A Fatal Collection

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Interesting. A great introduction to Keepsake Cove in general.” Callie paused. “And Duane Fletcher in particular.”

  “Oh?”

  Callie smiled and shook her head. “Not in that way.”

  “He does have a way about him, though, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. I understand Aunt Mel stirred up a bit of controversy over him.”

  Delia sighed. “It was so silly. All she suggested was what made total common sense for any group. But people rushed to Duane’s defense as if she’d accused him of something.”

  Callie took a bite of her cookie. “Do you think she actually was? I mean, did she have her suspicions but then couch them in that general proposal?”

  “Suspicions that Duane might be pilfering?” Delia shook her head firmly. “She never said anything at all to that effect, at least not that I ever heard.”

  “Brian said that Duane seems to be quite a bit more successful with his shop than anyone else in the Cove.”

  “Yes, and that might make a few people jealous. Not Mel, though, of course. She never thought that way. Duane is actually just a darned good salesperson.”

  Callie paused. Delia had a much more positive opinion of Duane than Brian or Laurie Hart. Who was right, and what was anyone’s opinion actually based on? Had Delia simply succumbed to Duane’s “spell”? She was a good friend of Aunt Mel’s, and she’d been wonderful to Callie. But that didn’t mean she was automatically right about everything. Or wrong, either.

  “How did Duane and Aunt Mel get along after she spoke up?”

  Delia hesitated, then grimaced. “It was tense.”

  So, Callie thought, he did take it personally, and his seeming sadness over Aunt Mel’s death may have been an act. Had his offer to throw open his treasury records for examination been bogus? An offer he was sure nobody would take him up on?

  Delia refilled Callie’s coffee cup and her own. Pete, the parakeet, then drew her attention with sudden activity and chirping. She went over to talk fondly to the bird. “He’s telling me he wants his cage moved outside—I think. I’ve started doing that, and he seems to really like it. Ever had a parakeet?” she asked Callie, who admitted she had not.

  Sensing that Delia had had enough talk about Duane, Callie let the subject drop and chatted about birds and pets. As it drew close to time for both of them to get to their shops, she grabbed one more cookie, then helped Delia carry cups and plates to the kitchen.

  “By the way,” Callie said as Delia began rinsing their cups, “I came across a second cell phone of Aunt Mel’s in one of the drawers. It appears to have been kept in use, but there was nothing on it. No contacts, no messages, nothing. Do you have any idea why she would have had it?”

  Delia continued rinsing her cup, then set it very carefully on a kitchen towel. She stared at the cup for a few moments before answering. “I don’t know, Callie. But I had my suspicions.”

  “Oh?”

  Delia turned to look at her. “Mel and I were good friends. But that didn’t mean we knew everything there was to know about each other. Mel had her secrets, as most of us do, and if she chose not to share them with me I didn’t pry. But now that she’s gone … ”

  Delia sighed, and Callie wasn’t sure if it was from grief over her lost friend or for what she was about to say. Finally the older woman spoke.

  “I think there was someone in her life, someone she couldn’t tell anyone about.”

  “By someone, you mean … ?”

  “A romantic relationship.”

  “Oh. And if she couldn’t tell anyone … ?”

  “He might have been married. Mind you, I’m just guessing,” Delia said. “But it’s an educated guess. A few times I popped into House of Melody when things were slow and caught Mel on her phone. She always ended her call immediately and slipped the phone into a pocket with no explanation. Not that I demanded one, but friends usually offer it, don’t they, even if it’s just a ‘had to check with a customer’ or something like that? But who hangs up on a customer in such a hurry? Then there were overnight trips when she’d ask me to look after Jagger but gave me a very vague story for where she’d be. Mel didn’t lie. But when she didn’t talk much about her activities, it kind of waved a red flag for me.”

  “I see.” Callie frowned, taking that all in. Aunt Mel had never so much as hinted at having someone special in her life. “I had wondered a little why she’d remained single. It’s sad, isn’t it, and frankly surprising if she was in a relationship she had to hide.”

  “As I said, I don’t exactly know. But that might be the reason for the second cell phone.”

  “Yes,” Callie said, but also thinking maybe. Then she remembered the locked metal box, which she’d put back in the hall closet. What did it contain?

  Time for talk was over, as they both needed to open their shops. Callie looked forward to the half-day, to be followed by a full day off on Monday. Her things were scheduled to arrive from Morgantown then, and after a full week of stepping into Aunt Mel’s life, it would be great to reclaim some of her own.

  •

  Sunday afternoon brought loads of vacation shoppers to Keepsake Cove, many heading to or from Ocean City and other Eastern Shore spots. In chatting with her customers, Callie learned more about her surroundings, including the quaint waterfront village of Oxford, whose bookstore, Mystery Loves Company, occupied a building that had once been a bank. She determined to make time soon for a visit. But how far was Oxford? Brian’s earlier suggestion of a bike excursion came to mind, but she stuck with her decision to put that kind of thing off for the time being. A solo drive would do.

  Tabitha wasn’t scheduled to come in that day, but Callie was pleased to see how comfortable she felt handling the shop on her own. Most of the music boxes she sold were bought as gifts, but she pulled up Aunt Mel’s notes for one customer who introduced herself as a regular and was able to guide her toward items that were to her taste—music boxes with a Wizard of Oz theme that had been newly stocked. She enjoyed seeing the excitement on the woman’s face and was even happier to make the sale.

  When things grew quiet, Callie stepped out the shop’s front door to breathe in a little fresh air and feel the sun on her face. It was a beautiful day, the slight breeze and strong sun having dried up all the previous day’s rain, and Callie savored it. She thought of installing a small bench in front of her window, for herself as well as a convenience for customers, and wondered if there was any town regulation against it. If there wasn’t, though, Karl Eggers was sure to complain. But that would be his problem.

  She caught sight of a familiar figure walking toward her—Elvin Wilcox. He looked much less forbidding in bright daylight than in the shadows, especially as he spotted her looking at him and quickly ducked his head. But he continued to approach, and nodded politely when Callie said hello.

  “I’m looking for work,” he said, coming right to the point. “Miss Reed always hired me to cut her grass.”

  “Oh!” Callie’s grass between the cottage and the shop actually did need cutting. She was sure it hadn’t been touched since before her first visit, but she hadn’t had the time to even think about it.

  “I’d be happy to have you cut it, Elvin,” Callie said, “but what about a lawn mower?” Elvin obviously hadn’t brought one with him.

  “I use Miss Reed’s. It’s in the back shed.”

  “Ah.” Callie had meant to investigate the shed tucked in the shady area behind the cottage. Now, she supposed, was a good time. She checked up and down the street and saw no customers heading her way, so she beckoned Elvin to follow her around to the back. The door to the shed was unlocked, which might have surprised her except that the contents were unlikely to tempt any burglar. Aunt Mel’s simple push mower sat among a few basic gardening tools and a half empty bag of mulch. Callie knew she could probably handle cutting the grass of th
e small yard herself, but with her day off to be filled with unpacking and Elvin standing expectantly beside her, she was fine with handing the job over.

  She asked Elvin what he charged, then waved toward the mower. “Let me know when you’ve finished,” she said. “I’ll be in the shop.”

  With no chug of a gas-powered mower to remind her, Callie soon forgot about Elvin as she became once again occupied with customers. So she was surprised when he eventually walked in, grass clipping clinging to his now-sweaty denims.

  “All done?”

  He nodded, and Callie opened her cash register to pay him.

  “Miss Reed had me come once a week in the summer,” he said as he pocketed his money.

  “I’m not sure I’ll need that as often. Can I just call you?” As soon as she said it, Callie bit her tongue. Someone in Elvin’s circumstances wouldn’t have a phone, would he? But he surprised her by reciting a number, and she made a note of it.

  Elvin left without further comment, and Callie walked to the back office to make a quick check of her yard. All looked fine. It was later, after she’d closed up and gone outside, that she winced, spotting a few flowers that had been mowed down. Easily replaceable, she assured herself. She continued on to the shed and found her mower back inside but the blades clogged with cut grass. Plus the door had been left swinging open.

  Not the greatest job performance, but Callie supposed allowances needed to be made. She sighed, decided to clean up the mower later, and went inside to deal with dinner as well as get ready for tomorrow’s delivery.

  Twelve

  Callie’s small living room was filling rapidly as the men from the moving truck steadily carried in her things. She had grossly underestimated the size and amount of her belongings, which seemed to be expanding like a sea of giant Chia pets in the room.

  “Where do you want this?” one stocky man with muscular arms asked, holding a large black hassock wrapped in clear plastic.

  Why had that come along? Callie hadn’t asked for furniture, and if she had, she wouldn’t have wanted that ugly piece, which would be totally out of place in Aunt Mel’s decor.

  “Would you like it?” Callie asked.

  The man studied it. “Sure.”

  “It’s yours,” Callie said, happy to sign whatever would take it from her sight.

  When the crew finished, Callie gazed around with despair. The living room was piled high, and that was only what she could see. More boxes and bags crowded the upstairs hallway and bedrooms. She closed her eyes and wished it would all just disappear.

  Jagger, who’d dashed up the stairs and under a bed at the first tramp of strangers’ feet, peeked through the railing from the top stair.

  “All is clear,” Callie assured him.

  But then a voice called “knock-knock” at her front door, and Jagger pulled back and disappeared. Annie Barbario, Brian’s sister, stuck her head in the doorway. “Can you use some help?”

  “Could I! Are you really offering?”

  “Sure!” Annie stepped in, looking very unlike a mother of two in her ponytail, shorts, and tee. “We watched them unload from the café. I was helping Brian clean up his shelves and figured you’d have a lot to deal with.”

  “But … your own work?”

  Annie shrugged. “Brian can finish it. I didn’t think we’d need his help here. But he said to call if we did.” Annie glanced around. “So, what do we have here? Mostly clothes?”

  “Clothes, books, odds and ends. Far too much to keep. There’s not much room.” Callie was still stunned by Annie’s generous offer. She barely responded when Delia peeked in as well.

  “Come on in,” Annie said, waving her inside. “Callie’s stuff needs sorting, right, Callie?”

  “Big time. I couldn’t run up to Morgantown to do it, so everything other than what I turned over to Hank got packed and sent here. I have no idea where to start.”

  “How about … ” Annie covered her eyes and spun around twice, pointing at a big box when she stopped. “There!”

  “Might as well,” Callie agreed, laughing. She opened the box up to begin pulling shirts and pants from plastic wrappings.

  “What do you think of separating like we did with Mel’s clothes?” Delia asked as Callie’s clothes began to scatter. “A pile for what you’ll definitely keep, another for what you won’t, and one to think about. We’ll ask and you decide.”

  “Sounds good,” Callie said. “After that, I think I’ll need to separate out winter things to put into storage. There’s just no way I can fit everything into these closets.”

  “That’s what I do,” Delia said. “I mean, keep things in storage.” She opened a box near her and lifted out an armful of knit shirts. “Brian, too?” she asked Annie.

  Callie had forgotten that Brian likely lived behind his café, and she glanced over at his sister.

  “Brian probably owns exactly two of everything,” Annie said. “Dress slacks, jeans, button shirts, and tees. No problem there, other than keeping up with laundry.”

  “Men have it so much easier,” Delia said.

  “Someone—one of his customers, I think—told me that Brian gave up a job in DC to open up his café,” Callie said as she worked at emptying her box. “Is that right?”

  “Yup.” Annie held up a light cotton jacket, got a nod from Callie, and carried it over to the hall closet. “He was a government affairs representative at the Airport Authority. Hated it.” Annie laughed. “As I said, he’s a bit of a control freak. He likes to make his own decisions, not take orders from someone or to have to oversee others.” She held up a trench coat. “Winter or summer?”

  Callie considered. “Fall and spring, actually. Hall closet, I guess—until it gets too stuffed. How did Brian decide to run a café?”

  “He used to come out to spend a day or a weekend with us and got to really like the area and the slower pace.”

  “I like that, too,” Callie said, and Delia nodded vigorously.

  “The café went up for sale,” Annie continued, “and it was a snap decision. I couldn’t believe it. My brother, who weighs pros and cons endlessly before making any decision, changed careers in a second.”

  “He must have been ready,” Delia commented. “There’s a box full of heavy sweaters here. How about I just mark it for storage?”

  “Might as well.” Callie said. “I’ve got another box here full of wool stuff. Let’s put both outside for now to make some space.”

  The living room started reappearing as they carried items upstairs and broke down empty boxes. Callie made coffee and offered tuna salad sandwiches, which was all she had on hand. Delia pitched in, chopping celery and onion as Callie stirred together mayonnaise and tuna and Annie continued unpacking. Jagger, who clearly had supersonic ears, flew into the kitchen at the first hiss of the can opener into a tuna can, and within minutes all were contentedly refueling.

  By the middle of the afternoon, Callie collapsed the final box and announced that they were done.

  “Yay!” Annie cried, doing a little dance. She then pulled out her phone. “Brian, we need you for hauling.” Callie began to protest, but Annie waved her down. “He’ll love feeling useful,” she said, pocketing the phone. “Any preference for the donations?”

  Callie looked blank for a moment, and Delia reminded her of the charities she’d sent her aunt’s things to. She also recommended her storage facility, which had smaller, climate-controlled units perfect for clothing. By the time Brian showed up, destinations had been decided, with Callie’s discard bags and storage boxes ready to be divided up between Brian’s car and her own.

  “This is just what you’re getting rid of?” Brian asked, looking as though he imagined Callie’s upstairs to be packed floor-to-ceiling. Which wasn’t so far from the truth, Callie admitted.

  “Never mind,” Annie said. “Just open your tr
unk.”

  Callie joined Delia in setting off to the storage facility, waving a grateful goodbye to Brian and Annie, who would head in another direction. With Delia’s help, Callie arranged for and unloaded her winter clothes into the storage unit, knowing she would return in a few days with sturdier plastic containers to replace the cardboard ones. She then locked it, and they both dusted off their hands.

  Delia brushed off Callie’s effusive thanks, but as they returned to the car, Callie asked a question that had just occurred to her. “Did Aunt Mel have a storage unit?” She didn’t remember any comment to that effect by her aunt’s lawyer, George Blake.

  Delia shook her head. “She claimed she didn’t need one. Mel was a lot like Brian as far as keeping her things to the minimum. I don’t know how she did it.”

  Callie wasn’t sure if she was glad not to have one more thing of her aunt’s to sift through or disappointed that there was no other source of answers to the mysteries that were gathering. Then she thought of the locked metal box on the floor of the hall closet. If she couldn’t find the key, there was surely some way of getting into it.

  But not right away.

  First, she needed to catch her breath after the grueling hours she’d just spent. After that, her cupboards, which were exceedingly bare, had to be restocked.

  •

  Callie had paid for her groceries and was pushing her cart toward the store’s exit when she heard her name called. Turning, she saw Jonathan Harman picking up his own small bag at the end of the express check-out aisle.

  “Hello again,” he said, coming over. “I saw you earlier as I drove by your shop. The moving truck had just pulled up. Everything go all right?”

  “It did, thanks to plenty of help from my wonderful neighbors. If they hadn’t shown up—unexpected, mind you—I’d still be wallowing in unpacked boxes. As it was, it took three of us to handle it all.”