A Fatal Chapter (9 page)

“It was included with the check Antonio gave them.”

Tricia nodded. “When I spoke to Janet Koch at the Historical Society this morning, I suggested Michele give the talks.”

“What a great idea!”

“Of course, her boss would have to okay it,” Tricia said.

Angelica’s smile was more a smirk. “I’m sure I can arrange it. Anything else happen today I should know about?”

Tricia hesitated, then shook her head.

Angelica considered her empty glass. “We’d better not have another. Not if we’re going to check out those flower baskets.”

Tricia downed the last of her drink, then placed the olive in her mouth, slid it off the pick, and chewed.

“You set the table and I’ll get the food ready,” Angelica said, heading for the fridge.

Tricia carried her glass over to the sink, then scooped flatware from a drawer and placed it on the table, her thoughts straying back to the subject of Jim Stark. The idea of her store renovation possibly being derailed had her feeling disheartened and depressed.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it
, she ordered herself.

She just wished she could pay more attention to that little niggling voice inside her brain that advised her to look at worst-case scenarios.

Sometimes she hated that stinking little voice she called her conscience.

•   •   •

It wasn’t
quite dark, but unlike in years past when the streets of Stoneham had emptied at six o’clock, several cars still lined the south end of Main Street. The Dog-Eared Page was the draw, but farther down the street a few cars were also clustered near the Bookshelf Diner. “We really need more eateries here on Main Street,” Angelica said as they, along with Sarge, headed north on the sidewalk. “We need at least one fine dining restaurant here in the village.”

“Where would it go?” Tricia asked.

“It could go where the Chamber office is currently located, but that’s a bit close to the eyesore that is Kelly Realty.”

“You’d think Bob would have done something to the outside of that building to spruce it up. Gray-painted cinderblock has no curb appeal and is not at all conducive to the ambiance he’s always tried to encourage from the people he rents to.”

Angelica didn’t comment.

They continued down the block, passing more and more denuded hanging baskets. “What we need is a ladder so we can look into the baskets to see if the blossoms have been broken off or cut.”

“Does it matter?” Tricia asked. “None of them have flowers.”

“I guess you’re right,” Angelica groused.

A few other people ambled down the sidewalk, and the sisters greeted them with smiles but didn’t bother with conversation. Tricia rather enjoyed the walk, and Sarge certainly did. However, Angelica was far too quiet.

They walked as far as the Antiques Emporium, crossed the street, and headed back south toward the town square. Every single hanging basket had been hit. “This kind of petty vandalism makes me so angry,” Angelica muttered.

“The police station is just ahead. Do you want to report it?”

“Yes, I do.” Angelica sped up, and Tricia and little Sarge had a hard time keeping up with her. “Do you think Grant is working late tonight?”

Tricia had seen his car parked in the municipal lot when they’d passed minutes earlier. “Probably. He doesn’t have much to do in the evenings, either.”

Arriving at the station door, Angelica grabbed Sarge, tucking him under her arm, and they entered.

Polly Burgess, the station’s elderly dispatcher and receptionist, was also working late. She eyed Sarge with disdain. “No dogs allowed. You’ll have to take
it
outside.”

“He’s a he, not an it—and he’s my service dog,” Angelica said.

“What kind of service can a dog that small perform?” Polly demanded.

“He’s my emotional support.”

“Where’s his service vest?”

“In the laundry. Now, we’d like to speak to the chief, please.”

“He’s off duty.”

“But he
is
here,” Tricia said.

“Yes.”

“Would you please tell him we’re here?” Tricia asked.

“We’d like to report a crime,” Angelica chimed in.

Polly looked at them with suspicion. “What kind of crime?”

“Vandalism.”

Polly sighed and pushed the intercom button. “Chief. There are a couple of citizens here who’d like to report vandalism.”

“I’ll be right there,” came Baker’s clipped voice.

Polly glared at the sisters.

Baker appeared from behind his office door, his eyes lighting up when he saw Tricia. “Hello. What’s this about vandalism?” he asked.

“Can we talk in your office?” Angelica asked as Baker reached out to pet Sarge, who growled. He pulled his hand back.

“Sure.”

The sisters followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk. Angelica set Sarge on the floor but kept him on a short leash.

“What’s this about vandalism?” Baker asked again.

“Someone has clipped every flower in the hanging baskets around the village.”

Baker frowned, as though that wasn’t his idea of a major crime. “Is that all?”

“Those baskets cost nearly fifty bucks apiece. If we have to replace them, it will be a substantial cost,” Angelica said.

Baker looked unimpressed. “Do you have any suspects?”

Angelica shook her head.

“Do you know when it happened?”

“No. Tricia noticed all the blossoms were gone just today.”

“Maybe someone’s got really bad allergies,” Baker suggested and laughed.

“They’ve been hanging for over two months,” Angelica pointed out.

Baker’s smile faded and he frowned. “The baskets are still up, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“They haven’t been smashed, right?”

“No.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he asked.

“I’m reporting a crime,” Angelica said. “I thought that’s what good citizens were supposed to do.”

“We’ve got more important matters taking up the bulk of our time just now,” Baker said.

“Have you made any headway on Pete Renquist’s death?” Tricia asked.

The chief looked uncomfortable. “We’re pursuing all leads.”

Which meant
no
!

“Did you have a chance to speak to Toni Bennett?” she asked.

The name caused Baker to start, as though he had to remember it was the owner of the Antiques Emporium and not the singer. “Yes.”

“And?” Tricia pressed.

“Hearsay.”

“Oh, come on. Surely you’re going to try to find out who threatened Pete.”

“Of course, but hearing he was threatened without any corroborating information isn’t much of a lead.”

She supposed not. “Who else have you spoken with?”

“You are not a part of the investigation,” Baker pointed out, obviously annoyed.

Tricia shrugged. “I spoke with Janet Koch at the Historical Society this morning—to convey my condolences,” she quickly added.

“I’ve spoken with her, too. She wasn’t much help.”

“Have Pete’s next of kin been contacted?” Angelica asked.

Baker nodded. “No help there, either.”

“But you’re doing everything you can to solve Pete’s murder,” Tricia stated, though it didn’t seem to be much.

“Of course.”

Tricia again debated mentioning what Mariana had told her earlier in the day. If she didn’t name names, she could at least make a suggestion—just to get Baker thinking along a different line of reasoning. “It’s well known that Pete liked to flirt with women. Is it possible a jealous husband or lover could have come after him?” she asked.

“Anything’s possible.”

Sure. Pigs flew on scheduled routes. The moon
was
made of green cheese. And a bridge in Brooklyn was sold just about every day.

Angelica picked up Sarge and stood. “I suppose we’d better let you get back to it.” She didn’t sound impressed with the chief’s progress, either.

Tricia followed her out of the office.

“Keep me informed about those flowers,” Baker called after them.

“If I can be bothered,” Angelica muttered.

“Good night,” Tricia called to Polly as she passed the receptionist’s desk. The woman ignored her.

“Now what?” Tricia asked once the sisters were out on the sidewalk again.

“It’s been a long day and I still have a ton of work to do. We may as well go home,” Angelica said, and they started off. They walked in silence until they came to the Chamber office, where they paused.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tricia said, and gave Angelica a hug. Sarge barked. “I’ll see you, too,” she said, and bent down to pat the dog’s head.

“Why did you tell Grant about Pete’s flirting?” Angelica asked.

Tricia shrugged and avoided her sister’s penetrating gaze. “I just want him to investigate all possibilities.”

“Did you have someone in mind?”

Tricia kept scratching Sarge’s ears. “No.”

Angelica didn’t press the issue. “Well, good night.”

“Night.” Tricia called, and hurried up the driveway. She had no proof against Jim Stark. A part of her wanted to pursue that line of inquiry. What was worse, a bigger part of her—the part that wanted to go back to her old life and home—
didn’t.

Her room
was still dark when Tricia awoke with a start the next morning. Her heart pounded and she was drenched with cold sweat. The crippling nightmare had returned, although it no longer haunted her sleep every night as it had during those first bleak days after the fire. Flames had poured from Haven’t Got a Clue’s shattered display window, while firefighters in assault gear directed the full force of their hoses on the fire—and the stock inside. Tricia had felt as though she were being slowly smothered as she’d watched helplessly from the street, held back by many arms that refused to let her go back to save her beloved store.

Of course, it hadn’t actually happened quite that way—but it was close enough. The terror she’d felt when she thought she’d lost Miss Marple had been the worst. Then the realization struck that she might have lost everything else she valued. Still, at the time she’d felt lucky, and her friends—and most of all Angelica—had rallied to support
her. She would never forget the kindness she’d been shown. Even strangers had stopped her in the street to express their regrets.

But as the days and weeks dragged on and still there was no settlement from the insurance company—and no end in sight for her enforced exile—she found herself growing depressed. She wanted to go
home
. To her
own
home.

Throwing back the covers, Tricia got up, disturbing Miss Marple, and quickly dressed for her morning jaunt. Could the soot-covered treadmill that still stood in her loft apartment be refurbished? She supposed she’d eventually find out. Going for a brisk walk was wonderful in good weather, but not so much fun when it rained. Thankfully the weatherman had predicted fair skies for the next few days. Tricia tied her running shoes and took off. She had a lot to think about as she followed her usual route, speed-walking along Stoneham’s residential streets.

After she’d completed her rounds, Tricia usually ended up at the Coffee Bean for her first brew of the day. Coming back to her rooms at the Chamber office was always made a little more pleasant when she had a really good cup of coffee to kick-start the rest of her day.

However, on this day Tricia headed over to the Cookery. Outside the door, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Angelica.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” Tricia said.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been up for hours. What’s new?”

“I’m outside the Cookery. Can I come up?”

“Of course.”

“See you in a minute,” Tricia said, and stabbed the end-call icon. She unlocked the door and quickly disabled the alarm system, then headed up the stairs.

As usual, Sarge made a wonderful welcoming committee, jumping up and down and barking enthusiastically.

“Want some coffee?” Angelica called as Tricia started down the hall that lead to Angelica’s kitchen with Sarge scampering ahead.

“I’ve already got some,” Tricia said.

“How about some toast?”

“Sounds good,” Tricia said, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

Angelica put two slices into the toaster and turned for her own breakfast. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“Another death?” Tricia asked, horrified.

“No! I called the Milford Nursery. They had a big sale over the weekend. Their stock has been decimated. They can’t replace the hanging baskets.”

“Oh, no! The flowers are such a draw for the tourists. What are you going to do?”

“I could call all over the state, but the cheapest and easiest solution just might be silk,” she said flatly.

“You mean . . . fake flowers?” Tricia asked, aghast.

“Some of them look very lifelike,” Angelica said optimistically.

“Yeah, the expensive ones. What’s your budget?”

“There is no budget. It’s coming out of Nigela Ricita’s pockets.”

“At least they’re deep.”

“I’m just worried that whoever decapitated all those petunias and pansies will just yank out the silk replacements.”

“It’s a possibility.”

Angelica looked thoughtful but said nothing more.

“Who’s going to scour the local craft stores?” Tricia asked.

“I’ve got to be in Portsmouth by ten, and I have a meeting in Manchester after lunch. How about Pixie?”

Tricia shook her head, remembering the cheesy Christmas decorations Pixie had fallen in love with and had wanted to use to decorate
Haven’t Got a Clue the previous holiday season. “Her heart would be in the right place, but I don’t think she’s a good judge of such things.”

“Would you have time to shop?”

“Only if you think the Chamber can spare me.”

“Yes,” Angelica said emphatically. “Can you go this morning?”

“I guess. I have a lunch date today, but I can check out the big craft store on Route 101 before then.”

“Even if we can only decorate the baskets lining Main Street, it would at least be welcoming to the tourists when they get off the buses.”

“And when is redecorating the baskets going to happen?”

Angelica grimaced. “Tonight.”

“And who is going to do it?” Tricia asked, already knowing the answer.

“Why, you and me of course.”

“Of course. What about Antonio?”

“You can’t expect him to leave Ginny late at night with the baby due to arrive at any moment.”

No, she didn’t.

“Couldn’t Nigela Ricita Associates pull someone from the Brookview Inn to do this?”

“And let it get out that we’re replacing the real flowers with silk?”

“Somebody’s bound to notice.”

Angelica’s lips pursed.

“Okay. Do I even have to ask who’s going to be climbing the ladder?” Tricia asked.

“You know I’m afraid of heights,” Angelica said, appalled at the idea.

Yes, she did.

Tricia drained her cup. “I have just enough time to shower and change before Mariana reports for work at the Chamber.”

“If I haven’t told you lately, I really appreciate all the work you’re doing for the Chamber. I don’t know what I’ll do when you go back to your real life, and it
will
be all too soon.”

Not soon enough
, Tricia thought. “I’m happy I can take on some of the work to make it easier on you.”

“The Chamber is now big enough that it needs a dedicated employee to run it—not a part-time volunteer, and that’s where I’m going to steer it. The membership has already grown faster in the past eight months than I’d considered it would during my two-year tenure.”

“It’s your leadership,” Tricia said. Angelica shook her head in denial, but she did look pleased at the sentiment. “I’ve gotta go,” Tricia said, getting up from her stool and pausing at the sink to rinse her paper cup before placing it in the recycling bin.

“I’ll see you later,” Angelica called as Tricia headed for the stairs.

As Tricia closed the Cookery’s door behind her, she pondered the kind of personality that could deprive the villagers and tourists of the beauty the flowers had brought. Could it have been Bob? Her thoughts had immediately gone to him, but only because he’d been annoying her of late. The truth was that there were plenty of villagers who were unhappy with the changes that had come to Stoneham during the past five years and were quite vocal about it. They were the ones who’d elected Earl Winkler.

Why did the sourpusses in life want to ruin things for everyone else?

•   •   •

The big
arts-and-crafts store on Route 101 was running a sale, and Tricia cleaned them out of silk flowers. The manager had come to the register to help bag the sale, pleased that she could put out the
Halloween and Thanksgiving stock that was already languishing in her storeroom.

It was getting close to noon when Tricia returned to the village and pulled into the municipal parking lot. Instead of hauling her purchases to the Chamber office, she left the bags of faux flowers in the trunk. They weren’t going to wilt, even under the blistering midday sun.

She had just enough time to stop at Booked for Lunch to pick up the orders she’d phoned in hours before, then carried them two doors down to the Happy Domestic. Technically Ginny wasn’t supposed to be working. She was officially on maternity leave, but staying at home with nothing to do but fret did not sit well with her. “I’d rather stay occupied,” she’d said more than once.

Tricia entered the shop and the bell over the door jangled. The sound was like a knife thrust to her soul. It sounded so like the one at Haven’t Got a Clue. Some days the sound didn’t bother her, and others, like today, the pain from the loss of her store was almost too much to bear.

Ginny’s assistant, Brittney, was helping a customer, but she gestured with her thumb, indicating the backroom. Tricia nodded and headed that way. “Hello,” she called before pushing through the saloon doors that separated the retail operation from the much smaller storeroom that doubled as an office.

Ginny sat at the big beat-up desk with stacks of paperwork before her. She looked up and a grin lit her features. “Thank goodness you’re here. I could eat a bear—raw!”

“And risk trichinosis?”

“I thought you could only get that from undercooked pork.”

“Pork, bears, and other wild game infected with parasites. Do you really want to take the risk?”

Ginny looked down at her bulging belly. “No. Besides, I already know that you’ve got a BLT and a cup of the soup of the day. Which is . . . ?”

“Black bean.”

“Oh, my favorite—except it hasn’t treated me well since . . .” Again she looked down at her belly.

“More information than I needed to know,” Tricia said, and laughed. She took the seat across from Ginny and doled out the foam containers, plasticware, and napkins. Instead of her usual tuna plate, Tricia had ordered a julienned salad. Miss Marple would love some of the excess slices of ham and cheese as an indulgent snack. Since she knew it was Ginny’s favorite dessert, Tricia had also ordered a piece of Angelica’s decadent carrot cake for the two of them to splurge on and share.

“It won’t be long now,” Tricia said.

“A week from today, if the calculations are right.”

“What are your plans after the baby arrives?” Tricia asked, dipping a piece of lettuce into her dressing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” Ginny said, her voice subdued.

“You’ve changed your mind about working?” Tricia asked, surprised.

Ginny dipped her spoon into the soup and stirred. “Not at all. But I might change my mind about
where
I work.”

“You’d give up the Happy Domestic? But I thought you were happy here.”

“I have been deliriously happy here, but I’m not sure the hours are conducive to a happy family life.”

“Your boss seems quite amenable when it comes to flexible hours.”

“I’ve been very lucky,” Ginny admitted, taking a bite of her sandwich.

Tricia poked at her salad. She’d known things would change once
the baby arrived, but the thought of not seeing Ginny on a regular basis caught her off guard.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ginny said once she’d swallowed. “I might like to try my hand at management of another kind.”

“Oh?”

“While I would love to work with Antonio either at the Brookview Inn or the office down the street, I don’t think it’s good for a couple to be attached at the hip day and night.”

“Is there an opening at NRA?” Tricia asked. Angelica hadn’t mentioned it, but then she hadn’t gone into the details of how her business ran, either.

“I don’t know. I think it could be fun to work on projects that have end dates, not just picking baubles, waiting on customers, and banking the receipts. Maybe NRA will open another business here in town. Maybe they’d let me manage a couple of different stores or other parts of the operation.” She shrugged. “What I’d really like is a job with more regular hours—and weekends off would sure be a treat, too.”

“Have you spoken to Antonio about that?”

“He doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“Has he mentioned it to your boss?”

Ginny shook her head. “I’ve asked him not to. Not just yet, at least. And I’d like to talk to Ms. Ricita directly.”

And you’ll get that opportunity sooner than you know
, Tricia thought. She decided to move away from the subject. “Have you come up with names for the baby yet?”

Ginny nodded. “If it’s a girl, Sofia, after Antonio’s mother. If it’s a boy, William, after my father and Mr. Everett.”

It stood to reason Antonio wouldn’t name his son after his own
father. The man had abandoned him. It was Angelica who’d bought him clothes and paid for his schooling. “Mr. Everett will like that.”

“As my folks live down south now, it’s likely he’ll be a bigger part of the baby’s life.”

“Will your parents come up to see the baby?”

“Oh, sure. They don’t mind New Hampshire during the summer, but if our next one arrives in winter, they’d wait until spring to visit.”

“How does that make you feel?”

She shrugged. “I’m okay with it. I’ve still got family here,” she said, and smiled. “You and Grace and Mr. Everett. You’re all like family to me.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”
Because I do, too
, Tricia thought.

Ginny scraped the last of the soup from her container. “Oh, that was good, but I think I’ll save the other half of my sandwich for later. Especially if we’re going to make a dent in that piece of cake.” She wrapped the sandwich in one of the paper napkins and returned it to the foam container. Struggling up from her chair, she deposited the container in the small fridge she kept under the table that housed the printer and other office supplies.