A Fatal Collection

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Callie’s customer studied her greeter a moment, then grinned. “Hello, Tabitha. I’m very well. Good to see you.”

  Tabitha? Callie stared as Joan-slash-Tabitha stepped casually behind the counter and slid her clutch bag underneath. She slowly recognized the facial features of the young woman she’d spoken to briefly at the grocery store, though it was a struggle to locate them under the heavily-penciled eyebrows, pancake makeup, and thick, dark lipstick. What had happened to yesterday’s hippie in headband and bell-bottoms?

  “Looking for a new music box?” Tabitha asked Mrs. MacDonald, then launched into a short list of ones the woman might be interested in. Callie stepped aside and watched in awe as her employee led her customer around the shop, picking up various items and discussing them knowledgeably. In the end, Mrs. MacDonald chose a lovely walnut box with brass hardware and a hand-painted lid.

  “I love its tune,” Mrs. MacDonald said as Tabitha packed up the box.

  “‘As Time Goes By’ from Casablanca,” Tabitha said, nodding. Her eyes turned upward thoughtfully; possibly she was picturing a future Ingrid Bergman look.

  Mrs. MacDonald took off, looking happy, and Callie turned to Tabitha. “That was impressive. You seemed to know exactly what she wanted.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Mac comes by a lot. You get to know what people like. Mel kept a file on her phone. I’d see her refer to it when someone came in who hadn’t been here in a while.”

  “I’ll have to start doing that.” As well as check Aunt Mel’s phone, Callie noted to herself.

  Tabitha had gone back to the area where she and her customer had last been when Delia bustled in with a smile on her face. “I saw Mrs. MacDonald leave with a package. Your first sale?” she asked Callie.

  “Actually, Tabitha’s,” Callie said.

  “Oh, Tabitha’s back!” Delia scanned the shop to find the young woman, who was just standing up after having straightened boxes on a lower shelf.

  Tabitha waved. “Hi, Delia!”

  Delia gazed at the girl thoughtfully. “Joan Crawford?”

  “Like it? I found the dress at Second Thoughts. It spoke to me.”

  “Love it.”

  As Tabitha disappeared into the back office, Callie leaned toward Delia. “So she does this a lot? I mean, the costumey thing?”

  “Tabitha is very creative in her dress. Mel’s customers got used to it. Some actually came by just to see who Tabitha would be channeling that day. She’s quite a good salesperson.”

  “Yes, I noticed. I just didn’t know what to make of—” Callie stopped as Tabitha returned with a polishing cloth in her hand.

  “Fingerprints on the polished mahogany,” she explained, holding up the cloth.

  “I’d better get back,” Delia said. “Great to see you again, Tabitha. You’re in good hands, Callie, with Tabitha around. She’ll be able to answer a lot of questions that come up.”

  Tabitha shrugged modestly but didn’t argue, and Callie felt the worries that she’d arrived with that morning fade. Delia held the door for an entering customer as she left, and this time Callie took charge, welcoming, asking a few questions, and eventually walking the gray-haired woman toward a selection of music boxes that might interest her. She ended up making a sale, and even though it was only an inexpensive child’s jewelry box—with figures that twirled to Disney’s Frozen—her customer seemed delighted to have found the perfect gift for a young granddaughter. Callie felt pleased with herself as she rang up the sale, and a glance at Tabitha got her a thumbs-up.

  More people wandered in after that, most browsing and some buying, and many of them carrying bags from other Keepsake Cove shops, which told Callie how useful it was to group collectible shops together. Now and then a customer asked for information on where to find other shops—which Tabitha quickly gave them—and Callie presumed House of Melody would be pointed out by other shopkeepers in turn. Except, most likely, by Karl Eggers. When things were quiet, she asked Tabitha about him.

  “Karl?” Tabitha said, leaning back to straighten the seam on one stocking before pulling over a tall stool. She hooked one chunky-heeled shoe onto a rung as she sat. “Karl’s been a pain, like, forever. It’s a wonder he keeps any customers. Maybe model car collectors are just less sensitive than music box or salt and pepper shaker people?”

  “Could be. Delia said he wanted Mel’s shop for a nephew to run a model train shop. So Karl has at least one sibling. Does he have a wife?”

  Tabitha snorted. “No way. At least not now. I’m guessing not ever.”

  Callie described her encounter with Karl the previous morning. “Delia warned me, but I thought being neighbors we could at least have a nodding relationship. I love Aunt Mel’s cottage, and having Delia on one side of me is such a comfort. I’m not feeling as thrilled about Karl as my other neighbor.”

  “Well, there is that privacy fence between you.”

  “Yes. I guess he put that up?”

  “Uh-uh. Mel did.”

  “Really!”

  “Yup. She got tired of checking out her window to see if Karl was in his yard before going out to do her gardening. His constant dirty looks took all the pleasure out of it.”

  “Makes sense. There’s no fence on Delia’s side. Though the tall bushes do make a soft screen.” Callie thought of the footpath that ran through them. That well-worn path said a lot, just as the solid wood fence on the other side did. “The fence between Karl and Mel’s—that is, my—cottage does have a gap in it, close to the shops. That’s where I saw Karl yesterday morning.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Mel did that on purpose. She could have run the fence all the way up. But she decided to leave that spot open. She thought it would signal that he was still welcome whenever he chose to change his attitude.”

  “That was generous of her.” But might Aunt Mel’s readiness to be open to her churlish neighbor ultimately have been a bad idea?

  “Tabitha,” Callie began hesitantly, “were you satisfied with the explanation of how my aunt died?”

  “You mean that it was an accident?” Tabitha’s heavily penciled brows pulled together. “No,” she said. “I wasn’t. I don’t know what Mel was doing in the shop so late at night, but I guess she could have had a good reason. But to fall like that? So hard? I mean, why should she fall in the first place? We never left things around on the floor to slip on, and she wasn’t, like, ninety and, you know, getting around with a walker.”

  “That’s what bothered me. But George Blake, Aunt Mel’s lawyer, didn’t seem to have a problem with it, so I thought maybe I was way off base.”

  “Oh, George.” Tabitha flapped a hand dismissively. “I guess he’s a good lawyer. Mel used him, after all. But I’ve never seen him really look at anyone, you know? His mind is on cases, not people. But I’ll tell you … ” She paused significantly, and Callie leaned forward. “The day before Mel died, I felt danger.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “I saw it in my Tarot cards.”

  “Oh.”

  A customer pushed open the shop door at that moment, saving Callie from further comment. Which, she thought, was for the best.

  •

  When things had quieted down again, Callie, whose stomach had been rumbling for a while, asked Tabitha if the Keepsake Café had carry-out.

  “Sure, but why not take a real break and eat there?”

  “I thought I could pick up something for both of us. I’m starved. How about you?”

  “Uh-uh. Had a late breakfast, plus I always bring along something to nibble while I’m here, which is only four hours, during Mel’s busy time. You didn’t want me for the whole afternoon, did you? ’Cause I really can’t. I need time to work on my jewelry.”

  “No, we can stick with that. So, if I go off for lunch you don’t mind watching the shop a little longer?” As she said it, Callie realized how silly
that sounded. She was the one likely to be nervous on her own, not Tabitha. But Tabitha, thankfully, didn’t point that out.

  After grabbing her purse, Callie took off across the street, knowing she could have gone back to her cottage and fixed a good lunch from her recently stocked groceries. But she wanted to say hello again to Brian Greer, who she’d been able to exchange only a few words with after Aunt Mel’s funeral and hadn’t seen since. He might not even know she was taking over House of Melody.

  She’d purposely held off on eating until the lunch rush was over, and she was glad to spot a few empty tables at the Keepsake Café, as well as vacant stools at the counter. She headed over to the stools and slid onto one in the middle, setting her purse at her feet. She looked around for Brian but saw only a scattering of customers.

  The café was modest—chrome and laminate-topped tables with center groupings of paper napkin dispensers and condiments. A small pellet stove hugged the corner nearest the front door, unused for now, but Callie was sure it added a cozy touch in the winter. The décor was simple and, she thought, reflected a man’s practicality more than a woman’s taste. But everything looked super clean, a quality topped in importance only by the food, which she already knew from Aunt Mel’s funeral reception would be good.

  A door at the back marked Kitchen opened and Brian stepped out. He spotted Callie at the counter and, much to her surprise, lit up. “Hi there! I heard you’ll be staying. That’s great!”

  A few heads turned, and Brian explained to the place at large, “This is Mel’s niece. She’s going to keep Mel’s shop going.” Several oohs and ahhs, along with welcoming words, greeted Callie, and she responded cheerfully, though she was just as glad when it settled down.

  “Sorry about that,” Brian said, grinning. “I get a little carried away sometimes.”

  “That’s okay. It’s nice to feel welcome. I admit I wasn’t sure how Aunt Mel’s friends might feel about me trying to replace her.”

  “Nobody will think that, don’t worry.” His hand started to reach out for hers, perhaps for a friendly pat, but he seemed to think better of it and slid a laminated menu toward her instead. “I guess you came in for something to eat. We’re out of pastrami, but we’re good for everything else.”

  Callie wondered about the “we,” having seen only one person—Brian—at work so far, but she studied the list of choices and asked for ham and Swiss on rye with a glass of iced tea.

  “Coming right up,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “You’ll like it.”

  Callie turned to her left to see an elderly woman with a face full of wrinkles that deepened with her smile. “One of my favorites,” the woman continued. “Brian makes everything fresh and he doesn’t skimp. Puts his heart into getting everything right.”

  “Has he been here long?” Since Brian was fairly young, Callie wondered if she would hear that he also had stepped into the business after a death in the family.

  “A year or two, I guess. Maybe more. Gave up some kind of professional job, I heard, in DC. Something in government, I think. He probably chucked a big salary for the simple life. Back to the basics, that kind of thing. We’re lucky he did.”

  Brian reappeared in a few minutes and set a plate in front of Callie. It held a sandwich piled thickly with thinly sliced ham and cheese, and garnished with a crisp-looking dill pickle, a handful of chips, and a scoop of creamy coleslaw. When Callie took her first bite of the sandwich, her eyes widened.

  “It’s great,” she said after chewing and swallowing and dabbing a few drops of sauce from her lips.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” the woman to her left asked, looking indignant.

  Brian laughed. “Hazel’s my unofficial PR person. Also my marketing consultant.”

  Hazel cackled, but Callie said, “She didn’t exaggerate.” She took a sip of her tea, which was clearly freshly made, before returning to her sandwich.

  The three of them chatted as Callie ate—Brian refilling Hazel’s coffee cup—and were joined in the conversation by two more customers, an older couple who sat at one of the tables. Callie guessed that the locals timed their visits to the café to avoid the shopping crowd, just as she had. When Hazel bid them a good day and left, Brian cleared her dishes and then lingered nearby, chatting about various things Callie might like to see and do in the area.

  “Do you like biking?” he asked. “The Eastern Shore is so flat that a bike is a great way to get around and appreciate the scenery.”

  “In West Virginia, everything was hills,” Callie said. “So, no bike riding there. I probably haven’t been on a bike since high school.”

  “You could rent. I’d be glad to take you. Some evening when both our places are closed?”

  Callie hesitated before shaking her head. “Thanks. Maybe sometime later. Right now, though, I’ve got an awful lot on my plate.”

  Brian nodded and casually changed the subject. They chatted a little more until new customers walked in, and Callie decided it was time to go. She finished up and promised to be back soon.

  As she stood waiting to cross the street back to House of Melody, Callie thought about Brian’s almost-date suggestion and hoped he was okay with her sidestep. He struck her as a terrific guy, but she wasn’t the least bit ready to think about seeing anyone. Although he might have meant the bike excursion as a strictly friends kind of thing. Which was fine. And, really, kind of nice. She was sure she was going to like his being right across the street from her.

  The traffic cleared and Callie stepped off the curb, thinking pleasant thoughts, when she happened to look over to the right. Karl Eggers was at his store window, his features thrown into shadow by an overhead light. He stared pointedly at her for a moment, then slowly turned away. Callie felt a chill slide over her and rubbed at her arms, but she shook her head and continued on to her shop. Too bad, she thought, that Aunt Mel hadn’t continued her privacy fence all the way to the street.

  Five

  When Tabitha left at the end of her shift, Callie felt ready to take on the rest of the day solo. The stomach butterflies had long settled down, and she’d started to enjoy her first dip into retail. It helped immensely that the music boxes that filled her shop were so endlessly intriguing. Her pleasure in them probably equaled, if not topped, those of her customers as together they browsed through the shop, the discoveries often as much a surprise to Callie as to her customer. In the process, she was getting more and more familiar with the stock on her shelves.

  Between a modest but still-satisfying number of sales, Callie looked over Aunt Mel’s order records to see how her inventory would be replaced in the short term. She remembered Delia’s suggestion to have Christmas-themed items on hand well before the season and was happy to discover that several Christmas-themed music boxes of varying prices were already heading her way. She also studied the wholesale catalogues but held off on placing any orders. She needed a better feel for what her regular customers were looking for, as well as the casual first-timers who tended to buy more impulsively.

  By six o’clock, Callie was more than ready to close up shop, feeling an exhaustion that came less from the strain of being on her feet for hours than from the effort of storing a million details in her head. She looked forward to sitting back and enjoying some down time.

  Jagger was waiting eagerly at the door, and Callie felt a twinge of guilt for having forgotten about him. Between lunch at Brian Greer’s Keepsake Café and her total absorption in the music box shop, she hadn’t been back to the cottage all day.

  “Did Aunt Mel pay more attention to you?” she asked as she lifted the gray cat up and was rewarded with purrs and furry cheek rubs. She carried him into the kitchen, where she set him down next to his bowl, refilled it, and freshened his water. As Jagger went to work on his dinner, Callie considered her own. A long stare at the inside of her refrigerator resulted in a tired sigh, an
d she ended up pulling out the makings for a sandwich and opening a can of soup.

  “It’s a balanced meal, right, Jagger?” she asked the cat. “Hot and cold. The most I’m up to doing tonight.” Jagger merely flicked an ear in response as he continued eating.

  Quick and easy as it was, Callie found her meal more than satisfying as she dined at the glass-topped table set against the kitchen window. The chair was comfy, and the window provided a lovely and soothing view of greenery at the back of the cottage, with chipmunks scampering and birds flitting between branches. Thank you, Aunt Mel, she said silently for perhaps the hundredth time, still awed over the amazing gift she’d been handed. But, she added, I still wish you were here.

  As sadness threatened to descend, Callie briskly gathered up her dirty dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. She headed to her front door, flicking a glance toward the fence that separated her yard from Karl Eggers’s before stepping outside. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she’d seen her grouchy neighbor scowling over the tall divide, but she felt better just knowing she had her privacy.

  Callie strolled about her new yard for several minutes, enjoying the fresh air and Aunt Mel’s flower garden even while knowing the upkeep would now be up to her. After a few minutes of pleasant down time, she thought of Tabitha’s comment that Aunt Mel had kept notes on customers’ preferences on her cell phone. She decided to check that out and went back inside.

  She found the phone where she remembered having last seen it—in the drawer of the end table closest to the front door. Noticing that it was password locked, she trotted upstairs to consult the folder holding Aunt Mel’s list. The password, she found, was the four numbers in House of Melody’s street address, and Callie typed them in. She gained entrance and soon tracked down the customer preference list in the Notes app.

  She studied the list of names and the comments beside each. One customer wanted only Italian-made boxes, another searched for ’50s music, while another preferred novelty boxes. Callie was intrigued to see that one person apparently was enthralled with fish-themed music boxes. Happily, the names were listed alphabetically, plus Aunt Mel had done cross-referencing, giving the type of music box followed by names of those who would be interested.