Labor Day had come and gone, taking many of the Cape’s summer visitors home to their real lives, over the bridges, to Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Vermont. The days were temperate, and fall, Grace’s favorite season, would be here soon.

  Main Street was calm, most of the businesses having closed a few hours ago. Even the old courthouse on the hill was quiet, with only a few lawyers, probation officers, and defendants still milling around.

  A red sedan pulled up, and an arm wrapped in gold bracelets waved from the driver’s window. “Hi Bella, do you have a minute?” the woman called out.

  “Hi, Luna,” Bella replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m doing some errands and thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing. What a terrible thing to happen to you.”

  When Bella introduced Michael and Grace, Luna nodded at them in a disinterested way. Neither Luna nor Grace mentioned her earlier visit to Pearl’s.

  “Can I talk to you in private, Bella?”she asked.

  Grace and Michael excused themselves and sat a polite distance away on the bench under planter boxes filled with scraggly flowers and weeds. Tomorrow, Grace thought, she would plant something anything, in those boxes. Rising, she proceeded to pull out the dead plants as Michael seized the opportunity to tell Grace what it was like to have Bella as his houseguest, how she was a tad messy and so on. Grace didn’t want to be rude, and she certainly didn’t want to be caught between her two employees, but what she really wanted to do was clap her hand over his mouth, so she could hear what Luna had to say, and to that end moved to the edge of the porch, closer to the two women. Michael, not one to be ignored, continued with his list of complaints, which included such crimes as Bella’s leaving a jar of jam on the table, rather than immediately returning it to the fridge.

  “Oh, and she left the hall light on too, although she was the last to go to bed,” he added as Luna drove off leaving Grace none the wiser about why she had come by.

  “That’s interesting,” Bella said, joining them. “Luna said she saw me on the porch and decided she might as well stop and ask me if Ben had mentioned anything about some personal items that Imogene may have set aside for her. She said that Imogene told her that she could have some antique items, including a table, a couple of crystal vases and a lamp. She said that she was hoping I might be aware of Imogene’s desire for Luna to be the recipient of these sentimental but valueless articles. She planned to talk to William or Portia in time, but she didn’t want to be unsympathetic to their grief. It seems that word about the Tiffany may have traveled further than we thought. “My goodness, why does everyone seem to think that I know something?”

  “Because you were Imogene’s best friend, and you know everything about lamps,” Michael volunteered.

  Grace was thoughtful for a minute. “You might not know anything Bella, but maybe you have something.” Grace said. “Didn’t you say that Ben had dropped some personal items off here on the day he was murdered?”

  “Yes, a box of what I suppose, are old photographs and letters, that sort of thing. I haven’t had a chance to go through everything. I assume its sentimental items. It was thoughtful of Ben to bring them to me.”

  “Where’s the box now?” Grace asked with growing excitement.

  “I haven’t a clue, now that you mention it. I think I left it on the back step where we were smoking. But, that was several days ago. I’m sorry Grace; I’m so tired, I can’t think straight.” Taking Michael’s arm, she said, “Let’s go back to your house and have a cocktail and a nap before dinner. How does chicken and dumplings sound to you?”

  The two friends began to walk down the street. Bella stopped and turned around. “We’ll have to ask Duane,” she told Grace. “He’s in charge of boxes.”

  Grace groaned, to think that Duane and his confused ‘system’ of moving boxes around might hold the key to the whereabouts of a very valuable missing Tiffany lamp. She reached for her cell. Duane had gone back to Emma’s, too distraught to work, for another search for Petey. When he answered her call, she asked him about the box that Ben had brought for Bella.

  “Ms. Tolliver. I don’t know anything about a box that Bella got from Ben. I moved all of the boxes that were around the shop, to Michael’s house and to your barn. I’ve brought everything back to the shop.” He paused. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No Duane.” At least not with me, she thought, thinking of Emma and the now lost Petey. “Besides putting boxes in storage, did you do any deliveries of repaired lamps lately?”

  “Yup, one. I wrote it down in the logbook, like I’m supposed to.”

  After assuring Duane a few more times, that he wasn’t in trouble and ending the call, Grace scanned her records. Duane had made a delivery of a repaired lamp and a new shade to Mr. Jake Stonely, a customer in Hyannis Port, the day that Ben came to the shop. It was certainly possible that Duane might have picked up Bella’s boxes, where she had left them on the back porch, and delivered them in error to her customer. It was, she knew a long shot, but one worth investigating.

  Chapter Thirty- One

  Grace was planning on driving over to Cotuit to check on her dad and Gink. If she had time, she’d stop off at Mr. Stonely’s on her way home. She was leaving the store, her car keys in hand and a bag of groceries for her dad, when Clay hurried up the front steps.

  “Grace, this is Tia Jones,” Clay said, indicating a slim woman, with large black sunglasses. “From New York City,” Clay said. When Grace must have looked perplexed, he added, “From the inn, about those shades I told you about.”

  “Oh! Please come in.”

  Grace backed into the shop and extended her hand to the woman who was busy adjusting her black and white polka dotted scarf that was wrapped, just so, around her thin neck. She took Grace’s hand for a fraction of a second and peered at her over half-moon spectacles as if she were examining a portrait in a museum and not a flesh and blood person standing two feet in front of her. Her perfectly proportioned dress and very high heels were black. She certainly looked stunning, but as out of place on Cape Cod on a September afternoon as a fisherman in waders would be on Park Avenue.

  Tia marched quickly around the shop, said, “Charming,” and then got down to business, wasting no time describing what she wanted in the way of shades for the refurbished inn and when the order would have to be completed. She then went to some length to describe her idea of whenever possible, searching out and engaging, locally sourced goods for her decorating project.

  “After all, our guests will appreciate local crafts,” she declared. “A ‘win-win’ for all involved.”

  Grace remembered Clay’s fondness for the same irritating and overused phrase, but despite the cliché, it was a nice sounding plan indeed.

  Without further ado, Tia said that she needed thirty shades. Half were to be made of plain white linen, the other half to be hand painted. She would leave the individual designs to Grace, but she wanted a beach and sand dune Cape Cod type of theme. Each shade should be unique and feature only four colors; blue, green, fawn and peach. Various shades and hues of these colors were permissible as long as Grace stuck to her guidelines. In conclusion, she handed Grace a paper detailing the sizes of the shades. On the bottom of the page was a dollar amount. It was a sizeable number.

  “We’re prepared to pay to get the quality that we desire,” Tia said. “Is that figure acceptable to you?”

  “Yes, quite acceptable,” Grace said, holding back an excited stammer. It was more than acceptable and was a generous sum. But, her elation subsided when Tia said, “I must have them in two weeks. Delivered and no excuses for delay.”

  Grace hesitated, as she looked down at the figures on the paper her hand shaking either from nerves, or excitement, or both. Tia was clearly a woman in a hurry and Grace knew the old saying, time is money, applied to this job. But, could she deliver? The shop was behind on orders due to construction. The events of the past week had been exhausting and overwhelming for all. Bella would certainly add that they were investigating a murder, as well.

  “What do you think?” Tia asked. “I really need an answer now. If it’s not something you can commit to, I’ll go elsewhere. I hope we can reach an agreement. I’ve heard so much about your product.”

  Grace had never imagined her handmade shades as “product.” Such a silly and vague sounding word, she thought. They were, after all, special, distinctive, and inspired. They were works of art, all of them.

  “Have you decided?” Tia asked impatiently.

  Her attention having been brought back sharply to the decision at hand, Grace took one quick glance at the estimate. It was a great opportunity to get her shades in this beautiful inn where visitors to the Cape could see her shades someplace other than her small shop.

  “Yes, I can do this.” Grace heard what sounded like her own voice, confidently making a promise to Tia, a promise that, at this moment, seemed impossible.

  “Good, we’re in agreement. I’ve got the paperwork right here,” Tia said, unzipping an elegant briefcase. “Thank you, Grace. I’m really pleased that we will be doing business. I’m sincere about promoting locals. You see, I’m originally from Cape Cod.”

  “No kidding,” Grace said, totally surprised by this revelation. There had been nothing about Tia, as far as she could see, that suggested Cape Cod.

  “I knew the Walwyn family,” Tia continued. “Clay told me you found Ben’s body. I went to school with Portia. I even dated William a couple of times.”

  “Oh,” was all Grace managed to say.

  “William was quite a nice person,” Tia went on. “Not my type though. But Portia was another story. I heard she married well, which is a good thing, because she had what might be called delusions of grandeur. All she talked about was the price of this and the price of that. At the same time, she didn’t have any ambitions of her own. She acted like she was entitled to the finer things in life without having to earn them herself.”

  “Sounds like she was spoiled.”

  “I think Imogene spoiled all of her children. Their father died when they were young. They never seemed to have any money worries though.” Tia glanced at her watch. “Oh my goodness, it’s later than I thought. I’ll be talking to you soon. Clay, I need coffee asap.”

  Clay, heaving a sigh, apparently relieved he put this deal together, and probably imaging more commissions from Tia, nodded heartily. “Nirvana. Right across the street.”

  As for Grace, reeling from her promise to Tia and all the other troubling things on her mind, realized that a touch of nirvana, and not necessarily the caffeine kind, might well serve her, too.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Grace climbed into her 1948 Ford panel truck, which was emblazoned with Pearl’s logo, pictures of lamps and shades, personified with happy smiles. Some of the shades even had legs and appeared to be dancing. Truth was, she hated the logo left over from Matt and Milo’s days. She had planned to have the truck painted with something more to her taste. Somehow, with all that needed to be done around the shop, it hadn’t happened yet.

  Heading south to Cotuit where her father lived, she became nervous as she thought about the commitment she’d made to Tia. Fifteen minutes was all it had taken for her to agree to do the impossible. Now, although she was excited about the job, she was anxious, too. At the best of times, getting this done in two weeks would be a tall order. And this was far from the best of times.

  As Grace maneuvered her truck into her dad’s narrow lane, she came upon Thomas DePaci weaving down the road on his bicycle. Wearing rubber flip-flops and baggy shorts, his white hair was wind-blown, giving him the look of a wayward tourist. A blue towel was wrapped around his neck and he was singing, “My Way.” When she followed him into his driveway, he immediately stopped his bike, and reached in the wicker basket for his helmet, and stuck it on his head.

  “Dad, I thought we agreed that you’d wear your helmet, “she protested. “If you fall, you could really hurt yourself.” Grace wasn’t entirely happy with her Dad riding his bike to the beach. It wasn’t far, and the exercise was good for him, but since she worried about him falling, they had compromised in regard to the helmet.

  “I am wearing it,” Thomas said.

  “I just saw you put it on.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Grace remembered her vow that she would not try to fix what couldn’t be fixed, and to that end, murmured the words, “Don’t go there,” several times under her breath. It was part of her new weapon against frustration and possible insanity.

  “Okay, Dad. Whatever,” she said, assuming a cheerfulness that was far from what she was feeling.

  “What are you doing here? Are you staying for supper? There’s leftover meatloaf.”

  “No, I just dropped by to see how you are.”

  “Well, Gracie, as you can see, I’m just fine. I had a wonderful swim in the bay. The water temp was near perfect. Next time, you might want to come with me.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  Entering the back yard, Grace was startled to see a portable wooden fence surrounding an irregular patch of grass.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “The sheep,” her father replied, as if that were the most rational thing in the world.

  “Sheep? What are you talking about?” Grace said, as a small furry white creature darted from behind a maple tree followed by another, roughly the same size. “Oh my God!”

  “Cute, aren’t they?”

  They were cute. Possibly the cutest animals Grace had ever seen. When she walked over to the pen, the sheep ran to her. Reaching down, she petted their soft wooly heads.

  “But what are they doing here?” Grace asked, half afraid to hear her father’s reply.

  “Look what a great job they’re doing on the grass,” he told her. “I have an idea for a unique business. I’m going to rent them out as lawn mowers.”

  Repeating her mantra to herself, once again, Grace went into her father’s kitchen and placed the groceries on the table. “Where’s Gink?” she asked. “What does she think of the new additions to your household?”

  “I think she’s sleeping. She was when I left.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “I don’t think so. Tired, I guess.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you ride with me to Hyannis Port?” Grace said, noting the absence of any dinner preparation. I need to run a quick errand. It shouldn’t take long and we can stop at Monti’s Clam Shack on the way. It doesn’t look like Gink has started dinner. I’ll leave her a note.”

  As soon as he’d changed into khakis and a green shirt adorned with sailboats, they settled themselves on the worn seats of her truck, and rolled down their windows, letting the salty warm breeze tousle their hair as they set out for the shore. There was a comfortable silence between them as they drove into the summer evening’s golden hue. Despite their occasional disagreements, usually caused by one worrying too much about the other, they had a way of being together that was easy and comfortable.

  *****

  Thomas was clearly happy as he slid into a chair by the window at Monti’s, his favorite café. The clams were good, the view of the harbor at sunset gorgeous, and her dad was pleased that he had a chance to visit with his favorite waitress. Later, in the darkening evening they drove the short distance to her customer, Mr. Stonley’s house in Hyannis Port. Grace pulled up in front of a shingled, two-story house located a few blocks from where the Kennedy compound was located, which sported a wide veranda and a pair of white rocking chairs to greet visitors. The front porch light was on.

  “I’ll wait here,” Thomas said.

  “Okay. This should just take a minute.”

  Vaguely aware that a car had turned up the road, headlights briefly lighting up the yard of a neighboring house as it parked at the curb, Grace ran up the stairs, hoping this visit would be quick, and she could hurry home, to her sure to be starving Clambake.

  The front door was opened by a genial appearing man who looked quizzically at Grace as she introduced herself and explained to him about the possible mix up. Had he had a chance to open the boxes that Duane had delivered?

  “Indeed I did,” he told her. “I love what Bella did with my lamp. All shiny and clean and working great. Would you care to see it? It’s right here in my study.”

  Grace didn’t want to linger, particularly since she had found out what she needed to know. The Tiffany lamp was not here. Not wanting to be rude, however, she followed her customer through a living room and into his study, where a very nice antique desk lamp with a classic green shade stood gleaming on a cherry wood desk. Grace recognized the lamp at once. She had admired it when Bella was polishing it.

  “I’m so happy with it,” the man said, leading the way back to the foyer. “May I give you another lamp to clean up? A new shade is needed too, and Bella could see if it needs new wires. It’s been blinking on and off. I don’t want to start a fire. It would save me a trip. I’ll put it in the box your employee delivered.”

  After Grace discussed various lampshade possibilities with him, which included drum, square, round empire, even hexagonal, he appeared, overwhelmed by the possibilities. He said he would trust her judgment. She took the lamp and bid the man goodnight.

  Glancing in the window of her truck and seeing that her dad was asleep, Grace popped open the back door and carefully placed Mr. Stonely’s lamp inside. Since her customer had not received the wrong package, the best thing to do, she thought, would be to get together with Bella and take a look through her cluttered house for the missing boxes. Of course, it wasn’t clear that Bella even had the lamp. The only thing that was clear was that someone thought she did. And, to be safe, she’d ask Duane to go through her barn again and have Michael double check his house for the missing box.

  Suddenly, someone wearing a hooded sweatshirt shoved her roughly to the ground, and before she could get up, they grabbed the box and started running down the block. By the time Grace was on her feet that someone jumped into a vehicle and took off with a screech of tires.

 

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