To Helvetica and Back

by Paige Shelton

  We were crowded close together on the small landing outside his apartment when we exited a few hours later. The good-night kiss I got on that landing curled my toes and made me think it was probably a good thing we’d kept our distance from each other inside. Who knows what regretful thing might have happened. Okay, so it might not have ended up being regretful, but it wasn’t worth the risk quite yet. Then it turned out to be an extra-good thing that we got the kiss in because a big kink got put in the evening as soon as we exited the glass door at the bottom of the stairs.

  When we’d walked over from my house, the street had been filled with parked cars. That was pretty normal for Star City. But as the weekday evening wore on, most of the cars left, their drivers taking them back to Salt Lake City or other close towns. I hadn’t paid any attention to the vehicles earlier, and I had no idea yet exactly what Seth drove, but now I noticed a motorcycle parked a short way farther up the hill. And inspecting the motorcycle was the person I was just dissing in my head a few moments earlier. Creighton.

  All I could do was hope he wouldn’t notice Seth and me, but that would have been nearly impossible, even if Creighton wasn’t an observant police officer, because Seth saw him too and walked directly to him.

  “Hi, Officer, something wrong?” Seth asked.

  “Is this your— Clare?” Creighton cleared his throat, and I muttered something that sounded like a confused but overly firm hello before he looked at Seth again. “Sir, is this your motorcycle?”

  “Yes. Well, it’s my brother’s. I’m watching it for him. Long story, but he flew out of the Salt Lake airport.”

  “I see. And are you aware that it’s missing the back license plate?” Creighton said.

  “No,” Seth said as he stepped around to the back of the bike and next to Creighton.

  Two distinct thoughts ran through my mind at the same time. One was, of course, oh crap! There was a motorcycle license plate found today where a dead body had recently been.

  The second thought, however, was inappropriate considering everything else, murder included. Other than their height, Seth and Creighton were so different. Seth’s tall, thin frame and tousled hair were completely opposite to Creighton’s buzzed hair and bulky, squared frame.

  This was not important at the moment, and I mentally shoved away the thought and went back to the one about the license plate being found where the dead body had been.

  “I’m sorry, Officer, I had no idea,” Seth said.

  “You from Wyoming?” Creighton asked.

  “No, my brother is though,” Seth said.

  “Your name?”

  “Seth Cassidy.”

  “I need you to come with me, Seth. I need to ask you some questions.”

  Seth blinked and looked at Creighton. “Of course, Officer. I’d be happy to go with you.”

  He hadn’t missed a beat and seemed genuinely surprised by the missing plate. I wanted to be angry at Creighton for ruining the end to my perfect date, even if he hadn’t meant to. I wanted to ask Seth some of my own questions. One being had I just had dinner with someone somehow involved in a murder? For some reason, I just didn’t think so.

  “Do you want me to call you an attorney?” I said to Seth.

  “Not at all,” he said. “I’ll call you if I need bail money though.” He winked at me and I smiled at him.

  There were no handcuffs as Creighton opened the front passenger door of his police car for Seth. Once inside, Seth smiled again and waved at me. He was putting on a brave face, but I could see a pinch of concern in his features. It was impossible not to be nervous about the police wanting to talk to you. Even if you were innocent and one of the officers was your best friend, apparently.

  I watched Creighton’s car disappear down the hill. The night was not young. It was late and I was tired, but I was also wired.

  “Shoot!” I said aloud as I thought about the numbers and letters that Seth had perhaps understood, or at least partially. I hoped he didn’t tell Creighton what he’d deduced. I wanted to tell Jodie first.

  But it didn’t matter. Ultimately, the police needed to know no matter who told them. There were so many unanswered questions that even contemplating the idea that Seth knew what the letters and numbers were for because he was somehow involved in the murder felt like a giant stretch. I’d tell Jodie everything, though, and hope for the best.

  I should have gone home. I should have gone to bed. I had plenty of work to do tomorrow, and I functioned better if I wasn’t tired. But instead of going back to Little Blue, I walked down the hill toward Bygone Alley. Most of the Main Street storefronts were dark. Noise rumbled through the closed theater doors behind which Hollywood’s next greatest indie film would be crowned in January at the Star City Film Festival. A very drunk woman exited a tiny bar, stumbling dangerously. I had the urge to grab her arm and make sure she didn’t drive anywhere, but she went from the sidewalk to flopping into the backseat of a cab; the cabbie smiled tiredly at me before he pulled away from the curb.

  I turned onto Bygone, and while staying across the street from The Rescued Word, I walked slowly, peering into more mostly dark windows. The diner was bright, its shiny chrome counter gleaming under the few fluorescents left on after closing time.

  I looked toward The Rescued Word. Its windows were dark and almost foreboding with the glow of a streetlamp only reaching one corner of the front window. There was a light on upstairs. If Chester was there, he was probably alternating between reading and falling asleep in his chair. Though he napped through most evenings, he didn’t think it was right to go to bed before midnight. Baskerville would either be on his lap or in the store on a shelf if he was feeling particularly introverted.

  The lighted window upstairs gave me an idea. It was sneaky and close to illegal, but I’d try not to step over the line.

  I speed walked to get around the corner in a hurry. At the end of Bygone, I glanced toward Mirabelle’s house on my left and then turned right, proceeding slowly down that side of the street.

  I decided I’d have to cross over to the other side like I’d done when I was following Chester if I wanted a really good look.

  I zipped across, dodging a couple of parked cars and a bike rack.

  It was dark enough that I was extra careful with my footing. I’d walked up and down that side of the street many times over the years. The downward view was horrifying if you were afraid of heights, but I knew how to stay far enough away from the danger.

  I was sure some people must be out on their front porches—the night was too nice not to be. But I didn’t see anyone as I stopped in front of the third house.

  Lights blazed brightly out of the two large front windows, one on each side of the front door.

  I made sure my feet were a safe distance from the back edge and lifted myself up to my toes.

  And I saw nothing except the bright light. The house was too high up to even see the top of a lamp.

  I lowered back to my heels and plopped my hands on my hips as I thought about a good reason for climbing up the stairs and knocking on the door. Of course there wasn’t one. It was late.

  But the lights were on.

  I looked up and down the street and still didn’t see anyone. Lights were on in windows, but all the cars were quiet and dark. I didn’t hear the creak of a rocking chair on a porch or the low hum of quiet conversation.

  If I climbed the stairs only halfway, I could probably look inside the windows and then jump down and hurry away quickly.

  It wasn’t a great plan, but it wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t going to break into the house, and I was only going to take a quick look.

  I trotted across the street and began climbing the stairs to the front porch. Once I got halfway up, I stretched my neck again and tried to peer inside. This time I did see the top of a lamp through the right window and what looked like the side view
of a piano through the left window.

  One more step. Two more. Three more. When I reached the top step, I hesitated. Moving onto the porch seemed so much more intrusive than walking up the stairs.

  Nevertheless, I lifted my leg to take that last step.

  And the door was flung open.

  I had two choices—jump down the stairs and run, or freeze in place and hope they didn’t notice me. I froze, even though I didn’t truly think I would remain unnoticed.

  Once the two people who’d been exiting the house saw me, the woman made a small surprised sound and the man said, “Clare? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

  “Hi, Chester,” I said more sheepishly than I’d ever said anything in my entire life.

  “Clare,” Chester said again when he probably put together exactly what was going on. Finally, he turned to the woman. “Ramona, this is my granddaughter, Clare Henry. Clare, this is my friend Ramona Bridger.”

  And then something even more surprising happened. Ramona cackled just like a movie witch, but friendly, not evil.

  “Aren’t you the silly one?” she said to Chester with the deepest southern accent I’d ever heard. “Friend? After what we just did tonight, I would think we were more than friends.”

  “Well,” Chester said with a smile her direction but with no sign of being the slightest bit embarrassed. That was okay, I was embarrassed enough for both of them.

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry to disturb.”

  “No need to apologize, honey, we’re done. For the night,” she said. And then she cackled again.

  I tried to figure out what to do with my hands and arms; they suddenly seemed so foreign. It appeared that my grandfather had just seen lots more action than I had that evening.

  I didn’t know what else to say, so all that came out was, “Oh dear.”

  18

  “Clare, I am old enough to have a girlfriend,” Chester said as he poured coffee into the mug he’d placed in front of me on my worktable. It was too late to be drinking coffee, but that never stopped me.

  “Of course you are,” I said. “I’m not upset that you’re . . . dating someone. I think it’s great!”

  “You do?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Chester sat in a chair on the other side and stretched his legs, crossing them at his ankles.

  “Because of your grandmother. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten her or am disrespecting her memory.”

  “She’s been gone for so long. We’ve—your family—only wanted you to be happy. If you spent all these years not dating for our sakes . . . well, then, I’m sorry.”

  Chester shrugged. “Well, I’ve dated. But until Ramona I haven’t found anyone who tripped my trigger, if you know what I mean.”

  Briefly, I closed my eyes and shook my head a couple of times. I didn’t need to know those sorts of details. I didn’t even want to know about those parts of Jodie’s relationships. Well, I’d be curious about Mutt. But not so much Chester or Ramona.

  “Who have you dated?” I asked. “This is Star City. Everybody knows everybody. I’ve never heard of you dating anyone.”

  “Discretion, my dear girl, is the better part of valor. Surely, you’ve heard that before.”

  “Of course, but . . .” I sighed. “Chester, I’m not upset, but I wish you would have told me about Ramona. About anyone you’ve been interested in.”

  “I hear you. Ramona is special. I wanted to make sure. She’s nothing like your grandmother, and I have to admit that’s part of the attraction.” He laughed. “There’s simply no comparison, but your grandmother would have really liked Ramona, in a ‘gracious, that woman sure is loud’ way.”

  I smiled. Chester could never stop loving my grandmother. None of us would, and she’d never be forgotten either. If she’d given any thought to the idea that Chester would outlive her by so many years, she would have told him she wanted him to move on and find another love. She might have sought one out for him. In her organized way, she would have made lists of eligible women, noting their pros and cons, and then she would have created color-coded file cards, instructing Chester on the best way to proceed.

  “I’d like to get to know Ramona,” I said.

  “You will. She wants to take you out to lunch tomorrow if you’re available. We were talking about you earlier in the evening. I told her she needed to meet the family, beginning with you, and she wanted to meet you right away. I guess you helped her accomplish her task.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t mean to look so sneaky. I saw you go there yesterday and I was curious.”

  “Ah. I understand.”

  “Chester, since we’re sharing, will you please tell me why you were looking up pancreatic cancer? I don’t believe that it was an accident. I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

  Chester nodded. “It was not an accident. Ramona’s husband died of pancreatic cancer a few years back. A man my age has heard plenty of awful stories about death, but I’ve never known anyone personally who has died of pancreatic cancer. I wanted to understand what she’d—and he’d—gone though. You have to understand something, sweetheart. When you get to my age and you’ve had good past relationships and so have others who come into your life, those people we’ve loved and lost become a part of our new relationships. They are there with us and show up, sometimes when we least expect them. But they’re welcome in, Clare. There’s no jealousy. We welcome our dead and we still love them. There’s just no other way. Can you understand that?”

  “Of course I can. I wish you’d just told me. I was worried, very worried. I didn’t need to be.”

  “I’m healthy as a duck during elk season.”

  “I’ve never heard that one before.” I laughed.

  “Now, tell me about your tall young man. Seth? Is that correct?”

  “Yes, he fixed me dinner this evening, and then afterward was detained by the police regarding the murder of leather man. Creighton picked him up.”

  “No! Goodness, that’s not happy news. However, I would bet that Seth is innocent and that Creighton was just trying to get under your skin, Clare.”

  “That’s not it. It was kind of coincidental. I don’t think Creighton knew I was with Seth when he came upon the motorcycle Seth said was his brother’s. One of the Wyoming license plates was missing. Jodie found one out back today, and she and Omar wonder if it’s tied to the murder, maybe pointing to a motorcycle group who helped with some goat relocations.”

  “A Wyoming plate?”

  “Yes.”

  “That most certainly throws up some doubt, but let’s wait for the answers before we jump to any conclusions.” Chester sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. He sat up a little straighter. “Well, how was dinner?”

  “Delicious.”

  “Just think, Clare, you could end up being the first Henry to date a murderer. No, wait, I think my great-great-grandfather had some trouble with the law.”

  “I honestly don’t think Seth is a killer. I might just like him too much to see him clearly, but he’s too intrigued by his job to be concerned about killing men in leather who pine away for specific typewriters. I think I’m reading that right. I hope.”

  “You like him too much? Well, I haven’t heard that in a while.”

  “I do, Chester. It’s early yet, but he’s a sweet man and there’s something about his attentiveness. It’s like he notches it up when I’m around, like he’s particularly interested in me and my mundane parts. I got the impression he’d listen closely even if I read him my grocery list. And I was interested in everything about him. I think I was as attentive. I hope so.”

  “I’ll be. If he isn’t a killer, perhaps I’ll have lunch with him soon.”

  “He’s very tall,” I said, moving the conversation forward.

  “I’m tall. I
know the feeling. You’re more in the height-challenged range, but that can be forgiven.”

  “I’m five-six, Chester. That’s not height challenged.”

  “You’re on the verge.”

  “All right.”

  I didn’t let Chester walk me all the way home, but he did see me to the end of Bygone and watched me as I made my way up the hill. It was late enough that the only other people I saw were the few customers left in the small bar as I passed by it again.

  I felt much better about Chester and his health but became concerned again about Seth when I walked passed Elizabeth Owl’s shop and Seth’s dark windows above. I checked my phone but he hadn’t called or texted. It was late though. He didn’t know I’d stayed out after he’d been detained.

  The motorcycle was still parked next to the curb. That was a good sign, or so I assumed. I walked past it and then crossed the street. I thought Seth had mentioned that he had a car too. There was an old Honda a short way down from the motorcycle. I wondered if it was his. I hurried across the street, turned around, and waved at Chester, who was still watching me from the end of Bygone, then took my porch stairs a couple at a time.

  “Clare,” a voice said.

  It was a wonder I didn’t break my neck or a kneecap or something.

  “Jodie! Have you lost your mind?” I said to my friend on the porch as I grabbed the railing and reestablished my footing.

  “Sorry,” Jodie said.

  “Holy heart jump. You okay?”

  “Fine. Sorry,” she said again.

  Jodie moved to the edge of the porch and sat on the top step, and then patted the space next to her.

  “You want to come in?” I said.

  “No, it’s too nice out here. Have a minute to chat?”

  “Of course,” I said. I took the spot next to her, still feeling my heart beat fast in my throat. I glanced quickly down the hill. There was no sign of Chester. Either he hadn’t seen me practically kill myself on my porch stairs, or he’d seen Jodie so he knew I was in good enough hands. “What’s up?”