Free Shear Murder by Nancy J. Cohen Page A

and I'm sure she'd appreciate the support.”
    Scott tugged on his tie, making her wonder if he'd gone to work that day. Why else would he wear a dress shirt and good pants, unless it was to impress visitors like herself?
    Remembering that he wasn't Jewish and had different customs, she wanted to ask about a wake but didn't care to sound ignorant.
Jill will tell me,
she decided, avoiding the awkward topic.
    “Sorry, please take a seat.” Scott gestured at the furnishings.
    As she crossed in front of him, she noted a stain on his shirt. Maybe he wasn't as collected as he tried to appear.
    “That's a great photo of you and Torrie.” She pointed to a framed picture on the cocktail table.
    “It was taken at a benefit dinner last March.” Dropping into an armchair, he hunched forward. “Torrie attended a lot of social events for her job. Sometimes she would take me along with her.”
    Marla sniffed at a hint of tobacco, like from a pipe or cigar. “What kind of work do you do?”
    His challenging gaze met hers. “I own a clock repair shop. I know it doesn't sound like much, but I've always had a fascination with time pieces. We fix everything from watches to chime and cuckoo clocks to antique long-case models. Those are especially beautiful in mahogany.”
    From the passion lacing his voice, she could tell he truly enjoyed his occupation. “How you do train for that type of job?”
    “I studied horology in Pennsylvania.”
    “What?”
    “Horology. It's the study of time, timekeepers—meaning clocks and watches—and timekeeping. I'm certified as a master clockmaker and master watchmaker.”
    Her ears picked up the sound of clocks ticking. She followed their direction to a wall unit displaying several models. “That's a nice collection. Are they antiques?” She knew nothing about the subject. Her clocks at home were either battery run or digital, certainly unlike these decorative objects.
    “Those are my vintage Atmos clocks.” He got up and strode to a rectangular-shaped case. Inside the housing was a round dial. “This is the tall-case version. It's nickel-plated, as you can see.” His fingers traced the silver in a caress worthy of a lover. “The movement works perfectly. Over here, we have a regulator model.” He pointed to a square case where another round clock filled the interior.
    She noted the Tiffany . . . Company name on its face. “I like the one next to it.”
    “That's by Kirby, Beard . . . Company of Paris. See the porcelain dial with the gold case? I've never come across another one like it.” He indicated a dome-shaped model at the end of the row. “This bell-jar is my favorite. Isn't she a beauty?”
    “It's amazing they're still working.” If he'd showered as much attention on his wife, they might have had a happier marriage.
    Scott beamed proudly. “All of these have a mercury motor. It's inside the round box behind the movement. The motor transforms thermal energy into mechanical energy, which the clock movement uses to drive the balance and display the time. The Atmos clock consumes sixty times less energy than a wristwatch.”
    “No kidding? You mean the old wind-up type, don't you?”
    He frowned in response. “I have modern timepieces, too. You'll have to stop by my shop to see the Jubilee model. It was created in 1983 to celebrate the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the manufacturer. They produced a limited run of fifteen hundred units. This is number two hundred and twelve.”
    “They're all very attractive.” Marla admired the round- and square-shaped dials inside the glass and metal housing.
    “I have so many more. Grandfather clocks, mantle clocks, carriage and cuckoo clocks, master and electric models. I could start a museum.” His voice sped up, like a train gathering speed. If she didn't stop him now, Marla would never be able to change the topic.
    “How did Torrie feel about your business?”
    “She never understood my passion.” He cleared his throat.