Just Killing Time

by Julianne Holmes

  “You’re both here,” she said.

  “Where else would we be?” I asked.

  She stopped and stared at me. Caroline stepped forward.

  “Ruth, I see you’ve already met Aggie.”

  “We met a couple of days ago,” I said.

  “Saturday. Around two in the afternoon,” Aggie said.

  “You have an amazing memory,” I said.

  “I keep track of time and location. Have to. The bosses keep track of me, all the time. Where I am, was. They keep these records via a computer and then they make me keep the records and then they compare. I’m always where I say I am.”

  “Aggie, we are in the middle of some business. Did you stop by for a reason?” Caroline asked gently.

  “Yes, sure, of course. I wouldn’t come by for no reason, would I?” she asked. “I have a package for Mr. Thom Clagan. Or is it Mrs. Thom Clagan? That’s one of you now, isn’t it? As far as packages go?”

  “Yes, it is.” I held my hand out.

  “I should really ask for an ID, but I’ll take Caroline’s word for it. Can she receive packages sent to Thom, Caroline? Or do you want it? Since you’re technically Mrs. Clagan, even if you never changed your name.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, just give her the package,” Caroline said, opening the door again and stepping back with her hand on the knob. “We’ll be open for business again next week. Come back then and we’ll have a cup of tea.”

  “Opening again. That’s good, Caroline. That’s really good. So you think the meeting on Thursday will go well? I’m so glad to hear it. Orchard wouldn’t be the same without the old Cog & Sprocket. Or the Town Hall. Just wouldn’t be the same.” Aggie handed me the package and backed up out the door. “Just wouldn’t be the same.”

  “We aren’t going anywhere,” Caroline said. She closed the door behind Aggie and then leaned on it as she threw all the locks again.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Aggie?”

  “I meant more the conversation. She seemed a little, shall we say, strange, don’t you think?”

  Caroline sighed and started back up the stairs. “Strange is one word for it. Thom had never-ending patience with her. I don’t. She has had a difficult time of it, but so have any number of us. She plays the victim card too easily and too often for my taste. But Thom used to say I was being too hard on her.”

  I put the package on the counter. It was the packet from the real estate office.

  Caroline walked over to the counter and ran her hand along the address label of the package. She fiddled with her wedding ring, rolling it around on her finger.

  “You know, Ruth, when I first married your grandfather, I thought I was marrying a clockmaker who owned a shop where he sold and repaired clocks and watches. I expected a quiet life, maybe even a little dull, since Orchard was such a small town. I was so wrong. I didn’t realize that your grandfather fixed more than clocks in this town.

  “Have you noticed how the walls upstairs are all open now?” she asked.

  “I have. I wondered about it. Was that another rehab project?”

  “Not exactly. Pat’s son, Ryan, needed work this past summer, so Pat hired him to help with some odd jobs. Ryan had the idea of opening up the space.”

  “That shows some vision. I never saw beyond an apartment.”

  “Thom wasn’t interested and let him know. But nonetheless, a few hours later, the wall between the kitchen and the bedroom was gone. Rather than get angry, which I would have done, Thom said it looked pretty good, may as well finish the job. Which, of course, meant days of prep to close off the upstairs from the shop. Hiring a Dumpster. Getting respirators.”

  “Wow. I can only imagine.”

  “The problem was that once the prep was done, Ryan lost interest. In fact, he’d taken another job that paid more. So Pat did the job himself. Happily, Ben Clover helped.”

  “Ben? Barber Ben?” I asked. “Why did he help?”

  “Why not? At that point, the town was blocking his license to open, so he had nothing better to do.”

  “Why were they blocking it?”

  “Who knows why this time? That board is always throwing its weight around. But that was another of Thom’s fix-it projects. That one was a success.”

  “And the Winter family ended up being a project?”

  Caroline nodded. “I barely knew Grover’s late wife, but I did know Grover fairly well. She was always so stylish, wearing the perfect outfit with the perfect jewelry. Never a hair out of place. Grover and Harriet had some interesting children, that’s for sure.”

  “Jonah called me last night. He asked for the two boxes he’d dropped by to be brought back over to him.”

  “We took anything of value, but that doesn’t stop Jonah from dropping off more collections and anything with the word clock on it. That’s fine—take them back. They should keep anything sentimental, don’t you think?” Caroline shook her head. “What was in the boxes this time?” she asked.

  “Small pieces. I opened one to take a look and it was a Seth Thomas miniature. They’re in the car.”

  Caroline shook her head again. “They can’t expect us to sell the clocks if they keep adding to what we have to repair and sell.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why did they need cash? Isn’t the Winter family rich?” I asked.

  “They were rich, but Grover spent a lot of it when Harriet got sick. Aggie took most of her inheritance early, which also strapped the family finances. That house and lifestyle took a lot of cash to maintain. It had been slipping for a while, but really took a dive after Grover died.”

  I picked up the package Aggie had delivered and went to hand it to Caroline. She shook her head.

  “Go ahead and open it,” Caroline said.

  “Should you open it?” I asked.

  “No, the shop is yours. And the meeting was about the shop.”

  “Would he make a big business decision without checking with you?” I asked. I thought about my ex-husband, who, in retrospect, made a dozen decisions a day that affected me, but I had no say in them. My grandparents had always made decisions together, but perhaps he and Caroline didn’t have the same kind of relationship.

  “I’m a planner. And I don’t make quick decisions. I need a lot of information and I need to ponder. Your grandfather had been percolating a few ideas and was looking forward to talking to me about them when I got back. Then this hearing got called for Thursday and he needed to move forward more quickly.”

  I opened the package and pulled out three file folders. None of them were labeled. I opened up the first one and read the note attached. As requested, comps. Here’s what the shop is worth, market value. The number was decent, but not huge. I handed the folder over to Caroline.

  I opened the second folder. In it were several stapled packages of information. I looked at the top one and was surprised to see Ben’s Barbershop. I glanced at the sheets and saw the history of the property and its owners over the years. Stephanie had made some notes on purchase prices and the estimated amount due on each property. I wondered if these were facts or educated guesses. Glancing quickly, it looked like all the shops on Washington Street were in the folder. I handed it to Caroline.

  The third folder was a stack of forms, peppered with colorful notes with short sentences like research needed or history on deed unclear. I looked at them more carefully and it seemed to be information about getting buildings marked as historical landmarks, what it meant, and how it varied by town.

  I handed that final folder to Caroline. She glanced at it and then handed them all back to me.

  “Looks like he was doing a lot more than just proposing this historic landmarking business. He was digging in deep for the long fight,” she said, looking up at me.

  Oh, G.T., what were you up to? Is that what got yo
u killed?

  chapter 31

  Caroline and I spent the rest of Monday looking at inventory, looking at the database, and talking through the operations of the store. Midafternoon we agreed on a system. Looking at new inventory was much easier than reading my grandfather’s notes on the inventory he’d brought in or was working on.

  “I wonder if seeing his handwriting will ever not make me miss him?” I said aloud after we’d broken for a late lunch. We were sitting at the card table in the front of the shop again. I looked out at the Town Hall across the street. I’d never spent much time over here and was sorry that I hadn’t. It was a great view of Orchard.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Caroline said. I looked up. She looked tired and ten years older than she had that morning.

  “I’m sorry, Caroline. I’ve kept you too long. You should head home and get some rest.”

  “We still haven’t talked about a service for Thom,” she said, shuffling the pile of papers in front of her.

  “I’ve been thinking about this. When my grandmother died, G.T. was completely unhelpful when I was doing the arrangements. He hated the whole thing, made me promise that when it was his time, I’d cremate him, go to a pub, and raise a pint.”

  The look on Caroline’s face was priceless. Her lips trembled as she waffled between horror and laughter. Finally she burst into a surprised giggle.

  “That sounds like Thom. Why were you making the arrangements for your grandmother? Where were your parents?”

  “My parents were useless. I know that sounds terrible, but it’s true. Have you heard from them again this week?”

  Caroline shook her head.

  “Neither have I. Well, that’s not exactly true. I got an e-mail from them this morning, telling me that they were devastated, but were knee-deep in research and wouldn’t make it back in time for the services. They both felt that working was the best way to honor Thomas Clagan. An e-mail, no call. I wish I could stop being surprised by them.”

  “They are your parents. He is Thom’s son. Far be it from me to judge anyone. But it does seem that you have had your share of grief, and I am sorry about that.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. Should I thank her? It was one of the kindest things someone had said to me for quite a while, which wasn’t saying much.

  The moment passed. “When Grover Winter died, Jonah asked us to help him with the arrangements. Your grandfather wasn’t much help, but I thought it was the grief. It was more than that: the perfect nexus of not belonging to a church per se and his contempt for public displays of emotion. Anyway, he made me promise the same thing. No service, a party instead. So what should we do?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “There are a lot of people who would want to pay their respects.”

  Caroline mulled that over. “Tammy Dunn. Did you know Tammy?”

  I nodded. I didn’t know her well, but her face was on the newsletters that the Massachusetts Horological Society e-mailed four times a year.

  “She called me this morning. There’s a meeting of the society this Saturday. She wondered if perhaps we might want to turn it into a memorial service instead.”

  “That may be a good idea,” I said. The Horological Society was the only organization my grandfather belonged to that I knew of. “Did he still go to all the meetings?”

  “Most of them, yes. They were his friends.” Caroline was still for a moment and suddenly started to cry quiet tears into her hands. I started to get up, but she waved me off.

  “I’d imagine some of the folks here in Orchard would want to see him off as well. Tell you what,” I said, “call Tammy and tell her that Saturday sounds like a plan and that we’ll be there. And then we can figure out the Orchard piece later. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds good. Thank you,” Caroline said, smiling even as a few more tears slipped from the corner of her eye. “I always have trouble making these sorts of decisions.”

  chapter 32

  Boom. Boom. Boom. The front door rattled on its hinges. Boom. Boom. Boom. If folks didn’t stop pounding on that door, we’d need to replace it.

  I jumped up and ran to the front door, pulling the blinds back. Chief Paisley stared at me.

  “Open the door, Ms. Clagan,” he said.

  I did as I was told. The chief walked into the store and I noticed his hand was close to his gun on his belt.

  “Is Pat Reed here?” he asked me.

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “His car’s out front. Don’t try and protect him, Ms. Clagan. I need to talk to him,” he said, looking past me into the front room.

  What in the world would he want with Pat? “He isn’t here,” I said. He waited for me to keep talking, but if he was serious he was in for a long wait.

  “Mind if I check for myself?” he said, moving around me toward the back of the store.

  “Chief Paisley, stop.” Caroline walked in. “Chief. Jeff. Please. Pat drove my car over to Marytown to get the brakes checked. He isn’t here. I promise. But you are free to look around if you’d like.”

  The chief stopped and looked at Caroline. “Ladies, it’s imperative I speak with Pat Reed as soon as possible. As. Soon. As. Possible. Do you both understand?”

  “You want to talk to Pat. Got it,” I said flatly.

  “He’s going to call shortly to give me an estimate on the work. What should I tell him?” said Caroline, crossing her arms and tipping up her chin defensively.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just have him call me when he’s on his way back into town.” With that he turned and left, but had the good grace to close the door softly.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  Caroline was already picking up the phone and dialing. “I don’t know, but I am going to try and find Pat to give him a heads-up. It’s what Thom would want me to do,” she said.

  chapter 33

  Caroline and I took turns trying to call Pat’s cell phone, to no avail. We talked a little more about the business, but I decided the best way to distract us and deal with some of the challenges for both of us was to appraise the inventory and get it ready for sale. Caroline and I went back to the workroom. I reached over and squeezed Caroline’s arm.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I am. It just feels so empty in here,” she said, resting her hand on the back of Thom’s stool.

  I nodded, but decided that work was the answer for both of us right now.

  “Caroline, let’s look at these longcases. I do have a soft spot in my heart for grandfather clocks. Such a statement about clockmaking. So, there are eight all together. Well, seven. This one doesn’t count. Pat called it Grover’s Folly.”

  I pointed to the empty case in the middle of the row. Very tall, a steeple top, lovely but plain face. But when you looked inside, it wasn’t a clock. There were shelves and wooden doors that opened to reveal places for documents. I hadn’t looked at it closely once I realized it was empty.

  “That specific case was left to Thom, with all of its contents,” said Caroline, stepping toward the clock to inspect it. “It was Grover’s, always in his office. It looked like a stopped clock, but, as it turns out, it was really more of a safe. Even the pendulum was an illusion, placed between a mirror and the glass door of the case. Wait. Where’s the pendulum?”

  “Chief Paisley has a pendulum he is holding as evidence in the death of G.T. That may be the one that is missing.”

  “A pendulum?” Caroline looked back at me, shocked. “How do they know for sure it’s evidence?”

  “From what the chief said, they found a pendulum by the river. Well, Blue officially found it. And Ben called it in,” I filled her in.

  “So it must have been this missing pendulum. Or another one from the shop, I suppose.”

  “Which means that the killer must have been in the shop with
G.T. and picked it up. Otherwise how could they have used it outside, next to the car?”

  “Maybe the killer came in later?”

  “Not if the weapon was a pendulum,” I said, feeling a little sick at the thought. “From what I understand, the shop was locked up that night.”

  “So Thom knew his killer. Which means I probably do as well. What a horrifying thought.” Caroline leaned against the workbench and lowered herself onto a chair.

  “It is indeed. Do you have any ideas?”

  “No, none.” She looked helplessly around the shop as if searching for an answer.

  “I wonder if all this is connected to why the chief is looking for Pat,” I said.

  “Again, no idea.” She bit her lip. “None.”

  Funny, this time I wasn’t quite sure I believed her.

  “Anyway,” Caroline said, “it’s an interesting clock case. Thom talked about using it to model the clock tower when he first got it in the shop. He’d been working on some models, but this one looked like the steeple of the tower.” She wiped her eyes and then looked away from the clock.

  “These three on the end, they’re in really good shape,” I said, changing the subject. “What do you think? We could get them ready to be sold, let some folks on the Internet know, and see if we can move them? It would help the cash flow a bit.”

  “Ruth, whatever you want to do . . .”

  “No, Caroline,” I interrupted her. “We need to agree on these steps. For the next few weeks while we’re both dealing with everything, we need to work together to make sure bills are paid and the business keeps running, so that we can make better long-term decisions later. What do you think? These three?” I said, indicating the three clocks closest to us.

  “No, those two and this one. Your grandfather said that one there has potential,” she said, pointing to a fourth clock. “His words. So I suspect you may want to take more time with it.”

  I looked more closely at the last one she pointed to. A David Wood? I looked at the clock face with its hand-carved numbers and painted face. What a thrill it would be to find a piece by one of the great masters. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. The mahogany cabinet had a warm patina and the bonnet was in excellent shape. Caroline had a point.