A Deadly Deletion

by Lorna Barrett

  “Has law enforcement decided the copyright problem was the motive you might have had for killing Mark?”

  “Partially.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “It turns out that while I was cheating on Mark, he was cheating on me.”

  Tricia hadn’t considered that scenario. “Did you know?”

  “Hell, no! But I haven’t been back to the house since he died. I have no interest in ever again sleeping in our former marital bed.” She looked around the shabby kitchen, but it wasn’t with disdain. “I’ve been working on getting the apartment over the shop in shape to sublet. I had hoped to lease it after the holidays. Instead, I might just stay here and put the house up for sale. If I can get decent money for it, I’d at least be able to pay my legal bills.”

  Tricia eyed the shabby space. Old though it might be, it was not decrepit. Instead, it oozed vintage charm, much like the robe Louise wore. It wouldn’t be a horrible place if she had to downsize her life.

  “I suppose the chief believes you had a key to Marshall’s storage unit.”

  “I didn’t even know he had one. And if I did, and if I murdered my husband, why would I stash his body at the storage facility? I had a unit there for about six months before I moved my equipment into this place. I’d been using our garage, which wasn’t at all comfortable for me or my clients during the winter and the worst of summer. And Mark was sick of parking his car in the driveway. He let me rent this place.”

  Magnanimous of him, Tricia thought.

  “How did Baker find out about you and Marshall?” Tricia asked.

  “I don’t think he had a clue until after I was arrested.”

  Yes. When it came to murder, the spouse was always first on the list of suspects.

  “You said you might be able to help me with my legal problems,” Louise reminded Tricia.

  Tricia chose her words carefully. “I tend to believe you more than I believe Marshall’s ex-wife. I’ve caught her in a couple of lies.”

  “I sure hope you’ll make that clear to Chief Baker and the Hillsborough County district attorney’s office,” Louise declared.

  “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d speak with Chief Baker, but now isn’t a good time. Although it does occur to me that I do know someone else who might get me an in with the DA’s office.”

  “But what can you tell them? That you have a gut instinct I’m not a killer?”

  “That they ought to look a little harder to find a viable suspect. I’ve got to think your lawyer thinks the charges are trumped up.”

  “He does. But that doesn’t stop crooked cops and prosecutors from railroading people to prison.”

  “Chief Baker has never struck me as a crooked cop. In a hurry to make an arrest, maybe; but he’s also admitted mistakes when he’s made them.” Like the many times he’d suspected Tricia of being a criminal only to have to eat crow.

  “I’d appreciate anything you can do on my behalf,” Louise said sincerely. “And I’ll make sure to send your proofs today. I may not be taking on new clients right now, but I sure need to collect money for those jobs that’re still in the pipeline. It might be all I have to live on until I can get a judge to give me control of my share of our assets.”

  “My sister will be very glad to hear that. She’s eager to have prints made of the family.”

  Louise nodded.

  Tricia pitied the poor woman. New Hampshire was not a community-property state. If Mark had tied up Louise’s photography copyrights, what other nasty little surprises was she going to find out once she’d hired an accountant to try and unravel the mess?

  Right then, Tricia felt pretty good about being a single woman who controlled her own destiny.

  She was pretty sure she’d never marry again. That said, she wasn’t about to commit to saying never. One never knew what the future held.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue in plenty of time before opening. To her surprise, Pixie had already arrived, had set up the beverage station for the day, and was busy with the lamb’s-wool duster. “I figured with Mr. E gone, you might need me more than ever,” she said sadly.

  Tricia nodded. “We’ll just have to make out as best we can. I can call a temp agency to see if they can send someone to help me on the weekends, at least until we can find someone permanent. I know how much you love working at the day spa on Saturdays and spending your Sundays with Fred.”

  “I wouldn’t want to have to give either of them up—but I could do it until we find someone.”

  “Thank you,” Tricia said. Of course, she could run the store on her own . . . but not during the Christmas rush, which was only weeks away.

  Tricia’s phone pinged. She pulled it from her jacket pocket and looked at the name of the person who sent the message: Becca. She ignored it. “I’m going to hang up my coat, then pour myself a cup of coffee. Would you join me?”

  Pixie laughed. “Is there room for both of us in one mug?”

  Tricia rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

  “Made you smile.”

  “Only a little,” Tricia admitted.

  By the time she returned to grab a cup at the beverage station, the door to the shop opened and Mr. Everett stepped inside, his shoulders drooping, looking like he’d lost his best friend.

  “Mr. Everett. We didn’t expect to see you here today,” Tricia said.

  Pixie joined Tricia as Mr. Everett stepped forward. “Good morning. I . . . that is, Grace and I spoke to Ginny yesterday afternoon. It was rather an embarrassing conversation.”

  And Tricia had no doubt he wasn’t about to reveal the gist of that discussion. She waited for him to continue.

  “Ginny assured us that nothing will ever come between us that we can’t discuss. She promised we would always be in Sofia’s life.”

  Tricia hadn’t been wrong about that, either. Still, she didn’t comment.

  Mr. Everett lowered his gaze to the floor and fiddled with the buttons on his coat. “I was wondering if I might rescind my resignation. I would truly miss working for you, Ms. Miles, and with Pixie.”

  Instead of answering, Tricia walked over to the display case and retrieved the envelope Mr. Everett had given her the day before. She returned to the beverage station and handed the envelope to him. “I would be very pleased to have you back with us. You’re an integral part of Haven’t Got a Clue.”

  “That’s right,” Pixie chimed in. “We’d miss you terribly.”

  Mr. Everett dared to look up and there were tears in his eyes. He wasn’t one for great shows of affection, so Tricia restrained herself from hugging him.

  “Why don’t you hang up your coat and we’ll all gather in the reader’s nook for our first cup of coffee of the day.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea,” Mr. Everett agreed.

  As he started for the back of the store, Pixie gave Tricia a big toothy grin and a thumbs-up.

  Tricia’s phone pinged. She took it out, glanced at the screen to see Becca had texted her, and once again ignored it. This time Pixie didn’t comment. Back in her pocket went the phone.

  “Well, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into today,” Tricia said with a smile.

  * * *

  * * *

  Tuesdays were always the slowest day of the week for retail, or at least it seemed so to Tricia, but that day, with sunny skies and the leaves practically shimmering, the stiff breeze blew in a lot of customers looking to add to their book collections or buying early holiday gifts. Tricia and her staff were kept busy making recommendations, restocking the shelves, and grinning until their cheeks ached. Pixie and Mr. Everett went to lunch at Booked for Lunch, and Tricia joined Angelica there after they returned. She filled her sister in on the conversation she’d had with Louise—and Mr. Everett’s return—before returning for the final few hours of the day.

&nbs
p; Her cell phone rang three times during the afternoon—each of the calls from Becca, which she ignored. But finally, when there was a lull in the store’s foot traffic, it was with reluctance that Tricia retreated to her office, picked up her phone, and tapped Becca’s number from her contacts list.

  “What’s going on?” Becca demanded without even saying hello. “Suddenly Ginny is ghosting me and you took hours to get back to me.”

  Tricia wasn’t sure how to reply to that statement. Her mind whirled before she answered. “I’m a bit concerned that you haven’t been totally honest with me about certain things.”

  “Such as what?” Becca asked.

  “Well, for one thing, that you arrived in Stoneham before Gene died.”

  Becca didn’t immediately reply. “Who says?”

  “The pictures on your phone, for one. They were taken after Gene’s death, but before you supposedly showed up in Stoneham.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw the flowers in them being planted the morning after he died.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “Gene was right. You’re one sharp cookie.”

  The last thing Tricia wanted to be described as was a cookie.

  “What else?” Becca asked.

  “You implied that you’d never set foot in Stoneham before you arrived two weeks ago, but the receptionist at the Brookview recognized you when we went there for lunch. Antonio went back through the reservations and found you’d stayed at the inn for two nights last year over the holidays.”

  Becca sighed. “Okay, so I’d visited Gene back then. He stood me up to go to your Christmas dinner.”

  Yeah, one of the few times he’d attended Tricia’s family affairs. “But he left that gathering early. It all makes sense now.”

  “It’s not like we were sneaking around or anything,” Becca said defensively.

  “Then what do you call it?”

  Again Becca sighed. “Okay, we were sneaking around.”

  “And what about Louise?”

  “What about her?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think she killed Gene.”

  “How about her husband?”

  “If I’d been married to the jerk, I might have killed him. But for some reason, as much as she might have had motive, I don’t think she did.”

  “Is that a decision made from proof or a gut feeling?”

  “The latter,” Tricia admitted.

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  “Speak to a former sheriff’s deputy.”

  “Former? And what can he do?”

  “Probably nothing, but it seems awfully convenient that Louise was arrested for both murders when the Sheriff’s Department seems to think Gene’s death was a murder for hire.”

  “I thought Baker was in charge of the investigation,” Becca said.

  “Not when the man they think did the killing was found dead in another jurisdiction.”

  “How interesting,” Becca said. “And you think one of Martin Bailey’s friends or employees hired him?”

  “I don’t think so. If it was you who drew one of Bailey’s associates to Gene, it most likely would have been the first time you spoke to him, let alone when you came to Stoneham last December.”

  “It was dangerous and stupid and I’m sorry I ever contacted him. Poor Gene might be alive today if I hadn’t.”

  “But you did it anyway,” Tricia said, and didn’t soften her tone. “And why were you in the area the day he died?”

  Becca sighed. “It was our wedding anniversary,” she said, her voice filled with sadness. “I was lonely. I was unhappy. It was damned selfish of me, but I also thought I should try to talk him out of asking you to marry him.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because he didn’t love you.”

  The words should have hurt, but they no longer held that kind of power.

  “Were you hoping to get back together with him?” Tricia asked.

  Becca let out a long breath. “Yeah. It was a stupid idea, but with Marty gone, and since we’d seen each other several times since my accident, I thought—hoped—we could make it work.”

  “And why do you want to move here to Stoneham, or was that just a passing fancy?”

  “No, I’d kind of like to stay here. Not in that apartment on Main Street—it’s not at all my taste. The lease runs out in a few months. I might stay until it does and if I like the area, look for something more to my liking. I saw a real estate office farther down on Main Street. Can you recommend it?”

  “Yes. The woman in charge is Karen Johnson, but you could work with any of the agents. They’re all good.” Tricia still had more questions. “What about that storage unit? Have you had a chance to go through it?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’ve been avoiding it. I really should go through it so I won’t have to pay the rent on it for November. What gets me is that I never saw that key on the floor of Gene’s bedroom. I’d been walking through it for days. It didn’t just fall from the sky.”

  “Do you think it was planted?”

  “I don’t know. But there are an awful lot of fishy things going on, so why not? His keys were in law enforcement’s hands for a day or so after his death. Before they were given to me.”

  “But you had a key to his apartment, otherwise you wouldn’t have canceled your reservation at the Sheer Comfort Inn so quickly.”

  “Yeah, I had a key.”

  “Gene gave it to you?”

  “I . . . sort of copied it when I was here for Christmas last year.”

  So, she’d had her sights on a reconciliation even back then. And when Marshall had left Tricia’s holiday celebration, had he gone back to his apartment to bed Becca?

  Tricia didn’t want to know. She thought of what Becca had told her just moments before.

  “You can’t possibly think Deputy Kirby or Chief Baker planted those keys in Marshall’s apartment.”

  “Gene’s apartment,” Becca clarified. “Why not? Maybe one of them was hoping to pin it on me.”

  “But Kirby dropped out of the investigation pretty quickly.”

  “Then maybe it was your Chief Baker.”

  He wasn’t Tricia’s chief. Still, the suggestion made Tricia feel uncomfortable.

  There was no way Baker could have known Marshall intended to ask Tricia to marry him. It had been a shock to her. Becca and Ava knew his intentions, but Marshall wasn’t close to anyone else in the village. What if Baker had seen Marshall as an impediment to him getting back together with Tricia? Could he have decided to eliminate his rival?

  Tricia gave herself a shake. The whole idea was absurd. Except . . . Larry Harvick said everyone in the Sheriff’s Department knew Joshua Greenwell, which meant Baker did, too. Would he have known the brick-throwing motorcyclist, too?

  Greenwell’s body had been found in Rindge. Was Baker the person she knew who’d grown up there?

  “Hey, are you still there?” Becca asked.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking about—” But did she want to say the words aloud? Could Grant Baker have been responsible for Marshall’s death? And another four people’s as well?

  No, that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. Grant Baker was a good cop. Tricia had never seen him diverge from the straight and narrow. Not ever.

  “I . . . I’ll have to get back to you later,” Tricia told Becca.

  “You’ve just figured out who had Gene killed, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I have my suspicions. I . . . I need to do some research. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Tricia, wait!”

  But Tricia ended the call. Setting the phone aside, she tapped the computer’s keyboard to awaken it and broug
ht up a new browser window. She Googled Baker’s name and came up with a number of entries. She scrolled through each one, skimming the text until she found what she wanted. Someone had scanned and uploaded a copy of the article Russ Smith had written when Baker had taken the job of Stoneham police chief. One sentence fragment immediately jumped out at her: Baker, originally from Rindge, Cheshire County . . .

  Tricia sat back in her chair, her stomach doing a somersault.

  Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and saw it was Becca calling back. She ignored it and focused her attention on what she thought she knew.

  No. No. No! It just didn’t make sense. Why would a man who’d dedicated his life to the law have made such a dramatic and sinister change of heart?

  Because of you, Tricia’s inner voice taunted.

  That didn’t make sense. She’d made it clear to Baker—many, many times—that there was no future for them.

  But just weeks before, he’d jilted his fiancée and then abruptly asked Tricia to marry him.

  She sat back in her chair to ponder everything she knew about Marshall’s death.

  He’d been killed by a third party. That someone had apparently also targeted Tricia, but nothing had come of that. Still, her family had been attacked, too, in the form of arson, only for the alleged perpetrator to be found dead a few days later—and in an area of the state Grant Baker knew well.

  But as Tricia thought about it, she realized she’d been targeted again when the guy on the motorcycle tossed a brick through her shop window. She’d been able to give the first few letters of his license plate and the next thing you know he and his accomplice had ended up dead on the side of the highway. How convenient was that for whoever hired them?

  What didn’t make sense was Mark Jameson’s death. Had he been killed as an excuse to frame Louise Jameson for Marshall’s death? Was the idea behind that crime that Jameson found out about Louise’s affair with Marshall, they argued, and she killed him either in a fit of rage or in self-defense?

  Becca had a key to Marshall’s apartment, and it was days later she’d been given Marshall’s personal effects—including his set of keys to his home and business. What if copies of them had been made? What if someone—oh, the heck with it, Tricia decided to just pin the crime on Baker—had gone back to the apartment to plant the key to the lock on Marshall’s storage unit to make sure Becca would find it? Her movements had been pretty easy to follow. She took most of her meals at the Bookshelf Diner. If Baker had staked her out, he could have easily followed her movements.