A Fatal Chapter (12 page)

“If you say so.”

“I do. And I’m sure you have better things to do than further speculate about my personal life.”

At last Mariana looked away. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business what you do on your own time.”

“No, it isn’t,” Tricia replied, but that didn’t help her case. She knew Christopher leaving her temporary home in the early morning was sure to be the subject of gossip no matter how she tried to defend herself. She decided to ignore it and pulled her chair closer to the desk.

Mariana switched on her radio. No doubt she’d waited to do so until Baker had left so she could eavesdrop.

Stop it!
Tricia ordered herself. Mariana was not Frannie—and as far as Tricia knew, Mariana hadn’t succumbed to idle gossip. At least not yet.

Tricia checked her e-mails and found one from Angelica.

Looks like I’m busy all day with you-know-what business—and of course trying to track down silk flowers for the hanging baskets. I heard from Antonio—and we’re on for dinner tonight. Will meet you at my place and I’ll drive, then later tonight we can finish replacing the flowers? Tootles.

Terrific. Another late night. If Christopher showed up again, Tricia decided she would decline his offer to walk her home. She turned her attention to her own calendar.
Coffee with Mr. E.

Her outlook suddenly brightened. She always enjoyed spending time with Mr. Everett. If the weather was fine, they’d stop at the Coffee Bean, buy a cup to go, and walk to the park, making sure to sit far away from the gazebo—the site of Deborah Black’s death. Now, with Pete Renquist’s death, they had even more reason to do so.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Mr. Everett would be arriving soon. She opened and answered several e-mails before the side door opened. “Hello!” Mr. Everett called.

“Come on in,” Tricia called happily.

At the sound of the elderly gent’s voice, Miss Marple ran up to greet him, winding around his ankles and telling him how much she’d missed him. He scooped her up and she nuzzled his chin, purring loudly.

“I’m always happy to see you, too, Miss Marple,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

“We’re going for coffee,” Tricia told Mariana. “Can I bring you back anything?”

Mariana shook her head. “But thanks for the offer.”

Tricia pushed back her chair and hurried to join Mr. Everett.

He set the cat down. “I’ll see you later, my dear Miss Marple.”

Miss Marple said,
“Yow!”

Mr. Everett gestured for Tricia to precede him out the door, and they walked in comfortable silence to the Coffee Bean. Mr. Everett purchased cups of their respective favorite brews, and they headed for the park.

Tricia glanced across the street to look at the refurbished hanging baskets. From a distance, they looked pretty good. She’d try to get a closer view later in the day.

Mr. Everett noticed her staring. “Very odd, isn’t it?”

“Odd?” Tricia asked, facing him.

“That most of the flowers are gone, and those across the street aren’t the same as they were last week.”

“It seems we have some kind of floral vandal in town,” Tricia said as they paused at the corner, looked both ways, and crossed.

“Odder still that there should be lilies among them,” he commented. “I’ve never seen them in a hanging arrangement before.”

Tricia cleared her throat. “How’s Grace?” she asked, desperate to change the conversation.

“Happy in her work,” Mr. Everett said, “as am I. But I shall be overjoyed when Pixie and I can return to Haven’t Got a Clue with you and Miss Marple.”

“Believe me, I’m counting the days.”

“Do you have a timetable?”

Tricia shook her head. “I’m still waiting for the insurance man to call.”

They walked around the perimeter of the park, settling on their favorite bench. Tricia removed the cap from her coffee, blowing on it to cool it.

“It’s terrible what happened to Peter Renquist,” Mr. Everett said.

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I enjoyed working with him through the Chamber.”

Mr. Everett nodded.

“Did you know him?” Tricia asked.

“He worked for me about twenty years ago at the grocery store, stocking shelves.”

Tricia frowned. “Wasn’t that an entry-level job? Pete must have been at least thirty at the time.”

Mr. Everett nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “He was obviously overqualified but in desperate need of employment. He promised he would stick with the job for at least six months. During that time, he became a volunteer for the Historical Society.”

“Did they hire him away from you?”

Mr. Everett shook his head. “He worked the full six months he’d promised me, then found a better-paying job at the library in Milford. The Historical Society hired him several years later.” He shook his head. “Such a shame. He was a hard worker and was well liked.”

“Not by Earl Winkler,” Tricia said, remembering Pete’s last conversation with the curmudgeon.

“Were I Peter, I’d have considered that a compliment.”

“Why, Mr. Everett, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a disparaging word against anyone.”

“If ever there was a selectman who was against seeing the village prosper, it’s Winkler. I will not go into details, but I once had an unpleasant encounter with him back when I still owned my store. That enough members of the electorate saw him as a fit candidate is a mystery to me.”

Tricia knew better than to press him with questions about the incident. The memory must have been a bitter one for Mr. Everett to have even mentioned it. She decided to turn the conversation back to Pete. “Chief Baker wasn’t sure what, if any, burial arrangements were being made. I wonder if the Historical Society will at least hold a memorial service for Pete.”

“I’d be happy to contact them, find out, and pass along the word. I’d certainly be among those who’d like to show their respects.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said, and took another sip of her coffee.

“I saw Ginny yesterday,” Mr. Everett offered.

“So did I. Angelica and I are going to have dinner with her and Antonio tonight at the Brookview Inn.”

“That should be nice. I don’t suppose Ginny will have much time to socialize after the baby arrives, which should be any day now. Grace and I can’t wait to be his or her honorary grandparents.”

Oh, dear. Would he and Grace be offended if Angelica stepped into what everyone would think was an honorary position as well?

“Will you be babysitting?” she asked.

Mr. Everett looked surprised. “I shouldn’t think so. I would be frightened I might drop the baby.” He shook his head. “I believe we’ll just be around to spoil the child.” He nodded and smiled. “I think I’ll quite enjoy that.”

“I’m looking forward to being an honorary aunt, as well,” Tricia admitted. And now that honor hit a little closer to home. Honorary step-aunt? She frowned. Perhaps she’d just leave the step part out.

“Will you be babysitting?” Mr. Everett asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve changed a diaper only once before, but I suppose with practice I could get good at it. I think I’d prefer to take pictures and bring gifts.”

“You mean spoil the child—like Grace and me?”

Tricia laughed. “Definitely.”

Mr. Everett drained his cup, then looked at his watch. “It’s time for me to get to work at the Cookery. A lot of Internet orders came in late yesterday afternoon. As your sister uses the same software as you had at Haven’t Got a Clue, I’ll be up to speed to start fulfilling the orders on day one after we reopen.”

“I’ve tried to keep up with the inventory as I’ve purchased books for stock, but I’m afraid it’s gotten away from me.”

“Not to worry. Between the three of us, we’ll catch up before the grand reopening. I hope you don’t mind, but Pixie and I have been drawing up a list of ideas for the celebration.”

“Mind? I’m thrilled. Perhaps the three of us—and Grace, if she’d like to listen to shop talk—can get together for lunch to talk about it.”

“That would be lovely,” Mr. Everett said, and stood. He took Tricia’s empty cup and disposed of it and his in one of the park’s trash barrels.

They crossed the lush grass, heading for Main Street. “I’ll see you soon,” Mr. Everett promised, giving Tricia a nod.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she said, and they parted company, Tricia headed north and Mr. Everett went south.

As Tricia briskly walked back to the Chamber office, she pondered what Selectman Winkler could have done to upset Mr. Everett all those years ago, and wondered if she would ever know.

The rest
of the morning flew past. Tricia made follow-up calls to at least ten numbers on her long list of outlying businesses. After much practice, her pitch was practically perfect, and of the ten calls, she’d convinced four to join, processing three credit card orders and with the promise that Bright Smile Orthodontics would be sending a check in the next day’s mail. Angelica would be pleased.

E-mail seemed to have piled up while she’d been on the phone, but she decided to tackle it after lunch.

Even though Angelica wasn’t going to be available, Tricia knew her sister would have made sure her usual tuna plate was ready as a to-go order at Booked for Lunch. So much for remembering to order something different. As she walked along Main Street, Tricia noticed several of the shopkeepers looking through their windows at her and waving, their faces covered in silly smirks. No doubt they’d heard about Christopher leaving the Chamber office in his pajamas—perhaps they’d
even witnessed him walking down the street. He probably hadn’t had the sense to take the back alley.

Still, Tricia walked on, her head held high. She had nothing to feel ashamed of. Christopher had been the jerk who’d pushed his way into her temporary home, and nothing naughty had happened. And even if it had, it was nobody else’s business.

Booked for Lunch was packed with tourists, and Pixie was waiting on a table in back when Tricia arrived. Bev, the full-time waitress, refilled a customer’s coffee, her smile broadening when she saw Tricia.

“Hey there, stranger. We missed seeing you yesterday, but then I guess you’ve been busy,” she said, and giggled.

“I had lunch with Ginny yesterday. I picked up our take-out orders,” she reminded Bev.

“Oh, yes—that’s right. It’s just that—”

“I have to get back to work,” Tricia interrupted. “I’ll just take my lunch to go.”

Bev retrieved the salad from the small under-the-counter fridge and transferred it to a foam container. “Enjoy. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she said with a smirk.

Tricia said nothing and left the café.

This time, Tricia didn’t look right or left as she trudged back up the street toward the Chamber office. Instead of eating at her desk, she choked down her lunch at the little bistro table in the small kitchen, just in case Mariana wanted a little more fun at her expense. Afterward, she went back to her desk to attack the ever-multiplying e-mails.

It was after two, and Mariana was on her way back from the storage closet with another ream of paper for the printer, when she said, “Pixie’s late today.”

Tricia glanced at the clock. Sure enough, it was nearly ten after
two. “Booked for Lunch was packed a while ago. Pixie might have had to stay late to help clean up.”

Her speculation was proved wrong when Pixie arrived at the Chamber office five minutes later, carrying a cardboard tray with the Coffee Bean’s distinctive cups and one of their bags, no doubt filled with biscotti or muffins.

“Sorry I’m late, but I figured you ladies wouldn’t complain if I brought a treat for all of us.”

“Pixie, you spoil us,” Mariana said, but she sounded pleased nonetheless.

“And it’s fun to do,” Pixie said, her smile wide, her gold canine tooth flashing. She passed out cups and napkins. The muffins were apple raisin, which pleased Tricia. She was becoming adept at convincing herself that anything that contained fruit
could
be considered healthy.

“Did you hear what happened last night?” Pixie asked, her eyes wide, practically gushing.

“You mean this morning?” Mariana asked, giving Tricia the eye.

“No, it was definitely last night,” Pixie said with confidence. “Janet Koch over at the Historical Society was mugged. Mugged! Right here in Stoneham!” she cried.

“Mugged? Where did it happen?” Tricia asked, alarmed.

“I guess she was working late at the Historical Society and someone jumped her when she was leaving.”

“Is she all right?” Tricia asked, aghast.

Pixie shook her head.

“She’s not—” Tricia couldn’t even bring herself to say the
D
word.

“No,” Pixie said, “but whoever hit her
left
her for dead. She was found by the Society’s groundskeeper this morning. She’s at the hospital in Nashua in a coma with a fractured skull.”

“Will she live?” Tricia asked, nearly on the verge of tears. She liked Janet.

Pixie shrugged. “I guess it’s too soon to tell. Poor lady. Alexa”—one of the Coffee Bean’s owners—“says she’s a nice person.”

“That she is,” Tricia sadly agreed, looking down at her muffin. She’d lost her appetite. Poor Janet. And her attack, coming on the heels of Pete’s murder . . . There had to be a connection.

“What have you got for me to do today, Tricia?” Pixie asked.

Before Tricia could answer, Mariana piped up. “I could use some help with the Member Appreciation Day invitations, if you don’t mind, Tricia.”

“Not at all,” she said, distracted.

Tricia tried to go back to work, but her thoughts couldn’t seem to stray from the the idea of Janet lying on the damp ground outside the Society’s headquarters all night. She considered calling the hospital to get an update, but realized that the HIPAA laws would prevent her being told anything of relevance. Instead, she took her cell phone into the Chamber’s small kitchen and called Grant Baker’s personal number and was surprised when it didn’t immediately roll over to voice mail. “Baker here.”

“Grant, it’s Tricia. I just heard about Janet Koch. What happened?”

“It looks like her attacker smashed her head into the stone wall. We found traces of blood on the side of the building. She was found by a coworker. The EMTs estimate she’d been lying on the ground outside the Historical Society’s back entrance all night.”

“But she has a husband. Didn’t he worry about her?” Tricia asked.

“He’s out of town on a business trip. One of their neighbors tracked him down. He’s on his way back from Chicago and should get in this evening.”

“What a terrible thing to come home to. What are Janet’s chances?”

“I haven’t gone to the hospital, but I did talk to a doctor in the ER. It doesn’t look good.”

Tricia’s heart constricted. “She’s such a lovely woman. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

“It sure looks suspicious. First Renquist is killed, then his coworker is attacked. What’s someone got against the Historical Society?”

“I can’t imagine. They’re all such nice people.”

“I’m warning you, Tricia: don’t use this incident as an excuse to go poking around,” Baker said.

“Me? Poke around?”

“Yes, you. Someone means business, and you may have used up your store of good luck.”

The village jinx having good luck? From the corner of her eye, Tricia saw Miss Marple enjoying her afternoon bath. Tricia had come so close to losing the cat in the fire. Yes, she did possess a lot of luck. But she wasn’t willing to push that luck, either.

“I have no wish to be the next victim,” Tricia said firmly. “I heard Janet is at St. Joseph.”

“Yes. I’ve got a call in to see if I can get some protection from the Sheriff’s Department, and if I do, she won’t be allowed visitors. She’ll need them more when—or if—she recovers.”

If.
It was a pretty big word when someone’s life hung in the balance.

“Thank you for speaking to me,” Tricia said.

“I’ll let you know if we come up with anything.”

“Thank you.”

They said good-bye. No sooner had Tricia shoved her phone back into the pocket of her slacks when her ringtone sounded. She recognized the number and frowned: Christopher. She considered tossing
her phone out the window, but as Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” continued to play, she stabbed the incoming-call icon. “What?” she demanded.

“Trish?”

“Yes!”

“Are you mad at me?”

“You mean you couldn’t tell?”

Silence.

“What do you want now?” she asked crossly.

“To apologize. It didn’t occur to me that—”

“That you might ruin my reputation?”

“That’s a little strong,” Christopher said reproachfully. “I mean, you
are
my wife.”

“
Ex
-wife,” she said with emphasis on the first syllable.

“And it’s not like the village doesn’t know about your past liaisons.”

“Keep talking, Christopher. You’re digging yourself in deeper and deeper.”

“I’m sorry. I mean it. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Please, just leave me alone,” Tricia said wearily.

“You know that’s impossible. I care about you.”

Tricia indulged herself and rolled her eyes.

“Will you and Angelica be working on the flowers again tonight?” Christopher asked.

“Yes, but do me a favor—don’t join us. Stay home. Don’t even look out the window.”

“But I worry about you. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

Yada yada yada.

It was time to cut the conversation short.

“I accept your apology. Have a nice day. Good-bye.” Hoping he’d
get the message and not call back, she broke the connection before he could go on (and on). To make sure, she switched off her phone. He could always call the Chamber directly, but she decided she’d let Pixie and Mariana handle all incoming calls for the rest of the afternoon.

With that decided, Tricia returned to her desk and refreshed her e-mail.

The phone rang. Pixie picked it up. “Stoneham Chamber of Commerce. This is Pixie. How can I help you?”

Tricia opened an e-mail from Dr. Wimberly’s dental office inquiring about the monthly networking meeting.

“Oh, sure, she’s right here.” Pixie covered the mouthpiece and looked directly at Tricia. “It’s for you.”

“I’m not taking calls from Christopher Benson.”

“It’s from your insurance agent.”

Tricia’s heart skipped a beat, and she grabbed the receiver from the phone on her desk. “John? Please tell me you have good news about the insurance settlement.”

“Sorry, but sometimes no news is good news.”

That wasn’t what Tricia wanted to hear.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, but . . . annoying. Bob Kelly has called me every day for the last week, hounding me to settle your claim. He wants you to buy his building.”

Tricia sighed. “I’m sorry he’s nagging you. He’s been bugging me, too.”

“He seems to think that the quicker we settle, the quicker you’ll buy it.”

“Mr. Kelly has an inflated opinion of the building’s worth. According to the agent at NRA Realty, he’s asking at least ten percent over market value. He won’t come down, and I’m not going up.”

“How long is it until your lease is up?”

“Another year. And, unfortunately, I’m still paying monthly rent, though I can’t use the building or live there.”

“We understand that, but as I warned you at the onset, these things take time. There’s a lot to consider and—”

“Yes, yes,” Tricia said, cutting him off. They’d been over this territory far too many times in the past six months. She didn’t need to hear it again. “The next time I speak to Bob—and I’m sure it won’t be long—I’ll ask him to refrain from calling you.”

“Thanks. And as soon as I hear anything, I’ll call you—day or night.”

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks, John.”

They said good-bye and Tricia put the phone down. She noticed Pixie hovering.

“No good news?” Pixie asked anxiously.

Tricia shook her head.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like working here and at Booked for Lunch, but I just want to go
home
.”

Tricia felt the same way. “I’m glad you think of Haven’t Got a Clue with such affection.”

“Well, I’m not in a hurry for either of you to leave,” Mariana said.

“Unfortunately, once the settlement comes through, we’ve still got to wait for the store to be refurbished. There was a lot of fire, smoke, and water damage on the first floor. It can be fixed, but it’s going to take a couple of months.”

“If nothing else, we’ll be open for the Christmas rush,” Pixie said, her gold tooth flashing as she grinned.

Tricia smiled. Pixie’s faith gave her hope. “Yes, we will.”

“Until then, we’re a team, right?” Mariana asked.

“You bet your ass,” Pixie answered.

“Then we’d better get back to work,” Tricia said.

“Are you nearly done with the newsletter?” Mariana asked.

“Just waiting for Angelica’s okay. Then I’ll pass it along to you two for a final proofread.” She pulled up the file but found it hard to concentrate with so many other subjects preying on her mind. Poor Janet lying in a hospital bed near death while Bob and Christopher kept concocting new ways to annoy Tricia, and the insurance company plotted to delay her check and keep her working gratis for the Chamber. And what would Ginny say when Angelica confessed that she was actually Nigela Ricita? Would the shock cause Ginny to go into labor?

Now you’re not only being melodramatic, you’re being silly
, Tricia chided herself.

She scanned the first paragraph of Angelica’s News from the President column and spied a typo. Oops.

Back to work
, she told herself, but doubted she’d accomplish too much.