Tricia got out of the car and ran to the passenger side. Knowing the uneven terrain in front of the Wilson-Barbero homestead, she’d insisted on bringing Angelica’s crutches. She retrieved them from the back seat and helped her sister out of the car.
A uniformed cop appeared before them. “You need to leave the area. We don’t need rubberneckers.”
“We are family,” Angelica growled in as menacing a tone as Tricia had ever heard.
The young officer took a step back. “Last I saw, they were over there.” He pointed to a copse of maples a little farther up the driveway.
“Thank you,” Angelica said, and despite her booted foot and crutches, started off at a brisk pace that Tricia struggled to match.
Less than a minute later, they were reunited with their loved ones. Angelica clung to Antonio, both of them rapidly speaking Italian, while Tricia awkwardly embraced Ginny, with Sofia straddling her left hip.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ginny sobbed into Tricia’s ear, nearly squashing Sofia between them.
“What happened?” Tricia asked, pulling back.
“I picked Sofia up at day care and came home to find the house in flames. I called nine one one and then Antonio. What could have happened for it to be burning so fiercely?”
“Have the firefighters told you anything?”
“They’ve been too busy fighting the fire,” Ginny said, wiping a hand across her red, swollen eyes.
“Would you like to sit in my car, out of the smoke?”
“I’d prefer to stay, but I should get Sofia out of here. I don’t want her to remember her home burning.”
As the little girl wasn’t yet two, Tricia doubted that was a possibility. Still, she hooked her arm around Ginny’s and pulled her toward the road.
“I guess we won’t be going to lunch tomorrow,” Ginny lamented.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tricia assured her.
“What will we do? Everything we owned was in the house. Our clothes, our furniture. I don’t even have a clean diaper for the baby.”
“We’ll get some,” Tricia assured her.
Once she had Ginny and Sofia safely sitting in the back of her car, Tricia returned up the drive to wait with Angelica and Antonio, who’d been joined by one of the firefighters, whom Tricia recognized as Dan Farrar, the fire chief. They’d first met after the explosion that had destroyed the History Repeats Itself bookstore four years before. He gave Tricia a curt nod and headed back toward the house. The flames didn’t seem as intense, but the smoke had grown noticeably thicker.
“We should move,” Tricia advised, noting that Angelica leaned heavily on the crutches, her sore foot raised to take the pressure off. “Would you like to sit in the car with Ginny?”
Angelica shook her head, but then winced. “I probably should. Besides, we need to figure out where they’re going to stay tonight.”
“The Brookview has a few vacant rooms,” Antonio said wearily.
“The Sheer Comfort Inn’s suite will be much more comfortable. They had a cancellation, so it should be no problem. I’ll call Marina to get the room ready for you.”
Antonio nodded, leaned forward, and kissed Angelica’s cheek.
The sisters started for the car while Antonio hung back to watch what was left of his home disintegrate.
Tricia made sure her sister could safely navigate to the car, and once they were out of Antonio’s earshot Angelica said, “The fire chief said it looks like arson.”
“Arson?” Tricia repeated, horrified.
“The fire was set in multiple locations.”
“Who would have done such a terrible thing?”
“That’s a very good question. I wish I knew the answer.”
“Are you going to tell Ginny?”
Angelica shook her head. “It shouldn’t come from either of us.”
Tricia had just shut the passenger side door when another police cruiser pulled up across the road. Chief Baker exited the vehicle and Tricia hurried over to intercept him.
“I just heard,” he said without greeting, and nodded toward the driveway.
“Grant, the fire chief told Antonio it looks like arson.”
Baker looked pensive and shook his head as though to ask What could he do about it? Tricia had an idea.
“You will work with the fire department to figure out who did this and send them to jail.”
“Of course. Our departments work together on these kinds of things all the time. My first question for you is, who’s got it in for the Barberos?”
Tricia blinked, taken aback. “Nobody. They are the sweetest couple.”
“Aw, come on, Tricia. Everybody’s got some enemies.”
“I don’t.”
Baker scowled. “I don’t have enough fingers to count all the people who dislike you, starting with Doris Gleason.”
He had a point. Tricia had helped put more than a few murderers behind bars.
“I certainly don’t know of any,” Tricia bluffed.
Baker looked skeptical. “Isn’t it just a little bit funny how all this bad luck is suddenly being visited on your family?”
“My family?” Tricia questioned, playing dumb.
“Oh, come on, Trish. Just about everyone in the village knows that Antonio is Angelica’s stepson.”
Well, he had it partly right.
Tricia straightened, taken aback. “You think someone has it in for us?”
“You tell me,” he said sourly. “Your boyfriend was killed, you were nearly run down, and now your stepnephew’s home has been set on fire. What do you think?”
Tricia chewed her lip. Had she been living in denial? The thought left her cold.
“Have there been any other arsons in the village or surrounding areas?” Tricia asked.
“No,” Baker said emphatically.
Tricia thought about it but then shook her head. “Three incidents in less than a week is bad luck—not a vendetta.”
“Oh, yeah? And what if something else happens? What will you tell me then—if you’re in a state to speak?” Baker challenged.
What was he really asking? To be her protector?
“If anything else bad happens to me or anyone in my sphere, you will be the first to know.”
“You promise?” He actually did sound worried.
“Yes.” She needed to steer the conversation back to something less personal. “Have you heard from Deputy Kirby?”
Baker shook his head.
“Did you know Marshall’s ex-wife has come to the village to wind up his affairs?”
Baker blinked. “That’s rather quick, isn’t it?”
“I thought so, too. She’s staying at his apartment.”
“You seem to know a lot about her.”
“She came to visit me at the store—to check me out, I suppose.”
“And her verdict?”
Tricia shrugged. “I have no idea. When I heard Marshall was a protected witness, I assumed his death was one of revenge, but Becca said the man he helped put in jail died back in February.”
“So I understand. But there were more people in Bailey’s organization that went to jail besides just him.”
“Yes, but it took years before they could bring down the top man—and it was because of Marshall’s testimony. It was a very brave thing to do.”
“Hogwash.” Baker practically spat. “He testified to save his own neck.”
“If his death was a revenge hit, it hardly worked.”
“The fact that he kept in touch with his ex-wife was a major red flag,” Baker countered.
“And you think she led them directly to Marshall?”
“It could have been inadvertent. Her phone could have been tapped, her mail intercepted. There are a number of other different ways she would have outed him.”
But Baker didn’t seem interested in elaborating on those possibilities.
He nodded toward the house that lay in ruins. “I need to talk to the fire chief.”
“I’ll be in my car with Angelica and Ginny—and out of this smoke.” She’d probably have to wash all her clothes more than once to get rid of the stench.
“Thank you for coming,” Tricia said quietly.
“It’s my job,” he reminded her.
Yes, it was.
NINE
It was after eleven when Tricia and Angelica left the Sheer Comfort Inn. Earlier, Antonio had stayed with Sofia while the three women hit the big-box store on the highway, filling three carts with clothes, shoes, toys, diapers, and snack foods. Angelica had charged all the purchases while Ginny kept thanking her between bouts of tears.
Marina, at the inn, had rustled up some sandwiches and soft drinks for the group, but nobody felt much like eating. Once the family was settled, the sisters had headed for home.
“Now I wish I’d eaten one of those sandwiches,” Angelica muttered as they approached the municipal parking lot.
“What did you have set for supper earlier?” Tricia asked as she pulled her car into her usual spot in the lot.
“Lasagna. Tommy made it. It’s cooked, but it would take at least half an hour to reheat.”
“We could nuke it?”
“No,” Angelica said emphatically.
“What do you suggest?”
“Why don’t we go to Booked for Lunch? There are cold cuts up the wazoo in the fridge, and every kind of bread on the planet.”
“Every kind?” Tricia asked, giving her sister a quizzical look.
“Every kind that counts.”
The sisters exited the car and headed for Angelica’s retro café. Once inside, they inspected the big cooler in the kitchen and decided on what to have for their dinner. Ham and cheese on seeded rye with tomatoes and lettuce for Angelica, and tuna salad on whole wheat for Tricia. Angelica made cocoa while Tricia found an opened bag of potato chips and they sat down at one of the tables for their long-delayed dinner.
Angelica gazed at her sandwich wearily. “I feel heartsick.”
“Me, too,” Tricia admitted.
“Who would want to burn Ginny’s and Antonio’s house down?”
“Grant thinks it’s someone gunning for our family.”
Angelica sat straighter. “Why would he think that?”
Tricia shrugged and plucked a chip from her plate. “Because two bad things have happened to our family in the space of two days.”
“Ha! Marshall had nothing to do with our family. He only came to two of our family dinners—and one of them was Christmas.”
“I’m just repeating what he said,” Tricia remarked, and took a bite of her sandwich. As she chewed, she remembered she hadn’t had a chance to catch her sister up on all the events of her day. She mentioned it.
“The private dining room?” Angelica asked, looking skeptical.
“I didn’t want to be interrupted. As it was, Becca wasn’t impressed and seemed eager to leave. And she was just a little bit rude to Sarah, the waitress.” She explained about the cucumber water.
“There’s no excuse for that. We try to accommodate people, but honestly . . .”
“Apparently the bartender was able to make what she wanted, although she didn’t comment on it.”
Angelica shrugged. “I have a meeting with Hank Curtis tomorrow,” she announced, smiling. “Goodness knows, it might be the only bright spot of my day. Would you mind driving me and we can have lunch there before my meeting at one? What do you say?”
And dining with Tricia wouldn’t be a bright spot?
Tricia sighed. “Fine with me. I’ve got to eat somewhere. But not the private dining room.”
“Agreed.” Angelica stared into her cocoa. “Do you really think someone had it in for Ginny and Antonio?”
“I don’t know. I sure hope not. But the fact is their home was destroyed. Some people do that kind of thing for kicks, but . . .” Tricia drew in a weary breath before continuing. “Grant said there hadn’t been any other arsons in the village of late.”
“That he knows of?” Angelica said.
“Yeah.”
Angelica’s expression was pensive. “How can we know we aren’t being targeted?”
Tricia shrugged. “We have to keep up with what’s going on in the village.”
“And how do we do that?”
In years past, Angelica’s employee Frannie Mae Armstrong could be depended on to report everything that went on in the village, but she was no longer in the mix of things. Pixie had a good idea of what was going on in the area but—to her credit—she was pretty much tight-lipped about it. Tricia wasn’t sure she wanted Pixie to become Frannie’s successor.
“We keep our eyes and ears open,” Tricia said.
“Easy for you to say, you’re not stuck at home ninety-nine percent of the day.”
“You talk to your employees. Start asking more questions.”
Angelica sighed. “Yes, I suppose I could. I’ll just have to be very subtle.”
“I have great confidence in your abilities,” Tricia said, while she herself had the perfect cover—talking to former Chamber members. And she’d start first thing in the morning by calling Mary Fairchild and accepting the job.
With that decided, Tricia took a bite of her sandwich. Suddenly, she felt ravenous.
* * *
* * *
It was after midnight when Tricia arrived back in her apartment and received a thorough scolding from Miss Marple, whose dinner had been delayed by at least four hours. Tricia peeled off her smoky clothes, tossing them in the hamper, and jumped into the shower. She had to wash her hair three times before she was sure the reek was gone. By the time she climbed into bed, Tricia felt exhausted but made sure to set her alarm for seven. She had a lot to do that morning and much of it needed to be accomplished before Haven’t Got a Clue opened.
She checked her phone the next morning, but there were no texts or missed calls from Ginny. Well, it was early. She would contact her later in the day—after Ginny had had time to get used to the idea of being homeless. She turned her thoughts to other things—like dumping her smoky clothes into the washing machine and the Chamber recruitment project. As with her hair, she figured she’d need to wash the clothes several times to remove the odor. But she was glad for something to do to kill a little time. She kept looking at the clock and it was just after eight when Tricia allowed herself to call Mary Fairchild at home.
“Goodness, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Mary exclaimed. “You said you needed time to think about it.”
“Getting the Chamber back on its feet is important to me. Do you have that list of people for me to contact?”
“I can e-mail it to you.”
“Great. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get started this morning. You know, talk to people before business hours.”
“Great idea.”
“Do we know when the next meeting will be?”
“Sometime next week. I’ll let you know as soon as I get the word from Mark. By the way, what do you think of him?” Mary asked.
“He certainly has his opinions.”
“Yes,” Mary said, her voice flat, “he does.”
“How did he get to be the head of the committee, anyway?” Tricia asked.
“Somebody needed to step up to the plate.”
Did Mary think Tricia should have done so? After all, Russ Smith had been arrested only the week before. So much had happened in such a short period of time. It really was mind-boggling.
“I’ll look forward to your e-mail,” Tricia said as a bit of a reminder.
“Talk to you later,” Mary said, and ended the call.
Tricia finished her coffe
e and she and Miss Marple headed down to Haven’t Got a Clue to start their workday. It was Mr. Everett’s day off, but unless there was a huge influx of customers, Tricia knew she and Pixie could handle whatever the day dished up.
The first thing Tricia did was fire up her computer. Mary hadn’t yet sent the list of past Chamber members, so she filled the dumbwaiter with books to be shelved in the store above. She checked the computer again.
Nothing from Mary.
Tricia sent the little elevator up to the store, removed the boxes of books, and started filling the shelves. Ten minutes later she was back to check her computer.
Still no e-mail from Mary.
It was almost time to open the store when Tricia checked her e-mail on her phone to finally find Mary’s list of names. She had just enough time to go to the office to print out the list before Pixie arrived for work.
“Hey, Tricia,” Pixie called cheerfully.
“Good morning. My, you’re in a good mood. I wish I could say the same.”
Pixie’s expression froze. “What’s wrong now?”
Tricia explained what had happened to Ginny’s little cottage in the woods.
“Oh, no! Those poor people.”
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Tricia shrugged. “I’ll let you know.”
Pixie nodded, unbuttoning her coat. “What have you got there?”
“The list of former Chamber members who need to be sweet-talked into rejoining.”
“You decided to join the committee?”
Tricia nodded.
Pixie pulled a face. “Good luck with that.”
Tricia laughed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go downstairs and make a couple of calls before the first of our customers arrives.”
The door to the store opened, the little bell tinkling in response.
“You were saying?” Pixie said, smiling.
Tricia set her list aside and straightened. “Hi. Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. How can we help you?”
TEN
Tricia was pleasantly surprised that a small but steady stream of customers had chosen that morning to visit the village. Pixie charmed an older man into buying half a dozen books by Nicholas Blake, and Tricia sold at least a dozen books by as many authors. If that kept up, the day looked to be a great success.
A Deadly Deletion Page 8
