Chime and Punishment

by Julianne Holmes

  “Not really,” I said, swallowing. “I—”

  “Leave this one alone, Ruth.”

  She turned back to the sink and washed the cutting board she’d been using. She’d wear a hole in it at the rate she was going.

  I was used to matter-of-fact from Nancy, but never angry. I put my bowl down on the kitchen table, walked over, and put my arm around her shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’m cleaning up. That cat of yours will jump up on the counter if she smells chicken.” I looked over at Bezel, who stopped eating for a minute and looked at me with a “What do you expect? I’m a cat” expression, then went back to her food.

  “Where’ve you been all day?” I asked. I squeezed her shoulder and then let it go. I stepped aside and leaned against the counter, forcing her to see me.

  Nancy rinsed the board and put it in the drainer, then looked up.

  “I never wanted Kim Gray to die,” she said. “I didn’t like her, but I didn’t want her to die.”

  I struggled to keep my face neutral. I never would believe Nancy was capable of killing anyone, but I also knew that she and Kim were far from friends. Best to let her talk this out with me than to hash it out with Jeff.

  “Of course you didn’t,” I said.

  “Trouble is, I can’t say as I’m sorry she’s dead. I mean, I’m as sorry as I am every time anyone dies young. Fairly young. But—” Nancy wrung the dish towel once more.

  “I feel the same way. I knew nothing about her, not personally. I couldn’t even tell you how she took her coffee.”

  “Skim milk, extra foam. No sugar.”

  “Do you know that from the Sleeping Latte?” I asked.

  “I know that from meetings in her office. She never came to the Sleeping Latte. Why support the Reed family in any way?”

  “I guess you’re right. I did see her over at the Corner Market pretty often.”

  “Well, she had to use some local stores. Besides, the Clarks have all sorts of food and were willing to work with her food challenges.”

  “Food challenges?”

  “She was very particular about what she could and couldn’t eat. Some of it was diet—she was always worried about gaining weight. But she had some pretty severe allergies. Couldn’t even be downwind of a peanut. Tree nuts were her enemy. She wanted baked, never fried. No butter. She avoided white flour and white sugar. She must have been a joy in a restaurant.”

  “You never ate out with her?”

  “No. Always in the conference room at her office. She’d have the meals brought in from the Corner Market. Basically boiled chicken and lettuce. I tried to bring baked goods, but she’d only let them in once she approved the recipes. Jimmy always said that my tarts were the only thing that got him through our meetings.”

  “Tarts?”

  “Oatmeal crust, nonwheat flour. Happily, dairy was all right, otherwise I don’t know what I’d have done. Anyway, how did we get on to Kim’s tarts?”

  “Kim’s tarts?”

  “A nickname. Whenever a meeting got scheduled Jimmy would text me ‘tarts for the tart’ and I knew she’d be calling me eventually to let me know. Usually at the last possible moment, with a ‘Would you mind bringing some refreshments?’ tacked on. At first, she’d only complain about everything I brought, but then I brought the tarts. She loved them, inordinately. They aren’t on the regular menu, so Jimmy’s ‘tarts for the tart’ would give me enough of a heads-up to get them made. Mind you, he got the heads-up from her assistant. She always waited until the last minute and then expected me to drop everything. She was a mean, spiteful . . . Oh my. I can’t believe I’m speaking ill of the dead.”

  “A lot of folks had complicated feelings about Kim,” I said.

  “I spent the day trying to find her next of kin.”

  “I thought Ro was working on that?”

  “The Orchard Police Department has their hands full on this. Jeff is trying to keep the investigation local, to thwart too much publicity. The board is trying to help where we can, without damaging the investigation. Since all three of us are suspects—”

  “Surely not—” I said.

  “Don’t be naïve. I’d put me first on the list, followed by Jimmy. Then Harriet.”

  “Harriet? Wasn’t she friends with Kim?”

  “Harriet tried to rein Kim in. Some misguided attempt to make one of Grover’s last acts redeemable. Even she had begun to see the futility of that, but she kept trying, bless her.”

  “Harriet is a character—”

  “A character in a town of characters. Both of us included. She’s been trying to track down Kim’s family too, but hasn’t had a ton of luck. She found a sister in California, but I haven’t been able to reach her. We’re having trouble finding anyone else, so I’ve been going through Kim’s résumé, trying to contact folks from her old jobs. Lots of unanswered e-mails and phone calls on a Sunday.”

  “I heard Kim was married?” I asked.

  “Years ago. She was a widow, apparently. I only know that because Grover mentioned it when she was hired. Course, we can’t find any records of that marriage. Harriet is trying to track it down.”

  “Was she dating? I thought maybe she and Beckett . . .”

  “I used to think so too, but the last few times I’ve seen them together it’s been frostier than an icehouse in January. They must have had a falling-out.”

  “He stopped by this morning and seemed pretty upset,” I said.

  “Nothing like the finality of death to realize you can’t fix what was broken. Maybe he has some regrets.”

  “Maybe? Do you have any?” I asked.

  “About Kim? No, I’ve got to say, I don’t have a single regret. I tried, heaven knows I tried, but she was a miserable woman. My only regret is that I don’t feel worse about her dying, but I suspect I’ll get over that.”

  • • •

  I started the dishwasher before I went back downstairs. Nancy went down ahead with some of the food. I told her to send Ben up to help me with the rest.

  Ben bounded up a minute later.

  “Well, that went well,” he said. “Aunt Flo isn’t taking too kindly to Jason’s plans.”

  “I saw Jason earlier,” I said. I was so tired I’d forgotten who told me what when, but I didn’t want to play games with Ben. “He told me a little about the ideas he discussed with you this morning.”

  “Did he mention the barbershop becoming a storage room?” he said, cringing a little.

  “Only briefly. Not sure why he told me anything. It isn’t really my business.”

  Ben cocked his head to one side. “You at least have a semi–vested interest. Anyway, I ran it by Aunt Flo. Her attachment to the shop was underestimated. Mildly put. We promised to talk more later, but suffice it to say, she isn’t ready to retire.”

  “So that means you won’t expand the Emporium?” I asked. “Is that going to be the official name of it, by the way? Flo’s Emporium?”

  “It won’t be Flo’s anything. She’s going to take over the barbershop. Officially. We just settled that.”

  “Which means you’ll run the store?”

  “Maybe?” he said. He shrugged his shoulders. “We could always make the apartment upstairs into storage if we need it.”

  “Then where will you live?”

  “Babe, I don’t know. With Aunt Flo? Maybe I’ll rent a place closer to Boston, come back and forth?”

  I blinked a couple of times, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “Go back into business?” I asked, throwing a basket of silverware on the tray to go downstairs, using a bit more force than necessary.

  “We aren’t going to fight, are we? I’m not up to a fight,” he said, already looking beaten.

  I looked at Ben, really looked at him. Handsome, charming, thoughtf
ul, the same Ben I met back in October. There was a wariness now, though. Maybe it had always been there, but I was starting to notice. I didn’t want him to be afraid to talk to me.

  “Nah, we’re not going to fight,” I said. “I don’t like fighting. But we’re going to talk. Later though. Right now we’re going to have dinner.”

  • • •

  “We’re not going to talk about Kim Gray,” Caroline said.

  The din of small talk that had been accompanying the food being passed around the table ceased.

  “Caroline, what do you mean?” Flo said.

  “We aren’t going to talk about that poor woman’s death.”

  “Poor woman?” Pat said.

  “You heard me, Pat Reed. For whatever reason, she isn’t going to see her fortieth—”

  “Oh, I think forty was in her rearview mirror,” Nancy said. “I was looking at her résumé today. She has professional experience going back twenty-five years. Unless that was a lie too.”

  “A lie? What are you talking about?” Flo said, scooching back in her chair to peer at Nancy. “And why were you looking at her résumé?”

  “We’re trying to find her family, if you must know,” Nancy said. “There’s no information in her files about next of kin. So I thought I’d try and track down previous employers.”

  “Any luck?” Ben asked as he ate a forkful of potato salad.

  “None so far, but it’s Sunday. Not many folks at work. I left lots of messages and sent a bunch of e-mails. I got a couple of e-mails back, but they didn’t help.”

  “Didn’t she fill out one of those next-of-kin things?”

  “If she did, it wasn’t in the office,” Nancy said, spooning a few more veggies onto her plate. “I’m hoping her insurance will have more information. I’ll check on that tomorrow.”

  “I wonder if Jeff has any more information about what happened,” Flo said, looking pointedly at Moira.

  “Don’t look at me. You know how he is when he is on a case. All work, no play.”

  “No play?”

  “None. He didn’t even come by to say hello to his mother.”

  “Oh wow, I forgot she was here,” I said, almost dropping my silverware. “We should have invited her to dinner.”

  “I did,” Moira said. “Janet said she wanted to head back to Jeff’s to relax, but that she’d see me tomorrow if we need her again.”

  “Need her? Are you putting the poor woman to work?”

  “Janet helped out at the Sleeping Latte this morning,” Moira said, straightening in her chair. “Mom didn’t come in, and I couldn’t track down Freddie. Luckily Janet dove right in.”

  “Jason mentioned that you were low on baked goods,” I said. I realized too late that I should have kept my mouth shut.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry Mr. Organic Only didn’t like our selection this morning. As if this morning would be any different than any other morning,” Moira said.

  “Fussy, is he?” Zane asked through a mouthful of chicken. “I’m not surprised. You know, he’s training for a century ride later this month. Has to pay attention to how he fuels his body.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Moira said. “Freddie’s been experimenting with gluten-free muffins, but so far they taste like piles of hay.”

  “Serve them to him anyway. He’s a jackass, may be perfect for him,” Flo said, giggling like a schoolgirl.

  “All right, everyone, time out,” Ben said. “Let’s try and have a nice dinner. No more talk about Kim, or Jason.”

  “How about the clock tower?” Zane asked, serving himself some more ham. “I’ve been working on a new concoction for the figures that will come out every hour. I left the last test batch of treated wood by the river, hoping to mimic the wear and tear that would occur during rain. They didn’t fare so well in the elements. I added more oil to this new batch. I hope they hold up a little better.”

  “Were your test batches on a whiteboard?” Ben asked. Zane nodded. “Square pieces of work, different colors of brown? I hope Blue didn’t pee on them,” Ben said.

  “That would throw your results right off,” Pat said, laughing a little. “Though birds can cause trouble, so maybe that isn’t a bad test. Maybe we should move the test board to higher ground after dinner?”

  “Good idea, Pat. I wish I’d known what your great-grandpa used on the originals, Ruth. You haven’t found his secret recipes for paints and stains, have you?”

  “No, just some of the ingredients so far,” I said. “Walnuts, beets, blueberries, walnut oil, spirits. He’d write shopping lists in the margins of his notebooks. Hard to tell what was for the clock shop, what was for his cabinetry, and what was his shopping list for dinner.”

  “Careful you don’t mix them wrong and blow up the barn,” Flo said.

  “Flo, be nice,” Caroline said, rearranging her napkin in her lap. “There will be no blowing up of the barn. Not this week. Of course, there was a close call last week, when Pat and Zane decided to try and weld the nameplates to one of the clock weights for practice.”

  “Who knew the glue we’d used to tack them down would cause that many sparks?” Zane said, gesticulating wildly with his fork. Coleslaw went flying. I needed to remember to put plastic on the ground next time.

  “We had it under control the entire time,” Pat said.

  Dinner conversation moved on then, away from Kim Gray’s death to the safer topics of clock weights and welding. I almost brought up the fire in the old clock tower, but stopped myself. Zane was telling stories from his past adventures with clock towers. Only the funny ones, I noticed. I stopped thinking, and sat back and listened.

  chapter 16

  I woke up Monday morning, tired and alone. Ben had wanted to stay, but his aunt Flo was all wound up and made a few quips about losing her business during dessert. Ben and I agreed he needed to head this one off at the pass.

  “I wish I’d never told her about Jason’s proposal,” Ben said, lingering in the doorframe of my apartment as everyone else downstairs got ready to head home. “It was borrowing trouble.”

  “Chances are he would have said something to her. He said something to me.”

  “The hard part is, I don’t know what I think about Jason’s offer. I don’t know what I want to do. Besides be here with you,” Ben said.

  “You are such a smooth talker,” I said.

  Ben kissed me. “I’ve been practicing that all day.”

  “The kiss, or the line?” Ben smiled and kissed me again.

  “Are you two done loading that dishwasher? Blue and I are ready to go,” Flo yelled up the stairs.

  “Be right down,” Ben yelled back, and then asked Ruth, “You sure you’re all right here alone?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay, let’s meet at the Sleeping Latte for breakfast, before we both have to open up. Sound good?”

  “I could make breakfast,” I said, thinking about the omelets I could make with leftover turkey and ham.

  “I promised Aunt Flo I’d get her a breakfast sandwich. Okay if we meet at the Latte? Seven?”

  “Don’t think we’re not going to talk at some point, Ben,” I said.

  “I actually was planning on talking at the Latte. Being alone with you in your apartment is too distracting.”

  “You and your sweet-talking ways. I’ll be there,” I said.

  • • •

  It went without saying, I was late to breakfast. Of course. A terrible trait, but one that Ben had gotten used to, and he accommodated it by running a little late himself. The barbershop was closed, as was the Emporium. Not much was open at seven except the Sleeping Latte. Even the Corner Market didn’t open until seven thirty, though I saw signs of life over there. I had no idea how Ada and Mac kept up the pace their business demanded, especially with baby Jack added to the mix.

&nb
sp; If Orchard was quiet, the Sleeping Latte wasn’t. I had trouble getting in the door, but since I was willing to wait the line out, I sidestepped it and moved into the seating area. Most of the tables were free. I looked back at the line and saw the problem. Freddie Hamilton was working the front counter by herself. Well, not quite by herself. Ben was frothing milk and pulling espresso shots like a boss.

  I walked to the front of the line and stepped behind the counter.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Ben.

  “All hell has broken loose. Can you go in and check the baked goods?”

  “Should I run the register?”

  “No, Freddie has to stay out here. Ro let me put some stuff in the ovens.”

  “Ro? What’s she doing here?”

  “Ask her. Sorry, I’m trying to keep up out here. If she won’t let you back, come out and take over here.”

  “But what—”

  “Ruth, my love,” he said sweetly, looking up from his work for the first time since I’d walked in, “I don’t have answers so don’t ask questions. Muffins. Now.”

  I walked through the swinging doors to the kitchen, unprepared for what I found. Nancy was sitting on a stool at the center table. Pat stood beside her, his arm around her shoulders. Ro Troisi stood as well, trying not to look at them. I saw Moira through the back-door window, talking to Jeff. Talking might be the wrong word. Her face was about six inches from his, and her face was flushed.

  “Ruth, the kitchen is closed down,” Ro said in her most official police-business voice.

  “Ben sent me back here for muffins?” I said tentatively.

  “They’ve got two more minutes,” Nancy said.

  “Please, Nancy, don’t say anything, all right?” Ro said.

  Nancy glared in response.

  “Ro, can I check on the muffins?” I said, shuffling forward. “We can’t let them burn. I promise I won’t touch anything else.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Ro.

  I went over to the ovens and checked the timer. Another minute to go. A minute is a long time when people are staring at you. Fortunately, the sounds from outside the back door diverted my attention.