Twelve

Callie’s small living room was filling rapidly as the men from the moving truck steadily carried in her things. She had grossly underestimated the size and amount of her belongings, which seemed to be expanding like a sea of giant Chia pets in the room.

“Where do you want this?” one stocky man with muscular arms asked, holding a large black hassock wrapped in clear plastic.

Why had that come along? Callie hadn’t asked for furniture, and if she had, she wouldn’t have wanted that ugly piece, which would be totally out of place in Aunt Mel’s decor.

“Would you like it?” Callie asked.

The man studied it. “Sure.”

“It’s yours,” Callie said, happy to sign whatever would take it from her sight.

When the crew finished, Callie gazed around with despair. The living room was piled high, and that was only what she could see. More boxes and bags crowded the upstairs hallway and bedrooms. She closed her eyes and wished it would all just disappear.

Jagger, who’d dashed up the stairs and under a bed at the first tramp of strangers’ feet, peeked through the railing from the top stair.

“All is clear,” Callie assured him.

But then a voice called “knock-knock” at her front door, and Jagger pulled back and disappeared. Annie Barbario, Brian’s sister, stuck her head in the doorway. “Can you use some help?”

“Could I! Are you really offering?”

“Sure!” Annie stepped in, looking very unlike a mother of two in her ponytail, shorts, and tee. “We watched them unload from the café. I was helping Brian clean up his shelves and figured you’d have a lot to deal with.”

“But … your own work?”

Annie shrugged. “Brian can finish it. I didn’t think we’d need his help here. But he said to call if we did.” Annie glanced around. “So, what do we have here? Mostly clothes?”

“Clothes, books, odds and ends. Far too much to keep. There’s not much room.” Callie was still stunned by Annie’s generous offer. She barely responded when Delia peeked in as well.

“Come on in,” Annie said, waving her inside. “Callie’s stuff needs sorting, right, Callie?”

“Big time. I couldn’t run up to Morgantown to do it, so everything other than what I turned over to Hank got packed and sent here. I have no idea where to start.”

“How about … ” Annie covered her eyes and spun around twice, pointing at a big box when she stopped. “There!”

“Might as well,” Callie agreed, laughing. She opened the box up to begin pulling shirts and pants from plastic wrappings.

“What do you think of separating like we did with Mel’s clothes?” Delia asked as Callie’s clothes began to scatter. “A pile for what you’ll definitely keep, another for what you won’t, and one to think about. We’ll ask and you decide.”

“Sounds good,” Callie said. “After that, I think I’ll need to separate out winter things to put into storage. There’s just no way I can fit everything into these closets.”

“That’s what I do,” Delia said. “I mean, keep things in storage.” She opened a box near her and lifted out an armful of knit shirts. “Brian, too?” she asked Annie.

Callie had forgotten that Brian likely lived behind his café, and she glanced over at his sister.

“Brian probably owns exactly two of everything,” Annie said. “Dress slacks, jeans, button shirts, and tees. No problem there, other than keeping up with laundry.”

“Men have it so much easier,” Delia said.

“Someone—one of his customers, I think—told me that Brian gave up a job in DC to open up his café,” Callie said as she worked at emptying her box. “Is that right?”

“Yup.” Annie held up a light cotton jacket, got a nod from Callie, and carried it over to the hall closet. “He was a government affairs representative at the Airport Authority. Hated it.” Annie laughed. “As I said, he’s a bit of a control freak. He likes to make his own decisions, not take orders from someone or to have to oversee others.” She held up a trench coat. “Winter or summer?”

Callie considered. “Fall and spring, actually. Hall closet, I guess—until it gets too stuffed. How did Brian decide to run a café?”

“He used to come out to spend a day or a weekend with us and got to really like the area and the slower pace.”

“I like that, too,” Callie said, and Delia nodded vigorously.

“The café went up for sale,” Annie continued, “and it was a snap decision. I couldn’t believe it. My brother, who weighs pros and cons endlessly before making any decision, changed careers in a second.”

“He must have been ready,” Delia commented. “There’s a box full of heavy sweaters here. How about I just mark it for storage?”

“Might as well.” Callie said. “I’ve got another box here full of wool stuff. Let’s put both outside for now to make some space.”

The living room started reappearing as they carried items upstairs and broke down empty boxes. Callie made coffee and offered tuna salad sandwiches, which was all she had on hand. Delia pitched in, chopping celery and onion as Callie stirred together mayonnaise and tuna and Annie continued unpacking. Jagger, who clearly had supersonic ears, flew into the kitchen at the first hiss of the can opener into a tuna can, and within minutes all were contentedly refueling.

By the middle of the afternoon, Callie collapsed the final box and announced that they were done.

“Yay!” Annie cried, doing a little dance. She then pulled out her phone. “Brian, we need you for hauling.” Callie began to protest, but Annie waved her down. “He’ll love feeling useful,” she said, pocketing the phone. “Any preference for the donations?”

Callie looked blank for a moment, and Delia reminded her of the charities she’d sent her aunt’s things to. She also recommended her storage facility, which had smaller, climate-controlled units perfect for clothing. By the time Brian showed up, destinations had been decided, with Callie’s discard bags and storage boxes ready to be divided up between Brian’s car and her own.

“This is just what you’re getting rid of?” Brian asked, looking as though he imagined Callie’s upstairs to be packed floor-to-ceiling. Which wasn’t so far from the truth, Callie admitted.

“Never mind,” Annie said. “Just open your trunk.”

Callie joined Delia in setting off to the storage facility, waving a grateful goodbye to Brian and Annie, who would head in another direction. With Delia’s help, Callie arranged for and unloaded her winter clothes into the storage unit, knowing she would return in a few days with sturdier plastic containers to replace the cardboard ones. She then locked it, and they both dusted off their hands.

Delia brushed off Callie’s effusive thanks, but as they returned to the car, Callie asked a question that had just occurred to her. “Did Aunt Mel have a storage unit?” She didn’t remember any comment to that effect by her aunt’s lawyer, George Blake.

Delia shook her head. “She claimed she didn’t need one. Mel was a lot like Brian as far as keeping her things to the minimum. I don’t know how she did it.”

Callie wasn’t sure if she was glad not to have one more thing of her aunt’s to sift through or disappointed that there was no other source of answers to the mysteries that were gathering. Then she thought of the locked metal box on the floor of the hall closet. If she couldn’t find the key, there was surely some way of getting into it.

But not right away.

First, she needed to catch her breath after the grueling hours she’d just spent. After that, her cupboards, which were exceedingly bare, had to be restocked.

•

Callie had paid for her groceries and was pushing her cart toward the store’s exit when she heard her name called. Turning, she saw Jonathan Harman picking up his own small bag at the end of the express check-out aisle.

“Hello again,” he said, coming over. “I saw you earlier as I drove by your shop. The moving truck had just pulled up. Everything go all right?”

“It did, thanks to plenty of help from my wonderful neighbors. If they hadn’t shown up—unexpected, mind you—I’d still be wallowing in unpacked boxes. As it was, it took three of us to handle it all.”

“Sounds exhausting. I’m sorry I didn’t think to stop. Let me make it up to you by taking you to dinner.”

“But … ” Callie waved toward her cartful of food.

“It can all be stowed, right? Don’t tell me you feel like cooking tonight?”

Callie grinned tiredly. “Not in the least. But I’m also a mess.” She had showered but thrown on the first things she could dig out—rumpled shorts and a tee. Her hair, though freshly shampooed, had been simply tied back.

“Don’t worry about it. The only dress code at Dino’s Diner is shirt and shoes, and the menu is full of comfort food.” Comfort food sounded great to Callie. Her weak protests having been swept away, she agreed.

Jonathan followed her to House of Melody and helped carry her bags into the cottage, where she quickly popped several items into the refrigerator and freezer. She left her car behind, then, to climb into his.

Callie felt a moment of awkwardness as Jonathan pulled away from the curb and passed Brian coming from the other direction, both cars moving slowly enough for Brian to spot her perched in the passenger seat. It would be the second time he’d seen her with Jonathan, and she hated to think he might misinterpret the situation, especially after she’d turned down his initial tentative overture. Jonathan had been very clear that these dinners were strictly platonic, which was perfect for her, but there was no way she knew of to explain that to Brian without embarrassing them both.

Thankfully, she was soon able to think of other things as they arrived at the diner and were quickly shown to an orange-seated booth. She accepted a huge laminated menu and began to study it.

“They’re open till the wee hours,” Jonathan said. “I sometimes stop in when I’ve been working late.”

“Do you cook much for yourself?”

“I do when I feel like it and have the time, which doesn’t come up that often.”

Callie knew the feeling, though she’d stocked up that evening on ingredients for actual cooking at the cottage. No more opening cans of soup. Well, at least less of it. She should probably fix a nice dinner for Jonathan sometime soon, to thank him for his thoughtfulness. But perhaps invite Delia or Tabitha, too, just to avoid sending the wrong message.

She decided on macaroni and cheese, which brought back cozy childhood memories, and asked their waitress to add a salad to it. Jonathan chose beef stroganoff.

“They have really fast service,” he said, “which probably means very little is fresh. But I figured you’d want to turn in early and not dawdle.”

“You were right. This is so nice of you.”

Jonathan shrugged. “Everyone in Keepsake Cove is nice,” he said with a grin.

Callie nodded, her thoughts flying to the three helpful people of that afternoon. But then she remembered Karl Eggers. And Duane Fletcher had come across as nice, but at least some people had reservations about that.

“Do you happen to know Duane Fletcher?” she asked.

“The glass-collectibles guy? I’ve met him.”

“But don’t really know him?”

“No, other than that he clearly likes his luxuries.”

“I’ve heard comments on that. Would you say his shop does well enough to support them?’

“Hard to say. The couple of times I was in the shop, it was quiet, but it could have been just an off-time. He also might draw income from other sources, such as investments.”

Yes, that could be it, Callie thought, glad to have a reasonable explanation.

“However,” Jonathan went on, “when I threw out a few investment terms, he didn’t seem familiar with them.” He shrugged. “Who knows.”

Yes, who really knew? But Callie found herself wondering, along with Laurie Hart and possibly Aunt Mel, if the association should be checking up more on its treasurer.

Their food arrived, and Jonathan asked if Callie found the books he’d given her at all helpful. She admitted she’d only had a chance to skim a few chapters but that they looked quite interesting.

“I’m feeling less overwhelmed now,” she said, “and should be able to really study them. It’s amazing what having your own things around you again can do to one’s frame of mind.”

“You must feel less like a visitor and more like a real resident.”

“Exactly. I’ve finally started to put down roots. I like it.”

“Well, here’s to the future success of House of Melody under the management of Callie Reed!” Jonathan lifted his water glass as a toast and Callie tapped hers against it, smiling but also ruefully thinking that, wonderful as it was, she’d still willingly give it all up to have Aunt Mel back, alive and well.

Deep down, Callie knew that her aunt would have helped her improve her life in other ways by giving her the needed advice and encouragement. They had just started to move in that direction when Aunt Mel died. It shouldn’t have happened. Something was so wrong with the way her aunt died, though Callie didn’t know what. The best way to thank Aunt Mel for all she’d received from her would be to find out the truth, whatever it turned out to be.

The macaroni and cheese worked its magic, and when Jonathan suggested dessert, Callie had to fight off a yawn while she shook her head. She passed on coffee, too, feeling more than ready to head on home, though she tried to cover it and urged Jonathan to order coffee for himself.

Jonathan claimed to have a busy day ahead, probably picking up on Callie’s weariness, and asked for the bill. Within minutes they were heading back to her place. As they rode, Callie mentioned her encounter with Elvin Wilcox after he’d dropped her off the last time.

“He was in your yard?” Jonathan asked, shocked.

“He was hiding from your headlights, which apparently bothered him. I got the impression he felt comfortable at my aunt’s place. She must have been good to him.”

“But at night? That sounds like lurking to me.”

“Brian Greer talked to him about it. I don’t think it’ll continue. And I plan to get motion-sensor lights.”

“Good idea.”

Jonathan pulled up in front of her shop, and, after turning off his ignition, reached for his seat belt. “I’ll walk you back,” he said.

“No, please, that’s not necessary,” Callie insisted, regretting that she’d brought up the incident, which Jonathan probably took as a plea for protection. “I’ll be fine. I’ll flick my outside lights to confirm that, once I’m inside. Okay?”

“Well … ”

Before he could say more, Callie jumped out, thanking him, and hurried to the path along the privacy fence. Once in her cottage, she clicked her lights as promised, then heard the sound of Jonathan’s car restart and drive away. She glanced into her kitchen, which still had unpacked bags of cereal and canned goods and considered putting everything neatly away. But she veered toward the stairs instead, picturing the soft bed waiting for her.

Jagger apparently thought that was a fine decision, as he followed along closely at her heels.

The woman behind Callie in the check-out line kept poking her. Stop that, Callie wanted to say, but she couldn’t get the words out. Poke, poke, poke; the sharp finger jabbed against Callie’s shoulder, even though it was clear there was no way Callie could move forward. How could she, when she was blocked in front by a huge … bear! The bear turned and said …

Callie woke with a start. What was that? She sat up, blinking. What had wakened her? As her eyes adjusted to the faint light seeping through her sheer curtains, she realized Jagger stood at the end of her bed, his back arched. A deep, warning growl rumbled from his throat as he stared at the window.

“What is it?” Callie whispered. Was it Jagger’s movement that had wakened her? She threw back the covers and eased out of the bed, noting that the cat didn’t turn his head her way. His posture and stare remained frozen, pointing toward the window.

Fully awake by then, Callie crept toward the dormer window, every nerve on edge. She leaned on the small window seat and pulled back the curtain, at first seeing very little. Her yard and the back of her shop were dark, cast in shadows as the light from a partially covered moon angled over her shop toward the cottage. Then movement caught her eye. Jagger’s, too, as he instantly leaped from the bed toward the glass.

The sound of the large cat bumping against the window with a piercing yowl caused whoever was at the shop’s back door to whirl, swinging a hand-held light toward Callie, who instinctively jumped back. But she caught herself quickly and lunged for the sash, unlocking and throwing it up.

“Who are you? What are you doing there?” she shouted.

The flashlight went dark, as did the yard. Callie could barely see the dark figure anymore, but she heard footsteps running.

“Stop!” she cried, but the steps pounded faster.