Page 9 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Seven

Skye

Demonstrating typical New England frugality, Harbor View had renovated the old elementary school into the ‘new’ town hall a decade after I moved away.

While I waited for Arthur’s meeting to finish up, I wandered around the lobby. The glass-fronted case that formerly held school awards and trophies now displayed before-and-after pictures of the building’s transformation.

The banner across the top read, ‘Ingenuity and Resourcefulness.’ Below it was an array of photos showing the construction crews stripping a century of wax from the original oak floors and refinishing them until they gleamed.

In one picture, desks were being unscrewed from the floors of classrooms, which were now offices and meeting rooms. In another, ancient iron radiators were being hauled out to waiting trucks for recycling.

The principal’s office, with minimal alterations, was now occupied by the First Selectman and the Town Administrator.

It was a true testament to Harbor View’s pragmatic spirit and deep-rooted sense of community. Every piece of history had been preserved, so long as the cost made sense. Every penny had been scrutinized during the renovation.

The old bell in the tower hadn’t rung since World War II, but the building committees had voted to keep it anyway. I imagined removing it would’ve cost a small fortune.

Local history aside, I wasn’t prepared for the wave of emotion that hit me as I stood in the lobby. I remembered the first time I stepped through these doors with Clare at my side. I was terrified, but too proud to take her hand.

She didn’t share my hesitation. Inside, she’d been the fierce, vocal champion of the scrawny, guarded young girl she’d taken in.

Here I was, a ten-year-old who should have been a fourth grader. By any school standards, though, I wasn’t even qualified to sit in a first grade class. But Clare wouldn’t have me face a moment’s embarrassment alone. In her mind, I’d suffered enough. Been deprived enough.

When we went into that meeting with the principal and the district social worker, she told them in no uncertain terms that she’d provide several months of homeschooling and private tutors, all at her expense, to get me ready to sit with the students my own age.

And she did it. Or I should say, we both did it.

Before the school year was out, I was here and learning alongside other fourth graders.

That memory would never leave me. Clare had never stopped believing in me, never stopped insisting I deserved a normal childhood. As normal as it could be, given how mine began. Her staunch determination had become the foundation for whatever confidence and resilience I carried into adulthood.

She was the reason I was here today. I wasn’t about to let questions surrounding her death go unanswered. I owed her that much.

“You’re early.”

Arthur’s voice pulled my attention from the display case.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on California time?”

Seeing him, I felt my spirits immediately rise, and I couldn’t help but relax a little.

Whether it was a small town committee meeting or lunch at a fine New York restaurant, Arthur was always the same.

Cool and imperturbable. Effortlessly elegant and impeccably put together.

Today was no exception. He wore a tailored navy blazer over a crisp white shirt, the open collar just rakish enough to suggest confidence rather than carelessness.

A silk pocket square, folded with precision, added a subtle pop of color, while his slim-cut trousers and polished horse-bit loafers completed the look.

His silver hair was artfully tousled, the only hint of rebellion in an otherwise perfectly composed appearance.

No matter where he was or what the occasion, Arthur always looked like he belonged.

I actually was half an hour early. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Not at all, my love. Not at all.”

This was not going to be an easy day. I knew that. The funeral home had been bombarding me with texts and emails, urging me to come in and finalize the arrangements for Clare. That was my next stop after this.

My mother had always been organized to a fault, but dying hadn’t been on her agenda.

As a result, I had no idea what her wishes were.

I knew there was a family plot where her mother and grandmother were buried, but beyond that?

No clue. Actually, I was only assuming that’s where she wanted to end up. We’d never discussed it.

I don’t think either of us thought she’d ever cash in her chips.

“Do you think the sheriff is here?” I asked.

“I should think so. I just saw someone’s breakfast being delivered.”

Arthur took me by the arm and steered me past doors labeled Town Clerk, Assessor’s Office, and Planning & Zoning. Brick walls that once were lined with wooden lockers now were adorned with glossy paint. The smell of floor polish lingered in the air.

As we walked, I found myself glancing in at each classroom door, trying to match them with the women and men who once taught there. Some of those teachers were memorable...and some not so much. My first classroom, Mrs. O’Brien’s fourth grade, was now Committee Meeting Room A.

We reached the wide iron stairwell and descended to the basement. At the bottom, a single door stood ahead of us, its sign plain and to the point: Harbor View Sheriff.

“What’s the sheriff’s name?”

“Craggs.”

I nodded, whispering, “What exactly are we going to say?”

“Leave it to me.” He shot me a wink. “We’ve got this.”

We knocked and, hearing a gruff “Come in,” we entered.

It was like something out of a 1940s western.

There was low railing with a gate that separated us from the ‘business’ part of the office.

On a back wall, a map of the village was prominently displayed between a door labeled ‘Cell Block’ and another labeled ‘Emergency Supplies’.

Between the railing and the back wall were three battered wooden desks with equally battered chairs around them, but only one desk appeared to be in use.

Arthur wasn’t kidding when he said Sheriff Craggs was the ‘Barney Fife of Harbor View’, right down to his bulging eyes and the nervous, twitchy energy he exuded.

The sheriff turned his bug eyes on us with obvious suspicion.

Thin, graying hair had been carefully combed over in an attempt at hiding a shiny bald scalp.

Cheaters were perched crookedly on his nose.

His uniform didn’t seem to fit him right.

It was too big in the shoulders and pulled tight across a surprisingly large pot belly.

A badge that looked a little too shiny for everyday wear was pinned to his chest, and one hand gripped a holstered sidearm on his hip.

“Don’t shoot,” Arthur said, raising both hands. “We come in peace.”

The sheriff’s sour expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked downward at the bag in the center of his desk. It smelled like ham and eggs.

“And we’ve already eaten, thanks,” Arthur quipped, not even trying to hide the snark in his tone.

Craggs glanced down again at the takeout bag and kept his hand on his pistol.

“Sheriff, this is Skye Randall. Clare’s daughter.”

He didn’t stand up. As he squinted at us over the rims of his glasses, his expression tilted ever so slightly from open suspicion into a defensive frown.

“Skye and her daughter arrived from California yesterday. I mentioned her when I called you after Clare died. When I asked if you wanted to come over and look around, and you said no. Remember?”

“Nope.”

“And that she would be coming home.”

“Nope.”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “We went into the Salt Box last night.”

“Okay.”

The sheriff seemed incapable of offering little more than brief responses. There was no offer to sit down. No effort at being sociable. And after the initial glance, he made no direct eye contact with me.

“Skye and I found something I hadn’t seen before.”

Craggs’s gaze flicked to a clock on the wall and back to the bag of food. Clearly, we were wasting his snack time, and the breakfast sandwich was getting cold.

Not waiting for an invitation, Arthur swung open the gate in the railing and ushered me into the sheriff’s inner sanctum. He pulled up a chair for me and one for himself. As we sat down, Craggs actually snatched the bag from his desk and placed it protectively behind him on the floor.

“I’m sure you’re dying to know what we found,” Arthur said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, the latch on side door of the shop is damaged. Now that I think about it, it might’ve been damaged the morning I found Clare.

What if someone broke into the barn and was waiting for her? What if her death wasn’t an accident?”

The lock on that door had been broken for as long as I could remember.

Clare never bothered to fix it. No point, she always said.

She kept no money there. She brought her account books and any cash into the house every night.

Besides, anyone going in through that door would have to enter through her garden.

But I wasn’t about to say any of that now. Any excuse to get the sheriff to check things out worked for me.

“Don’t you think you should come and take a look, Sheriff?”

The wheels were turning behind Craggs’s bulging eyes. Finally, he took his reading glasses off, folded them, and laid them on the desk.

“No need.”

“Why no need? Isn’t that your job?” Arthur repeated.

“Kids are breaking into garages and businesses all over town. No telling when they got into her shop. Could’ve been after. Probably was.”

That was as eloquent a speech as we’d heard since coming in here.

The sheriff didn’t wait for us to leave, though. Picking up the food bag, he made a production of taking out and unwrapping his sandwich. A croissant with egg, ham, and cheese. The man clearly needed sustenance to recover after his lengthy speech, and we’d been dismissed.

But Arthur was not easily dismissed. “There’s one way to find out. Clare’s next door neighbors. You know, those New Yorkers who rent their place out weekly, even though short-term rentals aren’t allowed in Harbor View.”

“What about them?”

“They have security cameras.”

The sheriff stared down at his sandwich for a long beat before glancing up. “Don’t have their names. Or their number. And they’re out of state. Dead end.”

“I’ll get their contact info,” Arthur said. “And the footage. Whatever they’ve got, I’ll get it to you.”

The sheriff sighed, still not meeting our eyes. “Give it a shot.”

Arthur got to his feet, and I followed.

“And close the door on the way out.”

I put a hand on Arthur’s arm as we climbed the steps. “What you said. Was that for real? Do those people have cameras that might show Clare’s driveway? Can we actually check?”

“They bought the house last year. They’re both New York City lawyers. Bought it as an investment. They’re rarely here. And they’ve been a pain in my ass. I’ve been after them to cut out the weekend rentals.”

“If you hate them and they hate you, how are you going to make this work?”

“Hate’s a strong word, my love. They know they have to stay on my good side.

It took them a while, but they’ve figured it’s in their best interest, what with my connections in this town.

That’s the name of the game. I need something for the sheriff’s office, and my guess is they’ll be more than happy to cooperate. ”

Everyone needed an ‘Arthur’ on their team. I wished I could take him back to the West Coast with me. Maybe even get some marital advice while I was at it.

“Where are you off to next?” he asked.

“O’Connor Mortuary,” I told him. “Do you know what Clare wanted as far as arrangements?”

“No pomp and ceremony, that’s for sure. She wouldn’t want anyone pretending they’d been close. If anything, she’d want to leave them all guessing. Nothing would make her happier than to have them whispering and hoping she’d taken some secret of theirs to the grave.”