by Liz Mugavero
“I’ll get our coats.” He took the stairs two at a time while Stan fidgeted impatiently. When he returned, he veered off and said something to his mother, then helped Stan with her coat and ushered her out the door.
“Why would the alarm be going off?” she asked, buckling her seat belt.
“Probably a glitch in the system. Don’t worry.” He pulled out of the driveway and drove the two miles to her shop. When they got there, a state police car was parked out front, lights flashing. The alarm had been silenced, but as they hurried up to the front door Stan felt her heart stop. There was a gaping hole in her front window.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, grabbing Jake’s arm.
Lou met them outside.
“What happened?” Jake asked.
Lou shook his head. “Someone broke in. Looks like they smashed the window with some kind of pipe and started to trash the place.”
Stan shoved past him and yanked the front door open. She stepped inside, her boots crunching on a pile of broken glass. Whoever had broken in must’ve been startled by the alarm—thank goodness her mother had insisted on it, even though Jake hadn’t thought it was necessary—but still tried to inflict the most damage they could in a short amount of time.
Her café tables were overturned. Chairs and stools were strewn around the room, and one of the stools had been smashed, a leg lying forlornly in the middle of the floor. All the vases she’d lovingly picked out for each table were broken. The Christmas tree had been toppled, leaving broken ornaments and a puddle of water. The rest of the Christmas decorations had been torn down, some of them left broken on the floor. She did notice with some relief that they hadn’t made it to the pastry cases. If those had been ruined, she would’ve been closed indefinitely.
They’d wreaked as much havoc as possible in a short amount of time.
Her throat tightened, a sure sign that tears were about to follow. She’d worked so hard. She was so proud of her shop. Who would want to wreck it? Even as she asked herself the question, she knew. This had to do with whatever was going on around here. All of it—Seamus’s disappearance, Harold’s death, Ray’s no contact, whatever had gone on up in Boston. She’d been right all along, and someone was afraid of her being right. Someone didn’t want Seamus to be the focal point. That was the only explanation.
A chill raced up her spine as she thought of the dogs and cats. What if her house was next? Would someone hurt her babies? She thought of Kevin, the houseguest that everyone had warned her against. And Seamus’s other “friends” who’d come to town. And the three men who’d been at the library tonight that she’d never seen before. Who were all these people? Had one of them done this? Did it have something to do with the Book of Kells, as she’d suspected?
She felt Jake come up behind her and slide an arm around her shoulders as he surveyed the damage. “Who would do something like this?” he said, almost to himself. “Lou. Was this kids? I can’t imagine any of our locals doing this, though. Some college kids out on a prank?”
Lou’s face said he didn’t think so, but he shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, Jake. It looks a little too … calculated to me to be kids screwing around on a dare or some kind of fraternity initiation. Besides, why would they come all the way out here and pick Stan’s store? And it doesn’t seem like a robbery. There’s still money in the cash register. I don’t know.” He looked at Stan. “Anyone you’ve had problems with lately?”
“No. But I think this has something to do with Seamus,” Stan said grimly.
“How so?” Lou asked.
Stan looked at Jake. She hadn’t filled him in on the Book of Kells conversation from the other night. No time like the present. She spilled the highlights of the conversation. Jake looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. Lou just listened until she was done.
“What about this guy who’s been staying with you?” he asked. “You think he’s on the up-and-up?”
Stan shrugged and looked at Jake.
“We took him at face value that he was Seamus’s friend,” Jake said. “But do I know that for a fact? Nope. We were way too trusting.”
“I don’t know,” Stan said. “I don’t get a bad vibe from him. But I do think he knows more than he’s saying. What about those four that are staying at Char’s?”
Lou grinned. “I heard your cousin decked one of them,” he said to Jake. “It’s why Jessie couldn’t answer this call.”
“I know even less about them,” Jake said. “But now I’m worried for Char. Heck, I’m worried for all of us.”
*
Jake called Scott to bring a piece of plywood from the pub. Stan waited in the car while they boarded up her window. Lou had taken the report and left, promising to do his best to figure out who’d done this. He also promised to have extra patrols going by the pub, Stan’s shop, and Izzy’s place until they’d figured this mess out.
When they finally got home, Stan wanted to crawl into bed. But first, she needed to make sure everything was okay. The house was empty save for the animals. She’d never been so happy to see her furry friends. The dogs clamored around her, barking and demanding hugs and pets. Nutty sat in the front window watching them with disdain, and she saw Benny peeking around the corner from the den. Everyone was accounted for, and no one was acting strangely. That made her feel better. Still, she made Jake check the entire house—all the windows, the back door, the gate outside, under the beds—before she allowed herself to completely relax.
She wondered where Kevin was. His bag was still in the living room, but his absence stood out for her. He hadn’t been at the party, either. And it was near midnight. He didn’t usually come back so late, since he didn’t have a key—at least Stan hadn’t been that trusting.
And Liam. Would he be back, or had Jessie arrested him? Or maybe she’d just made him stay overnight and cool off. “Would she do that?” Stan asked Jake. “Make Liam sleep in a cell?”
Jake shook his head. “He probably went to Izzy’s.”
Her cell rang. She recognized the number. Cyril was on the job.
“Hello.”
“Stan. I heard what happened at your shop. Can you comment?”
“I don’t really know what to say, except how devastated I am that someone would do this,” she said.
“Was anything taken?”
“No. Just destroyed.”
“Is this going to halt plans for Saturday’s celebration? Boy, someone wants our Christmas spirit wrecked this year, eh?”
Saturday. The grand opening, take two. She’d nearly forgotten about it. She closed her eyes, suddenly weary. “I honestly don’t know, Cyril. I have to see when I can get someone in to fix it. And I have to replace some furniture. So probably, yeah. Because even if I can get it fixed, I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to have a party.”
She could hear him tapping on keys on his end of the phone, taking down her comments. When he stopped typing and spoke again, he’d shifted from reporter mode.
“Hey. Off the record. Can we talk tomorrow?” he asked. “About that … matter we discussed the other night. I have some things I want to run by you. I’ll call you. Oh, and there’s a meeting about your sister’s boyfriend’s restaurant. The sisters are planning to publicly oppose it, I heard.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“Well, that’s just what we need. And how are they finding time to do that, anyway?” She shook her head in disgust. “Thanks for the heads-up, Cyril. I’ll talk to you later.”
Chapter Forty-five
After yet another mostly sleepless night, Stan finally got out of bed at five and went into the shower. She stood under the hot spray for a long time, trying to find a way to feel better about everything. Of course, there wasn’t much to feel better about. Last week her biggest problem had been being too busy to Christmas shop yet. Now she wished she could rewind. Or fast forward to when everything got resolved, even though that seemed like an unattainable goal at
this point.
With a sigh, she shut the water off and stepped out of the shower, dressing hurriedly in an old pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Since most of her day was going to be spent cleaning up the shop, she didn’t worry about how she looked. She ran some styling product through her hair and let it air dry while she went down to make coffee. The cats were waiting, so she heated up some of their food and let them eat before the dogs got up and tried to steal it. She gave them extra treats and tried to reassure herself that they’d be okay in the house alone today, that no one was going to break in and hurt them.
She wished she believed it.
But there was nothing she could do about it, unless she asked Jake to stay here all day. And since he ran a business too, she felt bad asking him to do that. She’d just have to trust that they’d be okay.
After making a piece of toast with cashew butter and drinking more coffee than any human should consume in an hour, she grabbed her coat and snuck out before Scruffy—or Jake—realized she was leaving. She didn’t want her little dog running through the broken glass over at the shop. And she wanted to let Jake sleep. He’d been up as much as she had lately.
Stan drove as slowly as possible up the street. She dreaded today’s chore, dreaded pulling up to her beautiful little shop and seeing it in such a state. She felt a tad guilty for feeling so upset about it, when other people were facing worse challenges. Like their husbands missing for nearly a week, or being suspected of murder.
So when she pulled into the front parking lot, her mouth dropped open. It was barely seven, but the lot was jammed full of cars. And a van she recognized as belonging to Frank Pappas, the contractor who’d worked on Jake and Izzy’s building and who’d installed the new kitchen here at her shop. She saw Frank himself standing near the front door, smoking and overseeing a crew of his workers who were installing a new window.
She parked and hurried over to them. “Frank? What are you … how did you—”
He glanced at her and held up a finger, then focused on his crew. “It’s not straight!” he hollered. “To the left!” Shaking his head, he tossed his cigarette butt to the ground. “Gotta watch every move they make, I swear to God. Yeah. Stan. Jake called me last night. Said there was an emergency. What the hell happened?”
“Someone broke in,” Stan said. “Not sure who or why. But thank you, Frank. I appreciate you coming so quickly.”
He waved her off, obviously uncomfortable with the praise. “It’s a job.” He jerked his thumb toward the building. “You got some people inside.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She hurried in and stopped in her tracks. The place had already been mostly cleaned up, but that wasn’t the most surprising part. Char herself was overseeing the operations in here, much like Frank outside. She held a broom in one hand, and with the other directed Betty and Brenna on how to rearrange the undamaged tables and chairs. Her mother stood behind the counter, surveying the room, looking for anything else out of place.
“You guys? Mom? What on earth are you doing here? Char, my God. This is the last thing you need to worry about.” She went over and hugged her friend.
“Sweetie. Don’t be silly. I heard you had some problems, and I knew I needed to pull myself together and get over here to help you. Lord knows you’ve been trying to help me all week, and what a thankless job that’s been for you.” She gave Stan a squeeze, then stepped back. “Now. Once we get this place cleaned up, I’m taking you to my friend’s place down the road a ways. She sells lovely furniture, and we’ll get you some things to tide you over until you can replace these pieces. You can be chic and mismatched for a while, but you’ll be up and running. What do you say?” She beamed at Stan.
Stan assessed her friend. Char had lost some weight, and she wore about half her usual makeup. Her lively orange hair wasn’t quite as vivacious as usual, and instead of one of her brightly colored outfits she wore a pair of black pants and an oversized red sweatshirt. But being back in the mix of the living was clearly helping. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were the brightest Stan had seen them since Friday, when everything happened. It made her feel a bit better. “So Jake did all this?” she asked. “He got all of you?”
Her mother nodded. “He called me last night. I was going to call you, but he said to give you some time. He organized us to come in and help this morning.”
How sweet. She thought she might cry, but managed to hold it in.
“I can’t believe this happened, Stan.” Brenna looked distraught. “I mean, when Jake told me …” She shook her head. “Who would want to do this?”
“Some degenerate kid, that’s who,” Betty declared, dumping a pile of glass into the trash can. “I swear, parents don’t control their children nowadays, and look what happens. Innocent people just trying to make a living are the ones who suffer.”
“Betty, I’m not sure this was a kid,” Stan said. “Lou didn’t think so either.”
Betty scoffed. “Then who was it? Someone who wants Christmas canceled? Hmmm. Maybe you’re right,” she said, tapping a finger against her chin. “I’ve a mind to call that cranky goat farmer down the way. He’s been badmouthing our Christmas celebrations for the last ten years. I bet you he paid someone off to do this.”
“Why would a goat farmer want to destroy my shop?” Stan asked, exasperated. “That’s not going to get Christmas canceled!”
A rap at the front door pulled them all away from the conversation. Lester Crookshank poked his head in. “Delivery,” he called. “Can I come in?”
“Of course!” Stan hurried over to hold the door for him, watching in amazement as he brought in a brand-new Christmas tree. She felt the tears well up again. After her last encounter with Lester, he had every right to be sour with her. Instead he was bringing her a Christmas tree from his farm to replace the one that had been ruined. In that moment, she loved this little town more than she had ever loved a place before in her life. Including her favorite beach.
“Lester,” she murmured, “you didn’t have to—”
“I’ll get this all set up for you,” he interrupted her. “Not to worry. You finish what you were doing.”
“What a dear,” Char said. “Thank you, Lester.”
Lester shrugged, turning red. “It ain’t nothing.”
“It’s absolutely something,” Stan said. “Thank you.”
“Now,” Patricia said briskly, “I called your sister, Kristan. You know how obsessed she is with Christmas decorations this year. She’s going to come down later, with Eva, and put some new things up for you. You’ll be just like new by the end of the day, as long as we find the right furniture.”
A cell phone rang in someone’s purse. Each of them felt around to see if it was theirs.
Char looked surprised to see it was hers. “Who’s calling me at this hour?” she wondered aloud. “Hello?” Then her eyes widened, and her face went deadly white. Stan rushed to her side.
“Char! What’s wrong? Who is it?”
“Raymond?” Char asked, her voice shaking like a leaf.
Stan gasped, tugging on her arm as Patricia, Betty, and Brenna crowded around too. “Where is he? Are they okay? Is he with Seamus?”
“Tell me that again? I can’t hear you. Raymond?” Char pulled her arm free and moved around the room. “Darn signal! Raymond? Who is Kelly? You tell me right now what is going on!”
They all held their breath, waiting to see what would happen next. Char held the phone away from her ear and looked at it. They all heard the familiar beeping that signaled call failed.
Chapter Forty-six
Char looked like she was about to cry. She hit redial, but the call wouldn’t connect. Covering her mouth with her hand, she fled into the kitchen.
They all looked at each other.
“At least he called,” Brenna offered, always the optimist. “So we know they’re okay. Or at least, we know he’s okay.” She looked unhappy at the thought of her uncle not being okay.
“Let me go talk to her.” Stan hurried back into the kitchen. Char leaned against the counter, weeping. Stan went to her and hugged her.
“Char. Talk to me. What did he say? Is he okay?”
“I couldn’t tell what he was saying,” Char whispered. “I could barely hear him. He said he only had a minute but he wanted to tell me about … about …” She dissolved into tears again.
“About what?” Stan asked urgently. “Did he mention Seamus?”
“No!” Char wailed. “But he said something about someone named Kelly.”
“Kelly?” Stan froze. “Are you sure he said Kelly?”
“Like I said, I couldn’t really hear him well. But I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.” Char wiped her eyes with her sleeve, leaving a trail of black eyeliner. “So that’s what this is all about, eh? I guess those nasty women who said he was off having a late-in-life midlife crisis were right.”
“Char. I don’t believe that. You must’ve heard wrong. Since you couldn’t hear him well in the first place.” Although Stan was fairly certain Ray had been trying to tell his wife about the Book of Kells. They’d been right after all.
Which meant Ray and Seamus were in big trouble.
Char shook her head. “No. I have to face facts, Stan. Ray’s left me for a younger woman.”
“Char!” Stan threw up her hands. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Ray loves you more than I’ve ever seen anyone love their spouse. Except for maybe my dad with my mother, which I couldn’t really figure out. Anyway, I don’t believe it. You need to sit tight and wait for him to call again.”
“Oh, I’ll sit tight alright,” Char said grimly. “After I call my lawyer and file for divorce.”
“You’re not filing for divorce. Char, you can’t tell anyone about this.” Stan didn’t want to tell her about the Book of Kells theory because she was afraid it would get Ray killed—but if the wrong people knew he was alive at all, that might have the same impact, depending on whatever was going on up in Boston. Or wherever they’d ended up.