Just Killing Time (15 page)

T
he bin system had been in place forever. When you walked back into the workroom, there was a wall of bins along the left-hand wall. When a clock came in for repair, it was put in a bin along with all its pieces. Each bin had a sheet, detailing all the work. Back in the old days, once a job was done, the notes were all transcribed onto an index card and the card was filed in the shop. The infamous clock cards. Now it looked like they were moving to a computer database, but I wondered if they still filled out the clock cards. The filing system of these cards was always a little convoluted. Clock type, manufacturer, owner. In paper files? I'd spent a lot of time in the basement looking for misfiled clock cards back when I was a kid.

Sure enough, I found two clocks in bins. All of the parts needed to fix them were also included. A pang tore through
me when I saw my grandfather's handwriting, estimating the cost of the job. I thought he undervalued his work, but that was his way. Hook them with a battery change or a new electric cord and then let them look at the rest of the inventory while they waited. Two out of every five customers would make a bigger purchase in the future. He believed clocks were contagious, and I agreed. There was something about trying to manage the everyday drudgery of time with an object of beauty. Man's folly, and the family business.

Still no notebooks. I decided to do what I always did when stressed. Look at a clock. The repairs were simple enough. It would take me five minutes, tops. Plenty of time before dinner at the Reeds'. I almost went upstairs for my own tool kit, but instead I put on my grandfather's vision visor and adjusted it to fit my own head. I took out his beautiful screwdriver set, which he'd inherited from his own father, and set to work. The walnut handles felt warm in my hands. I let the tools rest in their worn spots. They fit my hands perfectly. Both clocks had already been polished and cleaned and were just waiting for the new electrics to be installed. I did the jobs, putting the old electrics in the box that the new parts came in. Both would be returned to the customer, as was the Cog & Sprocket way. I made notes on the sheets and entered them in the account book, marking them with a Post-it so Caroline could check my work. Then I put them back in the bins and brought them out front and put them in a cubby for pickup. So satisfying to get a job done, though I ached to work on one of the grandfather clocks.

I looked through all the bins once more and even pulled them all out of the cubbies. No notebook. Maybe there wasn't a notebook, but I knew in my gut there was. The
notes from the final days of G.T.'s life would surely give me some answers. As I walked through to the front of the shop the doorbell rang. Then again. Was it always this busy on Sundays? I walked out front and created a gap in the blinds on the front door. Ben greeted me with a smile and a wave. I couldn't help but smile back. It was impossible not to.

“Hi, Ruth. Sorry to intrude,” he said, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“No worries. I'm just doing a little work. Catching up on outstanding jobs in the shop, and looking for a notebook.”

“You sound just like Thom. And you look like him too, with that thing on your head.” He grinned.

I reached up and pulled the visor off my head. Half of my hair pulled out of my ponytail, and the visor got stuck.

“Don't move. Let me help. I'm a professional,” Ben said, reaching to untangle my hair. “Here you go.”

“I've got it. Thanks. Yeesh. I must look like a mess.”

“You look great.” Ben grinned again and shook his head. “So, I thought we could drive to the Reeds' house together.”

“The Reeds' house?” I asked.

“You were invited for dinner? It got postponed till tonight. Moira hasn't heard back from you, so I told her I'd come by and check in on you. She invited me to come along.”

“Dinner.” Yikes. I needed to start setting more alarms on my cell phone to remind me of things. Like that would help. “But it isn't dinnertime yet, is it?” I looked around and all of the clocks told me a slightly different time. Not a great business advertisement, but I'd deal with that later.

“Ruth, it's close to dinnertime here in the Berkshires. You folks from Boston probably eat later, but out here, six is a respectable dinnertime. I take it you aren't ready to go?”

I laughed out loud. “Not nearly, no. I need a shower and to get dressed. I've forgotten how long it takes to get to the Reeds' house from here.”

“About twenty minutes, give or take. You've got time. Unless you don't want to ride with me?”

“No, I mean, yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

“I've got a few more calls I need to make to confirm appointments. I'll be back in a half hour, all right?”

“Fine, I'll be ready!”

A half hour to get dressed and get ready to take a trip down memory lane. With Ben at the wheel. Thirty minutes was not enough time. When I went upstairs and looked at myself in the mirror, I was horrified to see streaks of dirt and dust all over my face in addition to the red marks left by my grandfather's vision visor. My hair looked like a red, curly nest. Couple that with the purple bags under my eyes and the slightly swollen lids, and I was hardly looking my best. The shower helped a little, though I almost got a black eye from the showerhead when I was trying to rinse the conditioner out of my hair.

I dressed carefully, wearing my only pair of flats with tights, along with a black-and-white wrap dress and cardigan. I added one of my more subdued pair of earrings, comprised of wheels, gears, and springs, all in silver tones. I'd started to create the earrings to help me perfect my soldering techniques. It worked, and had become a way to unwind. I gave them out as gifts to friends. I did what I could with my hair, resorting, once again, to tying it up in a knot.

I checked Bezel's food bowl. She rubbed against my leg, covering me with a light dusting of gray fur. I just smiled and shook my head. I'm sure Ben would be wearing some of Blue's fur too. I wished I had a hostess gift to bring, but bringing any food
items was ridiculous, and I didn't have time to search out flowers. I tucked two pairs of earrings I'd made into my purse for Moira and her mother, but felt a little shy about giving them out.

I left a few lights on both upstairs and downstairs. I locked the door and went out on the porch to wait for Ben to close up his shop. I sat down on one of the porch rockers. While the cold enveloped me, I gently rocked and looked at the Town Hall outlined gently in the darkness. I wondered how often G.T. had sat here, imagining the glory of a new clock tower.

I hadn't been sitting long when Ben drove up in what looked like a bad 1970s flashback. My car wasn't much better, but at least my 2004 Scion xB was from this century. Ben's car looked like it might have started life as a Volkswagen Bug, the old model, and then been pieced together with different parts over the years. The doors didn't match the body, which didn't match the hood, which didn't match the trunk. When I climbed in, I noted the feeling of springs popping through the plaid seat cover, which someone had designed to go over the seats, sort of. I looked in the backseat, but it wasn't there. Instead there was a dog bed on one side and a milk crate on the other. Both were bungeed in place. I happened to glance down at my feet and thought I saw the spill from the streetlight between the floorboards. I kept my bag in my lap and tried not to rest my feet on the ground.

“It is perfectly safe,” Ben said, a wicked grin flashing as he walked around the car and opened the creaky door for me. “Perfectly safe. You'll note the seat belts are new.”

Indeed they were. Lap belts only, but they were new. I didn't even bother asking about air bags. But the interior seemed in pretty good shape. And besides, how fast could this thing go?

“What year is this?” I asked, buckling up.

“Nineteen seventy-seven. You weren't even born then, were you?” he said as we pulled out onto the road.

“Nope. Not for another eight years.”

“Well neither was I, but I got this car when I was in college. Been keeping her in shape ever since. If the business picks up, I may even get her painted.”

“Her?”

“Betty. Named after my grandmother. Don't laugh—it's the truth. She gave me the money to buy her.”

“Winter must be tough for Betty,” I said, patting the dashboard gently.

“I don't drive her much in the winter. Don't really need to. I can get my groceries right in town, the library is right down the street, the shop has Internet, and Aggie Kurt makes deliveries all year. Plus, I cut my own hair.”

“No urge to take a trip into Boston or down to New York? Or even over to Marytown?” I asked.

“Nope. And if the need arises, I'll hitch a ride with someone else. Or take Betty out. She actually handles pretty well in the snow. It's the cold that she can't take.”

“Betty and I have that in common.” I smiled, suddenly wishing I had remembered to swipe on some of that lip gloss.

Ben laughed. “Orchard has everything I need. At least for now, while I try and get the business off the ground.”

“Any buyer's remorse?”

“Well, I inherited it, indirectly. Since Aunt Flo, there have been three attempts to make the shop work. The other two failed. I'm trying something new and hoping it catches on.”

“What's your new way look like?”

“Unisex,” he said brightly.

“As in?”

“As in I can, and do, cut men's and women's hair. Both are welcome.”

“How's that working?”

“Not well, honestly. Aunt Flo says I need to have men-only and women-only hours so that the gossip mill can start churning again. I also lowered my prices. I'd been thinking about being an upscale salon, but I think I need to be a bit more mainstream.”

“A hair emporium,” I said.

“Exactly. See, I'm learning. I can still do high-end treatments, but I also do rollers and rinses if I need to. Whatever makes the customer happy.”

“How's it going?” I asked.

“The town folk are all still checking me out, so business is pretty slow. Your grandfather made a point out of coming over every week for a trim and a shave. And Caroline's a regular customer. Trust me, that helped. I have a few regulars, just not enough.” He downshifted and slowed down to weave through the curves. “I've been thinking about your grandfather a lot.” Ben looked over at me. “Is it okay to talk about him?”

“It is,” I said. “I'm thinking about him a lot too.”

“Thom Clagan was one of the most important people in Orchard, I think. Kept the town steady, if that makes sense.”

“I guess it does. I don't remember him playing that role when I was younger.”

“I didn't know him then, of course. But now he even said he was going to run for the Board of Selectmen.”

“What? No, I don't believe you,” I said, straining against my lap belt to look over at him.

“Thom and I had lunch once a week. We talked about a
lot of things. And this was his latest plan for fighting for old Orchard.”

“How big was this fight? I keep thinking about what happened to G.T., and I can't help but think this whole business fight had something to do with his death. I have to figure this out. It's the only way he's going to be at rest and the only way I am going to get some rest.” I looked out my window at the dense trees. “Sorry, didn't mean to dump all this on you.”

“Thom was my friend. Anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“Thanks,” I said. I wanted to trust Ben, but needed to have ideas better formed before I talked to him. “Tell me more about Ben's Barbershop. Is that the name?”

“That's the name I am thinking about using. What do you think?”

“It is confusing, if it is unisex. But I sort of like it.” I smiled over at him, feeling my face flush. “So who else goes to your shop?”

“Jeff Paisley comes over once a week so that his fade is always perfect. And the Reeds come over a lot. Hopefully I'll get some more customers soon. I may start having a bingo night, see if that drums up business.”

I laughed. “Bingo night?”

“Yeah. There were a few folks who tried to get Orchard to go upscale, my uncle included. They all lost their shirts. It was partly because the recession hit at the same time. But it was mostly because Orchard isn't going upscale. Ever. It's a town of hardworking folks, college students, and weekenders who pass through on their way to destinations that aren't Orchard.”

“Same as when I was growing up. I would have thought they would have figured out something else by now.”

“We are getting a little more artsy, which is cool. And there is talk of a microbrewery opening up in town. But for the most part, Orchard is as it always has been. And that's great.”