“That’s good news, then,” he said.
“Not entirely. The man turned up dead. The report I read online said he died under suspicious circumstances.” Tricia looked thoughtful. “Do you know anyone here in the village who came from Rindge?” She explained why she’d asked.
“I daresay a dozen or more,” Mr. Everett said thoughtfully.
“Would I know them?”
“Possibly.” He recited several names, but none of them rang a bell. “How would you like me to start the day?” Mr. Everett asked, changing the subject.
“How about with a nice cup of coffee? I’m sorry I don’t have any cookies.”
“Coffee is fine.”
The door to the shop opened and Pixie had arrived for the day.
“Oh, you’re just in time,” Tricia said. “I have a wonderful story to share with you two concerning Ginny.”
Mr. Everett’s eyes lit up. He looked upon Ginny as a stand-in granddaughter. “Oh?”
After Pixie hung up her coat, the three of them gathered around the beverage station and Tricia relayed the story with great enthusiasm and it played well to her willing audience. But the daily coffee klatch was cut short thanks to the unexpected arrival of a Granite State tour bus that parked down by the municipal lot. It was all hands on deck for the rush of customers. Pixie and Mr. Everett manned the cash desk as Tricia wandered around the store suggesting books and helping customers find requested titles.
It wasn’t until nearly noon when Tricia finally had an opportunity to phone Louise Jameson.
“Jameson Photography. This is Louise.”
“Hi, Louise. It’s Tricia Miles. We spoke on Saturday about a possible family photo shoot.”
“Ah, yes. Let me grab my appointment book. I’ve had a cancellation for Thursday afternoon. It’s a two-hour block. That should be enough time.”
“Wow. That’s much sooner than I expected. But I’m sure I can rally the troops. What time?”
“Two thirty to four thirty.”
“Just about perfect. I’ll contact the rest of the family just to make sure they can all get away from their jobs and confirm it with you.”
“Great. I’ll see you all on Thursday.”
“Bye.”
Tricia ended the call. Now all she had to do was call all the parties involved to verify their availability. And, she wondered, how was she going to bring up the subject of Marshall Cambridge?
She’d have to figure that out—and soon.
TWENTY
As per their usual routine, Tricia and Angelica met at Booked for Lunch for their afternoon repast. Tricia caught her sister up on what she’d learned that morning about the suspect in Marshall’s murder, and the upcoming photo shoot.
“Thursday? Wow, that’s fast. I’ll need to hit the day spa that morning to get my hair and nails done. Shall I make an appointment for you, too? We can go together!” Angelica said.
“Yes, please.”
“What are you going to wear?”
Tricia shrugged. “Probably a sweater set.”
“Oh, no,” Angelica admonished. “You must have something nicer than that.”
Tricia wasn’t much of a clothes horse. “I guess I could wear a suit.”
Angelica cringed. “It’s too bad we aren’t the same size. I’ve got so many fabulous outfits.”
“What will you wear?”
Angelica looked thoughtful. “It’s going to be a tough decision. I’ll let you know on Thursday.”
The breeze was stiff, but the sun was warm on their faces that afternoon as Tricia and Angelica left Booked for Lunch and made their way down Main Street.
“I sure hope Mr. Harvick is in,” Tricia said. “I want to ask him about the man who apparently killed Marshall.”
“Who says he knows anything about the guy?” Angelica countered.
“He was a county deputy.”
“So are a lot of other people. He couldn’t possibly know every petty crook who crossed the county jail’s threshold.”
“You never know,” Tricia quipped as they crossed the street at the corner. She’d come prepared with brochures and had rehearsed her Chamber pitch. She figured if she faltered that Angelica could back her up. The Chamber had been the epitome of efficiency under her leadership. It was definitely a hard sell now that it no longer lived up to those standards.
There were no empty parking spaces in front of the Bee’s Knees, and it seemed the shop was near to bursting with first-time customers. A harried but happy-looking Eileen stood behind the register ringing up sales while a man stood in front of the big shelf in back that was no longer filled with honey, no doubt thanks to the tour bus that had stopped by earlier in the day, giving his own sales pitch to willing listeners. The Miles sisters moved closer to take in what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech. Harvick told of the health benefits of his bees’ honey and the long-burning times of their hand-dipped candles. They were pretty and smelled wonderful. Tricia was determined to buy a box or two of them, as well.
Harvick helped the customers make their choices and directed them to the cash register. Finally, it was Tricia’s time to be served.
“Hi, I’m Tricia Miles from Haven’t Got a Clue mystery bookstore up the street, and this is my sister, Angelica. She owns the Cookery. We came to not only patronize your store but talk to you about joining the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about it,” he muttered just as sourly as his wife had done days before.
“I hope you’ll give us a chance to explain,” Angelica said.
Harvick shrugged. “Go for it.”
Tricia stood by in wonder as Angelica charmed the man. By the time she finished her spiel, he was ready to write out a check.
“That won’t be necessary today. We’ll be in contact to let you know about our next group meeting where you’ll hear all about our plans for the future,” Angelica finished enthusiastically.
“Sounds good to me. Now, what is it I can get you ladies?”
“Which of your honeys do you recommend for baking?” Tricia asked.
“Well, we have several,” Harvick said, and gave them a detailed description of each. Angelica bought one of each, while Tricia eyed the rest of the items on sale. The variety of their stock was far greater than she would have thought. She selected a jar of honey, some honey mustard, a medium jar of the royal jelly, and several tubes of lip balm made with beeswax, intending to give them to her employees and perhaps Ginny and Grace.
“I understand you’re a retired sheriff’s deputy,” Tricia said casually.
Harvick nodded. “Twenty-five years with the department,” he said proudly.
“Did you ever run into a suspect by the name of Joshua Greenwell?” Tricia asked innocently.
“Oh, yeah,” Harvick said with a knowing nod. “A petty little thief we called the Snitch.”
“He was a tattletale?” Angelica inquired.
“In spades. Sometimes whatever he had to sell was worth the price of putting up with him, but usually he just ratted out people he thought had stiffed him as a way to get even.”
“Did you know he was found dead a couple of days ago?”
Harvick crossed his arms across his chest. “I heard. I didn’t shed any tears.”
No, Tricia supposed a hardened law enforcement officer wouldn’t. But Harvick was now a civilian. Did he hold a grudge?
“They say it was murder trying to look like a suicide,” Tricia said.
“Oh, yeah? Who says that?”
“Everyone,” Tricia said evasively. She didn’t want to let on that she’d spoken to Baker about the man’s death.
Harvick shrugged. “It was bound to happen eventually. You don’t turn on just about everyone you know without someone deciding they’ve had enough and fixing the problem—permanently.”
“Do you know our chief of police, Grant Baker?” Angelica asked.
Harvick’s expression was bland. “I worked with him for years before he became a detecti
ve with the Sheriff’s Department. That’s when he became super serious and you couldn’t share a joke without him nailing you with those cold green eyes.”
Cold? Tricia had never thought of Baker’s eyes as cold. Stern sometimes, and mesmerizing quite often—but never cold. Was this a case of petty jealousy? Baker had retired from the Sheriff’s Department with full benefits. He now had a lucrative job with a steady income. Did Harvick have an inkling of how precarious the financial life of a shop owner could be? If not, the day’s good sales shouldn’t be expected on a regular basis. On a good week during prime tourist season, Stoneham drew thousands of visitors. The rest of the time . . . perhaps a score.
“Can I help you with anything else?” Harvick asked.
“I think I’m done shopping,” Angelica said. “I need to get back to work.”
“Me, too,” Tricia said.
Harvick produced a basket, packed it, and carried it to the register, where Eileen waited.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he said.
“Thanks. We won’t,” Angelica promised as Harvick headed to the back of the shop and disappeared behind the door marked PRIVATE.
Eileen packed their purchases into two flat-bottomed shopping bags. “There you go. And thanks for supporting us on our soft opening day.”
“We’ll be back,” Tricia promised, and the sisters exited the store. “So, what do you think about the Bee’s Knees?” she asked.
“It’s very cute. They’ve got good products. I hope they do well.”
“Me, too.”
“What was that line you fed Mr. Harvick about everyone knowing that Greenwell character was murdered?”
“Okay, maybe not everyone, but it was a suspicious death.”
“And when will you find out for sure?” Angelica asked.
Tricia shrugged. “Only time will tell.”
* * *
* * *
Tricia ducked out of Haven’t Got a Clue early that evening to catch the last of Becca’s and Ginny’s tennis practice. They were just finishing up as Tricia parked her car behind the school. This time, only Ginny’s car occupied another parking space.
Ginny had brought her own racket—which had survived the fire thanks to being stored in the garage—water, and towels, and that day she was properly dressed for a workout. She uncapped her water bottle and took a slug.
“You drove?” Tricia asked after greeting both women.
Ginny nodded. “I knew someone was staying in Marshall’s apartment. I didn’t realize it was Becca.” NR Associates Marketing Department was located on the floor above Booked for Lunch, with Marshall’s apartment being located on the third floor.
“I told her about my close friendship with, uh, Marshall, and that I’d been called in to help settle his estate,” Becca explained.
“We ran into each other in the stairwell this morning when I was coming to work and she was heading to the Bookshelf Diner for breakfast.”
Marshall had a small, but well-stocked gourmet kitchen. Did Becca prefer restaurant food or did she just dislike cooking for herself? To be fair, Tricia had once felt the same way. She watched as the women packed up their gear.
“Here’s an idea,” Tricia said. “Why don’t I drive Becca back to Marshall’s apartment? That way you can get back to your family, Ginny.” The offer would save Ginny only a minute or so since the Sheer Comfort Inn wasn’t far from the heart of the village. But she gave Tricia a knowing look and nodded. “Thanks, Tricia. I’ll see you for lunch on Thursday.”
“You bet,” Tricia said.
“Same time tomorrow?” Becca asked Ginny.
“I’ll look forward to it.” Ginny gave Becca and Tricia a smile before heading to her car. They watched as Ginny drove away. Tricia was the first to speak.
“So, Ginny’s working out as an exercise buddy?” Tricia asked.
“Yeah,” Becca said halfheartedly. “She’s better than nothing.”
A flash of anger coursed through Tricia. Becca was no longer a world champion. That Ginny could hold her own against Becca said a lot about how far Becca’s ability had deteriorated since her accident. Tricia bit her tongue. She wasn’t cruel enough to point that out.
“I kind of hoped you’d show up today,” Becca said diffidently. She reached into her duffel bag and removed the little velvet box Tricia had seen the night of Marshall’s death. “I thought you might like to have this.” She handed Tricia the fuzzy cube.
Tricia pulled back the hinged lid and stared at the diamond solitaire engagement ring. It wasn’t that much different from the one Christopher had given her more than fifteen years before, albeit at least a carat smaller. “It’s very pretty.”
“Do you want it?” Becca pressed.
Tricia shook her head and handed it back. “I suppose you’ll sell it.”
Becca shrugged. “Probably. I already have one that looks exactly the same. It’s worth at least a grand,” she said offhandedly. She closed the lid and eyed Tricia. “Do you have a key to Gene’s apartment?”
Again, Tricia shook her head. She hadn’t given him a key to her place, either.
“Did you know Gene had a gun?” Becca asked.
“No. Why?”
“It’s missing.” Hence, the question about Tricia having a key.
“I suppose he had one for protection. Just in case.” As a protected witness, he had to be living on the edge, wondering if one of Martin Bailey’s lackeys might find him and try to eliminate him.
“Yeah. Of course, he wasn’t expecting to be run down in the street. If he’d been carrying the gun on the night he died, I doubt he’d have had an opportunity to use it.”
“What kind of gun was it?” Tricia asked.
“A nine millimeter Glock.”
Tricia knew that the handgun was one of the most popular sold in the US. “I suppose Gene told you where he kept it.”
“In a safe bolted to the floor in the closet.”
Tricia had never poked around in his closet, just as she’d never expected Marshall to root around in hers. “Did the apartment look like it had been searched when you got there?”
“Gene was a very tidy man,” Becca said, which Tricia could attest to as well. “The apartment was not. I assume that the feds or the local cops searched it after his death, although I don’t know why they should.”
“You could ask Deputy Marshal Kirby.”
Becca scowled. “I’d get more information from a turnip. The thing is . . . as far as the feds are concerned, their job is done. The second Gene died, he was out of the program. I’m surprised they bothered to inform you.” She looked thoughtful. “As you never heard from Kirby again, I’m assuming they figured you weren’t of any importance.”
It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought that way, Tricia considered bitterly. That said, she had other questions to ask. “What do you know about Gene’s relationship with Louise Jameson?”
Becca raised a quizzical eyebrow. “So, you know about her?”
“It’s guesswork on my part, but I assume Gene and she were lovers at some point.”
“Oh, yeah,” Becca confirmed.
Tricia felt a slow burn rise within her. “Why did they break up?”
“Who said they did?” Becca asked blankly.
Tricia blinked, taken aback. “Well, Marshall did ask me to marry him.”
“He liked being married. Louise wasn’t interested—at least in marrying him. Let’s face it; a respectable dentist has a lot more cachet—and a bigger bank account—than the former owner of a crappy little porn shop.”
Tricia tried to digest that little nugget of information. “But Marshall was a lot nicer person than Mark Jameson appears to be.”
“Who says nice has anything to do with it?” Becca asked.
“What are you saying?”
“That Gene couldn’t give Louise the financial security her dentist husband could.”
“And he told you that?”
“Of course. We had no s
ecrets.”
And Marshall—Gene—had plenty of secrets he’d kept from Tricia. The more she learned of them, the harder she judged him.
“Have you met Louise?” Tricia asked.
“No, and I don’t care to, either.” She glanced at Tricia’s car. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah.” Tricia was more than ready to be shed of the great Becca Dickson-Chandler. In fact, if she never spoke to the woman again, it would be too soon.
She wondered if she’d soon feel the same way about Louise Jameson.
* * *
* * *
“He asked her to marry him first?” Angelica asked, sounding offended.
The sky outside Angelica’s second-floor window was beginning to darken as Tricia held the chilled stemmed glass tightly and sighed. “Yeah.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’m sorry he treated you so poorly. But then . . .”
Tricia glared at her sister. Not many of the men in Tricia’s life had treated her very well, from her first real love, Harrison Tyler, to her ex-husband, Christopher, to Russ Smith, Grant Baker, and lastly Marshall. She didn’t need her sister to remind her of that fact.
Tricia sighed. Maybe it was time to just call it quits on guys altogether since she obviously couldn’t pick a good one. But then, she rarely pursued anyone—she was usually the one being pursued.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Tricia suggested.
“Such as?”
“As long as I’m griping about people, I’ll spill on Becca, too.”
“What’s she done now?”
“She disparaged Ginny.”
Angelica’s mouth dropped open. She caught herself and shut it once again. “In what way?” she asked angrily.
“Intimating that she’s not a very good tennis partner.”
Angelica’s eyes widened. “She ought to be grateful she’s got anyone to practice with.”
“I agree.”
“Don’t you dare tell Ginny,” Angelica admonished, got up from the chaise, and began to hobble around the room.
“I hadn’t planned to. And shouldn’t you stay off that foot? It looks a little swollen.”
Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion Page 16
