I ate every bite of the sandwich despite Bezel’s intermittent mewing requests for a taste as she wove her body around my legs and the chair. I resisted the temptation to eat the second one. Tempting as eating three meals a day at the Sleeping Latte was, there were two problems with that plan. First, I’d gain ten pounds in a week. And second? I craved being alone. I liked people, but the thought of eating three meals a day publicly held no appeal. I’d try and get to the store in between the real estate appointment and going to the Reeds’ house for dinner. What time was the real estate meeting? Four? I should have put the appointment in my phone.
My phone calendar was set to e-mail me a reminder of appointments an hour in advance and then to ring ten minutes before a meeting. I sighed. It didn’t help. My inability to keep time for myself was just plain embarrassing. I studied time. I built timepieces. Accuracy was an obsession. But I was perpetually late for everything. Or hopelessly early. It wasn’t that I couldn’t keep time, I just couldn’t remember it in time.
I took the calendar off the top of the box the chief had brought up. True to Caroline’s word, I found the real estate agent’s card clipped to the corner. I took it and slid it into the card slot on the other side of my phone case. Google told me it was a twenty-minute drive to the Marytown office. I factored in a longer drive because of leaf peepers, and another twenty minutes just in case. It was almost two. I had over an hour; might as well start looking things over.
The Cog & Sprocket system must have been in my DNA. It took me about five minutes to remember my grandfather’s shorthand. I flipped through the pages of the general ledger, trying to get a sense of how the business was doing. There were jobs off-site, tending to clock towers or tuning up a grandfather that couldn’t be moved. Some regular winding appointments. But most of the work still came into the shop. That had stayed steady. What had been slowing down were the clock sales. G.T. hadn’t embraced the Internet yet, and I’d bet that was impacting the business.
I looked at the calendar again. Never one for pretty pictures, my grandfather’s plain calendar had big blocks for writing appointments. They also included G.T.’s plans for the future and notes on the past. A lunch with Ben last Tuesday, with the notation in next to it. A call made to Stephanie last Thursday, with a time notation. Stephanie? Stephanie Lincoln? Yeesh. I looked down at my own watch. Ten minutes of four. Could I make the twenty-minute drive in ten? I could sure try.
I ran out the door, shouting to Bezel I’d be back. I went down to the shop, shouting to Pat that I’d see him later, at his house. I doubted he’d hear me over the drone of the shop vac. What was he doing back there? No time to check. Late!
chapter 15
I barreled out the front door and clambered into the car, tossing my bag on the other seat. I took a deep breath and pulled out my cell phone case. Living in the land of two bars drained my battery. I plugged it into the lighter and put the address of the real estate agent into my GPS. Predicted arrival: 4:23. Hah! You’d think the GPS would know better by now. I’d be five minutes late, tops.
I put on my seat belt, put the car in reverse, and started to move in one, fluid, well-practiced move. A person in grayish blue clothes jumped out of the way at the last possible moment, grazing the corner of my car with a hip. Or a leg. Maybe a head. I couldn’t tell. The figure disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
I swallowed hard, throwing the car into park and jumping out to see what happened.
“Please no, please no, please no,” I whispered. I ran to the back of the car.
“Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” I said.
I bent over the figure that was knocked on the ground on her side. Definitely a she. Maybe ten years older than I was, but I couldn’t be sure. Her hair was a mess of brown, blond streaks, and gray. Her mascara was smudged and her lipstick was slightly crooked. I realized the gray was a Safety Service delivery uniform. Twenty-four-hour delivery anytime, anywhere. I hoped she wasn’t on a deadline.
“I didn’t see you,” she said as she shifted, testing her body’s limits.
“I didn’t see you. Should I call an ambulance? Where’d you come from?” I looked around.
Where did she come from? I was parked in front of the shop in our small lot. No other cars or trucks were there. I looked around, but didn’t see the familiar gray and yellow truck anywhere. Since this side of the shop was on a corner with no parking, where had she been? Was she parked out back?
“Look, I’m really very sorry. I didn’t see you. Are you all right? Can I help you up?” I asked.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. I was just startled,” she said, slowly gathering herself in a crouch. “You’re Ruth Clagan, aren’t you?” She looked up at me and then looked away quickly as she stood. She steadied herself with one hand on my car.
“Do I know you?” I asked. She looked familiar, but most people in Orchard sort of looked alike, at least to my Boston-focused eyes. She just stared at me.
“I don’t think so. My name’s Aggie Kurt. I grew up here in Orchard. I heard Thom’s granddaughter was in town, taking over the shop. Put two and two together.”
“Did you know my grandfather?”
“Of course. I made regular deliveries here. He always had time for me. Always. He was a good man.” She started to weep. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she turned away.
“Aggie, are you parked out back? Where’s your truck? Are you on duty? Can I call someone?” I asked frantically, anxious to be sure she was physically all right and also desperate to get on my way.
“I’m fine,” she repeated firmly, brushing the dust from her uniform.
I took a deep breath. “Listen, why don’t I call the police. Just in case you’re hurt. Maybe they can bring an ambulance with them.” I bent down and reached for my phone, which was charging on the dash.
“No!” She reached out and clasped my arm. “No cops. I’m fine. Just fine. No cops. You’ve got to promise me. No cops.”
“All right. No cops.” I pulled my arm back and watched helplessly as she tried to pull herself together.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said as she stepped back, looking like she was trying to smile. “No cops, okay? I’ve got a dozen parking tickets; they’re just waiting to arrest me. I know they are. Listen, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I watched Aggie walk toward Ben’s shop and then hook a left to the rear access road. I was tempted to follow her partly to be sure she was safe and partly to see where she was headed in such a hurry, but a quick glance at my watch propelled me back to the car.
chapter 16
I pulled up in front of the real estate agency. Four twenty-five. Time was not on my side, but hopefully the real estate agent was. There were a few different companies in the Berkshires, but these gray and burgundy signs were omnipresent. I swiped on some lip gloss and walked up to the office.
“Hello. How can we help you today?” the very cheery blonde said, looking up from her laptop as I walked in.
“I have an appointment with Stephanie Lincoln?”
“With Steph? Really? And you are?”
“Ruth Clagan.”
“Ms. Clagan? Your appointment was for two o’clock.”
“Two? I thought it was for four.”
“No.” The blonde tapped on a few keys. “It says right here the appointment was for two o’clock on Saturday—that’s today—for Thom Clagan. Steph called to change it on Monday. It says so, right here. I keep records of everything.”
“I’m sure you do. He didn’t note the change on his calendar. I’m Thom Clagan’s granddaughter. I’m not even sure what the appointment was for, but his wife asked me to keep it. Would it be possible to reschedule it?”
“The appointment was with Thom Clagan. As he is the client, I’m not sure if I should be talking to you. Is Mr. Clagan under the weather?” she asked, not looking up from
the screen.
“Mr. Clagan passed away on Wednesday.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She didn’t sound that sorry, but she did sound surprised.
“Thank you,” I said. “Perhaps I can reschedule the appointment?”
“I’m sorry to say that Steph is out of the office for a couple of weeks. This appointment was her last before she left for the airport,” she chirped. “Going on a cruise and off the grid. She did put a package in the mail for Mr. Clagan.”
“Perhaps I can take it? Are you mailing it to the Cog & Sprocket or to his house?”
“The Cog & Sprocket? Oh, I know that shop. I took my mother’s mantel clock over to be fixed. They did a wonderful job. I think I just saw the shop in the news. Oh, wait. Was that your grandfather? Oh, I’m sorry.” This time she sounded sorry.
I pulled out my wallet and slid my license out of its sleeve, pushing it across the desk. “Here is my license. See, same last name.” Not for the first time I was grateful that I hadn’t changed my name when I got married. “I’m staying at the shop and will get the package anyway. Surely you could just give it to me.”
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Clagan, but Steph already sent it out with a delivery service. Did it herself, right before she left.”
“Do you know what’s in it?”
“I think Steph sent him some comparables, for other businesses in the area. And there must have been other information—it was pretty thick. I know they’d spoken several times over the past few weeks. A terrible time for Stephanie to be out of the office, but who am I to say anything? I just run the office, that’s all. Anyway, you’ll get the envelope soon enough. Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
So was I. I wondered what G.T. and Stephanie had been up to.
chapter 17
I meandered back toward Orchard with my GPS on, even though I knew where I was going. I always drove with my GPS these days, just so if I took a wrong turn, I could get back on track. I never really minded getting lost, but there is something comforting in knowing your latitude and longitude no matter what. It was all so odd, coming back all these years later to a town that was both familiar and foreign to me. G.T. had always been a bit of an outsider, even though he’d lived in Orchard his entire life. You had to earn his respect and once it was gone, it was gone for good. Things that lost his respect included the obvious: lying and cheating. But I remembered his disdain for old Mr. Clark, who ran the Corner Market. Whenever I visited we were one of the only families in Orchard who went the next town over for groceries. It was a pain in the neck and I told my grandmother so one particularly sullen summer Saturday when I was about sixteen.
“Why do we have to go all the way to Marytown for milk?” I whined. “The Corner Market has milk. All we have to do is walk down the block. I’ll do it.”
“Ruth Ann,” my grandmother said. She always called me Ruth Ann when she wanted to end a conversation with no argument. “You know that we don’t give the Corner Market Clagan business. Now get in the car.”
“But why not?” I asked with my hand on the car door. “Everyone else does.”
“Not everyone,” she said, lowering her voice. “No, not everyone. Listen, Mr. Clark and his brother owned the store together for years. Your grandfather was friends with them both. When his brother died in that horrible accident, Mr. Clark bought out his sister-in-law for a fraction of the business’s worth and never offered a penny to his brother’s kids. They struggled and had to move in with her family down in Rhode Island. That didn’t sit right with your grandfather. So we don’t give him our money.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Five years.”
“That’s a long time to hold a grudge,” I said, my hand still gripping the door handle.
“Ruth, this should tell you something about your grandfather,” she said, reaching across and opening the door for me. “He’s an honorable man and has a strict code. He expects a lot from himself and as much from others. I for one am proud to be married to such a man.”
My grandparents were a unit. My parents were also devoted to each other, in their own absentminded professor sort of way. I thought about my ex-husband. Even in our honeymoon phase, which was pretty short, I’m not sure I was devoted to him. I thought I was, but in retrospect, not so much. I think that G.T. knew that the first time he met my ex, but I wasn’t willing to listen to him. Not getting G.T.’s blessing bothered me more than I’d been willing to admit.
“We’re family now, baby,” my ex said one day. “We don’t need anyone else. We’re all we’ll ever need.”
Ha! Until you met the younger, cuter version of me, jerk. I still couldn’t believe it. He’d left me for the grad assistant for his British literature course—what a cliché. I felt a mixture of anger, and relief. Which probably wasn’t a good sign. The divorce itself was finally done and the paperwork was finished. That was the whole reason I went on that silly retreat and part of the conversation I’d wanted to have with G.T. And now I couldn’t ever tell him about the marriage or my divorce.
I was almost back in Orchard by the time I realized I still needed to grocery shop while I was out and about. Though I told myself that my reasons were to fill my cupboards and growling belly, in truth I did want to see if past resentments still existed between my grandfather and the little shop. So I broke with tradition and headed toward Clarks’ Corner Market.
chapter 18
I tried to pull into the parking lot, but it was full—all six spots. Looked like things were hopping at the Corner Market. I parked my car at the Cog & Sprocket and walked back. I was careful to use the crosswalk and looked back at Ben’s Barbershop to see if he’d notice, but I couldn’t see if he was there. Shaded glass. I shook my head. Maybe I’d explain how small towns worked, the next time I saw him. Which I hoped was soon, much to my own surprise.
I slowed down and took a long look at the Corner Market as I walked toward the front door. This Corner Market was different than the Corner Market of my youth. Not that there was anything wrong with that Corner Market, aside from the family feud my grandfather had with the previous owner. From the outside, the changes were subtle, but significant. The siding was gone, replaced by cedar shingles. The front porch was a porch, not just a cement slab that provided an entrance. The new porch was also cement, but it went across the entire front of the building, with a ramp that turned on one side, allowing for greater access to the doors. The doors themselves were still double-sided wooden doors that swung in when you pushed. I grabbed a basket, pushed through the doors onto the mat, and immediately saw that the changes were not only cosmetic.
I defied my grandfather and went to the Corner Market with Moira a few times when I was in high school. I remembered the creamy penuche fudge with fondness, but that was my only good memory. It was mostly aisles of canned goods, some halfway-decent dairy without much variety, and a depressing produce section in case you needed a potato or two. The aisles were tight, the lighting was bad, and you had to know where you were going in order to get there.
But even if the food was subpar, the Corner Market was the place to go to meet folks and catch up on “news” or, if you were honest, the gossip. My grandmother didn’t mind missing out on the food once we’d started boycotting, but I know she missed out on the gossip, which is one of the reasons she started bringing tea over to Parker’s Emporium.
The new Corner Market felt old-fashioned and fresh all at once. Gone were the linoleum floors, replaced by wide pine floors that I suspected had been there all the time, since the building was one of the oldest in Orchard. The aisles had been replaced with large sections of shelving that suited the old-time feel of the store: more wood, less metal. To the right of the entrance were large wooden bins of fresh produce, all locally grown, according to the signage. When I looked closer, I saw the name of the local farm on the tag. I grabbed a few potatoes and w
alked around to the other side. NOT LOCAL, BUT ORGANIC, the sign said. I browsed the lemons and limes. And were those mangoes? I picked one up, smelled it, and dropped it in the basket.
Behind the produce the refrigerator section spanned the side wall, filled with locally produced and organic food choices. I hovered my hand above the nice cheese selection, yogurts, and local eggs. I added a few more items, and was sorry I hadn’t taken a cart. I noticed the rotisserie chickens in the meat section and made a mental note to come back tomorrow when I wasn’t going out to dinner. Cooking for one had made me a boring eater of late. A roasted chicken frequently got me through several days’ worth of meals.
I noticed a half dozen people crowded around a table in the middle of the store, dodging shoppers on their way to check out. Beckett Green was busy sampling the wine. I thought about going over and saying hello, but decided against it. I didn’t have the energy. I recognized the couple Moira had pointed out at the Sleeping Latte: the owners and apparently the Orchard food police. He stood behind a small table with paper cups and open bottles of wine, talking to Beckett. What was his name? I looked over at his full beard and longish hair. Less a hippie, more of a hipster. His clothes were casual but expensive. He smiled while he topped off Beckett’s cup. She handed out napkins to people who nibbled on heaps of cheese, olives, and crackers on the table to her left. There were a couple of other employees talking to the crowd, gesturing toward the items and handing out coupons. I tried to figure out how to navigate around the crowd to get to the wine racks, dry goods, and ready-made sections behind them, when the woman approached me. I put my heavy basket down.
“Hello, I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Ada Clark. Are you new in town?” She reached out her hand and I took it.
Ada Clark looked like she was in her mid to late twenties, a couple of years younger than I was. I felt freakishly tall next to her. Long, dark curls framed her face, and her layered outfit of a flowing top and leggings could have been fashionable were it not for the heavy wool socks and Birkenstocks she sported on her feet. She had a beautiful smile, sparkling brown eyes, and a reassuring handshake. I glanced at her pregnant belly, and the world seemed to stop for just a second. A year ago, the plan had been for my ex-husband and me to start a family soon. Now I was glad that hadn’t happened, especially given the way everything had turned out. Still, I felt a pang as I shook Ada’s hand, and tried to smile.
Just Killing Time Page 8