The chief knocked, and Tricia opened the door for him. “Hello, Grant. Come on in.”
Baker nodded and followed her back to the kitchen island, where her tuna plate awaited.
“Angelica,” Baker said, nodded in her direction, and took off his hat, holding it in both hands and looking just a little sheepish.
Baker’s demeanor came as a bit of a surprise as he admitted, “You were right, Tricia. Video from the Have A Heart bookstore’s surveillance cameras plainly showed Russ Smith’s truck head down the alley toward Haven’t Got a Clue about midnight on the night of Susan Morris’s death. Once we could place him at the scene of the crime and tampering with physical evidence, he broke down. He admitted he confronted her, and when he saw what she was burying in his trash tote, he just snapped. Apparently it was the last straw, what with his wife leaving him and the emotional and financial strain he’d been under. My guess is he’ll plead temporary insanity.”
Tricia shook her head. “Poor Russ.”
“You feel sorry for the jerk?” Baker asked.
“Part of me does. But I feel more pity for Susan Morris. What she did wasn’t right, but it wasn’t worth being killed for, either. What happens now?”
“We’ve booked him for manslaughter. It’ll be up to the district attorney to decide if they’ll bring any other charges against him.”
“At least he’ll be off the streets and not a threat to anyone else,” Angelica said.
“Not necessarily,” Tricia said. “He might make bail.”
“How?” Angelica asked.
“Don’t forget, he’s expecting a check from Marshall from the sale of the Stoneham Weekly News.”
Baker shook his head. “From what we’ve gathered, he was planning to leave the state as soon as the check cleared. It’s likely he’ll be considered a flight risk and have to stay in jail until the trial.”
“You don’t think he’ll try to make a deal?” Tricia asked.
Baker shrugged. “He may try.”
Tricia shook her head and sighed, then looked up, gazing into Baker’s amazing green eyes. “Does this mean I’m off house arrest?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You told me to lay low.”
“And, brother, did she take you at your word,” Angelica complained. “We’ve been cooped up for days.”
“You’re free to go where you want and do as you please,” Baker said, but for some reason he didn’t look all that happy about it.
“Thanks for delivering the news in person.”
“Yes,” Angelica put in. “And now that we know how you nailed Russ, I think we should invest in a surveillance setup,” she told Tricia. “We could have a couple of cameras installed between our stores so that if there’s ever another break-in, we’d have a better shot at catching the crook or crooks.”
“I agree,” Baker said. “That video we obtained is the strongest piece of evidence we have against Smith. Without it, he literally might have gotten away with murder.”
Tricia let that statement sink in for a moment before her cell phone’s ringtone broke the quiet. Sarge gave a bark and stood up in his bed. Tricia snatched the phone from the island and glanced at the number. “It’s Marshall. I’ll call him back later. He probably just wants an update on the Russ situation.”
“Hmm,” Baker muttered, picked a tiny piece of lint from his hat, and stuck it into his pants pocket. “Well, I’d better get back to work,” he said, giving Tricia a long last look.
“I’ll see you out,” she said.
“Don’t bother. I know the way. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”
He turned, and Tricia followed him to the door, closing it behind him. She returned to her seat, picked up her fork, but then set it down again.
“Diana was right. That man is definitely carrying a torch for you,” Angelica said.
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’ve seen that look before. He broke off his engagement because he’s pining for you.”
“Well, he can pine all he wants: he had his shot and he blew it.” Tricia picked up her fork with a feeling of defiance, dug into her tuna salad, and shoved it in her mouth.
“You ought to check Marshall’s message. Maybe it’s important.”
Tricia chewed and swallowed. “How can it be important? He hasn’t even made the effort to see me during the past four days.”
“But he has called,” Angelica reminded her sister.
“Yes,” Tricia conceded, although their conversations weren’t all that memorable.
“Listen to the message,” Angelica pressed.
“Oh, all right.”
Tricia picked up her phone and pressed the icon to listen to voice mail.
“Hey, Tricia. It’s Marshall. I heard that Russ Smith has been charged in the Morris murder. That must mean you’ll be free for dinner tonight. Call me.”
Tricia frowned and set her phone down.
“Well?” Angelica asked. “Will you have dinner with him?”
Tricia shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Well, don’t sound too thrilled.”
Tricia sighed. “That’s the problem. I’m not.”
TWENTY-NINE
The stars were out in numbers on that brisk September evening as Marshall drove his Mercedes along Route 101 heading back toward Stoneham. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked Tricia.
“It was a lovely dinner . . .” she began.
“Why do I think the next word out of your mouth is going to be ‘but’?”
Tricia smiled in the darkened car. “So now you can read my mind?”
“Probably more than you’ll ever know.”
Tricia shrugged. “I was just thinking how strange it is that such a high-end steak house is only a mile or two from the former homeless camp. I haven’t had a chance to speak with Hank Curtis, but Antonio told us yesterday that Hank’s been able to track down most of the guys who got booted out of there. Several of them have moved on, heading south before it gets too cold. Bobby, who went to the shelter in Nashua, got a grant from the Everett Foundation and will be starting a job retraining program next week.”
“That’s great. At least a couple of the guys will have better lives.”
“Of course, Joe King is in the clink—and he’s going to stay there for a while.”
“Good. That’ll keep him out of your hair.”
“I suppose,” Tricia said halfheartedly.
“How did a homeless guy learn about your valuable mysteries?”
“The same way everyone else did: by watching that silly TV interview I did. Apparently it played on a regular basis for two or three days anywhere in southern New Hampshire that had a TV or a computer. The grocery store, the library—you name it.”
“You couldn’t have known you’d be targeted.”
“I won’t make that mistake if I get a major PR opportunity again.”
“I knew you were feeling down; that’s why I invited you out to dinner tonight. I just wish I could say something to cheer you up.”
“I don’t need cheering up, it’s just . . . so much has happened since we got back from Ireland. Sometimes it seems like it was just a dream.”
“I thought you considered it a nightmare.”
“Don’t be silly,” she chided him, but she didn’t elaborate, either.
Marshall took a spin around Stoneham’s main drag so he could drop Tricia off at her door. “Can I come in for a few minutes? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“We’ve been talking for over two hours. You couldn’t squeeze it in then?”
He looked at her with puppy dog eyes.
Tricia sighed. “Oh, all right. Just for a moment.”
Marshall got out of the car and opened the door for her. With keys in hand, Tricia ste
pped onto the sidewalk, noticing a figure making its way up the block on the other side of the street. Probably someone leaving the Dog-Eared Page. Cheers, she wished, and opened the door to her shop, entering and disabling the security system.
Marshall closed the door, and Tricia strode to the reader’s nook, where she dropped her purse and began to unbutton her coat. “What did you want to talk about?”
Marshall removed his coat and slung it over the back of one of the upholstered seats. “Let’s sit.”
Tricia folded her coat and set it on the big square coffee table before sitting on the adjacent seat.
Marshall reached out, gently took hold of her hand, and got down on one knee, looking up at her with adoring eyes. Every muscle in Tricia’s body tensed as she watched him reach into his pocket and withdraw an old-fashioned ring with five glittering diamonds. “Tricia, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Tricia’s breath caught in her throat. This was not what she had anticipated. She squeezed his hand as her mouth trembled.
“I know you miss being married, and I know I sure as hell miss being with the woman I love. We’ve both lost our mates, but we don’t have to spend the rest of our lives alone,” Marshall said.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
Tricia’s heart sank. “I can’t. Not now—not so suddenly.”
Marshall rose to stand again. “You don’t have to, love. I know it would be a big change, but marriage would be only one part of our lives. We’d still have our businesses; you’ll have your cat—I’d never ask you to change any of that.”
“We’ve never spoken about this kind of change in our relationship. It’s too soon.”
“Not for me,” Marshall said earnestly.
“I can’t even make up my mind about whether I want to run for the Chamber presidency, let alone make an even bigger decision like the one you’re asking of me.”
“You don’t have to answer today or even tomorrow. But I wanted you to know how I feel. Now I need to know how you feel.”
How did she feel? Two weeks before, she had wondered if they were through forever; now he wanted to devote his life to her?
Tricia sighed. “I just don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I need time.”
Marshall nodded and slipped the ring back into his pocket. He stepped closer and gave her a brief kiss. “Okay. I can wait.”
“Thank you,” she apologized and stood.
Tricia walked him to the door, where he gave her another kiss—this one long and satisfying.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said, and reached for her hand, giving it a kiss as well.
“Okay.”
“Sleep well,” he said.
Fat chance of that.
Tricia closed and locked the door and watched as Marshall got into his car and pulled away from the curb, heading for the municipal parking lot.
Once he was out of sight, Tricia padded to the cash desk, picked up the receiver, and fumbled in the dim light to dial a number on the old rotary phone.
“Tricia?” Angelica asked.
“You’ll never believe what just happened.”
“Probably not.”
“Marshall just asked me to marry him.”
“He did?” Angelica practically squealed. “That’s wonderful.”
Tricia let silence fall between them.
“You said no, didn’t you,” Angelica stated, her words clipped.
“I didn’t give him an answer. I couldn’t.”
“What did he say?”
“He more or less said I could have all the time I need to make a decision.”
“That’s good . . . kind of.”
“He said he missed being married and so did I.”
“Well, you have carried a torch for Christopher ever since he died.”
“But I didn’t want to marry him again. I just feel bad that his life was cut short.”
“Don’t we all?” Angelica lamented. After all, it was Christopher’s last, selfless act that had saved Angelica’s life. “What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know. But I know one thing for sure: I’m not going to get a wink of sleep tonight.”
A loud knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“Someone’s at the door,” Tricia said. “It’s probably Marshall.”
“Don’t you dare open it without looking,” Angelica cautioned.
Tricia put the receiver down and leaned forward to peek out the blinds that covered the big display window out front, her mouth dropping. She picked the phone up again. “It’s Grant Baker.”
“What does he want?” Angelica practically spat.
“I don’t know. I’ll call you back when I know.”
“Okay.”
Tricia hung up the phone and walked over to the door, opening it.
“Hey, you should never open the door without looking first,” Baker barked.
“I peeked out the front window. What do you want, Grant?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
Tricia stepped back, exasperated, and Baker barreled right into her shop. He was dressed in civilian clothes, which might have made him appear friendlier if he didn’t have a scowl plastered across his features.
“What do you want?” she repeated.
“I wanted to thank you for all your help on the Susan Morris murder case.”
Tricia blinked in surprise. Had he ever uttered those words to her during the entire time she’d known him? Usually he berated her for getting involved.
“You’re welcome,” she finally said. “But you could have picked a better time to tell me. Like during regular business hours.”
“We can’t talk privately during business hours.”
“We’ve done it plenty of other times.”
“I guess,” he grumbled.
“What did you want to tell me? Has Russ been arraigned? He didn’t get out of jail, did he?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just . . . well, I saw Cambridge leave here a few minutes ago.”
A flash of anger coursed through her, and Tricia remembered the figure that had been walking along Main Street when she and Marshall returned from the restaurant. “Are you spying on me?” Tricia demanded.
“No. I was out for a walk and—”
“You don’t even live near Main Street. Why are you walking around here at this time of night?”
“I needed to think, so I went for a walk. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yeah,” she said shortly. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What were you thinking about?”
“How wrong Diana was for me. How we never really connected.”
“Then why did you ask her to marry you?”
“I didn’t. She asked me.”
“Then why on earth did you say yes?”
“Because . . . it was time. I was tired of being alone.”
“Yeah, well, do what Angelica did. Get a dog.”
“I don’t want a dog. I want you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tricia said.
“Marry me,” Baker practically barked.
“What?”
“I said marry me.”
Something inside her trembled. She looked into Grant Baker’s mesmerizingly green eyes and felt something within her melt. Tricia always was a sucker for green eyes.
Then she opened her mouth and gave him her answer.
RECIPES
TRICIA’S LEMON CRACKLES
½ cup butter, softened
½ cup brown sugar, packed
¼ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 tablespoon grated lemon zes
t
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ cup granulated sugar
Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C, Gas Mark 4). In a large bowl, cream the butter, brown sugar, and first amount of granulated sugar. Add the egg and beat well. Add the lemon juice and zest. Beat until smooth. In another bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and baking soda. Add to the butter mixture in two additions, mixing well after each addition. Roll the dough into 1-inch balls. Roll each ball in the additional ¼ cup of granulated sugar in a small bowl until each is coated. Arrange the dough balls approximately 2 inches apart. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes or until golden brown. Let the cookies stand on the baking sheets for 5 minutes before removing them to wire racks to fully cool.
Yield: 48 cookies
OLD-FASHIONED APPLESAUCE CAKE
¼ pound (1 stick) butter or ½ cup vegetable shortening
1½ cups granulated sugar
1 cup applesauce
2 large eggs
2 cups all-purpose flour
1½ teaspoons baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground ginger (optional)
½ cup raisins
1 cup chopped walnuts
Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C, Gas Mark 4). Butter and lightly flour two 8-inch round cake pans or one 9 x 13-inch cake pan. Cream the butter or shortening; gradually add the sugar and beat well. Add the applesauce and blend. Beat in the eggs and mix thoroughly. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger (if using), add to the first mixture, and beat just until mixed. Fold in the raisins and nuts. Spread in the pans or pan and bake, 25 to 30 minutes for the layers, 35 to 40 minutes for the rectangle pan. Test to see if a toothpick comes out clean. Cool in the pans for 5 minutes before turning out onto racks to cool completely. Maple buttercream or cream cheese frosting goes well with this cake, or dust with confectioners’ sugar before serving.
Handbook for Homicide Page 27
