Clock and Dagger (7 page)

“Mark,” I whimpered. Mark Pine was lying on his side, partially covered with towels. If he was asleep, his eyes would be closed, but they weren't. Instead, they were staring at me, but not seeing me. I stood up quickly and jumped back, almost sliding on the cake that was covering the floor.

“What's taking so long?” Ben said, stepping into the shop behind me. “Did someone steal the cake?”

“Ben, go back,” I said. “Call the police and then find Jeff. We need him here. Now. Something's happened to Mark. He's dead.”

I
stayed with Mark for as long as I could. Not right with him, but outside the barbershop, making sure no one else went in. Ro Troisi had asked me to stay put when she came by, and I had agreed. She was trying to secure the scene before the state police came in and took over. Ben came out of the back door of the Cog & Sprocket and brought me my coat and the pad of paper I'd asked him to get for me after he'd called Jeff.

“Why don't you come in here?” he asked.

“Ro went back to the station to get her gear, and she asked me to stand guard for a few minutes.”

“Are you all right? Can I do anything?”

From his strained tone, I could hear how much he needed to be useful, but there was nothing. “No, and no. But thank you. Poor Mark.”

“‘Poor Mark' is right. I wonder what happened to him. He's pretty young to have a heart attack.”

“Maybe he had a seizure or something,” I said, “and hit his head. I couldn't tell. That pile of towels was on him so I couldn't see if he had any injuries.” I hated the way my voice shook.

“Jeff had to call in the state police, but he's on his way back.”

“I know. Ro told me.” I reached into my pocket and took out a pen, clicking it open. I drew some circles on the top sheet of paper to make sure it worked.

“What's the paper for?” Ben asked.

“I watch way too many TV crime dramas,” I said. “I'm going to write down everything I did when I went in the shop, while it's still fresh in my memory. Just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“Just in case it wasn't an accident.”

•   •   •

R
o returned at the same time as the state police arrived. I watched the turf-war tussle, but it didn't last long. In the Berkshires, the state police were on call overnight or on weekends. Or they were supposed to be. In the two years Jeff Paisley had been the chief of police, he'd always answered every call.

It was cold in the back alley between our shops, so I rubbed my arms to generate some heat. The state police officer took my statement and asked me a few questions. He barely introduced himself, and I didn't ask him to repeat his name. I could have invited him into the Cog & Sprocket, but I didn't. I sensed he'd move in, and that just wouldn't do. I'd talk to him now, but I'd wait for Jeff to share any ideas I came up with.
The officer ignored Ro, but she didn't leave. She'd pass on information to Jeff as well. Good woman. He asked about how I'd discovered the body, and some other information about the evening, before coming back to Mark himself.

“How did you know the victim?” he asked.

“He works for me, over at the Cog & Sprocket. It's the clock shop next door.”

“Did you know him well?”

“No,” I said, choking up a bit. “I didn't. He only started working for me about a month ago.”

“Do you know who his next of kin is?”

“I'm sorry, I don't. Tuck Powers, he works for me as well, he knew Mark from high school. He'd have more information.”

“What did the victim do for you?”

“Do for me?” I asked, confused by the question.

“What did you hire him to do?”

“To fix clocks. He was a clockmaker. He'd been an apprentice up in Vermont for the past few years and was looking for his next training opportunity.”

“Does he also fix watches?”

“No. Not for me, I mean. We'd been talking about that this afternoon—”

“We?”

“Mark and I.”

“Really? Interesting.”

“Why ‘interesting'?” I asked.

“Did Mr. Pine have a drug problem?”

“Drugs? No, of course not. Not that I knew of anyway,” I said unsurely. Now that I thought about him I didn't know Mark all that well.

“You'd be surprised, Ms. Clagan. There's an epidemic out here.”

“Not at the Cog & Sprocket. Why do you ask? Do you think he died of an overdose?”

“No, he was probably strangled,” Ro said.

“That is not for public consumption,” the officer snapped. “Officer Troisi, perhaps you could help . . .” The officer touched the earpiece he was wearing and then looked back at me. “Got it.” He turned toward me and looked back down at his notes. “Ms. Clagan, Chief Paisley has arrived, and we need to regroup. I have your phone number. There will be more questions, so we'll need to be in touch. Don't turn your phone off.”

“I won't. Trust me, I want to help however I can.”

•   •   •

I
had a text from Ben, asking me to meet everyone at the Sleeping Latte when I was done. I went over to the Cog & Sprocket quickly to double-check the back door. It was locked tight, and I knew the front was. Instead of going down the street, which was packed with crowds and media trucks, I decided to go down the access road. There were police everywhere, setting up lights and walking around. It was only a couple of blocks, but I walked them quickly.

Poor Mark. I wiped away a tear and tried to remember him alive, rather than staring through me from the floor of the barbershop. I couldn't. I knew I would eventually. At least I hoped so.

The back door of the Sleeping Latte was closed, and the shade was drawn over the window. I saw light leaking through, and knocked. Nancy Reed peeked from behind the shade and then unlocked the door.

“Is Jeff here yet?” she asked, gathering me in a tight hug. “Saw a bunch of staties swarming the place.”

“He just arrived, but I haven't seen him yet. Ro Troisi was working with the state police. How's Caroline?” I said, carefully disengaging from the hug and looking around the room.

“She's in rough shape. We're all in shock. What could have happened to Mark? You don't think it was drugs, do you?”

“Drugs? No, not Mark. He was a straight arrow.” I loved Nancy, but she was the hub of all gossip in Orchard. Time to cut that off now. “We'll know what happened soon enough.”

“You're right, of course. Come on in. We're all sitting in the kitchen. Don't want folks to think the Latte is open. All those looky-loos. They should be ashamed of themselves, waiting outside, hoping to see something untoward. Just terrible.”

“Why did you all come here?” I asked.

“Once Ben told us what had happened, we locked up your shop and came down. You know me, Ruthie, I cook when I'm stressed. Besides, none of us had dinner tonight. Won't do any good if we all keel over, will it?”

“I guess not,” I said. I walked back into the kitchen. Caroline was bent over a cup of tea, both hands wrapped around the mug. She looked up when I came in, and held a hand out. I went over and reached down to give her a hug first, then I took her hand. Her normally calm demeanor was gone, and her eyes were puffy.

“Are you all right, Caroline?” I asked.

She nodded. “What about you? It must have been awful.”

I nodded too, and sat down on the chair Pat brought over. I looked around at my friends, the other shop owners here in Orchard. Ada Clark was absentmindedly rubbing her
pregnant belly, and her husband, Mac, sat next to her, an arm protectively around her shoulders. Pat Reed sat himself on a stool by the stove, where Nancy was busy frying, scooping, and stirring. Moira was taking the wrapping off some baked goods and putting them out on plates. Ben was sitting next to his aunt Flo, who dabbed her face and tore at the tissue in her hands.

“Where's Nadia?” I asked.

“I'm not sure where she and Tuck are,” Moira said. “I've been texting and calling, but she isn't replying.”

I pulled out my phone and texted Nadia.
Call me ASAP
was all I said. I stared at my phone, but no return text came through.

“Anything?” Pat asked.

“No, and that's unusual for Nadia. I don't think I've ever gone more than two minutes without a return text from her. Let's assume she's all right. No news is good news, right?” I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

“So, Ruth, tell us what happened,” Nancy said, plunking a mug of tea down in front of me.

“Nancy,” Pat said.

“What? We all want to know, so let's hear it. She'll leave out the bad parts.”

I looked around the room. I'd sort of promised not to tell the details, but I had to tell them all something. Everyone here knew Mark and wanted to know what had happened to him. I told them about finding the body, but I left out the details about the cake. And that he was strangled. Not my details to share. I looked over my notes to see if I had missed anything I could tell them all.

“What's that?” Ada asked.

“I wrote down everything I saw,” I said. “Just in case.”

“What's the matter, Ruth? Are you saying this wasn't an accident?” Caroline asked, smoothing her hand over her neatly styled hair, pushing a few errant strands back into place.

“I don't know. It's a feeling I had—something wasn't right. I'm sure I'm wrong, but since Jeff isn't here, I thought I'd better take notes.”

“We were all talking about that earlier, trying to think about when we last saw Mark and who was where,” Caroline said.

“I saw him around four or so, at the shop,” I offered. I turned the page on my pad of paper and wrote it down. “He told me that Beckett had offered him a job.”

“The clocks. Of course,” Nancy said, dropping a spatula on the frying pan.

“Did everyone know about the clocks before I did?” I said, looking up from the notes I had spread out in front of me.

“No, only since Mum found out,” Moira said.

“Hush, you,” Nancy said. “Pat and I saw him around five. He came by for a cup of coffee and some food. A pesto and mozzarella sandwich, with what passes for tomatoes this time of year.”

“Mum, I doubt anyone cares what kind of sandwich he got,” Moira said.

“And he also got a sliced meatball panini with a side of sauce. His favorite.”

“So the pesto was for someone else,” I said.

“I'd guess, but I don't know.”

“He came by the market afterward to get a Moxie soda,” Ada said. “He had the bag and was sipping the coffee. I joked that he needed another hand.” She started to cry softly, and Mac rubbed her back.

“Yeah, I talked him into some chips,” he said. “I gave him a bigger bag so he could carry it all.”

“I saw him a few minutes after that,” Flo said. “I stopped him to ask him to bring me some brochures from the Cog & Sprocket over so I could put them out. He promised he would, but didn't come back. That was right before the open house started. It started out a little slow—I was nervous, let me tell you—but then about fifteen minutes in, it really picked up. I can't say if I noticed him again after that.”

Everyone agreed that once the open house started the crowds took the focus, but no one remembered seeing Mark after that.

“What a terrible way to end a great night,” Nancy said, adding part of an omelet and some hash browns to a plate and handing it to Pat, who put it in front of me.

“I'm not hungry,” I said, pushing the plate away.

“But you have to eat,” Pat said, putting it back in front of me with one hand and sliding a plate in front of Caroline with the other. “We all have to eat. I, for one, am going to wait up for Jeff to come by, so I might as well eat now. It's going to be a long night.”

I lifted my fork and picked at a bit of potato. I took a small bite, and then a bigger one. I was hungrier than I realized, and I polished off the plate before long. Pat silently picked it up and got me some more potatoes. We all ate in silence, at least most of us did. I looked over at Caroline, who was moving her food around.

“Eat something,” I whispered to her. “It will make you feel better.”

Caroline looked over, and smiled uncomfortably. I heard
a knock on the back door, and Pat went to answer it. He came back, followed closely by Jeff Paisley.

Jeff Paisley had moved to Orchard to become the chief of police, a sideways career move. I rarely saw Jeff out of uniform, never mind dressed up in a nice suit like he was wearing today. The gray wool was cut perfectly, and his white shirt was still pressed. His tie was loosened, and on closer inspection, I saw a small stain in the middle. We were about the same height, but he was in much better shape. His brown hair was cropped short, and had flecks of gray at the temples. I knew that his brown eyes would crinkle at the edges when he laughed, but I also knew we wouldn't see that tonight.

Moira stared at him, but not in a happy-to-see-him way. When he turned toward me, I could see why. There was a red lipstick mark on the side of his brown face. I also noticed glitter and confetti on his shoulders.

“You got here fast,” I said.

“I was already on my way back when Officer Troisi called. I understand you found the body . . . Mark.” I nodded. “You all right?”