Fillet of Murder (10 page)

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Everyone froze, as if some invisible giant with a remote control had hit the Pause button.

Jill rose, and her face blanched. “Kendra, what are you doing here?”

The woman grinned wickedly, her sculpted lips the same shade of crimson as her magnificent cape. She seemed to revel in everyone's discomfort. “I thought you all might like to meet the new proprietor of the comic book store that's coming soon to an arcade near you—the Wrensdale Arcade, that is.” With a sly wink she threw her head back and laughed—a low, throaty sound that set Talia's teeth on edge.

Jill clenched her fists at her side. “
You're
the one who wants to open the comic book store?” Her normally cultured voice came out in a mouselike squeak. She shook her head in disbelief. “No wonder he—” She broke off and sank onto her chair, her lips pressed together in a furious line.

The woman rolled her artificially long-lashed eyes at the ceiling. “Hardly, dear. That wouldn't be quite my style. By the way, for those of you who haven't met me, I'm Kendra LaPlante. Kendra
Turnbull
LaPlante.”

Kendra. Turnbull's ex. The K-witch!

Jill looked too stunned to say anything further. Talia felt Bea nudging her with her elbow.

“Oh, um . . . hello, I'm Talia Marby, and I work at Lambert's Fish and Chips,” she said to Kendra. She turned and smiled at Bea. “And this is Bea Lambert, my boss.”

Bea bobbed her head at Kendra. “Pleased to meet you.”

The others followed suit and offered a brief introduction—with the exception of Cliff Colby, who was so involved with the food on his plate that he didn't so much as throw Kendra a glance.

Kendra whipped a smartphone out of her designer handbag and punched it a few times. Flashing a devious smile, she held it to her ear. “You can come in, now, and meet your fellow shopkeepers.” She stuck the phone back in her bag.

The door opened again, and this time a young man decked out in eighties-style punk shuffled in. His heavily gelled, sandy-brown hair stood out in pointy, blue-tipped spokes around his thin head, and his eyes were rimmed in black. Silver chains hung from torn denim jeans, the bottoms of which brushed the tops of his unlaced sneakers. Something about the entire getup looked contrived to Talia, but she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

“Ladies and gents, meet your new fellow shopkeeper—my stepson, Aaron LaPlante.”

“Hey, everyone,” the young man said without much enthusiasm.

Jill inhaled sharply. “What are you talking about? Are you saying that . . .
he's
the person who's going to run the comic book store?”

“You catch on quick. I'm putting up half the capital, and the rest is coming from his . . . trust fund,” Kendra said, with a curl of her lip. “He'll either sink or swim, depending on how motivated he is to make a go of it.”

The young man—Aaron—blushed to the tips of his pierced ears.

Talia found herself feeling bad for the guy. Kendra was treating him as if he were a trained seal she'd dragged in solely for their entertainment.

Aaron looked over the spread Jill had set out. “Is this stuff, like, okay to eat?” he asked of no one in particular.

Kendra waved a hand at him, a marquis diamond the size of a football winking off her left ring finger. “Go ahead and indulge. That type of food is just about your speed, anyway.”

Jill paled. If looks could barbecue, Kendra would have been roasted over a flame and served up on a sesame bun.

“By the way, don't let his sluglike speech patterns fool you,” Kendra said. “Aaron graduated with honors from the Art Institute of Boston, and in fact is far more intelligent than his looks would suggest.”

Aaron glowered at Kendra, then reached for one of the flowered plates. In spite of his bizarre attire, Talia noticed, his hands appeared smooth and his nails manicured.

“Listen, we're getting off topic here,” Suzy said. She reached over and gave Jill's wrist a supportive squeeze. “Mrs. LaPlante . . . Kendra,” she went on, her smile like steel edged in lace. “We all came here tonight to discuss damage control. Our individual businesses have suffered
since Phil's . . . demise, and we want to get things back to the way they were. If you have anything to contribute, please do. Otherwise, it would truly be best if y'all left.”

Wow.
Way to go, Suzy,
Talia inwardly cheered. Beneath all those flouncy red curls was a woman with a backbone.

Kendra's eyes flickered with irritation. She lifted her chin. “Well, well, you're quite the little guardian of the flock, aren't you,” she said to Suzy. “It actually seems you're rather astute. I have nothing to offer this ragtag group of whiners, and you surely have nothing to offer me. Personally, I have far bigger, far more
lucrative
fish”—she winked at Bea—“to fry. I only came here to introduce you all to Aaron. In the future, he'll be part of this little . . . troop, shall we say, so you may as well get used to him.”

Talia felt herself swelling with anger at the demeaning way the woman talked about her own stepson, and right in front of him! She couldn't help wondering why Aaron didn't tell her to get stuffed.

She immediately answered her own question—money. Aaron obviously needed Kendra's infusion of capital to get his new comic book store up and running.

Jim Jepson, who so far had remained oddly quiet, shot out of his chair. “I, for one, will welcome Aaron to the arcade,” he said, looking directly at him. “Aaron, my man, if you need any help settling in, getting the hang of things, feel free to stop in and see me at the pottery shop.” Jepson sat down again and crossed one leg over the other.

Looking perplexed, Aaron frowned at him. “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, setting his still-empty plate next to the sandwich tray. To Kendra he said, “Maybe we should go.”

“For once, a useful suggestion.” Kendra waved her hand dismissively. “Ta-ta, all.”

With a whirl of her cape, Kendra turned and glided toward the door. Aaron followed, just as Jill popped out of her chair and ran up behind Kendra. She grabbed Kendra's arm, and the two began a heated discussion that was just out of Talia's earshot.

“Blimey,” Bea murmured in Talia's ear. “Talk about a
bee-yotch
, as Whitnee's mum would say.” She scrunched her nose. “This apple tea tastes like worm juice.”

Talia bit her lip to keep from smiling. “You don't have to finish it,” she whispered back, perking her ears at the raised voices.

“—sitting pretty now, aren't you?” Jill hissed at Kendra.

“—none of your business, is it?” Kendra retorted.

In hushed tones, the two argued for a few more minutes. Then Kendra did a pirouette and stalked out the door, following by a glowering Aaron. Talia couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief.

“I apologize for that nasty intrusion,” Jill said softly, reclaiming her seat. Her face looked splotchy. “I don't even know how she heard about our meeting.”

Suzy looked down at her shoes, her cheeks pink. “It might have been my fault. She came into my store today, pretending she wanted to buy something. She must've picked up at least a dozen bottles of facial creams, read the labels, and then put them all back. She was making me so nervous that I started to babble—you know, just making small talk. I guess I must've mentioned the meeting to her.” She looked at Jill remorsefully. “I'm sorry.”

Jill patted Suzy on the knee. “No problem. Why don't we get on with things, then we can all go.”

For the next fifteen minutes, everyone with the exception of Cliff Colby tossed out ideas. Talia wondered why Cliff
had even shown up at the meeting if he had no intention of contributing. One look at his plate, heaped with a second helping of food, pretty much answered the question.

Jim Jepson agreed to display a few of his unique pottery pieces outside on the cobblestone plaza, where passersby could ogle them—something he'd been reluctant to do in the past for fear of breakage or theft. Jill and Suzy both decided to run specials through the weekend, and Suzy was going to put together some freebies in tiny gift bags to hand out to her customers. Although Jill didn't have restaurant facilities, her game plan for Sunday was to offer free samples of some of her English teas, along with freshly baked cranberry mini-scones from Peggy's Bakery.

Bea fidgeted in her chair. “I can do a ‘two for the price of one' tomorrow,” she offered, “to attract shoppers to the arcade. But I've got to say, business was quite perky today, wasn't it, Talia?”

“We did have a pretty good day. I guess when it comes down to it, people have to eat.”

“Well, then, that sounds like a plan, Bea,” Jill said.

“What about you, Cliff?” Talia was just irked enough and weary enough to prod the uncooperative shop owner.

Hearing his name, Cliff finally raised his head. “Oh, uh . . . I sell clocks, mostly vintage stuff. I can't do much more to push those.” He shrugged. “You either need a clock or you don't.”

About as helpful as a furnace in a heat wave,
Talia thought wryly.

Jill pursed her lips at him and said, “Then I guess we're done. Although . . . wait a minute. How are we going to let people know about our specials? Does anyone here have a Facebook page?”

Suzy raised a hand. “My shop does. I'll post all of this tonight. It's somewhat short notice, but I think it will help.”

Talia knew Bea didn't have a Facebook page for Lambert's, so she remained silent.

“Excellent, Suzy,” Jill said. “Listen, I want to thank all of you for coming. I think we've proposed some solid ideas for getting the arcade back on track. Maybe the police will find the killer in the next day or two, and we can put all of this behind us.” She sent a wintry glance in Cliff's direction. “I'll grab some plastic bags from the back and you can all help yourselves to the rest of the goodies. It's easier than my lugging them home.”

Cliff launched himself off his chair and made a beeline for the food. Jim Jepson's cell chose that moment to ring again—the evocative plea to “Light My Fire” streaming from his flannel shirt pocket. Jim rose and stepped away from the group, answering the call as he did so. He moved until he stood a few yards behind Talia. Although she had no intention of eavesdropping, the shrill voice on Jepson's phone came through so clearly that she couldn't stop herself from listening in.

“I just found out he left another voice mail on my machine Wednesday morning. I thought you said everything would be okay. That you were going to . . . take care of it!”

“Everything
is
okay,” Jim said tightly. “It's all going to work out, so just chill. I'm in a meeting right now. I'll call you when I get home.” He ended the call abruptly and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Whoa. What was that about?
Talia wondered, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. Not that she had any right to know—the call was personal and had nothing to do with her. Still, the tone of what she'd overheard had been
ominous, almost frightening. Not something she ever expected from the peace-loving Jim Jepson.

But . . . what if Jim had been referring to Turnbull's murder? What did he mean when he said, ‘it's all going to work out'? The voice at the other end had sounded like a man's—a desperate man's—yet she couldn't be entirely sure. Cell phones had a way of distorting sound. The caller could easily have been a woman with a deep voice.

She had to stop thinking about it. If she didn't, it would drive her crazy.

“—ready, luv? You look like you've seen a monster.” Bea's voice cut through Talia's roving thoughts.

“Oh, sorry, Bea. My mind was wandering. Ready to go?”

By the time they'd all divvied up the remaining sandwiches—the fried pickle supply was depleted—it was after eight o'clock.

“Your pickles were a hit,” Jill said to Bea. “Are you going to start offering those at Lambert's?”

“Ah, well, who knows? That'll all be up to Talia.” Bea sighed, and all at once Talia felt her mood sink. Bea was depending on her more and more. The realization made her insides twist. What was going to happen when the right job landed in her lap and she had to give Bea her notice? What if Howie never got well enough to return to working full time?

Talia scooped the empty pickle tray off the gold runner. “I'll pretend I'm Scarlett O'Hara and think about that tomorrow,” she said to Jill. “Right now, all I want is a hot bath followed by oodles of sleep.”

Suzy came up next to Jill holding a bag of four or five smoked salmon sandwiches. Her bubbly expression of only an hour earlier had vanished, and her blue eyes looked dull
with fatigue. “I heard you mention a hot bath, Talia. I'm trying some new bath salts tonight—pearly almond with a hint of lilac. They came into the shop this morning from one of my new distributors.”

“Sounds like just the ticket.” Talia gave her a weak smile. “Save a bottle for me?”

“Sure thing.” Suzy looked around in all directions, then leaned in close. Speaking quietly, she said, “You know, after meeting that weirdo tonight, I'm glad I did what I—” She stopped herself abruptly, and a bright pink flush crept up her neck, flooding her cheeks. “I mean, I— Sorry, guess I lost my train of thought. I can't even remember what I was going to say.” She let out a nervous giggle that sounded forced and hollow.

“Oh, I do that all that time,” Bea said with a wave of her hand. “Sometimes I wonder if I've left home in the morning without my head.”

Everyone chuckled, but to Talia it was clear that Suzy had been about to blurt something. Something she hadn't intended them all to hear. Maybe something meant for Jill's ears only? The two seemed close. Talia sensed they shared confidences.