked, and was rewarded with a you must be joking look from Annie. “Hey,” Callie protested. “He let Lyssa drive it.”

  “Got a Corvette on hand to trade with me?” Brian asked with a laugh. “It’s okay. I plan to park it some distance away, for safety’s sake. I can jog back quicker than you.”

  “Howard, you can’t do that.” Callie turned as Delia’s exasperated voice carried from a short distance away. Delia was facing Howard Graham, who held a large box and looked defiant. Callie hurried over to see Christmas-y items from his shop filling the box.

  “But the whole purpose of this event was to sell our stuff,” he argued.

  “Not here,” Delia said, obviously striving for patience.

  “What’s up?” Callie asked.

  “Howard wants to spread out his things to sell.”

  “I have my own table,” he said defensively. “That was the idea, wasn’t it? That we have our things lined up and ready in the gazebo for when she signs her books?”

  “Howard,” Delia asked, “do you know how many shops there are in Keepsake Cove? How do you think we could fit everyone in that gazebo?”

  “She’s right, Howard,” Callie said. “I’m sorry you misunderstood. The plan was that all the shops stay open late tonight for shoppers to visit after they leave here.”

  “But—”

  “Let me help you get these things back,” Delia said, guiding the frustrated-looking man away from the tents. “I’ll ask Lyssa to mention your Christmas shop as she signs, how does that sound?” As they left, she shot Callie a wide-eyed can you believe it? look over her shoulder, and Callie returned a grateful one for her deft handling of the situation.

  As people started arriving on foot and filling the seats, Callie saw a black Lexus drive up to the area recently vacated by Brian’s Impala and the bookstore van. She watched to see who would step out, hoping not to have to inform them they couldn’t leave their car there. She didn’t have to worry. The driver got out to open the back passenger doors for two men, then hopped back in, ready to pull away. Curious, Callie moved closer and saw Pearl Poepelman greeting the two. Pearl turned and, spotting her, waved her over.

  “Callie, have you met our mayor, Tyler Elliott?” The vintage jewelry shop owner was clearly pleased as she introduced Callie to the taller of the two men, explaining that House of Melody’s new owner had also headed the book event committee.

  The silver-haired man shook Callie’s hand, then turned to his companion. “I’d like you both to meet this gentleman.” He placed a friendly hand on the shoulder of the man next to him as he said his name. “Vernon Parks.”

  Callie automatically held out her hand but was momentarily tongue-tied as she realized who she faced: the man Dorothy had described as despicable.

  Nineteen

  Vernon Parks, shorter and more rotund than the mayor, smothered Callie’s hand in a pinky-ringed clasp, apparently not picking up on her stiff reaction.

  “Wonderful event you’ve arranged here. The best of everything, eh? Books, food, and lovely ladies.” He pumped her hand vigorously, a wide though plastic smile splitting his jowly face. Both men wore suits, which Callie might have expected for the mayor at a large community gathering. But Parks? She sincerely hoped he wasn’t planning to run for a local office.

  “We’ve reserved seats for you up front,” Pearl said after shaking Parks’s hand. She led them both away, much to Callie�
��s relief, though she recognized that she was perhaps being unfair. But from Dorothy’s tale, which she trusted, along with the bad vibes that she’d instantly felt at meeting the man, she didn’t think so.

  What was Parks doing there? What if Dorothy showed up? Callie scanned the crowd worriedly without spotting her, but she did see Renata, who was making her way toward the mayor and Parks. Joining forces to devastate Dorothy? Callie chided herself. She had no reason to think so. Besides, Dorothy hadn’t shown up so far, and the likelihood was that she wouldn’t. If, in fact, she did, Callie would be sure to warn her.

  The crowd filled in, to the point of standing room only, nicely dispelling the lesser of her worries, and she heard her cell phone ping with a new text. It was from Lyssa.

  Hearse and I are here. Signal when ready.

  Callie’s stomach did a little flip. Show time! She looked around for Krystal Cobb and found her near the gazebo. She was talking with two other women and not hard to spot in one of her sparkle-studded jackets. Krystal clearly enjoyed dressing up to her name. Callie hurried over.

  “Lyssa’s ready to be introduced,” she said. She’d already alerted Krystal to the author’s method of arrival.

  “Okay!” Krystal smoothed her skirt, squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat. “Here we go!” She climbed the two stairs of the gazebo and tapped the microphone that had been set up in front of the throne. “Are we on? Yes? Great. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Keepsake Cove!”

  Callie texted Lyssa to start inching in.

  The crowd quieted as Krystal first introduced the mayor, who stood up and waved, managing to look surprised but pleased at the honor. She then spoke about how exciting it was to have a world-famous author with them that evening, especially one who wrote such chill-producing stories, and particularly at Halloween. “Who doesn’t like to be scared?” she asked as the crowd chuckled agreement. She gave a brief overview of Lyssa’s writing career, picking out her most popular books and mentioning some of their more macabre subjects, finally saying, “Ladies and gentleman, please join me in welcoming Lyssa Hammond!”