Chime and Punishment

by Julianne Holmes

  “Nah, just bleeding. I got him some ice and got it packed so it would stop. Imagine if he’d really gotten hurt. He probably would have passed out cold.” I looked over at Zane’s scarred face. I thought again about the knife clock he tried to make several years ago—knives as arms, knives as weights, knives as handles. He’d lost a round while winding.

  “Why did Jimmy hit him?” I asked.

  “I asked him that. I wish I could say it was tough to get Beckett to talk, but I’d be lying. Simple as cracking a nut. Seems Beckett accused Jimmy of killing Kim.”

  “Really? Interesting. Did he say why?”

  “I tried to get that out of him, but couldn’t.”

  “That’s a shame—”

  “I misspoke. Beckett didn’t know. He did say that Kim ‘had something on Jimmy,’ but he didn’t know what it was.”

  “You think Kim was blackmailing Jimmy?”

  “Sounds like. Can’t think what over. I can’t imagine Jimmy killing her, can you?”

  I shook my head. “I really can’t, but the list of people who could have is pretty short, and he’s on it. So’s Beckett, for that matter.”

  “List?”

  “Nancy, Moira, and I came up with a list.” I shrugged with embarrassment, but Zane didn’t seem fazed.

  “Am I on it?” Zane asked.

  “No. Moira was going between the sign-in table and the food stations. You couldn’t get back to the portico unless you went past her, and you didn’t go past her.”

  “I appreciate that, and you’re right. So who did, besides those two?”

  “Fred, Freddie, Jason.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s what we came up with.”

  “And what if someone jumped the fence beside Beckett’s store? They could have climbed up on his Dumpster and jumped down.”

  “Then they did it. But how did they get out? The fence is six feet high, which isn’t easy to get over.”

  “Good point. Did she have some sort of allergic reaction? That’s what killed her?”

  “That’s the rumor,” I said.

  “So maybe it was natural causes?”

  “Except for the bell on her head,” I said. I bit my tongue—that detail may have been a secret.

  “Good riddance to that piece of junk. Any idea when we can get back up to the tower?”

  “Hopefully tomorrow.”

  “We’re cutting the installation close,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he was purposely changing the subject or not, but I decided to follow his lead.

  “I know. I’m not as worried about getting the clock itself installed—”

  “That makes one of us.”

  “But I am worried about getting the arms connected to the hands and everything synced up.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I wrote down some ideas I had, wanted to talk through them with you. Do you have time now?”

  “Sure, that sounds like a plan. Let me grab my other notebook,” I said. Clocks in one book. Murder in the other.

  • • •

  Zane and I talked through the installation plan twice. I’d never done a clock tower installation, and Zane had done only one. We’d both worked on our fair share of towers, though. Winding and maintaining—stock and trade for clockmakers. More and more towers, too many, were going electric these days, which made Zane and me double down on this project.

  “I hope they didn’t move the parts around too much,” Zane said.

  “I took pictures of the tables before we left. They’re on my phone. Nadia put painter’s tape on each piece so we’ll know if something’s missing.”

  “And if something is missing?”

  “Then we go out to the cottage and get one of the backup pieces. G.T. had collected so many over the years we could build four clock towers.”

  “Wouldn’t that be fun?” Zane asked.

  “Let’s get this one done first,” I said, though I had to agree. “Do we have another zinc-wrapped rod—”

  “You aren’t going to freaking believe what—” Nadia said, bursting through the front door.

  “Please, Nadia, I was about to reattach the crystal on this watch,” Caroline said. She’d been so quiet I’d forgotten she was there. “Bad enough that these two are nattering on about the clock tower, men acting like hooligans and punching each other, lists of who might have killed—”

  Freddie came in behind Nadia and closed the door behind herself. She walked to her right and flopped on the settee in the showroom. I walked out of the workroom and sat next to her. The tall, beautiful girl was sitting forward, her head resting between her legs.

  “I might faint,” she said, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke into her knees. “I feel sick.”

  “Don’t puke,” Nadia said. She ran behind the front counter and grabbed the wastebasket, putting it next to Freddie.

  “Go get her a glass of water,” I said. I put my hand on Freddie’s upper back and rubbed it.

  “What’s the matter?” I said.

  “Chief Paisley thinks I killed Ms. Gray,” she said. She sat up slightly and looked at me. “And I think he may be right.”

  Then she started weeping.

  chapter 19

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “I made the tarts,” she said.

  Nadia came over with a glass of water. “Sit up, Freddie. Drink this. Ruth says it will make you feel better.” Freddie groaned. “She isn’t making any sense. I was over at the Corner Market, dropping off Jack. I came out, and she was sitting in my car, crying. She wanted to see you. So here we are.”

  “Why don’t we go up to the office?” I said. “Moira and Nancy are up in my apartment taking naps.”

  “Taking naps? What is this, a day care center?” Nadia said. “Where’s Pat?”

  “He went out to deliver a couple of clocks,” Caroline said. “We haven’t had a customer all day—no point in staying here.”

  “Nadia, pull a chair over,” I said, lowering my voice. “Freddie, tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nancy puts notes for me in a shared folder on the computer. Every day has its own folder. I used a tablet in the store, and keep track of what I’m doing there. I’m hopeless with paper. I lose it all the time. Anyway, one of the notes for that day was a special order for cherry tarts.”

  “What made it a special order?”

  “The recipe had almonds in it.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of tarts with almonds on top,” Nadia said.

  “These almonds were in it, in the crust. The recipe called for almonds to be ground up and combined into the dough.”

  “Do you think it cross-contaminated the cookie dough?” asked Nadia.

  “No, I was really careful. I made the doughs for the cookies first, then I made the cherry tarts while they were chilling.”

  “What happened to the tarts?” I asked.

  “I did what the note told me to. I put them in a box and tied it up. I left it on the stool in the kitchen. Someone was coming by at ten to pick them up.”

  “Were there extra tarts?”

  “No, I had to stretch to get an entire dozen made.”

  “Who picked them up?” Nadia asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I went out to bring a basket of muffins to the front, and when I came back they were gone. Someone must have come in the back.”

  “Nancy told you in the note, not in person,” I asked.

  “Right. Nancy leaves me notes on the computer all the time. My dad makes fun of me, because I spend so much time highlighting them with different colors so they make sense to me. But it’s a system that works for both of us. Nancy can add stuff and check in even if she’s not there. Plus she can remind me to do the everyday stuff I might forget otherwise,” she said, finally
sitting back and looking me in the eye.

  “Are all the notes like this one?”

  “No, not all the time. Most of the time they are more like lists. Lots and lots of lists. Like I said, they’re online in a special folder. I come in, log into the computer, and print out any recipes that are special orders.”

  “So you printed out the cherry tart recipe?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Who else has access to these online folders?”

  “Who else? I don’t know—anyone with the link to it, I guess. We use it to help run things. Sometimes Moria adds a note. Once in a while Pat adds something like ‘leave the cutting board out, I’ll fix the handle.’ Wait, do you mean that you don’t think the recipe was from Nancy?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Freddie wept and lowered her head into her hands. “So that’s why Chief Paisley was asking where the note is. Problem was, I wish I knew. I don’t remember throwing it out.”

  “So maybe whoever picked up the tarts picked up the note as well?” I said. “You have no idea who picked them up?”

  “None.” Freddie put her head between her knees again.

  “Is it still in the computer?” I asked.

  “No, it’s disappeared,” Nadia said. “Nancy said she didn’t add it to the folder.”

  “I swear it was there,” Freddie said with a sob.

  • • •

  Freddie was inconsolable for the time being, so I left Nadia to try her best. Nadia had taken Freddie under her wing for the past few weeks and was obstinate enough to refuse to admit defeat in the progress she’d made. Freddie’s talent lay in two areas: she was a genius baker and she could follow explicit directions. Very explicit. I’d never seen Nancy’s lists for her, but I’m sure they included details like “put on an apron,” “tie back your hair,” “preheat the oven.” I can’t imagine what the directions were like to operate the industrial dishwasher—not an easy task, but the only aspect of the Sleeping Latte operation I could take on without driving away business with burned and uneven baked goods or overly strong coffee.

  “Ruth, I’m going to bring Freddie home. That all right with you?” Nadia said.

  “Sure,” I said. “Freddie, call me if you need to talk.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out, hoping to see Ben’s smiling face peering up at me from the little screen. Instead I saw a police badge—the avatar I used for Jeff Paisley.

  “Jeff, how are you?” I said. Cell phones were such an odd change to social convention. My parents always made me answer the phone “Clagan residence, how may I help you?” I gave that up once I went to high school, but I still answered the telephone “Hello,” not sure of who was calling even if caller ID was available. These days cell phones brought a greater sense of informality. When certain people called, like Ben or Jeff, I assumed they were using their cell phone. So I answered it as if “hello” wasn’t necessary. And they did the same. Social conventions were shifting, at least amongst friends.

  “I’m doing a final walk-through of the Town Hall before we release it.”

  “So soon?”

  “We’ll keep the portico cordoned off for the foreseeable future. Thanks to the multitudes of cameras in action that day, we can confirm Kim never came into the hall itself. Just wish the outside camera you folks have rigged up was focused on the back of the hall, not the tower.”

  The streaming video! I gave myself a mental head slap. Nadia had installed a streaming video camera on the clock tower, so that people could check in on the progress that was being made. The camera was stationed in the attic/office of the Cog & Sprocket. Nadia was saving all of the video, planning on doing some time-lapse footage to put on the website.

  “I’d forgotten about that camera! Obviously you and Nadia have been in touch.”

  “She’s been helpful,” Jeff said. “Gave me that video right away, and also video from the inside of the Town Hall.”

  “From the room?”

  “She put a couple of cameras in the corners of the room for background shots. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. Kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know—filmmaking is not my area of expertise. It’s helpful for me now though. Interesting footage on the journey of the clock tower. Should be an fascinating documentary.”

  “Documentary?” I said, turning toward Nadia. She had the good grace to look embarrassed, and turned back to Freddie.

  “Class project. She didn’t mention it? Anyway, not why I called. Can you come over and walk through the hall with me, this time coming into the space? I want to make sure I have the complete picture, and I’m not missing anything.”

  “Sure, though I’m not sure—”

  “Ruth, spare me. Bring your notebook with you. Don’t even try and pretend you haven’t been writing furiously. Can you come over right now?”

  “I can,” I said, hanging up the phone. I walked over to Zane’s workstation and grabbed the notebook in question. I also took the clock tower notebook Zane and I had been doodling in.

  “Jeff wants me to walk through the Town Hall with him,” I said.

  “Again? Need help?” he said. Zane was more interested in this investigation than I realized.

  “I’ll call if I need you over there. In the meantime, keep an eye on this place, okay? Caroline’s focusing on her watches today.”

  Zane looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll do my best. But there’s a storm a-brewing, and I’m only one man.”

  “I have complete faith,” I said, putting my hand on his arm and squeezing it lightly.

  • • •

  I wasn’t sure which entrance to use, but was saved a decision when Jeff opened the front door. “Thanks for coming right over, Ruth,” he said, holding the door open for me. He closed and locked it after I was in.

  All the lights were on, which didn’t help the mood of the space. It looked like the set of a zombie movie—food half-eaten, paper strewn about, chairs in disarray, as if people had vanished mid-party. Which, in fact, they had.

  “Can we clean up soon?” I asked. “We’re asking for mice to come back.”

  “Come back?”

  “Old building, underused, riddled with holes. Pat and Fred have spent the better part of the spring getting rid of the mice, then patching up the holes. We finally hired someone to come in and help. We had to rewire the building after we found the extent of the damage.”

  “More money to spend.”

  “More reasons for Kim Gray to complain. Problem for her was that the deferred maintenance was on her watch. The rewiring had been budgeted for two years, but she hadn’t hired anyone to do it.”

  “This investigation has taken us on a number of paths so far,” Jeff said, instinctively looking around. No one else was in the room. “Kim had some interesting business relationships.”

  “Interesting?”

  “I suppose you’re going to find out sooner rather than later. We’re meeting with the Board of Selectmen later this week. She’d take a bid on a job, always the lowest. But then the job would come in with extra expenses, which the town would pay. Turns out that part of the overpayment was a kickback to Kim.”

  “Kickback?” I was shocked and angry. I felt my face getting warm and wondered what shade of red it was.

  “She’d get money from the vendor for the overpayment—”

  “I know what a kickback is,” I said, the words coming out more sharply than I intended. “I can’t believe no one caught on.”

  “It wasn’t much. A few hundred here and there. Not enough to raise a flag, and it seems to have been considered the cost of doing business in Orchard for the vendors. Netted her about twenty-five thousand dollars last year.”

  “Cost of doing business in Orchard,” I said. “That is terrible. Why didn’t anyo
ne say something? Or maybe . . .”

  “What?” Jeff asked.

  “I’m just thinking about something she said to me last week. She was wondering if the income we got for Signing Day was taxable. Started making noises about an investigation. I told her we were running a nonprofit, so we were all set. I also mentioned that I’d put her in touch with my lawyer if she had any questions.”

  “Not everyone has a lawyer,” Jeff said.

  “Not everyone has needed one as much as I have this past year,” I said.

  “Fair enough. But if you didn’t have a lawyer, or wanted to cut some corners . . .”

  “Maybe you’d be willing to pay a little extra. What a racket. Nancy’s head’s going to explode when she hears this one,” I said.

  “Ruth, this has to stay between us for now. After this week, it will be public knowledge. I’ll make sure the selectmen know about it beforehand. Beckett’s been doing some internal investigation, collecting evidence. He says he was about to blow the whistle.”

  “Beckett?” I said, not trusting my ears.

  “Don’t sound so dubious. He gave me the heads-up last week.”

  “Did he want her arrested?”

  “He wasn’t sure what the selectmen were going to do once he told them. He wanted me to be prepared, so we could try and keep it out of the press.”

  “Keep it out of the press? How? A summer scandal? After everything else that’s gone on here?” I bit my lower lip. “How awful. My poor clock tower. I know that sounds terrible.”

  “Believe it or not, Beckett was worried about you, and about Orchard. If he wasn’t sincere, he fooled me.”

  “Good for Beckett,” I said.

  “Yes, good for Beckett. Course, his business would be affected by bad publicity as well. He was trying to talk to Kim, get her to have a plan to pay restitution before he went to the Board of Selectmen.”

  “Was that really his call?”

  “No, but he’d been talking in generalities, hadn’t shown us proof. We had a meeting set for today to talk about next steps with the district attorney.”

  “So, Kim had reason to kill Beckett, but Beckett didn’t have a reason to kill Kim that we know of.”