Clock and Dagger Page 6

  “Caroline?” a voice whispered.

  “No, this is Ruth. May I help you?”

  “Ruth? Are you Thom Clagan’s granddaughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Zane Phillips. I am, I was, a friend of your grandfather’s. Perhaps he’s mentioned me? Or Caroline has?” The voice was still whispering. Maybe he didn’t want to be overheard? Or he had a cold?

  “I think so,” I said. The name was familiar, but since I’d become immersed in the business of the Cog & Sprocket, I couldn’t be sure.

  “I’d love to come by the shop. I haven’t been there for years, and I read about the open house in the paper. I didn’t realize that you were Ruth until I read the article more closely. I saw you—”

  “We are going to reopen next week. On January second,” I said. I didn’t want to rush him, but trips down memory lane took time, and I was running late. No big surprise, but still, I couldn’t be late to my own party.

  “Please, tell me. Is Caroline about?”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t elaborate. Something about his voice sounded familiar, but my gut said to hold back until I could talk to Caroline directly. She was so private, it was contagious.

  “Is she going to be at the open house?”

  “She isn’t feeling well, so I’m not sure she’s going to make it.” I’d run the name by Caroline first. Not that it was my job to protect her, but still.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping to stop by tonight. When you talk to her, please tell her I called and am in the area. I’d love to see her.”

  “May I have a phone number where you can be reached?”

  I reached for a scrap of paper and wrote down the numbers he rattled off.

  “If I don’t hear from her, I’ll call back,” he said. “Perhaps you could give me her home number?”

  “You know, I don’t know it off the top of my head,” I lied. “I have it programmed in my phone, which is downstairs, charging. Sorry about that.”

  “I’ll try back later in the week. Please do pass on the message. I’m sure she’ll want to see me.” With that, Zane Phillips hung up. I wrote down his name and put the paper in the pocket of my dress. All of my dresses had pockets—a prerequisite for purchase. I heard one clock chime, and then others join in. Five o’clock.

  Yeesh. Once again, I was running behind time. A heckuva habit for a clockmaker. If anyone asked, I’d blame it on the zipper. The party started in a half hour. I looked longingly at my beat-up Dr. Martens nestled in the corner before I zipped up my slick, high-heeled-for-me black boots, and slashed on some red lipstick. I was tempted to try and fix my hair again, but gave up. It would have to do. I closed the door behind me as the clocks finished their five o’clock show.

  • • •

  I closed, and locked, my apartment door, which was an unusual move for me, especially since I’d moved back to Orchard. But the shop was going to be full of strangers tonight, and some might decide to explore. I worried less about a burglar than I did a curious visitor letting Bezel out.

  The steps down to the shop were wide and not terribly steep. The entire building was designed with hatches, trapdoors, and movable walls. I needed to explore the history more, and kicked myself for not asking my grandparents more questions while they were alive. I’d spent a lot of time with them, especially during high school, but I’d always taken the marvel that was, and is, the Cog & Sprocket a little for granted. No longer. During the renovations, Pat Reed and I had agreed that not a single hatch was to be nailed shut and any wall safes were to be kept in use. Though we’d configured the attic space to be storage and office space, we both were surprised by the number of hiding places we hadn’t known about. We hadn’t finished exploring loose floorboards and boarded-up eaves upstairs, and exploring and archiving the contents of the basement had been delayed. The onus had been on getting me moved back in, and the shop open, and we’d met those goals, or were pretty close. Who knew what treasures we still had left to discover?

  I stepped off the final step to the stunning wide pine planks of the shop floor and felt the now-familiar pang of joyful pain. Joy at being at the Cog & Sprocket, and the pain of not being able to share the joy with G.T. His death, his murder, was still a fresh wound. That his murderer was behind bars was of some comfort, and I was pleased that I had played a small role in making that happen. But the ache was still there for me, and I know it was still fresh for Caroline. We’d left the wooden pegs by the back door, and one of G.T.’s plaid wool work shirts still hung there. The sight gave me comfort, and last week I’d caught Caroline burrowing her face in the fabric, undoubtedly looking for the scent of Old Spice, pipe smoke, and machine oil that were the memory markers of the man who’d worn the shirt.

  I walked through the workroom and then took a left into the showroom. This space had been a forgotten pocket a few months ago, but now it showcased some of the more beautiful clocks, while giving customers a place to sit while waiting. We’d even added a restroom and small kitchenette toward the back for both customers and staff. Family story had it that my great-grandfather had served “special tea” in this room during Prohibition. I looked over at the picture of Harry Clagan from the ’20s, smiling at the mischievous grin on his face as he stood in front of the Cog & Sprocket. From what my grandmother had told me, he was not as gifted a clockmaker as his father or his son, but he was a gifted town leader and a wonderful man. His was one of the many ghosts I wanted to welcome back to the Cog & Sprocket.

  I looked around at the old family pictures interspersed among the impressive clock collection. Deciding what to put in the showroom had been a difficult decision. Because of the two estate purchases G.T. and Caroline had made last winter, we had a lot of inventory, including some really stunning pieces that were worth a great deal of money. But, as Nadia kept reminding Caroline and me, the Cog & Sprocket wasn’t a museum, it was a shop. Customers needed to see a range of clocks, some of which they could afford, others which they needed to aspire to. Caroline had pushed me to include a couple of my own creations—part clock, part art pieces. I’d created one I called the Cog & Sprocket, a large piece that evoked the spirit of the shop. I’d started working on it before I came back to Orchard and finished it right after I’d moved back. To the outside observer, it looked like something a clockmaker would create instead of scrapbooking. But looking more closely, there was more to it. The clock was an eight-day mechanism that worked perfectly. Each cog had a name, or memory, or date etched on it. Some were well known to the town, others were personally meaningful family dates. I’d hand painted all of the pieces on the clock, most of which moved throughout the day. I was proud of the Cog & Sprocket clock, and knew it would help people envision what was possible to create in the new clock tower. Pat had installed it on the back wall, near the kitchenette and restrooms, hoping it would do its job and draw people farther into the showroom.

  The showroom was cramped, overcrowded, and wonderful. Nadia’s website included more of the inventory than we had on display, with promises that more would make it to the shop, but all was available for sale. There was a lot riding on this new online presence. The shop had needed to step into this new century. The website was a leap.

  I heard the front doorbell chime, and saw Nadia and Tuck come in. The door chime was new, and a vast improvement over the buzzer that had been installed to let people know that customers had come into the shop, but it was temporary. With the new open configuration, we could see the customers come in, though we still needed something to remind us to look up. Pat Reed promised to design a more spectacular door chime and to install it by the opening. He wouldn’t tell me more, but promised I would love it. Trusting Pat had served me well so far, so there was no real reason to stop now. It’s just that I was very particular about the door chimes.

  “Don’t you both look terrific,” I said. I wasn’t lying; they were both dressed to the nines. I hoped Orchard was ready for the Gothic steampunk fashion statement they were
making. Nadia’s black velvet dress, bustier, fishnet stockings, and high-heeled ankle boots were offset by a red ruffled coat. I was really pleased to see that she was wearing the pair of earrings I’d made her, fashioned out of clock parts and dangling to her shoulders.

  Tuck was wearing a crimson smoking jacket, white pleated shirt, and string tie over blue jeans and black cowboy boots. His mustache was waxed to create impressive curves, and the soul patch on his chin was well groomed. It was a lot of look for the twenty-five-year-old to carry off, but he was trying. As always, he barely smiled at me, but did nod, acknowledging my compliment.

  “Thanks, you look great too,” Nadia said with a hint of that elusive sincerity that I had seen earlier. “How’s it going? Are you surveying your empire again?”

  “I was, am,” I said, feeling a blush rise. “I do love this showroom.”

  “I picked up the new brochures,” she said. “I know we were going to wait till the opening, but I thought maybe we’d want to put some out tonight.” She handed me the trifold brochure she’d been working on for the past three weeks. I’d thought that it was an old-fashioned idea, creating a printed piece, and was surprised that Nadia had suggested it. But looking at what she’d created, I understood the value. A picture of the shop on the front, a map to our location on the back, and inside a scavenger hunt for customers, inviting them to come and find the grandfather clock with the moon face, the banjo clock with the carriage scene painted on the door, and other pieces that we would always display and never sell. The brochure balanced old-fashioned, with muted sepia tones, with modern touches, including our social media icons running along the bottom. Our website was prominent, as was our Twitter handle of @ClaganClocks. She’d included a QR code for people who wanted to take a virtual tour of the shop.

  “Nadia, I love them!” I said, and meant it. I wasn’t usually as energetic in my praise, but I always pushed my enthusiasm around Nadia, hoping it would become a virus she’d catch. So far, I’d had little success, though I did see a faint smile. “Yes, let’s put them out tonight. All of these events are feeding into one another, so let’s not waste an opportunity.”

  “Agreed,” she said, smoothing her dress. “Did the rest of the clock cookies arrive yet?”

  “Caroline’s on her way, I’d imagine. The rest of them are with her.”

  “I’m going to go up to the office and drop my stuff. I’ll be right down,” she said. We all turned toward the tinkling sound of the door chime, and stopped when Beckett Green walked in.

  Beckett Green had been the first person to welcome me to Orchard in October, and I’d taken him to be a mild-mannered, milquetoast man. I’d liked him at first. The last time I’d been so mistaken by a man was when I met my ex-husband.

  “Beckett,” I said. It came out like a hiss, and Nadia snorted a laugh.

  He stopped and looked around the shop. “It doesn’t look that different, does it?” he said. “After the weeks of work, I’d expected more.”

  “Most of the work is upstairs, in my apartment. Only friends have seen those changes,” I said.

  “Living in your shop. How quaint,” he said through a thin-lipped smile. “Seems to be a trend here in Orchard.”

  “Not all of us can afford to live in a B and B like you and Rina do,” Nadia said. “Tell me, do you prefer the pancakes or waffles for breakfast? Or both?”

  I couldn’t help glancing down at his belly, which was pushing over his belt buckle. I glanced over at Nadia and raised my eyebrows. I knew engaging with Beckett would prolong his visit. Besides, a part of me still hoped it could all work out.

  Beckett sucked in his stomach and glared at us. “Ben lives over his shop too, doesn’t he? Of course, if business doesn’t pick up, he can move into the shop itself and rent out his place for some extra income.” Beckett laughed at his own terrible joke. Nadia and I didn’t crack a smile. I looked around for Tuck and noticed he was prowling around the back of the shop.

  “What can I do for you, Beckett? We’re about to start the downtown open house. There’s still time to be a part of the new POL card,” I said. I’d added a Visit the website for more special offers tagline to the bottom on the off chance he’d change his mind.

  “As I said, I don’t see the business strategy of supporting one another with discounts,” he said, leaning in close to squint at a clock on the wall by the door. “We all know my shop would take the biggest hit, and supporting the rest of you with my cash isn’t in my best interest.”

  I sighed, but didn’t take the bait. My family had deep Orchard roots, and I understood the community. And that it was a community. We all looked out for one another, and kindness counted. Beckett didn’t understand the power of paying it forward, but he’d learn. His bottomless bank account would keep him in business out of spite, but his local customer base was eroding every time he opened his mouth in public. Tourists would only get him so far, and they’d get him nowhere in the winter.

  “Again, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for Mark Pine,” he said. “He left me a ridiculous voice mail, and I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s not here, though he will be soon,” I said. “He and Ben were working on a project. Did you try the barbershop?”

  “I’m not going to traipse all over town looking for him. Tell him to come over and talk to me in person. I’ll make it worth his while.”

  “He’s not going to work with you,” Nadia said, crossing her arms over her bodice. “I was there when he called you, and he was pretty clear.”

  I heard a small crash and looked back at Tuck, who was restacking the paper cups. I was surprised that the back of Nadia’s head wasn’t smoking from the glare he was giving her.

  “Every man has his price,” Beckett said smugly. He looked at me. “I assume you had something to do with this?”

  “Me? No, though he did tell me about your new sideline of clocks. An interesting business strategy,” I said. My heart pounded in my chest, and I resisted the urge to raise my voice.

  “A good businessperson takes advantage of opportunity when it comes, even if it’s unexpected. Anyway, tell him to come and see me, for his own sake. Now I must be off. The caterer is due any minute.”

  “The caterer?” I asked.

  “I’m going to be offering some repast on my front porch. Surely, you won’t begrudge me that?” he said, smiling down at me as if he were indulging a small child.

  “Beckett, I don’t begrudge you anything,” I said as graciously as I could. “Have a great evening.”

  Nadia and I stood shoulder to shoulder and watched him leave. Nadia was six inches shorter than me but my boots didn’t have too high a heel, and her platform boots had a four-inch heel. We were almost the same height, tonight at least.

  “What. A. Jerk,” Nadia said when the door was almost closed. She didn’t lower her voice one decibel.

  “Seriously,” I agreed.

  Nadia took her cell phone out of her coat pocket and dialed. “Hello, Nancy? It’s Nadia. Did you know that Beckett was going to serve food on his front porch tonight? I know, right? Anything we can do about that? Hmmm, right, that’s a great idea. You’ll take care of it? Thanks.”

  “What was that?”

  “I called Nancy,” she said. “We’ve been expecting Beckett to try and pull something, so I wanted to let her know what he was up to.”

  “Why does the idea of the two of you hatching a plan make me so nervous?”

  “Hey, Nancy’s great. She’s going to call the police station and make sure he has a vendor’s permit for giving away food. You know all the hoops that Kim Gray made us all jump through just to have the block shut down tonight? Seems only fair.”

  Part of me didn’t like small-time, petty town politics. The other part was thrilled that Nadia and Nancy were on my side. Both of my selves were winning right now, but I felt it necessary to be a grown-up. “I doubt Chief Paisley will like the idea of shutting down Beckett Green over a vendor violat
ion.” Our chief of police, Jeff Paisley, was by the book, but he also understood that his job was to keep the peace in Orchard. His past training as a SWAT commander wasn’t needed much in these parts. At least not yet. Jeff and I had become good friends over the past few weeks since I’d moved back to Orchard.

  “That’s the beauty of the plan. The chief is in Boston, at some family event in Dorchester. Officer Ro Troisi is in charge, and there’s no love lost between Beckett and Ro. Especially since he didn’t hire her brothers to put in his new heating system.” Small towns. Family businesses. No-brainers on who to hire, or at least call for a bid, especially when you were new. “Nancy will take care of it.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” My palm itched for my own cell phone, to call Pat and let him know what his wife was up to. I resisted the urge. Pat couldn’t stop Nancy once she had her mind set. Besides, the open house started in five minutes. Showtime.

  chapter 7

  The open house was supposed to go until eight o’clock, but it was almost nine, and the party was still in full swing. I took out my phone and send out a group text, checking in once more with Ada from the Corner Market, Moira from the Sleeping Latte, Harriet from the library, Max from the hardware store, Flo from her Emporium, and Nancy, who had been roaming the streets with Pat and Ben, moving food from place to place and replenishing supplies.

  Send everyone outside in five minutes. Surprise almost ready to go, Ben’s text said.

  Where’s Mark? he texted me privately. Where indeed? Caroline and I had been holding down the fort at the Cog & Sprocket, with Nadia jumping in and then disappearing when she got texted instructions from Nancy. Caroline was innately shy and had spent most of the evening toward the back, fussing with cookies, refilling the punch bowl, and talking to neighbors. My years as a faculty wife had again served me well, and I worked the crowd, meeting and greeting, distributing the POL cards and brochures, and answering a lot of questions about clocks. More than one person promised to be back for the opening.