“I’m sorry, Ruth,” she said. “You’re right, of course.”
“I don’t know if I’m right, but I don’t know what else to do.” I took a sip of my coffee, surprised by how bitter it tasted. “Caroline, do you know anything about Mark’s family?” I asked.
“Nothing, I’m afraid. He changed the subject anytime it came up.”
“Had he filled out the employee information sheet?” I asked. We were new to being employers, and had taken a one-day small business owner 101 course a couple of weeks ago.
“No, not yet. Remember, we were going to ask Kristen to look it over first.”
“Right, I remember.” Kristen Gauger had been my grandfather’s lawyer, and she’d been walking Caroline and me through the legal minefields of running the Cog & Sprocket.
I took another sip of coffee, more for the caffeine than the experience. I tried not to wince.
“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” she said. “It’s reheated from yesterday.”
“Reheated?” I said. I took another sip. “Sad, because reheated still tastes better than mine. Though this is pretty bad.” Caroline smiled, and I smiled back.
“We need to keep moving forward,” she said. “Besides, maybe you can help figure out what happened to Mark. Oh, don’t give me that wide-eyed, innocent look. I see the gears going—you have a glint in your eye. You know that if it weren’t for you, Pat Reed would be going on trial for your grandfather’s death. I saw you last night, making lists, trying to make sense of everything.”
“I doubt Jeff Paisley needs my help,” I said.
“Everyone needs help,” she said. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go over to Marytown and pick up the paper goods. I have a couple of other errands I want to run, and then I’ll meet you at the shop.”
“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Caroline.”
“Let me go up and pull myself together. Pat’s out in the workshop. Why don’t you go out and say hello.”
I almost told Caroline she looked pulled together to me, but I looked more closely and noted the crooked lipstick and the strands of hair that were falling out of her twist—a look far more my style than hers. Maybe she did need to spruce up.
chapter 12
I grabbed my coat and went out the kitchen door, onto the deck. The deck was a new addition, and it wrapped all around the side of the house. I stopped for a moment, and took in the view, and smiled. When I was growing up, I spent summers with my grandparents. It was the happiest place in my childhood, this lake, this house. This view. I learned about clocks, and fixing them. I also escaped the benign neglect of my academic parents, who had no interest in the family business.
The workshop was even newer than the deck, and a wonderful addition to the house. It looked like a barn, and the building permit had been for a storage unit. It was, technically, a storage unit. A storage unit that you could live in, happily.
I walked out to the workshop and found Pat Reed in a very familiar pose, gently and carefully examining the case of an old clock. My grandfather and Caroline had bought out two estates last summer, and there were dozens of clocks in each collection. We’d gotten a few clocks ready for a quick turnaround in order to get cash flowing into the business. We were still assessing the other clocks. There were a few beautiful replicas that needed some tender loving care and replacement parts, and Pat was focusing on those.
“You’re here early,” I said.
“Rhonda Whatshername. You know, the one from that design firm in Boston?”
“Rhonda Nichols.”
“Right, that’s the one. She’s coming by tonight to pick this one up for her clients,” Pat said. “I wanted to come by and give this beauty one more buff and get her ready for transport.” He ran his hand along the oak case of the grandfather clock. Not priceless, but Pat was right, she was a beauty. “Perfect for the dearest dining room on Beacon Hill,” Rhonda had said. Rhonda spent a lot of time looking at our clocks and trying to imagine new homes for them with her long list of wealthy clients. She was a bit pretentious, but her checks cleared and she gave us a lot of business.
“Need any help?” I asked.
“No, I’ve got this. I haven’t had time to get your car jumped, but I’ll get to it as soon as I get back.”
“No worries,” I said, masking my disappointment with a grin that I hoped read as cheerful. “Caroline is going to give me a ride into town. Have you been there yet this morning?”
“No, not yet. Nancy and Moira headed in first thing to open the Sleeping Latte. Nancy called me, and Ben’s shop is still closed; police are still there. She said the Latte was packed, but I’d imagine she’s found out what there is to find out by now.”
I laughed, but then sobered up.
“Listen, Pat, do you think we should go on with the opening, like nothing’s happened?”
“No, not like nothing’s happened. But we should stay on track. We’ve spent a lot of time, and money, letting folks know we were going to have an opening party. Won’t do anyone any good to keep the shop closed any longer than necessary.”
“That’s what I was thinking. But I feel so heartless.”
“Tell you what. We can change the plans as needed. Maybe do something to honor Mark. Has someone been in touch with his family?”
“I don’t think he has family, at least not so they’re in touch. He’d have gone to visit them instead of spending Christmas with all of us, don’t you think? Tuck would know—they went to high school together. I should have asked him last night. Anyway, we may need to help make arrangements. Why are you looking at me like that, Pat?”
“Ruth, you’ve got a lot of your grandmother in you, you know that? The young man worked for you for just a few weeks, and now you’re determined to do right by him.”
“He was a good guy,” I said as I struggled to hold back the tears pooled beneath my eyelids. “Besides, someone has to take care of him.”
“Let Jeff Paisley take care of finding out who did what, all right? You hear me?”
“Yes, sir, I will let Jeff do his job. I promise.” Didn’t mean I wouldn’t do what I could to help, though.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out. A text. From Kim Gray.
“Kim wants me to call her.”
“Call her? At seven in the morning?” Pat asked.
“That’s what the text says. I still can’t believe she didn’t come by last night. For all we know she’s sitting on a beach somewhere, calling it all in.”
“I haven’t seen her for a while, but she avoids Nancy like the plague, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Nancy did threaten her job at the last town meeting. Publicly. On the record.”
“She did indeed. And she’ll do it again at the next town meeting. If nothing else it gets folks attending them. Kim probably has another hoop she wants you to jump through before the thirty-first.”
“Without a doubt,” I said. When Grover Winter left my grandfather the old Town Hall in his will, he must have assumed a few things. First, he didn’t count on being murdered, so he expected more time to iron out details. Second, he would have expected that Kim Gray would act in line with his wishes, since he handpicked her for her job. He either underestimated or misunderstood Kim Gray’s motives and intentions.
I didn’t. Kim Gray had a vision for Orchard that included adding tourist dollars by getting rid of the historic downtown area and starting fresh with a bunch of chain stores. We had been able to scuttle parts of her plans, but she still had some technicalities on her side. Even though we were only days away from the deadline, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when the old Town Hall reverted to me on the last day of the year.
“You want me to make the call for you?” Pat asked. I smiled and shook my head.
“No. Thanks, Pat.”
“Don’t trust me to keep my temper?”
“It isn’t that. As it is, getting the clocks ready to go will be a lot of work to do in a short amount of time, and we both
know that meeting with Kim throws you off your game for hours.”
“She does wind me up, that’s for sure. I’m getting as bad as Nancy.”
“I wish Kristen was back already. I’d like to have a lawyer on this call, but she’s on the road today.”
“Hopefully you won’t need one.”
“With Kim Gray, you always need a lawyer.”
• • •
“What do you mean I need to come up with a plan? What do you call the hundred-page document I delivered to your office, as requested, three weeks ago?” I said loudly. I wasn’t quite shouting, but I was coming close, closer than was helpful. I took a deep breath and lowered my tone. “Explain the ordinance you are talking about.”
“The proposed changes you submitted to the Town Hall go against the historical nature of the building and need to be voted on by the Board of Selectmen as well as the Town Historical Council.”
“What Town Historical Council?”
“We formed it at the last meeting. You should have been there.”
“If I knew when the meetings were, I would have been there. Since you didn’t announce it in public seventy-two hours in advance, as is stipulated in the town charter, I doubt that this meeting, or this Town Historical Council, will hold up in court.” Kim coughed a few times, and I knew I had her. Of course, I had no idea if what I’d said was true or not, but it sure sounded good.
“It was an emergency meeting, held on December twenty-fifth.”
“Over dinner, no doubt,” I said. “Where was my invitation?”
“Over dessert, actually. I believe that Heather Goody invited you for dessert, did she not?”
She did, indeed. But I’d decided to spend the day with the Reeds, and Heather Goody did not extend the invitation to them. Small-town politics. I was off my game.
“The Town Historical Council is a group of concerned citizens determined to keep the integrity of downtown Orchard intact. As you know, the old Town Hall is one of the oldest buildings in Orchard that is still standing.”
“I do know that,” I said. I didn’t need a history lesson from Kim Gray. Orchard had been devastated in a flood and then flattened by a fire a few years later. The old Town Hall had remained standing, due to the fact that the building itself was made of stone. In New England, getting rid of stones in farmer’s fields was a difficult and necessary task. The stones were used in walls, foundations, and, in some cases, buildings. In the case of the old Town Hall, the outside of the building was covered by clapboards, but the structure was solid stone.
“Your plan does not maintain the historical integrity of the building. As you know, the clock tower was added much later and is not historically accurate. Since rebuilding the tower is integral to your proposal to the town, the plan itself cannot be approved without modifications. Town funding has been pulled from the project until this issue is settled.”
“Funding is pulled? And what modifications?” I said. Orchard wasn’t putting a lot of money into the project to begin with. Most of it was tied to upgraded electric and heating in the building. But still, we were trying to make an end-of-the-year goal.
“The Town Historical Council will come up with recommendations by the end of the day.”
“That gives us a day to get ready for the meeting on Friday. That isn’t enough time.”
“I suggest that you speak with the head of the council. Beckett Green.”
“Beckett Green? Is he even a resident of Orchard?”
“He is, and an important business owner in addition to a student of history.”
In addition to a thorn in my side. What had I ever done to Beckett Green?
chapter 13
Caroline dropped me off at the back of the Cog & Sprocket, just in case any looky-loos were still lurking, and then continued on to Marytown. I’d told her about my conversation with Kim Gray, but I tried to keep concern out of my voice. I had a feeling Kim and I were becoming locked into a game of chess, and I was losing. I needed a better strategy. Who could help me with that? The first name that came to mind was Ben Clover, but he had his own troubles right now, including a murder in his shop.
I let myself in and checked the clocks on the wall. Friday was winding day, so everything was running, though not at the same pace. Normally, that was the first conversation I had every morning with Mark Pine.
“How are the patients doing this morning?” I’d ask him, and he’d report back.
“Ugly cherub lost a minute,” he’d say. “The pastoral scene’s chime still sounds sick.” Mark had taken to nicknaming the clocks. We were working on several banjo clocks right now, so specificity about the painting on their door or the decorative style helped us keep track. Mark did the naming, and some of them made me laugh. They were the first signs of his quirky sense of humor, and I’d taken it that he was feeling more comfortable and opening up. My heart ached, and I shook my head.
I needed more coffee, and some breakfast. I considered going straight down to the Sleeping Latte, but decided to employ my own cooking skills this morning. I wasn’t up to conversation. I needed to sort some things on my own.
I poked my head through the door to the front of the shop and saw Jeff Paisley sitting in the chair and a half in the showroom. I took a couple of steps forward and noted his outstretched legs and his head resting on the back of the chair. His reading glasses were on, and he was still holding his cell phone in his right hand.
I tiptoed backward, and went upstairs to my apartment, letting myself in. I half hoped that Bezel would run out to see me, but she barely lifted her head when I went back to the bed to check on her. Bezel was not a morning cat.
I decided to skip the shower for now, and did what I could with my hair. There wasn’t much I could do, since my hairstyle had gone from curly to frizzy at some point last night. I pulled some product through the tangles, trying to tame it back to curly, and then I washed my face. A sweep of blush, a little eye shadow, some mascara, lip gloss, and I began to look human.
I pulled on some lined leggings. I reached for a brightly flowered tunic, but then reached farther into the wardrobe and pulled out a black dress with white flowers. More subdued, and appropriate for the day. Earrings made out of clock parts and my clogs completed the look.
The coffee was brewing and the omelet was cooking, so I went back downstairs. Jeff Paisley was still sleeping heavily in the chair. I hated to wake him up, but it had to be done.
“Jeff,” I said quietly, touching his shoulder.
He sat up so quickly I jumped back and put my hand on my heart.
“Sorry,” we both said at once.
“Do you always wake up at attention?” I asked.
“They didn’t finish up next door till around five,” he said, taking in his surroundings. “I came back here to check messages. I must have fallen asleep. What time is it?” He looked down at his cell phone, but it didn’t respond when he turned it on. He stared at the blank screen.
I tapped the top of his phone, and made a sweeping gesture with my hand. At least a dozen clocks announced the time from the walls and surfaces immediately in front of him. “It is just about eight. The clocks will start chiming any minute. Did they wake you up last night?”
“I got used to them around four o’clock.” Jeff put his phone down and rubbed his fingers over the corners of his eyes.
“Tell you what—I made some eggs and coffee. Come up, plug in your phone, and have some food,” I said.
“I should get into the office,” he said, running his hand back over his hair.
“We both know this is probably the only food you’ll have for hours, and you can’t do anything if your phone doesn’t work. Don’t be stubborn.”
“You sounded like my mother just then,” he said. “Her nickname for me is Mule.”
“Sounded like your mother?” I said, putting both hands on my hips. “You’re a smooth talker, you know that?”
Jeff laughed and picked up his tie and jacket from the chair b
eside him. “It’s early. Besides, my mother is a great lady. Okay, you win. Coffee and eggs, made by Ruth.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Or is that cautious?”
“I’ve never tasted your cooking. And you yourself have said that your coffee-making skills were lacking.”
“I’ve got my game back. Bought a better coffeemaker and I’m playing it safe with the French roast. But you can be the judge.”
• • •
I poured Jeff another cup of coffee, his third. His eyes were still red, and he had dark smudges underneath, but he looked better. I was still nursing my second cup, but I felt better too. The food had also helped. Simple fare: eggs, cheese, and some roasted vegetables I had left over from lunch the day before. Simple, but plentiful and filling.
Jeff checked his phone, which was still plugged into the wall. He swiped past some messages, but didn’t jump up and rush out the door.
“How is it going?” I asked.
“The state police are involved, so the investigation is in their office.”
“Even though it happened in Orchard?”
“I wasn’t here, and Kim Gray called them in.”
“Can she do that?” I asked.
“She can do whatever she wants to do,” he said.
“Tell me about it. She’s trying to throw another wrench in my plans. Says that the Town Historical Council won’t approve them.”
“Who, or what, is the Town Historical Council?”
“Seems like it is Beckett Green.”
“That guy knows how to make friends, doesn’t he?”
“Has he crossed you too, Jeff?”
“Crossed. Not sure I’d use that word in public, but between you and me, yes. He has put several complaints in with Kim Gray about the way I handle citations in Orchard. Seems I’m not strict enough for his liking.”
“Funny, there are a few folks who think you’re plenty strict enough. Especially lately.”
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