“All right. Thank you, Clint.”
I went back to dusting the shelves of snow globes, burning with curiosity over the identity of the disappearing bicycler. My mind went back to our high school days. I’d looked through the yearbooks, but there were a few kids from each class who didn’t have their photo included for one reason or another. Was there a boy who had maybe transferred at midyear, too late to make it into the book? That was a possibility. The problem was, I could not think of anyone, girl or boy, who had done that.
I wandered over to the archway holding a snow globe filled with ice-skating children. Pinky was washing some mugs. “Hey, Pink, do you remember any new boys coming to our school senior year?”
Pinky gave her head a shake and scrunched up her face. “What in the world brought that up?”
“I’m trying to place that guy who has been popping in and out of my life the past week. I don’t think he’s one of our classmates, unless he’s changed a lot since high school.”
“We didn’t have any new kids come during the school year. Mary Ellen Davies moved here the summer before, but she was the only one. You are digging deep. Holler next time you see him. I’ll run out and see if I can trip him.”
I shook my head at her proposal then looked at the snow globe and gave it a shake. “I’m just plain old frustrated, that’s all.” I went back to my duties and returned the globe to its spot. For some reason I felt the need to look at each snow globe in the shop for assurance that no new ones had appeared. I had gotten paranoid, for sure.
Each globe was unique and held a story or dream or promise, it seemed. And if you were a purist about what constituted a good snowy scene, some of the scenes fit and some didn’t. There were a number from places around the world, like the Eiffel Tower standing tall with green grass at its base, or the desert town of Bethlehem in Israel, where snow was very rare, or New Dehli, India, where I was pretty sure it never snowed. But I wasn’t the official snow globe police who picked which cities were captured under snowy domes and which ones weren’t.
And there were the other ones, like a single ballerina who spun to music on her tippy toes when the crank on her globe was wound and released, the one with a trio of youthful cherubs with their mouths open in apparent song, and the one with a carousel of horses. Whether the figurines technically fit in a snow globe or not, it didn’t seem to matter. I liked each one of them, and so did my customers. I found the globe I went back to the most often: the lighthouse on the brown ceramic base. I turned on its light, picked it up, gave it a shake, then set it down and watched it for a while, appreciating what it represented.
“Are you dreaming about a trip to the North Shore, or what?” Pinky’s voice startled me.
“Maybe next summer. No, this is one of my favorites. A port in the storm, a light at the end of the tunnel.”
Pinky came up beside me and practically stuck her nose in my face. “You’re not getting all deep on me, are you? Like, I don’t think you’re talking about lighthouses here, but what they might symbolize.”
“Maybe.”
Pinky put her arm around my shoulder. “Why don’t you go home early today? I’ll stay.”
I reached up and gave her dangling hand a squeeze. “No, the deal is, you come in early, I stay late.”
“All right, then, I’ll take off. It’s four o’clock, and no sign of Erin yet today. I was afraid to call her what with Clint about to question her and everything.”
“Yeah, she almost always stops by on Fridays; she must have had something else to do. I’ve been waiting for her to call and tell us how it went when Clint talked to her. Which tells me it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Yeah, I’ll drive by her place and let you know if there’s a police car there.”
“Okay.”
“And I’ll be on the lookout for a tall guy riding around on a bike.”
“Be sure to call Mark or Clint or the PD first if you do. Then call me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Toodle-oo.” She turned and headed back to her shop. A minute later she called out a final good-bye. I finished dusting the last shelf and paused by a snow globe of two women sitting at a table with cups of coffee in front of them. For some reason, it reminded me that I needed to talk to Pamela Hemley about someone letting May Gregors into her house at a time Pam said she hadn’t been there. Maybe I’d invite her over for a cup of coffee.
I went to the counter and used the shop phone to make the call. It was after 5:30, and Pam answered right away. “Hello?” She sounded hesitant.
“Hi, it’s Camryn.”
“Hi.”
“Pam, I was wondering if you’d have time to stop by my shop. We could have a cup of something at Brew Ha-Ha.”
“Why? Are you doing this because it’s the one-week anniversary of, you know . . .”
“Well, no, that’s not it, but we can sure talk about it if you want.”
“When do you want me to come over?”
“As soon as you can make it, if that works. I usually close at six, but I’ll wait for you.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. “Okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Good. See you then.”
I hung up and prayed I wouldn’t totally mess up what I had to say. I straightened some items on my counter then headed into the coffee shop. As I grabbed two mugs, the bell on Pinky’s door dinged and Pam came in. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Sorry, I sort of had a crying jag,” she said.
“Understandable, given everything you’ve been through. Come and sit down and tell me what you want to drink.”
She glanced up at the menu on the wall. “Maybe a hot chocolate. No offense, but nothing looks that good to me right now.”
“That’s all right. A hot chocolate coming right up. With or without marshmallows?”
“Without, thanks.”
I served up two of the same and carried them to a table in the back. “Let’s sit here.”
I set the mugs down and Pam took one of the pink padded chairs and I sat across from her on a black one.
We each took a sip before I said, “Something has been bothering me and I need to tell you about it.”
She raised her bloodshot eyes. “What?”
“I stopped by your house on Wednesday morning and I saw someone who really surprised me go in.”
“Who?” Her eyebrows drew together.
“May Gregors.”
“May Gregors went into my house?” I thought she was going to drop her mug, so I reached over and guided it to the table. “On Wednesday morning?”
“Yes, I tried to tell you before this, but I honestly didn’t know the best way to do it.”
Pam stared at me. “You’re saying May Gregors went into my house. How? The doors were locked.” Her surprise was genuine and confirmed she’d told me the truth about being at work.
“Someone let her in.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see who it was. I thought it was you, but then when you said you weren’t home, I figured it was your sister, Lauren. But you said she had gone back to her home in St. Cloud, so I don’t know.”
“Lauren,” Pam whispered. “Only four people have a key to my house. My two kids and Lauren and me. Lauren.” She shook her head. “Why would she let Jerrell’s ex-wife into my house?”
“If it was her, you’ll have to ask. And there’s something else. May left carrying a brown paper bag she didn’t have when she went in. I thought maybe you had found her missing snow globe–making supplies.”
Pam shook her head. “She took something from my house?”
“I don’t know what it was. I’d be happy to be there with you when you talk to May, or even to your sister. You know, to verify what I saw.”
Pam pulled out her cell phone. “I’m calling Lauren to ask her about it.” She hit numbers and a few seconds later said, “Hi. . . . Really? I’m at Brew Ha-Ha. Meet me here instead. . . . Okay, ’bye.” She pushed the end button. “Lauren’s in Brooks Lan
ding. She wanted to surprise me, take me out for a nice dinner.”
Lauren arrived in no time, and when she walked through the door it struck me that it had only been a week since I’d met the two of them when they had attended May’s fateful class. Lauren’s eyebrows rose when she saw I was the one sharing a drink with her sister. She slid onto a chair between us and she and Pam locked eyes.
“Can I get you something to drink, Lauren?” I asked, mostly to break the tension.
She threw a glance my way. “No, thanks. What’s going on here anyway?”
Pam seemed unable to speak as she and Lauren studied each other’s expressions, so I butted in. “We’re trying to solve a little mystery here.”
Lauren turned to me. “Oh? What kind of mystery?”
“A Wednesday-morning-at-Pam’s-house kind of mystery.”
“Wednesday morning?” Lauren looked down and then sideways at Pam. “Did you talk to May, or what?”
Pam shook her head. “So it was you who let her into my house?”
“I was going to tell you when you were more up to it.”
“Tell me what?”
“That box of pictures and letters Jerrell had from his daughter. The one he had hidden that you found when he was in the halfway house. You showed it to me last year and said you should find out where his daughter was. And now that Jerrell’s dead, there was no reason not to get them back to her. Or her mother.”
“So you went behind my back and had May pick those things up?”
Lauren reached over and put her hand on Pam’s, but Pam pulled hers away and dropped both hands onto her lap. “I guess I was wrong, when you put it that way. I was trying to protect you from having to deal with that along with everything else. So I called May and she was happy to get her daughter’s letters and pictures.”
I supposed May wouldn’t have felt comfortable confessing all that to me.
Tears formed in Pam’s eyes and dropped onto her cheekbones. “You don’t have to protect me from everything, Lauren. I was planning to meet with Jerrell’s daughter sometime. Tell her that he had problems, but that he really was a caring man, deep down.”
Lauren didn’t seem to want to argue with Pam about that because she said, “Old habits die hard and I am really sorry I interfered. I stuck my nose in your business again. I know you loved Jerrell, and you can still meet with his daughter sometime.”
Pam’s shoulders shrugged up and down then she nodded. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I guess I could use some more of your help after all.”
Lauren leaned in toward her. “What is it?”
“Jerrell’s going to be buried tomorrow. I thought I’d be the only one there, but maybe his daughter should at least know about it, in case she’d want to be there to say a final good-bye.”
Lauren lowered her chin and concentrated on Pam. “So you want me to tell May so she can tell her daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Where and when is it?”
“Hillside Cemetery, at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
Lauren’s lips formed an “ooh.” “It’s late notice, but I’ll call May right away and then the ball will be in her court.” Lauren reached for Pam’s hand and got a good grip on it that time. “And I’ll be there with you.”
“So will I. If it’s okay with you, Pam?” Did I really say that? Pinky and Erin would kill me if they knew. Not to mention what Mark and Clint would have to say about it.
More tears spilled out of Pam’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She pulled a paper napkin from the holder in the center of the table and blew her nose. “Lauren, I don’t think I’m up to going anywhere tonight. I’m not hungry and I feel a mess.”
Lauren stood and waited for Pam. “Not a problem. How about I come over to your house and we just hang out?”
Pam pushed herself up and nodded. She looked at me and her lips quivered. “Thank you.”
I gave her my best smile. “See you tomorrow.”
Before any of us had taken a step, the shop door’s bell dinged and in walked Erin, who stopped short when she saw the three of us standing there. “What’s going on?”
Erin and Pam exchanged dirty looks until Lauren grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “We were just leaving.”
“What were they doing here, really?” Erin asked after the door closed behind them.
“It’s a long story, but first Pam stopped by, then her sister joined her.”
“Pam was crying.”
“I think she’s done that a lot this past week.”
“I know you’re about to close up, but I had a message from Clint, and when I called him back just now he asked if—since I was here—he could stop by to ask me about something.”
That answered one of my burning questions: Clint had not yet spoken to Erin.
I nodded. “Did you go somewhere after school today, Erin?”
“Yeah, I kind of forgot about it, or I would have told you guys. We had a baby shower for one of the teachers. She won’t be going on leave until sometime around Christmas, but we thought we’d do it now before things get crazy with the holidays.”
Clint came in with his photo file. “Hi, Erin. Camryn.” He glanced around the empty coffee shop. “Not overly wild in here.”
“This is as busy as I like it at closing time. People feel pressured to leave when I turn the Open sign to the Closed side, and I don’t like making them uncomfortable.”
“I suppose.”
“As long as we don’t have another Friday night like the last one,” Erin said.
We all agreed on that.
“Erin, I’ll get straight to the point of why we’re here. I understand you have a set of Sharpcut knives.”
Erin gave her head a little shake and her shoulders a shrug. “As a matter of fact, I do. But what does—” She stopped when the “why” part of the question dawned on her. My own heart beat a little harder wondering how Erin was feeling and how she would react to Clint’s questions.
Clint laid his folder on the counter and opened it, revealing the knife photo inside. He picked it up and handed it to Erin, who looked at it but didn’t take it from him. She nodded. “It looks like mine, except mine had a little burn mark from my gas stove.”
“You said ‘had.’”
“I haven’t seen it for a while. It just disappeared. I didn’t have much use for that size knife with the little cooking I do for myself. I use the paring knife, mostly. Pinky was looking for it one time she was there and wanted to cut a muffin but she couldn’t find it.”
Clint studied her. “Any idea how long it’s been missing?”
“I really don’t. As far as I knew, it was in my drawer with the rest of the knives.”
“Days, weeks, months?”
Erin shrugged. “It could be years. I have no clue. My mother left most of hers when she moved so I have tons I never use.”
Clint reached over and picked a photo from the bottom of the pile. “That burn mark. Did it resemble this? It’s the reverse side of the same knife.” He held it up so we could both look at it. Erin teetered a bit and I put my arm around her waist to steady her.
“It looks just like my knife. But how? How . . .”
I guided Erin onto a counter stool and Clint picked up the folder, replaced the pictures, and closed it. He pulled out a small memo pad and pen and set them on the counter in front of Erin. “When was it that Pinky was looking for that knife?”
Erin shook her head. “Maybe three or four weeks ago.”
“Then why don’t you write down the names of everyone who’s been in your house in the last month or so. We’ll start from there.”
Erin narrowed her eyes at Clint. “Really? Okay, well, give me a minute.”
The thought that Erin’s knife had disappeared at some point and ended up being used in a murder distressed me, to say the least. She couldn’t have known it was her knife before she saw the picture of the little burn mark, could she?
&
nbsp; “I’ll go lock up my shop,” I said.
“We’re keeping you,” Clint said.
I waved my hand. “Not at all. It takes a while to ring out the cash register and take care of all the little last-minute details.” I left them to deal with their official business while I went about my own, still thinking about how it could be that my friend was indirectly involved in Jerrell Powers’s death. What a thing for her to deal with. The man who had broken into her house had ended up stabbed with her very own knife. A very strange coincidence, but things like that popped up in News of the Weird every day.
I dawdled, pretending to be doing any number of actual closing-up-shop activities, especially when Clint wandered away from Erin’s side to peer into my shop. That was when I disappeared into the back room for a very long six minutes. I finished with everything I could think of to do then returned to the coffee shop. Erin was still hard at it, poking the pen into the paper as she thought, and then adding another name to the list. She looked like a student taking a complex test.
I checked the coffee and hot water machines then cleared and wiped off the tables as quietly as possible. It was evident Clint was a man used to waiting, and it occurred to me that was part of his job: hurry up and wait.
“That’s all I can think of. My friends, work friends, family.” Erin tapped the pen against the side of her head. “I’m trying to remember if there have been any repair people, but no, not in the last month. So I guess that’s it.” She slid the paper and pen to her right, toward Clint.
Clint read over the names. “Looks like I know most of the folks. Do you have phone numbers for your school friends?” He handed it back to Erin.
Erin pulled out her cell phone. “Give me a minute; they’re in my contacts.” She worked for a while, looking up numbers then jotting them under the names they belonged with. When she finished she handed the list back to Clint. “Anything else?” she asked.
Clint shook his head. “Not for right now. It looks like I got plenty to keep me busy.” He headed to the door. “Call me if you think of anyone else, Erin.”
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