“You mean a detective?”
“Thanks to winning the lawsuit, I’ve got the money. He might even have some information for me later today.” She let out a weary sigh. “That girl needs to step up and take care of her child and her business and give up on the ridiculous idea of being a TV chef.”
“Can’t she do both?” Tricia asked. “It seems to me some of these celebrity chefs have multiple businesses. And those just coming up the pike already have cake shops or the like.”
“That may be true, but Nikki has not been making good decisions for some time now. She likes to blame me for it because I was forced out of her life at an early age. Of course, I feel terrible about the past, but it can’t be changed. When we were first reunited, everything seemed wonderful—possible. But then she started dating Russ.”
Tricia listened patiently as Fiona conveyed a rather lengthy list of Russ’s many faults, which Fiona assured her she’d never mentioned to Nikki. As a concerned mother, she worried that voicing such opinions could threaten their tenuous relationship, so she’d kept mum on the subject. But Tricia knew the truth in what Fiona said.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help,” Tricia said with sincerity.
“And I’m sorry I put you in such an untenable position.”
“To employ an old saw, you’re the one between a rock and a hard place,” Tricia offered.
Fiona sighed. “That I am.”
“I don’t know what else to do that would help,” Tricia offered.
“You’ve been a good friend to me, and I’m sorry that Nikki can’t see that you’ve been a good friend to her as well.”
Tricia wasn’t sure what else to say on that account, so she changed the subject. “There’s something new that’s come into the mix. Russ has put the Stoneham Weekly News up for sale. He put a half-page ad for it on the last page of the current issue.”
“Really?” Fiona’s surprise was evident by her tone.
“I take it this surprises you.”
“Yes. Nikki told me that he had an unnatural attachment to that dusty little rag.”
Tricia couldn’t help but smile at the remark. “I feel sorry for both Nikki and Russ. They had everything going for them. I’m sad that they couldn’t make it work.”
“Is that regret something you feel when it comes to your life as well?” Fiona asked.
Tricia frowned and thought about her ex-husband, Christopher. She didn’t think she would have gotten back together with him, but he’d been a charmer, and there was always that possibility . . . until he was killed protecting Angelica, of course. And when he was murdered, that option was yanked from her forever.
“Kind of,” Tricia admitted. “But the past is the past and we can’t fix it.”
“Exactly,” Fiona agreed, her tone filled with sorrow. She had to be thinking of the years she had spent isolated from her firstborn.
“I do hope you’ll keep me informed on what happens to little Russell. I feel bad for that poor boy,” Tricia said.
“Yes. If I don’t call, I’ll at least email you to keep you in the loop. Somehow this has to be resolved in the next week or so,” Fiona said sadly.
“Thanks,” Tricia said. She didn’t know what else to say.
“Anything exciting happening in good old Stoneham?” Fiona asked.
Tricia considered telling her about Pixie finding Susan Morris’s body behind her store but then changed her mind. Fiona might just grill her on the sordid details. Authors tended to do that.
“Everything’s great.”
“Good. Well, I’d best get to work researching a couple of topics for my next book. It’s going to be a doozy.”
“I can’t wait to read it,” Tricia said.
“Until later. Bye.”
“Good-bye, Fiona,” Tricia said, and the call ended, leaving her feeling just a little depressed. Still, Russell Junior wasn’t her problem. Neither was what happened to Nikki or Russ. She switched on her computer, determined to put the Smith family and their troubles out of her thoughts. She wanted to look up what a military food manager’s job entailed. A quick Google search later and she had her answer. She read the job description and was surprised to learn that not only did the position require a four-year college degree but it paid well. Such a manager had to be a jack-of-all-trades, with purchasing power, supervisory capabilities, and a host of other skills and responsibilities. Hank Curtis had had a very demanding job while in the military. There had to be more to his story than a rough transition to civilian life.
Tricia crossed her legs and realized she was still wearing the knee-high boots, which were caked with dried mud and could use a good polish. She’d do that later, but first she needed to change back into her usual sweater-set work attire.
As she headed up the stairs to her apartment, Tricia thought again about Hank Curtis. Though no longer in the military, his authority in the homeless camp seemed absolute. Was it worth her time and effort to find out more about him?
* * *
* * *
When Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, she found the workmen had arrived to replace the store’s back door and jamb. Thankfully no customers were subjected to the constant banging and drone of power tools, and they left her with new locks, a repaired security system, and an itemized bill to submit to her insurance company.
Tricia spent the rest of the afternoon feeling distracted by all that had happened during that very busy day. Heavy rain made a return visit and the sky had prematurely darkened, making Haven’t Got a Clue seem as gloomy as a dusty old museum. Mr. Everett would no doubt notice when he came back to work the next day and wield his lamb’s-wool duster along the baseboard and shelves so that everything would once again feel squeaky clean.
When closing time rolled around, Tricia bid Pixie a good evening and was happy to shut the door behind her and head for Angelica’s for their usual happy hour and dinner. But first she heeded Baker’s advice and set the security system. As she unlocked the door to the Cookery, she pondered what treat Tommy over at Booked for Lunch had made for their dinner.
Tricia headed up the stairs to Angelica’s apartment and was greeted—as usual—by an ecstatic Sarge. Angelica sat at one of the island stools and tossed the dog a biscuit she had at the ready, telling him, “Hush!” The barking ceased immediately.
“Does he need to go out?” Tricia asked, taking off her jacket, wondering why she bothered donning it when Angelica lived right next door. She hung it on a peg.
“No. June took him out for a comfort stop just before she left. How was your day? I want to hear every detail—a minute-by-minute description,” Angelica said, sounding desperate.
Tricia eyed her sister. “You’re that bored?”
“I’m about to go out of my mind.”
“I don’t understand. You do most of your work here at home anyway.”
“Yes, but I visit my places of business on a regular basis. I’m at Booked for Lunch every day it’s open. I visit the Sheer Comfort Inn at least every other day. And I pop in at Booked for Beauty a couple of days a week, too, if only to change my nail polish. Look at my fingers. It looks like they’ve been through a war.”
Was that an opening for Tricia to discuss Hank Curtis?
“How about I make us a couple of drinks and then we can talk.”
“You know where the gin is.”
Although Angelica hadn’t made a pitcher of martinis, she had installed the glasses in the freezer to chill them. In no time Tricia stirred the decanter with a glass spoon and poured. “Let’s sit in the living room.”
“I’m for that.” Angelica settled herself on her knee scooter and zipped over to the sectional, where she moved to the chaise end so that her booted foot was raised. Tricia carried the tray with the pitcher and glasses into the room, setting it on the coffee table. Angelica po
ured and passed a stemmed glass to her sister before Tricia sat in the adjacent chair. “Now, tell all.”
Tricia raised her glass. “Cheers.” She took a sip. “First, I’ve got a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“How much responsibility does Antonio carry?”
Angelica blinked. “A lot. Why?”
“I was thinking maybe if he had less to do, he might be more available for Ginny and Sofia.”
“So they can have another baby?” Angelica asked eagerly.
“Not necessarily. I mean, they could have a live-in nanny if they wanted.”
“That’s true, and I’ve suggested it more than once. I also think Ginny’s been a lot happier since I convinced her that there’s no shame in having her house cleaned by someone other than her. I mean, it keeps someone else in a job.”
“That’s a good way of thinking about it.”
“Thank you. But what did you have in mind when it comes to Antonio?”
“What do you think about hiring a food service manager? Someone who could coordinate the buying for the Brookview, Booked for Lunch, and the Sheer Comfort Inn. Someone who’s good at logistics, overseeing personnel, and a host of other duties.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to put Antonio out of a job.”
“Not at all. It would free him up to do other things for Nigela Ricita Associates. I’ve sensed he sometimes gets restless.”
Angelica looked thoughtful and sighed. “We have discussed that in the past. And where would you find such a superman?”
“Well, I think I may have met him at the homeless camp.”
Angelica looked skeptical. “Really?”
“He’s a twenty-year Army veteran.”
Angelica frowned. “Why’s a man with that kind of experience homeless?”
This was where things got sketchy. “Uh, circumstances.”
Angelica raised an eyebrow.
“Okay,” Tricia admitted, “he kind of lost his sobriety.”
“‘Kind of’?” Angelica asked.
“It happens,” Tricia explained.
“And is he still a druggie or tippler?”
“Hey, we’re tipplers.”
“We aren’t homeless,” Angelica pointed out.
“You’re the one who rescues people and gives them not only jobs but hope. Heck, it was you who convinced me to take Pixie on. I’ve never regretted it.”
“She is one of my success stories,” Angelica agreed, taking a sip of her drink. “Do you think this man would even want a job?”
“I didn’t bring up the subject. I thought I’d better run it past you first.”
“Let me run the idea past Antonio and I’ll get back to you.”
Tricia nodded; she couldn’t expect more at this point.
“Marshall and I spoke to the man who seemed to be in charge of the camp—the ex-Army guy. His name is Hank Curtis. I asked what we could bring on a future visit, and he suggested canned food. I thought I might go to Milford and buy some cases for them.”
“When will you take it to the camp? And you’re not going on your own!” Angelica declared.
“I don’t know,” Tricia said and avoided commenting on the second half of Angelica’s statement. “Soon. I wish I could give them something a little more meaningful.”
“I’d say food was pretty important.”
“Yes, but . . . seeing those pitiful tents and big cartons really got to me.”
Angelica nodded and toyed with the frill pick in her drink. “What else happened today?”
Tricia accepted the change of subject. “Fiona called again.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah. I told her what I knew about Russ’s situation. She wasn’t pleased and has hired a private detective to track Nikki down.”
“Well, it makes sense,” Angelica said, and ate one of her olives. She gave a sigh. Sarge looked up at her from the floor, where he’d settled next to the couch, cocked his head, and looked at his dog mom with such devotion.
“I know you don’t usually let Sarge on the furniture inside, but look at those little eyes. He wants to comfort you,” Tricia said.
“Of course you do,” Angelica cooed, and reached down to pet the dog’s head. It took only a few seconds before she said, “Oh, all right. Come and sit on Mommy’s lap.”
The dog immediately leapt into the air with the grace of a gymnast and nearly knocked Angelica’s drink from her hand. “Sit!” she implored as Sarge tried to give her doggie kisses.
Sarge sat but whimpered with gratitude.
“I know I’m going to regret this.”
“Since we were speaking of the Smith family and their trials and tribulations, did you get a chance to read today’s issue of the Stoneham Weekly News?” Tricia asked.
“Every last word. It took me all of five minutes.”
“What do you think about Russ putting the business up for sale?”
“I’m not at all surprised,” Angelica said. “As the new Chamber head, he’s done nothing but alienate most of the businesses in town. I wasn’t the only one to pull advertising. He can’t stay in business if no one will patronize his little venture.”
That was true.
“I’m not even sure the village needs a weekly paper,” Angelica said. “Big newspapers across the country are failing. That rag is only good for lining bird cages and wrapping old dishes relegated to attics and thrift stores.”
“That’s sad,” Tricia remarked. “In years past, Russ did do some actual reporting. If he hadn’t been so obnoxious toward me, I might even feel sorry for him.”
“Sorrier than for the men living in that homeless camp?”
Tricia thought about it. “No.” She changed the subject once again. “What’s for supper?”
“Stuffed peppers. It seemed like a nice meal for a cold, rainy evening.”
“I’ll say. I love that Tommy makes it with sausage instead of ground beef.”
“Me, too. Would you mind putting them in the oven to reheat?”
“Not a bit. Then, when I get back, we can have another drink.”
She drained her glass and headed for the kitchen.
Once the peppers were in the oven, Tricia set two places on the kitchen island and returned to the living room to pour them new drinks, after which they clinked glasses.
“You didn’t finish telling me about your little adventure this morning. Were you able to learn anything about Susan Morris during your visit to the homeless camp?” Angelica asked.
“No. But remember that earring I found the evening we looked in her car?” she said, and resumed her seat.
“Uh-huh.”
“A man at the camp was wearing its mate.”
“Get out.”
“No lie. I ran into Grant at lunchtime”—she deliberately didn’t mention that it was at the Bookshelf Diner, Angelica’s competition—“and told him about it. Afterward, I gave him the earring. He’s going to check it out.”
“How can you be sure it’s from the same set?”
“I can’t, but it’s got to be a clue, don’t you think?”
Angelica looked skeptical. “What was the camp like?”
“Sad. Tents, tarps, and cardboard. Nobody should have to live like that.”
“What will they do when the weather turns for the worse?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they go south if they can.”
And if they didn’t? What then?
Tricia didn’t want to continue discussing that subject and instead told her sister of the repairs to her shop’s back entrance. The tale didn’t seem to entertain Angelica.
“So, what have you been doing all day?” Tricia asked.
“Wrote emails. Studied spreadsheets. Nothing very interesting. But, thanks to your
suggestion the other day, I made an appointment for both of us at Booked for Beauty to get a haircut and our nails done. Do you think you could carve out an hour or so to do it?”
Tricia was due for a trim and to have her hair highlighted. “Sure. When?”
“Tomorrow. I’ve got a morning appointment so we can go out and have lunch afterward.”
No way was Tricia going to beg off when it meant so much to Angelica to get out, but all these restaurant meals and take-out dinners from Booked for Lunch had to be playing havoc with her weight. Not many things frightened her, but getting on the scale was definitely high on the list of things that did.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said.
“Good. I’ll text you in the morning. And going to the day spa will give you an opportunity to talk to Randy about Susan.”
“Does he have anything interesting to report?”
“He interviewed her twice. That must mean something,” Angelica offered.
Yes, it might.
Suddenly, Tricia was looking forward to getting her nails done.
SIXTEEN
Upon arriving back home, Tricia reset the security system and trudged up the steps to the apartment above her store. After such an event-filled day, she expected to feel exhausted, but her mind was filled with so many thoughts and she felt so restless, she knew trying to sit and read would be futile. So instead she pulled out one of her cookbooks and chose to make a batch of lemon crinkle cookies. She assembled the ingredients and made the dough and had just put the first batch into the oven, when her phone rang. Only two people would be calling her at that time of night: Angelica or Marshall.
It was Marshall.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I was just thinking about you. Were you thinking of me?” he asked.
“Sorry, but no. I was thinking about my day and then decided to make cookies for tomorrow’s customers. But I’m glad that you called. I wanted to thank you again for going with me to the homeless camp today.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Oh, he lied so effortlessly.
“And thanks for indulging me about going to lunch at the Bookshelf Diner, too. I know we both prefer other venues.”
Handbook for Homicide Page 15
