Just Killing Time (12 page)

I
woke up early, too early, and couldn't get back to sleep, so I got up and made some terrible coffee. I decided the coffeemaker was beyond hope. My coffee was never stellar, but this was ridiculous. I was afraid it was going to eat through the mug. Nonetheless, I finished my first cup and went back for a second.

I went to the bedroom to get my notebook and looked at the model of the Clagan clock tower sitting on top of the wardrobe. I felt my grandfather's presence, urging me to get everything in order before I began to dream his dreams. I opened the lists I'd started last night and read them all over. Especially the last one. I needed to let G.T. rest in peace, find him some semblance of justice. Or maybe I was the one who needed the peace and the closure. That meant finding out what had happened, as difficult as that was. I opened a
blank page and made one more list, of the things Caroline and I had to talk about.
Funeral?
Cog & Sprocket.
Clocks
. The categories were a little broad, but there was time to get more details in place before Caroline and I met for lunch.

G.T. was always a big believer in planning and preparation. I'd partially inherited that trait, though I tended to move forward before every
t
was crossed and every
i
was dotted, too worried about waiting too long and missing my moment. I'd seen that happen to my grandfather too often, especially around the clock tower project.

As I thought about the vast inventory he'd accrued, I wondered if he'd rethought his strategy of caution as well. Eight grandfather clocks in the shop? At once? I needed to spend more time looking at them, but the longcases themselves were worth a few thousand dollars apiece. And if the workings were original, or close? They could be worth ten times that. At least. When Caroline came by, I'd need to ask her about what the plan was for these clocks: to fully restore or to turn them around for sale. If my grandfather was the only horologist in the shop, I couldn't imagine him taking on all of these projects himself. Even if Pat could help out with minor repairs, getting all of these clocks ready for sale would take some serious effort. Did he have other staff that no one mentioned?

I went downstairs and walked around the shop with my cell phone, snapping pictures. Later, I'd add some descriptive tags and add them to the database Pat had showed me. But to make all that work easily, I needed the Internet.

I looked for Wi-Fi, but saw only BBSHOP listed nearby. Sigh. If I moved back to Orchard, I needed to get this place wired. If I moved back. Three days ago, that wasn't even on my wildest dreams list. Back in Boston, there was a chance
that a job at the museum was going to get grant funding. A chance. I'd been relying on that for weeks now, but this time it might really happen. It wasn't my dream job, but it was a job that could lead to a career. Granted, that career wasn't what I'd expected when I'd studied horology, but being a clockmaker was a difficult career path and not a particularly glamorous one. I'd worked on expanding my skills by creating larger clocks that were installation pieces in offices and worked for rich clients on my own, but since my divorce, I needed to figure out how to make a living.

But now I also had the Cog & Sprocket. The question was, did I want to come back to Orchard? My grandfather was gone. I didn't even know his wife. Moira and I'd been friends back in the day, but even though yesterday had been great, was there anything left after the reminiscing? She had her life and I had mine. And judging from what I'd seen through the window last night, she and Ben had a relationship. I'd be a third wheel.

I could also sell the Cog & Sprocket and use the proceeds to start my career in Boston. Maybe buy my own shop or buy into a business? Too many choices. Not a bad problem to have after the past year.

Did Orchard want me back? The town's welcome was hardly robust. Unless you counted nutty Aggie Kurt or the stares of Ada and Mac Clark. Or Beckett Green's welcome, though he hadn't been back since I arrived. Even last night at the market he didn't come over to say hello. The only people who hadn't treated me like I was radioactive were Chief Paisley, the Reeds, and Ben. And Chief Paisley was only nice to me because I was off his suspect list.

I heard footsteps on the porch. We weren't open for
business, but I pulled the shade aside and looked out. A man was turned away from me, lifting plants off pots to peer underneath. I opened the door and put my hands on my hips.

“May I help you?” I asked.

I startled him and he dropped the potted mum. He half smiled and tried to pick it back up, scooping the dirt back in the pot. I just stared.

“Whoa, sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.”

I looked at the tall, reed-thin man in front of me. Very pale skin, pale eyes, dishwater blond hair. His glasses were slightly askew. A few years ago I might have found his look somewhat attractive, but dollars to donuts he was an academic, and I was never going down that road again. I made a bet with myself. History, or maybe English?

“What are you looking for?” I asked. My tone was flat, but I felt my face flush. Was he trying to break in?

“A key.” He shrugged, at least pretending to be abashed. “I have some things to drop off and I didn't want to have to make a trip back.”

“Do you always let yourself into people's stores?”

“No, of course not. Who do you think I am?” he said, squinting at me as he brushed the dirt off his hands.

“I think you're someone who is breaking in.”

“My father and Thom were good friends. I've been to this store a million times over the years. We were doing business together, Thom and I. Just wanted to make sure Caroline got the rest of the inventory is all.”

Now I saw it. He looked like a pale, thin imitation of his father.

“Was your father the Chairman, I mean Grover, Winter?” I asked.

“He was. Did you know him?” he asked.

“Yes, I did. I'm Ruth Clagan. I was sorry to hear that he had passed.”

“You're Ruthie?” he said, taking a step back with a glimmer of recognition in his eye. “Wow, you've changed. It's been a long time. I'm Jonah. Maybe you remember me?”

Remember you? My first crush ever? Jonah of the swim team? Jonah, homecoming hero? Jonah, the church usher who always winked and smiled at me when he handed me my program? This was Jonah? Even though he wasn't that much older than I was, maybe seven or eight years, he looked older. Still handsome, but very weary. Of course, I wasn't looking my best either. Stress was not kind to either of us.

“Of course I remember you, Jonah,” I said, plastering a smile.

“I have a couple of boxes I wanted to drop off. May I?” he asked, looking behind me.

“Sure,” I said. I stepped to the side and held the door open.

Jonah brought in a large box and set it on the counter. It was from a liquor store and didn't have a top. He went back outside to the porch, got another liquor box, and put it up next to the first. Both boxes were packed to the brim. I shifted the boxes and tried to take stock of the contents: several loose papers, small timepieces wrapped in Bubble Wrap, a mantel clock or two wrapped in dishcloths. It was all a bit jumbled, so hard to assess what the value was of each piece. My hands itched to open them up, but I held off.

“You know about the deal I made with your grandfather?” he asked, huffing and puffing a bit, leaning heavily on the counter.

“A little, but why don't you tell me about it?”

“I wonder if I could trouble you for a glass of water? I've had this flu I haven't been able to shake.”

I looked at Jonah Winter and assessed the threat of inviting him upstairs. It seemed limited. And besides, I could take him, that much was clear.

“Why don't we go upstairs and I'll make you some tea,” I said, closing and locking the front door. I grabbed one of the boxes, the heavy one, and headed toward the staircase.

“I don't want to trouble you,” he said, picking up the other box and following me up the stairs.

“No trouble. I was about to take a break myself. Put the box over here.” I sat my box down on one of the card tables I'd set up. He put his beside mine and then looked around the space.

“I've never been up here.”

“It is, was, the family apartment way back in the day.”

I put some water in the electric kettle and turned back to offer Jonah his choices. He looked through some of the boxes I'd put aside last night, moving things around a bit.

“Jonah, English Breakfast or Earl Grey? That's all I've got.”

“English Breakfast is fine, thanks. Sorry I'm wandering. Just that some of these clocks, they bring back memories.”

“Seller's remorse?” I asked.

“Oh no, none,” he said, settling in a chair. “I can't tell you how grateful I am that Thom helped me out. He bought the entire collection and promised to do right by us.”

“Do right by you?” I asked.

“Caroline hasn't filled you in?”

“No, not yet. We're having lunch later today, but we haven't had a chance to discuss the business yet.”

“Well, I guess since the shop is yours, you might as well know.”

“How did you know the shop is mine?”

“I was the witness to the will, the most recent will. Well, at least I assume it was the most recent will. Anyway, let me go back. My parents were clock collectors. But you may have known that?”

“I did know that. Your father and my grandfather spent a lot of time together, talking about clocks.”

“And clock towers. And town governments. And everything else. They'd always been friends, but Thom really stepped in after my mother died and kept Dad company,” he said, his eyes unfocused.

“He knew what your dad was going through,” I said. Boy, did he know.

“When my dad passed away last summer, he made Thom one of the executors of the estate, which was a godsend. My sisters and I couldn't agree about anything, especially what to do with the clocks. So I talked to Thom, asking his advice. I was surprised, but he came up with a deal I couldn't refuse.” Jonah tried to make the last line sound like something out of a Mafia movie, but it didn't really work. I laughed anyway.

“Thom paid us seventy-five thousand dollars cash for the entire collection. If it made over two hundred thousand, he'd split the proceeds with us, keeping eighty percent for himself and giving us ten percent. Sort of our legacy. We had a couple of other dealers come through and no one came close to his offer. Everyone wanted to break up the collection and it was all just too much. So we took him up on it.”

Wow. Was my grandfather being kind to his friend's
family, or had he spotted a couple of gems in the collection? I hoped Caroline would have some answers for me. This wasn't the G.T. I knew growing up. That G.T. was much more cautious and far less sentimental.

“What about the other ten percent?”

“That would go to the Clock Tower Fund.”

“He was still talking about that?” I asked.

“More than talking. He and my father had gotten some steam behind the project, then last summer Dad died and the wind went out of Thom's sails. He was just starting to talk about it again, actually. There's some interest now that Orchard is turning itself around a bit. The clock tower could become a destination.”

“Wouldn't that be great? What a wonderful legacy.” My lower lip began to quiver and, with a pained expression, Jonah looked away.

Jonah cleared his throat. “That's why I brought over these boxes. There are documents going back years about the clock tower and its history. Your grandfather may have the same documents, but I wanted to make sure.”

“You don't want to keep them?”

“No, if the clock tower is going to happen, the Cog & Sprocket is going to be the home base. I don't have the energy for it. Thom was looking for a title to the old Town Hall that my father supposedly had, but I haven't found that yet. I'll keep looking. There are some other documents that may be helpful for his work on getting this block marked as a historical landmark, but I'm not sure. It's tricky, since the Board of Selectmen need to vote on landmarking, and there are a lot of loose ends we need to take care of before the vote Thursday.”

“Thursday?” So that was the mysterious event. Historical landmarking? Was that what he was meeting with real estate agents about? I wonder how other folks in town felt about that. I'd have to remember to ask Moira. Or maybe Ben knew?

“Yes. Don't you know? There's a special Town Hall meeting called to talk about rezoning this area of town, and making it a historical district.”

“What kind of historical district?”

“That depends on the meeting. Thom and some other folks were able to get the meeting called to help save the old Town Hall. But Kim Gray has proposed more language saying that if the Town Hall gets landmarked, then any other building in the district couldn't be changed without permission of the zoning commission.”