To Helvetica and Back (9 page)

T
hough The Rescued Word could get pretty busy, I'd never seen the crowd inside comprised solely of people I knew.

As I strolled toward the door, I stopped short. Instead of going right in, I peered inside and took a moment to evaluate the crowd, quickly deciding there might be too much company in there, and I might just want to go home and come back again later.

Chester was there, seemingly both irritated and amused by all the different conversations that were taking place, his attention flitting from one person to another.

Creighton was also there, holding Mirabelle's typewriter as he talked to Mirabelle—I assumed they were discussing the typewriter. Actually, Mirabelle was probably telling Creighton to give her back her property and
he was trying to explain the police procedure for doing that. How they'd come to be at the store together was a mystery.

Marion and her father—my brother, Jimmy, were also there. Those two were off to one side, probably discussing something that caused all parents and teenagers to look annoyed, not just them.

Jodie and Seth were there, standing next to each other and chatting in a front corner of the store. They looked friendly enough, but Jodie was surely grilling poor Seth about his income and health and relationship history. I felt sorry for him, but I deserved it, I guess.

I decided it was best to go in and get it over with, whatever
it
was. As I opened the door and went though, the first person to greet me wasn't a person at all, but Baskerville. He wasn't on a high shelf yet, but jumped up from the floor to one of the middle shelves as I entered. He had a throaty meow/growl he often used to show his displeasure. He sent one of those my direction, though I knew it wasn't about me. He was relaying his displeasure at so many humans in his space.

“I know, but I suspect they'll all be gone in a few minutes. I'll kick them out if I have to,” I said to him as I scratched behind one of his ears. His look told me that he certainly hoped so.

“Clare, hi!” Jodie said with a too-friendly smile and wave.

I nodded her direction.

“Hi, honey,” Chester said as he leaned on a middle shelf, taking on a long-legged Fred Astaire pose. “We have company.”

“I see that. I'll be with you in a second, Jodie and Seth,”
I said. I didn't acknowledge Jimmy and Marion. They might not be there for me, and they were family; they could wait.

“Creighton, I see you brought Mirabelle's typewriter back. You done with it?” I said.

“We are,” Creighton said. “We got the numbers and letters, but we have no idea what they mean. I asked Chester if he had any idea.”

“I don't,” Chester said.

“Right,” Creighton said to him. “Anything special about typewriters that would cause them to have that stuff scratched on the bar things?” Creighton said to me.

“Key bars. No, nothing that I'm aware of,” I said.

“I see,” Creighton said. I caught his quick but questioning glance toward Seth. I also caught Jodie's smile and Seth's confused and uneasy demeanor. Poor guy; between my friends, my family, and my own behavior on our first date, surely he'd given up hope that things were going to improve.

“Can Mirabelle have it back?” I asked.

“Yeah, Creighton, can I have it back?” she said to him but smiled at me.

“I just wanted to make sure Clare was done fixing it,” Creighton said. “And . . .”

“I am done fixing it. And what?”

“I'll be happy to carry it back to your house, Mirabelle,” Creighton said, doing one of the things that Creighton did best: throw in something gentlemanly every now and then to keep everyone on their toes.

“No, that's okay. I brought the car over today. Grocery store day,” Mirabelle said.

“I'll be happy to take it out to the car,” Creighton said.

“No, it's okay. Just set it down. I want to . . . Just set it down, please, Creighton,” Mirabelle said. For an instant I felt a little sorry for Creighton and his genuine attempt to be kind to Mirabelle.

Creighton set the typewriter down next to Baskerville, who sniffed at the short return bar. The slots below in the low shelf held pastel-colored papers on one side and dark greens and reds on the other. I called it our holiday shelf; one side reminded customers of Easter and the other side, Christmas.

Creighton steeled himself and then turned to Chester. “Thank you. We'll let you know if we need to look at anything in the store more closely.” Then he turned to me. “Clare, I need to talk to you further. Can you come with me back to the station?”

Chester stopped leaning and stepped toward me, and Jodie moved around Seth and joined us too. Jimmy and Marion stayed back from the crowd. I could see the look of indecision pass over Jimmy's features. He wasn't sure whether his daughter needed to witness whatever would happen next.

“Why do you need to talk to Clare?” Chester said.

“Police business,” Creighton said.

“It's official business, Clare. I'm sure Creighton hadn't planned on announcing to the world that he wanted to talk to you, but the store was pretty busy this morning and he probably couldn't figure out a better way to do it,” Jodie said with just enough bite that everyone in Star City probably either heard or felt the shockwave from her stern tone.

I didn't envy her position of being both Creighton's sister and my friend. I also didn't feel sorry anymore for Mirabelle's snootiness toward Creighton.

“Is this about the murder?” Chester said.

“It's police business,” Creighton repeated.

“I see,” Chester said.

“Look, I'm going to go back to the station, and you and Jodie can come in together when you're done here,” Creighton said, attempting to be gentlemanly again, but it didn't work this time.

No matter what, Creighton was a police officer first. It was unlike him to behave any way but authoritatively. I wasn't sure whether to be interested, bothered, or slightly honored that he was giving that persona a brief rest so I wouldn't feel weird about being taken in by the police in front of family members, a long-time customer, and a cute guy who, by now, was probably wishing he'd never let me rescue his copy of
Tom Sawyer
.

However, I was mostly nervous. No matter who the police personnel were, no matter if they were friends or old boyfriends or just people you knew, being asked to talk to them regarding official business was nerve-racking.

Jodie looked at me and nodded, her eyes both pained and stern. She was not happy, but she was also a police officer first. I suddenly wondered where her and Creighton's partners were.

“Of course,” I said to Creighton and then to Jodie. “Can I have a few minutes?”

“Yes. Just go with Jodie when you're ready,” Creighton said.

“Does Clare need an attorney?” Chester asked.

Creighton shrugged. Jodie said nothing.

“Excuse me, I need to make a phone call,” Chester said before he turned and took long, fast strides toward the back, his dress-pant-clad legs still reminding me of an elegant dancer.

“Wait a minute, Creighton. You don't think Clare had something to do with the murder?” Mirabelle said. “That's preposterous!”

Creighton sent Mirabelle a sad smile but he didn't say anything. He looked at me again and said, “Just go with Jodie. I'll talk to you when you get there.”

“Okay,” I said reflexively as I watched him make a quick exit out the front door.

After we dated, my relationship with Creighton had been full of strife and sarcasm on my part, attempts at apologies and then anger on his part. The cheating had occurred almost two years ago now, and recently I'd sensed that maybe I was finally getting to a place where I didn't want to be sarcastic or punch him in the face every time I saw him. I wasn't sure whether that was forgiveness finally creeping in or not, but it had been nice not to have such a fiery ball of anger in my gut. Even with his official invitation to the police station, that gut fire didn't ignite fully, but I doubted I'd be forgiving him today.

Jodie nodded at me again and then moved to the front of the store and pretended to look at our display of African
animal note cards. Jodie barely did e-mail; I doubted she'd ever sent a handwritten letter to anyone, but the African animal cards being of interest to her was more believable than if she'd gone to the baby animal note cards.

Mirabelle sidled up next to me. “It'll be okay, Clare. Don't worry.”

“I'm not worried,” I lied. “Can I take the typewriter outside for you?”

“You want me to drive you out of here? I'd do it.”

Thank goodness for Mirabelle. “No, but thanks though. I just wondered if you'd like a hand out to the car.”

“No, I'm going to go bother Chester a bit,” she said. She put her hand on my arm and pulled me farther away from everyone else, closer to the sidewall where the baby animal note cards did, in fact, reside. She lowered her voice and said, “I stopped by to talk to you. I remembered where I got the typewriter.”

“Where?” I said, glad for something to distract me from Jodie's sour observations of the cards up front.

“From the newspaper. The editor, Homer Mayfair, sold it to me.” Mirabelle said.

Homer Mayfair was a legend, at least in Star City, maybe in the whole state of Utah, but I couldn't confirm it. At one time though, people from all over the world might have heard of him. It was during his time as editor at the local small newspaper, the
Star City Brilliant
(meant to refer to a star's brilliance, not anyone in particular's intelligence level, and we had to explain that far too often), that our town became famous for our mining successes as well as Homer's run for mayor in the early 1970s. His campaign tactics
had been noisy and obnoxious and garnered the attention of national media, particularly when he used his peg leg (a real one, just like pirates used to wear in the olden days) to get the sympathy vote. He hadn't won the race, but lots of people who'd never given us much thought ended up hearing about Star City and its perfect snow. Our ski resort saw its first big bump of winter visitors. Things had been crazy busy ever since, and among locals the credit was often given to Homer's peg leg. Or “To Homer's Peg!” as it was toasted in local bars on the eve of resort opening day.

I thought Homer was still alive and I was pretty sure his leg was still wooden, but he didn't get out all that much, so the story of his legend hadn't been extended much past the 1980s. I knew he'd at one time been friends with Chester—pretty good friends, I thought.

“Thanks, Mirabelle,” I said. “I appreciate the information and your support. I'll be fine. Go on back with Chester. I'll talk to you later.”

“Will do. Yes, you'll be fine, Clare. Don't let Creighton or Jodie bully you into anything.”

I smiled. “They won't.”

After Mirabelle walked away, I chose to tackle whatever Jimmy and Marion needed next.

“You okay, sis?” Jimmy asked.

“I'm fine, but what's up?”

“Now doesn't seem like the right time, but I have to get to work and I wanted to have this discussion before I went,” Jimmy said. He sent a sideways look toward Seth, then glanced at Jodie and took a few steps so that he was directly next to me, with his back to both of them.

“Is the murder the reason you need to talk to the police? I'm worried,” Jimmy said. He was a nice-looking man with blond hair, a baby face, and naturally dark eyelashes that clashed with his blond hair but highlighted his blue eyes.

“I'm sorry, Aunt Clare. I didn't think he'd get so freaked,” Marion said.

“What's on your mind, Jimmy?” I said.

“Do you think we ought to install more security, perhaps hire an armed guard?”

“He's out of control, Aunt Clare,” Marion said.

“I'm not. This is not just about you, Marion, this is about Clare and Chester too,” Jimmy said. “If the police want to talk to Aunt Clare . . .”

“I'll be fine, Jimmy. I haven't done anything wrong.”

“Of course you haven't, Clare. I know my timing is bad, but maybe that's because I'm simply too late. We should have taken care of this years ago.”

“It's okay, Jimmy. You're a parent; you should be worried about Marion's safety and well-being. Marion, that's what parents do. We've made sure the cameras are working better, but we're not going to hire any guards, armed or not. Though I can't guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen here again, I think we're over the scariest part. You know things are typically pretty quiet.”

“I do, but, Clare, someone was killed.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“Dad, come on, leave it alone. Aunt Clare and Chester will make sure I'm safe.”

“Oh! Do you think Marion should quit working here?” I said.

Jimmy just looked at me, his mouth in a straight line.

“You know,” I continued, “I don't think Marion should quit, but it might not be a bad idea to take some time off until we figure out what's going on.”

“Really?” Marion said, clearly hurt that I'd sided with Jimmy

“It hadn't occurred to me, Marion, but your dad might be right. We have no idea what happened. Take a few days off and we'll see if we find out more. Jimmy, I get it. I get your concerns. I'm sorry Chester and I didn't think about it first. Chester walked her home, but maybe Marion shouldn't be here right now. I'm sorry, sweetie, but I've got to side with your dad on this one.”

Normally I found Jimmy's overprotective ways aggravating, and though he might be overreacting a little, I agreed that better safe than sorry was the correct choice this time.

Marion's pretty face fell along with her wide but trim athletic shoulders.

“Everything would've been fine,” she said.