Just Killing Time (9 page)

“So tell me about Moira and the old diner,” I said, having confirmed that there were three more banjo clocks in the crate. That made twelve total, and we weren't close to done yet.

“She bought it a little over a year ago. It had a couple of owners since you left. Last folks tried to make it a fancy coffee shop. You can only imagine how well that went over.”

I laughed out loud. I could indeed. Orchard didn't take well to two things: chain stores and high-end boutiques. Though the town had its share of tourists, most of the residents were firmly middle class and lived that way. Even the Cog & Sprocket stayed “Old Orchard,” as my grandmother used to call it. Well tended, clean, but very New England and utilitarian. New Englanders didn't go in for high style.

“The good news is the owners just walked away, left the machinery in place. The bad news is no one wanted five-dollar coffee. So Moira bought it, brought back the diner menu of burgers and breakfast, but kept the high-end coffee as a choice. It's working real well for her. The locals go there for breakfast, the college kids spend the afternoon drinking coffee. Nancy's working there part-time, helping with the lunch rush during the week. And keeping up with the baking.”

“It was great to see them both,” I said, smiling at the mention of the Reed family matriarch. I checked off a box of three mantel clocks. It was all I could do to not open the crate and look at the contents, but I stayed focused on the task at hand.

“Pat,” I said, stopping for a moment, “are we ever going to know what happened to him?”

“I don't know, Ruthie. I just don't know,” he said, shaking his head.

“Nancy invited me over for dinner tonight,” I said to fill the heavy silence.

“Good. I'm glad you're back, Ruthie.”

Funny, when I was studying in London or making my life in Boston, I barely thought about the Reeds. Now I felt their absence in my life like a toothache. I sighed and pulled my hair out of the ponytail, shook it out, and then gathered it all back up and refastened it. That should last five, maybe ten minutes. I cocked my head to the side. Then I stood back up. The light was definitely catching a sparkle.

“You need to rest a bit, Ruthie?” Pat asked.

“No, just thought I saw something. Yes, I did.” I bent down and crawled under the worktable. I backed up and stood up carefully, avoiding the corner of the worktable.
“Look at this, Pat.” I held out my palm and showed Pat the pearl and diamond earring I'd found. The three diamond drops must've been what had caught my eye in the light.

“How did you see that way under there?”

“When you moved that last box, the light hit the corner. I thought I saw something and apparently I did. Wow. Is it Caroline's?”

“I've never seen her with them on, but I can't say I'd notice one way or the other.”

“I'll ask her about it. It's lovely. I really hope someone has the mate.” I put it in the pocket of my tunic. “I really appreciate your help, Pat. You must have a million other things to do.”

“Nothing more important than this. Well, that's the last one. Not sure it made more space though.”

“Well, at least I got a sense of what was in the crates.”

“Do you want to look over the shelves next?” Pat asked.

I glanced over at Pat, who looked as tired as I felt. “Maybe tomorrow? I am having lunch with Caroline, then she's coming by the shop.”

“Sounds good. Listen, I'm going to clean up a bit and then head home. I hear we've got company coming tonight. Why don't you head upstairs and get some rest?”

“Mind if I take the computer with me?”

“She's all yours. See you tonight.”

I
ate one of the sandwiches Moira sent over and put the second one in the refrigerator. My sandwich had slabs of turkey, shaved Swiss cheese, and some amazing cranberry chutney that added a little heat. Delicious. I sat at the kitchen table in my traditional spot at the end of the table looking over to the kitchen, in full view of the door from the shop. When I was in high school I had rigged several systems in addition to the mirror to help me know when someone was coming up. I'd need to reinstall a few of them.

I ate every bite of the sandwich despite Bezel's intermittent mewing requests for a taste as she wove her body around my legs and the chair. I resisted the temptation to eat the second one. Tempting as eating three meals a day at the Sleeping Latte was, there were two problems with that plan. First, I'd gain ten pounds in a week. And second? I craved being alone.
I liked people, but the thought of eating three meals a day publicly held no appeal. I'd try and get to the store in between the real estate appointment and going to the Reeds' house for dinner. What time was the real estate meeting? Four? I should have put the appointment in my phone.

My phone calendar was set to e-mail me a reminder of appointments an hour in advance and then to ring ten minutes before a meeting. I sighed. It didn't help. My inability to keep time for myself was just plain embarrassing. I studied time. I built timepieces. Accuracy was an obsession. But I was perpetually late for everything. Or hopelessly early. It wasn't that I couldn't keep time, I just couldn't remember it in time.

I took the calendar off the top of the box the chief had brought up. True to Caroline's word, I found the real estate agent's card clipped to the corner. I took it and slid it into the card slot on the other side of my phone case. Google told me it was a twenty-minute drive to the Marytown office. I factored in a longer drive because of leaf peepers, and another twenty minutes just in case. It was almost two. I had over an hour; might as well start looking things over.

The Cog & Sprocket system must have been in my DNA. It took me about five minutes to remember my grandfather's shorthand. I flipped through the pages of the general ledger, trying to get a sense of how the business was doing. There were jobs off-site, tending to clock towers or tuning up a grandfather that couldn't be moved. Some regular winding appointments. But most of the work still came into the shop. That had stayed steady. What had been slowing down were the clock sales. G.T. hadn't embraced the Internet yet, and I'd bet that was impacting the business.

I looked at the calendar again. Never one for pretty pictures, my grandfather's plain calendar had big blocks for writing appointments. They also included G.T.'s plans for the future and notes on the past. A lunch with Ben last Tuesday, with the notation
in
next to it. A call made to Stephanie last Thursday, with a
time
notation. Stephanie? Stephanie Lincoln? Yeesh. I looked down at my own watch. Ten minutes of four. Could I make the twenty-minute drive in ten? I could sure try.

I ran out the door, shouting to Bezel I'd be back. I went down to the shop, shouting to Pat that I'd see him later, at his house. I doubted he'd hear me over the drone of the shop vac. What was he doing back there? No time to check. Late!

I
barreled out the front door and clambered into the car, tossing my bag on the other seat. I took a deep breath and pulled out my cell phone case. Living in the land of two bars drained my battery. I plugged it into the lighter and put the address of the real estate agent into my GPS. Predicted arrival: 4:23. Hah! You'd think the GPS would know better by now. I'd be five minutes late, tops.

I put on my seat belt, put the car in reverse, and started to move in one, fluid, well-practiced move. A person in grayish blue clothes jumped out of the way at the last possible moment, grazing the corner of my car with a hip. Or a leg. Maybe a head. I couldn't tell. The figure disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

I swallowed hard, throwing the car into park and jumping out to see what happened.

“Please no, please no, please no,” I whispered. I ran to the back of the car.

“Are you okay? I'm so sorry,” I said.

I bent over the figure that was knocked on the ground on her side. Definitely a she. Maybe ten years older than I was, but I couldn't be sure. Her hair was a mess of brown, blond streaks, and gray. Her mascara was smudged and her lipstick was slightly crooked. I realized the gray was a Safety Service delivery uniform. Twenty-four-hour delivery anytime, anywhere. I hoped she wasn't on a deadline.

“I didn't see you,” she said as she shifted, testing her body's limits.

“I didn't see you. Should I call an ambulance? Where'd you come from?” I looked around.

Where did she come from? I was parked in front of the shop in our small lot. No other cars or trucks were there. I looked around, but didn't see the familiar gray and yellow truck anywhere. Since this side of the shop was on a corner with no parking, where had she been? Was she parked out back?

“Look, I'm really very sorry. I didn't see you. Are you all right? Can I help you up?” I asked.

“I'm fine. I'm fine. I was just startled,” she said, slowly gathering herself in a crouch. “You're Ruth Clagan, aren't you?” She looked up at me and then looked away quickly as she stood. She steadied herself with one hand on my car.

“Do I know you?” I asked. She looked familiar, but most people in Orchard sort of looked alike, at least to my Boston-focused eyes. She just stared at me.

“I don't think so. My name's Aggie Kurt. I grew up here in Orchard. I heard Thom's granddaughter was in town, taking over the shop. Put two and two together.”

“Did you know my grandfather?”

“Of course. I made regular deliveries here. He always had time for me. Always. He was a good man.” She started to weep. I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she turned away.

“Aggie, are you parked out back? Where's your truck? Are you on duty? Can I call someone?” I asked frantically, anxious to be sure she was physically all right and also desperate to get on my way.

“I'm fine,” she repeated firmly, brushing the dust from her uniform.

I took a deep breath. “Listen, why don't I call the police. Just in case you're hurt. Maybe they can bring an ambulance with them.” I bent down and reached for my phone, which was charging on the dash.

“No!” She reached out and clasped my arm. “No cops. I'm fine. Just fine. No cops. You've got to promise me. No cops.”

“All right. No cops.” I pulled my arm back and watched helplessly as she tried to pull herself together.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said as she stepped back, looking like she was trying to smile. “No cops, okay? I've got a dozen parking tickets; they're just waiting to arrest me. I know they are. Listen, it was nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you around.”

I watched Aggie walk toward Ben's shop and then hook a left to the rear access road. I was tempted to follow her partly to be sure she was safe and partly to see where she was headed in such a hurry, but a quick glance at my watch propelled me back to the car.

I
pulled up in front of the real estate agency. Four twenty-five. Time was not on my side, but hopefully the real estate agent was. There were a few different companies in the Berkshires, but these gray and burgundy signs were omnipresent. I swiped on some lip gloss and walked up to the office.

“Hello. How can we help you today?” the very cheery blonde said, looking up from her laptop as I walked in.

“I have an appointment with Stephanie Lincoln?”

“With Steph? Really? And you are?”

“Ruth Clagan.”

“Ms. Clagan? Your appointment was for two o'clock.”

“Two? I thought it was for four.”

“No.” The blonde tapped on a few keys. “It says right here the appointment was for two o'clock on Saturday—that's
today—for Thom Clagan. Steph called to change it on Monday. It says so, right here. I keep records of everything.”

“I'm sure you do. He didn't note the change on his calendar. I'm Thom Clagan's granddaughter. I'm not even sure what the appointment was for, but his wife asked me to keep it. Would it be possible to reschedule it?”

“The appointment was with Thom Clagan. As he is the client, I'm not sure if I should be talking to you. Is Mr. Clagan under the weather?” she asked, not looking up from the screen.

“Mr. Clagan passed away on Wednesday.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” She didn't sound that sorry, but she did sound surprised.

“Thank you,” I said. “Perhaps I can reschedule the appointment?”

“I'm sorry to say that Steph is out of the office for a couple of weeks. This appointment was her last before she left for the airport,” she chirped. “Going on a cruise and off the grid. She did put a package in the mail for Mr. Clagan.”

“Perhaps I can take it? Are you mailing it to the Cog & Sprocket or to his house?”

“The Cog & Sprocket? Oh, I know that shop. I took my mother's mantel clock over to be fixed. They did a wonderful job. I think I just saw the shop in the news. Oh, wait. Was that your grandfather? Oh, I'm sorry.” This time she sounded sorry.

I pulled out my wallet and slid my license out of its sleeve, pushing it across the desk. “Here is my license. See, same last name.” Not for the first time I was grateful that I hadn't changed my name when I got married. “I'm staying at the shop and will get the package anyway. Surely you could just give it to me.”

“I'm so sorry, Ms. Clagan, but Steph already sent it out with a delivery service. Did it herself, right before she left.”

“Do you know what's in it?”

“I think Steph sent him some comparables, for other businesses in the area. And there must have been other information—it was pretty thick. I know they'd spoken several times over the past few weeks. A terrible time for Stephanie to be out of the office, but who am I to say anything? I just run the office, that's all. Anyway, you'll get the envelope soon enough. Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest. Sorry I couldn't be more help.”

So was I. I wondered what G.T. and Stephanie had been up to.