Just Killing Time (26 page)

O
n my way to Jonah's, I called Ben. I didn't reach him so I left a message.

“Hi, Ben. Thanks for the call. I'm feeling okay. I need to drop something off at the Winters' house that I just keep forgetting about, but I'm hoping I'll be able to grab a quick bite at the Latte. I'm meeting with Chief Paisley at ten o'clock, so I won't be able to help out this morning. Sorry about that, but I have some good news to share so I'll be by later. And I know seeing you sweating behind that counter in a hairnet will make me feel better. See you soon.”

I plugged my phone back in my lighter and stored it on the dash. I liked the voice of the woman who left that message. She was bright and cheerful, despite having been beaten up a few hours prior and being in the middle of a challenging, to put it mildly, week. Dare I say it, I might
have even been flirting with Ben. Just a little bit. The air of Orchard was changing me.

I hadn't been to the Winters' house for years, and even then, only a couple of times as a visitor when G.T. took me along while he talked to Grover. But as a citizen of Orchard, I'd been there three times a year, every year, once I moved to Orchard full-time. Besides the Fourth of July picnic, there was the Halloween Haunted House, held the Saturday before Halloween for all the kids in town, and the Holiday Open House, held the weekend between Christmas and New Year's. The picnic and Halloween parties were open to the entire town, but the Holiday Open House was invite only, and my grandparents were always on the list.

I loved all these events, but especially the Holiday Open House. The entire first floor was open, decorated from floor to ceiling with garlands, twinkle lights, and at least one tree per room. The food was plentiful and there were games, music, and even folk dancing to keep everyone laughing late into the night. But I, of course, always took a tour of the clocks. Perhaps it was because of the size of the house, but there didn't seem to be too many clocks, just enough. I'd looked through Caroline's book that was a clock tour of the Winters' house last night, and I recalled a lot of them. I remember trying to be in a different room each quarter hour to hear the chimes and to see if I could identify the clocks. My grandmother was oblivious to the effort, but my grandfather had caught on and joined me a few times. On the way back home, we'd talk about the collections, my grandfather quizzing me on the characteristics of the longcase in the parlor or the shelf clock in the music room. My visits to the Winters' home had been an important part of my clock-appreciation development.

I came around a corner and there sat the Winters' house on top of a hill. As I approached the house I realized the current Winter estate paled in comparison to my nostalgia-tinted memories, but I suppose that was to be expected. Sure, the lawns weren't as manicured as they always had been and the gardens were in need of tending. It was a lot of house for one family to keep up with, and I suspected that it would return to its former glory under the care of Harris University. The empty flower urns on the front stoop just looked sad.

I pulled around the horseshoe-shaped driveway to the front of the house and parked. I was tempted to tap on the horn, but I didn't think it was appropriate. Instead I climbed up the front steps, gritting my teeth as my muscles ached, and rang the bell. It made a satisfying chiming sound that bounced around the front hall. I looked down at the battered garden and noticed several concrete animals lined up. Each one was missing a limb or an ear. The carnage looked intentional, and I shuddered a bit at the sight.

No one came to the door, so I went back to the car and opened the back hatch. I put the keys in the front pocket of my dress. I loved pockets and was so relieved when I found clothes with them. I felt something small and sharp in there with the keys and pulled it out. The earring I'd found that first day in the shop. I needed to remember to ask Caroline about it. And I probably should ask her if I could do a load of laundry at her house.

I dragged one of the boxes out of the trunk. Fortunately, it was more cumbersome than heavy, but still, my battered body felt the half-dozen steps to the front porch. I went back and took out the second box, and was almost to the first step when the front door opened.

Jonah Winter stood with the door half opened, making no move toward helping me with the box.

“Jonah, I could use some help with these.”

“Just leave the boxes there. I'll get them. Very kind of you to bring them. Thanks so much. Family history, missing bits and pieces. Sorry I can't invite you in, but I'm in the middle of something.”

“Are you all right?” I asked. Not only was he acting odd, but I could swear he was wearing the same clothes he wore when we first met. He hadn't shaved since, and his eyes were rimmed with red, with dark circles underneath.

“I'm fine, really. Thanks again. I'll be seeing you.” Jonah went to close the door, but it suddenly swung open. Aggie Kurt, wearing black jeans and the top of her delivery uniform, stepped out from behind her brother. She held a gun in her hand and moved it toward me.

“Jonah, what would Dad say about your hospitality? Invite her in.” She pushed him forward a bit. “Let's make sure she really brought us our clocks, shall we? You, bring that box in here. Jonah, grab the other one. And neither of you try anything. I've got plenty of bullets.”

I could have dropped the box and run, but I had no doubt that Aggie would shoot. And even if she missed, she'd probably catch me. If the angels were on my side, maybe I could get the car started and leave, but it was a big maybe.

And then there was Jonah. He looked terrible, and from the way Aggie was grabbing his shirt and moving him around like a tall puppet, I didn't think he'd survive if I ran. Not that I knew Jonah very well, but still. I couldn't leave him to fend for himself.

I followed Aggie's directions and brought the box into
the front hallway. I was shocked by the change in the house. The old-money elegance had been completely replaced by a postapocalyptic nightmare. Frequently a house lost its personality when it was emptied out, but this time the markings weren't just normal wear and tear; they were vandalism. The corners of wallpaper were torn and the bare walls adorned with hooks and bright boxes the only indication of where the magnificent artwork had hung. The floors were naked, with long drag marks marring the parquet.

“Go get the other box,” Aggie said bitterly. “Baby brother isn't up to it after all.”

I almost refused, claiming a bad back, but I didn't want to let Aggie know I was hurt. I suspected that if she decided I wasn't of use, I'd be deemed expendable. I had to step down to ground level to pull the box toward me, rather than bend over and pick it up. But I did it, trying to ignore the twinge I felt in my lower back. I breathed through it and held my stomach muscles as tightly as I could.

I walked back up the stairs and into the foyer. Aggie slammed the door shut behind me, throwing the locks, including the huge bolt at the bottom of the door.

“Make yourself useful, little brother, and grab that other box. Bring it in here.” She pointed to the room to the right of the foyer. A front parlor, if my memory served. I focused on my breath and tried to remember what I'd learned at the yoga retreat last week. Was that only last week? I shook my head and focused on what was happening right now, trying to keep the fear that kept rising in my throat at bay.

Jonah struggled with the box, but finally got it up. He barely made it through the doorway before he dropped the box on the floor and then crawled to the sofa, where he lay
down. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt, and I noticed he was shaking.

“Your sports drink is right there, Jonah. The red one, the one you like so much. Drink up, little brother.”

I put my box down on the seat of a wing-back chair and stood up carefully. If there were signs of damage in the hallway, this room had become the symbol of a new reality for the Winter family. The couch that Jonah was lying on was ripped open, with horsehair and springs forcing their way out. The fireplace to my left was full of books and mangled picture frames. Singe marks indicated that someone had tried to start a fire. The leather club chairs were both gashed open, and the stuffing had been pulled out. I recalled this room from the open houses of years past. I remembered the wonderful cacophony of chimes on the hour, and I was immediately grateful that the clocks were all safe, back at our shop.

“Open the box and take out the clocks. All of them,” Aggie said, turning the gun on me.

I did as she asked, laying them all out on top of the ottoman carefully. She picked up the first one, the lovely Seth Thomas miniature I'd looked at the other day. She dropped it in front of her and stomped on it. I couldn't help it—I cried out. Still keeping the gun trained on me, she bent over and rifled through the debris left over.

“Gotcha!” she said, holding up what looked like a ring. “I told you, Jonah. These old clocks are worth more than you thought.”

She picked up another clock, a porcelain carriage clock. I suspected it might be a replica, but I couldn't tell from here.

“Stop, please!” I said. “What are you doing? That clock you just killed—it was worth at least five hundred dollars, probably much more!”

“And this ring is worth ten times that, and a lot easier to hock.”

She hurled the clock against the fireplace. This one, made of porcelain, shattered into dozens of pieces. That didn't stop Aggie from rifling through them. Cutting her finger on a shard didn't seem to bother her at all, especially after she found another treasure, this time an earring.

“Where's the other one. Do you see it?” she asked me. “You, find the other earring. Now.”

She stood up and grabbed a sweatshirt from the side table, wiping the blood on the dark fabric. The black hoodie looked awfully familiar, as did her heavy boots.

“What does it look like?” I asked. She held up a pearl and diamond earring, but didn't hand it to me. It matched the earring in my pocket. I swallowed hard, hoping to contain the panic that was rising in my chest.

“Aggie, was it you in the shop last night?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice calm. The rest of me was terrified. I crouched down, trying to avoid cutting my shaking hands on the shards. I started to pile the pieces of the clock up. I cleared a space and knelt down gingerly.

“You're a real pain, you know that?” Aggie said. “Your car wasn't there. You were supposed to be gone by now, back to Boston, away from here. Why do you all make me hurt you? Why don't you just do what you are supposed to?”

I sat back on my heels and looked up at the barrel of the gun. I wished I knew more about guns. I had no idea if it
had a safety, if the safety was on or off, or even how to tell if it was loaded.

I turned and pretended to search while I reached into my pocket and pulled out the matching earring.

“Is this what you are looking for?” I said, holding it up.

“Yes, that's it.” She snatched the earring and reached for another clock, but I put my hands out.

“Stop. Please, don't destroy another clock. Let me take it apart.”

She looked at me for a few seconds, then let go. “Have at it,” she said. “Might as well make your last few minutes happy ones. Don't ever let it be said that Agatha Winter-Kurt didn't have a heart.”

“Yeah, Aggie, that's you. All heart.” Jonah half laughed, half coughed. He'd rolled himself up to a sitting position. “All heart. Let's just ask Dad about that, shall we? Oh, wait, we can't. Because you killed him. Just like you're killing me.”

“Shut. Up. Jonah.”

“But Ruth probably knows that already, don't you Ruth? She figured it out, just like Thom figured it out,” Jonah said, looking at me desperately.

Aggie let out a howl and threw one of the clocks at Jonah. He couldn't even try to duck it, but happily for him her aim was wide. The clock crashed against the wall and pieces flew across the floor.

“Go get it,” she hissed at me. “Crawl over and get it.”

I did as I was told, maneuvering my way over to the side of the room. I tried to catch Jonah's eye, but he was too dazed. Had Grover been murdered? By his daughter? How had my grandfather known?

I remembered the training I got as a housemaster at school on ways to deal with out-of-control students and threatening situations. Keep your tone light, don't accuse, make them think you are on their side. Don't show fear. It had all seemed so simple in a dining hall, practicing with the history tutor. Not so easy today.

“So, Aggie, there's a lot going on here,” I said, carefully collecting the broken glass and putting it in the front pocket of my dress along with the porcelain shards. A glint of light caught my eye, and I crawled over and picked it up.

“Is this what you're looking for?” I got up on my knees, but didn't stand up.