Just Killing Time (21 page)

C
aroline walked over and put her arms around Nancy. Nancy clung on, but then the quarter hour chimes started. We all looked up as one clock chimed, then another, and then the third. Not even close to one another. I looked down at my cell phone. Sigh. They were all at least five minutes off.

Nancy reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a dishrag. She noisily blew her nose. Yuck. It wasn't like I had a tissue to offer her, but still, a dishrag?

“It's Pat,” she said. “He's in real trouble and I need your help.” And then she started crying again.

“What kind of trouble?” I asked. We'd moved into the front part of the shop, and I dragged an office chair in so we could all sit at the card table.

“The chief came by to look for him and then came by again an hour later.”

“He came by here as well,” I said. “We told him Pat was in Marytown. He dropped Caroline's car off.”

“I know, and I told the chief so. I kept trying to call Pat, but it took him forever to pick up the phone. When he finally did, I told him that the chief was looking for him. And that's when he told me.”

“What is it, Nancy? It can't be that bad.”

“It is that bad. Pat said he was going to tell the chief that he stole the clocks.”

What little color Caroline had left drained from her face. Nancy stared at her hands.

“Which clocks?” I asked slowly.

“The five last month,” Nancy said between sobs.

“No, that's not possible,” Caroline said.

I was uncertain about a few things, but not this. Pat Reed would never steal from my grandfather. Something else was going on here.

“Tell me more about the clocks,” I said. “I remember hearing that they were stolen, but I don't remember the specifics.”

Caroline looked uncomfortable, but she started to explain nonetheless.

“When we first brought the clocks into the shop, we invited people over to see some of them. Neighbors, a couple of collectors. Anyway, we'd been showing people the clocks off and on for a week or so. Especially these clocks—they were real beauties. Five Seth Thomas mantel clocks. All mid-1800s. Really lovely specimens. We made sure we locked up, but the Cog & Sprocket is hardly Fort Knox. I was looking for a clock I thought might be in one of those crates and I noticed that one crate was empty.”

“Could you narrow down the window of time?” I asked. “Maybe there's an alibi for Pat there?”

“It was a broad window. But since we'd shown several people the clocks, we did know what exactly was missing,” Caroline said. “I filed a report with the police. And then Thom decided to withdraw it.”

“Why?”

“He didn't say.” Caroline looked away from me. I'd bet dollars to donuts she knew anyway, but I didn't push it.

“They were all Seth Thomas clocks? They're pretty popular, not terribly rare. But worth a fair amount, if they're in good shape.” Both Caroline and Nancy stared at me. “Listen, I know Pat didn't steal any clocks, and no one can convince me otherwise. But look at it from the chief's point of view. These were a good choice for a clock-savvy burglar. And getting them out of here took some moxie. Why would the chief think Pat stole the clocks?” I asked. “Did he have a motive?”

Nancy started to cry again. She shook her head.

“It wasn't Pat,” Caroline said, reaching out to put her hand on her friend's heaving shoulders. “Was it, Nancy?”

Nancy looked up at Caroline and shook her head.

“I'm so, so sorry,” she said. “It was Ryan. Ever since he lost his scholarship he's been at sea, trying to figure out how to pay for school. His father and I helped as much as we could, and we thought he was all set. But apparently he had to take one class a second time and was a few thousand dollars short.

“I went down to the basement last week to put the summer clothes away. There were boxes I'd never seen. I looked in one and saw a clock. Then I looked in another box and
saw another clock. They looked like ones we'd seen at the Cog & Sprocket one night when Thom and Pat were showing us some of the new stock. Same thing with the other three boxes. I didn't know what to do.”

“You could have called the police or Caroline,” I said. I know it was unkind, but I wasn't feeling terribly charitable at that particular moment.

“He's my son, Ruth,” she said, her eyes pleading. “And I wanted to check in with Pat first. When he came home, I went down to the basement with him and showed him the boxes. I swear, he was as surprised as I was. But then he got angry, really angry. He kept saying Ryan's name over and over. He went out looking for him. I thought he was going to kill him, I really did. Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“When was this, Nancy?” I asked.

“Last Tuesday. Ryan never came home that night. And then the next morning, Pat found Thom.”

Caroline sighed.

I didn't know what to say. While this was a lot to take in, I couldn't help but feel that there were many missing links in the story. How would Ryan know which clocks to steal? They were good choices—old, great craftsmanship, lovely examples. But common enough that only an expert would be able to tell if they were the stolen clocks. And would Ryan really be able to pull off a robbery like this without help?

Nancy's phone began to beep and buzz several times in a row. She hunched over the display and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Moira? Is your father— What? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that it's Eddie's afternoon off.” Her tone shifted. “No, I'll be right there. Hey, sweetie, you haven't heard from your
dad, have you? No, it's nothing. All good. We just got cut off when we were talking earlier.”

“I need to get back to the shop,” she said as she stuffed the phone back into her apron pocket.

“Does Moira know?” I asked.

“No, of course not. Oh my, I need to pull it together. I'm sorry, I don't know why I came over here. It's just that . . . you know how much Pat thought of Thom, right?”

“Of course,” Caroline said. “We'll figure out the mystery of the old clocks, I promise. In the meantime, go back to the shop.”

She left by the back door, barely visible in the low light of the late afternoon.

“Ruth, I'm done in. Would you mind giving me a ride home?”

“We need to talk about this,” I said.

“We can talk on our way home. Not here. I don't want to talk about it here.”

I
locked up carefully and left lights on all over the shop. We walked out to the space in the front where I had parked my Scion xB.

“I've always liked these cars,” Caroline said. “They look like a London cab, don't they?” she asked.

I made room on the passenger seat while Caroline hovered behind me, rubbing her left arm with her right hand. It took me a minute. My car had been my office lately. This lifestyle led to a lot of clutter, a bit of trash, and a very full passenger seat. I piled up the papers, put them in a shopping bag, and put it all in the backseat.

“There's a lot of room in here, isn't there?” she asked as she climbed in.

“It is perfect for hauling things,” I agreed.

“Things like clocks?”

“Yes, of course, clocks. And, well, I actually make some nontraditional clocks as well, and so I tend to haul around things I've picked up.”

“Nontraditional clocks? Hauling around ‘things'?” she asked, a smile creeping across her face.

I took a deep breath and then reached into the backseat, pulling out my smaller portfolio case. I unzipped it and flipped it open, then laid it on Caroline's lap.

“See that?” I asked, pointing to a large clock that looked like it was rising out of a Lucite table. Caroline took her reading glasses out of her purse and looked at the picture.

“It's a working clock,” I said.

“Of course it is. Digital?” she asked.

“No, actually, that one is an eight-day clock, and you wind it up right there.” I pointed to a spot on the front of the clock. “I started with digital, but now I use traditional parts. If I can't make a clock work, I make a new design.”

“This is beautiful. May I look at the rest of the book?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the pages.

“I guess,” I said. A part of me wanted to yank it back. I was always nervous when I showed my own work. These clocks were my passion. I usually did them on commission, and given the hours I spent on each one, they were not a lucrative business model. But they made me happy. Horology captured in an art piece. As much as you can capture time, that is.

“Is this how you make your living?” she asked, flipping the page and taking in the images.

I started the car and pulled out of the space.

“My ex-husband was, is, a professor, and we had on-campus housing. We were housemasters so we had access to storage space, and I had help from students interested in
learning about my work. So long story short, I did this for three years, but for the past few months, since the separation, I haven't been able to find the time or space to make anything.”

“I can only imagine that has been very difficult.”

“It has, though this museum job was an interesting opportunity to expand my career options. I love making big pieces, but I don't want to make them for collectors only. I want anyone who loves the idea of having a clock integrated into a home in a bold, artistic way to have access to my work at some level. At the same time, I wouldn't mind a couple of commissions. That book you have in your hand? I had a dozen printed up. The museum is considering selling them in the gift shop.”

“That's very exciting,” Caroline said.

“It is.” I should have sounded happier. And a month ago, it was the most exciting thing that had happened in a long time. Maybe it was a consolation prize since the funding for my job got cut, but it was a pretty good consolation prize. An opportunity to pitch my work to people who could afford to pay me.

Time to get the conversation back on track. “Caroline, I haven't been around for a while, but I can't imagine Pat Reed helping his son steal clocks, can you?”

She hesitated for a moment. “No, I can't.”

“Tell me about what happened when the five clocks were stolen.”

“I'm the one who noticed. There were seven clocks all together in one of the crates. The Winters had displayed them all together in one room of their house. It was one of their favorite groupings and we hated to break it up. Really lovely pieces.”

“In working order?”

“We hadn't gotten there yet. They were all wonderful examples of mid-nineteenth-century mantel clocks, that's for sure. If they were in working order, we were looking at a thousand dollars apiece, probably more, as is. We were doing the overall inventory and I was gathering information in order to price them. Anyway, I took one home so we could look at it more closely. That meant the top of the crate was loose.”

“Which means if this was a robbery, those would have been easily accessible. The robber just lucked out that they were also very valuable.”

“The longcases are more valuable but it would take a very motivated robber to steal those. And it would also take time to move them out.”

“It's a shame you don't have real pictures of the missing clocks.” I waited for Caroline to reply. “Do you have any pictures?”

“We have some pictures from the Winter home. They are at the house.”

“Did you give them to the chief?” Another pause.

“Caroline, you're not telling me something. What's going on with the stolen clocks?”

“At first blush, it looked like a straight-up robbery. A customer was looking for a walnut gingerbread clock and I remembered seeing one in one of the crates, so I went to look for it. I found the empty crate. So I called the police and filed a report.”

“At first blush?”

“When the chief came over, he started to do a very thorough investigation. Now, don't get me wrong. The old chief was a good man, and he kept the peace. But Jeff Paisley's
much more inclined to dig a little deeper. After a thorough assessment, he quickly helped us realize that the robbery had to be an inside job, as it were. The back door wasn't forced. The robber knew exactly what he, or she, was looking for.”

“Which meant that the prime suspect was . . .”

“Pat Reed. Thom and I were off the hook, since we weren't making an insurance claim. That and the fact that Jeff Paisley didn't think we did it. The only thing that kept the chief from arresting Pat was the fact that we couldn't pinpoint exactly when the clocks were stolen. And that Thom and I were insistent that he couldn't be responsible.”

“So you withdrew the robbery complaint?”

“We tried. Officially, the case was unsolved. Unofficially, the chief wasn't letting it go.”

“Why didn't you put a claim in for the clocks?”

“We'd been in the middle of upgrading our policy and decided to take them as a loss rather than put in a claim for them, so they didn't raise our rates. Claiming them was going to cause more problems than it would solve.”

“I still can't believe Pat would steal from G.T., or from you.”

“Thom couldn't, wouldn't, believe it either.”

“What did Pat say?”

“In typical New England fashion, we never talked about it. The chief made it clear what he thought, but we were at an impasse.”

“You said there were seven clocks all together in that crate originally?”

“We'd taken one home with us. I'll show it to you. There was another one we'd taken out of the crate, and Thom was working on it. It was a Seth Thomas black Adamantine.
Wood, but painted to look like marble. Gold columns. It should be in the shop.”

“I've been taking pictures of everything that's on display with my cell phone as I go. Here, see if you can find it.” I fished in my purse without taking my eyes from the road and handed her the phone. I told her the password and waited as she struggled to scroll through the images.

“You took these with your phone?” Caroline asked, squinting at the screen. “They're good.”

“They'll do for now. When we want to get these ready for sale, we'll take better photos. I just wanted to get some visuals in the database. I find that easier, since every clock is unique.”

“You sound just like your grandfather. No, I don't see it.”

“Odd.”

“Maybe G.T. brought it home to work on it there?”

“He may have. We'll look in the barn.”

“So if we believe Nancy's story, Pat found the clocks at his house last week. I'll bet he went in to tell G.T. right away.”

“I'd take that bet.”

“That was the night G.T. was killed. So if we tell the chief that part of the story . . .”

“It would point to him as a murder suspect even more.”

“Yeesh. I wonder why the chief was looking for Pat today with such urgency? He must have more information. I wonder what it is?”

“He hasn't confided anything in me,” Caroline said. “He might answer some questions if I give him a call.”

“Since we both know Pat didn't kill G.T.”—I looked over
at Caroline, who nodded—“we need to help the chief come up with another idea, another lead to follow. I can't help but think G.T.'s death has something to do with the whole rezoning business.”

“I think so too. But I still have trouble imagining which of our neighbors could do such a thing.”

“Since I don't know them as well, maybe I could be more objective.”

“Well, whatever we do, the clock's ticking. The town meeting is Thursday, and the chief's looking for Pat.”

“Did you have any luck trying to get the meeting moved?”

“None. I spoke to Kim Gray herself after our lunch. I meant to tell you. She was very sympathetic, but there were too many wheels in motion to stop now.”

“Does she have an alibi?” I asked.

“She was in New York, at a conference.”

“You asked her?”

“Not outright, but I got the information. She asked if we'd found the deed yet.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her you were in town and going through the shop from top to bottom while I looked through the house. If it was going to be found, we'd find it.”

“What did she say to that?”

“She said she really hoped we found it soon. Because her lawyer told her that they could make a case for taking the Town Hall over by eminent domain.”

“That's pretty drastic,” I said.

“This battle has been brewing for over a year. Thom and Grover were determined to stop her. You should have seen her face when Grover took the first step and got the store
behind the library declared a historical site. She had planned on flattening it to make a parking lot.”

“What store? Not that old shack, the one set back? Isn't that a storage shed?”

“Beneath that awful vinyl siding, it turns out it's the oldest building in Orchard. So they agreed to make it a historical site, and put the parking lot all around it. It's ironic that the ugliest building is the one that was deemed worth saving over all of the others.”

“This all sounds like a nightmare,” I said.

“Even though the Clagans are one of Orchard's oldest and most respected families, Thom was being portrayed as an obstacle to progress.”

“I'm sure that didn't sit well with G.T.”

“Of course it didn't. Even our business was being looked at as old-fashioned and out of step with the new Orchard she had in mind. Kim had begun to sway the Clarks to her side by telling them that their store would be featured in the new Orchard plans—it would just need to be relocated into the new mall in Marytown, with a boutique store in Orchard.”

“They were buying that?”

“They were listening and they never really respected Thom anyway, what with their family's history. The old store isn't big enough for them to host the sort of lavish wine and cheese tastings they wanted. Plus they were offered a two-year lease, free. And Beckett Green met with her as well. She even gave Ben a few calls.

“Anyway, Grover had started to get the old Town Hall on the register, and Thom continued that fight. Since it was smack in the middle of the block, it was necessary to the overall plan that it be flattened.”

“And so the clock tower idea started to take root again.”

“Thom had even gotten some drawings done, showing what it could look like with the tower reconstructed. That was getting traction in town—rebuilding the old Orchard instead of building a new one.”

“I like that plan better. He did always say ‘fix, don't replace.'”

“He is, was, right. I love Orchard just the way it is and would hate to see it change completely. Sure, it's tiny, but it's a great community. It just needs a fresh coat of paint. And we're close enough to other towns to have the benefits of more recent development, and then we can come back here and just be Orchard.”

“Was G.T. giving any thought at all to selling the Cog & Sprocket?”

“He was thinking about a lot of things. If Kim Gray's plan had gone through, I think he'd have sold the business. Or moved it out to the house and the barn. But honestly, that didn't seem likely. He sounded more optimistic than he had in months the last few times we'd spoken about it.”