Look Both Ways (17 page)

“Yeah. There are e-mails between the two of them covering about a week. They'd agreed that if he repaid the money he took—it was only a couple thousand dollars—she'd take him back into the business.”

“That must have been the money they found on him that day. Two thousand dollars. He must have been taking it to her when he found her body.”

“Looks that way. Seems Campbell was at his bank over in Peabody, withdrawing the two thousand, at around the time Shea was being hit over the head. Got him on camera, and the serial numbers on the bills match the money he had on him when we arrested him. The bank teller says that Campbell told him he was going to pay an old debt. Seemed real happy about it.”

“So I don't have to be afraid of him, then?”

“Probably not.” Pete sipped his coffee. “You say he didn't let on that he knew who you were?”

“Didn't even blink when I walked in. Jenny introduced us, and that was that.”

“And you left right away?”

“As soon as I could without being rude. Now, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Of course not. Shoot.”

“Okay. Can you tell me why you wanted the number from the dog license?”

Pete colored slightly. “I'll tell you, but you'll think I'm getting soft.”

“No I won't. Tell me.” I leaned forward, watching his eyes.

“Well, ever since the night I unwrapped that license and realized that someone had cared enough about a dog to keep the tag so carefully, I've thought about that dog.”

“You have? I've thought of him, too.”

“When you mentioned that Helena had a dog named Nicky, I just wanted to know if it was the same dog.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “To have a name to go with the tag. That's all.”

“Was it the same dog?”

He smiled then. “Yep. A twelve-year-old male schnauzer named Nicky.”

“The dog in the picture. I'll give you the license tag if you'd like to have it,” I said.

He waved the suggestion aside. “No, that's okay. It's safe where it is.” He finished his sandwich, asked for another cup of coffee, and leaned back in his chair. “Now, tell me about this phone call from Hampton.”

“He's helping me out with a prop for one of the plays, you know, and I agreed to go over to his place with the truck after work tomorrow to pick it up.”

To pick up some kind of a coffee table, right?”

“A cobbler's bench coffee table. For the play. He wanted me to come over tonight instead of tomorrow.”

“So he's changed the time?”

“Tried to. But I'd already bought dinner and told Aunt Ibby that I was on the way home. Besides, I didn't even have the truck.”

“So what did he expect you to do? Go all the way back to the Tabby to get it?”

“I guess so. But I just told him I had other plans for this evening and I'd see him tomorrow.”

“He agreed?”

“Yeah.” I thought about how Tripp's attitude had seemed to change. “But he seemed kind of annoyed about it.”

“He's probably used to having his own way.”

“That's exactly what I thought. Was he like that back when you first met him? When Helena died?”

He shrugged. “I don't remember him that way. He was really broken up about her death. They were pretty close. Poor guy had lost his mother when he was practically a baby. Then his dad died, and then Helena. She was all the family he had left. That kind of trauma can change a man.”

“I suppose so. Aunt Ibby likes him, and she's a pretty good judge of character.”

“I agree. Has your aunt met Daphne yet?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You seem to like her, and I just wonder what your aunt's reaction to her might be.”

He made a good point. I had decided I'd introduce the two as soon as an opportunity presented itself. Maybe Aunt Ibby would like to attend a rehearsal of
Born Yesterday.
It occurred to me that Pete might like to watch Daphne as Billie Dawn, too. I admitted that I wanted to know what
he
thought about the petite and very curvy blonde. He certainly had arranged for plenty of interviews with her.

Stop it!
I told myself.
He's with you every chance he gets. And she's no more his type than Tripp Hamilton is yours.

I pushed the thought away and served Pete a big slice of angel food cake with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

The next day at the Tabby started out really well. I worked up my courage enough to phone Jenny and ask her if she'd check with Gary Campbell and see how he felt about lending us the cash register. She called me back within minutes and said that he'd be happy to, and that all he asked for in return was a mention of Tolliver's Antiques and Uniques in the program. He'd decided to keep the name of the shop as it was, in honor of Shea.

I hurried to Mr. Pennington's office to deliver the good news. “Now the set will look the way I've pictured it from the beginning,” I told him. “I can pick up the cobbler's bench this evening, that is, if it's all right with you that I use the truck after hours.”

“Certainly, my dear Ms. Barrett.” He came around the desk and clasped my hand in a hearty handshake. “I want you to know how very pleased I and the entire board of directors are with your attention to detail in each of our plays. The cobbler's bench and the authentic shoe forms for
Hobson's Choice,
and the minks, the vintage bar, and the gilded telephone for
Born Yesterday
—they are sheer perfection.”

“We still have away to go for
Born,
sir,” I said, “and I haven't done a thing for
Our Town
yet, but I'm glad you're satisfied so far. I'm new at this, you know, but I'm really enjoying it.”

“I'm very sorry about the unpleasant disruption you experienced yesterday morning,” he said. “I trust that the young man involved has apologized to you for his bad behavior, as he assured me that he would.”

“Um . . . no. Haven't heard from him. Frankly, I'd rather he just kept his distance from me.” That was an understatement. It would suit me just fine if I never saw Tommy Trent's mean face again.

“Sometimes we just have to let bygones be bygones,” he chided gently. “Tell me, my dear, how is the truck running? Any problems with it?”

“Not at all,” I said, glad of the change of subject. “As a matter of fact, I really enjoy driving it. It handles quite easily, and I like having all that room to carry stuff. My own car is pretty short on extra space.”

“I know. That big engine takes up a lot of room. I was quite fond of fast cars myself back in my youth. Used to love the auto races.”

“I do, too,” I said, remembering Pete's recent invitation. “I'm planning to go up to New Hampshire later this month for the Sprint Cup.”

“Ahh, youth!” he said. “These days my social life is quieter, but still satisfying. Well, then. I must be off to Costume to settle a squabble over wigs. Carry on.”

Thus dismissed, I headed for my office. I needed to straighten out my accounts. I had spent some of my own money at yard sales but had charged almost everything else to the card Mr. Pennington had given me. It was time to balance my meager books and see what, if anything, I had left to spend on props. I still needed to visit a Home Depot to gather boards and ladders to form the spare scenery for
Our Town,
and I still needed some incidentals for
Born Yesterday.

I was surprised to see one of those pink
WHILE YOU WERE OUT
telephone message slips on my desk. The school switchboard had taken a call for me from, of all people, Gar y Campbell. I sat down to read the scribbled note.

His name and telephone number followed.

Now what?
I'd be glad to have the cash register delivered. That way I didn't have to worry about damaging the pricey artifact in transit. But would Gar y Campbell and I continue to pretend we'd never seen each other before? It promised to be an awkward situation. Nevertheless, I was determined to have the vintage beauty. I crossed my fingers and punched in the number.

“Hello. Tolliver's Antiques and Uniques. Gar y speaking. How may I help you?”

“Good morning. This is Lee Barrett at the Tabitha Trumbull Academy of the Arts. I received your message about the loan of a cash register.”

“Well, good morning to you, Lee Barrett. Thanks for returning my call. Jenny tells me that you'd like to use the old register on the set of
Hobson's Choice.
Most appropriate.”

His tone of voice was warm, friendly, and he sounded as though he was smiling. I decided to tr y to match his tone. “You're familiar with the play? Not too many people are. It's sort of an old-timer.”

“Had to read it for an English course I once took at BU,” he said. “I'm looking forward to seeing it performed. I presume you'll arrange for tickets for me, along with a mention in the program.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged, Mr. Campbell,” I said. “What time would you like to meet?”

“I can be there at around one o'clock. Where will you be?”

“Come around to the back of the building. You'll see a pair of large doors marked ‘warehouse.' Just ring the bell, and I'll open them. We can take the freight elevator right up to the theater.” That sounded a little bossy. I tried to soften it. “Thanks very much for letting us use it. It plays into the script perfectly.”

“The part where Hobson reaches into the register to steal some drinking money?”

“Exactly,” I said, still surprised by his familiarity with the story. “The ringing of the register giving the old man's theft away is just the touch I wanted.”

“Stealing a little here and there to get drinking money is something I understand,” he said, the smile gone from his voice. “But that was a long time ago. One o'clock it is, then. I'll look forward to seeing you, Ms. Barrett.” A click, and he was gone.

I sat there for a moment, just staring at the phone. What was all that about stealing to get drinking money? Was that what had become of two thousand dollars of the antique shop's cash?

I certainly wasn't going to discuss that topic with Mr. Campbell. I looked at my watch. It was already noon. I had just about enough time to grab a bite of lunch and then find a dolly to move the heavy cash register into the freight elevator and then to the stage in the student theater.

The diner was expectedly crowded at that time of day, but I was lucky enough to find a seat at the counter. Even luckier, I sat down right next to Herb Wilkins.

“Herb,” I said, “I'm going to need a dolly to move a heavy stage prop. Do you know where they're kept?”

“Sure. But I'll move it for you if you want. Where is it?”

“It isn't here yet,” I told him. “A guy is going to deliver it to the warehouse later today. I'm sure between us, we can manage it.”

“Okay. There are a couple of dollies in a big closet just to the left of the elevator. Can't miss it.”

“Thanks, Herb.”

I gulped down my egg salad on whole wheat, drank most of a glass of milk, and headed for the warehouse. He was right about the location of the dollies. The closet yielded several, all probably left over from the long-ago days when the building was a department store. I selected the sturdiest-looking one and wheeled it over to the wide double doors. I'd hardly arrived there when the bell jingled, announcing that someone was outside. If it was Gar y Campbell, he was ten minutes early.

It was, and he was. He stood there, smiling, with the cash register in his arms. It was clearly too heavy to carr y, and I hurried to push the dolly in his direction.

“Oh, Mr. Campbell. That thing must weigh a ton. Put it down here, please.”

“Thanks.” He stooped and lowered his weighty bronze burden onto the dolly, then stood wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “If I'd tried lifting it up before I agreed to this, I might have had second thoughts.”

“I'm sorr y,” I said. “I would have sent a couple of our stagehands over to get it if I'd known it was a problem.”

“Just kidding,” he said. “No problem at all. Glad to help out. Where do we go from here?”

“Just wheel it into the freight elevator.” I opened the screened metal door and stood aside as he silently did as I'd directed. Then I stepped inside the elevator. “Hang on to something,” I said as I pushed the button marked
ONE
. “I'm new to this, and sometimes she stops with a jolt.”

We clanked our way upward, landed with the promised jolt, and both remained on our feet.

“Where to now?” he asked, pushing the dolly out onto the school's spacious main floor.

“I'll call for the stagehands to take it inside the theater,” I said, gesturing toward the student theater entrance on the opposite side of the building. The theater had been built to resemble an old-time movie house, and the marquee overhead already displayed
COMING SOON. HOBSON'S CHOICE
in lights. I pulled my phone from my jeans pocket, called Mr. Pennington, and asked for one or two men to come down and help with the cash register.

“They'll be here in a minute,” I told Gary Campbell. “The director says that the cast is rehearsing onstage right now. Would you like to go inside and see how it looks so far?”

“I'd like to very much,” he said.

I pointed to the side door marked
STUDENT ENTRANCE.
“Just go ahead in. I'll wait for the stagehands, and I'll join you in a few minutes.”

Again, he silently did as I'd asked, turning to give me a brief wave before he headed down the carpeted ramp to the theater. I watched his retreating back and wondered how long we were supposed to keep pretending we didn't recognize each other. I was sure that the moment we collided on Shea Tolliver's front steps was as firmly and permanently etched on his memory as it was on mine.