Callie giggled at the sight of herself, her upturned freckled nose and lank blond hair not exactly working for an Elizabethan look. But Brian’s wide-legged, elbow-cocked stance mimicked King Henry’s familiar pose well despite his being half the king’s size, width-wise.
“All you need is an enormous drumstick to chew on,” she commented.
He laughed. “I’d settle for a hot dog. What about you?”
They settled their bill first, and Callie was glad to see that their posing had apparently caught the eye of another couple, who were now choosing their own costumes.
Callie and Brian got their hot dogs and wandered through the grounds as they munched, eventually finding themselves back at the bandstand area. It was currently quiet, the band apparently on a break, but the crowd had mostly remained, some going only as far as the nearest concession stand, which said a lot.
Callie was glad for it but had no intention of putting Brian through act two, so she began to veer away. But a raised voice coming from the rear and side of the bandstand area stopped her. It was Hank’s. She could see him in the shadows, apparently upset with Bobby Linville. With Hank’s back to her, she couldn’t catch much of the rant beyond a few curse words, which told her Hank was furious about something. He didn’t use words like that casually. Did it have to do with Bobby’s drinking? Another band member came over to calm things down.
“C’mon, man, we got another set to play! We can handle this later.” He managed to pull Hank away, leaving Bobby standing there alone.
Callie and Brian moved on, neither eager to be noticed.
Six
Though Callie had enjoyed the festival for the most part, thinking about it the next morning brought uneasy feelings. In the midst of all the excitement and fun—the music, the line dancing, the crowds of happy people milling around—there had been an undercurrent of something wrong.
She knew that no event, especially one of that size, could be expected to be one hundred percent perfect and upbeat. And some of her unease came from remembering Hank shooting flirty looks at her from the stage, with Brian beside her. But there was more.
She was thinking about that when someone tapped on her front door. Callie made an educated guess about who it would be, and wasn’t terribly surprised to find Delia standing there. With Keepsake Cove shops closed on Sundays until noon, the mornings were opportunities for neighborly visits.
“Jill got in late last night,” Delia said, “so I thought I’d leave the place to her for a while so she can sleep in. Mind if I bum a cup of coffee from you?”
Delia’s cottage was as modestly sized as her own, so Callie understood the need to vacate to avoid disturbing a guest. She waved her friend in and led the way to the kitchen. She’d recently treated herself to a single-serve coffee maker (mini-sized to match her surroundings) and so had a variety of flavors to offer. Delia chose hazelnut, and Callie pushed the buttons to get the system going. As the coffee started to flow, she looked around her kitchen. The best offer she could come up with was, “Like some toast?”
Delia smiled knowingly. Obviously aware of how Callie’s supplies tended to run out, she reached into her tote bag to pull out a plastic container of homemade cinnamon buns.
“Wow!” Callie said. “Just like that magician at the festival. Only better.” She made her own dark Colombian coffee and then followed Delia into the living room, where Jagger dozed lazily on one of the chairs.
“So, how late did Jill get back last night?” Callie sank into the second chair and took a bite from her bun, savoring its cinnamony sweetness.
“Not sure. I waited up to about eleven thirty but had to turn in. I woke when I heard her on the steps but I didn’t look at the clock.”
“Brian and I left around ten thirty. Hank’s band was still performing, but we’d had enough. Jill must have drawn some last-minute customers. Good for her.”
“I hope so.”
Mentioning the band made Callie think of the angry scene between Hank and Bobby. She frowned.
“Something wrong?” Delia asked.
Callie shrugged. “Nothing that has anything to do with me, but it looks like Hank’s new band, which sounded really good, might have a management problem.”
“That guy who was passing out his flyers at the diner?”
“Right. Bobby Linville. Hank was singing his praises a couple of days ago, but he didn’t seem too happy with him last night. But again, nothing to do with me. They’ll have to work it out.”
“From the little I know of it,” Delia said, “making a living in the music business doesn’t seem like the easiest thing in the world.”
“You got that right. Most people get in for the love of it. But they still have to eat.” How many times had Hank mooched off of her—the one who earned the steady paycheck while his gigs were sporadic. She hadn’t minded at the beginning, convinced it was short term. But after a while, being the person in the relationship who put in forty hours a week at a job while the other did maybe six and disdained doing something—anything!—that earned money during the other thirty or so hours to pay his bills put a definite strain on things.
“A few in the business,” she said, “make it really big. Very few. The rest plug away, hoping for that big break.” Callie looked down at her coffee thoughtfully. “Hank sounded like his big break, or at least a good step toward it, was on the verge of happening.”
“Wonderful!” Delia said.
And it might finally get him out of my hair, Callie could have added but didn’t.
Delia’s phone dinged and she glanced at it. “Ah, my guest has awakened. I’d better help her put together some breakfast. Heading back to the festival this afternoon?”
“Nope. Minding the store. You?”
“I think I’ll switch with Mary Lou,” Delia said. “I’d like to spend an hour or two at the festival. Maybe get to hear the band!”
Callie followed her to the door, and when they paused to exchange a few more words, Delia’s phone dinged again. “Looks like there’s a coffee emergency at my house. See you later!”
Callie opened her shop at noon, then stepped outside for a moment to enjoy the warm, late April sunshine. She saw Pearl Poepelman doing the same a couple of stores down, outside of Pearl’s Bangles and Beads, and waved to the older woman. “Another good day for the festival,” Pearl called, and Callie nodded. She could already see more people on the street than usual and she looked forward to brisk business.
She’d gone back inside and to her office to check on a few orders when she heard her shop door open. Then a voice called out, “Hey, is there any place around here where I can get a decent music box?”
Callie grinned. She knew that voice. Hurrying out, she found Lyssa Hammond standing there, her spiked red hair set off nicely by a bright blue cotton tunic over yoga pants that flattered her chunkier frame.
“You’re in town!” Callie cried, delighted to see her friend.
Lyssa had bought a second home in the area after coming to Keepsake Cove for the Halloween-themed book event Callie had arranged for the fall celebration. After getting to know Callie and her friends while pitching in to solve the two murders, Lyssa had decided to invest in a place that would bring her back to the Eastern Shore regularly.
“I hit ‘send’ on my latest book last night after rewriting the blankety-blank ending at least twenty times,” Lyssa said. “The instant it went through, I packed my bags to head across the bay. What’s going on with all the throngs of people? You’re not having another book thingy, are you?”
“You’re in luck. It’s the Keepsake Cove Spring Festival.”
“Oooh,” Lyssa said, not sounding all that thrilled.
“It’s fun!” Callie insisted. “Granted, it’s heavy on kid-type things. But it brings people to the Cove. And there’s some draw for the grown-ups.”
“Such as?”
“There’s lots of food. And music.” Callie grimaced. “Provided by my ex-boyfriend, unfortunately. But it’s good! Then there’s—”
“Hold on. Your ex? The country music guy? He’s here?”
House of Melody’s door opened, admitting two people and effectively silencing Lyssa. She smiled and stepped out of their way. Callie recognized the couple who’d put the black enameled music box on hold the other day. “We came to claim that beautiful box,” the woman said, her eyes dancing.
As Callie welcomed them back, Lyssa signaled that she’d run over to Brian’s café for a quick bite. Callie nodded, sure her friend would be back to get the scoop on Hank, and then went to get the lovely music box. She was pleased that the pair had returned to buy it. Tabitha had been right.
As she packed up the box, Callie listened to the couple’s involved tale of what had gone into their decision to buy the expensive piece, which, among other things, they felt sure would become a family heirloom. As they carried it off, Callie was glad to see the delighted look on, at least, the woman’s face. Her husband looked happy as well; mainly happy for his wife, but that was a good thing, too.
During the process, she’d heard sirens heading in the direction of the festival area. That concerned her, though she told herself it could be anything, even a false alarm. But it wasn’t long until she heard a second set of sirens heading the same way. That was more worrisome, but the arrival of more customers distracted her, and since none of them knew anything about the emergency, most chattered about music boxes, gifts, and their plans for the rest of their day. So it wasn’t until Lyssa came back with a serious look on her face that Callie got the bad news.
“They’ve found a body somewhere on the festival grounds.”
Callie winced. “Who?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t got any details yet.” She looked at Callie for a long moment. “You know, I had plans for my little getaway here. Fun things like finding a rug for my living room and putting in a garden.”
“Yes?”
“But I have a feeling none of that’s going to get done.”
“Lyssa, don’t be silly—” Callie started to say, but Lyssa interrupted her.
“I mean it. Think about it. Keepsake Cove, dead body. Sound familiar?” She twisted her mouth into a wry smile. “Fasten your seat belt, Callie. Another bumpy ride is coming up!”
Seven
With Lyssa knowing nothing beyond the fact that there was a body, Callie immediately texted Hank but got no response. She thought of the flyers Bobby Linville had given her and looked behind the counter where she’d stashed them. Was there a phone number for the Badlanders somewhere on it? No. Nothing.
“Look,” Lyssa said, “it might be a while before anything more comes out. You know how it goes: identifying, notifying next of kin, all that kind of stuff.”
Callie wasn’t next of kin to the person she was most concerned about, nor had she wanted to be for quite a while. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t care. Why wasn’t Hank answering her text?
“Tell you what,” Lyssa said. “I’ll head over there and see what I can find out.”
“Would you? I’d go, but Tabitha won’t be in today.”
“No problem. Just don’t get your hopes up. I mean, about me getting much info. But I’ll do my best. Keep texting. He’s probably just busy or something.”
Callie nodded, though she knew how Hank kept his phone glued to him and jumped to check every ding or vibration. She watched Lyssa head down the street and then busied herself with the shop, polishing every music box and shelf to a shine. Now that she could have used the distraction of a customer or two, nobody showed up, possibly drawn to the activity on the festival grounds. Or frightened away. That last option was most likely. Anyone who’d arrived for a day of entertainment was probably not going to hang around when they saw patrol cars and CSI vans gathered with lights flashing. She probably could have closed up and left with Lyssa. Business would be dead the rest of the day. Dead. She winced at the word.
Who was it? Lyssa hadn’t heard if the body was that of a man or woman. The death could have been natural. Or accidental. But it seemed to have been discovered hours later—wouldn’t a natural death have been reported right away? Or the person reported as missing? Too many questions. No answers. Why didn’t Lyssa call? Or Hank?
Callie was on the verge of locking up the shop to run down the street to the festival grounds when her phone rang. She snatched at it. It was Lyssa.
“Okay,” she said. “The good news is it’s not Hank.”
Callie let out a huge breath.
“The bad news is it’s his manager. Name’s Linville. His body was found next to the bandstand.”
“Bobby! Ohmygosh! What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. We’ll probably have to wait on that.”
“Is Hank there?”
“I asked around. The entire band is apparently talking with the police right now.”
“Right. Of course. But … that sounds like it was a murder.” Callie thought of the murder last fall of the man who owned the B&B where Lyssa had been staying. The owner’s estranged wife, fellow shop owner Dorothy Ashby, had been taken in for questioning almost immediately.
“It could be undetermined at this point,” Lyssa said. “But from what a police source for one of my books once told me, they go ahead and gather all the info they can until the Medical Examiner pronounces one way or the other.”
Callie had been relieved to hear that Hank was alive. But would that be replaced with a new worry? No, she told herself. No way could Hank be involved in the death of Bobby Linville, however that death had come about. For all his faults, Hank was not a violent person. The argument she’d overheard at the festival came back to her, but she dismissed it. It was an anomaly and most likely over Bobby’s drinking. Which was upsetting but didn’t rise to the level of committing murder. Though on second thought, Bobby’s lapse probably shouldn’t have been nearly as upsetting to Hank as it appeared to be, period. Why had he been so mad? Callie shook her head. That was a question for another time.
“I think this put an end to your festival,” Lyssa said. “The only crowd left are gawkers like me. A lot of the booths are closing down.”
“That’s too bad. There was a lot of effort and money put into it. But I guess it can’t be helped.”
“Hey, I’m heading back to my place. I don’t think there’s anything more to learn around here, and there’s a couple of things I need to take care of. I’ll check with you later, okay?”
“Sure.” Callie was grateful for what Lyssa had found out but wished her friend could have come back to the shop. She didn’t think either her music boxes or her right arm could take any more polishing. Thankfully, Delia soon popped in. She confirmed that the festival was officially closed because of the ongoing police activity.
“Jill called to tell me,” she said. “She sounded so down. I feel terrible about bringing her all the way here only for this to happen.”
“Nobody could have foreseen this,” Callie said.
“I know, but still …”
“Lyssa’s been over there. Did Jill tell you it was Hank’s band manager, Bobby Linville?”
“No! Really? Oh, wow. That’s terrible. What happened to him?” When Callie explained it was all she knew, Delia said, “Well, I’m sorry for him, but at the same time it’s a relief to know it isn’t someone I know.” Her face brightened then. “So Lyssa’s in town?”
“She’ll probably be around tomorrow.”
“It’ll be great to see her. Well, I’d better get over to the grounds and help Mary Lou pack everything up.” Delia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know where I’ll put all those extra salt and pepper sets I stocked up on. Guess I’ll figure something out.”
Callie realized that dealing with unsold inventory would probably
be the case for a lot of the Keepsake Cove shop owners who’d taken booths. Then there were the concessionaires, the entertainers, and festival people like Jill. The losses would be considerable when they were totaled up. She thought of her other next-door neighbor, Karl Eggers, and was glad he hadn’t taken a booth for his collectible cars. As he was cantankerous to begin with, a setback like that for Karl would mean having to walk on eggs around him for months. Callie laughed weakly. Like that would be a change?
She puttered around a bit more, worked at her bills for a while, and then gave up. The silence of her shop was getting to her. The festival was closed, and Keepsake Cove itself had effectively been closed, too. A peek out her door showed empty streets. Not at all what anyone had been looking forward to. She closed her register, locked her door, and pulled down her shade. If nothing else, she knew when to call it a day.
Later that evening, after still not having heard from Hank and increasingly uneasy about it, Callie decided to occupy herself in a way that didn’t involve frenetic cleaning. Delia’s morning visit had underlined the emptiness of her cupboards, so refilling them seemed like a good idea. That plus the fact that the Mapleton supermarket would be crowded tomorrow, since Monday was the weekly off-day for Keepsake Cove shopkeepers. Beating the hordes by a few hours would mean breezing through her shopping.
Callie felt quite smug as she pushed her loaded cart to the empty checkout counter, its clerk waiting there idly. She’d decided to try Delia’s super-sensible practice of cooking up large batches of meals at once to freeze. “It’s a huge convenience when you just want to pull something out in a hurry after a long day,” Delia had said.
Tomorrow would be the day she’d finally do that, Callie decided. Surely she would have heard from Hank by then that Bobby’s death was due to some sort of accident. Maybe something caused by his drinking? Hank and the other band members would pack up and move on to their next gig, and she would have the day to get at least one part of her life back in order.
The thought was satisfying, and particularly so as she unpacked her bags of fresh vegetables and meats that would soon be transformed into soups, sauces, and stews, and fresh fruits that could be blended into tasty smoothies, and more. Her recipes were lined up and ready to be executed. Not having heard back from Hank was an ongoing concern, but Callie could think of a dozen reasons for it that sent it away. Tomorrow he would text, or call, or drop in on his way out of town, and all would be settled.
A Curio Killing Page 4