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“So you’re headed home now?”
Klaus wiped his mouth with his hand. “Uh, no. I can’t. Fella told me I don’t own my place anymore.”
The server arrived with their orders, and Klaus immediately carved off a hunk of steak and shoved it in his mouth, causing Lucy some anxiety considering the state of his teeth. Nonetheless, he seemed to manage all right with his few remaining choppers and was halfway through his meal before Lucy had managed a bite or two of grilled cheese sandwich and a few spoonfuls of tomato soup. Truth was, Klaus’s odor was rather taking away her appetite.
“Did you sell your place?” inquired Lucy.
“Don’t think so.”
“Did the bank foreclose?”
Klaus paused to stuff a fistful of fries into his mouth, then spoke. “No mortgage.”
“Well, who’s the fella?”
“Mike. Used to help me, but now he says I can’t come back.”
“My goodness. What are you going to do?”
“I still got the truck, and people throw stuff out so I’ll be fine.”
“You’re homeless?” asked Lucy, appalled.
“I guess.” He emptied the bottle into his glass. “Sure you don’t want some? We could get another bottle.”
“No, thanks,” said Lucy. “I think when you’re ready we’ll go see my lawyer friend Bob Goodman.”
But as fate would have it, Bob Goodman wasn’t in but Lucy was able to make a Saturday morning appointment, insisting it was a legal emergency. Their next stop was the police station, where they attempted, but were unable, to file a complaint due to Klaus’s failure to provide complete information. Lucy inquired about social services for the sculptor, but was told what she already knew, that the only assistance available in Tinker’s Cove was the food pantry. The nearest homeless shelter was miles away; housing and financial aid were delivered through a complicated bureaucratic process.
“Sorry, Lucy,” said Officer Sally Kirwan, “but it looks like the best thing would be for you to take him home with you.”
Lucy was literally speechless. Sure, she thought guiltily, she did have a big old house with three empty bedrooms now that the kids were gone, but she definitely did not want to operate a homeless shelter. “Really?” she asked.
“Just temporarily, until he gets this thing sorted out.”
“Okay,” agreed Lucy, wondering how she was going to break the news to Bill. She also knew she ought to check in with Ted, something she wasn’t eager to do. For one thing, she was afraid Ted would want to put the sculptor’s dumpster diving on the front page, while she felt somewhat more protective of the confused old fellow’s privacy. Examining her motives further she acknowledged that she wanted to let the story develop further. A report on the sculptor’s strange behavior would certainly interest readers, but an expose of a plot to impoverish one of the nation’s premier artists would be a huge scoop. Her phone beeped, and a glance revealed Ted was calling, no doubt his Spidey-sense was telling him something was up. She made a snap decision, hit Do not reply, and invited Klaus to spend the night at her house. He was quick to accept, and she decided to take him there immediately. She certainly didn’t want to leave him wandering about town dipping into dumpsters, she wanted to get him cleaned up and housed, and she wanted to get the story about his sudden homelessness. That was the plan when she got a text in capital letters from Ted: UPDATE ON CHAMBER? ASAP.
Realizing she had to deliver on the update in order to keep Ted off her scent on the Klaus story, she reluctantly responded, telling him she was working on it. That got her another text, listing the interviews he wanted, along with another ASAP. Mentally cursing Ted, and unwilling to lose Klaus, she walked the sculptor back to the parking lot, gave him directions to her house, and, crossing her fingers, saw him off in his rattletrap truck. Then she checked out Ted’s list, headed by Mallory Monaco’s name, and headed back to Main Street, where a colorful flag was flapping in the breeze outside the Sweet Nothings lingerie shop.
Opening the door, she immediately noticed a lovely, fresh fragrance and the thick carpet under her feet made her feel as if she was sinking into something a lot more luxurious than she was used to. Actually rather impressed, she paused and looked around, noticing the soft lilac walls, the bank of fitting rooms in the rear which had louvred doors that promised privacy rather than skimpy curtains, and the handful of exquisite lacy underthings that were tastefully displayed in framed niches. She took a moment to adjust to these posh surroundings, becoming aware that soft music was playing, and that the shop’s proprietor, Mallory, was perched on a stool in a rear corner, staring glumly into a silver laptop propped on a display case.
“Um, hi,” said Lucy.
“Oh, welcome,” said Mallory, slipping off the stool and smiling broadly. She was older than Lucy expected, but radiated a youthful air, dressed in slim black pants, ballerina flats, and a cozy gray angora sweater. “I didn’t see you. How can I help you?”
“Um, I’m Lucy Stone, from The Courier. I wonder if you have a minute for a chat?”
Mallory chuckled. “More than a minute, believe me. I’m more than happy to take a break from Quickbooks.”
“Your shop is absolutely lovely,” said Lucy. “I can’t imagine you have any trouble attracting customers.”
“Well, you’d be wrong,” said Mallory, with a rueful smile. “I should have closed for the winter. Now I need to restock for the tourist season and I don’t have any cash. I’m going to have to apply for a loan.”
“Well, maybe my story will help bring some customers,” suggested Lucy. “But the reason I came was to get your reaction to the theft of the Klaus egg.”
“Well, when I saw how they had that basket out in the open in the bank, I did think it might be awfully tempting to someone.”
“Like a magpie?” laughed Lucy. “Maybe. But there’s some talk that it was taken to embarrass the Chamber.”
