by Linda Reilly
In the meantime, they needed to be prepared for a very busy Saturday.
“Bea, I just thought of something,” Talia said. “How are we going to advertise our two-for-one deal today?”
“Ach.” Bea stuck a hand on her hip. “We need one of those sandwich board thingies to stick out in front. Do you know where we can get one on short notice?”
“A real sandwich board might be pricey.” Talia tapped a finger to her lips. “Know what? I’ll bet we could make our own. We could buy two of those stiff, poster-sized sheets from the crafts store on Elm Street, tape them into a V shape”—she demonstrated by tenting her hands—“and write our own message on it.”
Bea snapped her fingers. “Maybe Whitnee could stop by there and grab them on her way in this morning.”
“Mom’s friend Millie works there part time. I’m pretty sure she’s there Saturday mornings. Let me make a few calls.”
Within five minutes, Talia had it all arranged. Millie agreed to have two neon orange poster boards waiting for Whitnee when she arrived, along with a black marker. Whitnee, who answered her cell immediately, said she’d be happy to make the pickup. She didn’t need to worry about paying, since Talia already charged the cost to her own credit card. She also agreed to come in early, since she had some time to make up anyway.
“Let me know how much that all came to,” Bea said, “so I can reimburse you.”
“No, Bea,” Talia said firmly. “The cost was minimal, and besides, we’re in this together.”
Bea looked at Talia, and her eyes filled with tears. “Then you and I had best get our lovely buns in gear. I predict we’re going to be frying up a mountain of fish today!”
• • •
“Whitnee, that looks fantastic.” Talia beamed. “I love the way you drew those fish. They actually look thrilled that they’re being dunked into a vat of hot oil!”
They were standing outside on the cobblestone plaza, assessing the merits of the sandwich board they’d created from the bright orange posters. Whitnee’s artwork delighted Talia. She hadn’t realized how talented the girl was.
Her cheeks flushing, Whitnee shoved a strand of carrot-colored hair behind one ear. “Do you really think so? I couldn’t decide how to make the fish smile, so I gave them faces that were sort of, you know, human.”
“You did a super job, Whitnee. I am truly impressed.”
The board was already attracting potential customers. A middle-aged couple with a young boy in tow approached the sign and read the message. “Do you like fish, honey?” the woman said. She tousled the boy’s dark curls.
“Yup. I like potato chips, too.”
Talia bent toward the child, whose brown eyes were the size of checkers. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she said. “In this restaurant, chips is the code word for French fries.”
“I like those even better! Can we eat here, Grandma?”
The woman laughed. “Of course we can, in another hour or so. Let’s shop a bit first. Maybe we can buy you that DVD you keep hinting at.”
With a promise to return at lunchtime, they strode off toward the shops on Main Street. A pang of loss went straight to Talia’s heart. Her own nana had been exactly like that—kind, loving, indulgent to a fault. She swallowed hard and dashed inside Lambert’s, Whitnee trailing her like an obedient pup.
“Luvvy,” Bea said to Whitnee, “you’d best make an extra batch of mushy peas today. I expect we’re going to be handling a crowd.”
Whitnee nodded. “Sure thing, Bea.”
“So, did you do anything interesting last night?” Talia inquired, trying to sound casual. She couldn’t help noticing that Whitnee was in far better spirits today. She wondered if anything in particular had triggered her sudden upswing in mood.
Whitnee smiled shyly, and her light brown eyes glowed. “Pug and I had this, like, really nice dinner? At this cool place on Pontoosuc Lake? It was kind of an anniversary dinner. We met at the lake two months ago, at a party at my friend’s folks’ cottage. So Pug got this awesomely romantic idea that we should celebrate our anniversary on the lake, too.”
Talia removed a glass batter bowl from an upper shelf. She couldn’t imagine the metal-studded Pug being anything close to romantic. He seemed to have all the grace and sensibility of a gourd. Still, she had no right to judge. As young and innocent as Whitnee looked, she was an adult and had the right to date whoever she pleased.
“Sounds like you had a great time,” Talia said with as much sincerity as she could muster.
A mysterious grin split Whitnee’s thin face, and she flushed a deep crimson.
Uh-oh. Did Whitnee have a secret? Had Pug proposed? Or was their two-month-anniversary date the first time they’d—?
Ugh. Talia didn’t even want to think about it.
They worked in tandem to get everything prepped for the two-for-one special they were offering. Talia pictured a horde of hungry diners storming through the door at eleven thirty. The idea sent an odd little thrill through her, and she caught herself smiling.
Bea’s relaxed mood of earlier that morning had faded. Although she’d managed to whip up a double batch of slaw, she’d spent much of her time either on her cell or in the bathroom. From the tidbits of conversation Talia had picked up, she gleaned that Bea’s attorney had been in touch with the state police.
“That does it,” Bea said furiously, shoving her phone into her pants pocket.
“Wh … what is it, Bea? What’s wrong?” Bea’s face was a frightening shade of purple, and her hands were clenched into tight fists.
“That was Mr. Patchett, the bloke who’s representing me. That state copper wants to meet us at two this afternoon, at my house.”
Talia exchanged glances with Whitnee, whose expression was suddenly pained. “Bea, if you’re worried about leaving Whitnee and me alone here, you don’t—”
“Aww, luv, I’m not the slightest bit worried about that.” Bea waved away the notion. “It’s what he said that has me so bleeping mad. Can you believe this one? The state police want me to surrender my passport. They’re afraid I’ll try to flee the country!”
13
By the time the noon hour rolled around, Lambert’s was hopping. Talia and Whitnee worked assembly-line style, with Talia as fry cook and Whitnee adding the final side dishes to each of the orders. Bea answered the phone and rang up orders robotically, in between delivering meals to the customers seated in the dining area. In spite of Lambert’s being busier than Talia had ever remembered, they’d been able to keep up with the orders.
So far.
The dining area was filled to capacity. The low hum of chattering customers melded with the delectable scent of fried fish and chips, producing a sound Talia loved—the sound of success.
“Looks like your sandwich board performed magic,” Talia whispered to Whitnee. She simultaneously dredged two slabs of haddock through the tray of flour.
Whitnee giggled at the compliment. “I’m sure it wasn’t just the poster, but it sure is busy, isn’t it? I’ve never seen the place so … overflowing.” She plopped a scoop of mushy peas into a round container, snapped a cover over it, and set it next to a mound of fried fish and chips in a takeout box. After closing the box she handed it to Bea, who rang up the order for the customer.
Talia was just going to the fridge for another box of haddock fillets when she spied a familiar-looking young man waiting his turn at the counter. His sandy hair curling around the collar of his charcoal suede jacket, he smiled shyly at her through startlingly long lashes. She’d definitely seen him before, but where? The young man let a hunched, elderly gent with a cane go in front of him, then peeked over the man’s head and greeted Talia with a little wave. “Hey,” he said, “remember me?”
And then she got it. “Oh my gosh, Aaron?”
Aaron LaPlante grinned. “I had a feeling you didn’t recognize me.”
“I didn’t, at first,” Talia admitted with a laugh. “Your hair, your clothes … well, just ab
out everything is different.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “I was under orders last night. Kendra told me to look as”—he made air quotes with his long, manicured fingers—“punky and grungy as possible. She wanted everyone to be grossed out when they saw me.” He rolled his gray-blue eyes at the ceiling.
Interesting, Talia thought. So the punk gig had all been an act. Now she desperately wanted to talk to Aaron. He could probably tell her plenty about Kendra. He might even know where she was the night Turnbull was killed.
She was about to ask Aaron if she could speak to him privately when she saw him lean toward the old man in front of him and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Sir,” Aaron said, “I’m alone today, and don’t have anyone to share the two-for-one special with me. Would you mind if I treated you to your fish and chips?”
The old man’s faded eyes brightened. He turned and offered Aaron his wrinkled hand, which Aaron clasped with a friendly shake. “That’s awfully kind of you, young fella. I was going to ask for a senior discount, but I believe I’ll take you up on that.”
Talia saw tears pool in the old man’s eyes, and she flashed Aaron a grateful smile.
Bea took their order and rang it up. She hadn’t recognized Aaron, and it was obvious her mind had been elsewhere during the entire exchange. When it was time to box up their meals, Talia whispered to Whitnee that she’d take care of this one. She gave the elderly man his lunch bag and wished him a good day.
“Aaron, do you have a minute for me?” Talia said, handing him his takeout bag.
He handed her a twenty and she gave him the change. “Sure, but it’s kind of noisy in here. Can we step outside?”
Bea shot Talia a strange look and then nodded her approval. “I’ll cover for you, Tal. Go ahead and take a break.”
So, she had been listening.
“Back in a flash,” Talia promised, and then followed Aaron outside. She didn’t want to leave Bea and Whitnee any longer than she had to, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to extract information from Kendra’s stepson.
Aaron strolled out onto the plaza and glanced around the arcade. “Too bad they don’t have any benches out here. I mean, the cobblestone lends a charming ambiance, but sometimes people like to sit for a few and just take in the scenery, you know?”
Talia smiled. She’d often wondered the same thing. “That’s okay, I only have a few minutes to spare. Aaron, why did Kendra want you to gross us all out? What did she have against the arcade owners? I don’t think any of them even knew her.”
“Yeah, but she was pi … ticked off big-time that they all signed Phil’s petition.”
“Bea didn’t.”
Aaron shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t know that. Anyway, she was determined to have me open a comic book store here. It was all a plot to get under Phil’s skin.” His sandy eyebrows dipped over his eyes. “Kendra loves to play games, you know? She isn’t happy unless everyone in her perfect little world is squashed firmly under her thumb.”
“But a comic book store would be good for you, right?”
“No.” Aaron scowled. “Don’t get me wrong, I love comic books. But I don’t want to sell them—I want to design them. It’s been my dream since I was in grade school. I’m an artist, not a shopkeeper.” He flushed. “No offense to anyone here, but it’s just not my thing.”
“Then why are you letting Kendra pressure you?”
His face darkened. “When Kendra doesn’t get her way, she takes it out on my dad. He’s like, you know, really passive. I guess that’s how she got her claws into him in the first place. But I hate it when she browbeats him.” He barked out a laugh. “Besides, Phil was an enormous boil on my butt, pardon the language. Cripes, I couldn’t stand that man.”
Talia glanced toward Lambert’s, where a foursome of giggling teenagers had just paraded through the front entrance. She couldn’t waste any more time. “Aaron, one last question. Did Kendra hate Phil enough to kill him?”
Aaron laughed out loud. “Everyone hated Phil enough to kill him.” He shook his head. “But Kendra wasn’t around that night. She had her usual Wednesday night spa appointment at Always You. She never misses it. I mean, like, never.”
“Aaron, you’ve been very helpful.” Talia pointed at his bag. “I owe you another fish and chips meal for letting yours get cold. Come back any time. It’ll be on me.”
“Nah, it’ll be fine. But I’m going to bring my dad here soon. He loves fish and chips. His housekeeper made fried cod for him a few weeks ago, and it came out awful. She’s strictly a meat-and-potatoes type—had no idea what to do with an actual fish.”
Talia laughed. “Doesn’t Kendra cook?”
“Oh please. The only thing Kendra ever cooks up is a scheme to make more money.”
“Hey, I’ve got to run. Come in again, Aaron. I’d love to meet your dad. By the way, that was sweet, the way you paid for that elderly man’s lunch.”
“Well, it was a two-fer, right? No skin off my wallet.” Aaron winked at her. “Catch you later, ’tater.”
He sprinted off across the arcade, and Talia paused in front of the neon orange sign.
Yes, it was a two-fer, except for one thing. At Bea’s instruction, Whitnee had inscribed, in crisp black letters, the words half price for one.
• • •
“I’m about run off my feet today,” Bea grumbled. She looked at her watch and groaned. “It’s quarter till two. I’ll have to leave soon. Are you sure you two will be okay? It’s been awfully busy …”
“We’ll be fine,” Talia assured her. “We’re in a mini-lull right now, so Whitnee is going to take her break, and then I’ll take a quick one.”
Bea leaned over and hugged her. “Wish me luck, luv.”
“Of course I will,” Talia said, “but you don’t need luck because you’re innocent. Remember that, okay?” Talia wished she could believe her own words, but in truth she was terrified for Bea.
Whitnee surprised Talia by giving Bea a fast hug. “Good luck,” she whispered in a crackling voice.
After Bea left, Whitnee reached for the book bag she’d left hanging on the door hook. “I’m just going to sit in my car for twenty minutes. I’ve got a calc test on Monday. It helps if I can squeeze in some extra study time here and there.”
“Sure, take your time, Whitnee,” Talia said. “Is it hard for you to concentrate at home?”
Whitnee’s cheeks turned pink. “Um, it’s kind of noisy there. My older brother is always blasting music. It’s, like, hard to keep a train of thought.”
Poor girl, Talia thought. Her home life sounded like a bad dream.
The dining area was quiet now, with only a few stragglers. Talia went into the kitchen and loaded the dirty mugs and glasses into the dishwasher. She washed all the serving cones with a clean, soapy sponge and hung them on a rack to dry.
After a twenty-minute break, Whitnee returned. “Hey,” she said, hanging her book bag on its usual hook behind the kitchen door. One handle didn’t catch, and the bag sagged sideways. A thick, dog-eared magazine caught Talia’s eye, and she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek. Although she couldn’t see which mag it was, the one thing she could see made her insides sink. At the top left corner was an elaborate, hand-drawn heart with the initials W + P inscribed in the middle in purple ink.
Talia sighed. Whitnee really did have it bad for Pug, and she deserved so much better.
“Get any studying done?” Talia smiled at her.
“Not that much. I was dying for chocolate, so I went over to Queenie’s to get a Hershey’s bar.”
A Hershey’s bar. Talia loved them, too, but she preferred the almond ones. She wondered how a deep-fried chocolate bar would taste. And what if the batter was chocolate, too? Would she have to freeze the bar first to get the right consistency?
With a shake of her head, she chuckled at her silly idea. She definitely needed a break.
Talia snatched up her jacket and slid her arms into the slee
ves. She remembered the strange metal arrow that was still in her pocket. “Be back in a few,” she said to Whitnee. “My cell’s on, so call me if you need me. I won’t be far.”
Using the front entrance, Talia stepped out onto the plaza. Dark clouds had gathered, hinting at a storm. Shoppers chatted and mingled as they trod over the cobblestone, some with salmon-colored bags from Sage & Seaweed looped over their arms. Talia crossed directly over to the Clock Shop, opened the door, and went inside.
At first, the jumble and tumble of the store’s contents startled her. Clocks of all sizes were jammed willy-nilly onto the shelves. There seemed to be no pattern to their placement. Talia suspected some of the clocks might be valuable, but surrounded by so much clutter it was hard to tell the trash from the treasures.
At the far corner of the shop, Cliff Colby sat on a stool behind a glass counter that was packed with yet more clocks. He was bent over a sheet of paper on which he appeared to be scribbling. When he saw Talia, he jerked his head up. He quickly stashed the paper under the counter.
“Hi, Cliff.” She waved at him.
“What do you want?” His mouth turned down in a scowl.
Talia walked up to the counter and folded her hands over the glass. “I hope you don’t talk that way to all your customers.”
He smirked. “You’re a customer all of a sudden?”
Talia didn’t have time to waste. She reached into her pocket and fingered the metal arrow. “You heard that Bea and I found Turnbull’s body Thursday morning, right?”
“Yeah? So?”
Talia had to be careful. She didn’t want Cliff to know she’d found the arrow after Turnbull’s body had been removed. “I found this on the floor in Phil’s office that day,” she said. She pulled the arrow out of her pocket and held it up.
Cliff looked at it and shrugged. “And I care, why?”
“At first I wasn’t sure what it was,” Talia went on. “Then someone pointed out to me that it looked like the hand from a clock.”
At the word clock, Cliff snapped his head toward the object. His eyes narrowed, and then his face drained of color. “I … guess it could be from a clock. What difference does it make?” His attempt at sounding nonchalant flopped like a landed tuna.