Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion

by Lorna Barrett

  “Well, let’s see what you can do.” Becca emptied the duffel, which contained several cans of tennis balls that turned out to be Day-Glo pink, as well as her racket. She removed her sweat jacket and tied it around her waist. “Would you get the balls ready, Tricia?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Tricia opened the cans while Ginny hefted Angelica’s racket, checking to see that it wasn’t warped. “It’s in good shape.”

  “I had it restrung just last year.”

  “Planning on playing again?” Ginny asked.

  “One never knows,” Angelica said, and sighed.

  Ginny handed her sweater to Angelica while Tricia set the balls in the middle of the court. Ginny moved to stand by her. “All you have to do is just hit the balls in Becca’s direction,” Tricia told her.

  Ginny nodded.

  “Anytime you’re ready,” Becca called from center court.

  Tricia retreated to the sidelines.

  Ginny picked up one of the pink balls and bounced it for a few seconds before she tossed it into the air and slammed it with amazing power. Becca returned the shot with equal force, sending it sailing to the far side of the court.

  Ginny picked up the next ball, bounced it, whacked it, and Becca hit it hard, sending it to the opposite side of the court. On the next volley, Ginny dived to return it, Becca hit it back—not once, not twice, but three times before the tennis pro passed her.

  Little Ginny, the eighteen-year-old who had not won a tennis scholarship because “she wasn’t good enough” could hold her own against a world champion. Okay, Becca was past her prime, but Ginny could still hit a tennis ball.

  Ginny, who had only a high school education, had risen from retail clerk to marketing executive in only four years. And why? Because she’d been given a chance. Angelica had seen a kernel of greatness in Ginny—had given her the opportunity to manage the Happy Domestic. And after Ginny’s marriage to Antonio, Angelica had elevated her to manage the NR Associates Marketing Department. It wasn’t just nepotism, Ginny had the smarts, the vision, and the skill to pull that off. And now she was giving a tennis world champion a run for her money.

  “Woo-hoo!” Tricia called as Ginny dived to return yet another savage backhand shot.

  “Who is this ringer?” Becca yelled in Tricia’s direction.

  “My niece!” Tricia called with enthusiasm.

  Ginny and Becca ended up batting balls back and forth for almost an hour while Angelica’s phone captured some of the action. This was something Ginny could not only tell her children about in the future, but she’d be able to show them, too.

  Becca did not jump over the net, but she looked satisfied as she approached her opponent.

  “You gave me a great workout, Ginny. You’re a very talented amateur,” Becca said. It was supposed to be a compliment, but it didn’t come out sounding that way.

  “Thanks,” a smiling Ginny said, still breathing hard, her face beaded with sweat, apparently missing Becca’s derisive tone. “And to think, I haven’t played for at least five years—well, a real game, anyway. I work out several times a week with Wii tennis, and I knock balls off the brick wall in my backyard.”

  Becca scowled, looking just the teeniest bit angry.

  “It’s like riding a bike,” Angelica quipped, and handed Ginny a towel.

  “Would you be willing to do it again tomorrow?” Becca asked.

  Ginny wiped her brow and gave Tricia a sly grin before turning to Becca. “Sure. As long as the weather holds I could probably carve an hour out of my day.”

  “Great. We’ll meet here again tomorrow evening—same time?”

  “Can do,” Ginny agreed.

  “Thanks for arranging this, Tricia,” Becca said. “I’ll be in touch.” She picked up the balls, stuffing them into her storage bag, and headed for her car.

  Angelica handed Ginny a bottle of water. “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned.

  “Okay? I’m fantastic. You have no idea what a gift Tricia has given me at a time when I’ve lost so much.”

  “I’m betting you’re going to be sore tomorrow,” Tricia said.

  “And I’ve got that lovely soaker tub waiting for me at the suite at the Sheer Comfort Inn. I intend to luxuriate in it once Sofia nods off.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” Angelica said, and drew Ginny into a hug.

  “Me, too,” Tricia said, but her smile was short-lived.

  Her motivation for agreeing to set up this tennis date had been to find out more about the investigation into Marshall’s death and the life he’d left behind. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask Becca one question.

  NINETEEN

  Angelica was in high spirits as they drove back to the municipal parking lot. So much so that one might have thought she was the one who’d played triumphantly on the tennis court. Tricia listened, but she didn’t take it all in. She had other things on her mind.

  Angelica unlocked the door to the Cookery and the sisters trundled up the stairs to her apartment. After a warm welcome from Sarge, they took off their coats and headed for the kitchen, where Angelica already had a pitcher of happy hour cocktails waiting.

  “We’re not too much later than usual,” she said as she pulled a tray of something wrapped in plastic from the fridge and turned on the oven.

  “Are we in a hurry?” Tricia asked.

  “Not a bit.”

  “What have you got there?”

  Angelica set the tray on the island. “Mushrooms wrapped in bacon and covered in barbecue sauce. It’s something Tommy threw together for us. They only take ten or fifteen minutes to bake. It should taste fabulous.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Oh, did you have a chance to call Louise Jameson to set up our family portrait?”

  Tricia winced. “Rats! With everything that went on today, I completely forgot.”

  Angelica did not look pleased, but she didn’t berate her sister, either. “Perhaps you’ll remember tomorrow,” she said pointedly.

  “I will definitely call her tomorrow.”

  “What were you doing that took up all your time?”

  “You mean besides running my store and arranging things for Becca?”

  Angelica nodded and put the tray of appetizers in the oven.

  “I called the last of the people on my Chamber list to try to talk them into rejoining.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Nobody returned my calls—so far,” she amended. As if on cue, Tricia’s phone rang. She glanced at the number and, recognizing the name, answered. “Hey, Billie, thanks for returning my call.”

  Billie Hanson was the manager of the Bank of Stoneham. Tricia had dealt with her for business transactions on a number of occasions since she’d arrived in town nearly seven years before. It was said that Billie was named after Billie Burke, the actress who played Glinda the Good Witch of the North in The Wizard of Oz. Not that she looked like that icon of the silver screen. She didn’t have long, frizzy red hair, nor was she tall. In fact, Billie, short and squat, reminded Tricia of a fireplug. As she always wore slacks, Tricia couldn’t imagine her ever dressing in a glittering pink gown, but then these days Tricia rarely wore a dress of any kind, either.

  “So the Chamber is going to regroup now that Russ Smith is in jail,” Billie said.

  “That’s the plan,” Tricia replied as Angelica started gathering plates and glasses and setting them on the island. Tricia wandered into the living room to pitch her speech, but she could tell by the chilly silence at the other end of the line that Billie wasn’t impressed.

  “Why don’t they just ask you to step in to run the organization? The members, myself included, should have rioted months ago to toss Russ out on his keister and let you run the show.”

  “So many members fled, there was no one who felt able to confront him. But now that Russ is out of the picture, it’s been decided that a new face should breathe life into the Chamber.”

  “It’s t
oo bad Angelica couldn’t come back. She left pretty big shoes to fill.”

  But in the future, they wouldn’t be stilettos.

  “Once Russ cut out the networking opportunities, there was no reason to rejoin. Making connections was the whole point of joining in the first place,” Billie lamented.

  “I completely agree,” Tricia said.

  “Who else is on the recruitment committee?” Billie asked.

  Tricia reeled off the members’ names.

  “And you say Dr. Jameson is the head of the committee?” Billie repeated. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the time.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I heard he’s set to open another office in Merrimack to test the waters to see if he’d do better there than his practice here in Stoneham is doing. He lives here in the village, and it’s said he’s thinking about running for a seat on the Board of Selectmen next year. And that’s not all.”

  “Oh?” Tricia asked, welcoming more information.

  “Yeah. He’s never banked with us so I feel as though I can talk about it,” Billie said, which wasn’t like her. She really must dislike the man to go on so. “Rumor has it he’s also putting up the money for his wife’s wedding destination partnership.”

  So, despite her appearance of self-sufficiency, Louise’s photography business wasn’t strong enough to carry her new venture.

  Interesting.

  “So, will you give the Chamber another try?” Tricia asked.

  Billie didn’t speak for long seconds. “You’re asking the bank to cough up another year’s membership fee on just the chance the organization can be saved.”

  “I’m taking that leap of faith and so are other former members. The situation can’t improve unless we work together and give it a chance.”

  “Well, if you put it that way, I guess I could, too. I mean, it is a deduction.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Tricia encouraged her.

  “Shall I write you a check and put it in the mail tomorrow?”

  “We’re going to have an audit done. Depending on what we find, we may even open a new account. Either I or someone else on the committee will be in contact with you about our plans.”

  “I’d prefer to deal with either you or Mary. I don’t trust Dr. Jameson. In fact, if he was running for the group’s presidency, there’s no way I’d rejoin.”

  Tricia frowned. How many others would feel the same way?

  “Thanks, Billie. The revamped Chamber will be in touch.” Tricia said good-bye and ended the call. She returned to the kitchen and set her phone on the island.

  “Will Billie return to the Chamber?” Angelica asked from her perch on one of the stools.

  “Yes, although with trepidation. She wishes you’d return to lead the organization.”

  “Well, I did do an excellent job. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to set the tone for how to keep it afloat. Of course, if not for Russ throwing his hat into the ring, you would have won the election and the Chamber would still be thriving.”

  That was about as good a compliment as Tricia was likely to receive.

  “It turns out people don’t like Dr. Mark Jameson,” Tricia offered.

  “Am I supposed to be surprised by that statement?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “But when you hear the same story from more than one source, it gets to be more than a mere rumor. And Billie spilled some gossip concerning Dr. Jameson and his wife.”

  “Really? I’ve never known Billie to gossip.”

  “Me, either, which is telling.” Tricia related what the bank manager told her.

  “If I were to be a negative person,” Angelica began, “I might see why Louise and Marshall parted ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If—and we still don’t know if she and Marshall had a thing going—but if she wanted her husband to underwrite her wedding venue, she might have dumped Marshall to see the project come to fruition.”

  “We still have nothing but supposition to tie her to Marshall.”

  “Yet,” Angelica said.

  The scenario Angelica kept pushing meant one quite disturbing reality: that Marshall had been bedding two women. He’d asked Tricia to marry him. Did that mean he’d asked Louise first and she’d declined so he’d asked Tricia while intending to keep Louise in his life?

  Tricia’s opinion of Marshall was diminishing by the day.

  One thing she kept forgetting was that Marshall himself wasn’t the paragon she’d thought. Of necessity, nearly everything he’d told her was a lie—the biggest of which was that by aiding and abetting his boss, Martin Bailey, in criminal activity, he was just as much a felon.

  “Trish?” Angelica asked, shaking her sister from her reverie. “Are you ready for the cocktail hour or do you want to wait for the mushrooms to come out of the oven?”

  “Let’s pour those martinis now. It’s been a long, long day,” Tricia said.

  She did the honors, and instead of relocating to the living room, they stayed in the kitchen.

  “How did you make out with the list of former members I gave you?” Tricia asked.

  “It was a hard sell,” Angelica admitted. “As you indicated, they are not your cheerleaders, but I reminded them of the progress the Chamber made after Bob Kelly’s defeat—never mentioning my part in that transformation, of course—and expressing my conviction that the organization can quickly rebound.”

  “You are amazing,” Tricia said.

  Angelica positively grinned. “Now, what’s on tap for tomorrow?”

  “There’s the soft opening of that new shop, the Bee’s Knees. Do you still want to come with me?”

  “You bet. I’ve been rubbing that royal jelly on my incision and I swear it’s already healing a lot faster. I want to get more and start rubbing it on my—”

  “Crow’s-feet?” Tricia asked.

  “Laugh lines,” Angelica corrected Tricia. “Will you buy anything?”

  “Besides honey, I might be persuaded to buy some of that royal jelly—just as an experiment, you understand.”

  “Uh-huh,” Angelica said, and sipped her martini. “What time do you want to go?”

  “Mr. Everett and Pixie are both working tomorrow so I can afford to be away from the shop for a while longer. How about right after lunch?”

  “Perfect.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Once again, it was still dark when Tricia awoke the next morning, but the forecast called for sunny skies if not warmer temperatures later that early October day. That was fine. Tricia enjoyed sweater weather, and boy did she own a lot of them.

  Although the shop wasn’t due to open for nearly half an hour, Tricia slipped Louise Jameson’s business card into her slacks pocket and she and Miss Marple headed downstairs to get ready for the day. She even went so far as to unlock the door and turn the sign hanging there to OPEN in case any customers showed up early. Even so, she was surprised a few minutes later when the little bell over the door rang to announce a visitor. It wasn’t a customer, however, but Chief Baker.

  “Do you have a minute to talk?” he asked.

  “I’m making a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?”

  Baker shook his head and Tricia continued to set up the beverage station. “What’s on your mind?”

  “There’s been a development in the Cambridge case.”

  Tricia’s heart skipped a beat and she pivoted to face the chief. “Did the marshals find out who ran him down?”

  “They think so.”

  “Did they arrest him?”

  Baker shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  Tricia’s breath caught in her throat. “Suicide?”

  Baker shook his head. “It was made to look like it, but the local PD says no.”

  “They’ve got jurisdiction?” Tricia asked.

  Baker nodded.

  “Then Marshall was murdered.”

  “It looks like it. That was their big lead. The
y’re doing an extensive background check and will share that information with my department all in good time.”

  “Then we may never know what his motive was?” Tricia asked with bitterness.

  Baker shrugged. “It was probably one of Bailey’s associates—or a family member—who hired him to make the hit. That kind of thing happens all the time.”

  It did in fiction, at least.

  Tricia shook her head—guilt, dread, and despair vying for prominence within her. “Poor Marshall.”

  “Yeah,” Baker agreed sadly.

  “What was the dead man’s name?”

  “Joshua Greenwell.”

  Tricia’s eyes widened. “I read online that he’d been found dead in Rindge. What was his connection to Marshall?”

  “None that I can see. He was just some punk.”

  “Do you think he killed for thrills?”

  Baker shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. Maybe that’s why he came after you, too.”

  “I’m glad to know that he won’t be making a return visit. How did they know it was him who was driving the stolen pickup?”

  “A partial fingerprint was found on the dash.”

  “What was the cause of death?”

  “Gunshot.”

  It seemed like half the people in the state owned guns. No lead there.

  The bell over the door rang once again as Mr. Everett arrived for work. “Good morning, Ms. Miles.” He nodded in the local top cop’s direction. “Chief Baker.” His tone couldn’t be called icy; cordial, maybe, but Tricia knew Mr. Everett was not Baker’s fan, probably because he’d caused Tricia so much heartache in the past. Tricia was over it; Mr. Everett held a grudge for her. He headed for the back of the shop to hang up his jacket.

  Baker hadn’t missed the chilly reception. He cleared his throat. “I better get back to work.”

  “Thanks for stopping by with the news.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. He touched the brim of his hat. “Talk to you later.”

  Tricia watched as he left the store. Mr. Everett approached, tying his apron. “What news did the chief bring?”

  “They found the person who killed Marshall.”