Book Clubbed (22 page)

“Bob, is that you?” Tricia called.

“Quiet!” Bob ordered. “I can't be seen.”

Tricia looked around the village's empty main street. “Who's going to see you?”

“Your boyfriend is after me. He's going to arrest me,” Bob said with what sounded like panic.

“I know. Bob, why don't you just face up to it? Stoneham is a very small town, and you can't hide out forever.”

“Would you let me stay with you . . . just for a couple of days while I figure things out?” The poor man seemed absolutely desperate.

Tricia frowned, wishing she could see Bob's face, which was hidden in shadow. “You know I can't. That would be harboring a fugitive. What's the worst that could happen if you gave yourself up? They'll charge you with a misdemeanor. Big deal.”

“It's not the vandalism charge I'm afraid of,” Bob hissed.

“Then what?”

Bob practically squirmed.

“Come on, Bob, what is it you're
really
hiding from?” Tricia demanded.

“It's none of your business,” he said tersely, huddling deeper into his jacket.

Tricia nodded. “Okay, then let's talk about something else. You are aware that Betsy Dittmeyer was murdered at the Cookery on Saturday, right?”

“It's all everyone is talking about—not that I've spoken to anyone lately,” he hedged.

“Were you also aware that Betsy was skimming Chamber funds?”

Bob moved into the light, his eyes wide-open in alarm. “I hope you're kidding.”

Tricia shook her head.

“That thieving cow,” Bob growled, his gloved fists clenching. “If I had known, I'd have fired her on the spot. And called the cops on her in a heartbeat.” But that would have had to have been before they were after him for goodness knows what former transgression.

“Angelica is going to ask for an audit of the books from an independent source.”

“As she should. In fact, I should have done it on a more regular basis.”

“How often were the books checked in the past?”

Bob shrugged. “Every two or three years. I know, I know—it should have been every year. And now I feel like a fool for trusting Betsy. But she seemed so competent at everything she did.” He was quiet for a moment. “You don't suppose I could get in trouble over that as well, do you?”

“Maybe, but you've got more problems than just that. Did you know Betsy kept a dossier on all the Chamber members?”

“Oh?” he said, but the inflection in his voice was all wrong. Bob really was a terrible actor, and Tricia could tell by his expression that he knew all about the file.

“Yes. It's filled with the dirt on every Chamber member. I would almost say the information was worthy of blackmail.”

“You don't say,” he said, his voice rising unnaturally.

“I do. There was one notable exception.
Your
name was missing from the roster.”

“It was?” he asked, feigning surprise.

“Don't play dumb with me, Bob. You instigated the compiling of that list.”

“I did not,” he protested.

“Then you
do
know about it.”

Bob pursed his lips and frowned. “It was Betsy's idea, and yes, she did show it to me. I told her to delete it. The people on that list were my friends, and what she did was despicable.”

“And it didn't give you a clue about her character?”

“She had impeccable references, she showed up for work every day on time, she completed every task I gave her without a lot of instruction, and she didn't spend half her day gossiping with anybody who'd listen.” That last remark was referring to Frannie.

“Did you ever actually check her references?” Tricia pressed.

Bob shrank farther back into the shadows. “I think so. I don't really remember.”

Probably just pure laziness on his part. And how odd was it that Bob considered the people on Betsy's blackmail list to be his friends? Tricia doubted many of the Chamber members thought of Bob as any more than an acquaintance, and those who rented storefronts from him knew they'd be hounded if they didn't pay up on time, which hardly contributed to a feeling of goodwill. Chauncey Porter, owner of the Armchair Tourist, immediately came to mind. Bob had pestered him on a daily basis when he'd gotten behind on his rent. That gave Tricia an idea.

“Bob, have you been sleeping at the back of the Armchair Tourist?”

Bob looked up sharply, his face draining of color. “Of course not.”

Aha! A blatant lie
. Tricia knew Chauncey had a cot in the back of his store. He'd lived there for a while during a lull when business was bad and he'd had to give up his apartment. She had no doubt Chauncey would have let Bob hide out there for a reduction in rent—and the longer the better.

“What does Betsy's list have to do with Chauncey Porter?” Bob demanded.

“Nothing. I'm just putting pieces of the puzzle together. And what do you think Chief Baker is going to think when he sees that list?”

“What do you mean?”

“After Betsy's death, the chief confiscated the Chamber's computer as evidence.”

Bob looked positively horrified.

“As I said,” Tricia continued, “one might think Betsy—or you—collected that information as blackmail material.”

Bob's eyes widened with indignation. “I never asked her to draw up that list. I told her to delete it, and she assured me she had.”

“But you never bothered to check,” Tricia stated.

Bob's expression darkened. “No. I trusted her to follow my orders—that's what she was paid for.”

“It seems like Betsy commanded far too much of your trust.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it now? I'm not the Chamber president and Betsy is dead.”

“I'm sorry, Bob, but you picked the wrong time to drop out of sight. It looks very suspicious.”

“I had no reason to kill Betsy,” he declared, his voice rising once again.

“And you apparently have no alibi, either,” Tricia bluffed.

Bob looked away. “Betsy Dittmeyer worked for the Chamber for over two years. I didn't know her well and I hadn't spoken to her in at least a month before she died. There's no way Chief Baker can tie me to her death—and neither can you.”

“You're right.
Perhaps
you're right, but there's more.”

“More?” Bob asked, confused.

“Did you know Kelly Realty now has competition here in Stoneham?”

“What do you mean?” he demanded. The threat to his wallet made his eyes bulge most unattractively.

“Nigela Ricita Associates has opened a real estate office here in Stoneham.”

“That's impossible,” he nearly shouted.

“It's entirely possible. Right now they're operating out of a bungalow behind the Brookview Inn, but as soon as they can scare up some office space—and probably from one of your disgruntled clients—they intend to be the number one real estate agency in the area.” Okay, Karen hadn't exactly said that, but Tricia considered it a true statement, since that's how Nigela Ricita Associates had operated so far. In the short time they'd been investing in the area, they'd had no business failures.

Bob let out a shaky breath and for a moment Tricia thought he might cry. “It's all falling apart. My entire life is falling apart,” he practically whimpered.

“Bob, what event from your past is so heinous that you would ignore your business and live on the street? From what I've seen, it's what you love most in life.”

“For the past twelve years, I've worked damn hard to turn this village around. I brought in the booksellers. I got the Board of Selectmen to improve the infrastructure. I strived to make it a tourist mecca, with people coming from all over the eastern seaboard, and now your sister has ruined it.”

“Ruined Stoneham?” Tricia echoed in disbelief.

“No, my life. She
stole
the Chamber presidency from me.”

“Bob, the members took it away from you—not Angelica,” Tricia said reasonably, but she could tell he wasn't listening. “And you still haven't answered my question. What are you going to do about NRA Realty?”

Bob huddled deeper into his coat. “I've got to go.” He turned and inched his bulk down the space between the buildings, turned left at the alley, and then disappeared.

Tricia didn't bother to follow him and instead turned and headed back to her store. Bob was a fool, but then she'd always known that. No way had he been involved in Betsy's death, but evidently he had plenty of other things to hide, and the fact that he'd been dodging Chief Baker for the better part of a week was suspicious indeed. But for some reason Tricia didn't feel she should talk to Baker about him. At least, not yet. There was still so much about the various goings-on in Stoneham that she didn't know. She'd just have to keep on asking questions.

After all, it seemed to be what she did best.

As usual,
Tricia crossed the street to join Angelica at Booked for Lunch just after the café officially closed for the day. But when she opened the door she didn't see her sister. Was she destined to eat another lonely lunch from a foam box? “Ange?”

“In the kitchen. Be right there.”

Relieved, Tricia slipped out of her coat and set it on one of the booth seats, then walked around the counter to find her tuna plate in the little fridge under the counter. She'd just sat down when Angelica burst out of the kitchen with a large salad plate. “What a day. I feel like I've been on the go since the minute I got up.” She set the plate down on the counter and turned for the coffee urn, pouring a couple of cups before she plunked down on the stool next to Tricia.

“And have you been on the go since dawn?”

“Yes. The new Chamber secretary started today. I talked it over with her and let her know that she may not be my starting quarterback when we move into the new office space, that I would probably need someone full-time to take that position. Thank goodness she seemed fine with it.” Angelica stabbed a piece of lettuce, dipping it into the small container of dressing that sat on the side of her plate.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Chief Baker yet?”

Angelica winced. “No. He never got back to me after I left a message last night, and I'm not going to call him again, either. What's the big deal, anyway? You've already spoken to him.”

“I have. But I don't want him to think you've been keeping information from him that could prove vital to his investigation.”

“I don't see how he could think that. He didn't return my call and he has the same computer files I've got. It's up to him to ferret out what's important and what isn't.”

“Yes, but you have the perspective to judge that. He doesn't.”

“I suppose. Look, if you're so interested, why don't you go over all the files with him?”

“I've done my part: I brought it to his attention. But we agreed that as Chamber president the bulk of it should come from you.”

“Well, I really don't want to be involved.”

“But you already
are
.”

Angelica sighed. “You like all this intrigue. I don't. If you want to compare notes with the man, go ahead and do it.” Angelica dipped a piece of lettuce into her salad dressing. “While we're on the subject, have you heard anything new on Betsy's murder?”

“Not exactly. Although I wonder if I've been thinking about her death in the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are all kinds of reasons why people would want her out of the way. But the suspects keep petering out. I really don't think her husband had anything to do with it. Her sister might have been angry that she'd been cut out of Betsy's will, but I can't picture her killing Betsy over it. They didn't seem close and she apparently has no idea of the estate's worth, so why would it come as a shock that she'd been disinherited? And since Betsy wasn't in ill health, there was no reason to suspect she'd die of natural—or unnatural—causes anytime soon.”

“That's true,” Angelica grudgingly agreed.

“And even if Bob Kelly is a bit of a rat, I can't see him killing her. By the way, I spoke with him this morning.”

“Oh?” Angelica asked warily.

“I told him Betsy had been skimming Chamber funds and he seemed genuinely angry. But that's hardly a motive for murder, since he's no longer the Chamber president.”

Angelica was quiet for a long moment. “Just where did you find Bob? Not that I have any real interest.”

Oh, yeah?

“He was skulking between the Have a Heart bookstore and the Patisserie. He looked half frozen. He was angry to hear that Betsy was skimming funds, but even more angry with you.”

“With me?” Angelica repeated, puzzled.

“He says you've ruined his life.”

“Well, somebody had to do it,” Angelica said in jest, and cut a cherry tomato in half.

“I asked him about the Chamber member list Betsy kept. He knew about it, but he swears Betsy collected the information and that he told her to delete it.”

“Which makes me think it was something Betsy wanted for her own amusement. Granted, she collected a lot of nasty gossip, but I don't remember seeing anything salacious enough to warrant someone paying to have it suppressed.”

“You're right,” Tricia admitted and poked at her own salad.

“By the way, just what were you doing gallivanting around the village when you should have been minding the business at your store?” Angelica asked.

“I got a call from Billie Burke. She said she couldn't find you.”

Angelica looked up sharply. “Why would she need to?”

“Because Dumpster divers, looking for treasure, had descended on the rental house.”

“So what? We'd already been through everything. There was nothing left of value.”

“
Au contraire.
One of them found a solitaire diamond ring.”

“Don't tease me, Trish,” Angelica said tartly.

“I'm not. When I found them there, I immediately called Grant, who came right down from the police station and told them they had to leave. I looked in their bags of loot and saw the ring. It's got to be worth at least a grand. Do you think it could have been Betsy's engagement ring?”

“Maybe. She never wore any rings during the time I'd known her. Do you still have it?”

Tricia shook her head. “Antonio showed up with his contractor just then and I gave it to him.” She left out the part about Baker's engagement joke. She wasn't in the mood to be teased by Angelica.

“What's got me puzzled is how those guys knew to come to the rental house and sift through the trash. I didn't tell anyone. Antonio swears that he and Ginny didn't talk about it. That only leaves—”

“Me?” Angelica asked, sounding defensive.

“It's well-known you've got the village's biggest gossip in your employ. Did you mention it to Frannie?”

“No,” Angelica answered automatically, but then frowned. “At least, not directly. I did speak to Antonio this morning and the subject did come up.”

“Were you in the Cookery at the time?”

Angelica nodded grimly. “Oh, dear. I'm sorry, Trish. I should know better than to talk about sensitive subjects when Frannie's around.”

“It's over and done with. I'm just worried the word will reach Joelle. Frannie's the one who called her to say Betsy had been killed.”

“Really? I had no idea. But Joelle hasn't got a leg to stand on. Antonio has already spoken with a lawyer. The trash in that house belonged to NRA, no ifs, ands, or buts. Antonio is using the cash we found to pay for the repairs to the building. Apparently they haven't figured out what kind of a structure they want to put in place of the house.”

“I thought they had it all figured out.”

“According to Antonio, they haven't even spoken to their architect. I guess they're not in a terrible hurry to knock it down, which is good for the Chamber—at least in the short run.”

“Antonio invited me to hang around while he talked to the contractor. Are you interested in what they decided?”

Angelica's eyes lit up. “Definitely.”

Tricia spent the next twenty minutes updating Angelica on plans for the new office space, including upgrades to the electrical and the kitchen. “They found hardwood floors under that dirty rug in the living room. They're going to sand and refinish them.”

“What about the timeline?” Angelica asked, getting up and pouring another coffee for both of them.

“As it's winter, Jim Stark isn't exactly rolling in work. They're going to start tomorrow.”

“That soon? Oh, good. I'm so eager to get all the Chamber's baggage out of my storeroom. I feel like I should fumigate the place to eliminate the stench of death, too.”

“Does it really smell?”

“Only in my mind,” Angelica admitted. “I'll be glad to put all of this behind me and get back to work for the Chamber. I have so many wonderful ideas that will take the organization to a whole new level and I feel like I can't get started until we're in the new office.”

“It's only a matter of days now,” Tricia reminded her.

“I'm going to need some volunteers to champion certain new committees. Can I count on you?”

Tricia shrugged. “I guess so. I've got nothing else to do in the evenings.”

“Good. I'll keep you posted.”

Tricia looked at her half-eaten lunch and then her watch. “It's time for me to get back to work.”

“You mean sleuthing?” Angelica teased.

“Hardly. Then again, with so few customers, there's not much work to be done, either.”

“Are you sure you really need two employees—especially during the slowest time of the retail year?”

“Probably not. But I couldn't bear to lose either of them. And as long as I'm in the black, I'm not going to let either of them go.”

“Good for you,” Angelica said. “It's too bad other businesses don't feel the same. People need jobs. Jobs feed the economy. Everyone benefits.”

“Speaking of my employees, I'd better get back to my shop.” Tricia got up from her stool and grabbed her coat. “Thanks for lunch. I'll talk to you later.”

Pixie and Mr. Everett were standing at the cash desk conversing when Tricia got back to Haven't Got a Clue. “Looks like a welcoming committee,” she commented and took off her coat.

“Sort of,” Pixie admitted. “Mr. E and I thought we might want to see if we can simplify the inventory system. Since it's been more quiet than the morgue around here, we wondered if it was okay to play with it for the rest of the day. What do you think?”

“Of course. Miss Marple and I can hold down the fort while you work up in the storeroom.”

“Great. Come on, Mr. E, we could get a lot done before the end of the day.”

“Would you mind hanging up my coat?” Tricia asked.

“Sure thing,” Pixie said, taking it from her, and then she and Mr. Everett headed for the back of the store, where Pixie hung up the coat, and then she and Mr. Everett headed up the stairs to the storeroom above.

With nothing better to do, Tricia bent down to retrieve Betsy's heavy Bible from under the cash desk, where she'd stashed it hours before. It made a distinct
thump
as it hit the top of the glass display case. Tricia turned the leather-clad cover so that the title page was visible. It was a King James Version that had seen a lot of hard use over the years. Tricia flipped through the pages to the center of the book. Based on the family tree, it was well over a hundred years old. For its age, it wasn't in such terrible condition, but it wouldn't be worth much. Too bad Betsy's relatives weren't famous—or infamous—which would have considerably increased its value.

Someone dressed in a camouflage jacket passed by the big display window, walking at a fast clip. It could only be Bob. For someone who claimed he didn't want to be caught, what was he doing walking down Stoneham's main drag in broad daylight? Or, after their conversation earlier that day, had he changed his mind and now wanted to be caught?

Tricia looked back down at the Bible. Pack rat that she was, Betsy had stuffed an inordinate amount of papers, news clippings, and recipes into the book. As she flipped more of the pages, Tricia set the loose pieces of paper aside. The Bible did have nice illustrations, but the binding was in poor condition. She could repair it, but it would take quite a bit of effort and she felt no particular urge to do so, especially since Betsy had probably broken quite a few of the commandments listed within it. That, of course, wasn't the Bible's fault.

The camo-clad figure passed by, going in the opposite direction, walking at a fast clip.

Tricia assembled the papers into a neat pile, set them on the top page, and closed the book, putting it out of harm's way on the shelf below the sales counter. She walked over to the door, taking a look outside. Sure enough, Bob walked by once again, and she stuck her head out to stop him. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Are you alone?” he asked, furtively glancing around.

“Yes. You look frozen stiff. For heaven's sake come inside and have a cup of coffee and warm up.”

Bob wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing vigorously. “Thanks, Tricia. I was hoping you'd say that.”

Tricia ushered Bob in and closed the door behind him. He pulled off his gloves, rubbing his hands together for warmth, and stamped his feet on the bristle welcome mat. Tricia wrinkled her nose as she passed him. How long had it been since he'd had a shower?

By the time she'd poured a cup of coffee, Bob joined her at the beverage station. She set the cup down before him and pushed the tray with creamer and sugar forward. Bob doctored his coffee and Tricia set a plate of cookies in front of him.