Angelica frowned. “How did she get an invitation to lunch and I didn’t?”
“Maybe she invited Hank.”
Tricia looked over her shoulder to see Becca laughing. She certainly didn’t look like she was grieving her dead ex.
Angelica heaved a dramatic sigh. “I’m so disappointed. Hank and I got on so well. We’ve spoken on the phone at least three times, you know.”
“Part of his employment package was three meals a day. You can’t deny him that.”
“He’s not supposed to treat strange women to an expensive lunch.”
“When I had lunch with her, Becca had an appetizer and a plate of salad greens. I hardly think that’s going to strain the inn’s budget.”
“He’s still on probation,” Angelica remarked.
“Are you going to remind him of that when you guys meet?”
Angelica glowered, her gaze sinking to her lap. “Probably not.”
“Forget about her. We’re here to enjoy a nice lunch and each other’s company.”
“Point taken,” Angelica conceded.
Darlene approached the table. She’d been a waitress at the Brookview ever since Tricia had moved to the area, and probably long before that. “Good afternoon, ladies. Can I get you your usual martinis?”
Angelica shook her head. “Coffee, please.”
Tricia raised an eyebrow at her beverage choice.
“I’m meeting with Hank at one,” Angelica reminded her.
“And you?” Darlene asked, turning to Tricia.
“A pot of tea—made with boiling water, please.”
Darlene smiled. “I know just how you like it. And what kind of tea?”
“English or Irish breakfast, if you have it.”
Darlene nodded. “Would you like to order now?”
Angelica shook her head. “We’ll be ready by the time you return.”
Again Darlene nodded and pivoted.
Angelica continued to stare at the couple across the way.
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Tricia hissed.
“I am not.” Angelica’s expression soured. “Okay, I am, too.” She readjusted the napkin on her lap. “What could Becca Chandler possibly have to talk to Hank about? Didn’t you say they just met?”
“I introduced them yesterday.”
“But surely Hank only met Marshall that one time when you went to the homeless camp—that is, if that’s what she wanted to talk about.”
“That’s right,” Tricia agreed, remembering that day less than two weeks before. How drastically things had changed in so short a time.
“Then what else could they have to talk about?” Angelica reiterated.
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s going to throw a reception for Marshall’s friends before she leaves the area.”
“It would be a very small do. I mean, you’re about the only one he was really friendly with.”
And maybe that was why he seldom came to Angelica’s little family dinners. As a protected witness, maybe he was warned about getting too friendly with others. It all made sense now.
Except . . . Just days before his death, Marshall had taken Tricia on a picnic on land he said a friend owned, but he hadn’t mentioned who that friend was. Only that it was to be a wedding venue next summer.
“What are you thinking?” Angelica asked.
Tricia quickly explained. “Do you think Karen at Nigela Ricita Realty could find out who owns that land?”
“If anyone can, it’s Karen. She knows her stuff.”
“I think I’ll give her a call after lunch.”
“Good. It’ll give you something to do while I meet with Hank.”
Darlene returned with their hot beverages and took their orders before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.
Angelica’s attention kept straying to the couple across the way.
“Are you going to stare at them the entire time we’re here?” Tricia asked.
Angelica’s head bowed. “Oh, all right. I’ll be good—or at least I’ll try.”
“Thank you. Now, let’s change the subject. Did you hear from Antonio this morning?”
Angelica sighed, looking profoundly sad. “Yes. They made it through the night, although just barely. None of them got much rest. Sofia was afraid to go to bed in a strange place and insisted on sleeping with them. That means Antonio and Ginny got little shut-eye. Taking her to day care this morning at least gave our little bambina a sense of continuity.”
“I suppose it’s too early for them to have made any concrete plans.”
“Antonio was going to talk to their insurance company today. They’ll probably get put up in an apartment. If only I hadn’t sold that little house to Pixie, they could have moved in there temporarily.”
Tricia shook her head. “It was too small—especially now that the weather is changing and they’ll be stuck inside more. They’d all catch cabin fever in no time.”
“And an apartment is better?”
“If it’s got two bedrooms, it is.”
Angelica shrugged. “If one were to look on the bright side, one might conclude that the fire was a blessing in disguise. It changed everything. Now they can build a new house with a larger footprint.”
“But it’ll take months for the insurance company to settle.”
“That doesn’t mean they have to wait for the check to get building. I want them in that rebuilt house before the new baby comes in the spring.”
“That’s a tall order.”
Angelica frowned. “I’ve got the money. I can make it happen.”
She did.
Darlene arrived with their orders. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
The sisters nodded and picked up their forks. Neither of them spoke much as they ate. No doubt Angelica was preoccupied with interrogating Hank about Becca, while Tricia kept thinking about the picnic with Marshall. Who was the friend he spoke about?
She was determined to find out.
* * *
* * *
While Angelica met with Hank, Tricia sat in the lobby and reread the list of ex–Chamber members Mary had sent her earlier that day. They were a mix of shop owners and other service industry people. She even went so far as to stand on the big veranda in front of the inn to call the owner of the local garage, made a pitch for him to return to the Chamber, and then had to listen to him urge her to come in to have an oil change and her tires rotated. Well, she guessed she would probably hear similar pitches as she made her way through the list. Two calls later, and she got a message from Angelica. She was ready to leave. They met in the lobby and were quiet until they reached the back parking lot, where Angelica let loose.
“And then he had the audacity to say he enjoyed her company!” Angelica huffed as Tricia steered her car out of the parking lot and headed for Main Street.
Tricia couldn’t say the same, but then Becca hadn’t batted her eyelashes at her.
“I hope you didn’t harp on their innocent little lunch during the whole time you spoke to Hank,” Tricia said.
“I was the epitome of propriety. I must say, I’m not disappointed with his suggestions about sourcing produce for all of my eateries. We’re going to save a bundle and still deliver top-quality fruits and veggies.”
“Good.”
“I spoke to several of the kitchen staff and they say Hank’s firm but fair, and were impressed with his standards of cleanliness. Mind you, you could drop a piece of buttered bread and not tell if it fell side up or down. No matter what I think of his choice of lunch partner, I don’t regret hiring him.”
“Good,” Tricia repeated, and braked as she approached the Cookery. “Do you need help getting in?”
“I’m fine,” Angelica said. “See you after closing this evening?”
“Well, I haven’t got a hot date, so I guess we’re on.”
“Very funny. See you later,” Angelica said, and got out of the car.
Instead of heading direct
ly to the municipal parking lot, Tricia drove down Main Street and parked by a tidy, if not charming, building. The big display window gave it a mid-century vibe not at all in keeping with the shops farther down the road. Since Kelly Real Estate had gone under, Nigela Ricita Realty had become the village’s go-to place to buy or sell a home or commercial property.
Tricia had never been inside the office before and entered the compact space to the accompaniment of a loud buzzing that announced her arrival. Three desks lined one side of the long, narrow office, none of them manned at the time. Each desk housed a computer and stacks of file folders, looking messy and yet somehow conveying a sense of a successful business venture. The agents were probably out and about rustling up business or showing properties to prospective clients.
“Hello!” Tricia called.
Karen Johnson’s pretty dark face popped into the doorway of the business’s only office sporting a door. “Tricia. What are you doing here? Are you ready to buy a cozy little house or a property with a pool? I’ve got two that would be just perfect for you.”
Tricia laughed. “Not when I’ve recently spent a bundle refurbishing my apartment.”
Karen laughed and shrugged. “A girl can always dream. Come into my office and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Tricia crossed the outer office’s commercial-grade carpet, stepped over the threshold, and took one of the client chairs in front of Karen’s gilded French-style desk. Her office was quite different from the minimalist décor in the outer room, from the green pastel walls with their original art in baroque frames, to the sumptuous oriental area rug under her feet.
“I love what you’ve done with your workspace.”
“It’s not to everyone’s taste, but it resonates with the girly side of my personality,” Karen admitted.
How did the other agents feel about having to work in a more sterile environment? She’d have to ask Angelica about that.
“What can I do for you today?” Karen asked.
Tricia sighed. “I suppose you heard about what happened to my friend Marshall Cambridge.”
Karen’s gaze dropped to the top of her tidy desk. “Oh, yes. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Tricia sighed. “Just before he died, Marshall took me on a picnic to a beautiful piece of land at the north end of the village. It had a pond and a gazebo. I was wondering if you know the place.”
“I sure do. I sold it myself.”
“To whom?”
“Dr. Jameson. You know, the dentist who opened a practice across from the Brookview Inn about a year ago.”
Tricia blinked. Mark Jameson had been Marshall’s friend? “Uh, yes, we’ve met. Marshall said the owner was a friend who was going to open some kind of wedding operation.”
“Yes. Louise Jameson, the doctor’s wife, is a photographer. She recently rented a building near the horticultural society. She photographs a lot of weddings in their gardens. She’s collaborating with Isabelle Garson, who owns a bridal shop in Nashua. The business should be up and running at full steam by April of next year.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“Were you impressed by the setting?” Karen asked.
“Yes, it was beautiful. We had a lovely picnic.”
Karen’s expression softened. “I’m glad you have a recent, happy memory of your man.”
Tricia let out a breath. “So am I.”
“Louise is not just a portrait photographer, she’s quite well known and has done some fine-art stuff and shot architectural pictures for several coffee table books.”
“It sounds like you know her well.”
“Sure. We met in college when she was still Louise Griffin. She married Mark just as she was starting to get a name for herself.” Tricia got the impression Karen didn’t approve of her friend taking on her husband’s moniker. How did she feel about the village’s only dentist?
“Mark and I are on the committee to recruit a new president for the Chamber,” Tricia offered.
Karen frowned. “Why aren’t you running for the job? You know it inside and out.”
Tricia chose her words carefully. “They’re looking for some new blood.”
“What’s wrong with the old blood? That is, if you want the job.”
Tricia shrugged. “I may step in for the interim, but come November . . .” She let the sentence slide.
“That’s a pity,” Karen said. “I think you’d be fantastic.”
“Thanks. And since part of my committee duties is finding new members, can I ask if you know of anyone who’s buying or leasing some of the empty commercial properties in the village?”
Karen looked thoughtful. “As a matter of fact, yes. A couple from Litchfield rented the front of forty-five Main Street for a shop. It’s a sixteen-by-sixteen-foot space with a tiny bathroom—very inexpensive because of the size. They’re beekeepers.”
“That’s interesting.”
“They gave me a sample of their honey. It’s delicious. They’ll also be selling beeswax candles and royal jelly.” Karen brushed the middle fingers of her left hand against her cheekbone. “Not a wrinkle in sight,” she said of her nearly flawless skin. “And they say the medicinal uses are phenomenal, too.”
Tricia would have to take her word on that. “Have they moved in?”
“They took possession over the weekend but I’m not sure if they’re open for business yet.”
“Maybe they’d like to join the Chamber. I’ll have to visit them.”
“Yes, give them a warm welcome. They only signed a year’s lease and if they work out, my client would want them to sign for a much longer period when it comes up for renewal.”
The buzzer sounded and a couple of voices could be heard from those who’d just entered the building—one of the associate real estate agents, no doubt, perhaps with a client.
“I’d better get going,” Tricia said, and stood.
“I’m glad you stopped by. Perhaps we can get together sometime soon for coffee.”
“I’d like that,” Tricia said, and turned for the open doorway. Karen followed her.
“And if we rent or sell any other commercial spaces, I’ll make sure to mention the Chamber.”
“Thanks, Karen. You’re a doll.”
Karen laughed and again touched the flawless skin around her eyes. “And don’t I know it!”
ELEVEN
Tricia dropped off her car at the municipal parking lot and headed for Haven’t Got a Clue. As they’d had such a busy morning, Tricia was surprised to find the shop devoid of customers. And as it was Mr. Everett’s day off, it was Pixie who was busy wielding the latter’s lamb’s-wool duster, making sure that everything was clean and tidy, while Tricia’s cat sat nearby, watching her every move.
“I know I’ve been gone a terribly long time, but would you mind if I ran another quick errand?” Tricia asked.
“Not at all,” Pixie said cheerfully. “Miss Marple and I are great companions.”
As if to agree, Miss Marple said, “Yow!”
“I should be back in just ten or fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll be here. Oh, Ginny called. She asked if you would call her back when you get a chance.”
“Sure. Thanks for relaying the message.”
“No problem.”
Tricia started off again, this time heading south. She passed All Heroes Comics and By Hook or By Book, looking for number forty-five. Since she’d last passed it, a cheerful red-and-honey-yellow sign had been erected over the entrance, declaring the BEE’S KNEES. Although a plastic CLOSED sign hung from the window, Tricia could see someone inside surrounded by cartons and unboxing their contents. She knocked on the plate glass. An older woman with graying hair turned and pointed to the sign. Tricia gestured for the woman to come forward, which she did.
“Sorry,” the woman called, her voice muted. “We won’t be open until next week.”
“I’m from the Chamber of Commerce. Do you have a moment?”
&nbs
p; The woman nodded and retracted the blade from her box cutter before opening the door.
Tricia hurried inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath her shoes. “Hi, I’m Tricia Miles. I own the mystery bookshop down the street and I’m a member of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce. Have you thought about joining?”
“I’m Eileen Harvick. I’ve heard rumors about the disaster that’s the local Chamber. Why would I want to join?”
“We’re in the process of rebuilding and hope to have a new president installed by our November election.” She looked around the small space, which, though cluttered with inventory, looked charming, reminiscent of the inside of a quaint Swiss chalet. “Your shop is adorable. I’d love to know about your products. I understand you and your husband are beekeepers.”
“Yes, we are. We currently have six hives we care for at our property in Litchfield.”
“Have you always been beekeepers?”
The woman smiled. “Heavens, no. I was a teacher in Merrimack for thirty years. I retired at the end of the school year—as did my husband. He’s a former county sheriff’s deputy.”
Tricia had never run across a deputy named Harvick during her encounters with the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department.
“How interesting. Is this your first commercial venture?”
“On our own, yes. But we’ve been selling our honey at the Happy Domestic for the past year, as well as our candles. The manager kept upping her orders, which gave us the courage to open our own retail establishment.”
“Is your husband around?”
Eileen shook her head. “He’s just gone home to fill up the back of the van with more product, but he should be back in a couple of hours.”
“Perhaps I can come back when you’re both here and give you my Chamber pitch.”
“That sounds fine,” Eileen agreed.
“And I wonder,” Tricia said, straining to look around Eileen, “if I might buy some of your royal jelly. I understand it has wonderful medicinal properties.”
“Yes, it does.”
“My sister recently had foot surgery and would love for it to heal in a jiffy.”
Eileen laughed. “It’s good stuff, but it’s not a miracle cure—although some of my customers might dispute it. If nothing else, it should help minimize the scarring. We sell a topical cream as well as dietary supplements we get from a national supplier.”
Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion Page 9
