A Fatal Chapter (20 page)

“Oh. Okay. I guess I’m a little jumpy today. I’m just going up to change and then I’ve got to go back out again.”

“That’s okay. Just do what you usually do on weekends.”

Tricia nodded and headed upstairs where she changed into a long-sleeved shirt. Afterward, she went out to the garage to scrounge up
the pair of gardening gloves she kept for when she trimmed the roses out back. She thought about calling Grant Baker to report what Frannie had told her, but decided against it. He’d only tell her she was being foolish, not to mention trespassing.

Of course, she hadn’t been all that surprised when Frannie had confided her suspect for the petal pinching, and Tricia wasn’t sure what she was going to say when she confronted the person. First, though, she needed proof.

She stuffed a large clean trash bag into the pocket of her slacks and started off again.

It wasn’t far from the Chamber office to the business in question, and since it wasn’t yet ten o’clock, Stoneham’s main street was still pretty much deserted. Most of the businesses didn’t open until at least ten, and where she was headed wouldn’t open at all that day, since its personnel worked a five-day week.

As she approached the neat white building, Tricia decided there was no need for stealth and turned in its driveway, heading for the back of the building. As expected, a midsized rusty Dumpster sat behind the place. She approached it and wondered if she should be wearing a mask when she rummaged through its contents, not because she feared the smell, but she wasn’t sure what kind of chemical and poison containers might have been tossed there.

She opened the Dumpster’s hatch and peered inside. As she feared, there were a number of large black plastic bags. This particular waste company was the same one that the Chamber used and made their pickups along Main Street on Monday, which was why she’d decided to check out the container before it was emptied in two days.

Tricia grabbed the first bag and squeezed its contents. No soft fabric, no plastic-covered metal stems. She had no desire to open any
other bags unless absolutely necessary. On the fifth bag, she hit pay dirt. Smiling, she pulled at the plastic until it broke open, and out spilled a variety of colorful silk blooms. But before she could enjoy her triumph, a car roared into the parking lot. A Stoneham police cruiser.

Suddenly the back door of the building burst open and a man came running out. “Arrest her, arrest her! She’s trespassing and stealing my trash.”

“Whose trash?” Tricia demanded.

The officer got out of the patrol car. It was Hanson, the same officer who had been on duty the night Michele had been attacked. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

“Arrest him!” Tricia called.

“Arrest her!” Earl Winkler demanded.

Hanson held out a placating hand. “Not until somebody tells me what’s going on.”

“I told the dispatcher—this woman is trespassing and stealing my trash.”

“And this man,” Tricia said, whirling and pointing at Earl, “vandalized all the hanging baskets on Main Street and in the park—not once, but twice. First by snipping off all the live blooms, and then removing all the silk flowers that were put in the baskets in an effort to make them pretty once again.” She held up the bag of flowers as proof.

Hanson turned to Earl. “What do you have to say?”

“Why would I want to vandalize the flowers along Main Street?”

“Because he hates the merchants for bringing change to Stoneham,” Tricia answered for him.

Hanson said nothing, but he pinned Earl to the asphalt with his penetrating gaze.

“Someone must have planted that bag in my Dumpster,” Earl said defensively.

“Oh, yeah?” Tricia challenged. “We could also dust the contents for fingerprints.”

It was Earl’s turn to be silent.

“And I wonder, if I dug a little deeper, if I’d find the bag filled with the remnants of the flowers that were snipped,” Tricia continued.

An imposing Hanson stood with his hands on his hips, towering over Earl.

Earl’s head dipped, as though he’d suddenly found his shoes to be very interesting. “I have nothing to say.”

Hanson turned to Tricia. “What do you want me to do?”

“If nothing else, I want you to write a report saying what was found in Winkler Exterminating’s Dumpster so that it can be presented to the Board of Selectmen at their next meeting.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Earl protested.

“The village board paid for half the cost of the flowers. I’m sure they won’t be happy to learn one of their own destroyed them.”

“They’re not destroyed,” Earl protested. “The flowers will grow back.”

“Not anytime soon,” Tricia countered.

“How much are the hanging baskets worth?” Hanson asked.

“Thousands of dollars, and this late in the season, they can’t be readily replaced,” Tricia said. Was it her imagination, or was Hanson on her side? He stood looking at them both for long seconds.

“Technically, you’re both at fault. If Mr. Winkler wants to press charges, that’s his prerogative. The same could be said for you, Ms. Miles, and I can arrest you both. It’ll cost you attorney’s fees and will leave a smudge on your reputations. I don’t think you want that, Mr. Winkler. Not with your history.”

Winkler looked up sharply but said nothing.

“My suggestion is that you two work this out together.”

“I won’t press charges, but I can’t say what my sister will do. Of course, she’s in business with Nigela Ricita Associates, and I do believe they are one of your biggest clients, Selectman Winkler. She won’t be happy to hear that you’re involved.”

The threat to Winkler’s wallet was devastating. His expression fell and he looked close to tears.

“And as the silk flowers were paid for by Nigela Ricita Associates, I am bound to return them
and
tell them exactly where they were found.”

“You’ll put me out of business,” Earl protested.

“You should have thought about that before you vandalized the flowers in the first place.”

“Then I may as well press charges against you.”

“Nigela Ricita Associates has very deep pockets,” Tricia countered.

That shut Earl up. Suddenly he looked weary.

Tricia considered what Angelica would do. She’d threatened to put the vandal in jail, but Tricia suspected she’d just been blowing off steam. After all, the plants weren’t dead. Earl had been right. In time, they would bloom again. Instead of snipping the blooms, he could have killed them with an herbicide.

“I do have a suggestion,” Tricia said.

Earl looked up. “What’s that?”

“Apologize.”

“Are you crazy?” Earl said, his eyes flashing.

“No, I’m not. Apologize and offer to help put back the silk flowers until the plants can grow new blossoms.”

“That would take hours.”

“It must have taken you hours to cut the blossoms, and then yank out all the silk flowers, too.”

“It sounds like the perfect solution,” Hanson said. “What do you say, Mr. Winkler?”

Earl seemed to realize that he’d been beaten. “Oh, all right. I’ll do it. Monday morning, I’ll go over to the Chamber of Commerce and apologize.”

“And if you don’t . . .” Tricia said, leaving the threat unsaid.

“I said I would, and I will,” Earl grated, pivoted, and stormed to the back door to his business. He slammed the door.

Tricia looked at the policeman. “Thank you for brokering a peaceful solution.”

“You’re the one who came up with the idea.”

“Yes, but you made it possible for me to do so. Why didn’t you just arrest us both?”

“It’s a lot of paperwork,” the young officer said wearily.

“May I ask why you seemed to take my side?”

“Mr. Winkler’s reputation precedes him.” He didn’t elaborate. Had Earl pulled the same stunt on residential clients as he had in the business community to try to drum up trade?

“Will you be mentioning this little exchange with Chief Baker?”

“I’ll have to file a report, but it’s more to chronicle my time off patrol than anything else.”

Tricia nodded. “Thank you again.”

Hanson tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

Tricia watched as the officer got back into his patrol car, then she turned and closed the lid to the Dumpster, gathered the torn bags of silk flowers, took the big trash bag from her pocket, and transferred the flowers to it. She intended to take them back to the Chamber; it
would be up to Angelica to negotiate a time for Earl to restore the baskets. Then again, how good was he at flower arranging? If nothing else, he could accompany Angelica—or whomever she assigned to do the task—and schlep the ladder up and down Main Street. Tricia was determined it wouldn’t be her that did so.

As she turned, the cruiser took off. She gave Hanson a good-bye wave and started back for the Chamber office. She’d put the bags of silk flowers in the garage. As she walked down the road, the bulky plastic bags smacking into her thighs, she decided she’d better warn Angelica about the forthcoming apology. She didn’t have to tell her who was going to make it. Then again, she knew Angelica would nag, nag, nag her until she dished the dirt. Her sister could be very persuasive. Tricia figured she’d decide later. For now, she had a date with the shower. She’d never been much of a fan of Dumpster
diving.

Tricia had
just made it back to the Chamber office when Pixie’s wreck of a car passed. She watched as the car pulled up to the curb in front of the Dog-Eared Page, then Tricia tossed the bag of silk flowers into the shrubbery and took off at a jog. By the time she made it to Booked for Lunch, Michele was exiting the car. She gave Pixie a wave and turned for the door. Pixie pulled out into the street and headed south, turning at the crossroad, no doubt to come up the alley and park in the municipal lot. Meanwhile, Tricia dropped back to a walk and called Michele’s name. She turned.

“Tricia, thank you so much for coming to my rescue last night.”

Tricia came to a halt before the barkeep. “I’m thankful we were able to chase that guy off.”

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you and Angelica.”

“In the future, have Shawn walk you to your car.”

Michele gave a quiet laugh. “Definitely.”

“I’ve been thinking about all that’s happened, and I’m convinced you’re right. Whoever killed Pete and hurt Janet deliberately came after you last night. Somehow this person is out to stop the ghost walks from happening.”

“It probably won’t surprise you to hear I’m withdrawing my acceptance of the docent’s post.”

“I can’t say I blame you. But I wonder if you wouldn’t mind letting me have a look at the papers Janet gave you.”

“I was going to return them to the Society this afternoon—and let the entire village know I’d done so. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to make myself a target. But I want to see if buried somewhere in those papers is a reason someone is willing to risk all to stop the ghost walks.”

“I must admit I can’t make top nor tail out of some of them. Most of them are photocopies of old records. But there are a few odd things in there, too.”

“Such as?”

“Notes about a plot of land that’s for sale not far from the cemetery. Pete made a notation that he wanted to check out the property, although I don’t know why he would. Perhaps he was thinking of building.”

Land for sale? And who was—or until recently had been—the biggest realty company in the area: Kelly Real Estate, owned by Bob Kelly. Tricia wondered, if she showed the papers to Karen Johnson of NRA Realty, would she see something others wouldn’t?

“If I promise to return them to the Society today, can I take them now?” Tricia asked.

Michele shrugged. “You’re welcome to them.”

They entered the pub, and Michele immediately went behind the bar. She retrieved the large kraft envelope and handed it to Tricia.
“It’s a bit too early in the day to offer you a drink, but I’d love it if you and Angelica could come by this evening so I can thank you properly.”

“That’s nice of you. Thank you. I’ll make a point of mentioning it to her.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Tricia tucked the envelope under her arm, headed for the door, and closed it behind her. Once out on the sidewalk, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called the Chamber office. Mariana answered. “Could you do me a favor and tell me the number for Karen Johnson over at NRA Realty?” She did. “Thanks.” Tricia punched in the number, and Karen answered on the second ring.

“Tricia, always great to speak to you. What do you need?”

“A favor. You know all the properties that are for sale in the area. Would you be willing to look over some old papers and give me an opinion?”

“Things are rather slow today. I’d be more than happy to give you a bit of my time.”

“Great. Can I come by now?”

“Sure. I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee.”

“You’re a doll, Karen. Thanks.”

•   •   •

When they
had opened shop some seven months before, NRA Realty had rented a bungalow at the back of the Brookview Inn. Since then, they’d moved to what had just a month or two before been another shabby little house at the far end of Main Street. Like the Chamber’s new digs, the downstairs had been converted to offices. NRA Associates had painted and landscaped the outside and had spruced up the inside as well, and Karen had hired a receptionist and an associate Realtor.

As Karen had promised, the coffee was hot, and the office was quiet. “Let’s go into the conference room, where we can spread out.”

The pretty black woman sat at the head of the table, and Tricia took the seat to her right.

“So, what’s in this mysterious envelope you’ve been clutching ever since you entered the office?” Karen asked, and took a sip of her coffee.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Historical Society was planning on a series of ghost walks at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery this fall.”

“Sounds like a great Halloween adventure.”

“It did—until Pete Renquist was murdered and his associate Janet Koch was attacked. Last night someone went after Michele Fowler, who had been asked to be a docent for the walks.”

Karen frowned. “And you think the answer to who’s behind the attacks will be found in those papers?”

“I don’t know, but it seems like someone wants to eliminate anyone involved in the project.”

Karen looked even more uncomfortable. She let out a breath. “Let’s have a look.”

Tricia opened the envelope and set the papers on the table before them. “I haven’t even had a chance to look at them. And I don’t even know what I’d be looking for.”

Karen sorted through the pages. “It would seem like the place to start is this map of the cemetery.” She lifted the reading glasses she wore on a chain around her neck and perched them on her nose. The black-and-white map was little more than just lines across the page. “Do you know much about the place?”

Tricia shook her head. “Pete was the expert, but Michele has learned a lot about its history during the past few days.”

Among the papers were several copies of deeds and other official-looking documents. Karen looked at a site map for a piece of land and tapped a finger on it. “I know this property. It’s right next to the rural cemetery. Seems to me I heard a story about it not long after I came to Stoneham.” She frowned, thinking. “There was a tentative agreement between Kelly Realty and Marathon Development. I believe an environmental impact study needed to be made.”

She frowned again, then pawed through the copies of the old documents, coming up with an old black-and-white aerial photo of part of the cemetery. There were several of them in the package. She lay them on the table in a line.

“I need to check something,” she said, got up from the table, and went into her office. A minute later she came back with a color photo printed on copy paper. She tapped her finger on the paper. “This is a satellite photo taken just three months ago. Notice the difference?”

Tricia looked at the photo, unsure what she was supposed to be looking for. Finally she shook her head.

“The old photo of the north side of the cemetery shows a private, probably family cemetery.” She pointed it out, then pointed to the corresponding place on the new photo.

“It’s not there anymore,” Tricia said, not understanding the significance.

Karen nodded.

“What do you think happened to it?”

She shrugged. “The markers were removed, and probably nobody would know the difference.”

“But isn’t that illegal?” Tricia asked, appalled.

“I’m pretty sure it is. A cemetery
could
be an impediment to development, although not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m from Upstate New York, and I know of two large commercial sites that have small private cemeteries in their midst: a mall in Syracuse and the football stadium in Buffalo. Still, a former owner of the land might have seen the old family cemetery as a detriment to selling it.” Karen frowned again. “The thing is, if there’s a burial plot on a piece of land, it’s required by law to be recorded in the property’s deed.”

Tricia’s mind whirled with possibilities. “Have you ever heard of a deed being modified to remove such a reference?”

“That would be illegal.”

“Which doesn’t mean it would stop someone from doing it.” She thought about it for a moment. “What’s the value of the property?”

“In excess of a million dollars.” She eyed Tricia. “What are you thinking?”

Did she dare voice aloud her suspicion that Bob Kelly was responsible for Pete’s death? He had a lot at stake and yet, at this point in time, not much to lose. He was already looking at a possible jail sentence and was desperate for cash. No way would he want to blow the sale of the property by the cemetery when it could increase his bottom line. She knew Bob had been capable of bending the law, but still—murder?

Had Pete discovered the cemetery was missing? Had he been foolish enough to confront Bob over it? Could they have met at the gazebo? But where would Bob have gotten heroin? Silly question. Just about anywhere these days. But how foolish would he have to be to commit murder in a public place? And yet, there’d apparently been no witnesses. Could Bob have seen Tricia and Sarge walking in the park and hightailed it?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Karen said softly.

“What do you think we should do?”

“We?” she said, and laughed. “I wouldn’t name names, but perhaps if
you
spoke about this to your friend Chief Baker, he might want to look into it.”

“Good idea. No way do I want Bob to come after me.”

“Do you really think he was responsible for Peter Renquist’s murder?” Karen asked.

“As you said, I wouldn’t want to name names.” Tricia gathered the pages together and replaced them in the envelope. “Thanks so much for seeing me on such short notice, Karen.”

“Happy to do so anytime,” she said, rising. She walked Tricia to the door. “We’ll have to get together socially soon. Are you up for having lunch someday next week?”

“I’d love it.”

Karen lowered her voice. “I get an NRA discount at the Brookview Inn. It’ll be my treat.”

“That sounds wonderful, but only if I can reciprocate another time.”

“I try to never turn down a lunch invitation,” Karen said, and laughed. “I’ll call you midweek.”

“Great.”

“By the way, I wonder if you could give Angelica a message for me when you see her. I’ve been trying to track her down all morning but haven’t had any luck.”

“I’ll see her at lunchtime. What do you want me to tell her?”

“This morning I came into the office early. We’re talking before six.”

“How much before six?”

“It wasn’t quite light.”

“You are dedicated.”

“Just part of the job. Anyway, I saw this funny little man with a—”

“Big black trash bag.”

“Yes,” Karen said, and laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen him, too.”

“Yes.”

“He seemed to be stealing the flowers from the hanging baskets.”

“He was. Someone else saw him, too, and I’ve already confronted him about it.”

“Oh, good. Antonio told me Angelica was almost apoplectic about the flowers going missing.”

That sounded like a good description. “The man has agreed to help put back the silk flowers. Now I just have to hope when I tell Angelica about it, she doesn’t go apoplectic once again.”

Karen laughed. “Okay, but if she wants to talk, I’ll be here ’til at least six.”

“A twelve-hour day?” Tricia asked.

“Don’t feel sorry for me—I thrive on being busy.”

“Thanks for helping me with these papers. You’re an angel.”

Karen laughed. “Just trying to earn my wings.”

“See you soon,” Tricia said, and left the office, but instead of turning left, she turned right and hoped she’d find Grant Baker behind his desk at the Stoneham Police Station. She had a lot to tell him.