“Okay, then what about your business, Howard? What happened to make it tank, or should I say sink, so badly?”
Creighton was hitting Howard with both barrels. I felt kind of bad for him, but I couldn’t wait to hear the answer.
The straight line of Howard’s mouth twitched at one corner.
“It hasn’t tanked. We’ve run into some stumbling blocks. All businesses do. I don’t know why it’s any of your business,” Howard said.
Creighton nodded slowly as he bit his bottom lip and gave his beer a thoughtful gaze. He looked up at Howard a brief moment later.
“You’re trying to borrow money,” Creighton said.
“How do you know . . . what business is that of yours?” Howard said.
“Well, your financials weren’t really any of my business until yesterday when I looked very closely at them and then made some phone calls. From what I could gather, you’ve been asking for money from lots of people and places. Banks, friends, family.”
“So?”
“I wonder if maybe you asked Lloyd for some help and maybe he didn’t want to help you out.”
“What? Creighton, I haven’t thought about Lloyd for years, not until I got that stupid invitation to come back to this place—a place I don’t relish returning to often.” He paused as the waitress placed beers in front of me and him. This must have given him enough time to think about what he was doing. “Look, Creighton, it’s easy to see where you intended to go with this, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to contact my attorney if you want to talk to me again.”
He stood, turned, and left the bar.
“He didn’t even try one sip,” I said as I tried one myself. The beer was bitter but not terrible. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about you questioning him. I should not have gotten in the way.”
“It’s okay. It was going to go how it went no matter what,” he said. “I don’t have anything to bring him in on and question him officially. We weren’t friends in high school, so I was surprised he even agreed to come out and meet me. Sorry if that was uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable? That was awesome,” I said. “Did you really see a redhead, another guy, and a Sarah lookalike?”
“No. Well, the Sarah lookalike maybe, but not the others, and many girls had long brown hair, but I knew some of the other guys had crushes on you. It was just a police trick.”
“I did not know about the other guys. I kind of wish I’d known.”
Creighton laughed. “Anyway, you being here just moved things along a little more quickly, which isn’t a bad thing.”
“Obviously, you were trying to see if he was the killer.”
“Always looking for the killer, Clare. I’m a cop. However, we’re still trying to get the lay of the land so to speak. He didn’t deny that he asked Lloyd for money. He kind of made it sound like he was denying it, but he wasn’t. Not really. That might help us find a clue.”
“You think he asked Lloyd for a loan?”
“Don’t know, but it’s something. Maybe.” He bit his lip again and looked toward the front door. “Looks like Jodie and Seth are here.” He swallowed the rest of his beer. “Good to see you, Clare. Have a nice evening.”
“I’m kicking you out of your table.”
“No, not at all. I have work to do.” He dropped some money on the table and wove his way through the crowd, stalling only to greet Seth and Jodie.
“Hi,” Seth said as he came to the table. “We scared your subject away.”
He’d been working, probably reading. He wore his reading glasses, an old faded T-shirt, holey jeans, and flip-flops. His messy, curly hair was conducting a party of its own. It was cold outside, but he’d probably been in a zone when Jodie called and hadn’t even thought about a coat. She’d probably made it sound like a dire emergency. I liked it when he got in a zone and had to be pulled back into the real world. One morning he almost went outside to get the mail in his underwear because the newspaper article he’d been reading had transported him to that “other place.” I found the trait endearing and ridiculously attractive.
“You were looking for something?” Seth said as I handed him my beer. He’d like it better than I did. He took a sip and raised his eyebrows in appreciation.
“Howard didn’t touch that one.” I nodded as I looked at Jodie.
“No, thanks,” Jodie said. “We’ve lost him now.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, it’s okay. Tell us what happened,” she said as she sidled up onto a stool.
I told them what had transpired, and then I told them about my dinner with Brenda and Dillon. I finished by telling them what Nathan had overheard. He hadn’t called her yet.
“Interesting,” Jodie said when I’d finished.
“More than interesting?” I said.
“Everything helps. It’s just that I don’t think the meeting between Creighton and Howard did go the way Creighton hoped or planned it would. I’m sure he left something out because you were there.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because, Claire, Creighton was invited to the meetings too. He knows more or suspects more than he’s saying or would want you to know.”
“Good point,” I said.
“But this was great. Thanks for busting your way in with the two of them. Creighton would have just told me to go away. Speaking of which, I’m going to do that now. Gotta get the car back.”
“Back to where?”
She smiled. “Just back. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Once she was gone, Seth and I decided to turn the evening into a real date night. The best part was that neither of us mentioned the word “murder” once.
20
I balanced the tray of coffees on one hand and held a bag of pastries in the other. I used my elbow to push the tired-sounding buzzer and waited.
“Clare?” Adal said when he opened the door. After hesitating a beat too long, he said, “This is a lovely surprise.”
“It is?”
“Of course. Come in,” he said.
I felt like I’d been ignoring my apprentice. He could handle almost anything on his own, but he was still supposed to be learning stuff from me and we’d all been distracted the last few days. I decided to pick up breakfast for the shop and walk with him to work so, for a few minutes at least, just he and I could talk about things like restoring old books and repairing typewriters.
“Hello, Clare, long time, no see,” a voice said from the corner of the dark front room. Adal’s apartment was small, a few rooms on the backside of a Main Street business. He’d decorated it in what I called sparse charming. He was neat and tidy to levels I could never aspire to reach, but I chalked that up to the fact that he hadn’t wanted to clutter his temporary American home.
I recognized the voice. “Hey, Jodie. Sorry, guys. I didn’t think . . .”
“It’s okay, we’re still keeping things quiet for the general public, but we know you know,” Jodie said as she stood.
It was all I could do not to gasp. She looked so girly in the robe and with her hair free of its tight ponytail. I wanted to hug her and check her fingernails for polish. Instead I tried hard to hide a smile. “Won’t tell a soul. Where’s your Bronco?”
“Around the corner.”
“You got the car back to where it belongs?”
“Yep, no problem.” She looked at the tray. “One of those for me?”
“Definitely.”
She took a cup, gave me a shy smile, and then turned and walked toward the back rooms I’d never seen. She stopped in front of Adal.
“I’ll see myself out when I’m ready,” she said. “Go ahead and go with Clare.”
I should have looked away, but I was fascinated by their brief embrace and the way they made a quick kiss look like something bursting with passion.
I sighed noisily. It was good to see her in the middle of something I didn’t even think she really wanted, or at least wanted to the level I was witnessing.
Jodie looked at me and laughed. “Clare.”
Adal pretended to be embarrassed, but he wasn’t.
When he and I were out of the apartment, he took the tray of remaining coffees.
“We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to,” I said.
“Good,” he said, his German accent extrastrong.
“But one quick question. Have you thought about the fact that you don’t have plans to stay here forever?”
“Jodie and I don’t think about forever. Our moments are too full to pay attention to more than one at a time.”
“While that is potentially the most romantic thing I might ever have heard, you have given it some thought and maybe a conversation or two?”
Adal laughed. “Yes.”
“Good. Then enjoy the moments while you can.”
“We will.”
So much for time talking about repairing books and typewriters. We unlocked the front door of the shop and were greeted by Chester and Baskerville coming from the other direction. Chester was turning on lights and straightening counters.
“Nathan will be here in about an hour,” Chester said. “But you have an emergency repair in the back first and we have Lloyd’s service this afternoon.”
“A typewriter emergency?” I said.
“Yes, we have a high school student in town who is writing a paper using only his parents’ old typewriter. It’s a deal he made with his teacher or something. Anyway, the carriage lock will not come unlocked. They just left, so I haven’t had a chance to look at it myself. His parents aren’t pleased with him for waiting until their vacation to finish his paper, but I assured them that their child was no lazier than any other high school student. The young man said you would be on the same plane as Wonder Woman, or maybe that was Catwoman, I don’t know, if you got it fixed and ready to type again.”
“Come on, Adal,” I said. “I bet you can handle this one.”
After a tired greeting from Baskerville and a coffee handoff to Chester, we hurried back to the workshop.
The Olympia SM3, with its camouflage green case, always reminded me of a sturdy military machine. The carriage and the keys could be locked in place with a small lever on the top left side of the keyboard. Adal and I both tried to move the lever, but to no avail. The machine was locked, old-time talk for modern technology’s “frozen.” However, everything is connected in one way or another with these old machines, so we set out to follow the trail. We lifted the case lid and peered inside. It looked like the small mechanical pieces were in place.
The last step was to turn the machine over and look at the small piece that was actually the lock, the thing that kept everything from moving when it was in the locked position.
“I think we found the problem,” Adal said.
“I believe so,” I said.
I reached to the shelves, grabbed some long-nosed pliers, and handed them to Adal. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“Thank you,” he said.
With the pliers, he pulled on the small piece of plastic that had become wedged under the lock. It took a tug or two to remove it, but once it was out, the machine worked fine.
It looked like we were destined for superhero status.
“It was just a random piece of plastic stuck in there,” I said when Chester poked his head in. “It’s fixed. We can’t even charge for this one.”
“Excellent! I just saw Nathan park out front. He’ll be right in, I’m sure.”
We hurried out to greet him. Even Baskerville hadn’t climbed up to his shelf yet. The cat hurried to the door when he must have sensed his new friend would be inside soon.
“I have returned with a new rental car and everything!” Nathan said when he came through the door. Baskerville let him pick him up, but demanded to be put down after a brief greeting. The cat liked the author, but enough was enough.
“You look very good,” I said.
“Thank you. No worse for wear. Well, tired a little, but the doctors cleared me and told me to return to as normal a life as I was living before, so here I am.”
“I always knew you’d be fine,” Chester said.
Even Baskerville didn’t buy that one. The cat sent Chester a tail twitch before heading up to the warmth from the rising sun.
It was good to get back to work. The Hoovens loomed along one wall, making me think of the upcoming service for Lloyd every few minutes or so, but Nathan was in good shape and tons more polite and patient than he’d been before what could have been another terrible tragedy. We opened the new box of type, happy to find it in spectacular shape, and as close to being Bridgnorth as could be, and started putting together the first printing plate for one of Nathan’s poems, titled “Hearts Away.”
It was a sweet poem, only sixteen lines, but when each letter is placed one at a time into the plate, sixteen lines can be hours of work. And when all three of the people, four if you included Chester’s intermittent comments and suggestions, were perfectionists, more time had to be added in.
But no one became impatient with anyone along the way. It wouldn’t last, of course, but for now, perspectives had changed, and little quirks were more appealing than annoying.
Nathan had written thirty-six poems for the book and he only wanted to print on one side of each page, making the facing pages a place for people to write their own poems or sketch something the facing poem might have inspired. It was going to be a lovely book, particularly when we (he—he wanted to do this by himself, but we offered to help) bound each copy with the plain red hardboard he’d chosen.
“Aunt Clare,” Marion said as she stuck her head through the doorway between the workshop and the retail area. “There’s a lady with a book here to see you.”
“Okay.” I took off my work apron, hung it on a hook beside the doorway, sent one last glance toward Adal and Nathan, who were deep into setting up the next press plate, and then went through to the front.
“Sarah, hi,” I said. “Marion, this is an old high school classmate of mine, and she owns the new bookshop up the hill. Starry Night Books. Sarah Senot.”
Sarah nodded toward Marion, but they didn’t shake hands. Sarah held a bag tight to her chest, and her eyes were wide and a tiny bit crazy.
“Everything okay?” I said.
“Sure, I’m . . . well, someone brought this into the shop today. It was in the bottom of a box of other books. The second I saw it I tried to call the woman who’d brought it in, but no luck, so I came here right away.”
“What is it?”
Gingerly, Sarah placed the bag on the counter. “Will you move all the rest of this stuff?” she said to Marion.
I nodded when Marion looked at me for approval, though I wasn’t sure I liked Sarah’s tone. We’d see how it went.
Stacks of brochures, a cup full of pencils, and some business cards were dispatched to the lower shelves, clearing the counter for the mystery item.
“This is going to curl your hair,” Sarah said.
Marion laughed, but put her hand up to her mouth and then took a step backward. Sarah blinked at her.
“Well, more than it already is, I guess,” Sarah said. “I know you guys know things about books. You’re the first person I thought I should show this to, Clare.”
Slowly, she unfolded the top of the bag and then reached inside. With all the drama that her wide eyes promised, she pulled out a book.
“Carrie!” Marion said.
“Not just Carrie, but in pristine condition, I see,” I said. “May I?”
“Sure. Just be careful. Look on the title page, though,” Sarah said.
I’d been to this rodeo before. I knew how to be careful with an ol
d valuable book, but I gave her a conciliatory smile.
I lifted the cover and found the title page. “It’s signed.”
“Yes, and look at the dust jacket,” Sarah said. “This book is perfection.”
I checked the print run. “First edition, signed copy in perfect condition. This is amazing,” I said. “You found a good one.”
“No, not found. It was given to me. I don’t know what to do with it,” she said.
“I think trying to get ahold of the person who dropped off the box of books was the right thing to do.”
“They didn’t give me a valid number, or they didn’t write it down correctly. It’s not a working number,” Sarah said.
“Well, maybe just keep the book safe for a while in case you hear from them again.”
The door to the workshop opened and Nathan stepped through.
Sarah gasped and put her hand over her mouth, similar to what Marion had done a moment ago. We all looked at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I knew he’d been found, but I didn’t know he was here.”
“Oh yes,” I said.
“It’s okay.” She smiled and tried to be casual. She looked at Nathan. “I’m such a fan. I think I’m more surprised that you’re here, right in front of me, than the fact that I knew you were okay. Wait, that sounds terrible. I’m glad you’re okay . . . but, well, I guess I’m a fan.”
“Thank you,” Nathan said as he spied the book on the counter and moved toward it with quick, long steps. “Oh my.”
“I know—isn’t it something?” Sarah said as she moved next to him, closer than most people would move next to someone they didn’t know well, maybe even a friend.
Nathan bristled and took a step away from her. Sarah wasn’t deterred and she stepped right back toward him.
“It is an amazing book,” Nathan said. His eyebrows came together as he frowned down at Sarah. He was only slightly taller than her, but he’d puffed out, like an animal sensing a predator. He looked at me. “Excuse me for interrupting. Just when you have a minute, we have a question.”
“I’ll be right there,” I said to his retreating figure.
Comic Sans Murder Page 18