Leaves Read online

  If they were going to buy anything.

  Tyler simply couldn’t understand why this had been the toughest year of his career. The economy in Oldham and the entire surrounding area had rebounded extremely well, far ahead of the nation by all indications. Even the previous winter had been okay as far as tourism was concerned. But the demand for his work was decidedly down, coming off of his best year ever. Had he saturated the market? Were his photographs in too many galleries in the area? Were people tired of looking at his images? He’d pressed hard over the past few years to develop a distinctive style. Was this working against him now? Had that style become yesterday’s news? If so, what was the next step? At thirty, retirement wasn’t an option.

  He could hardly consider it a surprise that his work life had gone badly for him this year. It was difficult to think of anything that had gone well in any aspect of his life. This was without question the most brutal stretch for him in memory, and the decline in interest in his work had only made a secondary contribution to this. His mother had wasted away so quickly and yet she also seemed to linger in a diminished state for an excruciatingly long time. Once Tyler understood that she was going to die, that no medical or spiritual miracles were coming, he had tried to come to terms with it. He even tried to convince himself that her dying was a preferable alternative to her suffering, and while at least that much was true, he was still completely unprepared when the inevitable happened. Knowing she was gone left an un-fillable chasm. That in itself was maybe the biggest sucker punch of the entire experience.

  He’d started sparring with Corrina and her stepson Ryan during his mother’s final weeks, and neither relationship had improved since, something he still found baffling. Ryan was fixing for a fight the day the kid went postal on him; of that much Tyler was certain. What he couldn’t figure out was why. Of all people in the family, why him? And how was it possible that Corrina didn’t see it for what it was?

  It was not long after that when he realized he’d become an appendage in Patrice’s life. It was one of those four-in-the-morning things where several images tumbled into his head at the same time – the way she no longer looked up when he entered the room, the way her eyes crinkled when he came to her with his troubles, the way her heart seemed to sag when she came home at night. When he got up the nerve to discuss it with her a week or so later, hoping she would convince him that he was imagining things, she thanked him for having the courage to say what she had wanted to say for some time. He had no option but to move out before what remained of their romance turned poisonous.

  Yes, it had been a world-class awful year. However, fall had always been his favorite season. Maybe his fortunes would change color along with the leaves. Certainly if this latest set of photographs was any indication, things were about to improve. Though it was only nine thirty in the morning, Tyler had been at his computer for three hours already, waking up feeling much more motivated than he felt when he went to bed – even after that weird thing with the clock radio. Now, though, it was definitely time to get outside. He decided to take a walk to Henry’s, taking his three best shots along with him.

  Renting a place in town had some definite advantages. The cottage he’d shared with Patrice was beautiful, but it required jumping in a car to get anywhere, which meant sitting there freezing while the vehicle heated in the winter, and hassling with parking any other time of year. As a result, Tyler tended to go out less often than he liked, deciding it wasn’t worth the bother. Now that he was living close to he middle of town, though, he walked all the time. He passed the house that Uriah Hayden built in 1687 – a fact noted on one of the white plaques so many of the houses in town displayed – which was followed by the one that Ezekiel Hamilton built two years later. There were plaques noting other Haydens and Hamiltons, as well as Simpsons and Partridges and others all over the town of Oldham, their homes having been converted into restaurants and coffee shops and boutiques. Some were even still homes. His own house was built by Nathaniel Essex, the first mayor of Oldham, in 1682.

  Bob Ritchie was the owner of Henry’s (so named for Josiah Henry, who built the place in 1701), the local art gallery on the far end of town. Bob had been selling Tyler’s work since Tyler was twenty-one, claiming he was Tyler’s “first patron.” Certainly Henry’s was the source of Tyler’s biggest sales over the years and he always went there first when he had something exciting to show. There were already a handful of people browsing the shop at this time of morning, a sign that Bob’s business was in good shape.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Bob said, breaking away from a customer to pat Tyler on the shoulder. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be right with you. I just made coffee in the back if you want some.”

  “Thanks. I’ll grab a cup and wait for you.”

  Tyler walked slowly toward the back of the store, finding a collection of some of his shots on a wall along the way. There were many new artists on display in the gallery since he was last here a month ago. Lots of misty watercolors. Some faux Impressionist stuff. He noticed a new series of photographs of children playing. He’d never been able to photograph people well.

  Tyler waved to Lanny, Bob’s wife, as he walked into the office.

  Lanny blew him a kiss. “You look good, Tyler. Lost a few pounds?”

  “Yeah, maybe a few.”

  A few minutes later, Bob joined him.

  “Did they buy anything?” Tyler said as Bob sat down across from him, picking up his own coffee cup.

  “Lanny’ll close the deal. They’re trying to decide between a landscape and a still life. Both paintings are more than five hundred dollars, so whichever they take is fine with me. What’s up?”

  “I just finished processing a great session and I wanted to show you a few of the shots.” Tyler opened his portfolio and pulled out the photographs, laying them on Bob’s desk. “These are just test prints, obviously, but even before I start tweaking the output they look pretty good, don’t they? Look at the movement on this one.”

  Bob leaned forward to look at the photos. “They’re great, yeah. I love the angle you got here. Were you laying down?”

  “Arched under. It was a lucky shot, to tell you the truth. I was focused on a different leaf when I saw this one float down. Closest I ever get to action photography.”

  Bob nodded. Tyler always knew he’d get a warm reception here. It was especially appreciated these days.

  “Yeah, it’s beautiful,” Bob said.

  “I’m glad you think so. I was pretty buzzed when they came out. I’ll work on these a little and get you a set of prints to frame.”

  Bob pulled his coffee cup up to take a sip. “You might want to hold off on that for a little while. I have a fair amount of your inventory right now.”

  Bob had never said this to him before, and Tyler felt a little flustered, choosing to hide behind his own coffee cup for a moment. “Do you want me to take some of it back?”

  “No, I would never ask you to do that. But I’m not sure I can handle anything else until some of this other stuff moves. We’ve got your display up and then there are the mounted pieces in the bin as well. I sold one last week, I think, so I’m sure I’ll work through all of it in the near future. Then you can replenish the whole lot.”

  “What do you think is going on here?” Tyler said, failing to keep the concern from his voice.

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. This stuff is cyclical. For a while people want nature photos, then they want watercolors, then they want abstracts, and then they want nature photos again. It always comes around.”

  Tyler knew Bob was trying to ease his mind, but business had never been cyclical for him. Every year, he’d sold more images than the year before. Until this one. He packed the shots back in his portfolio, feeling a sense of disorientation he’d never felt in Henry’s before. “I guess so. I might have to give these to someone else.”

&n
bsp; “Yeah, of course. The lucky bastards. It’s probably just something that’s going on in this shop, anyway. They’re probably burning through your stuff in Old Saybrook and they’ll sell these in a week. I’m sure Penny’ll call me to gloat.” Bob stood as Tyler did to shake his hand. “Everything else okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  “You settled in the new place.”

  “Pretty much, yeah. I don’t have a lot of furniture, but my workspace is all set up.”

  “I’d like to see it sometime.” Bob clapped him on the shoulder again. “I’ll call you soon, right after we move a few more pieces.”

  Tyler hefted the portfolio. “That’d be great.”

  “Tyler, it’s really just a cyclical thing.”

  Tyler offered a half-smile as he began to exit the gallery.

  **^^^**

  This was as close as this town ever came to being hectic. It was barely past ten in the morning, and already a dozen or so people had stopped by the Oldham Visitors Bureau for information, brochures, recommendations or – in the case of one woman – simply to talk about the passing of her husband in the spring. Corrina Gold Warren laid out some local maps and a stack of cards announcing an upcoming tasting at the new gourmet shop and readied herself for a steady flow of traffic. She’d be alone until noon and then Perry and Jean would join her until Corrina left at four.

  Corrina had been running the Bureau for the past six years and she knew October was always the busiest month. Most years, the increased activity excited her, gave her an approximation of the rush she assumed her husband Gardner got every time he started a new case. This year, though, it was just distracting. There was too much else to do before the end of the month. Too much that no one other than she could take care of, no matter what any of them thought.

  Corrina turned as the door opened. A guy in his late twenties entered, looking around before settling his eyes on her.

  “Hi, I’m wondering if you could help me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I remember reading in Connecticut magazine a few years ago that there was a fife-and-drum museum in this town. I spent all day yesterday looking for it and I couldn’t find it. Is it gone?”

  “It’s actually a couple of towns over in Ivoryton.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s kind of my job to be sure.”

  The guy smiled. “Right, I guess it would be.”

  Corrina slid a map across the counter and took out a pen. “Here, I’ll show you how to get there.”

  A few minutes later, he was on his way, armed with three brochures for places of interest related to the American Revolution as well as the title of Corrina’s favorite history of the war. As he left, a woman in two-hundred-dollar jeans and a Versace sweatshirt entered with her Brooks-Brothers-casual husband trailing behind her.

  “Can you tell me where I can get a facial around here?” the woman said.

  A facial? Your valet couldn’t make the trip? “There’s a world-class spa in Old Saybrook that I’m sure has everything you’re looking for.”

  The woman nodded. “And someplace quaint and New England-y for lunch.”

  Corrina knew exactly whom she was dealing with here. This couple had made the two-and-a-half hour drive from the Upper East Side to “get away” for a few days, dusting themselves with preconceived notions of these environs, but not willing to stray too far from their creature comforts. The restaurant recommendation was easy. There were any number of places in town that could provide precisely the experience they looked for. The local equivalent of a chain restaurant.

  As they left, the husband pulled out his cell phone and glared at it. “Is there anyplace around here where the reception doesn’t suck?” he said angrily.

  “Sorry, sir. The Town Council has repeatedly fought the construction of a microwave tower in Oldham.”

  He shook his head and turned toward his wife. “Someone should tell these people what century we’re in.” The woman shrugged as they exited.

  “You’re welcome,” Corrina said once the door was closed. It wasn’t that she’d never heard the complaint before – dozens of times from Gardner, in fact – but she was just so much less willing to hear it from someone who didn’t have the faintest notion why the Town Council might take that position.

  The next fifteen minutes were surprisingly quiet, and Corrina pulled out her notebook and started compiling lists. Since Tyler left the dinner last night before they got all the details down, she was going to have to call him. She wasn’t particularly fond of talking to him these days, and he also seemed so easily distracted that he could very well screw things up. She could of course get the decorations herself if she had to, but she didn’t want him to drop it on her at the last minute.

  When the door opened again, Corrina quickly closed the notebook, realizing it wasn’t necessary when she looked up to see Etta Hawkins. Etta had been living in Oldham since she was a toddler and was one of her mother’s closest friends.

  “Hey, Etta.”

  “Hello, dear. How’s the day treating you so far?”

  “Just fine, I think. We’ve had a bunch of people here already this morning.”

  Etta took her hand and patted it softly. “It’s good that they’re keeping you on your toes.”

  Corrina smiled. Corrina had called this woman “Aunt Etta” until she was a teenager, and she was still tempted to do so at times. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “And you too, dear, always. The reason I stopped by is that some of us were speculating yesterday and I figured I’d go straight to the source for the answer. Are you planning to hold the Halloween party again this year?”

  For the past thirty years, the Sugar Maple Inn took no reservations for lodging on Halloween, instead opening its doors to the entire town for a huge celebration of the day, a holiday both Bethany and Joseph Gold had taken special pleasure in. The party had become one of the town’s highlights of the season and was discussed with anticipation by the locals as early as August every year. With her mother’s death and the pending sale of the inn, the common assumption around town had been that the tradition had ended. But Corrina wasn’t ready for that, and in an increasingly rare showing of equanimity among her siblings, they’d all agreed to throw one more bash.

  “Yes, we are. In fact, I was just drawing up a list of things to do for it when you came in.”

  “You are,” Etta said with almost childlike pleasure. “I’m so glad. We all wanted it to happen just one more time. To say goodbye properly, you know? I’m sure the new owners mean well, but a corporation? It just won’t be the same no matter what they do.”

  Corrina cast her eyes downward. “The party is important to all of us.”

  Etta reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly this time. “It’s still hard for me to believe that Bethie is gone. Such a cruel disease. She would have wanted you to do this.”

  “I think so, too.”

  Etta held her hand for several moments longer, neither saying a word. Then Etta brightened, gave Corrina’s hand one more tap, and turned toward the door.

  “I have to go call Joanne and Martha. They’re going to be so pleased.” Etta stopped and looked at Corrina, beaming. “I need to start thinking about my costume!”

  Corrina chuckled to herself as Etta left. Then she got back to her list. If she needed any further inspiration to make this party as special as her parents had always made it, her mother’s old friend had managed to provide precisely that.

  **^^^**

  We’re not really going to have the parking conversation again, are we? Maxwell Gold thought as the meeting stretched into its second hour. In the eighteen months since he’d been elected president of the Oldham Chamber of Commerce – not to mention the six years he’d been an active member of the board before that – the subject had arisen at every
single meeting. Surely others in the room understood the futility of it and even the irony. But that didn’t prevent the conversation from happening.

  “You saw the results of the study,” Charles Holley, the owner of The Grill Room, said. “The shop owners on Hickory Avenue are losing hundreds of thousands of dollars a year because visitors can’t find adequate parking during the peak season.”

  “There were some serious problems with that study,” said Susannah Melvoin, owner of Oldham Printing.

  “It’s easy to minimize the problem if you offer your customers pickup and delivery, Susannah,” Will Champion, owner of Paperworks, the local stationery store, said. “It’s a little harder for Carl or Darlene or most of the rest of us around the room to do that.”

  “My shop is entirely dependent on foot traffic,” Maria Muldaur, owner of Fruits of the Kiln said. “If people can’t park, they can’t walk around. And if they can’t walk around, they can’t come into my shop.”

  Maxwell could have predicted the next several exchanges. He noticed Mike Mills, Publisher of the Oldham Post, shaking his head and doodling on the pad in front of him. Clearly, he too understood how ridiculous this debate was.

  “We can’t just make more space on Hickory.”

  “Yes we can. The town buys Imaginary Friend, razes it, and turns it into a municipal lot.”

  “Imaginary Friend sits inside a historical building that is more than three hundred years old.”

  “And three hundred years ago, the town didn’t have a parking problem!”

  “A municipal lot right on Hickory Avenue would be an eyesore. Should we commission a study to determine what would happen to our businesses if the town got ugly?”