“We?” Jeff asked, shaking his head. “No, he was worried about Orchard, first and foremost. That would have stopped him if nothing else did.”
“He was worried about his business. I guess that could be motive, couldn’t it? Can I ask you another question? I know you won’t answer, but I should ask. Did she really die of an allergic reaction?”
“She died of a reaction,” Jeff said.
“I suppose I should mention that Zane makes a homemade stain out of walnuts. We also use walnut oil on some of the wood in the building.”
“Did he have some of the stain in the building?” he asked, suddenly very interested.
“Probably. He’s been working over here a lot.”
“Nuts are everywhere,” Jeff said. “I’ll make sure and let the lab know about that.”
“Something’s been bothering me, Jeff. Was Kim dead before the bell . . . I mean, the bell didn’t kill her, did it?”
Jeff sighed. “Exact timing is tough to determine. But the ME thinks she was probably dead when the bell hit her.”
“I hate to think of a clock part being used to kill someone again,” I said. I was thinking about G.T., who had a heart attack after being struck by a pendulum. Jeff must have known what I was thinking, because he put his arm around my shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, then let go.
“We’re going to need to keep the bell for a while.”
“Keep it. We wouldn’t . . . bad karma and all that. Besides, Zane always hated that bell. I may have a clock sale coming up. Two banjo clocks. If the sale goes through, I’ll buy a new bell.”
Jeff and I walked over to the podium. “What are those things on the podium? They look like they belong on a barbell.”
“They do, don’t they? Those are like the clock weights we are going to be using. Pat, or was it Fred, made this model for folks to see what their nameplates would look like eventually. Clock weights can be anything, of course, as long as they fit in whatever shaft has been built to house them. Back in the day frugal folks would take the wooden packing crate the clock came in, fill it with field stones, and use that as the weight.”
“Do clock weights have to add up to a particular amount?”
“No,” I said. “The heavier the weight, the longer it will run without being wound, depending on the setup. But they can—”
“Whoa, wait a second, Ruth,” Jeff said. “Much as I’d love to go off on this tangent, we need to move on. I’m assuming you want to look at the clock parts?”
“Yes, please,” I said. We walked over to the signing stations, and I took a quick inventory. “You were telling me who else is on your suspect list,” I said.
“I was not telling you that.”
“How about if I tell you the names we came up with?”
“I’m not surprised that you’ve been thinking about this but I didn’t realize you had a team. Who’s ‘we’?”
“Never mind who ‘we’ is. Do you want to hear the list?”
“Go ahead,” Jeff said. I noticed he’d taken his notebook out and was jotting down notes. That made me oddly pleased with myself, so I kept talking.
“We tried to figure out who got past the table to head out back. We probably missed some folks. Let’s see.” I pretended to look for the list, but I knew it by heart. “Beckett. Fred. Freddie. Jason. Jimmy.”
“Jimmy Murphy? He’s on your list?”
“He isn’t on yours?” I said, hopefully.
“Never mind. Just a comment on the thoroughness of your investigative skills.”
“Did we miss anyone?” I asked.
“Ruth—”
“I know, I know. You can’t blame a girl for trying. How else can I help you?”
“Walk through the day with me again. Go ahead, use your notes. I want to know if I missed anything.”
“If you missed anything?” I asked.
“Listen, there’s a lot of pressure to get this one solved. I’ve come to respect your keen powers of observation. A few things still don’t make sense to me. Walk me through.”
So, I did. For the next forty minutes Jeff and I walked through the day, starting with my call from Kim to when we all left.
“Kim not showing up for the press photos—that was odd, right?”
“I thought so. Must have been quite the meeting to have sidelined her.”
“Must have been,” Jeff said. “We’re still working on that hole in her schedule.”
“Then she arrived, but she must have come in the side door, and then gone out to the portico,” I said. “That’s weird too. Wouldn’t she want to make an appearance? If she’d come in the front door, I would have seen her.”
“Would you have called her over to make a speech? Even though she was late?”
“Of course,” I said. “Listen, I wasn’t a fan, but better to stay on her good side. But coming in the side? Maybe she was going to go to the party on the portico and figured she would get there early. Or maybe she was going to meet someone before she came into the event? The question is who? And why?”
“We’ve got lots of whys,” Jeff said. “Working on the how. What we need is the who.”
chapter 20
I walked back over to the Cog & Sprocket, thoughts spinning. Interesting news about Beckett. I wondered what got him onto the idea of investigating Kim’s business practices? Was that why he was so friendly with her? Or did he want her to cut him in, and she refused? Beckett as a crusader for justice. Somehow that particular cape didn’t seem to fit.
I walked up the porch steps and instinctively checked the mailbox beside the front door. Our old mail carrier had always come in the shop, but the new carrier’s route took her by the Cog much earlier, so she left the mail in the box. I didn’t mind the lack of human contact in this instance.
I sorted through the mail quickly, stopping when I saw a familiar name in the address. Another letter from Eric. I sat on the front porch and played with the envelope. The dove gray color, heavy linen stock. Professor Eric Evan. My old address. I took a measure of my pulse. Steady. Hands? Dry. I took a breath, and opened the back flap of the letter. Without a letter opener. Eric would have hated that. I smiled at the jagged edge the rip made.
Ruth— it began. No salutation. Just Ruth. I read on.
Ruth—
I am sorry you weren’t able to make it to the dinner with the dean I invited you to a few weeks ago. It is with some trepidation that I write to congratulate you on your newest adventure. I must admit, I was surprised that you decided to use your considerable talents in this fashion, but sentiment was always a driving force in your life.
As time has lapsed, I have reconsidered the way we left things. Your lawyer requested a split of assets, and my lawyer denied the request. Games. I would imagine that those assets would be useful for your business. Please accept this check as my attempt to honor our former relationship. My lawyer let me know that your cashing the check would be your agreement to terms. This seems a much better end to a mostly happy chapter in my life. I hope you agree.
With my highest regards,
Eric
With my highest regards. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more. That I’d once desperately loved a man who used a phrase like “highest regards” to the woman he supposedly loved or that he was trying to make amends after being so horrid a year ago. I’d lived on campus with him, and we’d been banking money for a future home purchase. When we divorced, he refused to split all of the assets fifty-fifty, arguing that his income had constituted the majority of those assets, since most of my income had been spent on clock parts. I was left with the clocks I’d built, my tools, the couch and kitchen table (neither of which had been to Eric’s taste), and my personal possessions. Clothes, books, and jewelry mostly. Fortunately, I was young enough to bounce back, thanks in no small part to the second chance the Cog & Sprocket, and G.T.,
had left me. Still, much as Eric’s treatment of me had stung, I’d decided he’d done me a favor, and made it easier to close that chapter of my life. I hadn’t fought him, feeling that my moral high ground was the last word.
I looked down at the check he had enclosed and lost my breath. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Twenty-five thousand dollars would go a long way in the clock tower dreams. But at what price?
I texted Kristen, asking to set up a call. Time for a lawyer’s opinion.
• • •
Penny for your thoughts.”
I started, and looked up. Jimmy Murphy walked up and sat on the next rocking chair over. His tie was purple today, and his socks were also purple. I noticed them when he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. He leaned back on the chair and closed his eyes. Caroline told me that G.T. hadn’t used the porch much in the years since she moved to Orchard, but I wasn’t surprised. This was my grandmother’s turf. I thought of her every time I sat here. When I was a kid, visiting my grandparents in the summer, I’d spend hours sitting on this porch, reading or watching my grandmother tend to her flower boxes. Now I was the one tending the flower boxes, but with far less artistry. At least the flowers were still alive. Well, most of them.
“Nice view, this,” Jimmy said.
“It really is. Gives me a wonderful view of Orchard. Even the town fights.” I looked over at Jimmy’s bruised knuckles. He used his good hand to cover them. “You have a heck of a right hook.”
“Didn’t realize we had an audience,” Jimmy said, squirming a little. “Anyone else witness that display?”
“Just Zane and me. Beckett finally pushed you over the edge, I guess.”
“Beckett was on the receiving end of my frustration,” Jimmy said. “They brought Nancy in for questioning too.”
“Too?”
“Yeah. I’m on the short list. It isn’t like I didn’t have motive. Course, I didn’t do it, but that’s tougher to prove under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
Jimmy sighed and looked over at the clock tower. The sun was lower in the sky, and the building was playing its game of shadows on the grounds below. He looked back at me and shrugged his shoulders. “Kim Gray was a real piece of work, you know that? Once I got Nancy on the Board of Selectmen, Kim knew she was on borrowed time. I finally had enough votes to get rid of her. That’s when she turned on the screws. Ends up she’d been doing business like that for years.”
“Doing business like what?”
“Blackmail. She called it ‘keeping secrets safe.’ Horrible woman. Rest her soul, of course. But still, doubt she’ll be spending time in the pearly gates playing a harp. No, she’s in for a warm repose. Very warm.”
“Jimmy, that’s terrible,” I said, and I meant it.
“The truth can be terrible. One indiscretion, years ago, mind you, should not be allowed to ruin your life.”
“Indiscretion? Like breaking-the-law indiscretion?”
“No, the other kind,” he said, sighing. “Three years ago. A lady friend.”
“Didn’t your wife pass away ten years ago?” I asked, feeling like I was missing something.
“The lady has a husband.”
“Ah.”
“Not something I’m proud of.”
“So you let Kim blackmail you. To protect your, um, friend? That’s pretty gallant of you.”
“I have my moments,” Jimmy said.
“That’s why you voted not to fire her?”
“Ha! Guessing that little tidbit came from Beckett. That’s so like him, going through the trash.”
“Actually, I think he had good intentions.”
“Come on—”
“No, really. I’m sure it was self-serving in some way, but—”
“You can take that to the bank.”
“Anyway, you think Kim blackmailed other people.”
“I do, though I don’t know who.”
“Did you ever give her money?”
“Money? No? The only thing she ever asked me to do was to not fire her, which I did. Now it’s time to make it right. I’m offering my resignation from the Board of Selectmen, of course.”
“Are you really sure that’s what’s best for the town? Beckett will run for your seat.”
“He will. Probably get it unless I can get you or Ben to run. Any interest? We can have up to five people serve at any given time.”
“None.”
“Didn’t think so, but I wanted to make sure. We’ve got to get a new town manager hired. I’d like to have a say in that.”
“She’s only been dead for two days,” I said, a little shocked.
“But we’ve been planning on getting rid of her for months. Time to put that into motion.” Jimmy looked at his watch and got up. “Look at the time. I’ve got someone I need to see—let her know what storm may be brewing in case Kim had a partner in crime. I don’t look forward to this, but it has to be done.” He stood and fixed the crease in his trousers.
“Do me a favor—don’t resign before you talk things over with the rest of the board,” I said. “There’s a lot going on right now, and I think they need you.”
“I’ll consider it,” he said, stepping off the porch. “You take good care, Ruth. Orchard needs you.”
• • •
I went back into the shop. No one was behind the counter, though a voice said, “Hello? Can I help you?” Then Zane came through to the front counter. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Is Nadia back? Where is everybody?” I asked.
“She’s upstairs with the rest of them, having tea.”
“Tea?”
“More like a late lunch with airs. Flo came by a little while ago with a plate of sandwiches and a tray of desserts. Sent some down to me, but the gaggle is upstairs having a talk.”
“Gaggle? Are you making a sexist comment?”
“Just observing that there are a lot of women upstairs, and I’m just as happy watching the shop.”
“So Pat isn’t back yet? Or Ben?”
“Pat got stuck doing another house call over in Marytown. Not sure where Ben is, but Flo will know.”
“How about I turn on the bells so you can hear if a customer is coming in?” I said. We had an elaborate bell system on the ceiling, with a carillon of tinkling bells that were triggered every time the door opened. The system was invented by Pat, as was the turn-it-off option.
“Good idea.”
“No customers today?” I asked.
“Not in person. Were you expecting any?”
“There was someone who called about coming in to look at two banjos. Ms. Bloodsnow. The clocks are upstairs. She said she was coming on Tuesday, but if she comes in today, let me know.”
“Will do,” Zane said.
I headed to the staircase and had gotten only a couple of steps up when a gale of laughter swept down the stairs. I looked back at Zane and put my hands under my armpits, then flapped. Zane laughed and winked at me.
chapter 21
My apartment was tiny. I dreamed of large and airy, but instead I had small and cramped. At least the ceilings were tall, well over ten feet. The kitchen table was too big for the space, but I was, once again, glad I hadn’t sold it. It was the most-used piece of furniture in the entire apartment, including my bed. It was my desk when I was alone and my entertainment center when company was there. We kept a dozen folding chairs in the hallway and someone had brought a few in. Sitting around the table were Flo, Caroline, Nancy, and Nadia. Two empty bottles of wine were on the sideboard, and Moira was opening a third.
“Just in time,” she said.
“Zane said you were having tea.”
“My kind of tea,” Flo said, lifting her glass in a toast. “Besides, I can’t drink caffeine this late—I’d be up all ni
ght.” She took a healthy swig of wine.
“You want some?” Moira asked.
“I think I’ll stick with tea for the time being. What kind of wine is it?”
“Bubbling Burgundy.”
“Bubbling . . .”
“Flo found it. It’s not bad,” Nancy said, swishing her glass around a bit.
“Make sure you eat something too,” Caroline said. “There are wonderful sandwiches Flo brought.”
“Not as good as the Sleeping Latte sandwiches,” Flo added, eyeing Nancy.
“They’re good,” Nancy said, somewhat grudgingly. “Where did you get them? Hamilton’s?”
“Hamilton’s?” I took a sandwich. Fresh tomatoes and pesto oozed out of the sides of the fresh bread. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. “Same family as Fred and Freddie?” I asked with a full mouth. Delicious.
“Same. Fred’s sister runs it. It’s a little lunch place. Opened last fall, near the university. Great location. Does a pretty good business,” Flo said.
“Course, it’s hard not to make a good sandwich this simple,” Nancy said. “Fresh bread, pesto, mozzarella, tomatoes. Hummus and cucumbers.”
“Mum, that’s not fair, and you know it,” Moira said. “These are really good. Maybe we should think about asking her to make sandwiches for the Latte.”
“Are you retiring, Nancy?” Caroline asked. She took another half a sandwich and a few chips.
“Not retiring. Coming to terms with the fact that I can only do so much. I was hoping Freddie could pick up the slack. She’s a great baker, but a menace at anything else.”
“You’re not going to fire her, are you?” Nadia asked.
“Fire? No, not at all. In fact, we’re getting more and more special orders in.”
“Like the cherry tart order?” Nadia asked.
“I didn’t have her make cherry tarts,” Nancy said, in a way that sounded like she had said it many times before. “Can’t say more about that—Jeff’s orders.”
“Oh, so they do think tarts are what killed Kim. Poor Freddie,” Nadia said.
Chime and Punishment Page 19