Just Killing Time (13 page)

“Which adds a layer to any project.”

“A layer to any decision controlled by the zoning board. That means that Beckett Green would have to stop construction. It could mean that if you wanted to upgrade this shop, inside or out, you'd need permission. It all became a big political game in town. Thom was doing his best to fight it, but life would be a lot easier if he could find the deed to the old Town Hall.”

“I can't imagine this made people like Beckett Green happy.”

“No, it didn't. Or the Clarks either. They were planning on putting an addition on the back of the Corner Market.”

“Do you think it made anyone so angry he, or she, would have wanted to harm my grandfather?” I said, before I could stop myself. There were so many questions and with all of these grudges and political machinations, I just couldn't help
but think of the chief's investigation and my promise to myself to see G.T. at peace.

“Jeez, Ruth, I can't say. I can't imagine anyone in Orchard wanting to hurt Thom.”

“Yet someone did,” I said quietly.

“I don't know who. If I did, I'd tell you, trust me. I lost a good friend last week.”

We both sipped our tea a bit for a moment, gathering ourselves.

“So any hidden treasures in these boxes?” I asked after I'd regrouped a bit.

Jonah laughed. “Not in these boxes. These are just the last of the clocks that I found lying around the house while I was packing. I didn't want them to get lost in all the chaos. We're already having trouble finding my mother's jewelry and a couple of paintings. I think they got misplaced somehow, but I sure couldn't tell you where these things disappear to. I figure we'll find them when we unpack.”

“Are you moving?” I asked.

“We sold the house. There are three of us, I have two older sisters, and no one was in a position to buy the other two out. So we sold it to Harris University. We included most of the furniture but we divided up the family heirlooms, as the will indicated.”

“Isn't your house a ways away from the Harris University campus at Marytown?”

“Yes and no. They are going to use it to house the development and alumni offices. I'm on the faculty there and I knew they'd been looking for a space for a while.”

“What do you teach?”

“Political science.”

“Really?” I said. Political science was a little better than history or English.

“Yeah. I realized early on I wasn't the politician that my father was, or wanted me to be. And I had no interest in being a lawyer. Figured I'd sort of stay in the family business in my own way.”

“It sounds so funny, ‘the family business.' But it really was, wasn't it? How long was he on the Board of Selectmen?”

“Twenty years total. There was a chunk of time in the middle when he was in the State House, then he came back and became chairman of the Board of Selectmen. Never lost a race in his life.”

“I hear that they have a town administrator now?”

“Yes, Kim Gray. Handpicked by my father, though I think he regretted it toward the end. She has a very different opinion on the direction Orchard should be taking that wasn't apparent when she was being hired. Sort of a mess, especially with Dad passing on before he could make any real changes.”

“Do you think he was going to try and get rid of her?”

“I'm certain he was. Thom was working on it too, but didn't have the same clout as Dad did.”

“I'd like to meet Kim Gray,” I said. Someone needed to help me understand what my grandfather was up to, and she seemed as likely as the next person.

Jonah looked surprised, but recovered quickly. “She's been traveling these past couple of weeks at some conference or another. She spends a lot of time outside of Orchard.”

“Really? That seems odd.”

“That is part of the problem my father had with her. I know she'll be back at the end of the week and will come
to any service you have planned for Thom. Are there any plans yet?”

“Not yet. Caroline and I are having lunch today to talk it out. I know he didn't want one, but I think we should plan a memorial service.”

“I agree. There are a lot of folks who'd like to pay their respects. Please make sure and let me know. We'll all want to be there. He was a good man, was Thom Clagan. I really liked Thom.” He shook his head and played with his teaspoon. “It's just so awful.”

“The chief tells me that he had a heart attack, so he didn't suffer.”

He looked very relieved. “Well, I'm glad to hear that. Dad really had a tough time there at the end.”

“I remember your father coming by the shop once in a while. He was one of the few people who could really make my grandfather laugh out loud.”

“Your grandfather was with my dad at the end. He did his best to try and help us all get through the last few months, which wasn't easy. Families, you know? He was determined to do right by his friend, no matter what. Anyway, I'm ashamed of myself for not coming by earlier and offering my condolences, but I didn't know you were staying here. Thom Clagan was a good man. And I know he'd be thrilled that you're settling in.”

“Not sure if I'm settling in or not,” I said, trying to avoid Bezel's gaze from the top of the stairs. “You're very kind to say that about my grandfather. I'm sorry to say that we've been out of touch for the past few years.”

Jonah nodded. “I know. But he was very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing a napkin and blotting my leaky eyes. “This is hard.”

“Of course it is. Especially given everything. I'm sure the chief is on the case. And he's as good as they come. My father hired him right before he retired. Got him a five-year contract too.” Jonah took a swig of tea and then pushed himself up from his chair. He winced a bit as he straightened up.

“Listen, I've kept you too long. Here's my contact information and here's my cell phone number.” He pulled out a pen and scratched the number onto the back of a small white business card.

“Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help with the arrangements,” he added as he started toward the stairs. “Don't hesitate for a minute.”

I
walked Jonah downstairs, locked the door, and went back upstairs to look at the boxes he left. I carefully lifted out the timepieces. Three alarm clocks, dating back to the 1930s. Two carriage clocks. Three pocket watches in their original cases. I opened up one of the Bubble Wrapped packages to find a Seth Thomas mantel clock. I always loved these clocks. They were mass-produced down in Connecticut starting in the mid-1800s. There were many different types of clocks, but this one was fairly common. Just ten inches tall, with a steeple top, made of oak. There was lovely detail on the door. The face looked original. This looked like it was an eight-day clock, but I couldn't be sure. I turned it over gently and winced when I heard a slight clank. I tried to open it up, but didn't have my tools handy. I stopped myself just in time.
These clocks could suck me in for the rest of the day. Instead I rewrapped it in the Bubble Wrap and put it back in the box.

I couldn't help but unwrap another one of the clocks though, just to take a quick peek. This one was also a Seth Thomas, but a miniature. The rest of the packets looked similar. Were they all Seth Thomases? I smiled at the thought. Lovely clocks. Using my new zoning system, I put the box under the “estate to get ready to sell” table. The Seth Thomas line of clocks had been mass-produced since the 1800s, and varied in worth. The one I looked at didn't have tremendous value at first glimpse, but if there was a lot that could be sold together, that might be a different story. That sort of evaluation took time, and I was still working on making sense of what I was dealing with. My exploration of the miniatures would be a treat I would savor another day.

Instead, I pulled out the files that Jonah had brought. Four brown accordion folders' worth, stuffed to the gills. I took them all back to the kitchen table. I looked inside one of the files, flipping through the pages in each section without taking them out of the folder. It wasn't as if each section had a specific topic that tied it all together. Instead each seemed like a mishmash of different articles, printouts, and forms. I suspected they were put in the file pockets in no particular order, but since I couldn't be sure, I left them in place and just flipped through. I didn't want to risk not being able to crack the code, if there was indeed a method to this madness.

Code. That was a little melodramatic. But then again, this last week had redefined
dramatic
for me. I looked at the files some more, but my mind wandered. What was going on in Orchard? I didn't expect to be welcomed back
with a parade, but folks weren't rushing over to give their condolences.

And what about the clock tower? Clearly it had become a bit of an obsession for my grandfather. I walked over to the clock tower model and leaned over it, running my fingers gently along the side of the tiny building. Then I looked back at the files, the reams of paper that all seemed to be about the old Town Hall. From the looks of these files, the clock tower was an obsession for Grover Winter as well.

I felt it all beginning to suck me in. The lure of the Cog & Sprocket. All these wonderful clocks to examine, restore, and sell. No supervisor to report to. Complete control over what I worked on and when. In fact, it was what I dreamed of re-creating back in Boston. The question was, could I come home again? And would it ever be home, without my grandparents?

I took all four accordion files and put them in the wardrobe. I locked it all up and put the key in my dress pocket. Something told me to proceed with caution.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It wasn't running. Ironic, but that's what happened when clocks weren't tended to and wound. I checked my cell phone and saw that it was only ten o'clock. Still some time to look around a bit before I needed to go to the cottage for lunch with Caroline.

I grabbed the account books and took them down to the first floor workroom. According to them, there were several clocks in for repair, but only four had specific customer names. Two mantel clocks that needed new electrics, one wall clock that wasn't keeping time, and an anniversary clock that needed a repair estimate. I'd hold off on the estimate until Caroline came in, since I hoped that she would
be able to give me some guidance on how G.T. priced his work, especially on anniversary clocks. They were always tricky to fix, since the repairs often cost more than the clock was worth.

One more glance at my cell phone told me that I needed to get changed and head out to the cottage to meet Caroline Adler. This was one time I really didn't want to be late.

I
was due to meet Caroline at eleven thirty at her house. Her house. Not my grandparents' house or even G.T.'s house. Caroline's house.

Caroline Adler. I knew nothing about her. I'd tried to Google her a couple of times in the past but couldn't even find a picture. I knew of her through my grandfather and our brief conversations. She had a son, but I'd just found that out. She was ten years younger than G.T. They'd met through a mutual friend. All I really knew was that she married my grandfather very quickly, and I hadn't taken that well.

I wondered about that sometimes. Should I have been more sympathetic? Did I overreact? Now, at the ripe old age of thirty, I'd answer those questions yes and yes, but I still didn't blame my younger self for freaking out. My grandmother's death was unexpected—a heart attack—and my
entire world collapsed, as did my grandfather's. I guess I had hoped we would be there for each other and that would be enough to get us through the grief. Instead he took Caroline Adler in and it felt as if he didn't have a place for me anymore. I never really could get past the feeling that he was trying to replace us with a shiny new family.

I was a little late meeting Caroline. It wasn't like I didn't know the route. I'd spent every summer in that house for as long as I could remember and I'd lived there for most of high school. But maybe it was because I did know the route that it took so long to get there. I slowed down to look at every house, every stone fence, every tree. They all contained memories of bike rides and long walks. These were the places a very unhappy little girl started to find some peace and happiness.

When I drove up, I let go of a breath I didn't even know I'd been holding. The long driveway looked the same. I slowed down to look at the twists and turns. Even the beautiful gardens my grandmother had kept were still in wonderful shape. That had to be at the hand of Caroline. My grandfather could never be bothered. I turned the corner and the house came into view. A simple Cape with dormers on the second floor, weathered shingles, Federal blue trim, and a black front door. As I pulled up, I saw Chief Paisley and Caroline Adler embracing on the front steps, but stepped apart when they heard my car.

Now, this wasn't some sort of torrid embrace you'd see on the cover of a romance novel. It looked like a hug between friends, one giving comfort to the other. At least I hoped that's what it was. While I parked the car, Caroline wiped her eyes and stepped into the house. Chief Paisley waited for me at the front door.

“Chief,” I called out as I shut the car door and ambled toward the house. I was always good at small talk. My faculty wife days taught me how to fill quiet spaces easily.

“Ms. Clagan. Thought I'd stop by and fill you both in on where the investigation is right now when Caroline told me you were coming over. Hope you don't mind the intrusion.”

“No, of course not.”

“Caroline went in ahead of us. Needed to pull herself together a bit. She's in the kitchen. She's one of my favorite people in Orchard,” he said, holding my eye contact for a moment.

His implicit recommendation was strengthened by the protective note in his tone. I took a deep breath. This past week had upended my life. I was still navigating the results. Maybe the best thing to do right now was to act less like myself and more like the person I wanted to be? Yeesh, turning thirty was changing my game.

I stepped into the foyer and took in the dining room on my right, the living room on my left. They both looked different from what I remembered: new paint on the walls and beautiful antique furniture that was more suited to a Victorian than a Cape. I resisted the urge to peer into more rooms as I followed the chief down the center hall.

“You seem to know your way around here,” I observed.

It took me a beat, but I realized that the chief had stopped. I took a step back toward him, my eyebrow cocked.

“I know my way to the kitchen. Been coming here once a week since I moved to Orchard. Thom and Caroline are my friends. I don't use that word lightly, Ms. Clagan.”

I didn't imagine he did. I walked back down the familiar path to my favorite room in the house, dreading what I might
find. The heart of any home is the kitchen and that was certainly true of my grandmother's home. I wasn't sure if I could handle that sacred space being changed. My grandparents had built this house themselves, replacing a summer camp on the lake once electricity was brought out that far from town. The Cape was traditional, but spacious. Living room with a three-season porch taking up half the downstairs, a dining room, kitchen, and half bath taking up the other half. On the second floor, I knew there were three bedrooms and a full bath. A breezeway off the kitchen went out to a barn where my grandfather had a small workroom and did cabinet restoration on the clocks. The home shop wasn't as well equipped as the Cog & Sprocket, but it was lovely, with huge windows that looked out at the lake.

The back of the kitchen also looked out toward the lake. I stopped for a moment to take it in. Caroline finished pouring water into the coffeemaker, and then turned toward me, offering her hand.

“Caroline, have you met Ruth?” Chief Paisley stepped back, as if a referee in a boxing ring, ready to jump in if needed.

Caroline Adler's brown hair had lighter roots, which were evident given her hairstyle that was pulled back into a twist with a bit of a bump in the front. She was fit, trim, and polished. She had pearl earrings that matched a pearl choker, a tan sweater set, and black dress pants. Even though she wore black leather clogs, she was still a few inches shorter than I was. I took all of that in, in the three seconds it took for her to walk across the room and take my outstretched hand. When she came closer, I looked into her brown eyes, rimmed from either lack of sleep, crying, or likely both. The dark marks underneath them matched my own.

Her eyes caught me, filled with emotion and a world of pain. No matter how unsure I was about her, making someone cry was not on my to-do list for the day, so I forced a smile and put my other hand on top of hers.

“Caroline, it is very nice to see you,” I said awkwardly, not sure what to do next.

“Ruth, it is wonderful to officially meet you,” she replied.

“The house looks wonderful,” I said, trying to fill in the awkward pause with the first thought that popped into my head. This was even harder than I'd imagined.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

“I noticed a few changes.”

“Just a few. I hope you don't find them too disconcerting,” she said, casting her eyes around the room.

“No, the house looks well lived in. This room looks the same,” I said. And it did. She let go of my hand and I looked around. The same range, restaurant quality, was a huge investment back in the day, but well used by my grandmother, who employed all six burners and both ovens for family dinners, even when it was just the three of us. The large farmhouse sink sat below the recessed window, where she'd kept herbs growing year round.

The round kitchen table, where we'd eaten most of our meals, was still there. Eating meals together was a family rule. The wide pine floors, which ran through the entire house, glowed. The braided rugs by the sink and under the table were beautiful additions, with colors that complemented the rest of the house: greens, rose pinks, purples, and yellows. The cushions on the chairs and tablecloth gave the room a more decorated air than it had when I was growing up. But I had to admit, it was lovely and familiar.

The tears threatened to flow again. Honestly, I hadn't cried this much in years. Years. Even when I found out my husband cheated on me, I didn't shed a tear. Not sure if that said more about me or about the state of my marriage. I'd come to realize, with despair, that I'd married a man who offered me stability. Not love, but strong opinions and ideas which suited me, especially at twenty-three. They suited me less as I got older, so I got traded in for a new model. And bless his new girlfriend, who was the same age I was when they met. I rolled my shoulders back, shed thoughts of Eric, and kept the tears in check.

“Please, both of you, have a seat,” Caroline said. “Do you mind the kitchen? I'm getting lunch ready. Chief, you are welcome to join us.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

“You can pour us all some sweet tea. The pitcher's in the refrigerator.”

“I'll take the tea, but I need to pass on the lunch,” the chief said. “I have a couple more appointments this afternoon. Rain check?”

“You know you're always welcome here, Jeff.”

“Let me get the tea,” I said, anxious to make myself useful. The pitcher was full, with slices of lemon floating in it. I poured out the tea and handed the chief a glass. He took a long swig. When he put his glass down, I refilled it. I took a sip and understood his enthusiasm.

Caroline was taking plastic off the quiche. “Ruth, I'd try and pretend that my quiche was homemade, but I'd be lying. I bought it at the Corner Market this morning.”

“I went there last night. The new owners seem to have a nice selection of food.”

“Yes, they do,” she said distractedly. “An interesting couple, the Clarks.”

One look told me that she knew that this talk about groceries was just to avoid the subject of G.T.

“Jeff, what brought you by this morning?” Caroline said.

Caroline had a bit of a Southern accent, but I could tell she worked hard at sounding like she had no accent. But since no Northerner made sweet tea that tasted like this, her Southern roots were showing. I loved sweet tea. Recipes I'd seen said it was just tea, water, and sugar, but there was more to it than that. The tea had to be strong, but not acrid. The sweetness couldn't tip over too far on the sugary side, but it did need to be sweet. This concoction was perfect.

“Caroline, I wanted to ask you about the five clocks that were stolen last month,” the chief said.

“Again? Jeff, I thought you were here to tell us about what happened to Thom. Have there been any new leads, any clue as to who has done this?” Caroline said. She looked strained. She was trying to keep it together, but anyone could see that she was having a hard time with this.

“I am. I think they may be related. What kinds of clocks were they again?” he asked.

“They were all from the 1800s. Wall clocks, mantel clocks. A gingerbread clock. All American, made by the Seth Thomas Clock Company.”

“Seth Thomases?” I asked, thinking about the clocks I'd looked at this morning.

“Last month Caroline reported a burglary of five clocks from the shop, but Thom withdrew the report soon after,” Chief Paisley told me. “Said that he didn't want to deal with the insurance claims, especially since there were so many
new clocks in the shop. Even though they were all pretty valuable, close to a thousand dollars each—am I right?

“Someone knew what they were doing,” he continued. “But those clocks, collectors specifically would be interested, right? Who would know about the value of those clocks? Aside from you and Thom? And Pat Reed.”

“Anyone who knew clocks would know that they were valuable,” I said. “Or even people who had access to a computer.”

“Well, Ms. Clagan, that's true.” The chief leaned forward as he spoke. “But I went back to the original report that Caroline filed. It was carefully detailed, written with hope we could get those valuable pieces back. And I've been doing some research on them. These five clocks were really something special.”

“I told you, Chief, I barely remember them. We have a significant number of clocks in the shop, as you know. You can't expect me to remember every single clock,” Caroline said, clenching her glass tightly in her fist.

“Caroline, the shop was broken into, twice. I think Pat Reed knows more than he's telling.”

“And I think you're wrong, Jeff. Wrong.” Caroline looked as if she was about to start crying, and grabbed a napkin from the table.

“Chief Paisley, do you have any more specific questions that we haven't covered yet? Because I think Caroline has told you everything she knows,” I said. The last thing I expected to do was feel protective over Caroline, but here I was. And I didn't like the way this conversation was going. Best to stop it now. Surely Pat Reed wasn't a suspect, was he? That was impossible. I needed to process this. “And I
certainly have. Now, do you have any more information about when you're going to be releasing my grandfather's body? Caroline and I need to talk about planning a service.”

“I'm hoping the coroner will release the body by the end of the week. I'll check again today.” Chief Paisley looked at us both and shrugged his shoulders. He picked up his glass and drained it. He stood up and took it over to the sink, then turned around.

“Caroline, I don't want to upset you,” he said. “But you have to know, I'm not going to rest until I figure out what happened to Thom. Or rather, who happened to him. I think the missing clocks from last month have something to do with his death. What, I'm not sure. But I'm going to find out. Thank you for the sweet tea. I'll let myself out.”