Clock and Dagger (9 page)

I
went outside and pushed the unlock button on my car. Sigh. My car battery was still dead. Caroline's car was right next to mine, but I didn't have a key. I walked back down to the Sleeping Latte and knocked on the door again. Pat Reed answered.

“I was getting ready to send out the search party,” he said.

“Sorry about that. The chief wanted to ask me a couple of questions, and then we heard a noise upstairs. Nadia and Tuck had been up in the office ever since the open house was over.”

“What were they doing up there?” he asked.

“Fighting and sleeping, or so they say.”

“Just fighting and sleeping?” Pat said, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh please, don't put that in my head,” I said, hitting him on the arm. “Anyway, Jeff is questioning them both. He's using the Cog & Sprocket as base camp and it looks like this investigation is far from over for the night. I'm going to
bring Caroline home. It's probably best to let this go through the grapevine without help from us—what do you think?”

“I agree. Plus, this would wind Nancy up, and I don't have the energy.”

“Is everyone still here?”

“No, Ro took all of our statements, and Ben took Flo home. Ada and Mac left too. Ada's exhausted.”

“Of course she is. Not sure how she is going to make it for three more weeks.”

“Moira took some coffee and sandwiches up to the police officers, and then she was heading out. Nancy and I are going to close up and go home.”

“That's good,” I said, absentmindedly. “Sorry, I zoned for a second.”

“That's okay. This wasn't an accident, was it?”

“They aren't sure, but it doesn't look like it,” I said. A half-truth. The full truth was going to get around town before dawn anyway.

“Not again,” Pat said, rubbing his arm. “Are you okay, Ruthie?”

“I'm shaken up. You?”

“Sleep will help us all. Where's your car?”

“Up at the shop. Battery's dead. We'll take Caroline's car.”

Pat held his hand out. “I'll take care of your car.”

I shook my head. “I can call someone,” I said.

“No, let me do this for you, Ruth. Go get some rest.”

•   •   •

P
at walked us both to Caroline's car and made sure it started before he took my car keys and went back to the Sleeping Latte to pick up Nancy.

I drove slowly out to the cottage. There weren't a lot of streetlights, and I couldn't tell if the shiny spots up ahead were ice or water, or my eyes playing tricks. We hadn't spoken yet, but the silence was comfortable, though heavy with sadness. “Caroline, you holding up?” I asked.

“He was a lovely young man. They think someone did this to him?” she said, her eyes wide. She was normally so composed, but I could tell she was really feeling this.

“That's what people are saying.”

“The thought that someone may have wanted to hurt him? I can't fathom it.”

“Neither can I. How about if we talk about something else? How did you think the open house went?”

“Lord, that seems like days ago, doesn't it? It went well, really well. We talked about it a little, after you'd left with Jeff. Everyone was pleased.” Her voice broke, and she looked out the window again.

“Oh, hey, I forgot to mention this. Someone called today. Zake Phillips?”

“Zane Phillips?”

“Zane, right. Come to think of it, I might have seen him earlier too. Tall, thin, white guy?”

“With a scar on his right cheek?”

“Yes, that's the one.”

“Zane is a clockmaker. Knew your grandfather,” she said, half smiling despite the dry tears lining her cheeks.

“I don't think I've ever met him.”

“You wouldn't. He's been under the radar for years. He closed his shop a few years ago, thinking he'd retire, but it didn't suit him. So he started working for other clockmakers
and doing his own work on the side. That's how he got the scar.”

“He got that scar from clocks? Calluses, maybe. A rotator cuff injury from winding clock towers—I can see that. A bad back from squatting and twisting and lifting when you are fixing a grandfather clock? Been there, done that. A scar across the face, from a clock? This you have to explain.”

Caroline laughed. “Zane was always trying to push the boundaries of clocks. He decided to make a clock out of knives.”

“Knives? That's crazy!”

“I think it was a commission of some sort. For a restaurant. Anyway, the balance was off on the pendulum, given the knife he was using, actually a machete—”

“A machete? Yikes.”

“Yikes indeed. He was working on the balance and got too close to the clock and was cut. He was so stubborn he wouldn't go and get it sewn up, so he got a terrible scar. It made him look scary, but he's actually the sweetest man I know. He's been a good friend to me over the years.”

This story didn't jibe with the feeling I'd gotten from Zane earlier. But then, I wasn't always the best judge of men. Example one being my ex-husband. Example two being Beckett Green. Given my history, Zane Phillips probably was a saint, and I'd misjudged him.

“He's in town and wants to have dinner.”

“Now, that gives me something to look forward to. Do you have his phone number?”

“I do. In my dress pocket. Which is in my apartment. Sorry, I'll get it to you tomorrow.”

“No worries. Much as I'd love to see him, I want to focus on Mark for a bit.”

“I hear you, and I agree. We'll do what we can to make this right.”

I reached over and grabbed Caroline's hand, giving it a squeeze. I navigated the turns, avoided the ice, and finally pulled into the driveway. The moonlight sparkled on the lake in the distance. The porch light was on, welcoming us back to the lovely old Cape. It was so peaceful out here, a sharp change from the chaos in Orchard. We were home.

•   •   •

I
gave up trying to sleep around six thirty. I thought I'd be the first one up, but Caroline had still beaten me. She was sitting at the table fully dressed, her hair swept back in her customary twist. The unopened paper lay in front of her, a coffee mug clutched in one hand and a crumpled tissue in the other. She was staring into space, and I coughed softly from the doorway before I came into the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning, Ruth,” she said, dabbing her eyes and clearing her throat.

“Good morning, Caroline,” I said. “You all right?”

“I didn't sleep very well last night.”

“I know what you mean,” I agreed. Every time I'd closed my eyes I saw poor Mark Pine lying in Ben's shop, but I didn't tell Caroline that. I suspected it was Mark that kept her up as well. She'd taken a real shine to him.

I put the notebook I carried down on the table, then I walked over and poured a cup of coffee. I sat down at the table across from Caroline and opened the large sketch notebook I used for everything—sketches of clocks, lists for every
event, shopping lists, recipes, notes from meetings. I went through one every few months and then indexed what was in it for future reference, adding a table of contents. I'd inherited the notebook habit from my grandfather. I'd developed the table of contents habit after I'd spent some time trying to catalog his old books, to no avail. I was at the tail end of this book, but I hoped to stretch its use out to the New Year and the reopening of the shop in just a few days' time. I felt guilty even thinking about that. I looked over the notes I'd written last night right before I went to bed, the ones I'd re-created from memory. I'd had to give the originals to Jeff, and it hadn't seemed appropriate to ask to make a copy. Finding Mark Pine's killer was another task I'd added to my to-do list.

I turned the page and looked over the watch I'd sketched the night before in the guestroom after Caroline had gone to bed. It was rough, and from memory. I'd sketched the twisted vines on the side, trying to remember the exact pattern. I wondered if Jeff Paisley would let me look at it again. The watch might hold some answers.

“What's that?” Caroline asked.

“This?” I said. “Just a watch I saw somewhere. Why, do you recognize it?”

“No,” she said softly. I was fairly certain she was lying, but I didn't push. Caroline was a lovely woman, but her guard was up all the time. I wasn't about to toss stones though, since my house was glass. I was fresh from a divorce, forging a new life in a town that was both familiar and foreign. I knew Caroline had a son I still hadn't met, but the rest of her life before marrying G.T. was a mystery to me. I'd asked a few questions, but she didn't offer answers, and I didn't push. We were both opening up, slowly, but
neither of us was given to effusive sharing of feelings. We had time.

She was still staring at the watch, so I gently turned the page back to the list of things I needed to do this week.

“Caroline, do you think you could give me a ride to the shop? I hope Pat jumped my car. I need to go back to Marytown and the party store yet again. We went through almost all the paper goods I bought.”

“So, everything will still go on as if nothing happened?” she said, stiffly folding her hands in her lap.

I took a deep sigh and looked at Caroline. “I thought about this a lot last night. On the one hand, it feels wrong to plan to reopen the shop on schedule, what with what happened to poor Mark. On the other hand, he worked as hard as anyone did to get the shop ready to open. The best tribute I can make to him is to show off his work.”

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” she said. “You're right, of course.”

“I don't know if I'm right, but I don't know what else to do.” I took a sip of my coffee, surprised by how bitter it tasted. “Caroline, do you know anything about Mark's family?” I asked.

“Nothing, I'm afraid. He changed the subject anytime it came up.”

“Had he filled out the employee information sheet?” I asked. We were new to being employers, and had taken a one-day small business owner 101 course a couple of weeks ago.

“No, not yet. Remember, we were going to ask Kristen to look it over first.”

“Right, I remember.” Kristen Gauger had been my grandfather's lawyer, and she'd been walking Caroline and me through the legal minefields of running the Cog & Sprocket.

I took another sip of coffee, more for the caffeine than the experience. I tried not to wince.

“It's terrible, isn't it?” she said. “It's reheated from yesterday.”

“Reheated?” I said. I took another sip. “Sad, because reheated still tastes better than mine. Though this is pretty bad.” Caroline smiled, and I smiled back.

“We need to keep moving forward,” she said. “Besides, maybe you can help figure out what happened to Mark. Oh, don't give me that wide-eyed, innocent look. I see the gears going—you have a glint in your eye. You know that if it weren't for you, Pat Reed would be going on trial for your grandfather's death. I saw you last night, making lists, trying to make sense of everything.”

“I doubt Jeff Paisley needs my help,” I said.

“Everyone needs help,” she said. “I'll tell you what. I'll go over to Marytown and pick up the paper goods. I have a couple of other errands I want to run, and then I'll meet you at the shop.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thank you, Caroline.”

“Let me go up and pull myself together. Pat's out in the workshop. Why don't you go out and say hello.”

I almost told Caroline she looked pulled together to me, but I looked more closely and noted the crooked lipstick and the strands of hair that were falling out of her twist—a look far more my style than hers. Maybe she did need to spruce up.

I
grabbed my coat and went out the kitchen door, onto the deck. The deck was a new addition, and it wrapped all around the side of the house. I stopped for a moment, and took in the view, and smiled. When I was growing up, I spent summers with my grandparents. It was the happiest place in my childhood, this lake, this house. This view. I learned about clocks, and fixing them. I also escaped the benign neglect of my academic parents, who had no interest in the family business.

The workshop was even newer than the deck, and a wonderful addition to the house. It looked like a barn, and the building permit had been for a storage unit. It was, technically, a storage unit. A storage unit that you could live in, happily.

I walked out to the workshop and found Pat Reed in a very familiar pose, gently and carefully examining the case
of an old clock. My grandfather and Caroline had bought out two estates last summer, and there were dozens of clocks in each collection. We'd gotten a few clocks ready for a quick turnaround in order to get cash flowing into the business. We were still assessing the other clocks. There were a few beautiful replicas that needed some tender loving care and replacement parts, and Pat was focusing on those.

“You're here early,” I said.

“Rhonda Whatshername. You know, the one from that design firm in Boston?”

“Rhonda Nichols.”

“Right, that's the one. She's coming by tonight to pick this one up for her clients,” Pat said. “I wanted to come by and give this beauty one more buff and get her ready for transport.” He ran his hand along the oak case of the grandfather clock. Not priceless, but Pat was right, she was a beauty. “Perfect for the dearest dining room on Beacon Hill,” Rhonda had said. Rhonda spent a lot of time looking at our clocks and trying to imagine new homes for them with her long list of wealthy clients. She was a bit pretentious, but her checks cleared and she gave us a lot of business.

“Need any help?” I asked.

“No, I've got this. I haven't had time to get your car jumped, but I'll get to it as soon as I get back.”

“No worries,” I said, masking my disappointment with a grin that I hoped read as cheerful. “Caroline is going to give me a ride into town. Have you been there yet this morning?”

“No, not yet. Nancy and Moira headed in first thing to open the Sleeping Latte. Nancy called me, and Ben's shop is still closed; police are still there. She said the Latte was
packed, but I'd imagine she's found out what there is to find out by now.”

I laughed, but then sobered up.

“Listen, Pat, do you think we should go on with the opening, like nothing's happened?”

“No, not like nothing's happened. But we should stay on track. We've spent a lot of time, and money, letting folks know we were going to have an opening party. Won't do anyone any good to keep the shop closed any longer than necessary.”

“That's what I was thinking. But I feel so heartless.”

“Tell you what. We can change the plans as needed. Maybe do something to honor Mark. Has someone been in touch with his family?”

“I don't think he has family, at least not so they're in touch. He'd have gone to visit them instead of spending Christmas with all of us, don't you think? Tuck would know—they went to high school together. I should have asked him last night. Anyway, we may need to help make arrangements. Why are you looking at me like that, Pat?”

“Ruth, you've got a lot of your grandmother in you, you know that? The young man worked for you for just a few weeks, and now you're determined to do right by him.”

“He was a good guy,” I said as I struggled to hold back the tears pooled beneath my eyelids. “Besides, someone has to take care of him.”

“Let Jeff Paisley take care of finding out who did what, all right? You hear me?”

“Yes, sir, I will let Jeff do his job. I promise.” Didn't mean I wouldn't do what I could to help, though.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out. A text. From Kim Gray.

“Kim wants me to call her.”

“Call her? At seven in the morning?” Pat asked.

“That's what the text says. I still can't believe she didn't come by last night. For all we know she's sitting on a beach somewhere, calling it all in.”

“I haven't seen her for a while, but she avoids Nancy like the plague, so that doesn't surprise me.”

“Nancy did threaten her job at the last town meeting. Publicly. On the record.”

“She did indeed. And she'll do it again at the next town meeting. If nothing else it gets folks attending them. Kim probably has another hoop she wants you to jump through before the thirty-first.”

“Without a doubt,” I said. When Grover Winter left my grandfather the old Town Hall in his will, he must have assumed a few things. First, he didn't count on being murdered, so he expected more time to iron out details. Second, he would have expected that Kim Gray would act in line with his wishes, since he handpicked her for her job. He either underestimated or misunderstood Kim Gray's motives and intentions.

I didn't. Kim Gray had a vision for Orchard that included adding tourist dollars by getting rid of the historic downtown area and starting fresh with a bunch of chain stores. We had been able to scuttle parts of her plans, but she still had some technicalities on her side. Even though we were only days away from the deadline, I wasn't sure what was going to happen when the old Town Hall reverted to me on the last day of the year.

“You want me to make the call for you?” Pat asked. I smiled and shook my head.

“No. Thanks, Pat.”

“Don't trust me to keep my temper?”

“It isn't that. As it is, getting the clocks ready to go will be a lot of work to do in a short amount of time, and we both know that meeting with Kim throws you off your game for hours.”

“She does wind me up, that's for sure. I'm getting as bad as Nancy.”

“I wish Kristen was back already. I'd like to have a lawyer on this call, but she's on the road today.”

“Hopefully you won't need one.”

“With Kim Gray, you always need a lawyer.”

•   •   •

“W
hat do you mean I need to come up with a plan? What do you call the hundred-page document I delivered to your office, as requested, three weeks ago?” I said loudly. I wasn't quite shouting, but I was coming close, closer than was helpful. I took a deep breath and lowered my tone. “Explain the ordinance you are talking about.”

“The proposed changes you submitted to the Town Hall go against the historical nature of the building and need to be voted on by the Board of Selectmen as well as the Town Historical Council.”

“What Town Historical Council?”

“We formed it at the last meeting. You should have been there.”

“If I knew when the meetings were, I would have been there. Since you didn't announce it in public seventy-two hours in advance, as is stipulated in the town charter, I doubt that this meeting, or this Town Historical Council, will hold
up in court.” Kim coughed a few times, and I knew I had her. Of course, I had no idea if what I'd said was true or not, but it sure sounded good.

“It was an emergency meeting, held on December twenty-fifth.”

“Over dinner, no doubt,” I said. “Where was my invitation?”

“Over dessert, actually. I believe that Heather Goody invited you for dessert, did she not?”

She did, indeed. But I'd decided to spend the day with the Reeds, and Heather Goody did not extend the invitation to them. Small-town politics. I was off my game.

“The Town Historical Council is a group of concerned citizens determined to keep the integrity of downtown Orchard intact. As you know, the old Town Hall is one of the oldest buildings in Orchard that is still standing.”

“I do know that,” I said. I didn't need a history lesson from Kim Gray. Orchard had been devastated in a flood and then flattened by a fire a few years later. The old Town Hall had remained standing, due to the fact that the building itself was made of stone. In New England, getting rid of stones in farmer's fields was a difficult and necessary task. The stones were used in walls, foundations, and, in some cases, buildings. In the case of the old Town Hall, the outside of the building was covered by clapboards, but the structure was solid stone.

“Your plan does not maintain the historical integrity of the building. As you know, the clock tower was added much later and is not historically accurate. Since rebuilding the tower is integral to your proposal to the town, the plan itself cannot be approved without modifications. Town funding has been pulled from the project until this issue is settled.”

“Funding is pulled? And what modifications?” I said. Orchard wasn't putting a lot of money into the project to begin with. Most of it was tied to upgraded electric and heating in the building. But still, we were trying to make an end-of-the-year goal.

“The Town Historical Council will come up with recommendations by the end of the day.”

“That gives us a day to get ready for the meeting on Friday. That isn't enough time.”

“I suggest that you speak with the head of the council. Beckett Green.”

“Beckett Green? Is he even a resident of Orchard?”

“He is, and an important business owner in addition to a student of history.”

In addition to a thorn in my side. What had I ever done to Beckett Green?