“Is that Herschel?” Daphne asked.
“Does it sound like a chainsaw?” Claire replied.
“Yes, kind of,” her friend laughed a little.
“He’s the sweetest guy, and so comforting,” Claire said, petting him more. His purr grew even louder, and both girls laughed. “Out of everything my grandmother gave me… one of the nicest, is Herschel.”
Herschel agreed.
“I’m glad you have him,” Daphne said sympathetically.
“I am too. But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Better than fine, because I’ve finally learned my lesson. I should’ve known better than to hang out with a guy I liked that much. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“So… from now on, you’ll only associate with guys you don’t like?” Daphne frowned.
“I won’t associate with guys at all,” Claire corrected her. She leaned over her cat, and reached for her laptop. She moved it to the edge of the coffee table, and opened it.
“You’re resigning yourself to a life alone?” Daphne questioned.
“I’d say I’m getting more and more resigned to it, all the time. Maybe I’ll get another cat. Or two. Or three.”
Herschel frowned.
“Don’t go that far. I doubt Herschel would like it.”
Herschel already did not like it.
“Fine. I’ll be a cat lady of one,” Claire said, opening up the web browser.
Herschel continued to purr as she pet him, in spite of his irritation over being threatened with competition. He was not in the habit of sharing, and didn’t intend ever to become so.
Claire’s eyebrows knit, and she paused in filling in the search field.
“Why would he take me to his mom’s? Why would she say he told her all about me, and how could she know all about me… No, never mind,” she said quickly, waving away that line of thought. “I’m not going to sit here and drive myself crazy over it.”
“That makes one of us,” Daphne sighed.
Claire paused again.
“Why does everyone I meet tell me what a nice guy he is? Why do Tammy, and Gina, and all of them, act like they think… No, never mind. Ug! My carefully crafted peace plan is crumbling.”
Claire closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead.
The faint tick of the clock on the end table and Herschel’s purring, were the only sounds.
“I’m so sorry,” Daphne said in sympathy.
“I know. Me too. I need to think about something other than all the ‘whys’ that are starting to bombard me. I’ve got some research I can do in our—in my mystery. Those are the ‘whys’ I’m going to focus on for the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow. Possibly the next day…”
“Do you want me to stay on the phone? I will,” Daphne offered.
“No… that would hinder my focus.”
“Okay. Call me if you need me. For anything, at any time. Tomorrow, for sure.”
“Alright. Thanks, Daphne.”
The girls ended their call. Claire looked at her phone for several seconds, then switched it to night-mode. If, for some peculiar reason, he decided to call… she was done for the day. A girl could only take so much mental anguish.
Claire leaned over the large gray cat that overflowed her lap, and clicked on the eBay link. The auction site’s webpage opened, and Claire entered ‘bobble head’ in the search field. Next, she check-marked ‘completed listings.’
“Ug,” she said in surprise, as she carefully transferred the entirely relaxed Herschel from her lap, to the couch beside her. The cat seemed to have lost all his bones. “Who knew there would be so many results.”
She retrieved the banker’s box that held the collectible dolls, and stood them in rows all along the coffee table.
She sat back on the couch, and put the laptop on her lap. She scrolled through the listings.
“Then again, Allen had an awful lot of them. Maybe they’re all his. Or… not all. But there’s a match…”
Herschel didn’t know, and didn’t care. Neither did he bother to open his eyes and try to figure out what she was talking about.
Claire opened the link in a new page, and continued down the list.
“Unless he had all these listed, and they didn’t sell—or did, but didn’t get shipped—then there won’t be many of these in the completed listings section. But… I don’t need much… And would he really put this stuff up for auction? What if someone else bid, and won? Buy-it-now is far more likely.”
That narrowed her search. She focused on the two-week timeframe preceding Allen’s termination, and the week after. She opened link after link, then turned her search to Troll dolls. She found several that matched those on the table. Those, she would make sure and search again. But she wasn’t finished yet.
She went from tab to tab, checking the userids of the sellers. One, had two buy-it-now listings that ended the week Allen was unceremoniously removed from his office.
Claire’s heart beat a little faster, as she searched the Troll listings. Her eyes widened, she gasped, and a flood of adrenalin rushed through her.
She had a match.
“Allenby7451125,” she said in triumph.
Herschel snored in response, but that did nothing to dampen her excitement.
“Now let’s see what your completed listings are, allenby7451125…”
Several other bobble heads, none of which were sitting on her coffee table. There were Troll dolls too, but only one matched those found in the banker’s box.
There were also other listings. Quite a hodge-podge of items, she was surprised to see. What did he do… hit up a garage sale, bought up a random assortment… which included two doll collections…
And the clock sitting beside her on the end table.
Claire felt as though a lightning bolt shot through her, as she turned and stared at the clock, back to its photo, and back to the clock again. Could it…
She didn’t find it in a banker’s box, but someone did! Maybe Tammy, she did some of the sorting before Claire started working there. She could’ve started to unpack the boxes, then got sidetracked, and moved to something else…
Claire searched the clock once, already. It had no battery when she found it, so when she brought it home, she popped out the round face, just as she was doing right now. She looked inside, just as she was now. And she found nothing, just as she did now.
But…
The round space in which the clock fit was too small for her to fit her entire hand. She felt around as best she could, then used her phone’s flashlight app to light the inside. As best she could. She peered inside, as best she could. Between her sense of feel and sight, she knew nothing was stuck underneath the top of the clock. She could see there was nothing occupying the entire back, right down to the base. But the corners in front, and all along the bottom edge…
Claire jumped up, clock in hand, and hurried to the kitchen.
She rummaged through the silverware drawer, and came up with a butter knife. She tried to scrape along the inside of the corners, but the only success she had was in making a horrible screeching noise against the ceramic edge of the opening. It could probe no further than her own sight.
She frowned and set aside the knife, as she puzzled over what to try next. If the collectible killer had the option, he’d bust it to smithereens, but she was determined not to. The clock was pretty, the colors matched her sitting room, and there had to be another, less destructive way. She just needed to find it.
Claire set the clock aside, then picked it back up and shook it violently.
All that did was remind her how tired her arms were. She set the clock down again, and wracked her brain as she searched through the kitchen drawers.
Nothing, but… wait! What was that, in the baking drawer? Amongst the cookie cutters, rolling pin, pastry cutter, measuring cups and spoons, and lots of things she didn’t recognize… was a thing to ice cakes. She had no idea what it was called, but it had a handle, whic
h was entirely irrelevant. It also had a long, flexible metal blade. Only it didn’t cut, it spread icing, and this would work!
Claire sat on the mat in front of the sink. If she dropped the clock, or something inside popped loose, she didn’t want it breaking. She held the clock between her knees, then directed the flexible blade with one hand, and held onto the handle with the other.
She slid it along the inside corners of the ceramic front, moving slowly and methodically.
The blade stopped.
Claire’s heart pounded as she used the blade to feel what she couldn’t see. There was something there, and… it was what, putty? No, it, whatever it was, was surrounded in putty of some kind! The putty was squishy, and she could pry at it, get the blade between it and the ceramic front…
With a thunk, the putty came loose and smacked the back of the clock. But it didn’t stick, and when she carefully turned the clock on its side, it was within her grasp. Claire reached out…
Then she stopped.
There might be fingerprints imbedded in the putty itself, she realized. She stood and gently dumped the contents of the clock onto the clean counter, then reached for a paring knife. Holding it steady with the flexible cake icer, she sliced through the putty. It was soft, and peeled back easily. It was a great way, really, to secure something. Such as this vial of serum.
She stared at it, a thrill of excitement flooding her.
She was right! Allen was stealing research, and hiding things in his eBay shipments! Juniper Creek Thrift really was trashed because someone out there was desperate to get their hands on this! She was right! She solved it! Not who was responsible, but she solved it! She was right, and she had the highly-coveted serum right here on her counter!
Her excitement was suddenly extinguished, as she remembered she no longer had Alec to share these things with. She was struck by a sharp pang of grief, and let out a tired sigh.
She gave herself fifteen seconds to feel bad over her faux-friend. Then she straightened her shoulders, and looked at the vial once more.
Nancy would just have to handle this on her own.
But how?
Chapter 16
The sun shone bright in the pale blue, cloudless sky. Its morning rays warmed the front lawn, where a robin hunted for worms.
A bird no smaller than itself, and possibly a little larger, followed along anxiously. It badgered, begged, and pestered, desperate for a share of what the mother robin, with a quick thrust of her beak, retrieved from the moist soil. It squawked louder, flapping its wings as it hopped in agitation, opening its mouth wide.
The mother robin allowed her chick to wonder if she expected it to begin fending for itself. Then, she answered its plea with the meal it so desperately sought. The young bird gobbled it up, and began its anxious pleas all over again.
Claire sat at the kitchen table, her expression thoughtful as she stared at the blank screen of the phone in front of her. Beside the phone, a cup of coffee grew cold, its presence forgotten. The toast bore no more heed than the coffee, in spite of its layer of jam.
Herschel rubbed against her ankles, then hopped onto her lap. She pet him absentmindedly, and he purred.
He followed her fixed gaze, and wondered why she was staring at nothing. That, after all, was what was displayed on the phone’s screen.
He decided she took nothing very seriously.
Claire sighed, and shifted in her seat.
How long should she wait? The FBI website said all calls were listened to promptly, and taken seriously. Due to the sheer number of tips, however, they did not return them all.
She frowned some more.
“If they have enough people to listen promptly to messages, why don’t they have enough people to respond to all of them?” she asked Herschel.
That led her right back to the question of how long she should wait for a call that might never come.
She sighed and felt a mixture of frustration and concern. Was she direct enough in her message? She didn’t leave her name, address, and email, as requested on the online form, which she chose not to fill out. But she did call and leave her number, and the message that she discovered evidence in the Allen Parker and Variant Research case. She would like very much to get it out of her hands, and into theirs. That was direct enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t feel comfortable going into specifics in a recorded message, nor did she care to give out her name and location. Her phone number ought to be adequate. If it wasn’t… maybe she’d mail them the vial. They did list a mailing address on the site.
But, whatever the serum was, it must be important. To have a group of people after it, and the FBI arresting a guy for its theft…
She couldn’t trust it to the mail system. She couldn’t trust Variant, either. If she contacted them, they’d be more likely to spaz out, than be thankful. It’s not like the vial had the Variant logo on it. They’d be suspicious. They’d demand to know how she found it, how she knew who it belonged to, and how she knew anything at all about Allen Parker. Would they even listen to what she had to say, before they were contacting the FBI, themselves? Or what if someone else at Variant was in league with Allen? Returning the serum could be the same as handing it off to a competing company, or country.
She had no idea who to trust. So until an actual, bona fide FBI agent presented him or herself, that serum would remain hidden in the secret sitting room.
There was a knock at the backdoor. Claire frowned a little, and for just a second, she wondered who in the world it could possibly be.
Then she remembered, and wondered how she could possibly forget. She did, though, and that had to be a good sign. She wanted to believe that. It was a lot better than sitting here, crying into her coffee over him, anyway.
She stood and walked toward the door, picking up her purse and bible on the way.
She could do this. She could act natural. She would back out of this relationship gracefully, and not at all as if she really, really liked him, felt really, really betrayed, and was really, really mad.
She opened the door, and wasn’t so sure.
“Hi,” Alec said. His smile was hesitant, and concern shadowed his eyes. Maybe. She was hardly one to judge.
“Hi,” she replied. She stepped outside, and locked the door behind her.
“I tried to call you last night,” he said, as she led the way toward his truck.
She stopped so abruptly, he nearly tripped over her.
“Did you? I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I completely understand why you’d want to cancel.”
“What?” he asked, as she veered in the direction of the street. He hurried to keep up. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sure there’s someone else you’d rather take, and three’s a crowd. Go ahead, and I’ll walk. I’d really rather.”
“No, Claire, that’s not what I meant,” he said, cutting her off. She stopped abruptly and did a passable job of looking natural. She thought so, anyway. She wasn’t sure he did, but… what did she know.
“Claire, I got your text. I tried to call, you asked me to.”
She looked back at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about. She didn’t.
Then she remembered. Last night, she did try to call. Then she texted, because she was in dire need of a friend after trying to pin the bad guy to the wall of the museum with the Blue Lightning, and almost getting shot. What she did not need, was to see the friend who acted all week like he liked her, out on a date with someone else. But, that’s what she got.
She reminded herself to look natural.
“Oh. Yes. I thought you were working late at the garage. I had no idea you were on a date. If I had, I never would’ve bothered you.”
“You didn’t bother me, I didn’t know you tried to reach me until later,” he said, moving to the side to block her again.
“I’m sure, that makes perfect sense, of course. I’d turn off my phone too, if I was on a date.”
She suddenly outmaneuve
red him, and headed back toward the street.
“Claire, stop!” Alec said, falling into step. “You said you’d come to church with me. I was going to introduce you to more people, and take you to class.”
“Alec, it’s fine,” she replied, releasing him from that responsibility with a wave of her hand. In spite of it, he managed to herd her back in the direction of the driveway, and his truck. Looking natural, when what she really wanted to do was kick him in the shins, was almost more than she could manage.
“Come with me, alright? Please.”
“Do I have a choice?” she asked sarcastically. “What are you, part border collie?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he replied, steering her straight to the truck. He opened the door. “You’ll be late if you walk. I’ll be late, too. So please, get in.”
Claire glanced at her watch, and made a face. If she protested any further, it would ruin all hopes of appearing natural. He did nothing wrong, why should she be mad at him?
“Fine,” she said in resignation. Alec looked relieved. Maybe.
“Good,” he said. He shut the door and took his place in the driver’s seat. She never saw anyone start a vehicle so fast, or back out of a driveway at the speed of sound. She crossed jumping from the vehicle off her list of available options.
“I think you need to understand something, Alec,” she leveled with him, as they raced along the residential street. “Girlfriends don’t appreciate girl friends. I’m not interested in being accused of trying to steal someone’s boyfriend.”
“No one’s going to think that,” he quickly replied.
Claire bristled.
“Thanks,” she said icily.
“For what? I don’t have a girlfriend, Claire.”
She unbristled. Slightly. Very slightly.
“If she broke up with you because you said hi to me last night, then my point is made,” she replied. She was also struck with a great way to act natural, and prove she didn’t spend the hours between one and two in the morning, crying over her disappointment in him. “Do you want me to talk to her, and tell her we’re just neighbors? I feel terrible about this. All I wanted was something besides a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. I had no idea how devastating the result would be. You should’ve just ignored me, I never would’ve said a thing. I feel terrible about this. I’ll talk to her.”
Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer Page 28