A Curio Killing

by Mary Ellen Hughes

  “Trying to make a soup first, then a casserole and a few other things I can freeze. I bought it all last night and can’t just let it go. Delia made it sound like a breeze.”

  “Delia’s been doing it for years. It takes practice. These are your recipes?” He picked up the print-outs Callie had made from the internet. She nodded. “Go relax,” he said, “and keep that bandage dry. I’ll take care of this.”

  Before she could protest, he walked her over to the sofa and plumped up a cushion before firmly setting her down. Then he rolled up his sleeves and got busy in the kitchen, chopping, braising, simmering, and seasoning, looking like Emeril Lagasse in fast-forward to Callie’s impressed eyes but without the “Bam!” or, happily, the girth. She’d never seen Brian at work in his café kitchen and had only vague visions of what he actually did back there. Now she knew. He worked magic.

  Wonderful aromas soon wafted through the cottage as Callie sipped at the tea Brian had fixed in between recipes. The only help he’d allowed from her was to produce the freezer containers he needed. The mounds of fruits, vegetables, and meats gradually compacted into freezable entrees or smoothies. It was mind-boggling, and Callie’s feelings of guilt were diminished only by the look of pure enjoyment she saw on Brian’s face. He was in his element.

  As the last casserole baked, he washed up a few pots, then poured himself an iced tea and came over to sit beside her. “How’s it feeling?” he asked, sinking down and nodding at her hand.

  “Fine. I could have pitched in a little more, you know.”

  “Room for only one in that kitchen. And you would have been a distraction.” He smiled. “In a good way.”

  Callie smiled back. “I am totally impressed. How did you get so good at that?”

  He was about to respond when Callie’s phone rang. “Sorry,” she said. “I’d better take it.”

  “Miss Reed? Clark Allard.” Callie sat up straighter on hearing the name. She mouthed the word lawyer to Brian.

  “Yes, Mr. Allard?”

  “Hank asked me to call. He’s authorized me to share what’s going on.”

  Callie’s stomach clenched. Hank not calling himself didn’t sound good, but she wasn’t ready to give up hope yet. “Yes? Did he get bail?”

  She heard Allard’s throat clear. “I’m afraid not. There’s been a complication.” Another pause. “Did you know,” Allard asked, “about Hank’s prior conviction?”

  “What? No!”

  “I thought not. It was years ago, perhaps before you knew him. That, along with the slight possibility of flight risk, and of course the evidence against him in a highly serious charge, caused bail to be denied. Hank would like to speak with you himself about the first two. But the physical evidence comes from the murder weapon.”

  Callie held her breath, expecting to hear about a hunting knife or a gun, which to her mind would prove Hank’s innocence since he owned neither. What she heard instead shook her.

  “A music box. It had a guitar pictured on the top, and it played—”

  “‘Achy Breaky Heart.’”

  “Yes. Hank admitted it was his, and his fingerprints are the only ones on it, along with, though this has yet to be officially confirmed, Mr. Linville’s blood.”

  “Only Hank’s fingerprints? But mine should have been on it.”

  “Hank said he polished it before showing it around and wouldn’t let anyone touch it.” Allard’s tone was almost apologetic.

  Callie groaned. “But Hank didn’t admit using it against Bobby, did he?”

  “No, he denies that. Vehemently.”

  Thank goodness. “When can I talk to him?”

  Allard gave Callie details about Hank’s transfer to a detention center, which she scribbled down, all the while thinking this couldn’t be real. Not Hank. How could it be? “Can I call him?”

  “Hank will have to call you,” the lawyer said. “It won’t be until sometime tomorrow. I’m sorry for the bad news.”

  Callie thanked him, feeling numb. She turned to Brian and saw he’d caught the gist of the call. She filled him in on the details. “It’s not what I expected,” she said. “I’m stunned.”

  She paused, thinking, then added, “But I’m also mad. It’s all terribly wrong.”

  Ten

  The next day in the shop, Callie couldn’t stop thinking about Hank’s situation. Plus, the thought of her music box being used to kill someone was horrible. She remembered its weight and compactness and couldn’t deny that it would be deadly in the right hands. But not Hank’s. That, to her mind, was not possible.

  But did she know Hank as well as she thought? Brian had asked her this, and she’d been so sure that she did. Apparently not well enough to have known about something criminal in his past. What was it? It was bad enough for Hank to hide it from her. And serious enough to deny him bail.

  Tabitha’s arrival only meant having to put most of those disturbing thoughts into words. Her assistant wasn’t aware of anything beyond the fact of a death at the festival, having been busy working on the special orders her beaded jewelry display had garnered. Callie caught her up in a hurry, only slightly disconcerted at the end to hear a solitary ding come from Grandpa Reed’s music box overhead. If it was a comment from Aunt Mel, it was as glum as Callie felt.

  “Wow,” Tabitha said, “that’s pretty awful. I can hardly believe they’re charging Hank. He seemed so … I don’t know … harmless? up there on the stage Saturday night. But I guess nobody’s going to look murderous while they’re singing about a breaking heart. Not that this means he … well, you know what I mean.”

  “I do, and I think you’re right about him being harmless. He could drive you crazy in a lot of ways, but never due to aggression. The Hank I knew went out of his way to avoid disagreements.” As she said it, Callie thought again of the argument she’d witnessed at the festival. Hank hadn’t exactly been avoiding whatever that was about at the time and had to be dragged away by one of the other band members. Something had made him angry enough with Bobby to go against his usual inclinations, at least to the point of shouts and curses.

  A UPS truck pulled up in front of House of Melody and the driver hopped out with a delivery. Tabitha accepted the boxes, and as they got busy unpacking them, Callie’s phone rang. She jumped at the sound and saw that it came from the detention center. As she hurried toward the back of the shop, she responded to the female voice that yes, she would accept the call, then closed her office door.

  “Babe, you there?”

  “I’m here, Hank. How are you?”

  She heard a long exhale. “I’m okay. I hate bein’ here, but I’m okay. Allard call you?”

  “Yes, last night. He told me about bail being denied. I’m sorry.”

  Hank gave a dry laugh. “Yeah, me too. Guess I have some explainin’ to do, huh?”

  “Tell me first about what happened between you and Bobby. I saw the two of you arguing Saturday night.”

  “What happened was I wanted to kill him. I was madder’n hell with the SOB. But I didn’t kill him.”

  “What made you want to kill him?”

  “His drinkin’. The drinkin’ he swore was over and done with but wasn’t, and which blew the record contract we shoulda got right out the window! It was our big chance, babe, and it went right up in smoke because of him!”

  “Calm down, Hank.” He’d begun to shout, and Callie feared he might be forced to hang up. She wanted to know how Bobby had lost the contract but put that on hold until later. She waited until she heard steadier breaths from his end. “Hank, I have to ask. Did you have anything to do with his death?”

  “Babe, nothing what-so-ever! I wasn’t even there when they said it happened.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Late. After everything closed down. They said between twelve and two.”

  “Weren’t
you with the other guys in the band? You always used to go out for a couple of beers after a gig to wind down.”

  “They went without me. I was too steamed. The others, they just didn’t get what Bobby did! They think, ‘Hey, we’ll get another chance,’ or ‘Bobby can make it right.’ It doesn’t work that way. They’re newer, younger, and they don’t know. They think chances like this come all the time. I’ve been in this business longer. It was my last chance. I couldn’t be around them.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “First, I drove by your place.”

  “My place!”

  “Yeah. I thought maybe you’d be up and we could talk again, you know, like we used to? But all your lights were out. So I just kept going.”

  “Going where?”

  “Just away. That’s all I wanted, just to get away for a while. I ended up in a bar somewhere. Don’t ask me where. I don’t know the roads around here. I just saw the sign after a while and pulled in. I had a few drinks, probably too many ’cause when I left and started drivin’ I knew it wasn’t good. Yeah, I know. After cursin’ at Bobby for his drinking, I go and get drunk. But you know it’s not somethin’ I generally do. I just needed it that night.

  “Anyway, I pulled over on some little dirt road and fell asleep. When I woke up it was gettin’ light. I drove around in circles for a while until enough signs popped up to get me back to the motel. Then I slept off the rest of it. Until cops came banging on the door.”

  Callie groaned internally. “Okay. It is what it is, for now. Maybe you’ll remember the bar, or somebody there will remember you.”

  “I don’t have much more time to talk.”

  “When can I visit?” There was a long pause. Fearing they’d been cut off, Callie asked, “Hank? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.” Hank’s voice had lost its strength. “You can’t visit till Saturday. That’s what they told me. That’s four days away. I don’t want to be here four more days.”

  “I know it’s tough, but you can last, Hank.”

  “You don’t know, babe. I shouldn’t be here at all. I gotta get out.”

  A robotic voice warned that their time was up. They quickly said their goodbyes, and Callie heard the line go dead. She tucked away her phone and stared out the window of the back door, a door she could walk through any time and go anywhere she chose. Unlike Hank. What could she do to get him released from his horribly wrong confinement?

  The simple answer was to find out what really had happened to Bobby while Hank was miles away. She’d taken on similar challenges before, though the memories of how they’d nearly ended still shook her. But if not her, then who? Hank could go to prison for life if the police and the prosecutor stayed on their present course. The least she could do was try.

  “Yeah, I figured you’d get involved,” Lyssa said when Callie told her. She’d shown up at the shop shortly after Hank’s call. “That’s why I went over to talk to the other band members before they took off.

  I called around and found where they were staying.”

  “They’re leaving?” Tabitha asked. She picked up the UPS box she’d just emptied and dropped it behind the counter.

  “They seem pretty broken up about it, but there’s no way they can hang around. They have gigs lined up that they can’t just back out of.”

  “I can understand,” Callie said. “It’s their livelihood.”

  Lyssa nodded. “They were glad to give me their contact numbers, so we can always reach them.”

  “What did they have to say about Saturday night?” Callie asked.

  “Well, they’re each other’s alibis, for one thing. They stuck together like glue after the festival wound up, all except Hank.”

  “I know.” Callie told the two what Hank said he’d done that night.

  “Then all we have to do is find that bar,” Tabitha said. “Right? And Hank will have his alibi.”

  “I wish it were that easy. He didn’t have anything to go on,” Callie said. “He was driving aimlessly to work off steam, and he doesn’t have a location or name for this place.”

  “I imagine it’s also a pretty slim chance anyone would remember his being there. It was a Saturday night. Bound to be busy,” Lyssa said.

  “But you never know. I could work on it,” Tabitha said. “With a little help from a few friends. Give me a good photo of Hank I can send around. We might get lucky!”

  “That’s a great idea,” Callie said. She started to pull out her phone but stopped. “I got rid of the photos on this, but I’m sure I can find one somewhere.”

  “He was still in his performance clothes, right? Look for one like that,” Lyssa said.

  “I will. Now, there’s something that’s been bothering me. The music box.”

  Lyssa nodded. “Why was it there, right? One of the guys in the band, Randy Brewer, said Hank brought it with him and had it backstage. He had an idea about working it into one of their songs. Maybe to impress you, or point out his connection to you to the crowd? Randy didn’t know, but he talked him out of it.”

  “I should have asked Hank, but did Randy know if Hank left it behind?”

  “He had no idea. There was plenty of commotion after they finished their set, with the guys trying to calm Hank down and keep him from catching up with Bobby.”

  “Catching up? Where did Bobby go?”

  “That’s not clear. Tried to keep out of Hank’s sight, but exactly how, they couldn’t say.”

  “He must have stayed at the festival, though,” Tabitha offered. “That’s where his body was found.”

  “Not necessarily,” Lyssa said. “He had his car. He could have gone anywhere.”

  “But he came back,” Callie said. “Why?”

  “Million-dollar question,” Lyssa said, blowing away a piece of formerly spiked hair that had drooped over one eye.

  Eleven

  “There you are!” Delia paused at the door of House of Melody, delighted to see Lyssa. They hugged, and after a few words about the terrible end to the festival, turned to more cheerful catch-up questions about Lyssa’s latest book, travels, and new house. When Lyssa turned the questions around to Delia, she shrugged and said, “Well, it looks like I have a new housemate.”

  “What! You mean Jill?” Callie asked.

  “Uh-huh. Just temporarily. But right now she has nowhere to go. When I invited her here for the festival, I didn’t realize she’d lost both her job and her apartment. She’ll have trouble getting another place without a steady salary to put on the application, so I told her to stay until she finds something.”

  As Delia explained to Lyssa about the costume photography Jill did at the festival, Tabitha asked, “Does Jill do regular photography?

  “Oh yes, and she’s good!” Delia said. “I thought a while back that she was ready to open her own portrait studio. But that fell apart for some reason. Her latest work was doing kids’ photos at a department store. She wasn’t thrilled with it—said it was very limiting. But at least it paid the rent. I don’t know exactly why that ended.” Delia winced. “But I can make an educated guess. Jill has a bit of a temper, I’m afraid.”

  “Ooh, not what you want in a housemate,” Lyssa said.

  “No, no worry there. I know her well enough to say it flares only when she feels she’s been seriously wronged. But she’s aware of how it’s caused her problems, like losing jobs she can’t afford to lose, and she’s working on it.”

  Callie remembered the scene at the festival when Jill drove away customers with her anger over a ripped costume. Not exactly a serious wrong, and she’d admitted later that she’d overreacted. Unfortunately, the damage had been done.

  “Well, good luck to you both,” Lyssa said. “I hope she finds something and you get your house back to yourself.”

  “I’d like to talk to Jill,” Callie said. “Ther
e’s a chance she might have seen something at the festival that would help Hank. Would you ask her to stop in?”

  “Sure.” Delia’s tone turned solicitous. “How is Hank doing?”

  “About as well as can be expected,” Callie said.

  “In other words, miserably,” Lyssa added.

  “I can only imagine,” Delia said. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  Callie saw Delia’s genuine concern, a trait she’d truly appreciated when it had shown itself during her early days at Keepsake Cove. But she worried her friend might be too big-hearted for her own good. She hoped Delia hadn’t taken on something in her willingness to help Jill that she might regret.

  “Oh,” Delia asked, “did you get the word about the association meeting tonight? Krystal sent out an urgent email.”

  “I’ll check. That’s a surprise—an unscheduled meeting.”

  “It must have to do with the hassle from the festival being cut short. Can you make it?”

  Callie’s first thought was that she had more than enough to deal with. But she reconsidered. Who knew what she might learn from the other shopkeepers, all conveniently gathered in one place. “I’ll be there,” she said.

  After Tabitha left a few hours later, armed with a digital photo of Hank that Callie had found on the Badlanders’ website, Callie was alone in the shop. She thought about Lyssa’s last comment before she’d taken off.

  I get why you want to help Hank, Lyssa had said. But be careful it doesn’t hurt what you’ve got with Brian.

  It had startled her. Could Brian take her desire to help Hank out of a bad situation the wrong way? She’d hate that, and decided to talk it over with him. Maybe after the association meeting, if they went together. She was about to text him and suggest it when Jill walked in.