Clock and Dagger

by Julianne Holmes

  I hit the button to unlock the doors. They opened. Pat Reed to the rescue again. I turned to lock the back door of the store and looked over to my right, toward the barbershop, adjusting the belt on my thick, black wrap coat. I saw a faint outline of someone standing in the spill of light from my back door. Ben was staring at his shop.

  “Ben, is that you?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. No one else had that slightly disheveled appearance that was so darn sexy it took my breath away. I hadn’t seen him since he brought the flowers over for Caroline, but it had felt like longer. I realized with a start that I’d missed him, that I wanted to talk to him about everything that had been going on. I finished locking the door and walked down the back stairs to my car.

  “I was coming by, but saw Paisley go into the Cog. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “Interrupt what?” I asked. I tossed my bag onto the passenger’s seat and threw the bag of cookies on top. I turned to look at Ben. I could see his breath, all white in the cold air.

  “He’s been over at your place a lot lately.” Ben dug his hands into his jacket pockets and looked down at the ground. “Just wanted to give you both space.”

  I stood there with my jaw hanging open. “Space for what?” I looked right at Ben, who studiously didn’t look at me. “Ben, Jeff’s on duty right now. He’s using the shop for a couple of meetings.”

  “Meetings? Who with?”

  I looked down at my watch. “Listen, Ben, I’m late to dinner out at Caroline’s. I know, me showing up late, big surprise.” He didn’t even crack a smile. “Do you want to come with me, and I can tell you the whole story on the way?”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.” His jaw was set, and he looked frustrated. Which, of course, ticked me off.

  “Ben, don’t be such a jerk. I’ve had a really hard day.”

  “You’ve had a hard day? My day hasn’t exactly been a picnic.” His voice rose several decibels, which surprised us both. In response, I lowered my own voice.

  “Of course it hasn’t. Things have been terrible around here this week for everyone. Awful. Well, never mind.” I got into my car, keeping the door ajar. I turned the key and was relieved that the car started right away. It was hard to make a dramatic exit when your car wouldn’t start. “I’m not having this conversation with you, not right now. I need to get out to the cottage. Last chance—do you want to come?”

  “No,” he said, turning back toward his shop.

  “Suit yourself,” I said. “Jerk,” I whispered. I made sure it was loud enough for him to hear.

  • • •

  Tonight the moon was behind a cloud. Even if I wanted to hurry, I couldn’t. I tried Caroline’s cell and her landline. No one answered, but I left a message on each, telling her I was on my way. Odd. She should be home. Maybe Zane was already there, and they were catching up.

  I heard what sounded like a bottle breaking. I looked in my rearview mirror, back on the road, to see if I’d run something over. Then I saw the purple flashing light on my cell phone and realized someone was texting me. Nadia must have been playing with my phone’s sound effects again. I’d need to change them back later. Crashing glass was not a great choice, especially while I was driving. Maybe there was a funeral dirge I could use. That would certainly be more fitting. I shook my head, trying to get in a better frame of mind. Tuck was going to be okay, I had to believe that. Everything was going to be okay. That was harder to believe, particularly given the knot in my stomach that kept growing.

  I pulled into the driveway, turned off the car, and checked my phone. Was Caroline texting me? Did she need something for dinner? If she did, I could go back to Orchard and get it for her. I scrolled through, but the text was from Jeff. I opened it and realized he’d texted me a picture. I read the words of the text while I waited for the image to download. Honestly, cell service was a disaster in parts of the Berkshires. I still wasn’t used to that.

  W. Struggs isn’t in jail. Picture left to right—Struggs, Caroline, Zane Phillips. He got out six months ago. Some sort of deal. They’ve lost track of him.

  A chill ran through me. Out of jail? How was I going to break that to Caroline?

  The picture finally loaded, and I recognized it from the one that Zane Phillips had shown me earlier. But that wasn’t right. Maybe it was backward, because Zane Phillips was definitely the man on the right, just many years older and with scars on his face. I could barely breathe when I called Jeff.

  “Jeff, the picture. Left to right. Zane Phillips is the guy with the black shirt, right? Call me,” I said to his voice mail. I looked at the picture again. Neither one had scars. That’s how I’d known Zane was Zane—the scars. That’s how I’d described him to Caroline. I hadn’t noticed much more than the scars. I texted Jeff again.

  The guy in the black shirt, he introduced himself as Zane Phillips. Is that him or not? I texted again, after a minute.

  Jeff, I texted the black shirt guy Caroline’s address. He’s probably there already.

  I sat in the car and waited. After a minute I called again, but it went right to voice mail. I left another message, telling Jeff to get to the cottage as soon as possible.

  I sat in my car, waiting for Jeff to call me. My phone rang. It was Caroline.

  “I’m waiting for a call back from Jeff—” I said.

  “Run, Ruth! Get away from here!” I heard a scream and the phone went dead. The voice was Caroline’s and so was the scream.

  No more waiting. I called 911 and gave the dispatcher my address.

  “We’ll get you help as soon as possible,” the dispatcher said. “It will be a few minutes. Wait for the officer, all right?”

  “Could you call Jeff Paisley and tell him to listen to his messages?” I said. I hung up, but I couldn’t wait. Caroline was in trouble. I couldn’t let her face her abusive ex-husband all by herself.

  • • •

  I stuffed my phone in my coat pocket and searched the glove box looking for something, anything I could use as a weapon. The pointy metal nail set. I kept it in case I ever went off a bridge and had to break a window. I’d watched too many disaster shows than were good for me, but I’d always figured the four-dollar tool carpenters used to push nails into wood was worth the just-in-case investment. It felt ridiculous as a weapon, but it was the best I could do.

  I shoved my keys and the nail set into my other pocket and turned off the interior light. I slipped out of the car and onto the driveway, closing my car as quietly as I could. I locked the car by rote and glanced at the two cars parked beside mine. I recognized Caroline’s, but not the one with the Vermont plates.

  I tiptoed to the front door and peered up through the front window. No one was in the living room but all the lights were on. I tiptoed around to the other side of the front door and peered through that window. The dining room looked empty, but the only light spilled from the living room. The door to the kitchen was closed. I hesitated for a moment. To look into the kitchen I’d have to step up on the deck. I wasn’t sure why I was hesitating, but I trusted my gut. I needed to find another way into the house.

  My heart was pounding. I had trouble swallowing. I forced myself to stop, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. Then another. It helped a little. Not a lot, but a little. Where was Jeff? Where were the police? I retraced my steps back to the living room area of the house and walked around the side. There was a large three-season porch on the side of the house, and I walked over toward it. Again, only the light from the living room illuminated the porch. I creeped over, bent in half to stay below the windowsill line. Once I got closer I lifted my head up and peeked in the window. No one was in there, but someone must have been earlier. The bookcases under the bench seating were cleared. Books were strewn around the room. Was that where the books that Caroline brought out to me had been kept? The ones filled with all of the evidence from the investigation into Wallace Struggs’s criminal dealings and her part in them? Had they been hiding in plain sight
this entire time?

  I walked around to the back of the house, again ducking under windows. It was tough since the rear of the house faced the water, so there were a lot of large windows. Big windows. I crouched lower and walked like a duck. My thighs screamed from the effort. I paid attention to my path, trying to avoid sticks or leaves, anything that might give me away. It was slow going, but I didn’t want to rush. Where was Caroline? Who was with her and why was she so scared?

  I was halfway around the house. In a few more feet I’d reach the side of the deck, the one that led out to the small shed where Caroline kept the garbage cans in the back of the house, close enough for convenience but impossible for raccoons to reach. Maybe she had something I could use as a weapon in the shed? It was worth a look. Just one more step. Boom. Floodlights turned night into day. I blinked my eyes, trying to refocus quickly, but it was no good. Damn, the motion-sensor lights were on. How could I have forgotten about them? I froze and let my eyes adjust. I turned to retrace my steps and go and wait for Jeff.

  A shadow swooped in front of me, blocking the light, stepping toward me.

  “Ruth, come join us. Caroline, you were wrong,” he said, calling into the house. “She’s out here.”

  “Oh, hello, Zane. I was just checking on . . . something.” Brilliant conversationalist, that’s me. Quick on my feet as always. I looked up, but he was standing behind the lights, so I saw only a shadow. Why wasn’t Caroline answering? Could she even hear him?

  “I’m sure you were. Come in.”

  “I forgot something in the car,” I said dumbly, turning to go back around the house.

  He covered the three steps to my side in a single movement. Once he stepped in front of the lights, I could see him more clearly. I could also see the gun in his hand.

  chapter 31

  I thought about making a run for it even though my legs were still cramped. I remembered reading that most people are terrible shots when they were surprised. It was dark out. But as if he could read my mind, he grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged me toward the open kitchen door, tossing me into the room. I didn’t fall, but I did hit the kitchen table with my left hip, hard. I made an effort not to wince, and I turned to look at him. I avoided staring at the gun, but it was tough. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. What had he done to her?

  “Zane, surely we can—”

  “You can cut the ‘Zane’ crap, Ruth. You wouldn’t be sneaking around the house, peeking in windows, if you didn’t know the truth.”

  “Okay, Wallace Struggs. You’ve got me,” I said. I clenched my jaw tight, trying to keep the rising bile at bay.

  A terrifying, joyless laugh erupted from the middle of Struggs’s chest. “You got it in one. I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t,” I said. Wallace Struggs. I needed to start trusting my gut more. Caroline’s affection for her caring friend Zane Phillips and the uneasy feeling I had about the man whom I had met never quite fit. My gut was right. Wallace Struggs was a creep. And he had a gun.

  “Where’s Caroline?” I demanded.

  “She’s fine, just fine. You’ll see her soon enough. Let’s us catch up, shall we? We’re practically family, after all.”

  Family. Was he kidding? I looked at Wallace. The scars I’d noticed before seemed so fake now. As if he could read my mind, he brushed the bottom of his face with his free hand. He wasn’t wearing a hat now. His dark glasses were sitting on top of his head. I could see his entire face. His looks were compelling, but the blue eyes that stared at me weren’t human. His mask was literally slipping as a fake scar peeled off into his hand. He had been wearing Halloween makeup and I had fallen for it.

  “Let me see Caroline,” I said.

  “I told you I wanted to talk!” he shouted suddenly, smacking his free hand down on the countertop. “I make the rules here. Me. Don’t you want to ask me about Zane?”

  “What happened to Zane?” I whispered.

  “Caroline asked the same thing. He’s fine. I’m sure someone will find him soon. It must be difficult for him, since I have his phone with me, but still. One would hope that his absence from society will be noticed sooner rather than later.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I suppose you might as well know. I left him locked in his basement,” he said with a little chuckle. “With food and drink. Provided he survived the fall, I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “So you didn’t kill him.” I looked around the kitchen, hoping to be able to grab a knife or a rolling pin. Something. No such luck. There wasn’t even a pan out on a counter.

  “Of course I didn’t kill him. I merely taught him a lesson. As I will with Caroline. A valuable lesson.” His eyes twinkled.

  I shivered. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  I shook my head. “No, should I?”

  “Years ago, you were about eight, visiting Thom and Mae for the summer. I came by to visit. You obviously don’t remember me. Your grandmother hustled you out of the room pretty fast.”

  “Why?”

  “Why indeed? Thom was a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. But you knew that.” He waited for a response, but I wasn’t going to give him one, even though he was right, in a way. Grandpa Thom had a very strict moral code. If Wallace Struggs went against his code, G.T. would have shielded me from him.

  “What happened?” I asked, after a pause. Wallace wanted, demanded, a conversation. I had to buy some time so that the police could arrive. I needed him to keep talking.

  “I tried to sell him some merchandise, but he questioned the provenance. Can you imagine that?” Wallace cackled at the memory.

  “He was always meticulous about record keeping.”

  “He couldn’t prove anything. He never could. I was careful.”

  “Sounds like he had you figured out, though.”

  “Thom Clagan had trust issues. Or maybe he didn’t like my style.”

  “So this was what, twenty-two years ago, if I was eight. That’s right around the time you moved to Europe and opened your business there. Tell me, is my timing right?”

  “Just about, yes.”

  “Huh.” Where was Jeff? I glanced over at the clock and was horrified that it had only been ten minutes since I’d left my voice mail. Even if he left right away, it was a twenty-minute ride to the cottage.

  “Did you blame my grandfather for your having to leave? Is that why you are targeting me?”

  “He had nothing to do with me having to leave. He was a little man who noticed a slight flaw in my product and called me on it. It made me better. If anything, he helped me create my business model.”

  “Business model?”

  “We all have a business model, Ruth,” he said, absently peeling another scar from his face. “My first business model was to hone my craft and provide people with what they wanted. Private collectors are amazingly narcissistic. They can easily be encouraged to think that their taste, their expertise, has helped them make an amazing find. They are willing to pay for their brilliance.”

  The frightening thing was, I followed his logic completely. It didn’t give him the right to con people, of course. But he had tapped into the human fallibility of hubris. Of course, I needed to remember that it wasn’t just the clocks that had put Wallace Struggs in jail. He’d broken more laws than that.

  “Now, wasn’t that nice? We had a chance to get to know one another. It could have happened earlier, but Caroline was very difficult to pin down, and I had other business here that prevented me from waiting around. Honestly, is she ever alone? Now, be a good girl and give me your cell phone, and your car keys.”

  I slid my phone and keys out of my pocket. Wallace leaned toward me, reaching for them both. I tossed them at him, aiming for his head. He ducked, and they missed. I tried to jog to one side, but he anticipated my move. He grabbed me by my arm and twisted it behind me. I screamed with pain, which only made him twist harde
r. He propelled me forward, and I stumbled a couple of times. He held me up.

  “No you don’t,” he chided. “You’re a handful, aren’t you? Time to join Caroline down in the basement. She’ll be glad to see you.” He opened the cellar door and tossed me down the stairs, hard.

  I grabbed the banister and kept from tumbling into the dark abyss.

  He slammed the door and threw the locks. My breath came in short pants, so I tried to slow them down. My head felt fuzzy, but passing out would be a disaster. I looked around. Trying to break through the door was just a waste of energy. It was steel. Most people didn’t lock basement doors, but my grandmother had insisted dead bolts be installed. No, I wasn’t getting out the way I came in. I’d figure out another way.

  First I had to find Caroline.

  chapter 32

  My perch on the cellar stairs was darker than the inside of a pocket, as my grandmother used to say. I stood still for a minute, hoping that my eyes would adjust, but without much luck. Dark was dark.

  “Caroline?” I whispered. No reply. No sound, for that matter. I tried to tamp down the panic as I struggled to acclimate myself and feel my way up the stairs to find the light switch.

  “Caroline?” I called again, this time louder.

  I tried to figure out where the light switch was, and felt along the wall. The plaster was more of a stucco finish, very rough. I had to lighten up my sweeping motions so I wouldn’t cut my hands. After a dozen swipes I found it and flipped it on. Ugly fluorescents flooded the space. I blinked in the bright light. Caroline was crumpled motionless on the landing below.

  I ran down, stumbling. I grabbed the banister to steady myself. Years ago my grandfather had installed a bumper wall at the bottom of the stairs, foam padding that helped protect large pieces as they turned the corner. The padded wall wasn’t pretty, but hopefully it had done its job one more time.