A Deadly Deletion

by Lorna Barrett

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. They’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.”

  “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 detective 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.