A Fatal Chapter (18 page)

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” he asked, concerned.

Michele shook her head. “More frightened.”

“I’ll call for backup,” Hanson said, turned away, and spoke into the small microphone attached to the shoulder of his uniform blouse.

“Did he try to take your purse?” Tricia asked.

Michele shook her head again. “I would have gladly given it up. I was about to unlock my car when he came up from behind me with some kind of a cord.”

Tricia looked around but didn’t see any cord. The man must have taken it with him when he’d fled.

“Would you like to sit down, ma’am?” the cop asked.

“I want to go home,” Michele cried.

“You’ll do no such thing. The best room at the Sheer Comfort Inn is empty tonight. You can go there. It has a wonderful soaker tub, and I’m sure we can wrestle up a nice bottle of wine,” Angelica said, wrapping an arm around Michele’s shoulder.

“Oh, please. I just want to go home.”

“Before that happens, I need to ask you some questions,” Hanson said.

“Can she do that in my store?” Angelica asked. “It’s just a couple of doors down, and it’s warm and much more comfortable than standing around this chilly parking lot.”

“I’ll walk you down there,” Hanson said, and the four of them started off with Angelica and Michele in the lead, and Tricia keeping pace with the officer. “We heard her scream and came running. I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t scared the man away.”

“You’re sure it was a man?”

“Yes.”

“Was it anyone you’d recognize?”

Tricia shook her head.

They arrived at the Cookery. Angelica already had her keys out and unlocked the door. Tricia paused to pick up the ladder when she heard footsteps running across the road. “Tricia? What happened?”

It was Christopher, of course, only this time he wasn’t clad in pajamas.

“Someone attacked Michele in the municipal parking lot.”

“And you were telling me earlier how you didn’t need an escort,” he said angrily.

“Angelica and I found her,” Tricia said. “It’s lucky we’d just finished the last of the baskets and were around to hear her scream.” She turned away. “I can’t talk to you now. I’m a witness, and I need to speak to the officer.”

“All right. But I don’t want you walking back to the Chamber office by yourself. I’m going to wait right here until you’re ready to go home. No arguments.”

“Only if you promise no funny stuff.”

“I find nothing humorous about the situation,” he said.

She believed him.

“It’s cold and damp out. You may as well come inside and wait with us,” she said.

He nodded and took the ladder from her.

As they entered the Cookery, Tricia had no doubt it would be hours before she saw her bed.

She was right. The police investigation took several hours—far longer than the actual attack. Angelica was not able to convince Michele to stay at the inn. Instead, the officer drove her back to her apartment in Milford, with Tricia promising to have Pixie drive Michele back to the village the next morning. She knew she could count on Pixie to give a helping hand in a crisis.

Christopher was as good as his word. He stayed out of the way during the police investigation, and afterward they walked back to the Chamber office in silence. Upon arriving at the house, he insisted
on coming inside, making sure everything was safe, and then he said good night. No funny business, no begging for a kiss. Tricia wasn’t about to admit it, but Michele’s attack had rattled her. She’d felt safer with Christopher walking beside her.

After he left, Tricia poured herself a glass of wine from the small fridge in her sitting room and tried to read but was too distracted for even that. She settled on her comfy chair and was glad when Miss Marple joined her. It was only the sound of the cat’s rumbling purr that seemed to soothe her jagged nerves.

Eventually Tricia felt settled enough to try to go to sleep. She changed into her nightgown, slipped between the cool sheets, and turned off the light, but thoughts of the evening’s events kept circling through her mind.

Michele had anticipated some kind of attack, and it had come.

What did the man in black have against the Historical Society? And more frightening, how long after he was caught would it be before Tricia began to feel safe again?

The phone
rang far too early the next morning, but Tricia groped to pick up the receiver without opening her eyes. “’Ello.”

“They’re gone—they’re all gone!” Angelica practically wailed.

Tricia opened her eyes and squinted to focus on the numerals on her bedside clock. “Ange, it’s not even seven o’clock,” she muttered.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to make myself a cup of tea. I looked out my kitchen window and could see that every one of the silk flowers we put in the baskets last night is gone. Only, this time, let’s hope we caught on video the vandal who’s been stealing them. I’ll have that contemptible bastard thrown in jail for the rest of his miserable life.”

“I doubt any judge is going to sentence whoever stole the flowers to life in prison,” Tricia said reasonably.

“But that’s what he deserves. As soon as I get dressed, I’m heading over to the Coffee Bean to see if their surveillance camera caught the felon.”

Petit larceny was all the perp could be charged with, but it was no use arguing with Angelica when she was in one of those moods.

Again, Tricia squinted at her clock. Miss Marple had been sleeping at the foot of the bed. She was not pleased at being awakened this early, either. Still, now that she was awake, Tricia figured she might as well get up. If necessary, she’d apply a thick coat of concealer under her eyes. “If you can wait an extra ten minutes, I’ll come over and we can go to the Coffee Bean together,” she told her sister.

“Ten minutes,” Angelica threatened. “See you then.” She hung up.

Tricia threw back the covers, got up, and took the world’s fastest shower. She made it to the Cookery just twelve minutes later.

Angelica and Sarge were waiting in the Cookery. The dog barked a cheerful greeting as Tricia entered. “Are we taking Sarge with us?”

“Oh, no. He’s just back in from his morning tinkle break. I’ll take him on a proper walk later.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Tricia said, and she went back outside with Angelica hot on her heels.

Despite it being a Saturday, business was booming at the Coffee Bean. The line was five deep with joggers and others who’d stopped for a brew. It was one of the few shops on Main Street that the locals had fully embraced. As always, the aroma of coffee and fresh baked goods was intoxicating. Alexa was taking the orders and Boris was filling them as fast as he could.

“Ange, we might have to wait until the morning coffee rush is over before we can find out if the camera caught the person responsible for lifting the flowers.”

“I’ll wait here until closing if I have to. I want that guy arrested.”

Luckily, no one else came in after them, giving them hope Boris might have time to download the images to a disk.

“What can I get you this morning?” Alexa asked cheerfully.

“The flowers are gone. I hope your camera captured the person who did it?”

Alexa shook her head. “I saw there were none when I came in this morning. I knew you would be here early to see, so I had Boris download the video,” she said.

“I have it here,” Boris said in his thick Russian accent, and reached under the counter to come up with a jewel box and the disk inside it.

“Thank you so much,” Angelica said.

“Would you like something else?” Alexa asked hopefully.

“I’ll take a large French roast, and two of those apple-oatmeal muffins to go. Tricia?”

“I’ll have the same coffee, but a croissant.”

Angelica fidgeted the whole time it took Alexa and Boris to assemble their order. When they presented the cups and bags, Angelica handed Alexa a twenty and called out, “Keep the change,” before she practically ran from the store. Tricia had to hustle to keep up.

Angelica had the door to the Cookery unlocked in a flash, and Sarge seemed to think it was some kind of race as he ran to overtake Angelica before she could get to the stairs that led to her loft apartment. He barked with joy and shot up the stairs like a rocket taking off.

Tricia locked the door and followed at a more reasonable pace. By the time she reached the apartment, she found Angelica had already popped the DVD into her player and was waiting for it to start.

Tricia walked past her and into the kitchen, where she took out a couple of plates and set out her croissant, then took the other plate into the living room and retrieved the muffins from the bag Angelica had tossed onto the coffee table. She took a seat on the couch as Angelica paced, holding her coffee in one hand and the remote in another.

Despite Angelica’s claim the previous day, the picture quality wasn’t what you’d call great. Black and white and kind of murky was the best that could be said of it. Boris must have started recording after business hours. A couple strolled past the Coffee Bean hand in hand, and then there was—nothing but the empty sidewalk for long seconds.

Angelica hit the fast-forward button. People scurried across the screen in a kind of choppy motion, sort of like Charlie Chaplin in his old silent films, and the sky began to darken. The streetlamp came on in a flash, and more people came and went.

“How long do you think this is going to take?” Tricia asked.

“I can speed it up even faster, but I’m afraid we might miss something.”

Tricia sipped her coffee and sampled her croissant. Heavenly!

For long periods of time, no one passed in front of the camera, and then they saw themselves putting the flowers back into the closest hanging basket. Angelica hit the pause button.

“Oh, my—I don’t look that fat in real life, do I?”

“No,” Tricia said emphatically. “You know the camera always adds at least ten pounds.” She wasn’t sure Angelica believed her and didn’t want to elaborate.

Angelica hit the fast-forward button again. Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

And then a figure darted into the frame and was almost instantly gone.

“Rewind, rewind!” Tricia called frantically.

Angelica hit the rewind button and then pressed play. Once again the screen was filled with the image of the empty sidewalk, then
someone dressed in dark clothes with a hoodie stepped out of the shadows with a long-handled grabber, the kind used by the infirm who could no longer bend to pick up objects, and plucked the silk flowers from the basket, stuffing them into a dark plastic bag, then quickly moved on.

“So much for the guy being tall. Do you recognize him?” Angelica asked.

“Is it a man?” Tricia asked, not quite sure.

Angelica hit rewind, and they watched the video again. And again. And again.

“I didn’t say anything earlier, but the night before Michele was attacked, I felt like someone was watching as I walked back to the Chamber office. When I got inside, I hurried to look out the front window and saw someone dressed like the person in the video and carrying a big black plastic bag.”

“But you didn’t recognize him?” Angelica pressed.

Tricia shook her head.

Angelica frowned, staring at the still image on the TV screen. “I was so sure we were going to recognize who it was so we could have him arrested.”

“You can show the video to Chief Baker, but I don’t know what he’s going to be able to do.”

Angelica shook her head. “I’m sure I’ve seen that person before.”

“Ange, it could be
anyone
!” Tricia said, but Angelica was still shaking her head.

“I’m going to keep watching this until I figure out who it is.”

“Well, I think I know who it isn’t,” Tricia said, and took another sip of coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not the guy who attacked Michele. It seemed like that person was a lot bigger in stature. I know I only saw a glimpse of him, but the person in the video seems a lot shorter and thinner.”

“Why would anyone think the two were the same?”

Tricia shrugged. “Maybe because we seem to have a crime wave going on. I know I’d much rather have one villain than two menacing the village.”

“I’d rather have
no
villains menacing the village.”

Tricia drained her cup and stood. “I’ve got to get moving. I still have to do my morning walk.”

“Boring!” Angelica said. “Thanks to Sarge needing to go out every few hours, I get my exercise running up and down three flights of stairs all day. I’ve lost ten pounds since I got the little guy.”

Sarge barked. He knew a compliment when he heard it.

“Are you coming for supper tonight?” Angelica asked.

“Sure. And I’ll probably see you at Booked for Lunch, too.”

“Keep thinking about our flower filcher, will you please?”

“I will,” Tricia promised, gave her sister a brief hug, and headed for the door. Sarge accompanied her and barked when she didn’t grab his leash. “Sorry, little buddy, but you can’t come with me.”

Sarge barked again, then cocked his head and looked at her with sad eyes. He whimpered, just to make her feel even more guilty.

“Oh, all right,” Tricia grumbled. “Ange!” she called. “I’m taking Sarge.”

“Thanks!” Angelica called back.

Tricia reached for the leash and Sarge barked excitedly, running around in circles. “Calm down! You’d think you’d never been on a walk with me before.” She clipped the leash to Sarge’s collar, grabbed a plastic bag from the stash Angelica kept by the door, and picked him up, tucking him under her arm like a football. “Come on.”

Once outside the Cookery, Tricia set Sarge down, and he immediately set off, trotting off toward the park. When he came to the corner, he sat down, waiting for permission to cross.

“We’re not going north,” Tricia told him and gave the leash a slight tug. “We’re going west. This is
my
walk, not yours.”

Sarge looked up at her and blinked, but seemed game to try a new routine.

Vehicular traffic on Stoneham’s side streets was practically nonexistent on that Saturday morning. They crossed Main Street and started down Locust Street at a brisk pace.

Instead of thinking about the petal pincher as Angelica had suggested, Tricia tried to remember what she could about the figure she’d seen fleeing the municipal parking lot after Michele’s attack. The man—she felt sure it was a man—had been stocky but had had no trouble hurdling over the low metal barrier that surrounded the lot and then taking off at a run. Still, he hadn’t had to run far before he was swallowed by darkness. That meant the guy didn’t have to be all that athletic. They hadn’t run after him, so he could have pulled off his ski mask and just walked away without garnering any attention. The police had searched the area, but as far as Tricia knew, they hadn’t found anything of note.

Tricia turned down Pine Avenue. Mariana lived in the white house with the navy trim. Her landscaping was primarily low bushes flanking the front steps, but four baskets of purple and white petunias hung from the soffit on lengths of chain. They were pretty, with their blooms still intact, unlike the hanging baskets on Main Street. It seemed to prove the theory that the petal pincher had it in for the merchants on Main Street and not a hatred of flowers in general. Still, of the two menaces, Tricia would rather the village had to deal with petty vandalism than murder and attempted murder.

Tricia made it to the end of the block and turned right. She’d had her route figured out only days after the fire and had worn a pedometer for a few weeks until she’d figured out the mileage she wanted to walk per day. Sarge trotted along beside her as happy as only a dog could be. They turned onto Oak Street, where her friend Deborah Black had lived, and where Frannie Armstrong still lived.

They carried on to the corner and turned left up Locust once again. Tricia’s stomach tightened as she approached the next cross street, where Bob Kelly lived. She decided to skip walking down that road and walked up to the next block. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him that morning.

Bob, Bob, Bob
.

Tricia had never liked the man, despite his slight resemblance to Christopher. He was shorter, heavier set, but had the same green eyes that she always found so attractive in men. Still, there was something about him that had set off—well,
alarm bells
was really too strong a description, but she’d disliked him at first sight. The term
lounge lizard
came to mind whenever she thought about him or had to deal with him. That Angelica had found him fascinating, and then had become his lover, had irritated Tricia to no end. But as Tricia now knew, Angelica had a tendency to look for the good in people, even if she made the rest of the world think her just a selfish, vain woman. The fact that her fourth marriage had ended just before she’d met Bob had made her a prime target for a rebound romance.

Bob had done some very dishonorable things during the past that Tricia had not told Angelica about, far more than just the pumpkin-smashing incident. After they’d broken up, he’d rigged a Chamber contest with the prize of a night at a romantic bed-and-breakfast, bestowing it upon Angelica in hopes of a reconciliation. That she chose
Tricia to accompany her had made him angry, and he’d begged her not to tell Angelica. There were other such incidences. In fact, when she thought about it, Bob wasn’t at all honorable, and thankfully Angelica had finally acknowledged it—but only after he’d cheated on her.