Sixteen

Callie woke the next morning feeling undecided and torn. Her strong sense not just of duty but of doing what was right called for her to be in two places at once. One minute, traveling to be with her mother won out, the next, Hank’s grim situation pulled at her. Her only solution was to put the decision on hold for the time being and continue to do what she could on Hank’s behalf. But how effective that would be was another worry.

As she walked from her cottage toward the shop to start her day, movement to her right caught her eye. She spotted a figure through the greenery between their yards and at first thought it must be Delia. Looking harder, she realized it was Jill.

“Good morning!” Callie called.

Jill turned, then walked over to a narrow opening in the bushes. “Hi. I guess you’re heading over to open your shop now, huh? Delia’s already in hers. She’s going to show me the ropes a little later. Enough to help out.”

“That’ll be great,” Callie said, stepping closer. “It’ll give Delia a chance to take a break once in a while.”

Jill nodded. “But she insists I spend most of my time working on finding a new job. I was just about to go back into the house and do that.”

“Any nibbles?”

Jill grimaced. “So far just part-time things. I need more than that.”

“Are you looking here or back home?” Callie realized she didn’t know where Jill had lived.

“Definitely back in Portis.”

“Portis?”

“It’s in western Pennsylvania.”

“Oh! Near Pittsburgh?”

“That’s right. I love it there. My hope—my dream!—is to be able to save enough to set up my own photography studio in Portis. I came close to starting my own business once, a while ago. I really want to try for it again.”

Knowing what she did about Jill’s personality, Callie figured the photographer working for herself was probably best. Then again, she’d need to get along well with her clients. “Best of luck,” she said. She wanted to ask more about Jill’s hometown, but then the woman’s cell phone rang.

Jill made an apologetic gesture and turned away to answer it. “Hello! Yes, hi! Sure, I can definitely send you that information.” She trotted hurriedly toward Delia’s cottage, still talking into her phone.

Callie hoped it was something good working out for her and continued on to House of Melody. As she unlocked the back door and flicked on the lights, she mulled over the coincidence of three women she’d recently spoken with all hailing from the same general area. Wasn’t there a detective—was it Lyssa’s hero, Hercule Poirot?—who claimed not to believe in coincidence? People did move around a lot, many of them drawn to the Baltimore-Washington area for job opportunities. But Keepsake Cove was a very small spot for all three to land in. She opened up the laptop in her office, intending to learn what she could about the Pittsburgh area.

Leaving it to wake up, Callie went into the main part of the shop, the sight of all the beautiful music boxes, as always, bringing a smile to her face. She paused below the shelf that held Grandpa Reed’s music box. She’d encased it in the protective Plexiglas after learning it had historic value that went far beyond family sentiment. The box had been relatively silent lately.

Not that she minded, but after being startled by it as often as she was those first few weeks after Aunt Mel’s death, it was surprising. Callie had halfway expected to hear chimes of disapproval when she’d accepted Hank’s call from the detention center, but there’d been nothing. Either Aunt Mel agreed with Callie that Hank should be cleared, or her aunt had moved on, perhaps deciding that Callie no longer needed her. If that were the case—pure conjecture, Callie admitted—it brought about mixed feelings. It was good to think that her aunt might now be fully at rest. But it was a little sad, too, to completely lose her.

Sharp raps at her window shook Callie out of her reverie. An older woman who brought to mind one of her particularly strict elementary school teachers pointed to the closed sign on the shop’s door, then several times to her wrist watch. It was five minutes after nine, she was impatiently signaling, and past time to open up! Callie hurried over to let her in.

“I came to pick up my order,” the woman said, rushing inside. “Your clerk told me yesterday that it arrived. I have to wrap it up and get it over to my sister’s!”

Callie got the woman’s name and quickly located her music box, a particularly pretty heart-shaped piece with porcelain roses on its lid. Callie’s admiring comments softened the customer’s irritation, and she explained, as Callie began to pack it up, that it was to be a gift to her niece.

“Allison just got engaged. She’s my goddaughter.” The lines in the woman’s face seemed to smooth as she gazed fondly at the music box, which clearly expressed the feelings she had for her niece. “She’s always loved roses. And the music is Schubert’s ‘Little Rose of the Field.’”

Callie smiled, having heard similar tales from customers who found symbolism in her music boxes that meant so much more to them than their physical beauty. By the time the woman was ready to leave, she’d been chatting away, all signs of her earlier prickliness gone as she promised to return again soon.

The pleasantness of the sale lifted Callie’s spirits away from the worry that had started her day, and she went back to her laptop with energy to begin the research on western Pennsylvania.

Portis, she found, was a town that appeared to have a lot of things going for it. The median income of its residents was higher than average, as well as the number of fine dining restaurants. Wedding venues seemed plentiful, too, which might help Jill find work as a photographer. In fact, the place looked to Callie like a shoo-in for someone with Jill’s experience.

Why, then, had her last job been as a lower-paid, run-of-the-mill department store photographer? It seemed safe to assume that Jill had burned a few bridges. If that were the case, Callie could understand her current struggle to find something full time. But then why was she still focusing on Portis? Stubbornness?

Callie looked at the map she’d pulled up of the area. Along with Pittsburgh, there were several small towns dotted near it. The one that stood out for her was Baldwin, the town that Krystal, Rhonda, and Bobby all had a connection to. And Baldwin was a mere fifteen miles from Portis. Practically walking distance.

As she mulled this over, Callie’s phone rang. It was Lyssa.

“Hi! How’s it going? Anything new?” the author asked.

“Actually, yes.” Callie told about Randy having placed Bobby Linville in the same small town Krystal and Rhonda had come from. “And I just found out that Delia’s photographer friend, Jill, hails from another town that’s very close by.”

“Really! That’s interesting! Can we connect any of the women to Bobby?”

“Not so far. But I’m working on it. Randy didn’t know what Bobby actually did when he was in Baldwin. If I can find that out, it might tell us a lot.”

“Have you tried Hank?”

“I haven’t talked to him for a couple of days. I’m hoping he’ll call soon.”

“Okay. On another note, my new landscaper is hard at work as we speak.”

“The one Krystal told you about? Gavin Holder? That was fast.”

“Yeah. I think the guy’s a little desperate for work. Which works for me!” Lyssa cackled. “As long as he does a decent job, of course. But he struck me as knowing his stuff. He said he’s been doing this for over twenty years. Turns out he was working as the groundskeeper at the festival. I’m going to question him about what he might have seen as soon as I get the chance.”

“Groundskeeper? That doesn’t sound like landscaping work. It’s more like maintenance work, isn’t it?”

“It probably is. As I said, he was a little desperate. He seems happy to be back into planting. Anyway, I’ll let you know if he’s any help with the murder.”

“I sure hope he knows something. Nothing really major has shown up so far.”

Callie was about to mention her mother’s request for a visit when Lyssa said, “I know, and I won’t be around too much longer to help out.”

“What do you mean?”

“My publisher called. One of their big gun authors had to cancel out of a round of talk show appearances, and they want me to take her place.”

“How exciting!”

“Yeah, it is. But it means being up in New York. It’s something I can’t really pass up.”

“No, of course not.”

“It’s not until the weekend, so I have a little time to keep working on this murder stuff before I go. After that, I’ll have to leave it in your hands. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’ve appreciated your help and support, but this is so not your problem. You need to pay attention to your writing career.”

“I’d do both if I could. And maybe I can. I mean, we can still check in with each other when I’m away, right? Or maybe by some miracle this whole murder thing will be cleared up in twenty-four hours.”

Callie doubted that. She felt like she’d accomplished very little and had such a long way to go. What could the two of them dig up in such a short time? And not long afterward she might have to fly off herself, which didn’t leave them more than a few more days.

“Oh! Gavin’s taking a break. I’m gonna go. I’ll get back to you if I get anything useful out of him.”

Callie hung up and stared at her computer screen for several moments, trying to organize her crowded thoughts. Then her phone rang again. It was Hank, calling from the detention center.

Once she was put through, Callie quickly said, “Hank, I’m glad to finally hear from you. I was hoping you’d call yesterday. I wanted to ask—”

Hank cut in. “I’ve been sick.”

“What?”

“I’ve been sick, babe. Some kinda stomach bug. Half the people here’ve come down with it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Hank. What are they doing for you?”

“Lined me up in a bed alongside everyone else who’s as sick as a dog.”

“Is that where you are now?”

“Naw, I’m out. Over it, they say. But I’m still draggin’.”

Callie believed him. Hank, for all his faults, wasn’t one to exaggerate his illnesses. “Have you talked to your lawyer lately?”

“Uh-uh. But he might come over today. Or tomorrow.”

“Good. Hank, I talked to Randy Brewer yesterday.”

“Randy? Where’s he now?”

“He said they were about to leave for a gig somewhere in Ohio.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember.”

“He said they all feel terrible about having to leave you behind.”

“Yeah, I know. I talked to him, that day they arrested me. I told him not to worry. I know how it goes. The only thing …”

“Yes?”

“They might need to replace me in the band. If this drags on too long, they’re gonna have to. I know it.”

“They could get someone short-term, you know. Don’t worry about that for now. One problem at a time. And if I’m going to help you out of this, I need you to tell me everything you know about Bobby. First thing—Randy placed Bobby in a town near Pittsburgh named Baldwin. It was when he attended college, so I’m guessing he either commuted to school in Pittsburgh or lived in Baldwin between semesters. Do you know anything about that?”

“Baldwin?” Hank was silent for a while, and Callie pictured him rubbing his chin with the two-day growth of beard he carefully kept, which he thought gave him a Tim McGraw look. Did he still have it? Or had they made him shave it off? Surely that wasn’t required in detention centers, only in prisons. A random thought that had no use and only caused her to grimace.

“I don’t remember any town called Baldwin,” Hank finally said.

“Did Bobby mention his college?”

“Let me think. Yeah, I think he did. He’d brag about how he breezed through his classes after barely openin’ a book. Until he got kicked out, of course. I think it was his drinkin’ that did it.”

“And the name of the school?”

“Huh! It’s in here somewhere ’cause I know he told me. Wait! Got it! It was Daniel. Somethin’ close to, like, Jack Daniels. I remember ’cause he used to joke that he liked Seagram’s better.” Hank grunted. “That was when he was telling us he’d sworn off his drinking. Shoulda been a clue, right? But we were too dumb to see it.”

“Daniel? Okay, great. Do the names Krystal Cobb or Rhonda Furman ring any bells?”

“Uh-uh.”

“How about a town named Portis?”

“Portis, Portis, Portis … yeah, that does! There’s some kind of theater there. Not a big one, but big enough that Bobby did PR work for it. Got paid peanuts, but he said he learned a lot he could use in his later jobs so it was worth it.”

“Terrific! That should help a lot, Hank.”

“Will it get me out of here?”

“Not right away. But it’s a step forward.”

“I don’t need an effin’ step, babe. I need out!”

Callie sighed. “I know that, Hank. I can only do what I can do. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Yeah, sorry, babe. It’s just … sorry.”

A voice broke in, announcing the end of the call, and they said quick goodbyes. Callie hung up, telling herself to stay patient. She wasn’t doing this because Hank was a perfect human being. She was doing it because he, like every other human being, deserved justice, and because she believed in his innocence. She didn’t need to be thanked or appreciated, though it would be nice not to be yelled at. Then again, she wasn’t the one sitting behind bars, was she?