A Deadly Deletion

by Lorna Barrett

  “Uh, through the local Chamber of Commerce.”

  Unless she’d joined in the past few months, Tricia knew Louise’s words were a bald-faced lie. Due to her volunteer work for the Chamber, Tricia had an intimate knowledge of the Chamber’s membership list. Did Louise even know Tricia was on the recruitment committee with her husband?

  “Did you know Marshall’s ex-wife was in town?”

  “Ex-wife?” Louise asked, startled. “I—he told me she was dead. An accident.”

  “She did have a serious accident, but she recovered. This was after their divorce.”

  “But Marshall told me . . .” Louise didn’t finish the sentence. Obviously, Marshall had shared his false history with her, too. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Ostensibly to wind up his affairs.”

  “That was quick, wasn’t it?”

  “Time waits for no one,” Tricia said.

  Louise sighed. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m sad Marshall died, but we were really just acquaintances.”

  “That’s not what his ex said.”

  Louise’s eyes widened. “She . . . what?”

  “Apparently, she and Marshall spoke often. She knew all about your affair—and the fact that he asked you to leave your husband.”

  Louise’s mouth dropped open and she quickly looked to see that her assistant wasn’t within listening distance. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

  Tricia stepped closer to the door, with Louise following, her eyes wide, fear shadowing them.

  “Becca quite bluntly told me that it was you he wanted to be with, but as you’d rejected the notion, he’d settle for me.”

  Louise’s lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. “That couldn’t have been easy to hear.”

  Aha! Acknowledgment . . . but the fact brought Tricia no joy.

  “It didn’t matter. I had no intention of saying yes.”

  “Poor Marshall,” Louise said blithely.

  “Yes. It seems nobody loved him enough to be a lifelong partner. Not his ex-wife, not you, or me, either. What do you propose to do with what you learned about Marshall and me?”

  “Nothing,” Tricia said honestly. “But you should know that your husband and I are on the Chamber of Commerce recruitment committee for a new president.”

  Now Louise looked downright scared, probably knowing she’d not only been caught in at least one lie but also that her husband might find out about her tryst with Marshall.

  “I have no intention of saying anything to Mark. It’s not my business, but I thought you should know.”

  Louise’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you come here? To taunt me?”

  “No, we honestly wanted our portraits taken. You do good work.”

  “Get out,” Louise said.

  Tricia grabbed up her coat from the rack near the wall and left the studio.

  She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get her photographic package.

  * * *

  * * *

  Tricia walked back to Haven’t Got a Clue, grateful for the brisk air. It helped clear her head of the junk that was beginning to accumulate. As she turned onto Main Street, she could see a Granite State tour bus parked near the village’s municipal lot, and the sidewalk was crowded with people. She hoped her store would be just as full.

  Mr. Everett had not returned to the shop after the picture-taking session, and Pixie was holding the fort, but Tricia quickly stowed her jacket behind the cash desk and jumped in to help take care of the customers who were lined up. Tricia looked at the clock and saw it was nearing five. The customers were already getting antsy, worried they might miss the bus, but between them, Tricia and Pixie cleared the line in less than ten minutes. Finally, the door closed behind the last of them.

  “Whew!” Pixie cried. “That was intense. But I loved every second of it. It’s such a challenge during peak times when it’s just the two of us.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get back sooner. It was such a pretty day I wanted to walk—and then I spent a few minutes after our session speaking to the photographer. I should have—”

  But Pixie held up a hand to interrupt Tricia. “I thrive under this kind of pressure, so don’t apologize.”

  It was true, Pixie loved dealing with the customers, she was efficient, and just as knowledgeable as Tricia when it came to current and vintage mysteries.

  “How do you think we did today?”

  “Enough to pay the day’s rent.”

  Since Tricia owned the building outright, that wasn’t a concern.

  “How did the picture-taking go?” Pixie asked.

  “Well. We got to see a few of the photos, but she’ll be sending us electronic proofs via e-mail, probably by tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see them. Did Mr. Everett wear a nice tie?”

  Tricia stifled a grin. “Yes, he did. But I won’t tell you which one, because you’ll want to be surprised.”

  “Maybe he can show me tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Pixie surveyed the shop. “Goodness, look at the mess those customers left. There are books piled everywhere.”

  It took the two women nearly an hour to tidy the store and get it ready for the next day’s onslaught of customers.

  Since they’d had no shoppers since those on the bus had departed, Tricia decided to close the shop five minutes early. She and Pixie donned their coats and locked up.

  “See you tomorrow!” Pixie called, and headed up the sidewalk, and Tricia entered the Cookery.

  “You’re just in time,” June called cheerfully, shrugging into the sleeves of her jacket. “I’m ready to call it a day.”

  “I’ll lock up,” Tricia said, and said good-bye. A minute later, she was inside Angelica’s apartment. Much as she enjoyed their happy hours above the Cookery, Tricia would be glad when her sister’s foot healed enough that they could share some of those hours after work at her place. She’d paid a lot of money to transform her apartment and it seemed she rarely got to spend time in her lovely living room. About the only time she spent in her kitchen was when she made cookies for her staff and customers. She mentioned as much to Angelica.

  “Give me another week and we’ll try it.”

  “Only if you think you’re up to it.”

  “Thanks to that royal jelly, my incision is healing nicely.” Angelica assembled crackers and slices of sharp cheddar on a plate while Tricia poured their drinks. “So, what did you think of our photography session?”

  “It went well,” Tricia said.

  “I hope the e-mail with my proofs comes tomorrow. I can’t wait to have beautiful pictures of Antonio, Ginny, and Sofia scattered around my apartment.”

  “What about my picture?”

  “Oh, yeah, you, too,” Angelica said almost dismissively, and picked up the plate of crackers. “Did you learn anything interesting after the rest of us left the studio?”

  Tricia carried the tray of drinks into the living room. “Definitely. And it’s official,” she announced. “Louise and Marshall did have an affair.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Angelica said, taking her usual seat. “How did she take the news that you knew about their tryst?”

  “Not well. I suspect I may be out the cost of my portrait package.”

  “You could always file a complaint with the Chamber of Commerce, although with her husband currently active in its ranks, it could get awkward when you explain the circumstances.”

  “Speaking of Mark Jameson, before you got to the photo studio, I noticed that all Louise’s big portraits were copyrighted Mark Jameson Enterprises. What do you make of that?”

  Angelica looked thoughtful. “Maybe he’s one of those male chauvinist pigs who can’t bear for his wife to have autonomy. Or maybe it’s just a
shrewd business move to consolidate their assets, although I think I saw that Dr. Jameson has the initials LLC after his name on the sign in front of his practice. As a dentist, he could be sued for malpractice, and being a limited liability company would save his personal or other business assets.”

  “Then how about the word ‘enterprises’? Do you think they’re just grouping Louise’s studio in with the wedding venue as one company?”

  “It sounds reasonable. He probably hired a good attorney to draw up his contracts and file his incorporation papers.”

  “Somehow, it all seems fishy to me.”

  “Do you think he knew about Louise’s affair with Marshall and wanted to punish her—to keep her under his thumb?”

  “Who says her relationship with Marshall was the first time she strayed?” Tricia remarked.

  “Once a cheater, always a cheater. That’s been my experience with men,” Angelica said sourly.

  “Not every man cheats. Christopher never cheated on me,” Tricia said. “And I don’t believe he was in a relationship during the time we were apart, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “He told me so.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “If nothing else, I don’t think he ever lied to me.”

  “Such a paragon of virtue,” Angelica said flippantly.

  “Well, you thought so after he saved your life.”

  “Yes,” Angelica admitted contritely. “And I’m sorry. Except for his poor judgment in leaving you, he was a man of character. I’ll forever be sorry that he’s gone.”

  As would Tricia. But that didn’t mean they would have gotten back together again, either.

  “What else did you learn?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia shrugged. “Nothing much. But Louise seems to think I’m going to rat her out to Mark.”

  Angelica raised an eyebrow. “And will you?”

  “No. It’s not my business. Marshall is dead and gone. Well, until Becca scatters his ashes in Hawaii, that is.”

  “Why Hawaii?”

  Tricia explained.

  “Well, you didn’t want them anyway, did you?” Angelica asked.

  “No. That would be creepy.”

  “Would you have said that about Grandmother’s ashes?” Angelica asked.

  No, Tricia wouldn’t. That’s because she loved her late grandmother unconditionally. But she deserved that kind of devotion. Tricia wasn’t at all sure Marshall did—from anyone.

  Was it telling that she felt guilty just thinking that thought?

  TWENTY-FIVE

  No sooner did Tricia return home from dinner than her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and answered. “Hi, Becca.”

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

  “Sure. What’s on your mind?” Tricia asked as she opened a cupboard door and removed a can of cat food. It was just about Miss Marple’s dinnertime.

  “I wondered what your take would be on me running the Armchair Tourist?”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Tricia asked, taken aback.

  “Well, I’m obviously not going to be making the rounds touring with the senior tennis league,” Becca deadpanned.

  Tricia took out a clean cat bowl. “I thought you said you didn’t want to be stuck in some crappy little town. East Podunk, I think you mentioned.”

  “That was when I had the world at my command,” Becca remarked.

  “And you don’t miss those days?” Tricia asked, switching the phone to speaker mode and setting it on the counter.

  “Of course I do, but I’m also a realist. According to Gene, his shop made money. I was a great tennis champ, but not anymore. My endorsements dried up. I have to live, but I don’t want to hang out at malls and tennis clubs signing photos taken twenty years ago. What kind of pathetic creature do you think I am?”

  “You mentioned it, not me,” Tricia defended herself while Miss Marple danced around her feet, eager for her supper.

  Becca exhaled a breath. “Sorry. I’m a little touchy on that subject.”

  And how.

  “But you haven’t answered my question,” Becca insisted.

  Tricia put down the bowl of food and reached for the water bowl. “What do you know about retail?”

  “Absolutely nothing. But Gene had an assistant and he’d given her quite a bit of responsibility. I figured I might be more of a behind-the-scenes manager while she handles the day-to-day affairs. Hank told me about the elusive Nigela Ricita and how she’s almost single-handedly saved the village.” Bob Kelly got the original credit for that. NR Associates just built on that success—and had done a fantastic job. “It sounds like someone else could come in and do even more of the same in this part of the state.”

  Tricia filled the bowl with fresh water and set it down. “What kind of niche business would you bring in?” Tricia asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t given it a lot of thought. I’d have to talk to some people. Maybe join the Chamber of Commerce and talk to a few people on the Board of Selectmen.”

  “Yes, you could do that.”

  “So, what do you think?” Becca pressed.

  “Start off slowly. See how hard it is to keep a business afloat during the months when Stoneham isn’t a tourist attraction. That’s the real test.”

  Becca sighed. “That does seem like prudent advice.”

  “That’s the only kind I have to offer. But while you wait, do your homework. Find that niche product or service that locals and the tourist trade will support. Have you thought about giving tennis lessons?”

  “Never! No one could afford that kind of expertise.”

  “What about starting a tennis club? You could hire the past and present high school stars to teach the basics.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Didn’t you say you started out on a crummy asphalt court?”

  Becca sighed. “Yes, I did.” She was quiet for a moment. “I guess I’ve become a snob.”

  “Well, the locals won’t like that. You need to be nice to people.”

  “I’m never not nice.”

  “Becca!”

  “Okay, sometimes I’m a little snarky. I often think I’ve earned it.”

  Tricia let out an exasperated breath before continuing. “There’s something else you need to think about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How do you explain that Marshall—and that’s how everyone around here knew him—was married to you? All anyone has to do is look you up on Wikipedia to find out you’ve only been married once, and the man’s name wasn’t Marshall Cambridge.”

  “Oh, dear. And I’ve already introduced myself as his ex-wife—but only a few times.”

  “A few too many times,” Tricia said.

  Becca sighed. “I’ll have to concoct some story.”

  “Do you still have any PR contacts from your old life?”

  “Maybe,” Becca said, drawing out the word.

  “Give them a call and see what you can do in the way of damage control.”

  “I could just say it was none of their business.”

  “And if the press noses around? If nothing else, you are still considered a tennis celebrity.”

  “Crap!” Becca barked. “I’d better hang up and start making some other calls. We’ll talk again soon,” she promised, and ended the conversation.

  Tricia shook her head, considering their talk. The one thing Becca hadn’t mentioned was what Marshall’s employee thought of working for the Armchair Tourist’s new owner.

  Tricia decided she’d investigate that first thing the next morning.

  * * *

  * * *

  Tricia’s phone rang just before eight o’clock the next day, and she was pleased to see it was from the window contractor.


  “We’re in the area and we’ll be at your store around nine. Is that okay?”

  Tricia let out a breath. That put her plan to visit the Armchair Tourist on hold for a few hours. Still, Ava wouldn’t be around to open until close to ten anyway. “Sure. It’s so dark in the shop, we’ll be glad to have daylight once again.”

  After hanging up the phone, Tricia decided to dress warmly. The forecast called for another day of sunshine, but the high was predicted to be only in the midfifties. Tricia was glad she’d had her photo taken the day before. She decided she’d wear a cap and knew that by noon she’d be suffering from a bad case of hat head.

  Miss Marple was not happy to be left behind when Tricia closed the door to her apartment. But at least the cat would be warm and safe until the window replacement was complete.

  It was Mr. Everett’s day off, so Tricia texted Pixie to tell her what to expect and asked if she minded stopping at the Coffee Bean to pick up a dozen doughnuts for the installation crew, not wanting to leave the store in case they arrived and she was nowhere to be found.

  “Sure thing!”

  The workmen arrived not ten minutes later and immediately set to work. They’d already removed the plywood that covered the aperture when Pixie arrived for work dressed in her big, moth-eaten full-length fur coat, with a matching hat sitting jauntily on top of her head. It wasn’t a look Tricia wanted to emulate, but she had to admit the style complimented the covers of some of the vintage mysteries that lined her shelves.

  Tricia made a couple of pots of coffee and tried to keep warm by walking up and down the length of the store, while Pixie sat in the reader’s nook in perfect comfort. After an hour of drafty air wafting in, Pixie’s coat began to look downright chic.

  If tourists were wandering Stoneham’s main drag, Tricia never saw them. And she was beginning to sweat about her lunch with Ginny when her phone pinged.

  Sorry to cancel lunch, but Antonio and I have to meet with the insurance adjuster. See you on Sunday.

  Much as she looked forward to those lunches with her niece by marriage, Tricia was glad not to feel quite so rushed. She quickly texted her sister to act as a stand-in.