A Fatal Chapter (19 page)

How low was the man willing to stoop?

Tricia found herself walking slower.

Murder?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said aloud, and looked down at Sarge, who looked back up at her. “I was talking to myself,” she said, embarrassed. But again her stomach seemed to quiver.

It was then Tricia remembered the Chamber of Commerce membership list that Betsy Dittmeyer had put together. It wasn’t really a list, more a dossier of the Chamber’s members, and the information she’d gathered on each member didn’t chronicle their nobler aspects. The document was filled with vile assumptions and vicious gossip. Tricia had always meant to delete the file but somehow had never gotten around to doing so.

She abruptly turned, walking into the leash and nearly tripping over the dog. “Come on, Sarge. We’re cutting our walk short.” And she started down Locust Street once again at almost a jog, with the poor pup struggling to keep up with her.

Tricia only slowed when she entered the driveway of the Chamber’s office. She opened the door and unhooked Sarge from his leash. “Be a good boy and go to bed,” she told him, thankful Miss Marple was nowhere in sight. She shut the door to the stairs behind her and took them two at a time. At the landing, she turned right toward her sitting room. Miss Marple was asleep on the chair. Tricia headed straight for the small table that served as a desk and booted up her laptop, thankful she’d been good about storing her files on an off-site server.
It took only a minute or two before she pulled up the document and scanned down to the listing for the Stoneham Historical Society. Sure enough, Pete Renquist was listed as their representative.

A former junkie, who did time in the Essex County, New Jersey, lockup for possession with intent to sell narcotics. Was released when the charges fell through on a technicality and kicked the habit. He was a deadbeat dad, whose ex-wife had to sue for back child support, and his wages at the Stoneham Historical Society were garnished until he paid off the backlog.

Where had Betsy gotten all that information from? Had she had access to Social Security numbers, hacked bank accounts, and other databases?

And then it suddenly occurred to Tricia who else who knew about the file: Angelica, Chief Baker, and perhaps a few of his officers, and, of course, Bob Kelly.

Tricia’s stomach tightened.

What possible reason would Bob have had to kill Pete Renquist and brutally assault Janet Koch? The attacks on them must have had something to do with the Historical Society—and possibly the ghost walks. Had Bob ever even mentioned the Historical Society to Angelica?

Angelica might not want to talk about Bob. She had been his lover for several years, but since their breakup, she’d made it clear they were no longer even friends. She had never spoken a word against the man, and it angered her when Tricia did. But surely she’d break that silence if Bob proved to be a killer.

Bob a killer? Tricia still found it hard to wrap her mind around that thought. Still, his life of crime had started early. As a teen, he’d skipped town to avoid the community service he’d been sentenced to perform after being convicted of a youthful indiscretion. And then, of course, there was the legal problem he’d been trying so hard to get out of. His fingerprints had been found at Stan Berry’s home after the place had been ransacked following his death. Bob owned the property, and she supposed his attorney might try to say he had a right to be in the home . . . but not when the victim’s son had shown an interest in renegotiating the lease. Bob had wanted him out so he could rent the place for more money to someone else. It was going to cost him a lot of money to get out of that one without serving some kind of time in addition to the reinstatement of the sentence of community service he’d skipped out on so many years before.

But Bob a killer?

No, Tricia couldn’t believe it.

Could someone else have had access to Betsy Dittmeyer’s files? Again, she’d have to ask Angelica.

Tricia bit her lip. What other possible suspects could there be? Earl Winkler? On the last morning of his life, Pete and Earl had exchanged angry words about the proposed ghost walks. Had they argued on other occasions? Earl was a grumpy old man, but that didn’t mean he was a killer.

Janet Koch might be the key to knowing who had killed Renquist; was that why Pete’s killer had tried to eliminate her, too?

The Historical Society seemed to be the common denominator. No doubt Chief Baker had already spoken with all of its staff. Tricia had told him she’d stay out of it, and she’d meant it. But she also
seemed to have a knack for getting people to talk—and often about things they later regretted. And yet, she didn’t have a rapport with the rest of the Historical Society’s workforce. She’d always dealt with Pete and Janet, and she doubted Angelica knew any of its members on a personal basis, either.

Tricia thought about the cocktail party she’d attended on the Society’s grounds when the Italianate garden had been rededicated the previous summer. The Brookview Inn had catered the affair. Would Antonio or one of his staff have dealt with just Pete and Janet, or would someone else on its staff have been assigned to deal with the inn and its personnel? Tricia knew a few of the people who worked at the inn, but they blamed her—not Stan Berry’s killer—for the unfortunate events that had occurred after the murderer had been exposed. They wouldn’t willingly talk to her, and Antonio wasn’t one to gossip, and even now that they were almost related, she was sure he wouldn’t do anything to anger Angelica when it came to possibly jeopardizing Tricia’s safety. Count him out as an accessory.

Mariana hadn’t worked for the Chamber all that long, but Frannie Armstrong had worked for the organization for over ten years before coming to work for Angelica at the Cookery. She was no fan of Bob, who’d treated her poorly, but she’d known him longer than anyone else Tricia could think of. Frannie had an encyclopedic memory, and she loved to gossip—on any subject. Of course, their friendship had cooled somewhat after Tricia had pointed out that Frannie might make a plausible suspect for Betsy Dittmeyer’s death. Still, Tricia was determined to talk to her before she shared her suspicions with Angelica or Chief Baker.

Tricia closed the file and shut down her computer. She looked across the room. Miss Marple hadn’t stirred. She got up, tiptoed across
the room, and went down the stairs. She found Sarge in his basket. “Walkies,” she called. The dog hadn’t been asleep, and he shot out of his bed like a cannonball.

Hooking the leash to his collar, they started for the door. Tricia only hoped Frannie would be able to tell her what she needed to
know.

Tricia and
Sarge retraced their steps to Oak Street. This time when they approached Frannie’s house, she was outside kneeling in front of the small garden, weeding. “Hi, Frannie,” Tricia called cheerfully, so as not to startle her.

Frannie looked over her shoulder. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” Sarge barked and pulled at his leash. He and Frannie were great friends, too. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have made sure I had a dog biscuit for you.”

“Both of us?” Tricia asked, and laughed.

“Sorry, I don’t eat yogurt or tuna, and that’s about
all
you eat,” Frannie said pointedly.

Tricia ignored the jibe. “It’s been such a long time since we talked,” Tricia said.

Frannie looked up, eying her suspiciously. “It has.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine.” Silence fell between them. Then Frannie asked, “Didn’t I see you and Sarge walking down my street only half an hour ago?”

“You did,” Tricia admitted. “We’re just retracing our steps, trying to get in another mile or two. Isn’t that right Sarge?”

Sarge barked in agreement. Tricia hadn’t known a dog could lie.

“I’m not used to having weekends off, although I’m sure enjoying my stint working at the Chamber. Do you ever miss it?”

“The Chamber? No. Why would I?” Frannie asked, sounding annoyed.

Tricia shrugged. “I don’t know. I should think it’s a lot more exciting now than when you were there. Probably more interesting, too.”

“That’s a given. From what Angelica tells me, there’s lots of fun stuff going on all the time.” She seemed to think it over for a moment. “Yeah, it sounds a whole lot better than when I worked there. Angelica is full of so many ideas, and the membership has sure changed, with lots of new people, new businesses. But I’m happy where I am now,” she asserted, and looked at her watch. “I need to finish my weeding before I have to show up at the Cookery an hour from now.”

“I don’t mean to keep you, but I know what you mean. I hope to be back to Haven’t Got a Clue soon, but in the meantime, it hasn’t been unpleasant working for the Chamber. I’ve learned a lot of new things—and a lot about Stoneham.”

“Any news from the insurance company?” Frannie asked.

Ah, the perfect opening. “No. But Bob Kelly has been pressuring me to buy the building.”

“So I heard,” Frannie said. No doubt Angelica had mentioned it.

“He doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer,” Tricia said.

“He can be a very stubborn man,” Frannie agreed.

“In what way?” Tricia asked, innocently.

“When he wants something, he gets it,” she said firmly.

“Unless he lowers the price, I’m not buying.”

“Then he’ll do what it takes to
make
you buy it.”

“You’re scaring me a little,” Tricia said with a mirthless laugh.

“You ought to be scared. I was lucky he didn’t retaliate against me more than he did after I took the job at the Cookery.”

“He retaliated against you? How?”

“First, he tried to sabotage my friendship with Angelica. He threatened that he would have me fired within a month of my working there, but then he’d never met anyone who could really stand up to him like she could—can,” Frannie corrected herself.

“What else did he do?”

“I could never prove it, of course,” she began, “but my credit rating took a huge hit just after I left the Chamber. Bob knows a lot more about computers than he ever lets on, and thanks to his real estate holdings, he has all kinds of ins with various financial institutions.”

“You can’t mean the Bank of Stoneham,” Tricia said, alarmed. She liked its manager, Billie Burke, and couldn’t imagine her tampering with files or doing anything illegal.

Frannie shook her head. “Bob deals with a lot of out-of-state banks. A couple of them listed liens against my house. That took a lot of juggling to straighten out. Thank goodness for Angelica. She has more friends in high places than Bob, and pulled some strings to help me set things right.”

“Did she believe Bob had anything to do with it?” Tricia asked.

“No. Usually she’s such a good judge of character. I don’t know what in God’s name she ever saw in that sorry excuse for a man.”

Neither do I,
Tricia refrained from saying aloud.

“He’s not still bothering you, is he?” Tricia asked.

“Right now he’s got more on his mind than just annoying little
people like me—and that’s just the way he sees me. Little. Insignificant. Unimportant. I’ll tell you the truth, I’m glad he’s forgotten about me. That man frightens me.”

Tricia had always thought Frannie was fearless; to find out she wasn’t startled her. But what had she really told Tricia but conjecture and innuendo—a gossip’s best friends. Still, Tricia believed every word Frannie had uttered.

She looked down at the marigolds and red zinnias that populated Frannie’s little garden. “They’re so pretty, unlike the hanging baskets along Main Street.”

Frannie nodded knowledgably. “Angelica has kept me informed. It’s a shame. They cost such a lot of money and brought such beauty to our little village.”

“Once again, we’re probably out of the running for prettiest village in New Hampshire.” Tricia shook her head sadly. “I might have seen who is responsible, but it was late and dark, and the person wore a hoodie and was carrying a large trash bag. I’ll just bet it was full of the silk flowers we put in those baskets.”

“Angelica doesn’t like me to gossip,” Frannie said, “but I’ll bet if you checked a certain Dumpster here in the village, you just might find those missing silk flowers.”

“You know who’s responsible?”

“As you know, I hear things,” Frannie said cryptically.

Tricia met Frannie’s penetrating gaze. “I’m listening.”

“Sometimes I take a walk in the early morning before it gets too hot. The other day I saw a man walking up Main Street with a big black trash bag in one hand and a—”

“Long-handled gripper in the other?” Tricia guessed.

“Yes.”

“I think I saw him, too. But I didn’t know who it was. I don’t suppose you saw what he did with the flowers he was plucking.”

“When he saw me, he stopped at the nearest trash barrel and shoved the bag in.”

“Do you remember exactly where?”

Frannie thought for a moment. “Must have been right in front of the
Stoneham Weekly News
.”

“Would you be willing to tell Chief Baker what you saw?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll have him give you a call.”

“It took me a day or two to figure out who it was,” Frannie said with certainty.

“And?” Tricia asked.

•   •   •

Tricia and
Sarge hurried back to the Cookery, but when they reached Angelica’s apartment, Tricia found a note taped to the door
. Off to Booked for Lunch to get the salads going. I’ll be working with Pixie today. See you at the usual time. Tootles!

So much for having a Dumpster-diving buddy.

Tricia returned Sarge to the loft apartment, unhooked his leash, gave him a couple of biscuits, and left the building. Once outside, she noticed a truck parked in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. Jim Stark stood before the derelict store, staring at it.

Tricia put on a happy face. “Hi, Jim.”

Stark turned and nodded in her direction but said nothing. He turned back to the soot-stained façade. Tricia moved to stand beside him.

“The outside fixes are mostly cosmetic,” Stark said. “We’ll scrub the stucco, repair it, and replace the glass in the window.”

“It’s the damage inside that’s heartbreaking,” Tricia said.

Stark nodded.

They stared at the large piece of plywood that covered what had been Tricia’s large display window. Could Stark have killed Pete Renquist in a jealous rage? Should she bring up the subject?

She didn’t have to.

“I need to apologize for the way I spoke to you when we last talked,” he began.

Tricia said nothing, content to let him lead the conversation.

“The truth is, Renquist and my wife were friends—perhaps too close friends for comfort. I guess I was jealous.”

“Pete was known to have a glib tongue,” Tricia said.

“Toni tells me nothing ever went on between them. I trust my wife. I didn’t know Renquist enough to trust him.”

“Were you angry at him?”

Stark turned to face her. “You mean enough to kill him?”

“Someone killed him,” Tricia said, keeping her voice neutral.

Stark nodded. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete.”

“I know for a fact that Pete was murdered.”

“Yeah, well, I have an iron-clad alibi, if you’re thinking of pinning the blame on me.”

“Why would you think I’d do that?”

He held a hand up to take in the soot-stained sign over the plywood. “Because you’re Stoneham’s Queen of Mystery.”

Well, that title was certainly better than that of village jinx.

“Every one of my crew—not to mention my client—can vouch that I was on a job site last Monday. Thanks to the port-a-john, I didn’t have to leave the site for even a bathroom break from nearly dawn until almost dusk.”

“Then you’re in the clear.”

“With you.” He kept staring at the plywood. “Not Toni.”

“Why would she think you had a motive?”

“I told you. I was jealous of their friendship.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s all it was. From what I heard, Pete wasn’t able to . . .” Tricia wasn’t sure how to delicately express what she needed to say. “He . . .” Oh, hell. “He couldn’t get it up.”

Stark turned to eye her.

“To compensate,” she continued, “he made out like he was a dedicated skirt chaser. From what I understand, it was a condition he’d suffered for quite some time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I believe men and women can be friends without sexual intimacy.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, his expression skeptical.

“Take me, for instance. I’m striving to be friends with three men right now.”

“But you did once have a deeper relationship with each of them, right?”

Did Stark know all about Tricia’s love life since moving to Stoneham? Small town talk . . .

Tricia shrugged. “Okay, bad example. But isn’t it just possible that Toni and Pete had a purely platonic relationship?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Has she ever given you reason not to trust her?”

He didn’t look at her but shook his head.

“Do you two talk much?”

He shrugged.

“Are you interested in antiques?” she tried.

“No.” He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Well, it depends on your definition. Architectural salvage? Now that’s another subject.”

“Could that be common ground for you and Toni?”

Stark shrugged. “That would be pushing it.”

“How do you know? Seems to me that in your line of work you probably come across a lot of architectural elements that could be salvaged.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“Toni’s got a fledgling antiques business with empty booths. Couldn’t there be an opportunity to share an interest there?”

Stark said nothing, but he did look thoughtful.

They stared at the ugly façade of what had once been the prettiest storefront on Main Street.

“So,” Tricia said at last, “that kitchen reno you’re doing is going to take two weeks.”

“Thereabouts.”

Tricia nodded. “Where will you start here?”

“By having a Dumpster delivered. The charred and moldy books will be the first to go.”

“Oh, dear,” Tricia said, her heart breaking.

“Then we’ll pull everything back to the studs.”

Tricia raised a hand to stop him. “On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know.”

“It’s probably better you don’t. Once we get the new insulation installed and the drywall up, then you should start coming around. Otherwise, it’ll just upset you.”

She knew she was made of tougher stuff, but she just nodded.

Stark misunderstood her silence. “I didn’t do you wrong the first time we did this. You’ll be just as pleased with Haven’t Got a Clue reborn.”

Tricia managed a smile. “Thank you.”

Stark nodded. “Well, I’m off to give someone else an estimate. This time, it’s an addition to a house on Pine Avenue.”

“I’m glad you stopped by. I’m looking forward to working with you again.”

“So am I,” Stark said. He offered his hand and Tricia shook it. She’d always liked the contractor, and she now believed that he had nothing to do with Pete Renquist’s death.

Although the list of suspects was one man fewer, Tricia still wasn’t sure who had killed Pete. She’d have to stay on guard . . . as would all of Stoneham’s citizens.

•   •   •

Tricia resumed
her course for the Chamber office and, once inside, was surprised to hear a radio playing in the office. She was sure all had been quiet when she’d left. She tiptoed toward the office and found Mariana at her desk.

“What are you doing here on a weekend?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

Mariana started. “Heavens, you scared me half to death.”

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

“I could use a little overtime, and Angelica said it would be all right for me to finish up work on the mailers. It was kind of a last-minute thing,” she said, sounding apologetic.