“You’re right. That one needs more time.”
I was intrigued, I’ll admit it. Most of the time, fixing old clocks was getting it close to what it must have been like new. But there was a fine line that couldn’t be crossed between fixing, and restoring, and replacing. Most clocks had had inner workings fixed over the years, so it was already a patchwork. But once in a long while, you found a clock that was close to its original state. The David Wood replica must have been such a find. Surely it couldn’t be real, could it? These clocks were copied by many clockmakers, to varying degrees of success. Even today, they were manufactured. But if the David Wood was an original?
If it was an original, the clock would be both a horological and financial treasure. That clock alone would be a big step toward getting the Winter estate into the black—and the Cog & Sprocket, for that matter.
I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to stop everything and open the clock. Instead I inspected the three we’d decided on. Caroline took notes on my observations and then together we came up with a to-do list. The three clocks Caroline chose were excellent candidates for quick turnarounds. I had to wonder how much she knew on her own about horology.
“Pat can work on the cases,” Caroline said. “If we hadn’t had Pat, Thom never would have brought in all these clocks. They were quite a team.”
“It looks like Pat put the weights and pendulums in these three. Let’s try to wind them, see how they run,” I said. I brought in my cell phone and we set the time. One of the clocks was key wound. The other two were wound by pulling the chains with the weights, getting the weights lined up, and letting gravity and mechanics do their work. I wound the one with the key, and set the time. Then I wrestled with one set of weights while Caroline went to work on the other.
“You’re good at this,” I said.
Caroline nodded. “Winding clocks is part of the business. Being in this shop has taught me a lot over the years. We have a dozen house calls we make every week, most of them over at Harris University, keeping clocks running.”
“Another revenue stream,” I said.
“Not huge, but yes, a revenue stream. We also have contracts to wind and maintain some clock towers in the area.”
“Pat mentioned that.”
“I helped with those, but that was mostly Pat and Thom. Lots of work winding clock towers.”
“I haven’t done it in a while, but yes, it’s an excellent workout,” I said, smoothing a wayward curl back into my bun.
Caroline finished prepping her clock before I did. We reset the times to all match, and then stepped back and watched the three clocks.
Nothing happened for three minutes. They kept time. Honestly, we probably could have stood there forever, except for the sharp knock on the back door. We both jumped, and Caroline put her hand over her heart.
I opened the door, chain in place. Nancy Reed stood on the stoop, still wearing her apron and without a coat. I closed the door, slid the chain off, and reopened the door to let her in.
“Nancy, is everything all right?” I asked. “Is Pat all right?” I asked. Suddenly I was ashamed that I hadn’t called Moira and Nancy to let them know the chief was looking for him.
Then something happened I never thought I would live long enough to see. Nancy Reed started crying. Big, loud, ugly crying.
chapter 34
Caroline walked over and put her arms around Nancy. Nancy clung on, but then the quarter hour chimes started. We all looked up as one clock chimed, then another, and then the third. Not even close to one another. I looked down at my cell phone. Sigh. They were all at least five minutes off.
Nancy reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a dishrag. She noisily blew her nose. Yuck. It wasn’t like I had a tissue to offer her, but still, a dishrag?
“It’s Pat,” she said. “He’s in real trouble and I need your help.” And then she started crying again.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked. We’d moved into the front part of the shop, and I dragged an office chair in so we could all sit at the card table.
“The chief came by to look for him and then came by again an hour later.”
“He came by here as well,” I said. “We told him Pat was in Marytown. He dropped Caroline’s car off.”
“I know, and I told the chief so. I kept trying to call Pat, but it took him forever to pick up the phone. When he finally did, I told him that the chief was looking for him. And that’s when he told me.”
“What is it, Nancy? It can’t be that bad.”
“It is that bad. Pat said he was going to tell the chief that he stole the clocks.”
What little color Caroline had left drained from her face. Nancy stared at her hands.
“Which clocks?” I asked slowly.
“The five last month,” Nancy said between sobs.
“No, that’s not possible,” Caroline said.
I was uncertain about a few things, but not this. Pat Reed would never steal from my grandfather. Something else was going on here.
“Tell me more about the clocks,” I said. “I remember hearing that they were stolen, but I don’t remember the specifics.”
Caroline looked uncomfortable, but she started to explain nonetheless.
“When we first brought the clocks into the shop, we invited people over to see some of them. Neighbors, a couple of collectors. Anyway, we’d been showing people the clocks off and on for a week or so. Especially these clocks—they were real beauties. Five Seth Thomas mantel clocks. All mid-1800s. Really lovely specimens. We made sure we locked up, but the Cog & Sprocket is hardly Fort Knox. I was looking for a clock I thought might be in one of those crates and I noticed that one crate was empty.”
“Could you narrow down the window of time?” I asked. “Maybe there’s an alibi for Pat there?”
“It was a broad window. But since we’d shown several people the clocks, we did know what exactly was missing,” Caroline said. “I filed a report with the police. And then Thom decided to withdraw it.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.” Caroline looked away from me. I’d bet dollars to donuts she knew anyway, but I didn’t push it.
“They were all Seth Thomas clocks? They’re pretty popular, not terribly rare. But worth a fair amount, if they’re in good shape.” Both Caroline and Nancy stared at me. “Listen, I know Pat didn’t steal any clocks, and no one can convince me otherwise. But look at it from the chief’s point of view. These were a good choice for a clock-savvy burglar. And getting them out of here took some moxie. Why would the chief think Pat stole the clocks?” I asked. “Did he have a motive?”
Nancy started to cry again. She shook her head.
“It wasn’t Pat,” Caroline said, reaching out to put her hand on her friend’s heaving shoulders. “Was it, Nancy?”
Nancy looked up at Caroline and shook her head.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “It was Ryan. Ever since he lost his scholarship he’s been at sea, trying to figure out how to pay for school. His father and I helped as much as we could, and we thought he was all set. But apparently he had to take one class a second time and was a few thousand dollars short.
“I went down to the basement last week to put the summer clothes away. There were boxes I’d never seen. I looked in one and saw a clock. Then I looked in another box and saw another clock. They looked like ones we’d seen at the Cog & Sprocket one night when Thom and Pat were showing us some of the new stock. Same thing with the other three boxes. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have called the police or Caroline,” I said. I know it was unkind, but I wasn’t feeling terribly charitable at that particular moment.
“He’s my son, Ruth,” she said, her eyes pleading. “And I wanted to check in with Pat first. When he came home, I went down to the basement with him and showed him th
e boxes. I swear, he was as surprised as I was. But then he got angry, really angry. He kept saying Ryan’s name over and over. He went out looking for him. I thought he was going to kill him, I really did. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“When was this, Nancy?” I asked.
“Last Tuesday. Ryan never came home that night. And then the next morning, Pat found Thom.”
Caroline sighed.
I didn’t know what to say. While this was a lot to take in, I couldn’t help but feel that there were many missing links in the story. How would Ryan know which clocks to steal? They were good choices—old, great craftsmanship, lovely examples. But common enough that only an expert would be able to tell if they were the stolen clocks. And would Ryan really be able to pull off a robbery like this without help?
Nancy’s phone began to beep and buzz several times in a row. She hunched over the display and pressed the phone to her ear.
“Moira? Is your father— What? Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot that it’s Eddie’s afternoon off.” Her tone shifted. “No, I’ll be right there. Hey, sweetie, you haven’t heard from your dad, have you? No, it’s nothing. All good. We just got cut off when we were talking earlier.”
“I need to get back to the shop,” she said as she stuffed the phone back into her apron pocket.
“Does Moira know?” I asked.
“No, of course not. Oh my, I need to pull it together. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I came over here. It’s just that . . . you know how much Pat thought of Thom, right?”
“Of course,” Caroline said. “We’ll figure out the mystery of the old clocks, I promise. In the meantime, go back to the shop.”
She left by the back door, barely visible in the low light of the late afternoon.
“Ruth, I’m done in. Would you mind giving me a ride home?”
“We need to talk about this,” I said.
“We can talk on our way home. Not here. I don’t want to talk about it here.”
chapter 35
I locked up carefully and left lights on all over the shop. We walked out to the space in the front where I had parked my Scion xB.
“I’ve always liked these cars,” Caroline said. “They look like a London cab, don’t they?” she asked.
I made room on the passenger seat while Caroline hovered behind me, rubbing her left arm with her right hand. It took me a minute. My car had been my office lately. This lifestyle led to a lot of clutter, a bit of trash, and a very full passenger seat. I piled up the papers, put them in a shopping bag, and put it all in the backseat.
“There’s a lot of room in here, isn’t there?” she asked as she climbed in.
“It is perfect for hauling things,” I agreed.
“Things like clocks?”
“Yes, of course, clocks. And, well, I actually make some nontraditional clocks as well, and so I tend to haul around things I’ve picked up.”
“Nontraditional clocks? Hauling around ‘things’?” she asked, a smile creeping across her face.
I took a deep breath and then reached into the backseat, pulling out my smaller portfolio case. I unzipped it and flipped it open, then laid it on Caroline’s lap.
“See that?” I asked, pointing to a large clock that looked like it was rising out of a Lucite table. Caroline took her reading glasses out of her purse and looked at the picture.
“It’s a working clock,” I said.
“Of course it is. Digital?” she asked.
“No, actually, that one is an eight-day clock, and you wind it up right there.” I pointed to a spot on the front of the clock. “I started with digital, but now I use traditional parts. If I can’t make a clock work, I make a new design.”
“This is beautiful. May I look at the rest of the book?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the pages.
“I guess,” I said. A part of me wanted to yank it back. I was always nervous when I showed my own work. These clocks were my passion. I usually did them on commission, and given the hours I spent on each one, they were not a lucrative business model. But they made me happy. Horology captured in an art piece. As much as you can capture time, that is.
“Is this how you make your living?” she asked, flipping the page and taking in the images.
I started the car and pulled out of the space.
“My ex-husband was, is, a professor, and we had on-campus housing. We were housemasters so we had access to storage space, and I had help from students interested in learning about my work. So long story short, I did this for three years, but for the past few months, since the separation, I haven’t been able to find the time or space to make anything.”
“I can only imagine that has been very difficult.”
“It has, though this museum job was an interesting opportunity to expand my career options. I love making big pieces, but I don’t want to make them for collectors only. I want anyone who loves the idea of having a clock integrated into a home in a bold, artistic way to have access to my work at some level. At the same time, I wouldn’t mind a couple of commissions. That book you have in your hand? I had a dozen printed up. The museum is considering selling them in the gift shop.”
“That’s very exciting,” Caroline said.
“It is.” I should have sounded happier. And a month ago, it was the most exciting thing that had happened in a long time. Maybe it was a consolation prize since the funding for my job got cut, but it was a pretty good consolation prize. An opportunity to pitch my work to people who could afford to pay me.
Time to get the conversation back on track. “Caroline, I haven’t been around for a while, but I can’t imagine Pat Reed helping his son steal clocks, can you?”
She hesitated for a moment. “No, I can’t.”
“Tell me about what happened when the five clocks were stolen.”
“I’m the one who noticed. There were seven clocks all together in one of the crates. The Winters had displayed them all together in one room of their house. It was one of their favorite groupings and we hated to break it up. Really lovely pieces.”
“In working order?”
“We hadn’t gotten there yet. They were all wonderful examples of mid-nineteenth-century mantel clocks, that’s for sure. If they were in working order, we were looking at a thousand dollars apiece, probably more, as is. We were doing the overall inventory and I was gathering information in order to price them. Anyway, I took one home so we could look at it more closely. That meant the top of the crate was loose.”
“Which means if this was a robbery, those would have been easily accessible. The robber just lucked out that they were also very valuable.”
“The longcases are more valuable but it would take a very motivated robber to steal those. And it would also take time to move them out.”
“It’s a shame you don’t have real pictures of the missing clocks.” I waited for Caroline to reply. “Do you have any pictures?”
“We have some pictures from the Winter home. They are at the house.”
“Did you give them to the chief?” Another pause.
“Caroline, you’re not telling me something. What’s going on with the stolen clocks?”
“At first blush, it looked like a straight-up robbery. A customer was looking for a walnut gingerbread clock and I remembered seeing one in one of the crates, so I went to look for it. I found the empty crate. So I called the police and filed a report.”
“At first blush?”
“When the chief came over, he started to do a very thorough investigation. Now, don’t get me wrong. The old chief was a good man, and he kept the peace. But Jeff Paisley’s much more inclined to dig a little deeper. After a thorough assessment, he quickly helped us realize that the robbery had to be an inside job, as it were. The back door wasn’t forced. The robber knew exactly what he, or she, was looking for.”
“Which meant that the prim
e suspect was . . .”
“Pat Reed. Thom and I were off the hook, since we weren’t making an insurance claim. That and the fact that Jeff Paisley didn’t think we did it. The only thing that kept the chief from arresting Pat was the fact that we couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the clocks were stolen. And that Thom and I were insistent that he couldn’t be responsible.”
“So you withdrew the robbery complaint?”
“We tried. Officially, the case was unsolved. Unofficially, the chief wasn’t letting it go.”
“Why didn’t you put a claim in for the clocks?”
“We’d been in the middle of upgrading our policy and decided to take them as a loss rather than put in a claim for them, so they didn’t raise our rates. Claiming them was going to cause more problems than it would solve.”
“I still can’t believe Pat would steal from G.T., or from you.”
“Thom couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it either.”
“What did Pat say?”
“In typical New England fashion, we never talked about it. The chief made it clear what he thought, but we were at an impasse.”
“You said there were seven clocks all together in that crate originally?”
“We’d taken one home with us. I’ll show it to you. There was another one we’d taken out of the crate, and Thom was working on it. It was a Seth Thomas black Adamantine. Wood, but painted to look like marble. Gold columns. It should be in the shop.”
“I’ve been taking pictures of everything that’s on display with my cell phone as I go. Here, see if you can find it.” I fished in my purse without taking my eyes from the road and handed her the phone. I told her the password and waited as she struggled to scroll through the images.
“You took these with your phone?” Caroline asked, squinting at the screen. “They’re good.”
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