A Fatal Chapter (15 page)

“But I’m not sure the current Board of Selectmen would want me to tell it. Don’t worry. My research isn’t quite finished. I’ll find other wonderful stories to tell about the old gent.”

“I have no doubt you will,” Tricia said, a smile tugging at her lips.

They walked deeper into the cemetery, Michele pointing out several of the more unusual monuments with a funny or poignant story to go with each of them. Saddest of all were the graves of a family of children who’d died as the result of a virus. It was so sad to think that the diseases of the past had taken such a devastating toll on those
with no access to the wonder drugs available to protect today’s children. How had their parents fared with such overwhelming loss? How had they carried on without those babies they’d loved with such tender care?

Finally, they wound their way back to the cemetery’s front entrance and their cars. The lot was empty now, but in the distance Tricia saw a figure watching them from the far side of the graveyard. It was a man, or at least she thought so, but from such a distance she really couldn’t be sure. And why was he staring at them?

Then again, maybe
she
was paranoid. The person was probably just facing in their direction, staring at a headstone, grieving for a loved one. She turned back to Michele.

“Thank you for a lovely lunch.”

“Don’t forget your leftovers,” Michele said, opening the picnic basket and extracting Tricia’s foam container, handing it to her.

“Thank you. I guess I’ll see you later this evening.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“See you then,” Tricia said, and got into her car. She started the engine and backed out of the parking space. But before she hit the accelerator to leave, she could have sworn she saw that the figure in the graveyard was still staring at them.

By the
time Tricia made it back to the Chamber office, Pixie had arrived for her afternoon stint, and Mariana was full of questions about the cemetery lunch.

“It wasn’t that big a deal. We ate fried chicken and potato salad and did a lot of girl talk.”

“About what?” Mariana pressed.

Tricia shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t record our conversation.”

Mariana pursed her lips and went back to her desk, looking disappointed. Had her day been so dull that she wanted to live vicariously through someone’s—anyone’s—adventure, however dull?

“I think it’s a cool place to have lunch,” Pixie said. “I heard the Historical Society is going to have ghost walks this fall. I’m going to sign up. I wonder if they’ll have a special Halloween ghost walk? Do you think they’d want people to come in costume? I love to dress up.”

Tricia inspected Pixie’s costume of the day, which was a navy-themed dress with white piping and a jaunty sailor’s cap to top it off. For a stocky, dyed-redheaded, gold-toothed woman on the high side of fifty, Pixie looked quite cute.

Luckily, the subject was soon dropped, and the rest of the afternoon was lost to phone calls, paperwork, and envelope stuffing.

Mariana left right on time at five o’clock, which gave Tricia and Pixie time to talk, and it was then she realized she’d been waiting all afternoon to live vicariously through Pixie’s new adventures in love land. “Are you spending the evening with Fred?” she asked.

“Yep. It’s a big day for us. Our two-month anniversary. We’re celebrating by getting tattoos.”

Tricia gaped. “But . . . isn’t it early in the relationship for that?”

Pixie shrugged. “We talked about that. So I’m getting the sun, and he’s getting the moon. They’re usually done together as one tat. Later, if things work out, I’ll get the moon, and he’ll get the sun. It’s kind of like a promise we’re making to each other.”

Promise rings wouldn’t be half as permanent.

“You ever think of getting a tat?” Pixie asked.

“I can honestly say no.”

“Everybody gets ’em nowadays. You could get a little book on your arm or ankle. It would be cute, but you need to go to a place that does quality work.”

“It sounds like you’ve done your homework on this.”

“Ya gotta. Otherwise, you end up looking like an old rummy sailor who got drunk and went to a hack. I’m wearing this tat to the grave and it
has
to look good.”

“You’re braver than me,” Tricia said sincerely.

Pixie waved a hand in dismissal. “Are you kidding? You’ve stared
down killers. That’s not something I could do, so a tattoo would be pretty easy stuff for a stand-up chick like you.”

Stand-up chick, huh? Tricia liked the sound of that.

Pixie waxed poetic on all the tattoos she’d seen in prison and beyond, then segued into her latest pedicure and wax—more information than Tricia really wanted to know, but she listened transfixed nonetheless. No doubt about it, Pixie could spin a story. Maybe she’d be interested in volunteering to be a docent for the Historical Society, too, some day.

All too soon it was time for Pixie to leave. Tricia watched as she grabbed her things and headed for the door.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Pixie paused. “When am I going to get to meet Fred?”

“You really want to?”

“Well, of course I do,” Tricia said.

“Gee, maybe you could stop by Booked for Lunch around ten thirty some morning. That’s when he makes his delivery.”

“Sounds good. Maybe I could scrounge a cup of coffee from Angelica at the same time.”

Pixie grinned. “I’ll bet you could.”

“All right. How about we plan it for some time next week?”

“Great.” Pixie headed for the door once more. “See ya tomorrow. And I’ll show off my tat as soon as I get in.” And out the door she went.

Tricia frowned. Pixie hadn’t mentioned just where this tattoo was going to go. Tricia just hoped it wasn’t going to be on an embarrassing body part.

With time to kill before she was to meet Angelica at her loft apartment, Tricia went out back to water the perennials that some previous owner had planted along the west side of the house.

Distracted by thoughts of possible tattoos she might one day get, she was halfway through the job, facing away from the drive, when a noise from behind caused her to turn with a start.

“Bob Kelly, what are you doing here at this time of day?” Tricia asked, nearly watering his shoes with the hose. He took a step back.

“I need you to make a decision, and I need it now,” Bob demanded, his tone formidable.

“Bob, what’s gotten into you?” Tricia asked, turning so that the water ran into the grass.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes!”

“I need the money. I’m going to jail unless I can keep paying that shark of an attorney of mine.”

“You mean because you ransacked your own property?”

“No, because I never finished my community service.”

“I thought that all blew over.”

“It didn’t. I’ve tried to keep it quiet, but it looks like they’re going to make me do time, and when I get out, I’ll be on probation, and not only will I have to finish my community service, but I’ll be stuck with even more of it.”

Oh, what a tangled web
, Tricia thought without pity.

“What about all the rent you collect? You own half the village.”

“Make that past tense.”

“You’ve sold some of your properties?”

“Not on Main Street, except for the lot where History Repeats Itself used to be. And now maybe your building, but only because it’s a wreck and I might have to put a lot of money into it if you leave without fixing it.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” Tricia said evenly.

“You’ve got the money,” Bob said.

Tricia did have the money, but she didn’t like being pressured. And she didn’t want to pay more than fair-market value, either. He’d already stuck her for more than fair-market rent. “And how would you know about my financial situation?” she bluffed. Angelica had probably told him. It seemed like she’d shared an awful lot of information with him.

“I have my ways.”

Tricia looked at him with suspicion. “Have you hacked into the bank’s files?”

Bob looked away.

Nobody knew how Betsy Dittmeyer, the Chamber’s former receptionist, had established so many bogus accounts in banks all over the country to hide her ill-gotten gains. Had she confided to Bob how she’d done it when she’d worked for him? Had they worked together? Probably not. If Bob could have gotten his hands on that money, he would have already done so. And once the accounts had been turned over to the district attorney, they were frozen so no one would have access to them.

“I haven’t done anything illegal,” he said at last.

“Since you vandalized Stan Berry’s home you mean?”

“Yes,” he said bitterly. “But I’ve considered doing something very stupid if I can’t buy my way out of this conviction.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m not about to tell
you
.”

Was he bluffing, or was he actually that desperate?

Tricia studied Bob’s face. The skin along his jaw was taut with worry, and the strain he was under was evident by his stooped posture.

“Come on, Tricia, buy the damn building.” He reached into the inner breast pocket of his rumpled green sports coat and pulled out
a sheaf of papers. “I’ve filled out the sales contract, all you have to do is—”

“No!” Tricia cried.

Bob slammed his fist against the home’s shingles, and Tricia jumped back, dropping the hose, afraid he might hit her, too. She’d never before been afraid of Bob Kelly, but at that moment she was. She took a shaky breath. “You’d better leave, Bob. Now. I don’t want to be forced to call the Stoneham Police Department to drag you away.”

Bob shoved the papers back into his pocket. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Tricia.”

Tricia took another shaky breath but stood tall. “Are you threatening me?”

But Bob didn’t answer. Instead, he pivoted and stormed off.

Still feeling shaky, Tricia realized the grass all around her was wet from the still gushing hose. Her hands were trembling as she turned off the water, coiled the hose, and replaced it on the rusty metal holder attached to the house. Taking a deep breath, she walked around the side of the building and walked up the ramp to the side entrance, which she’d left unlocked. For a moment she worried that Bob might have gone inside and was waiting for her, but Miss Marple sat in the middle of the hall leading to the office and didn’t seem at all alarmed.

Tricia stepped forward and picked up the cat, which nestled its head against her chin and began to purr with enthusiasm. “Thank you for being here, Miss Marple. At this moment, I need a kitty hug.” Miss Marple did not hug back, but her obvious affection helped Tricia to feel calmer.

All too soon, Miss Marple jumped down from Tricia’s embrace. Just as well. Tricia was going to be late meeting Angelica. She grabbed her keys, made sure she left the outside light switched on, and left
the house. It would be late when she returned from Pete’s wake—or from replacing the silk flowers. Would Bob be waiting for her? She tried not to think about it as she made her way down Main Street toward the Cookery.

The store had been closed a good half hour before Tricia arrived. She unlocked the door and let herself in. By the time she climbed the stairs to Angelica’s loft, she heard Sarge announcing her arrival with shrill barks and remembered that she’d forgotten to grab one of his dog biscuits before leaving the Chamber office. Oh well, she’d give him two the next time she saw him.

“Hello!” she called over the sound of barking. Once Sarge realized who the intruder was, his barking immediately switched from menace to welcome.

“Come on back to the kitchen,” Angelica hollered.

Tricia cautiously made her way down the hall with Sarge bouncing along at her side. As they entered the kitchen, Angelica said, “Hush!”

The barking immediately stopped, and Sarge looked at Tricia with hopeful eyes, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “I forgot his biscuit.”

“You know where I keep them,” Angelica said, and Tricia helped herself to one from the canister on the counter. Sarge sat up pretty and accepted the biscuit, then scurried off to his bed to enjoy it.

“What’s for dinner?” Tricia asked as Angelica piped yolk mixture into half of an egg.

“Just leftovers from the café, I’m afraid. Salads mostly. And we had a lot of eggs left over, so I’m making deviled eggs.”

“Quite a few. What’s that, two dozen halves?”

Angelica nodded. “I thought I could take them to the Dog-Eared Page for Pete’s wake later on.”

“Good idea,” Tricia said. “Who told you about the wake?”

“Nobody. I kind of suggested it.”

“You did?”

“Well, Michele Fowler is the one who got the word around. I just put a bug in her ear.”

“She said Nigela Ricita authorized eats for Pete’s wake.”

Angelica shrugged. “Sad people drink too much. We don’t want anyone to get drunk, have an accident, and sue us.”

That sounded like the words of a businesswoman, but Tricia didn’t believe it for a minute. Angelica equated food with love. It was so like her to want to feed people—especially those who were grieving.

“What kind of a day did you have?”

“Busy. I had lunch with Michele at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery.”

“Not my kind of lunch venue,” Angelica said, wrinkling her nose.

“It was quite nice, actually. She already knows quite a bit of local history—and good gossip, too.”

“And what was the occasion?”

“She doesn’t want me talking to anyone about the ghost walks.”

“And so you’re telling me,” Angelica said, looking up from her handiwork.

“You won’t repeat it. She’s worried that whoever killed Pete and came after Janet might mark her next.”

“I can’t say I blame her,” Angelica moved on to another egg half. “Anything happen at the Chamber today that I should know about?”

“Everything’s putting along just fine, but I did have a bit of a scare just before I came here. Bob came to visit me, and he wasn’t friendly.”

Angelica looked up. “What do you mean?”

“He shoved a sales contract for my building in my face, and when I wouldn’t sign, he slammed his fist into the side of the house.”

“Bob threatened you?” Angelica repeated incredulously.

Tricia nodded. “And he meant to frighten me. He’s determined not to go to jail. He said he might be forced to do something stupid. What do you think that means?”

Angelica shrugged. “I don’t know. Liquidate his assets?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Angelica said. “Bob’s family had nothing. Everything he has he earned through hard work.” She shook her head. “It upsets me to think he threatened you. I didn’t think he would stoop that low.”

“I’ll admit, I was actually afraid.”

“Have you told Grant Baker about this encounter?” Angelica said, and piped the remaining yolk mixture into the last egg half.

“No, it happened just before I left to come here. But maybe I should.”

“What about Christopher?”