Chime and Punishment

by Julianne Holmes

  “What have you got there?” I asked.

  “I went by the town tag sale in Marytown this morning. Picked up a few things.”

  Pat unpacked the box, and I let him lay out his treasures before moving in to look at them.

  “Lovely,” I said. I picked up one of three shelf clocks he’d laid out. I heard a clunk, and winced. Clocks shouldn’t clunk.

  “You can tell me if you think they’re worth anything,” Pat said. “I liked the look of them and thought they were worth trying to restore for the cabinetry if nothing else.”

  “Do you think they’re worth anything?” I asked. If Pat wanted to become a clockmaker, he needed to start being able to judge these things for himself.

  “Well,” he said, running his palms down his jean legs, “as I said, the outsides are all worth trying to fix up, no doubt. This one”—he pointed to the clock on the far right—“this one looks like it may be in its original shape. The other two have been restored—you can see that the labels on the bottom have been removed and put back. I haven’t had a chance to look inside, of course, but that one also looks like the clockface and maybe the crystal are also original.” He sounded more sure than his nervous eyes let on.

  “I agree. They are all terrific, and we can use them, but that one is a real beauty. We won’t know until we look at it more closely. How much did you pay for them?” Pat quoted me a number, and I smiled up at him. “Wow, what a steal!” The color rose slightly on Pat’s face, and he broke into a grin.

  “I thought these might be good to use as lessons for me,” he said.

  “Perfect,” I agreed.

  We had dozens of clocks that could have served the same purpose, but Pat was an obstinate man. Another cranky Yankee, as it were. It was hard for him to ask for help, even when it was to learn my trade. So I’d let him set the tone and choose the path. But teach him I would. Pat had as much passion for clocks as any Clagan. I hoped the talent was there as well.

  “Went by the Town Hall before I came over. Jeff asked me to meet him there and walk him through what happened.” He took a steadying breath. “The building’s still closed. Probably won’t be open again today, but Ro said they’re trying to let us back in tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I know they need to do what they need to do, but we’ve already got an impossible time schedule on this project.”

  “At least she wasn’t killed in the clock tower itself.”

  “No, just out behind the tower. Under the tower bell.”

  Pat screwed up his face, jutted his lips out, and pulled them back in. He and I locked eyes, and I didn’t blink. I also didn’t say anything. I knew Pat wanted to tell me something—the lip dance was a sure sign. I also knew that Pat abhorred gossip, likely a direct result of living with Nancy, one of the great gossip hubs of Orchard. I’d trust Pat with any secret, and hoped he felt the same way about me.

  “Cone of silence?” he said.

  “Cone of silence,” I agreed. Our shortcut language for “just between us.” I’d tell my notebook later, but only the notebook.

  “Do you remember when you asked me about what I saw? Were you asking me about how much blood there was?” he asked. I shrugged my shoulders, afraid to respond with the truth. I hated my morbid curiosity and didn’t want to admit to wondering why Pat wasn’t covered in blood last night, especially after he’d told me he’d checked Kim’s pulse.

  When I didn’t respond, Pat continued, “I worry about you, Ruth, I really do. Thinking about how much blood . . . Well, anyway, Jeff told me that she couldn’t have been killed by the bell.”

  “But you found it on her head? How could that not have killed her?”

  “It would have, but she was probably dead already. Otherwise, there would have been more blood. But you knew that. From your true crime reading.”

  “The books are more scientific than salacious . . .”

  “On second thought,” he said, shrinking back, “I don’t want to know.”

  “So, she was dead and then someone dropped a bell on her? Even if they didn’t intend to kill her . . .” I said. “I wonder, did she die there, on the back portico? Maybe she died somewhere else and got moved there?”

  “How would they have moved her there? The only way to get back there was through the vestibule since the gate door was locked. Surely someone would have seen that. Besides, it looks like she was there for a while. They found cigarette butts. Jeff asked if anyone else had been out there smoking. I told him not that I knew of.”

  “Kim smoked? I didn’t know that.”

  “These days it’s hard to know that folks smoke, since there are so few places you can do it anymore. Back in the day, everyone smoked everywhere. Now you have to smoke in secret.”

  “You sound bitter about that,” I said.

  “Listen, I used to smoke. I loved smoking. If they told me I had two months to live, I’d take it up again. I went back to it during the troubles last fall. I didn’t buy a pack, but I’d bum a cigarette, go out, and hide. That’s how I knew Kim smoked. She gave me a cigarette one day before a town meeting. She’d started up again. Stress.”

  “Stress. Selling the town down the river is stressful, for sure,” I said.

  “You want to hear something funny? I actually felt sorry for her, at least I did back then. Before she declared war on you.”

  I smiled at Pat and put my hand on his forearm. “Of course you did,” I said. “You’re a good man, Pat Reed. Anyway, they found cigarette butts in the back portico, which means that Kim must have been there for a while. Why didn’t she come in? Maybe she was waiting for someone? Or had a meeting? Do they know how long she’d been out there?”

  “Jeff didn’t go into details,” he said.

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” I said.

  “He plays it pretty close to the vest, but he did tell me two things. First, she may have died of natural causes, and the bell may be a separate incident. So best not to jump to conclusions.”

  “I wasn’t jumping anywhere,” I said.

  “Second, the suspect list is a mile long. And you’re on it.”

  • • •

  Though I was rattled hearing it aloud, I wasn’t surprised. Of course I was on the list of suspects. But, as Pat pointed out, the list was undoubtedly a long one. Kim Gray did not go quietly through life. Who knew what enemies she’d made before coming to Orchard? Again, I was struck by how little I knew about Kim or her personal life.

  I was about to ask Pat for more details when the front door of the shop shook on its hinges. I looked up. Noon. I hadn’t unlocked the front door yet, but being late was my unfortunate trademark.

  “I wasn’t sure you were opening today,” Beckett said as he came in.

  “Sunday hours. Noon to five, or by appointment. Not that I expect a lot of traffic today,” I said.

  “I was thinking that we should all close down today, in memory of Kim,” he said.

  “I think that the best way to honor Kim is to keep the stores open,” I said. “I don’t think she’d want anyone to lose money in memory of her.”

  Beckett sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He turned to the side and looked at the shelf of clocks that were over my shoulder. I turned to look at them as well.

  “Those are lovely,” he said. “Originals?”

  “They’re all originals,” I said.

  “What I meant was, what are they worth? Sorry to sound so crass, but I’m trying to educate myself.”

  “Of course. The price point varies. I try and always provide people with a range of prices—it helps them understand that affording a fine clock isn’t out of folks’ price range. It also helps people appreciate the fine craftsmanship that goes into clocks and understand the value of that craftsmanship. Pop quiz, Beckett. Which clock is the oldest?” Beckett sheepishly pointed to the c
enter clock, and I smiled. “Got it in one.”

  Ever since Beckett had been tricked into selling fake antiques he’d been cautious with me. It had taken some convincing to prove to him that I could tell right away, but once I’d shown him how I’d known, he had acquiesced to my expertise. He’d come to every clock class I taught over the winter. His questions had gotten more sophisticated over time. I had to hand it to him, when he was curious about something, he dove into understanding it.

  “What can you tell me about this?” he asked, lifting onto the countertop a “Make Orchard Green” bag he was carrying. He lifted a box out of the bag and pushed it across the counter toward me. Most of his stock had been taken back as evidence, but a few pieces had been returned. I wondered if this was one of them.

  “Oh, isn’t this lovely?” I said. I took the miniature Seth Thomas clock out of the box carefully. Ever since the transport lesson I’d given him, Beckett had taken care to carry the clocks upright and wrapped. “It’s a Seth Thomas cottage clock. Rosewood. Tombstone shaped—see the rounded top? Thirty-hour clock. Probably around 1875 or so.”

  “Amazing,” Beckett said.

  “Were you testing me?” I asked.

  “No, of course not. But I did some sleuthing and came up with the same information.”

  “It is worth a hundred dollars or so,” I said. “Depending on whether it works.”

  “It works. I wound it up last night, making sure I didn’t overwind it.”

  “Does it keep time?” I asked.

  “It runs a little fast, but I can live with that for a while. I was reading up about them. Fascinating. Different shapes, different woods. Some in brass.”

  “I’ve always loved miniatures,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the pretty little thing in my hands, turning it over again. “Grover Winter collected them. Did you know that?”

  “I didn’t. How interesting. Is his collection intact?”

  “Intact is hard to say.” I shook my head, trying to forget the image of a killer crushing a clock under their heel. “There were at least a dozen. We haven’t sold them yet.”

  “I’d love to see them,” he said.

  “They are all packed up at the moment, I’m afraid,” I lied, thinking of them up in my apartment, sitting on the sideboard in my living room. “When I have a chance to unpack that box, I’ll let you know.”

  “Sounds good. I get obsessed easily.”

  “Well, wander down to the American Clock and Watch Museum in Bristol. They have some obsession-worthy clocks to look at.”

  “Sounds like a good day trip,” he said, looking genuinely excited. “That is, if I can get some more staff to cover the store.”

  Beckett’s unpopularity rivaled Kim’s in some quarters. It did not help him hire local staff, though things were beginning to thaw. “I thought you hired three new people last week?”

  “Only one of them worked out. I thought a bookstore would be a relaxing venture. Hah. In between keeping the inventory shelved, the store in order, and someone able to handle money, it turns out I am asking for the moon. Especially since I’m also looking for someone who likes books.”

  “School let out. There will be more people looking for jobs.”

  “I sure hope so. Listen, this may seem contrary to what I just said, but I also need to get more folks into the store. I’m hoping you’ll reconsider coming in and giving a clock talk?”

  I sighed. Beckett Green had gone out of his way to make my life difficult last winter, but he’d come around. Been forced to, because of some issues with his previous business partner. He was one of the chief patrons of the clock tower. He never held that over my head, but I was waiting.

  “After the Winding Ceremony on June twenty-first we can talk about it. Until then, I am going to be focused on that.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “Though today we won’t be able to do anything,” I said. “At least nothing over there. We can still keep prepping things.”

  “Prepping?”

  “All of the components of the clock tower are out at the cottage. We need to start bringing them into town and getting it ready to be put together. Maybe that’s what we can do today?” I asked Pat, who had been bent over his clocks, looking them over.

  “We only want to move them once,” he said. “We’ll need to wait until we can get back into the hall. But tell you what. I’ll head out and check in with Zane. Then I’ll be back here around four, if not earlier.”

  “Sounds good. See you then,” I said, watching him go out the back door without a word to Beckett. I’d forgotten that people were coming over this afternoon. I needed to check in with Flo and Nancy. I was sure that all the planning was done already, but I should at least make an attempt at being a good hostess.

  “Have you been over there today?” Beckett asked.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you’d been over to the Town Hall, offering to help the chief.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, your Nancy Drew routine has helped him out a couple of times, hasn’t it?”

  “Nancy Drew routine.” I felt the color rise on my cheeks.

  “No offense, really. I’m sorry. I stopped by and spoke to Chief Paisley this morning, to see what I could do to help.”

  “To help?” I asked.

  “Yes, I know, it seems ridiculous, doesn’t it? The chief is a good man, but I know how divisive Kim was. I thought it would be helpful to have him know that someone cared about her and wants justice to prevail. She needs a Nancy Drew to care about her too.” He looked down at the miniature and started packing it back up. The breath he took sounded a little shaky.

  “Beckett, I’m sorry. I know you were her friend. This must be very difficult,” I said a bit awkwardly, realizing that he needed comfort and I was the only one around to give it.

  “Who would want to kill her?” he said, still looking down.

  “I heard they aren’t sure it was murder.”

  “Jeff’s operating on the belief that it was a suspicious death,” he said, sighing as he lifted his bag off the counter. “I know she wasn’t very popular. She was going to lose her job if Nancy had anything to do with it.”

  “Nancy and Jimmy Murphy,” I said.

  “Jimmy? I thought he’d changed his mind.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s the vote that let her keep her job at the last meeting.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, surprised.

  “I am. I noticed he was using a red pen the day of the vote. I am a bit ashamed to admit it, but I dug the ballots out of the trash, I was so stunned at the outcome. Even though he’d ripped them up and thrown them away, figuring out what Jimmy’s ballot said was easy, because of the red. He voted ‘no.’”

  Jimmy helped her keep her job? After he seemed dead set against her? What game was he playing?

  chapter 12

  “What was Beckett Green doing darkening your door?” Flo said, the door barely closed behind her. The minute she’d shown up Beckett made his excuses and left quickly.

  “Flo, he might hear you,” I whispered.

  “Nothing I wouldn’t say straight to his face—you know that’s true.”

  “I do indeed.”

  Flo was a woman of strong opinions, but a good heart. She was also, likely, still holding a grudge against Beckett for his antics last fall. I was forever grateful that she was on my side in life, and intended to keep her there.

  “Has Nancy called you?” she asked.

  “About this afternoon? I’ve been thinking . . .”

  “As have I. I don’t believe in crocodile tears, but Nancy and I wondered if we should turn this into a remembrance dinner.”

  “So I should call Beckett and invite him?”

 
“Don’t push it,” she said, leaning against the counter. “You decided to open the store today?”

  “Yes, second week of my summer hours. Though I doubt we’ll see many customers. I’m open till five.”

  “Tourists don’t really pick up until later in the month, when the schools are out.”

  I looked out across at the Town Hall. “I’m surprised there isn’t press here.” I shuddered. It was terrible after what happened at New Year’s. The only thing that got them to leave was a record snowstorm in February, the requisite reporting of stranded cars on the highways, closed MBTA lines, and the booming ski season.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Flo asked. She flopped onto the settee and fanned herself.

  “Can I get you a cup of tea? Heard what?”

  “Tea would be a delight. Do you have any more of that fancy Paris tea? I don’t know what’s in it, but it sure is tasty. Anyway, Kim had an allergic reaction—that’s what killed her. Apparently, she was desperately allergic to nuts. Did you know that?”

  “I didn’t.” Flo and I walked toward the back of the store together. She settled herself on one of the chairs and leaned back. I went over to the kitchenette and felt the side of the electric kettle. Still warm. I pulled out a couple of tea bags, putting them in two mugs. I didn’t bother to ask Flo how she’d heard about Kim. Flo probably knew before Jeff did. “I’ve got to admit, I’m feeling pretty badly about Kim. How would I know she had allergies? I’d have to have had a meal with her to know she had allergies.”

  “What do you mean?” Flo asked, taking the mug of tea from me. She bobbed her tea bag in her cup, and I pulled a small stool over that we could both use as a table.

  “I can’t believe Kim died, and I don’t know anything about her. Did you know she smoked?”

  “What does smoking have to do with anything?” she asked, squeezing out her tea bag and putting it on a plate I’d put on the stool. Tea and coffee this close to the workroom. I doubt my grandfather would have approved, but it saved people coming up to my apartment and gave me a little more privacy.