A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  Copyright Information

  A Curio Killing: A Keepsake Cove Mystery © 2019 by Mary Ellen Hughes.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First e-book edition © 2019

  E-book ISBN: 9780738755502

  Book format by Samantha Penn

  Cover design by Shannon McKuhen

  Cover Illustration by Mary Ann Lasher-Dodge

  Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hughes, Mary Ellen, author.

  Title: A curio killing : a Keepsake Cove mystery / Mary Ellen Hughes.

  Description: First Edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota : Midnight Ink, [2019] |

  Series: A Keepsake Cove mystery ; #3

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019013882 (print) | LCCN 2019015568 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780738755502 () | ISBN 9780738752266 (alk. paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3558.U3745 (ebook) | LCC PS3558.U3745 C87 2019 (print)

  | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019013882

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  Midnight Ink

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  For Therese Lemanski Luedtke.

  Still miss you.

  One

  “They’re setting up the tents!” Delia Hamilton leaned through the doorway of House of Melody, Callie Reed’s collectible music box shop. Callie, who’d just ended a phone call, lit up. She’d been looking forward to the Keepsake Cove Spring Festival for weeks, and now her long wait through wintery snows and chilly March drizzles was coming to an end. The festival, along with the area’s dogwoods and azaleas, was beginning to bud and bloom.

  This would be Callie’s first Keepsake Cove Spring Festival. She’d inherited her Aunt Melodie’s shop and the amazing fairy-tale cottage behind it just eleven months earlier and had gone through a lot in that time, including less-than-pleasant happenings that involved murder. But there had been plenty of good times, too. This, she was sure, was going to be one of them.

  “Have you heard from your friend?” she asked. Delia, who owned the shop next door, had told Callie about her childhood friend Jill Burns. Jill moonlighted as a costume photographer, and Delia had talked that up to the festival planners as a fun addition to the music, food, and games. Families and individuals, she’d declared, love photos of themselves dressed as historical figures or comic strip characters to post on Instagram or Facebook. The organizers had agreed.

  “She’s on her way. I’m so glad she was available,” Delia said. “I can’t wait to see her. It’s been ages.”

  “I can’t wait to see her costumes.” Tabitha, Callie’s part-time assistant, emerged from the back office. “I’m dying to have my photo taken in something exotic.”

  Callie stared at Tabitha, unsure if she was joking. The young woman’s regular wardrobe was nearly always a costume of one sort or another, put together from thrift-shop pieces and Tabitha’s creative imagination. Just that morning she’d arrived dressed in a vintage gray-blue suit with a pair of wire-framed eyeglasses, her chestnut hair pulled back severely in a bun. At Callie’s puzzled look, she’d patiently explained that she was Diana Prince, Wonder Woman’s alter ego. Callie had nodded, happy only that her assistant hadn’t chosen the much briefer Wonder Woman costume, which would certainly startle many of her music box customers.

  Longtime House of Melody customers, though, had gotten used to Tabitha’s habit and apparently enjoyed guessing her character of the day. So it wasn’t hard for Callie to go along with it, especially since she was extremely grateful for Tabitha’s knowledgeable help at the shop from day one.

  “Tabitha,” Delia said, “I’m sure Jill couldn’t top anything you already do. But I know she’d love to meet you.”

  “Who’d love to meet her?” a male voice asked. Brian Greer appeared behind Delia, having crossed the street from his business, a breakfast-and-lunch eatery know as the Keepsake Café. He’d been stopping by House of Melody more and more often lately during the less-busy mid-afternoon time. Over the last several months, he and Callie had gradually progressed from friends to something-more-than-friends. The unhurried nature of the connection was just fine with Callie. At the age of twenty-nine, after moving to Keepsake Cove, she’d broken off a longtime but downward-spiraling relationship, so she felt a definite need to take things slowly—something she was very grateful that Brian understood.

  “My friend Jill, the costume photographer,” Delia explained, moving into the shop to allow Brian entrance. With the warmer weather, Delia had resumed her favorite attire of a loose tee over a long, flower-printed maxi skirt, all of which flowed nicely and flattered her rounder frame. Brian was in his usual: jeans and a roll-sleeved plaid shirt. He’d left his green apron behind at the café, which he owned and operated mostly by himself. When asked, he often described himself as chief cook and bottle washer.

  “I think you’d look great as Abraham Lincoln,” Tabitha said to Brian. “Or maybe Mr. Spock.”

  “I’ll stick with Mr. Greer, thanks. Can’t have a long beard getting in my way in the kitchen. Or long pointy ears falling into the soup. I expect to be kept hopping with all the hungry tourists coming to the festival.”

  “Then maybe you should be the March Hare,” Callie suggested, and waited for the groan that quickly came.

  “Well,” Brian said, “that character did do a lot of rushing around, didn’t he?”

  “And he always thought it was tea time,” Delia said.

  “And was, um, a bit mad,” Tabitha added.

  “There you go,” Brian said, grinning. “Perfect.”

  “Will Annie be helping you with the rushing part?” Callie asked. Brian’s sister, who lived in the area, occasionally pitched in at the café.

  “She will. But I’ve promised her plenty of time to enjoy the festival with Mike and the boys. They’re really looking forward to it.”

  “So am I,” Callie said.

  “Do you enjoy dancing?” Delia asked her. “I understand there’ll be a dance floor set up under one o
f the tents near the bandstand.”

  “I’m terrible at most kinds, but I like line dancing. That can be a lot of fun.” Callie didn’t add how she’d happened to learn it, which was during the gigs of various country-western bands that her ex-boyfriend, Hank, had played with. Brian knew about that relationship, of course, but there was no point bringing it up unnecessarily.

  “I don’t know if you’ll get an opportunity to line dance,” Delia said. “It’s not very big in Maryland.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tabitha said. “There’s spots here on the Eastern Shore that go in for it. I’ll bet there’ll be calls for it.”

  Callie smiled at that but saw Brian’s face take on a slightly pained look. She decided she’d coax him to dance if the opportunity came up but wouldn’t push him too hard out of his comfort zone.

  “Well, I’d better get back to my shop,” Delia said. She took off, moments before a customer walked into House of Melody and Tabitha stepped up to wait on her. When an older couple appeared to be heading for the shop as well, Brian told Callie he’d get out of her way.

  “I’ve got a few things to do at the café anyway. I’ll see you later.” He held the door for the couple, then made a final wave to Callie.

  Just my luck, Callie thought. Her shop had been quiet as a tomb for the last hour. But when she was enjoying a little face-time with her friends, things picked up. As the older couple began to browse, she watched Brian cross back to the Keepsake Café, sorry to see him go.

  They’d both been extra busy the past few weeks with preparations for the festival. Brian had even stepped in to handle publicity when the original volunteer, Pearl Poepelman of Pearl’s Bangles and Beads, needed to attend to a family emergency. The Keepsake Cove Shop Owners’ Association had excused Callie from direct involvement in the planning since she’d done her bit handling the Cove’s fall celebration, coordinating the street decorations as well as the Halloween book event for suspense author Lyssa Hammond. That event had turned out to be a lot more than she’d bargained for.

  Nevertheless, she still had plenty to do to ready her music box shop for the influx of new customers expected to flood the streets of Keepsake Cove during the spring festival. But that, of course, was the whole point of the celebration—to bring people to the area, some of whom might not yet have discovered this quaint section of the town of Mapleton.

  Each of the shops in the Cove featured a unique type of collectible item. Next door to House of Melody, Delia’s Shake It Up! offered a huge variety of collectible salt and pepper shakers. On the other side, Karl Eggers’s Car-lectibles carried classic and collectible model cars. Then there was Bill and Laurie Hart’s Kids at Heart vintage toy shop, Orlena Martin’s Treasured Boxes, and many, many more. Keepsake Cove was a collector’s dream, and more than one shopper had been hooked after a single visit to the area.

  Tabitha’s customer at last decided on her purchase, a novelty piece with a ballerina figure who twirled inside a globe as the Nutcracker’s “Waltz of the Flowers” played. Callie heard the woman tell Tabitha that her eight-year-old niece was performing in her first ballet and that the music box would be a perfect gift for her.

  As that customer left, the older woman who’d been browsing with her husband asked about a particular music box from the higher-end selections. It happened to be one of Callie’s current favorites, a black-enameled jewelry box with a lovely red rose design on its lid.

  “The box itself was handcrafted in Italy,” Callie said, lifting the lid to display the velvet lined compartments inside. “The mechanism is by Reuge, an old and very well-regarded Swiss firm.” She wound the key at the back and the first several notes of one of Schumann’s Romances played.

  “It’s beautiful,” the white-haired woman said.

  “It’s a bit pricey,” her concerned husband responded.

  “It is,” she agreed. “But still beautiful.” She gazed at it longingly for several moments before adding, “I’ll have to sleep on it.”

  “Of course,” Callie said. “If you like, I could put it aside for forty-eight hours.”

  “Would you?” The woman gave her name and contact information. “Thank you so much,” she said, glancing back at the music box as they made their way out.

  “She’ll be back,” Tabitha said once the door had closed.

  “Think so?”

  “Uh-huh. She had that look in her eye. I’ve seen it before. She loved it from the start, but you made the husband a little more comfortable with the cost by throwing in the specifics.”

  “I might be catching up with you as far as having that kind of information in my head. When I think about how clueless I was that first day …”

  “It took me a while. There’s a lot of music boxes to learn about. You had to step in pretty quick after Mel died.”

  Died was the gentle way of putting it, Callie thought. Murdered was the reality—a reality she’d gradually uncovered while still coping with the huge change that the loss of Aunt Melodie had made in her life.

  She glanced up at her Grandpa Reed’s polished wood music box, locked protectively in its Plexiglas case on the shelf behind the counter. Had Aunt Mel truly been sending her messages through it? Approvals or warnings tended to ring out on their own, when no one was near enough to the music box to touch it. Callie could never be sure, but the timing of the sounds was definitely unsettling enough to keep her wondering.

  “She’s been quiet, lately, hasn’t she?” Tabitha asked, apparently reading Callie’s thoughts. Tabitha was the only one she’d discussed this topic with, and her assistant was one hundred percent convinced it was Mel’s doing.

  “Keepsake Cove itself has been quiet,” Callie said. “Since October,” she added, alluding to the two murders that had occurred at that time. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  “I’m with you on that!” Tabitha glanced at the clock. “Oops, time for me to take off. I’ve got some beading to get to.” Tabitha operated a budding beaded-jewelry business out of her home, supplementing her income with part-time work at House of Melody until her jewelry-making could support her. Much as Callie wished her assistant the best, she knew she’d be very sorry to lose Tabitha when the time came.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said as the younger woman grabbed her vintage clutch bag from behind the counter and hurried off on her chunky-heeled, Diana Prince–like shoes. How does she find those things? Callie wondered for perhaps the hundredth time, then turned to find a shelf replacement for the recently sold ballerina globe.

  As she puttered around the shop, her thoughts moved between music boxes and the Spring Festival, which would officially open the next day. Would the hoped-for crowds turn out? The weather looked to be gorgeous. But there were so many competing events around the area. It was as though Maryland, neighboring Virginia, and DC all came alive once spring arrived, with horse races, boat shows, art fairs, and more. How much could the average person take in?

  She picked up one of her novelty music boxes, which had been moved out of place. It had a guitar design on its lid, and Callie lifted it to hear the first few notes of “Achy Breaky Heart.” Her toe started tapping and she rewound the key to hear it again, doing a few steps along with the music.

  She was in the middle of a third run-through when the shop door opened and a very familiar, rich baritone voice said, “You still got it, babe.”

  Callie whirled around in shock.

  There, in his denims, cowboy hat, and snakeskin boots stood Hank, grinning from ear to ear, obviously convinced that her shock at the sight of him came from pure delight.

  Two

  “H ank!” Callie sputtered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Yeah, I’m a day early. The band doesn’t play until tomorrow night. But this gives me more time to look around.” Hank moved in for a hug that Callie was too surprised to resist, though she made an effort to keep it brief.<
br />
  “So this is it, huh?” he asked, casting a broad look around. “Your aunt’s place.” He picked up a small music box, glanced at it, and put it down.

  “The band is playing here?”

  “Yeah! I texted you about that, didn’t I? Damn, maybe I forgot. Meant to, though.”

  Astounded at seeing her ex, Callie was still unsure how to react. Hank looked much the same as when she’d last seen him, just as tall and slim, his dark brown hair curling below his cowboy hat. It was his rich, baritone voice that always got to her. But his confession that he’d “meant to” do yet another thing brought back all the reasons she’d decided to end their relationship. She pulled herself together and cleared her throat.

  “No, you didn’t let me know. It would have been nice, but it doesn’t matter all that much. So you’ll be performing at our festival?”

  “Right! Bobby got us the gig. Two nights, and I get to be here with you.”

  “Not with me, Hank. Just here at the Cove. But I’m glad things are working out.” She knew Hank had joined a new band shortly after she’d moved to Keepsake Cove. The manager, Bobby Linville, had offered him the spot at a time when Hank’s career was stagnant, and he’d jumped at the opportunity. Callie had long known Hank had the talent; doing the work and getting the right breaks were what had always been elusive. Playing at Keepsake Cove’s Spring Festival wasn’t exactly what you’d call a big break, but it would help pay the bills.

  “Hey, come on, babe. You know how I hate motels, and you’ve got your aunt’s place and all—”

  “No Hank. No. No way. Nada. Uh-uh.”

  “But—”

  Callie crossed her arms and stood firm. Such wheedling might have worked in the past, but those days were over.

  Hank read the look on her face and gave up, turning away and looking down at her music boxes. He spotted the one Callie had been dancing to. “Hey, I like that one!” he said, picking it up. “Looks like one of my first guitars on top, there. Remember it? No, you probably don’t think of those days anymore, right?” Was that supposed to make me feel bad? He listened to the tune for a minute, grinning, and then asked, “How much?”