Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion

by Lorna Barrett

  “Wow.”

  “He told me not to eat anything hot, or anything cold, or anything hard, or sticky. I figure that leaves mashed potatoes and baby food. I guess that’s okay, though, since I had to empty our checking account to pay for it and won’t be going food shopping for a while.”

  For a moment, Tricia thought Pixie might burst into tears again. She knew that buying Angelica’s little house had put Pixie and Fred in a tight financial spot, but she didn’t realize things were that dire.

  “Hey, your birthday is coming up soon. Why don’t I reimburse you for the cement job as a gift?”

  “Oh, Tricia. I couldn’t ask you to do that. You already overpay me.”

  Apparently not nearly enough.

  “I insist.”

  Pixie lowered her gaze, looking embarrassed. “That’s really nice of you. If we didn’t need food on the table for the next couple of weeks, I’d say no. But even if it’s just mashed potatoes for me, Fred’s gotta eat. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll write a check out and when I get back from lunch, you can run to the bank to deposit it in your account.”

  “You’re the best boss in the world.”

  No, she wasn’t—but she tried to treat her employees fairly.

  “Now, I’ve got just enough time to write the check, and then I’ll be off for my lunch with Angelica.”

  Tricia hurried downstairs to her basement office, wrote out a personal check, and returned to the store up above. Waving a quick good-bye, Tricia flew out the door and headed for Booked for Lunch.

  Angelica hadn’t yet arrived but as Tricia was about to head to their reserved table in the back of the café, she spotted Claire Rawlings, who was seated at the table by the front window. Claire owned Tails and Tales, a shop dedicated to serving the needs of Stoneham’s pets, selling books, toys, and treats. She’d taken over the original Chamber of Commerce offices, which had once been home to a company that built log cabins—and had used its rustic décor as a backdrop for her own decorating scheme.

  “Hey, Claire. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How have you been?” Tricia asked.

  Claire turned somber. “Not as well as I’d hoped.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, well, it is what it is,” she said bitterly. “These lulls in business between seasons are killing me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m part of the committee to recruit a replacement for the Chamber of Commerce president. Part of that mandate is to ask former members to trust us to nominate a candidate who’ll commit to work hard to rebuild the Chamber and get us all more promotion in this part of the state.”

  “Are you running?” Claire asked.

  “I’ve been asked not to.”

  “Whyever not? I voted for you last time. And Russ Smith proved he was incapable of replacing your sister.”

  “Thank you so much for saying so.”

  “What would you think if I voted for you as a write-in candidate?”

  Tricia laughed. “Flattered.”

  Claire nodded. “I suppose condolences are in order.”

  Suppose? Tricia waited for her to continue.

  “On the death of your friend Marshall Cambridge.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Tricia said politely.

  “I’m sorry, but I never did like the man,” Claire muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because when he first came to Stoneham, he owned that horrible little porn shop on the edge of the village.”

  Tricia hadn’t been enamored with the idea of the sleazy shop called Vamps. But Marshall’s primary interest was the true-crime section it maintained. Considering what she now knew about his past, it all made sense. And it seemed Marshall got out of the business just in time. The new owner couldn’t make a go of it and the business folded within two months of purchase. The big FOR SALE OR LEASE sign had already faded and the building on the edge of the village looked unkempt and abandoned.

  “Scuttlebutt around the village is that he was part of the government’s Witness Protection Program. Was he a racketeer?” Claire asked hungrily.

  Tricia gaped. Who had spilled the beans on Marshall’s past? “Uh, not to my knowledge,” Tricia said, feeling unnerved and pressed upon. “He was a kind and decent man.”

  “Not if he was a turncoat looking to save his own neck after working for a felon.”

  Tricia wasn’t sure how to respond to that accusation, so she ignored the jibe. “So, would you consider rejoining the Chamber?”

  Claire frowned. “It’s an extra expenditure, but if bringing in new blood will also bring in more tourist dollars, I guess I could be persuaded.”

  “Great. We’ll keep you informed.” Tricia nodded toward the uneaten half of a BLT that sat on the plate before Claire. “It was nice to see you again,” she said, and gave a smile and a nod of acknowledgment before proceeding to her table, taking the side that kept her back to the rest of the café. She wasn’t in the mood to accept any more less-than-genuine expressions of condolence that afternoon.

  It wasn’t long before Angelica arrived. She had ditched the crutches and hobbled in with a cane. She wasn’t wearing her sparkling footwear, however, and had on a pair of brown flats. Perhaps the sequins were just for special occasions.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized, set her cane against the wall, and scooted into her seat across from Tricia.

  “It’s all right. I’m not sure I have much of an appetite anyway.”

  “Tell your big sisti all about it,” Angelica encouraged, but before Tricia could speak, Molly, the waitress, swooped over to take their orders. Once she’d left, Tricia explained.

  “On my way to the table, I stopped to pitch rejoining the Chamber to Claire Rawlings.”

  “Yes, I saw her on my way in.” Angelica shook her head. “I haven’t been in to buy some of her homemade doggy bones for Sarge since I had my surgery.”

  “Apparently she could use the business.”

  “I’ll send June over to get some this afternoon. What did Claire have to say?”

  “That she didn’t like Marshall.”

  “Why would she say that?”

  “Because he owned Vamps.”

  “Oh,” Angelica muttered, as though that explained everything. “Is she going to rejoin?”

  “Maybe. She said she’d do a write-in vote for me.”

  Angelica brightened. “What a marvelous idea.”

  “Who says I want the job?”

  “Who says you don’t?”

  “Me.”

  “Not very adamantly,” Angelica quipped.

  “She also mentioned Marshall being in the Witness Protection Program. How could she have found out about that? I haven’t told anyone but you.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t tell anyone. Do you think it could have been anyone in the Stoneham Police Department? Surely by now they all know, being as it’s such a small force.”

  Maybe. Tricia wondered if she should ask Baker. But then, she really needed to stop calling him whenever she had a question. Even though she’d told him she wanted them to remain friends, it wasn’t really true.

  “What else has got you down?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia sighed. “Pixie lost her gold tooth to a toffee apple. And her dentist is on vacation.”

  “Oh, how awful.”

  “She went to see Mark Jameson and he charged her an arm and a leg to cement it back in.”

  “Poor Pixie.”

  Tricia waved a hand in the air. “I took care of it.”

  “Aw, you’re a good boss.”

  Tricia gave her sister a smile. “I learned from one of the best.”

  “You’re only saying that because it’s true,” Angelica said, and laughed. “Anything else happen today?”

  “Not yet, but later this afternoon I’m going over to the high school to lob tennis balls at Becca Dickson-Chandler.”

  “What?”

  “She needs to
practice.”

  “Well, you certainly aren’t up to her level.”

  “Like I didn’t know that. But she asked me to hit some balls across the net for her to return. I can certainly do that.”

  “Are you sure you want to? It’s only been four months since you broke your arm.”

  Tricia frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, and rubbed her forearm. It had been a compound fracture and Tricia had undergone surgery to fix the break, which had been repaired with a rod and screws. “What am I going to tell her?”

  “That you’ve got a stand-in.”

  ‘Who?”

  “Well, me, of course.”

  “You can’t even put weight on your foot for a full minute, how are you going to whack a dozen tennis balls across a net?”

  “Hopefully, with a racket.”

  “I’m serious,” Tricia said.

  “So am I. My knee scooter has a stop on it. That’ll keep me in place.”

  “Yes, but in order to throw the ball in the air and then hit it, you’ll have to throw your upper body into it. That’ll send you butt over teakettle.”

  Angelica scowled and then sighed. “I guess you’re right.” She glanced at the big clock with the circle of pink neon around it and looked thoughtful. “We have two hours and forty-five minutes. I will figure something out.”

  Molly arrived with their sandwiches and soup, setting the dishes on the table before them.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone around here who’s any good at tennis would you, Molly?”

  The waitress shrugged. “Now? No. But my daughter used to play doubles on the Stoneham High tennis team.”

  “Would she be available to play this afternoon?” Tricia asked.

  Molly shook her head. “She moved to Boston. There are more IT jobs there than here in little old Stoneham.”

  Tricia’s heart sank.

  “What about her other teammates? Do any of them still live in the area?”

  “Oh, sure. Ginny Wilson, for one.”

  “Our Ginny Wilson?” Tricia asked.

  “The one and only. I’m surprised you didn’t already know that. She was good, but she missed out on a scholarship. If you need a partner, why don’t you ask her?”

  “I’ve got her on speed dial!” Angelica said, taking out her phone.

  “Thanks, Molly,” Tricia said, and the waitress gave her a nod before turning to check on her other customers.

  Tricia put a hand on Angelica’s arm to stop her from calling. “We can’t ask Ginny to play against Becca. She’s pregnant.”

  “So? That doesn’t mean she’s an invalid. For your information, Serena Williams won her twenty-third Grand Slam title at the Australian Open while pregnant.”

  “Yes, but she’s a trained athlete.”

  “Ginny isn’t going to play Becca. You said it yourself, she just wants someone to lob tennis balls in her direction.”

  Tricia picked up her half grilled cheese sandwich and shook her head. “I doubt she’d do it. I mean, she’s so dedicated to her job, she felt guilty for taking just one day off after the fire.”

  “She won’t if I ask her to do it.”

  “She’d do it because you asked her to do it.”

  “Do you think Ginny would turn you down?”

  “Yes, if it takes her away from her work—and I wouldn’t want to give her that opportunity.”

  “She only works until five. She could leave a few minutes early.”

  “What about Sofia? Someone’s got to get her at day care.”

  “Antonio can do that.”

  Tricia bit into her sandwich, savagely chewing, while Angelica sampled her tomato and roasted red pepper soup. They didn’t speak for a minute or two until Angelica broke the quiet. “Well, are you going to call her?”

  Tricia swallowed a spoonful of soup, her frown returning. “The minute I get back to Haven’t Got a Clue.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The store was empty of customers and Pixie had left to go to the bank to cash Tricia’s check when Tricia pulled out her cell phone and tapped Ginny’s number on her contacts screen. Answer, answer, answer, she mentally begged as it continued to ring. Just before it would have gone to voice mail, Ginny spoke. “Hi, Tricia. What’s up?”

  “Hey, Ginny. How are things going?”

  “I love the structure of being back at work. The suite at the Sheer Comfort Inn is beautiful, but it’s just not home. I miss my own bed. I miss my beautiful yard. I miss my favorite coffee cups.”

  Hearing the sadness that tinged Ginny’s voice was heartbreaking.

  “But you didn’t call to hear me complain.”

  “You’re not complaining. And even if you were, no one would blame you. Have you heard from the fire chief today?”

  “No. They’re still investigating. It could take months until they figure out what happened. All we know is that someone deliberately destroyed our home—our lives.”

  “But you’re safe and you can rebuild.”

  “Yes. We are safe.” She didn’t seem all that thrilled about the rebuilding aspect. “What can I do for you?” Ginny offered.

  “Well, actually, I was wondering how you felt about tennis.”

  “Tennis?”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to bring it up yesterday, but it seems Marshall was well acquainted with Becca Dickson-Chandler.”

  “Oh my God—are you kidding me?” Ginny asked, suddenly sounding like her old enthusiastic self.

  “No. In fact, she’s here in Stoneham to tie up his affairs and she asked if I would be willing to help her find a place to practice.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s going to meet me at the Stoneham High tennis courts at five.”

  “Can I come? Can I meet her?” Ginny asked excitedly.

  “Well, actually, I was hoping you’d be willing to do just a little bit more.”

  “Like what, like what?”

  “Would you be willing to hit some tennis balls in her direction? Of course, she’d love someone to play against, but there’s nobody around here in her league. I was going to do it myself until Angelica questioned whether that would be a good idea—”

  “Not after breaking your arm back in June,” Ginny agreed. “I’d be absolutely thrilled to help her out.”

  “You’d have to leave work a little early.”

  “I’ll be out of here in a flash for an opportunity to meet one of the country’s greatest tennis players.”

  Tricia smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  * * *

  * * *

  As the afternoon progressed, Tricia had a change of heart. Was she willing to risk Ginny’s health and that of her unborn baby to placate Marshall’s ex-wife? And all because she selfishly wanted to wheedle more information from the woman about the man she thought she’d known? And to what end? Nothing she learned about Marshall would bring him back. And perhaps those answers would only confuse and upset her more.

  Angelica’s Serena Williams defense didn’t cut it for Tricia. Serena was a trained athlete. For the most part, Ginny led a sedentary life, spending her weekdays behind a desk. She did chase a toddler on weekends, but then again all Ginny had to do was toss tennis balls in the air and give them a whack.

  Paranoia doesn’t suit you, Tricia told herself. Still . . .

  Although Stoneham High was only a few blocks from Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia drove herself and Angelica, parking in the rear of the building closest to the tennis courts. They’d brought along what Angelica called “necessary supplies” of bottled water in a small cooler, a couple of hand towels, and Angelica’s old tennis racket—just in case—and a folding chair.

  A few students jogged the dirt track around the athletic field, but as Mr. Everett had mentioned, there were no gawkers hanging out at the courts.

  “I can’t help but worry,” Tricia muttered as she handed her sister her crutches.

  “Maybe you should just go home and I’ll catch a ride
back with Ginny.”

  “I can hardly do that when I’m the one who set this up for Becca.”

  By the time Tricia had removed the chair from the trunk of her car and set it up for Angelica on the side of the court, Ginny had arrived. She was dressed in work clothes consisting of a pink blouse, black slacks, and a matching sweater, plus a pair of brand-new, white track shoes that looked like they’d just escaped from the box.

  “Wow—I’m surprised I got here before Ms. Dickson-Chandler.”

  “Oh, call her Becca,” Angelica advised.

  “Excuse me, but you haven’t even been introduced to her yet,” Tricia chided her sister, who merely rolled her eyes.

  No sooner had she finished her admonishment than a charcoal gray Dodge Caravan pulled into the lot. Becca got out of the car. She wore a blue tracksuit and a ball cap emblazoned with the United States Tennis Association logo. She reached in and brought out a duffel bag. “Tennis anyone?” she called, and laughed. She walked over to where the others were stationed at the side of the court, setting her stuff down on the ground.

  “Wow, a minivan?” Tricia asked, surprised by Becca’s choice. She’d been expecting something more in the way of a Porsche or Lamborghini. She laughed. “You look just like a soccer mom.”

  “And I suppose you drive a Rolls Phantom?” Becca barked.

  “Hardly. Becca, this is my sister, Angelica.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Becca said, and shook Angelica’s hand.

  “And this is my niece, Ginny. She’s going to be the one helping out today.”

  Becca looked at Tricia quizzically.

  “As my sister reminded me earlier, I broke my arm earlier this summer and I really don’t want to put a strain on it.”

  “Totally understandable.” Becca turned to Ginny. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve been a fan of yours since I was a kid,” Ginny said excitedly as she shook Becca’s hand. “I even had a poster of you up on my bedroom wall.”

  Don’t gush, don’t gush, Tricia silently implored.

  “Played tennis, did you?” Becca asked with just a hint of derision in her voice.

  “A little bit,” Ginny said modestly.