FIFTEEN
“Ezra Prosper.” Claudia nudged him away and dropped the watch back into its bag inside her purse. “I am not going to neck like a teenager on your sofa. Or anywhere else,” she added quickly. “Not because I didn’t enjoy it. I’ve dreamt of being kissed like that all my life. I just...” She fumbled for words.
“Claudia, it’s OK. It’s wisdom. Anyway, a few more and my knees will be too shaky to clear the sidewalk.”
Crystal Cornelius and Ann Gomer had it right. Ezra was special. Claudia resisted the temptation of one more kiss. “Maybe Bud is still awake. I’d love him to take a look at the watch, wouldn’t you? Can we go right now?”
They muffled in their coats and headed out the door. Thirty seconds later they were back in the living room, staring at each other in dismay. Ezra had barely gotten the front door open against a heavy drift, and they hadn’t been able to see the steps or the sidewalk. The most unassailable obstacle loomed in front of the garage door—a bank of icy snow three feet deep and twice as many wide.
Ezra slumped against the wall.
“Claudia, I am so sorry. Usually our forecasters are right, but sometimes the weather outwits them. There’s no way we are going anyplace. Even if I could dig out the van, I wouldn’t be able to keep it on the road. The snowmobile would be suicide. Unless the sun comes out and the temperature hits ninety in the next hour or so, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here overnight.”
“I know. It’s all right. But can we call the Gomers? I know Ann well enough by now. She’ll worry if I don’t show up.”
Ezra picked up the phone. He explained the situation to someone on the other end and hung up. “That was Philip. Bless his heart, he didn’t make any snide comments. He’ll tell his folks and he told me to take the couch because it’s lumpy, and you can have my bed.”
Claudia had anticipated this. “No,” she told him, “I would rather sleep out here. It’s really all right. Sleeping in your bed, even without you, is so... intimate. I’m not ready for that, and I may as well tell you now, I don’t plan to be this side of marriage.” Her cheeks were hot, but she persevered. “Please, I don’t want you to think this is a coy way to get you to announce your intentions, and it isn’t meant to barter that part of me for a ring. It’s just the way it is.”
Ezra’s eyes were warm. “I like the way it is. I’ll get out the sheets and things. I’ve got a drawer full of unopened toothbrushes, and since my mom still insists on buying me stuff on sale, I have sweats that have never been out of the package. They’ll be more comfortable than your fancy duds. Sound good?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but disappeared, and Claudia cleared the dessert plates and dumped the unfortunate whipped cream down the sink. He was back moments later, arms piled with everything she would need.
“There’s a powder room over there. I’ll make up the sofa.”
Claudia looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Ezra’s response came as a relief. Almost no one she knew took sex outside of marriage seriously, except to protect themselves from diseases and pregnancies. The scar kept her from having to take a stand very often, and she had wondered how she would handle a situation with someone she really liked. But Ezra not only hadn’t pressured her, he seemed to feel the same way. As she changed into the bulky sweatshirt and loose pants, she laughed. A few nights ago she’d vowed never to wear sweats to bed again. She confronted her fleece-swathed image in the mirror.
“Claudia, old girl, some promises are better broken than kept.”
In the living room only the light by the sofa remained on. The coffee table now held a glass of water and a flashlight, ‘In case the power goes out’.
The fire burned low. Ezra faced her.
“Claudia Alexander, if you won’t allow any more smooching, would you say our date is officially over?”
She nodded warily.
“Are you tired?”
“After all that coffee and chocolate? Are you serious?”
“Good.” He turned on another lamp. “Let’s discuss Roi’s murder. Could I take a look at this famous watch first please?” He chose to sit on the orange plaid recliner across from the sofa. Yes, the date was officially over.
“Oh, glory. I have been dying to talk about it. I know murder—I mean outside of Bernice—isn’t a common occurrence in Barley, and certainly isn’t in my experience.” She pulled the watch from the velvet bag and gave it to him.
He held it up to the light next to his chair.
“What do you think? Have you seen one like this before?”
He had the back open now, examining the workings.
“The metal is heavy. If it’s platinum it’s worth a decent amount of money in today’s market, although not a fortune. The mechanism seems pretty basic. Not Swiss made, I imagine. No secret engravings or markings. OK. Here’s what I learned. I met Amos at the library this morning. He gets copies of audiobooks there. Anyway, we talked about how the watch came to your family and before that to his. We looked into train crashes in Ohio. This is pretty fascinating. But it doesn’t really get us anywhere. Sure you want to hear more?”
“If you don’t tell me soon I’ll punch something.”
“All right. Good. Amos and I figured the crash his grandpa came on happened in 1891, in Kipton, Ohio. One of those needless tragedies. The engineer of a mail train didn’t pull off the tracks for a fast-moving passenger express. In the head-on collision eight people, including both engineers, were killed. Here’s the fascinating part. When the engineer’s watch was found, rumor says it was running four minutes slow. They blame the crash on the slow watch.”
“Oh no, Ezra, do you think this is that watch?”
“No. I mean, I doubt it. I did think so for a few minutes, which would give it huge historical value. But first, this isn’t a regular engineer’s watch. In fact, here’s an interesting little tidbit—after this disaster the famous Ball pocket watch was developed to ensure standardized timekeeping. Even before that, though, your watch wouldn’t have been standard. But let’s suppose for a minute this is the culprit behind the Kipton tragedy, and its place in history is pretty momentous, there still isn’t an extraordinary amount of monetary value. I can’t see Peter caring much about artifacts.”
“It’s good research, Ezra.” The little non sequitur that had been wriggling in her mind popped to the surface, and she remembered what hadn’t made sense. “I doubt Peter would be interested in mere historical value without lots of money to go along with it. But I think it’s a moot point. So much has happened this week that I forgot he had the watch from Monday until Thursday.”
Ezra’s face fell. “That’s right.” He brightened again. “Maybe he didn’t know he had it!”
“That doesn’t work. Either he’s completely uninterested in the watch, which means he wouldn’t have a reason to check my luggage, or he’s underhanded and will stop at nothing to get it, in which case he would have found it in my suitcase and left. But when he came back to Barley the watch came with him.”
“Hmmm. I guess my theory needs work.” Ezra looked the watch over again, and handed it to Claudia. “Well, we’ll see what Bud has to say tomorrow. Time to do some brainstorming about Roi.”
“Before we start, can I ask you the same thing I asked Ann? Does anyone feel badly about Roi’s death? Or Felix being charged?”
“I do,” he answered unexpectedly. “Really. I grew up with Roi. I mentioned that he isn’t—wasn’t—a bad guy. He was something of a big deal in high school. Loved the attention from girls. He started to believe the universe revolved around him, and no matter how the universe eventually contradicted him, he couldn’t shake the notion. A mix of hedonist and narcissist with a little Peter Pan thrown in. He loved being on the water though, and he loved his boat and took pride in keeping up appearances. He’d hate knowing he’d been found lying any which way, dumped in Bernice’s front yard.”
They were silent a moment. Roi had been abominably rude to h
er, but behind the ill-mannered man Ezra made her see the boy whose body and face were betraying him toward middle age and whose big dreams had been absorbed by the minutiae of ordinary life.
“What about Felix?”
“First, you can’t blame Ann for a lack of sympathy. She never felt as though she could take her eyes off her kids once he moved into town. Now she has grandkids and she worries for them. I believe he isn’t a pedophile. He made some stupid choices after his divorce. The matter that landed him in jail all came down to the word of one 15-year-old against his. Then, when she got caught lying about another guy, the parole board gave him early release. Probably the only break he ever had in his life.”
“The big question is why Felix would kill Roi? Was there animosity between them?”
“I can’t imagine any.” Ezra picked up her glass of water and took an absentminded swig. “Oh, good grief. That’s your water. I’ll get you another glass.”
“No, you won’t! Stay sitting. I’m not thirsty.”
“Yes, ma’am. Roi and Felix had nothing to do with each other. Felix tries to cross as few paths as possible, while Roi was schmoozing with the wealthier tourists when he wasn’t schmoozing with the wealthier residents.”
“Could it have been a heat of the moment sort of blowup? Maybe Roi said something to belittle Felix?”
“It’s possible. I don’t know Felix all that well, but his nature is more the continually aggrieved and irritable sort. Though he’s generally unpleasant I’ve never seen him lose his temper. It would take too much energy.”
“I met Tabitha, the editor of the paper, and she said he denies everything. Is that possible?”
Ezra shrugged. “Maybe. Lem still has him locked up though.” He grinned. “I told that brother of mine he needed to start earning his pay. He hasn’t had so much to do in the off-season since the high school seniors took apart a Volkswagen and reassembled it in an abandoned store a few years ago.”
Claudia refused to be distracted by tales of Barley. “Let’s assume for now he is telling the truth. That means someone else killed Roi and deliberately worked very hard to make it appear Felix did it. Who might want to do that?”
Ezra fidgeted. “There are probably a good half-dozen men who were tired of him hitting on their wives or girlfriends. One of them may have caught him making a bit free and taken him out. That doesn’t quite square with how he was killed though. Usually, a guy madder-than-heck at finding someone in a compromising position with his woman would sock the guy in the jaw.”
“How did he die? Tabitha didn’t say.”
“First time I ever got the jump on her. As justice of the peace, I declare folks deceased after the doctor has looked things over since we don’t have a medical examiner in town. Anyway, he died from a broken neck. Either whoever did it got very lucky, which would automatically rule out Felix, who has never had a minute’s luck in his life, or the killer knew exactly what he was doing.”
“He? Why not a woman? Especially someone like Bernice? Say, could it have been Bernice?”
“Sure, if she flew out of her trailer. Remember, it snowed until about midnight, but according to what we’re guessing is the time of death, not much of significance after he died. The only footprints of any kind by Bernice’s trailer are one set from her front door to where she walloped Felix, and there are no vehicle tracks at all but Felix’s Cat. How could she have gotten the body over to Felix’s clear on the other side of town?”
“The idea of Felix and Bernice zipping across town carting a dead body is rather ludicrous. That reminds me. Wasn’t Felix taking a huge chance? What if someone saw him with Roi slung over his snowmobile?” She stopped, aghast at her callous description, but Ezra took the question seriously.
“Felix always has bundles and bags hanging off his sled. Unless someone got close, another load wouldn’t attract attention.”
Claudia shivered and wrapped the lurid green afghan around her shoulders. “I’m still anxious that somehow I precipitated this. Someone sabotages Amos’s fence, his house is torn apart, and now Roi gets killed. And everything happened since I got here six days ago. Like you said this afternoon, a lot of coincidence.”
“Maybe not. I can’t see how the incidents with Amos are related to Roi’s death. And remember, you aren’t the only newcomer in town.”
“Peter? I can picture Peter cheating someone, but I honestly can’t imagine him killing. How often outside of the movies does a white-collar guy commit violent crime? And why on earth would he? Besides, Barley isn’t a walled medieval village. People can come and go without attracting much attention if they try hard enough. If Felix didn’t kill Roi, it seems more likely that an unknown person did it.”
Ezra looked thoughtful. He stood and stretched.
“I’ve hit a dead end, and I need to get up early to shovel out the driveway. I’m going to bed.”
He grabbed her glass and left the room. She was still wondering if she should shout a ‘good night’ at his back when she heard the water in the kitchen. Seconds later, he returned with a different glass of water, Sapphira padding at his heels. After planting a light kiss on the top of Claudia’s head, Ezra whistled for the dog, who ignored him and collapsed by the sofa, looking up at her keeper with aggrieved eyes.
“Fickle creature,” he told her. He smiled at Claudia. “Sleep tight. If you have to get up, don’t forget the carcass lying alongside you.” And he was gone.
Claudia reached over to turn off the light. She’d always thought those sporadic bursts of joy to be the epitome of emotion. This quiet delight in Ezra, while not as exhilarating, had a uniquely sustaining satisfaction. She’d worry about the dangers of a high-speed rebound relationship tomorrow. Claudia beat back common sense, gave a final rub to Sapphira’s neck, and in moments had fallen into a deep sleep.
SIXTEEN
Long before the sun came up Claudia heard the rhythmic chink of a shovel. As the sky turned nectarine, a snow blower roared to replace the scraping. Soon a plow’s motor added to the cacophony.
Claudia considered herself a light sleeper and was surprised she hadn’t heard Ezra leave the house. She corrected herself. Since arriving in Barley, she’d slept deeply and wakened refreshed—murder and mayhem notwithstanding. Lake Superior air must have some soporific component that was missing in Lake Michigan air.
Claudia splashed water on her face, dressed in her borrowed finery and headed to the kitchen, Sapphira at her heels. No coffee on yet. She got a pot brewing, washed the dishes from the night before, and explored the kitchen to see what she could come up with for breakfast. A bright orange apron hung from a hook. She put it on to protect Priscilla’s clothes and tried to picture Ezra wearing it as he whipped up something for himself and Sapphira. She looked around for the dog and found her contemplating an empty water dish.
“Poor baby,” Claudia sympathized, hastening to fill it, “how could we not notice that dry bowl?”
The poor baby chose not to respond to the rhetorical question, but lapped up a good quart of water and then slobbered a pint from her jowls onto the surrounding floor.
“Slob,” Claudia told her and wiped up the mess. Sapphira, taking offense, turned tail on the kitchen and grumbled all the way into Ezra’s room.
Claudia explored the fridge and found that, unlike her apartment-sized refrigerator in Chicago, Ezra kept it well stocked. Among other foodstuffs, she found brown eggs, butter, milk, bacon, and peppers. She would start an omelet, and if it flopped, call it upscale scrambled eggs. The mixing bowl and frying pan were easy to find, and she was rummaging for a whisk when the door opened behind her.
“I wanted to surprise you with breakfast,” she called from a deep drawer filled with dozens of utensils. “That’s what I get for sleeping in.”
“Thoughtful of you,” Peter answered from the doorway.
Claudia started and smacked her head on the counter overhang. Rubbing it, she gaped at him.
“First time you’ve ever gotten dome
stic enough to cook for me. And you do it so charmingly.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to tell my virtuous ex-girlfriend that I’m leaving town. You didn’t think I wanted to visit the dogcatcher, did you?”
“Don’t forget justice of the peace,” Ezra commented over Peter’s shoulder.
Claudia was pleased to see Peter disconcerted at Ezra’s silent materialization.
“Want some coffee?” Claudia asked Ezra.
“Sure.” Peter said.
He moved over while Ezra pulled off his boots and hat and headed to stand by Claudia. His thin hair stood up every which way from his head, and he was sweating profusely. Peter, immaculate, let his gaze move slowly and deliberately from Ezra to Claudia. She couldn’t keep from reddening, but taking her cue from Ezra, she poured the coffee in silence and carried the cup to Peter. He took it and remained standing.
“Why didn’t you just call?” Claudia demanded.
“I had to make sure you were all right. After all, you aren’t the kind of girl to stay out all night.”
“How did you know I was here?” She sounded like a guilty lover caught in a cheating tryst; but Peter had caught her off guard, and Ezra did nothing but behave like a gentleman and mop his face with a towel.
“Philip told me.”
“I doubt that.” Ezra smiled pleasantly as he said it, but Peter’s eyes narrowed.
“Indirectly. I heard him tell his parents. I thought it would be chivalrous to let Claudia know she’ll need to find another way home. Unless, of course, she finds this”—his gaze encompassed the kitchen and Ezra—“more to her liking.”
Ezra draped the towel on a chair back, walked over to Peter, and shook his hand. “Have a safe trip.”
He returned to Claudia, who still stood dumbly by the open drawer. Peter, robbed of a sardonic last word, hesitated in the doorway.
Claudia found her voice. “Thank you for letting me know.” She cast her mind about for a more appropriate closing line. “And drive carefully.” She beamed at him.
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