A Fatal Collection Read online

  Callie stooped down to see a pair of snow boots on the floor beside slip-on rubber gardening shoes. She’d pulled herself halfway up before she stopped and knelt back down on the floor. She’d spied a box at the back, behind the long winter coat and nearly hidden in the shadows. Curious, Callie reached in and pulled it out.

  It was gray metal, about twelve inches by twelve, and, as she soon discovered, locked. She shook it lightly, half fearing she’d hear the sound of disposable cell phones rattling inside. Instead, she heard the soft swish of paper.

  She went to get the ring of keys, which she’d left on the kitchen counter, and searched through it for one to fit the small lock. The only small key was the one she already knew was for the roll-top desk. All others were for doors.

  She and Delia had gone through all of the drawers in Aunt Mel’s bedroom and hadn’t come across any loose keys. There was the small desk in the guest bedroom, but Callie didn’t feel up to searching through it right then. Instead, she set the metal box beside the small coffee table and sat back down on the sofa to finish her cocoa. Jagger instantly reclaimed his spot on her lap.

  “What do you know about that thing?” Callie asked the cat as she scratched his head. “Hmm? Something I need to know about, inside? Or just a collection of old Christmas cards?” As she asked it, Callie knew that what was in the metal box was more important than old cards—at least to Aunt Mel, who’d taken the trouble to lock it.

  Jagger, however, simply tucked his nose into the folds of her robe and exhaled. Whatever he knew, he wasn’t sharing.

  Seven

  While Tabitha watched over House of Melody, Callie took off on what she decided would be a regular lunchtime excursion through Keepsake Cove, which she’d barely seen so far. With its brick walkways, ornamental street lights, hanging flower baskets, and Dickensian shop fronts, it was an experience in itself. But her goal was to get to know the shopkeepers, many of whom had been Mel’s friends, and who, she hoped, might eventually be hers.

  She passed by the window of Shake It Up! and waved to Delia, who was seated behind her counter. Callie paused to glance at the several salt and pepper shakers that graced Delia’s window display that day. A pair of ceramic black and white cows sat next to two brown owls. The owl shakers perched above boy and girl figures dressed like cooks in white aprons and caps. Miniature Coke bottle shakers stood next to kittens with tiny holes at the tops of their glazed ceramic heads. There seemed no limit to the variety, and Callie could imagine spending an entire day browsing through Delia’s shelves to see them all. How many salt and pepper shakers did a person need? That, of course, was beside the point. Collecting was the point, which you did because you enjoyed having them. Callie supposed collectors actually did use their special shakers as the occasion arose, but very carefully.

  The shop next to Delia’s carried costume jewelry. The sign said Pearl’s Bangles and Beads, and Callie’s first thought was that the apostrophe in Pearl’s was a mistake. Then she caught a glimpse of the shop’s proprietor through the window, a stout, sixty-ish woman, and remembered her from Aunt Mel’s funeral. Gradually the woman’s name came to her and Callie smiled. Pearl. The Bangles and Beads were Pearl’s.

  She wondered if Pearl’s wares might compete with Tabitha’s handmade jewelry, which Tabitha said she constructed from all kinds of beads. But the window in front of Callie displayed vintage jewelry, representing the styles of many decades and crafted from a wide range of materials. Though she hadn’t yet seen Tabitha’s creations, from her assistant’s quirky sense of fashion Callie guessed they would appeal to a very different clientele than Pearl’s. She entered the shop, ready to introduce herself, but quickly found there was no need.

  “How are you, my dear,” the woman with the close-cut cap of white hair said as she hurried forward to take Callie’s hands in both of hers. “Pearl Poepelman, in case you don’t remember, and I’m sure you don’t. That’s very much okay, dear,” Pearl said, patting Callie’s hands and looking solicitously into her face from several inches below. Her navy blue dress flowed over an ample, motherly bosom, its severity lightened considerably by a multitude of turquoise and silver necklaces, all vintage, Callie was sure. “You’ve had plenty to deal with over the last several days. Trying to keep all of us straight is the least of your concerns.”

  Callie smiled and thought she picked up a faint New York accent. “I do remember you, Ms. Poepelman—”

  “Mrs., dear, but call me Pearl, please.”

  “Pearl, then. I remember how kind you were at my aunt’s funeral.”

  “Don’t even mention it,” Pearl said, shaking her head firmly as she stepped back. “We look after each other here at Keepsake Cove.” She paused and gave a sniff. “Well, most of us do.”

  Callie guessed who Pearl might be thinking of as less charitably minded, and her lips curled in a strained smile. “I did meet my Car-lectibles neighbor,” she said. “He wasn’t particularly welcoming.”

  Pearl rolled her eyes. “Karl’s probably the biggest fly in our collectible ointment. Anytime the association puts up a proposal for the betterment of the Cove, Karl is totally against it, no matter how sensible it is. I’m sorry you got stuck next to him.”

  “The privacy fence between us should make it manageable,” Callie said. “Does everyone in the Cove live in cottages behind their shops?”

  “Oh, no, dear. I don’t, for one. I need more space. Can’t imagine trying to cook a big dinner in that tiny kitchen,” she said with a laugh. “Or serving it. Where would everyone sit? And those miniscule closets!” As she spoke, her phone rang, and Pearl rounded a glass-topped counter filled with sparkling silver, gold, and crystal jewelry to get to it. “I use mine for storage, only” she added before picking up the phone. “Pearl’s Bangles and Beads. What can I do for you?”

  Callie waited a moment, and when it was clear the call would go on a while, she waved and pointed to the door. Pearl held up her hand in a “hold on” gesture, then scribbled something on a scrap of paper, which she thrust toward Callie as she continued to respond in monosyllables to her caller. It was the website address of the Keepsake Cove Shop Owners’ Association. A direct invitation for Callie to check it out and join. Callie made an OK sign and headed on out.

  Outside, she glanced around and wondered where to go next. The sign on the shop across the street called to her: Kids at Heart.

  She crossed over and grinned as she spotted familiar, memory-invoking toys: aging (but forever young) Barbie dolls, Lego sets, and Lincoln logs. Surrounding those were toys from older generations: porcelain dolls, cast-iron trucks, and slightly scratched wooden pull-toys. She walked in to see a slim man with thinning hair dealing with a customer. His unbuttoned sweater vest partially covered a loosely tucked plaid shirt that drooped over faded brown trousers. He looked over at Callie and called genially, “Be with you in a moment.”

  Callie set about browsing through the shop’s intriguing wares, resisting the urge to wind up jack-in-the-boxes or tip over baby dolls dressed in organdy to hear them cry “ma-ma.” Her temptations must have been evident, for when the shopkeeper joined her after his customer left, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Go ahead, play with them. Everyone does. I’m sure your customers lift the lids of your music boxes all the time.”

  “They do. It seems to be irresistible. I guess you remember me from the funeral, huh?”

  He nodded and held out his hand. “Bill Hart. That’s H-a-r-t.”

  Callie shook it and glanced back at the shop name, Kids at Heart.

  “Right. Heart, Hart,” he said, rocking his hand with a laugh. “I, ahem, toyed with the idea of using our actual name, similar to what your aunt did, but decided to go with what was understandable.”

  “There’s so many clever names, and such a variety of shops here at Keepsake Cove. I’m trying to get to know them all, but it’ll take time. Right now, just getting settled in an
d learning my way around my own place requires so much of it.”

  “Come to the next association meeting,” Hart said, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets and rolling back comfortably on his heels. “Besides putting names to faces, you can learn a lot about people when they start arguing with one another.” He grinned as he said it, and Callie guessed that he wasn’t one of the arguers, though she thought Pearl Poepelman would likely dig in and hold her ground when she wanted.

  “Was my aunt active in the group?”

  “She was. Mostly pitching in on committee stuff. But she spoke up once in a while about things she felt strongly about.”

  “Like what?”

  Hart, hands still in pockets, looked ceiling-ward as he considered that. “Like … oh! Like those flower baskets hanging from the street lamps?”

  Callie nodded. “Love them.”

  “Mel’s idea. Of course, not everyone was convinced that the expense was worth it. But Mel won us over.” He laughed. “I was one of the not-so-sure ones. But now I get lots of positive feedback on the baskets from customers. And during the holidays, when the greens and the sparkly stuff goes in? Wow! Keepsake Cove looks great. People show up by the dozens just to pose for Christmas card photos.”

  Callie smiled. She liked knowing that Aunt Mel had played a key role in what had grown into an important part of Keepsake Cove.

  “But then there was that other thing … ” He paused, frowning.

  Callie prompted. “Yes?”

  Hart shook his head. “Never mind. It was nothing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Yes you should, Bill!” A woman suddenly popped out of the Kids at Heart back room, holding a silver-painted toy airplane that she’d apparently been working on. She held out her hand to Callie. “Hi, I’m Laurie Hart, Bill’s wife.” Laurie was dressed in an oversized Orioles T-shirt and jeans, her long blondish hair half in and half out of a pony­tail, which led Callie to wonder if she was always the “back room” person of their business. Then again, Bill’s attire wasn’t exactly GQ. But it was a toy store, so why should it be? Pearl Poepelman dressed up for her jewelry customers, and the Harts dressed appropriately for theirs.

  “I would have come out sooner to say hi,” Laurie said, “but I was in the middle of gluing the propeller back on this thing. Bill, I think we should clue in Callie about the situation.”

  “But it’s a big nothing, honeybun.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Callie waited, her curiosity growing as the two debated until Bill finally shrugged and turned to her. “Your aunt proposed something to the association that stirred up a little controversy.”

  Aunt Mel? Controversy? Those were words Callie never expected to hear together.

  Laurie nodded firmly “She suggested that the association put a limit on the term of treasurer.”

  Okay. Not exactly a bombshell. “There hadn’t been one?” Callie asked.

  “Uh-uh. Duane Fletcher has been treasurer since the association formed, at least twenty years ago. Other officers in the group changed, but Duane stayed put.”

  “But he’s the only one of us with professional-level money handling experience,” Bill explained. “Duane worked several years as bookkeeper for a small firm in DC before buying his shop, so his handling the association books makes perfect sense. Plus, over the years, as our funds grew, he had to set up a complicated system of records and banking. Someone new could totally mess it up.”

  “As he said,” Laurie added.

  “There’s been no oversight of the treasurer all this time?” Callie asked.

  “Krystal Cobb, our current president, says she looks over the books from time to time,” Bill said. “She said everything seems fine.”

  “So where’s the controversy?” Callie asked.

  Bill tilted his head toward Laurie to explain.

  “The problem,” she said, “is that Duane is pretty popular in the Cove. Some of his friends took Mel’s proposal as a personal attack on Duane, an implication of incompetence or worse. I don’t think she meant that at all, and was just proposing something that most organizations consider to be sensible practice.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s how it was meant,” Bill said. “It’s just … to kick Duane out after all the work he’s done? I mean, how could he not be offended.”

  “I know, sweetie, I know.” Laurie reached over to give her husband a one-armed squeeze. “Nobody wants to hurt anybody.”

  She turned to Callie. “You see the problem? Even Bill and I can’t agree. But forewarned is forearmed, Callie. At least you’ll know what the glares and snide remarks might be about when you come to a meeting.” She grinned. “You don’t happen to be a CPA by any chance, do you?”

  Callie laughed. “Afraid not.”

  “Well, it’ll all work out in time.” Laurie looked down at the wooden airplane in her hand. “For now, I’d better get back to my work.”

  “Of course.” Callie made her farewells to the couple and left, glad to have met the likeable pair but wondering about the controversy they’d brought up, especially since it involved Aunt Mel.

  She was heading back to House of Melody when she decided to stop at the Keepsake Café. Hunger was her motivating force, but not only for food. Callie also craved more input on the Duane Fletcher situation.

  Eight

  Callie pushed open the door of the Keepsake Café and glanced around, expecting to see Brian Greer. Instead, a pretty, thirty-something woman stood behind the counter chatting with a customer, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked over as Callie stepped in.

  “Hi! Welcome to Keepsake Café.” She polished the already-sparkling countertop as Callie headed toward a stool, then slid a laminated menu in front of her. “First timer?”

  “Second, actually. I’m from House of Melody across the street. Callie Reed.”

  The woman’s face lit up. “Oh! You’re Callie! Hi! I’m Brian’s sister, Annie. Annie Barbario.”

  Annie’s “You’re Callie!” exclamation made for a moment’s pause, but Callie let it slide. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”

  “I help Brian out every so often,” Annie explained as Callie glanced over the menu. “My husband Mike and I live about twenty minutes away. I’m mostly looking after our two kids, so this gets me out with the grown-ups once in a while. What can I get you?”

  The delightful memory of her last order along with her admitted tendency to stick to favorites made for an easy decision. Callie set the menu down. “Ham and Swiss on rye.”

  “Coming right up.” Annie called out the order in a voice that Pearl Poepelman, several doors down, might have heard. Brian’s muffled voice responded from the kitchen.

  Annie stayed where she was, looking ready to chat, so Callie asked, “If you’re helping out, does that mean Brian’s taking off soon?”

  Annie laughed. “You think Brian would leave this place in anyone else’s hands? You don’t know him very well, do you?”

  “Well, no, I don’t,” Callie agreed with a smile. “A bit possessive, is he?”

  “Put it this way. If you look up ‘control freak’ online, Brian’s picture will pop up front and center.”

  “Hey,” Brian’s voice called. “I can hear you, you know.”

  “Oh, admit it, Brian! You wouldn’t leave Emeril Lagasse in charge if he offered.”

  “Have you seen how that guy works? He’d wreck the place!”

  Annie leaned toward Callie and whispered, “He’s also a neat freak.”

  Callie grinned, though that didn’t sound like a totally negative thing to her as she thought of Hank’s habits of total disarray—much like his life, actually.

  Within minutes the control-slash-neat freak stepped out of the kitchen with Callie’s ham and Swiss on rye, with its side of chips, coleslaw, and pickle. Annie took the plate fro
m him, but he continued on toward Callie’s spot.

  “How’re things going?” he asked.

  “Pretty well.” Callie took a hungry bite from her sandwich and wiggled her eyebrows appreciatively. When she could speak again, she told of her start at getting to know the Keepsake Cove shopkeepers. “Bill Hart invited me to the next association meeting.”

  “Good idea,” Annie said. “Save you a lot of walking around. When’s the next one, Brian?”

  Brian leaned over to check the wall calendar. “Tomorrow night.”

  “Perfect. You two should go together. That way Brian can introduce you to everyone.”

  “Excuse my sister,” Brian said. “She thinks I’m the control freak in the family? At least I confine it to my kitchen. She tries to handle people’s lives.”

  Callie laughed. “I’m game if you are. Where is it?”

  “The library meeting room, over in the main section of Mapleton. It’s walkable, but driving gets you there and back faster. Which one works for you? The meeting starts at seven.”

  Callie thought a moment. She’d intended to ask Brian about Duane Fletcher but changed her mind, now that she was there. Too many listening ears around for an honest discussion.

  “How long of a walk?”

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s fine. Meet you outside at a quarter of?”

  “Sounds good.” New customers came in, sending both Annie and Brian back to work. Callie quietly worked at her lunch as she listened to the light chatter around her, feeling more and more at home in Keepsake Cove. Soon, though, the responsibilities of House of Melody—and maybe a psychic call for help from Tabitha?—beckoned her, and she finished up, paid, and waved goodbye. As she crossed the street, she averted her gaze from Karl Eggers’s shop. No sense starting her afternoon on a downer.

  There was no sign of Tabitha when Callie opened the shop’s door, but her voice called out from the office. “Be with you in a minute!”