A Deadly Deletion

by Lorna Barrett

  You bet! See you at the café, Angelica answered.

  After hours of futzing around, the men had the new window in place and even put a coat of primer on the raw wood around the frame.

  “Thanks for the doughnuts and coffee!” the guys called as they finished packing up their gear and drove off.

  By then, it was Pixie’s lunch hour—in fact, she was an hour late.

  Tricia turned up the heat and was starting to feel antsy about ever getting a chance to take care of her own agenda.

  While Pixie was gone, Tricia waited on a couple of customers interested in filling out their collections and sold seven Ellery Queen novels and four by Josephine Tey. Not bad, considering they’d had no traffic the entire morning.

  When Pixie arrived back from lunch, Tricia scooted out the door to seek out Ava and see what she thought about Becca taking the reins of the Armchair Tourist.

  Tricia entered the store, which was bereft of customers, and found Ava standing at the counter with a laptop before her.

  She looked up. “Oh, hi, Tricia. What brings you here today?”

  “I came to see how you’re doing.”

  Ava shrugged. “Okay. Marshall’s life didn’t go on, but mine does. And so does my job here. In fact, I’ve been given more duties.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Marshall saved a lot of the ephemera from Vamps.” The porn shop Marshall had run at the edge of the village. “He was selling it off piecemeal on eBay and Etsy. Becca gave me the passwords and asked me to keep those shops alive . . . at least until they find out Marshall is dead. Then we’ll probably have to set up new shops. But we can name them something similar and, hopefully, his clientele will still find us.”

  Marshall had never mentioned online sales, at least not to Tricia, and she said as much.

  “Oh, sure. That was a big part of our income. When the stacks of magazines and prints run out . . . well, I’m not sure we can survive through the winter. Although . . . just last month, I set up a way to sell the products we carry directly on the Internet with a buy button on our website. Marshall thought buying in bulk and undercutting certain other websites might draw in customers.”

  Marshall had had it all figured out.

  “How do you like the idea of working with Becca?” Tricia asked.

  Ava’s mouth curved downward. “Not so much.”

  “How come?”

  The young woman scowled. “She seems kind of . . . money hungry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Again Ava shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too critical, but Marshall loved his pinup girl prints. He wanted to sell them to people who would love them as much as he did. Becca could care less.”

  Tricia had to admit, some of those pinup pictures from the 1940s had captured her heart, too. The women depicted could have been stand-ins for the characters in so many of the vintage mysteries she loved and sold. Of course, many of those books had been written by misogynist men, but there were quite a few women who wrote during those times, too. Women like Dame Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, Margery Allingham, Josephine Tey, and Ngaio Marsh, to name a few.

  “I must admit, I’ve found Becca to be a bit brusque,” Tricia admitted.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Ava grated.

  “But do you think you can work with her in the long-term?”

  Ava shrugged. “We’ll see. I like this job, and because Marshall gave me a lot of responsibility, I’ve learned a lot. But if this one goes sour, there are other jobs out there and I now have more skills if I have to sell myself to a potential employer.”

  “Is there anything else he kept from Vamps you can sell to keep the business afloat?”

  Ava shrugged. “Just the old true-crime magazines and books. I guess he had a self-storage unit on the edge of town. Becca said she was going to go and have a look. I hope I don’t have to take pictures and sell all that stuff, too. Some of the photos in those books are positively gruesome.” Tricia had read more than her fair share of them, and the crimes reported were often grisly. She didn’t envy Ava taking on that task. Had Marshall been attracted by that kind of reading material because of his own criminal past?

  Curiosity nibbled at Tricia’s mind. She sure would like to see what else Marshall had squirreled away in that storage unit. She wondered if she could convince Becca to let her go with her when she inspected it.

  There was only one way to find out. By asking.

  Tricia glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to call Becca before she was to meet with Angelica for lunch.

  “I’d better get going. Good luck with all your new duties.”

  “Thanks,” Ava said.

  Tricia left the shop and walked next door to Booked for Lunch, but instead of going in, she pulled out her phone and made her call.

  “Hey, Becca. I was just talking to Ava at the Armchair Tourist. She says Marshall—er, Gene—had a storage unit on the edge of town.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Have you had a chance to open it?”

  “I was going to do that this afternoon before I meet Ginny for practice. Why?”

  “I’m curious. Can I tag along with you?”

  “I guess.” She paused. “If there’s anything of value, maybe you can help me load up my car. I’ll want to empty the thing before the next month’s rent comes due.”

  “Great. Text me when you’re ready to go and I’ll make myself available.”

  “You got it.”

  The call ended.

  Tricia couldn’t imagine what else Marshall could have stashed in the unit. She’d thought he’d parted with all his inventory when he’d sold Vamps, but it looked like he’d let go of only the worst of the pornographic material. Were those books and magazines now moldering in his former shop or had the person who’d bought the business sold them in liquidation? She really didn’t know or care. But somehow Tricia felt strongly that Marshall’s storage unit would hold something her friend with benefits would have wanted to keep secret.

  What that was, Tricia had no idea.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Angelica was already waiting in their reserved booth when Tricia arrived at Booked for Lunch just five minutes late.

  “There you are, I was beginning to worry.”

  “Sorry. The guys fixed my window this morning—”

  “So I saw. It’ll look as good as new once the paint is finished. If the weather holds, maybe Mr. Everett can do that tomorrow.”

  “Good idea. I’ll ask if he’d be interested. Otherwise, I can do it myself while he holds the fort. Anyway, I spoke to Ava at the Armchair Tourist.” They ordered, and Tricia gave her sister the rundown, but Angelica seemed antsy, wanting instead to talk about the proofs she’d received from Louise Jameson. While she spoke, Tricia pulled out her phone and checked her e-mail. As she suspected, she hadn’t received hers. If they didn’t show up that afternoon, she’d give Louise a couple of days before inquiring. She was already prepared for an excuse such as Oh, I accidentally deleted them. Until then, she’d give Louise the benefit of the doubt.

  They were just finishing their meal when Tricia’s phone pinged. She looked at it and shoved it back in her purse. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “To the self-storage units near the highway.”

  “For what?” Angelica asked, confused.

  “I’ll tell you all about it after closing tonight. Thanks for lunch! See you then.”

  Tricia grabbed her coat and practically flew out the door.

  She met Becca in the municipal parking lot, standing beside her vehicle and dressed in purple sweats. She jerked a thumb toward the passenger seat. “Get in.”

  Tricia did as she was told. As soon as the women had buckled their seat belts, Becca started the engine and drove out
of the lot.

  “So, what have you been up to?” Tricia asked.

  “Packing up Gene’s duds for the Clothes Closet. Someone at the diner told me about it. I’m sure not going to be wearing his suits, and I figured someone else could. It’s too bad Gene was so short. Some of those suits were tailor-made. Hank Curtis would have looked great in them.”

  Yeah, if he hadn’t been at least five inches taller than Marshall.

  “Have you seen Hank lately?”

  “Not since we had lunch the other day. I’ve been busy.”

  So she had.

  Tricia changed the subject. “Checking out this storage unit is kind of like going on a treasure hunt, isn’t it?”

  “So far I haven’t found any gold doubloons or fabulous jewels among the rest of the stuff our guy collected during the past eight years, so I’m not all that hopeful.”

  Our guy? Did Becca include Louise Jameson in that equation? Should she tell Becca about her conversation with Louise? Probably not.

  “Any updates from law enforcement about the person who ran Marsh—er, Gene—down?” Tricia asked.

  “Not a peep. I wasn’t all that enamored with Deputy Kirby, who didn’t seem all that interested in investigating Gene’s death, and your Chief Baker seems just as bored by the subject.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Tricia said. “I’ve known Grant Baker for five years and he’s a dedicated public servant.”

  “If you say so,” Becca quipped. She braked as they approached the self-storage facility on the edge of the village. She plucked a plastic keycard from the pull-out drawer that housed two beverage-restraint devices and a slot for odd change, pushed the auto window opener, and thrust the card into the reader. The ten-foot-tall black metal gates opened and Becca slowly steered down the asphalt drive flanked with buildings that housed up to twenty units per side.

  “What are we looking for?” Tricia asked.

  “Unit four twenty-six.”

  Becca made a left at the end of the row and they scanned the numbers attached to the aluminum garage doors until they reached the proper one.

  “This is it,” Becca said, moved the gear shift to park, and killed the engine.

  The women got out of the van and stepped in front of the corrugated metal garage door that hid Marshall’s treasures from view.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t checked this unit out before now,” Tricia said.

  “I didn’t know about it until this morning. I found the key just sitting on the floor of Gene’s bedroom. I’m surprised I hadn’t stepped on it before then.”

  Becca reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a separate key on a ring that said Stoneham Self-Storage. She poked it into the padlock that sealed the door and turned it. Removing the lock, she stuck it in her pocket. “Will you give me a hand pulling up this door?”

  “Sure.”

  The women reached down and grabbed the handles, hauling the big door up.

  The inside was dark, but not dark enough to keep them from identifying what lay just inside on the cold concrete floor.

  A body.

  Of Mark Jameson, DDS.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The color drained from Becca’s face as she turned to face Tricia. “Boy, you really are the village jinx.”

  “I am not!” Tricia asserted. She looked down at the body, feeling more than a little disheartened. “Maybe there’s a chance he’s still alive,” she said, trying to be optimistic.

  Becca stepped back. “Like hell, but you can check if you want. I’m not touching a dead body.”

  Tricia crouched down and placed her fingers against the dentist’s neck. The flesh was cold to the touch. He’d been dead for hours, although thanks to the cool fall temps—and to her relief—he still smelled as fresh as a daisy. She straightened and shook her head.

  “Well, this really screws up my day,” Becca grated. “Do you know this guy?”

  Tricia nodded. “We’re on the recruitment committee for a new president for the local Chamber of Commerce. He’s Louise Jameson’s husband.”

  “Holy crap,” Becca cursed.

  Tricia took out her cell phone, tapping in the code to awaken it.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Becca asked, sounding panicked.

  “I’m going to report this to the police.”

  “Can’t we just . . . leave?”

  Tricia looked at the woman in disbelief. “No!”

  “Give me one good reason!” Becca demanded.

  Tricia pointed to the camera mounted on the building across the way.

  Becca sighed. “I guess that is a good reason.”

  “Better yet, the video footage will identify the killer.”

  “You knew this guy, right? Who’d want to kill him?”

  Oh, nobody really. Just his wife; Pixie—for being overcharged to have her tooth cemented; and half the Chamber’s recruitment committee. And goodness knew how many others Jameson had alienated in his fortysomething years on the planet.

  “Let’s just say there might have been a line of people with at least some kind of grudge.”

  Becca scrutinized Tricia’s face, her eyes narrowing. “Gene told me that whenever you found a body, Chief Baker almost always suspected you.”

  “You’ve got that right.” Tricia tapped 911 on her keypad. She wasn’t looking forward to the ensuing conversation. Whenever she called, the dispatcher gave her a hard time—as though she was to blame for every little unsavory incident that occurred in the village.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Less than five minutes later, the first police SUV arrived with lights flashing and siren screaming—as did the second and third. Crime must have been slow for such a rapid and noisy arrival of the entire force’s fleet of vehicles. Baker wasn’t far behind, but at least he didn’t employ the earsplitting alarm.

  While the other cops stood around talking among themselves, Baker exited his SUV, slapping his service cap on his head as he approached. He glared at Tricia. “Why in God’s name is it always you?”

  Becca glibly waved. “Us.”

  Baker sighed and stepped over to take a look at the body. “Anybody know who this guy is?”

  “It’s the village dentist, Mark Jameson,” Officer Henderson volunteered, not sounding pleased. “He told me my kid needs orthodontia. She’s seven. She doesn’t even have all her permanent teeth yet.”

  Maybe Officer Henderson would have liked to rub out the good dentist, too.

  Baker turned back to Tricia. “And how do you know him?”

  “The Chamber of Commerce.” She didn’t bother to go into the details but knew he’d press her on that sooner or later.

  “And how about you?” he asked Becca.

  “I never laid eyes on this guy in my life—or his.”

  “What are you doing here?” Baker asked Tricia.

  “Helping Becca. This is Marshall’s storage unit. We came to look at what’s in here and decide what to do with it.”

  “Did Chandler even know Jameson?”

  “Beats me,” Becca said.

  “He may have met him at a Chamber event. I didn’t even meet him until last week,” Tricia said.

  Baker didn’t look convinced, which was typical, and another reason Tricia would never have married the man. He always suspected her of killing someone.

  “Look, Chief, I only found the key to this unit this morning. That must mean someone else has a key as well,” Becca suggested.

  “I didn’t know he had the unit until this afternoon,” Tricia piped up. “Marshall’s assistant, Ava, told me about it.”

  “Don’t tell me. You called Ms. Chandler here to ask if you could nose around in it.”

  “I welcomed the opportunity of assistance,” Becca cut in, which was probably the nicest thing she�
�d said about Tricia so far.

  “If nothing else, the fact that there are cameras all around the site should lead you right to whoever it was who stuffed Mark’s body into this unit,” Tricia said.

  Baker nodded toward Henderson. “Go to the office and see if they can bring up the video.” The chief was probably disappointed he wasn’t going to be able to pin this crime on Tricia, either.

  Henderson nodded, turned, and jogged toward the office, near the front gates.

  “Has the ME been called?” Baker asked.

  “We were waiting for you,” Officer Reynolds said.

  Baker shook his head and looked like he was about to disparage his subordinate but Becca interrupted before he could do so.

  “Just how long is this going to take?” she asked bluntly.

  “As long as it takes,” Baker practically barked at her.

  “Well, I’m getting cold. Come on, Tricia, let’s go sit in my van.”

  For once, Baker didn’t argue. Tricia squelched a smile and impishly considered sticking her tongue out at the chief. She followed Becca to the van and got in.

  Becca slammed her door. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to marry that guy. What a jerk.”

  How did Becca know Baker had even asked? Maybe she assumed he’d asked her years before when they’d been an item. Tricia wasn’t about to educate Becca on the subject. More likely, it was Marshall who’d told her. He seemed to have shared everything about his life here in Stoneham with the woman.

  “You certainly know how to handle him.”

  Becca waved a hand in dismissal. “To me, he’s just another line-judge bully. I’ve known that type since my first tennis match. Give guys like him a little power and their testosterone soars.”

  Tricia wasn’t able to stifle a smile. She was beginning to like Becca Chandler.

  * * *

  * * *

  The shadows were lengthening by the time the state lab guys and medical examiner had arrived and after Chief Baker had peppered Tricia and Becca with more questions before he’d let them leave the self-storage facility. They’d have to make formal statements, but that could wait until the next day or Monday.