Tricia continued on to Haven’t Got a Clue and let herself in, locking up for the night and setting the security system. As she mounted the steps to her loft apartment, she wondered if she had any silver polish.
FIVE
Tricia hung up her sweater, dug into her pocket for the earring, and headed for the kitchen. In the cabinet under the sink, she found what she was looking for: a squat, plastic container of silver polish. She’d had it for quite a while and had used a good portion of it before her ill-fated cocktail party at the end of winter. She hadn’t thought about it since but was glad to find it behind the box of dishwasher powder.
Grabbing a sheet of paper towel, Tricia took a seat at the breakfast bar, dabbed the provided sponge with some of the purple paste, and rubbed it against the small earring, wiping away the tarnish. Cleaning it gave her no better clue about the earring’s origin or its owner. She polished it with the toweling and studied it. What she needed was a magnifying glass to see if there were any identifying marks on the back. Before she could go in search of one, her cell phone rang.
Tricia didn’t recognize the number on the display, which was unusual. She didn’t give her number out to many people. Haven’t Got a Clue had its own number. She tapped the little icon and tentatively said, “Hello?”
“Tricia? It’s Fiona Sample.” Nikki Brimfield’s mother. Talk about an unexpected caller. Six years before, Tricia had arranged for the estranged mother and daughter to reunite. She’d met the delightful author several times after that when she’d come to Stoneham from her home in Ontario, Canada, to visit her oldest daughter and her family, and on the Authors at Sea cruise the year before.
“Hi, Fiona. What’s up?” Tricia asked, although she thought she had an idea what the woman might want to discuss.
“It’s Nikki. I know there’s been some bad blood between you two—and I honestly don’t understand why, especially now that she’s left Russ,” Fiona began. Nikki had been married to Russ Smith, owner of the Stoneham Weekly News and the current president of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce, for almost two years. Theirs had been a rocky relationship from the get-go. Tricia had dated Russ for a short period of time. He dumped her when the prospect of a job at a big-city newspaper seemed possible. When no offer appeared, he’d decided he’d made a mistake and wanted Tricia back. She’d cut her losses, but Russ had gone so far as to stalk her for a while. Somehow Nikki got it into her head that it was Tricia doing the stalking, and she’d ended their friendship.
“Anyway,” Fiona continued. “I’m sure the gossip mills in Stoneham know that she’s hired a manager for the Patisserie and flown to California to participate in the Divine Desserts Competition.”
“That news has been making the rounds,” Tricia admitted, abandoning the silver earring on the paper towel and pushing it aside.
“I’m very upset about the whole situation. Nikki’s cell phone number is no longer in operation, and emails to her bounce. She hasn’t called to give me her new number, and I don’t know how to get in touch with her. And I really need to.”
“Couldn’t Russ give you Nikki’s number?”
“He says she didn’t give it to him, either.”
“I understand Nikki left little Russell with his father,” Tricia said.
“That’s the problem. Russ doesn’t want to be the sole caretaker of his son. He called me last night and wants me to take him. He says, with the paper and his volunteer job at the Chamber, he hasn’t got the time to fully devote to his son and thinks the child would be better off with me.”
“And what do you think?”
“That that bastard never loved that baby and is looking for any chance he can get to ditch him.”
“How about you?”
“You know I love my grandson, but I’ve got a husband, two teenagers, a career, and a house to take care of. And I live in another country. I’m not sure what the legal ramifications would be for me or little Russell.”
“That does complicate things.”
“That boy belongs with his parents—at least one of them. Do you think you could talk some sense into Russ?”
Tricia gave a mirthless laugh. “No way. The last few times we’ve spoken, he’s been extremely rude to me.” Out of spite, Russ had run for Chamber president against Tricia and another. When the winner of the election died before even taking office, Russ—who’d garnered precisely four more votes than Tricia—was awarded the title. Not winning outright was something else he resented, and he’d done his best to try to destroy the organization out of pure malice.
“I’m sorry, Fiona. I don’t see how I could be of any help.”
“What about Russ’s friends?”
“I’m not sure that he has any.”
“How about the women in his office? Do you know them?”
“Not personally. I mean, I’ve dealt with them in the past and they’ve always been cordial, but we’re not friends by any means.”
“But could you speak to them and ask them to talk to Russ?”
Tricia sighed. She liked Fiona. She’d like to be of help.
“I guess I could try.”
“Oh, thank you so much.”
“How goes the writing business?” Tricia asked.
“Very well indeed. In fact, that’s another reason I simply can’t bring little Russell to live with us. I’m sure you heard my lawsuit against Zoë Carter’s estate was settled out of court and I regained my rights to the Jess and Addie Forever series.”
“Yes, I’m so happy for you.” Zoë Carter had found the manuscripts in an old trunk and passed them off as her work and made millions of dollars. Tricia had brought that fact to light and had been deposed in the case.
“While waiting for the settlement, I wrote another book. It’ll be out next summer, and I’m on deadline with another book in that series and have another two Bonnie Chesterfield books to write in the next year.”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Yes. And my publisher has big plans for a ten-city book tour and a big-budget marketing plan.”
“I hope you’ll have time to visit us here in Stoneham,” Tricia said.
Fiona laughed. “Of course. I’d love to do a signing at Haven’t Got a Clue. If it wasn’t for you, my life would be very, very different. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“You already have. And I hope to be able to read many, many more books in both your series.”
Again Fiona laughed. “Well, I’m dedicating this latest one to you—and, of course, darling Miss Marple.”
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell every one of my customers about it.”
“Well, if I’m going to meet my deadlines, I must get back to work,” Fiona said. “Thank you so much for talking to Russ’s employees.”
Tricia winced. She’d almost forgotten the real reason for the call. “I’ll let you know their reactions in a day or so.”
“Thank you, Tricia. You’re a saint.”
A saint or a sucker? Tricia pretty much knew which of those descriptors applied to her.
* * *
* * *
After ending the call with Fiona, Tricia fed her cat, poured herself a glass of wine, picked up the earring, and headed for the reading nook in her bedroom. It was her favorite space in the renovated apartment, and she liked to end the day there reading a new-to-her title or rereading an old favorite.
Before changing into night attire, Tricia opened her jewelry box and tossed the earring inside before she settled in for a good read. No sooner did she stretch out her legs on the upholstered chaise than again the phone rang. This time she recognized the number. Had Angelica been right? Was she going to get a lunch or dinner invitation? “Marshall?”
“Tricia. Are we still speaking?”
Tricia frowned. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“I don’t know. W
e didn’t have much to say on the ride home from the airport.”
“I’m never very chatty when I’m suffering from jet lag.” Tricia decided she’d better address the other elephant in the room. “I suppose you heard about Susan Morris being found in the dumpster behind my store.”
“Everyone in the village is talking about it.”
Of course.
“Word is she was strangled,” he said.
“That’s right,” Tricia said matter-of-factly as Miss Marple sauntered into the room.
“So, what do you think happened?”
“I have no clue, but as Pixie found her, she’s concerned she might be blamed for the murder.”
“On what grounds?”
“That she knew the woman,” Tricia said as her cat jumped onto the end of the chaise.
“So what? I knew her, too,” Marshall said.
“You did?”
“Not well. She interviewed for the job of assistant manager of the Armchair Tourist earlier in the summer.”
“Why didn’t you hire her?”
“She wasn’t up to speed with spreadsheets needed for inventory. Other than that, she was very knowledgeable about world travel.”
“She was?” Tricia asked, watching as Miss Marple turned around twice before settling down.
“Apparently she served in the military, traveled the world, and got discharged as a lieutenant in the Navy.”
Not only had Susan been a homeless woman—she’d been a homeless Navy vet, too? Suddenly the anchor earring made perfect sense.
“That poor woman.”
“Is it true she lived in her car?”
“I’m afraid so. Angelica and I checked it out earlier this evening. But according to Pixie she seemed fine with the situation—or at least she’d learned to make the best of it.”
“How sad.”
“Sadder still that there are literally thousands like her—and many not as lucky.”
“You call that lucky?” Marshall muttered.
Tricia sighed. “Not really.”
They were quiet for a long moment before Marshall spoke again. “I called to see if you were free for lunch tomorrow.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Somewhere quiet—and away from Stoneham.”
“I think I could make myself available.”
“Great. Then shall I pick you up around eleven thirty?”
“That sounds fine.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
“Good night.”
Tricia set her phone aside and picked up her book, removing the bookmark, and began reading where she’d left off. Unfortunately, after reading the first paragraph three times, she still hadn’t garnered its meaning.
Setting the book aside, she got up and went back to her jewelry box and took out the earring she’d abandoned only minutes before. This time she returned to her kitchen and the crock where she kept pens and her magnifying glass.
How had the earring gotten scratched? Susan had probably worn the set for years, lost one, and then decided to hold on to the other as a keepsake. It might be something Susan’s daughter would like to have, especially if she remembered her mother wearing the set. But how would Tricia get it to the woman? She didn’t want to admit to Baker that she’d taken the earring out of Susan’s car. Because she had Susan’s daughter’s name, perhaps she could find out the woman’s address and mail it to her. She’d think about it.
Returning to her seat, Tricia found that her cat had appropriated her end of the chaise.
“Off,” Tricia ordered.
Miss Marple turned her head and closed her eyes.
“I mean it.”
Miss Marple stretched out and rolled onto her other side, turning her back on Tricia.
“You’re being very naughty.”
Still no reaction from the cat.
Tricia stood there for a long moment, then picked up her book. Despite the early hour, she would read in bed. It wasn’t as comfortable, but she’d done it thousands of times before.
As soon as she settled against her piled-up pillows, Miss Marple jumped up to join her.
“Were you lonely?”
Miss Marple merely said, “Yow.”
Tricia turned her attention to the page before her, but her thoughts went back to her conversation with Marshall. Susan had been a veteran and homeless, too. Could either of those facts have contributed to her death?
SIX
Tricia returned from her walk the next morning in plenty of time to begin the workday at ten. She found she enjoyed her exercise routine far more in the spring and the fall, when the temperatures were cooler and the latter season was just beginning.
She made the store’s first pots of coffee of the day (regular and decaf) and was about to choose the morning’s music when the bell over the door tinkled, announcing the arrival of Pixie, who’d taken Tricia’s advice of the previous day and was wearing her pretty floral dress and the white sweater.
“Morning. Have you heard anything about Susan?” Pixie asked anxiously.
“Good morning. If you mean have they made an arrest for her murder, no, I haven’t.”
“Damn.” Pixie flopped down on one of the upholstered chairs in the reader’s nook, looking glum.
“But I did find out something about her that I found interesting.”
“From who? Chief Baker?” Pixie asked anxiously.
“I did speak to him,” Tricia admitted, “but the only news he was willing to share was that Susan’s daughter was supposed to go to Nashua and make arrangements to retrieve her mother’s body. He said she was from Utica, New York.”
“I didn’t know that,” Pixie said.
“Did you know Susan served in the Navy?”
Pixie shook her head. “She never mentioned it. Although, come to think of it, she did say she visited doctors in Manchester. Isn’t that where the VA hospital is?”
Tricia nodded. “What did she go there for?”
“She never said. Just that she had an appointment for some kind of medical problem.”
“When was this?”
Pixie shrugged. “Months ago.”
Tricia nodded. With that subject exhausted, she changed to a new one. “I’ve got a lunch date with Marshall. He’s picking me up at eleven thirty.”
“Oh, good,” Pixie said, brightening.
It seemed everybody was rooting for the two of them to get together. Why didn’t Tricia feel so hopeful about their relationship?
“Me and Mr. Everett can handle the store—and we can swap lunch hours.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you have a chance to bake anything for the customers last night?” Pixie asked.
Tricia shook her head. “I hadn’t even thought about it. After dinner with Angelica, we—” She thought fast. “—we went for a walk.”
“Was that when you ran into Chief Baker?”
“Uh, yes. You might say that. Afterward I came home and read for a while and then went to bed. Why?”
“I was just thinking it’s been a while since you made any cookies, and—”
“I suppose I could get us something from across the street at the Coffee Bean.”
“They didn’t have any cookies when I stopped in to pick up a muffin. Have you had a chance to meet the new guy who’s managing the Patisserie?” Pixie asked. “He seems kinda nice . . . unlike his AWOL boss.”
“No, I haven’t met him,” Tricia said. She hadn’t patronized the bakery in almost three months. Her decision was based on the fact that Nikki had been so incredibly unpleasant toward her. If Nikki hadn’t given her mother or her husband her new phone number, surely she’d given it to her new manager. Shouldn’t Russ have already thought of that as well? And if this new manager hadn’t given it to Rus
s, he wasn’t likely to give it to Tricia, either.
Nikki had burned a lot of bridges these past few years and had few friends left in Stoneham, her hometown. Tricia was also pretty sure Nikki would have given this new manager her opinion on Haven’t Got a Clue’s owner—or was Tricia giving Nikki too much credit on that account? She may not have even mentioned Tricia’s name because she thought so little of her.
“Have you heard anything about this guy?” she asked Pixie.
“I’ve met him. While you were gone, I bought some cookies.”
“Yes, I saw.”
“I couldn’t let the customers—and Mr. E—go without,” Pixie said defensively. “And without you baking . . .”
“I hope you didn’t pay for them yourself,” Tricia said.
“Well . . .”
“Let me know what you spent, and I’ll reimburse you.”
“Aw, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s a store expense—a deduction.”
Pixie shrugged. “Well, if you put it that way . . . but you need to know that they weren’t all that great.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“This manager,” Tricia prodded.
Pixie frowned. She listened to gossip but didn’t often repeat it.
“I only ask because I got a call from Nikki’s mother yesterday. Nikki changed her number and hasn’t given it to her or her soon-to-be ex. What if there was an emergency with little Russell? Surely this guy would have her number.” And if he’d give her the number, she wouldn’t have to ask the women at the Stoneham Weekly News to intervene. “Do you think he might be persuaded to give it to Nikki’s mother, or at least convey a message to Nikki?”
“He might. He does have a son, although I think he’s a lot older than Nikki’s boy. Do you want me to go ask him?”
Tricia shook her head. “I’m the one who spoke with Fiona. It should be me who makes the request.” She checked her phone and wrote Fiona’s name and number down on a piece of paper. “I’ll go have a chat with this guy. What’s his name?”
“Roger. Roger Sykes.”
Handbook for Homicide Page 7
