Going Through the Notions(11)

Eleanor shook her head. “I didn’t hang around with your crowd. You were in the cheerleader and jock contingent. I was one of the geeks, remember?”

“Oh, this wasn’t in high school, although he got in plenty of fights back then, too. This was when Angus must have been in his forties.”

I had no idea about Angus’s violent side until now. I’d certainly never seen any evidence of it.

“Daisy, it doesn’t look good,” Martha said, lowering her voice. “Angus was the last person to see Jimmy alive, and his fingerprints are all over the murder weapon. According to Ramsbottom, his big footprints are everywhere in and around that barn. And other than Jimmy’s and Reenie’s, his are the only strange footprints there.”

I bit my lip. Angus did have unusually large feet, and he always wore the same scruffy work boots.

“Betty has to special order his shoes on-line,” Eleanor said. “Or rather, she asks me to do it for her, and she pays me when they come in.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You know what they say. Big hands. Big feet. Big—”

The doorbell rang again. Saved by the bell.

Chris Paxson came in, carrying his own mug. He was the cute thirty-something-year-old guy who owned the bicycle shop.

I gave him coffee, he politely declined Martha’s offer of one of her treats, and he wandered over to the back of the store where I’d hung a former post office sign that said MAIL, except I’d crossed it out and written MALE. Underneath sat a rectangular wooden toolbox that Joe filled with small treasures. Everything cost five dollars. Keep it simple for the men, he’d advised me.

The odd thing was that little box did a roaring business all by itself. Men who were hanging around while their wives shopped often poked through it. It was also an excuse for the single men in town to visit. After all, this was where the women congregated.

Currently it held things like an old silver belt buckle, a bag of vintage marbles, a pocket watch, a Victorian glass paperweight that looked like an eyeball, and sharpening stones for a straight razor. Chris selected a neat camping knife and fork combo set, and pulled a five-dollar bill out of his tight biker’s shorts.

“Well, I’d better get going. Thanks for the coffee, ladies.”

“Anytime,” Martha said.

We all watched him leave, his lean athlete’s body a welcome sight on a gloomy morning.

“I want to take that boy home and give him a large bowl of pasta,” Martha declared. “He’s too damn skinny.”

“What are you talking about?” Eleanor shook her head in disgust. “Look at that ass. He’s perfect.”

“Eleanor!” I exclaimed. “You’re old enough to be his mother.”

“Thank you very much for pointing that out, Daisy, but I’m not dead yet. I can still window-shop, can’t I?”

I smiled as I went to put on another pot of coffee. Joe sometimes jokingly called the three of us “The Coven,” which might be a bit unfair, but it was true that women over fifty did possess a certain indisputable power.

I grabbed one of the cheesecake squares while the going was good. Creamy luscious cheesecake filling, a crunchy, buttery graham cracker crust, and toasted toffee crumble topping made me moan in delight. “Oh, Martha, these are evil!”

More of the local ladies drifted in, including Debby Millerton, the librarian from Sheepville. All the talk was of the murder. This was the most exciting thing to happen in Millbury since the pastor’s wife had run off with a female parishioner.

Some actual customers arrived next, so I put Martha in charge of hospitality. The two clients wanted a closer look at the sewing station in the shape of a miniature rocking chair displayed in the front window. I turned it around to show them how the spools of colored threads sat on the little armrests, and the front had a pullout drawer for notions, with top slots for several pairs of scissors.

They asked me more about the store, so I explained that the idea was to offer “new” old stock. Vintage, but untouched. I gestured to the unopened packages of Lucky needles, flawless wax flowers for ladies’ hats still in their paper wrappers, and snaps, hooks, and fasteners on their original cards.

As the granddaughter of a milliner, and as a former teacher, I loved educating clients who might have a mild interest in sewing or antiques, and watch it turn into a real passion. The more people knew, the more enthusiastic they became.

Dimly I heard Martha across the room repeating my words. “Vintage and untouched? Heck, that sounds like me. I haven’t had sex in so long, I’m practically a virgin again.”

Eleanor snickered, and I hurriedly kept talking to distract my customers. Sometimes it was a good thing that my store was such a haven for gossip and camaraderie, making the store appear busy and alive, and sometimes it was a bit of a liability.