A Fatal Collection

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “It’s just me.”

  “Great! Come on back. I just unpacked an order, and we have a problem.”

  Uh-oh. Callie headed to the office to find Tabitha holding a square, dark-stained wooden music box with a delicate design of inlaid wood on its lid. It looked beautiful and in good shape as far as Callie could see. “What’s the problem?”

  “This.” Tabitha opened the lid and a familiar tune began to play, smoothly and clearly. Callie shrugged and raised her brows questioningly.

  “It’s Ode to Joy,” Tabitha said. “Jonathan Harman wanted The Blue Danube.”

  “Oh. That’s not good.”

  “Uh-uh,” Tabitha agreed. “He’s been waiting for this, like, forever. He’s going to be ticked.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t mention his order when he was here?”

  “Probably just forgot about it, at least for the moment.” Tabitha grinned. “Maybe he was dazzled by your beauty. But I remember him checking on it with Mel several times. It’s a special order and came all the way from Switzerland.”

  “Switzerland! Yikes! Whose fault is it? Ours or theirs? I’m thinking of the shipping costs to return it.”

  “Right. We can check, but I’d be more worried about Jonathan’s reaction. He’s our best customer, and he can be a bit prickly if things don’t go just right. You don’t want him to start buying elsewhere.”

  Callie frowned. “Well, first things first. Let’s look up the original order.” She woke up the shop’s laptop sitting on the secretary desk and did the search with a little help from Tabitha. The first thing she found out about the music box was its cost, which made her gulp. It was significant, as was the shipping fee. She scrolled until she found what she needed. “Aha! It wasn’t our fault. We clearly asked for The Blue Danube.”

  “That’s good. But I don’t know if that will make Jonathan feel better.”

  Callie drew in a deep breath. “One way to find out.”

  She pulled up the contacts list she now had on her phone and pressed the number for Harman. Her call went to voicemail, and she left her message. “Mr. Harman, uh, Jonathan, it’s Callie Reed. The music box we ordered for you from Switzerland arrived. There’s something we need to discuss.” She left the shop’s number and hung up. “Well,” she said, shrugging. “We’ll see what happens.”

  •

  By late afternoon, things had been quiet for some time, and Callie, alone in the shop, glanced at the wall clock to confirm that it was near closing time. She hadn’t heard back from Jonathan Harman and was wondering what that might mean when she suddenly caught sight of him climbing out of a dark sedan at the curb.

  Uh-oh. She’d soon learn how “prickly” the man could be. Harman was dressed more formally than when they’d first met, in a dark suit and tie, and she watched as he took a leather briefcase out from the passenger seat and locked it in his trunk. Lawyer? she wondered briefly, then remembered Tabitha mentioning something financial. Whatever that involved.

  “I got your message,” Harman said as he walked in. “Spent the afternoon in Baltimore, so this was the earliest I could stop by. Hope I’m not holding you up?” He shot a glance at Callie’s clock.

  “No, it’s fine. I said there was something to discuss, so I’m glad you came.”

  “Let me guess: the price on my music box went up since I ordered it.”

  “No, the price is the same. But it arrived with the wrong music.” Harman frowned, and Callie plowed on. “Instead of The Blue Danube, it plays Ode to Joy.”

  “Hmm.” He was silent for several moments. “That’s it? I mean, that’s the only problem? The box is in good shape?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s perfect. And beautiful. See for yourself.” Callie reached down to a lower shelf, where she’d set the item, and placed it on the counter in front of him.

  Harman reached for it, turning the box every which way, then set it down carefully to lift the lid. The notes of Ode to Joy chimed out. Callie waited quietly. He let it play to the end, then closed the lid. “Well!” He looked at Callie. “It’s certainly not The Blue Danube.”

  “No, and I’m very sorry. We checked, and it was their mistake, so there’ll be no problem returning it. But it’ll probably mean another long wait to get the right one.”

  Harman stared silently at the music box. Then, to Callie’s surprise, he smiled. “Don’t bother.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I have a thing for Strauss and Austrian music. But hey,” he said, grinning, “Beethoven was German. Close enough, so why should I quibble? He was a pretty decent composer, right?”

  Callie grinned back. “That’s what I hear. So you’re okay with the music?”

  “I love the box. It’s absolutely beautiful. And the music, though not my first choice, is beautiful, too. I’ll keep it.”

  “Great!”

  “On one condition.”

  Callie, who’d begun reaching for the packing box, stopped.

  “That you’ll join me for dinner.” Harman followed this with a disarming laugh. “Just kidding. That’s not really a condition. But I would love it if you did. You see, I passed up dinner in Baltimore with some friends so I could get here before you closed up. I was that excited to see my new music box. But now I’m starved, and I hate dining alone. No strings attached, honest. Just a pleasant way to enjoy a meal. I intend to discuss music boxes the entire time.”

  Callie laughed. “How can I pass that up?”

  She was about to say more when Karl Eggers suddenly burst into the shop. He flapped a large manila envelope.

  “This is yours. It came to my shop.” He thrust it at her.

  Callie took the envelope. It was addressed to her but one number of the address was off, which had sent it to Eggers’s place. She started to thank him but he brusquely overrode her. “Last time. Tell your people to get it right or it goes in my trash.”

  Oh.

  “Another thing. Your customers can’t park in front of my shop. That space is for my customers only.”

  “Mr. Eggers, I … ” Callie began, but Eggers had already spun around and was striding out.

  Callie looked at Jonathan Harman, dumbfounded. To add to her consternation, she realized that Grandpa Reed’s music box, sitting high on its shelf behind her, had begun to play.

  Nine

  Callie sat across from Jonathan in a booth at the Mapleton Grill, which, she realized, was only a block away from George Blake’s law office. She’d ridden over in Jonathan’s car, during which time she’d worked on regaining her composure after Eggers’s disturbance.

  “He can’t claim parking spots on the street,” Jonathan had said, which Callie was glad to have confirmed. But she didn’t doubt Eggers would come up with some other form of harassment if that one didn’t work, and it only fueled her agitation. And why had Grandpa Reed’s music box played? She’d only heard the music before when positive things had happened. There was nothing positive about the scene back at the shop. But, she asked herself, why should she think the music’s playing had to mean anything? She needed to get a grip.

  Their orders came swiftly, and Jonathan started on his steak sandwich while Callie turned to her simple but tasty platter of tilapia with grilled veggies, finding it a nice change from the quick-and-easy meals she’d been eating at the cottage. Her mood improved.

  “So, was your day in Baltimore work-related?” she asked before taking a sip of her water.

  Jonathan nodded and swiped his mouth with the napkin. “I can do most of my work from home. I do financial planning. But once in a while I have to venture out to meet with clients face-to-face.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Callie said, but apparently in a tone doubtful enough to make Jonathan laugh.

  “It is to me. But I don’t expect everyone to be into it, so I won’t bore y
ou with details. The gist of it is that I help people plan for their future, mostly for their retirement, through investments.”

  “I see. And at the end of the day, to unwind from that, you, ah, wind up music boxes?”

  Jonathan grinned. “To a degree. I also admire their beauty, craftsmanship, and, if any, their history.”

  “So I guess you don’t go for the quirky ones.”

  “Not usually. But I have added a tchotchke or two to my collection, just for fun. Remember, I said it was my grandparents who got me into it all, and they had all kinds in their collection.”

  “It was a shame they couldn’t have passed them on.”

  Jonathan nodded, his expression regretful. ”Their music boxes held a lot of memories.”

  Callie poked at her fish. “I feel the same way about my grandfather’s music box.”

  “I noticed you had it back on the shelf, where Mel always kept it. I was glad to see it again.” Callie waited to hear if he’d also noticed the music box suddenly playing, but he only picked up one of the French fries that had come along with his sandwich and bit off the end.

  Callie steered the conversation back to Jonathan’s collection, which he seemed more than happy to talk about. She listened to enthusiastic and detailed descriptions of his favorites along with tales of minor treasures discovered in unexpected places, marveling the whole time at his fervor and extensive knowledge of the subject.

  When he paused to get back to his meal, she told him so. “You’ve just made clear how much I still have to learn in order to run House of Melody competently.”

  Jonathan laughed. “Sorry. I tend to get carried away. It just happens to be one of my favorite subjects. Other than handling people’s money. But don’t worry, you’ll catch up in time. You have the interest and drive, and that’s what matters.”

  “I hope so. Aunt Mel gifted me with a wonderful opportunity. I want to make the most of it and not ruin what she worked so hard to build. But this is my first venture into retail. It’s a bit of a struggle.”

  Jonathan looked at Callie speculatively. “A client of mine gives seminars on retail business management. I have a couple of his published books on the subject. Would you like to look them over?”

  “I’d love to!”

  “I’ll drop them off tomorrow. And if you need help managing all the money that will start pouring in, give me a call.”

  Jonathan said it with a twinkle and Callie laughed, sure that level of success lay a long way off, if ever. What a luxury it would be, though, to have a little money to spare. An image of Hank knocking at her door quickly came to mind and she swiftly banished it. That door had been closed and firmly locked.

  Jonathan dropped her off in front of her shop after their dinner, offering, as he pulled up, to walk her back to the cottage door.

  “No need,” Callie said. Keepsake Cove seemed so benign compared to Morgantown, at least the section where she’d lived. She thanked him for the dinner treat and climbed out. As she watched him drive off, Callie caught sight of Brian, strolling toward his own place on the opposite side of the street. She waved, and he waved back but maintained his slow pace.

  Callie turned onto the narrow path that ran between her shop and Karl Eggers’s, aware but not bothered that it became quite dim where the buildings blocked the light from the street. She hadn’t thought to turn on her cottage’s outside lights before leaving during the daylight, which would have been a help now that darkness had fallen. But again, it wasn’t a worry. She’d gone only a few feet, though, when a dark shape suddenly loomed at the far end of the path. Callie froze, more in surprise than fear, until the figure lurched toward her. That’s when she screamed.

  Callie ran blindly back toward the street, her feet slipping briefly on the damp ground, only to slam right into another dark form as she exited the path. She struggled as her arms were grabbed until a familiar voice said, “It’s me!” Brian Greer held Callie to steady her. “What’s wrong!”

  “I, there’s … ” Callie stammered, pointing behind her.

  A deep but non-threatening voice sounded from the shadows. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Elvin, is that you?” Brian asked.

  A tall hulk of a man, with a scruffy beard and dressed in grubby denims, stepped out hesitantly.

  “Elvin, you can’t go into other people’s yards like that, especially at night. It scares them.”

  “I’m sorry.” He glanced at Callie when he said it but quickly looked down. “I saw headlights coming. I don’t like bright lights shining at me. Miss Reed isn’t there anymore. I thought it was okay.”

  “Callie lives there now, Elvin. She’s Miss Reed’s niece. Callie, this is Elvin Wilcox. He’s a big guy but don’t let him worry you. You wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you, Elvin?”

  Callie’s heart had slowed back to normal by then, and she relaxed as she saw the large man looking abashed.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Elvin.”

  “Elvin,” Brian said, “did you have anything to eat today?”

  Elvin nodded. “I cut up a dead branch for Mrs. Dixon. She gave me a nice dinner for that. Chicken. And dumplings.”

  “Would you like a sandwich to take home for tomorrow? I had some leftovers today.”

  Elvin nodded, and Brian turned to Callie. “Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks, Brian.”

  As she headed on back to her cottage, Callie could hear Brian talking to Elvin. When she unlocked her door and stepped inside, she flicked her outside lights on and off to signal all was well. Then she scooped up Jagger, who’d hurried over, apparently in need of a little comfort himself. Must look into motion sensor lights, she told herself and nuzzled her face against the cat’s warm, furry body, aware that her heart was still beating a little faster than usual.

  •

  The next day, Tabitha arrived dressed non-startlingly as Elementary’s Joan Watson, though Callie didn’t identify the TV character immediately. “Everything she wears on the show is a statement,” Tabitha claimed, and Callie nodded, not remembering enough about the character’s wardrobe to get into a discussion. What she most wanted to talk about was Elvin Wilcox.

  “Poor Elvin,” Tabitha said when Callie asked about him. “Might be some kind of PTSD going on with him, mixed in with who-knows-what.”

  “From a war experience?” Callie found Elvin’s age hard to judge, unsure if the man was too young for Vietnam or a little too old for Iraq.

  “Could be, or maybe from something else. I never asked. Elvin doesn’t chat much.”

  “Does he live on his own? I didn’t get the impression anyone was looking after him.”

  “Keepsake Cove pretty much looks after him. I think he took over an old place that was sitting empty, not too far out of town. Apparently nobody’s complained. I see him wandering around town sometimes.”

  “That’s sad.” Callie told Tabitha about their encounter the night before.

  “Wow, that’d scare the bejeezus out of me if I didn’t know Elvin. But I’ll bet he was just as shaken up. Lucky for both of you that Brian was around.”

  Callie agreed. Two customers appeared at the shop door, which put a hold on the conversation. As the woman, dressed in touristy beach clothes complete with golf visor and rhinestone-studded flip-flops, began to wander among the music boxes, her husband hung back, his low interest and impatience apparent from the steady jingling of the change in his pockets.

  Tabitha stepped forward with an offer of help, but the woman smiled sweetly. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for. But I’ll know it when I find it.”

  “Can you find it a little faster,” her husband grumbled. “This is the fifth store we’ve stopped in.”

  “Oh, Donald,” his wife said. She turned her back to him a
nd continued her browsing.

  Focused on her customer, Callie was a bit startled when Jonathan Harman hurried in. “Just wanted to drop off the books I mentioned,” he said, reaching into a bulky-looking canvas bag. He pulled out two thick paperbacks and one slipped out of his hand, landing at the feet of the impatient husband.

  The Maryland is for Crabs T-shirted man bent over to retrieve it for Jonathan, reading the title aloud as he held it up. “Retail Management: How to Best Serve Your Customers. Ha! The guy next door could sure use a copy.”

  His wife repeated her by then rote-sounding “Oh, Donald,” but the man went on. “We asked for suggestions for our grandson. The kid’s third birthday is coming up, and it’s a toy car store, right? You know what he told us? ‘Come back in ten years when he’s old enough to appreciate fine collectibles.’ You call that any kind of customer service? ‘Come back in ten years’?”

  His wife rolled her eyes but Jonathan smiled, taking the book and placing it on the counter along with the second one. Callie opened her mouth to speak, but Donald suddenly barked, “There’s that vagrant again. Someone should do something about him!”

  All turned toward where he was pointing and saw Elvin Wilcox lumbering across the street opposite House of Melody.

  “He’s harmless, Donald!” his wife said, but the man shook his head.

  “Didn’t seem that way to me. And the guy next door sure didn’t think so. He chased him off. Called him a panhandler.”

  “Elvin’s not a panhandler,” Tabitha said, jumping to his defense, and four people began talking at once—everyone, that is, besides Callie. She’d been distracted by the sound of The Skaters’ Waltz coming from Grandpa Reed’s music box.

  Ten

  Jonathan had hurried off, and the husband and wife tourists were finally moving on after taking at least thirty minutes to choose an inexpensive, wind-up musical snow globe for their granddaughter. Callie had seen the surprised look on her assistant’s face when the notes of The Skaters’ Waltz rolled out, though Tabitha hadn’t said anything at the time. Callie, however, felt it coming, so when the shop door closed behind Donald and his wife, she wasn’t surprised when Tabitha turned to her and asked, “What made Mel’s music box play?”