Ginny held on tightly, and when she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes. In what seemed like an impulsive gesture, she gave Tricia a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed her to-go box, fled with a “See you on Sunday,” and was gone.
Tricia watched Ginny leave before she left a tip for Molly and picked up her order. On the way out, she stopped at the counter. “Hey, Patti, how’s it going?”
Patti turned a broad smile toward her. “Much better since I found out I’ll get to keep my job. Was it you who convinced Mr. Cambridge to keep us on?”
“From what I understand, it was you who sold him on keeping the paper’s staff.”
Patti laughed. “Staff? Yeah. Well, I guess you could call us that. Did I mention that I’m the designated toilet cleaner—and it isn’t me and Ginger who mess it up.”
Meow!
“I’m excited about the future,” Patti exclaimed, and grinned. “I haven’t felt that way in quite a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“It feels like we’ve been surviving on a wing and prayer for way too long. And, to employ another cliché, Mr. Cambridge appears to be a breath of fresh air.”
“In what way?”
“Let’s just say that I haven’t always agreed with how things have been run at the paper.”
“Oh?” Tricia asked, wide-eyed.
Patti lowered her voice. “Sometimes it seems like . . .” But then she didn’t elaborate. “I have a feeling that in the near future I’m going to once again look forward to going to work,” she said hopefully, her eyes shining.
What was it Patti wasn’t saying about having Russ as a boss?
Molly arrived with a salad plate and what looked like Thousand Island dressing in a little paper cup on the side and plunked it down in front of Patti. “Eat hearty.”
Patti gave her a smile and picked up her fork.
“Have a good lunch,” Tricia wished her, and headed for the door.
It looked like a future without Russ Smith in it was going to be a pleasure for many people in Stoneham. Did it make Tricia a bad person to find herself included in those ranks?
TWENTY-SIX
The balmy breezes seemed to have brought out mystery readers in droves. Tricia and Pixie waited on a rush of customers until late in the afternoon. As always, such an influx of customers put them in high spirits.
“Can you believe it?” Pixie asked, grinning. “We didn’t see this many warm bodies in one afternoon during the height of summer.”
“This week’s bottom line will be amazing,” Tricia agreed.
The door opened and the little bell rang once again, heralding yet another person. Tricia never tired of hearing that sweet sound.
The brunette woman who entered was a stunner dressed in a navy business suit with a white blouse and stilettos that might one day put her in line for the same bunion surgery Angelica had recently undergone. She was at least a decade younger than Tricia and held a dark briefcase. Everything about her shouted Power! She eyed Pixie, seemed to dismiss her, and then zeroed in on Tricia, walking with purpose toward her.
“Hi. Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m the owner, Tricia Miles. How can I help you?”
The woman stopped, standing just a little too close to Tricia. “I’m Diana Porter.”
“Nice to meet you.”
The woman eyed her critically. “Is it?”
Tricia wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “Uh, what kind of mysteries do you like to read?”
“None at all. But I am interested in solving one particular mystery,” the woman continued.
Something about this person seemed off. It took a moment for the woman’s name to register, and when it did, Tricia’s stomach did a somersault “Oh, you’re—”
“Grant Baker’s former fiancée.”
Tricia wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react to that pronouncement. And for some reason a sense of guilt washed over her. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry to hear that your wedding has been postponed.”
“It wasn’t postponed. It was canceled,” Diana said, her stare pointed.
“Again, I’m so . . . so sorry.”
“And you should be.”
Tricia took a step back. “I beg your pardon.”
Diana’s eyes blazed. “It’s because of you I’ve been jilted.”
“What gave you that idea?” Tricia asked, confused.
“Grant told me so. Apparently, he carries a torch for you.”
Tricia felt like she’d been punched in the gut. And then she laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
But Diana’s expression only hardened. “No, I’m not.”
“I don’t know if Grant mentioned it to you, but I happen to be in a stable relationship.” Okay, maybe stable was the wrong word, but Tricia definitely had more feelings for Marshall than she did for Baker.
Didn’t she?
“He did tell me that, but I wanted to hear it from you,” Diana stated.
Tricia noticed Pixie had moved aside but was back to her old habit of eavesdropping. Caught, Pixie looked away and retreated behind one of the store’s taller bookshelves.
Tricia folded her arms across her chest. “Grant and I split up because he was unwilling to make a serious commitment to me. It sounds like he’s making me the scapegoat for refusing to make such a commitment to you, too. I’m only sorry that you were so far into your wedding plans before he spoke to you honestly,” she said rather defiantly.
Diana seemed to ponder Tricia’s explanation. Then she shook her head. “‘Doth thou protest too much?’” she asked, misquoting Shakespeare.
“No!” Tricia protested. “Believe me, the last person I want to be with is Grant Baker.”
“So you say. But he made it clear to me that he has more affection for you than for me.”
“Aye, there’s the rub,” Tricia commented. “Affection—not love. And I don’t love him.”
“But he says he loves you.”
“Well, if he does, he sure hasn’t shown it.” Tricia let out an exasperated breath. “Look, I’m sorry you’re going through this, but since I broke up with Grant, I haven’t encouraged his attention. For heaven’s sake, when we speak, he’s usually rude to me, and I have no desire to deal with that in any kind of a relationship.” Not when she had a good old dependable (if somewhat boring) connection with Marshall.
Again Tricia’s insides wobbled. Good grief, was she still attracted to Grant Baker?
No. No. No. No. No!
Diana’s hard glare was still upon Tricia.
“I’m sorry Grant broke your heart, but I had nothing to do with it.”
Diana seemed to deflate, and suddenly she didn’t seem like the hardened, high-powered attorney who’d walked in the door just minutes before. “I had the perfect dress and everything,” she muttered.
“You must be devastated,” Tricia said kindly.
“Yeah, well . . . I’ll get over it. There are other fish in the sea.”
“There you go,” Tricia encouraged.
Diana studied Tricia in what seemed like minute detail. “I don’t see the appeal,” she said at last.
“Appeal?”
“Why he’d prefer you to me.”
“Do you ever fight?”
Diana smirked. “With boxing gloves?”
Tricia glowered at her.
“No,” Diana answered. “We’ve never had an argument or even much of a disagreement.” She looked thoughtful. Was it Tricia’s feistiness he’d admired and found lacking in the beautiful Diana?
“He’s been rude to you?” she asked.
“Off and on ever since the day we met five years ago.” The fact that he’d suspected her of murder on more than one occasion had never helped cement their relationship, either.
Diana shook her h
ead. “I came in here ready to do battle with you over Grant, but now . . .” She sighed. “I’d better get going. I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, but I can’t. In fact, I wish I’d never heard your name.” And with that, she turned and headed for the door.
Tricia moved to the store’s big display window and watched Diana stalk off up the street toward the municipal parking lot. A movement to Tricia’s right signaled that Pixie had joined her.
“Wow.”
Yeah. Wow.
* * *
* * *
Angelica stood at her kitchen’s breakfast bar with her knee planted on her little scooter, stirring a fresh pitcher of martinis. “You mean she actually confronted you?”
Tricia nodded, eyeing the empty glasses, eager to take the first sip of her drink. After the day she’d had, she deserved it. “I have to admit, I felt sorry for her. The fact that they never had a disagreement spelled doom for their relationship. If there’s one thing Grant Baker loves to do, it’s spar with an opponent.”
“Is that how you saw your relationship with him?”
“Let’s just say the make-up sex was rather spectacular,” Tricia said and winked, smiling.
Angelica positively grinned. “Why, you naughty girl, you.”
Tricia’s smile soon faded. “Yes, well, unfortunately, our discussion has me seriously questioning my relationship with Marshall.”
Angelica’s mouth drooped. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to dump him over this.”
“I have no plans to drop him. But I wonder if we had a little more conflict between us if it would make our time together just a little more interesting.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Angelica warned. She placed the pitcher on a tray along with the glasses and a pot full of salsa and a bowl of taco chips.
“Is that spicy sauce?” Tricia asked.
“Medium. I felt like cooking tonight, so I had Tommy bring over everything we need for chicken quesadillas.”
“Is this the first time you’ve cooked since your surgery?”
“Other than microwaving something, yes. I should have been using my little scooter more. It’s really very handy. I just wish it didn’t look so dorky.”
“I think it looks cute,” Tricia said.
“Yes, well, since our adventures yesterday and then being stuck here all day, I’ve decided I’ve got to get out more, and if I have to look like a dork to do so, then so be it.” She shoved the tray in Tricia’s direction. “It’s such a lovely evening: Why don’t we go sit on the balcony? I’ve missed it during the past few days.”
“Lead the way,” Tricia said, and picked up the tray to follow.
Once they’d taken their usual positions outside, with Sarge sitting on the concrete floor between them, Angelica poured the drinks and they clinked glasses. “To this Diana person finding a better man.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Tricia said. She took a sip, and the taste of the gin on her tongue was an effective—and instantaneous—muscle relaxant.
“What are you going to do about Grant?” Angelica asked.
Tricia focused on her sister’s face. “What do you mean?”
“You have to confront him.”
Tricia shrugged, raising her hands in a gesture of dismay. “Why?”
“Because he’s professed his love for you. Don’t you think you should do something about it?”
“Like what? He hasn’t talked to me about his feelings.”
“But according to Diana he felt strongly enough to call off their wedding.”
“So what.”
“Well, because,” Angelica insisted, exasperated.
“No. That’s not a conversation I want to have with him. Not now. Not ever. He blew his chance years ago. We’re done.”
“But why not at least talk to him?” Angelica persisted.
“Because he’s like a little kid. He wants something while he wants it. Then, when he gets it, he tosses it aside.”
“Like Sofia playing with the box instead of the toy that came in it?”
“Exactly,” Tricia agreed.
They sipped their drinks in silence for a long moment. Angelica took in a deep breath and then exhaled. “Isn’t this weather heavenly?”
Tricia was happy she’d dropped the previous subject. “I wonder how many more days like this we’ll have,” she said.
“Global warming is terrible in the long run, but on a day like this . . .” Angelica said wistfully.
“I dread the winter,” Tricia said with despair.
“Why?”
“Because we have long days with no customers and high heating bills. It costs a lot to have two employees, too.”
“But you wouldn’t get rid of either of them, would you?” Angelica asked sharply.
“Of course not, although I’m sure Mr. Everett would come in for free. He doesn’t need the money, but he loves the store, the customers, and feeling useful.”
“There’s a lot to say for feeling useful.”
“Speaking of which, did Antonio call to say how Hank Curtis made out on his first day at the inn?”
“Yes, he did. And he spoke of him in glowing terms. Already Hank has been delving into the way things are done at the Brookview and has made some very good suggestions. If he can run things more efficiently and cost-effectively, I’m in. But I don’t want to lose personnel. If his changes give our people time on their hands, then he’ll need to find things for them to do to fill it.”
“And Antonio is okay with all that?”
“Okay? He’s over the moon. One thing I can say about my boy is that he has no ego. Whatever is best for the business he’s in favor of. And, of course, he’s been looking forward to expanding in other directions. If Hank works out, he can do whatever he wants with our brand. The sky’s the limit.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Tricia sipped her martini. “I had lunch with Ginny today, and she loved all of your suggestions on how to renovate their home.”
“I’m so glad. I had more than one really evil mother-in-law, and I always told myself that I would never be that woman.”
“I don’t think you have to worry. From what I’ve observed, Ginny considers you her second mom.”
Angelica’s mouth trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t imagine how happy you just made me.”
Tricia grinned. “Glad to oblige.” But then her smile faded. “This afternoon, between customers, I started thinking about it and I’ve decided to give up looking into Susan Morris’s death.”
“Why’s that?” Angelica asked.
“It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. I’m truly convinced that her death was just some kind of random act.”
“What about your theory?” Angelica asked.
“I suppose it is rather far-fetched.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Angelica acknowledged. “But it’s not like you to give up.”
“It might also be that I’m tired of being dismissed by Chief Baker. You were right. I should just let him try to figure out who’s responsible for Susan’s death.”
Angelica nodded. “I can’t say I blame you.”
“And yet . . .” Tricia began. She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about abandoning her own search for the truth. She had not known the dead woman—she’d never even laid eyes on her—but the fact that Susan had been discarded in her dumpster like so much refuse ate at Tricia’s soul. Nobody deserved that kind of treatment, in life or in death.
“Yet what?”
“Nothing.”
“If you say so.” Angelica picked up one of the chips and plunged it into the salsa, spilling a little on the table. “Oh, dear. We forgot napkins.”
“I’ll go get some,” Tricia volunteered and got up from her chair.
“Bring Sarge a b
iscuit, too, will you?” Angelica called.
“Will do.”
Tricia went in through the sliding glass door and into the kitchen.
Was Grant really mooning over her? If so, was he likely to give her theory on Susan’s murder another chance or would he just dismiss her again?
She’d lost count of how many times he’d rejected her ideas and looked at her with downright suspicion. That was no basis for a relationship and another reason why she’d called theirs off in the first place.
No. She was not going to give the man another chance.
Not now, not ever.
And yet . . .
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tricia ended up staying far longer at Angelica’s place than she usually did. The evening was so balmy, after dinner they went back outside, sat on the balcony, and looked at the stars, discussing Ginny’s renovation and a host of other topics. It was almost eleven when Tricia returned home and received a thorough scolding from her cat, whom she fed before picking up her cell phone and then leading the way to her third-floor suite. The air in the bedroom felt stuffy, so Tricia put the phone on her nightstand and opened the window that overlooked the alley to let in some fresh air. After getting ready for bed, she sat up for an hour to read. But when she turned out the light, she didn’t feel at all sleepy. She had too much on her mind.
One person, actually.
Was she still attracted to Grant Baker? She didn’t think so. Did they have unfinished business? Not really. She’d made her feelings quite clear to him when they’d broken up. He’d done likewise.
Tricia rearranged the pillow behind her neck, then gave it a punch.
How dare Baker use her as an excuse to dump his fiancée! He probably didn’t have any feelings for Tricia at all—except for contempt when she shared her ideas about Susan Morris’s death. It was just an excuse for his usual problem when it came to relationships: failure to launch.
Tricia tried thinking of other things, counting proverbial sheep, and listing her favorite mysteries in alphabetical order by author, and ended up tossing and turning for more than half an hour. Maybe she should get up and get a mug of warm milk. Sometimes that did the trick.
Handbook for Homicide Page 25
