“Mrs. Capshaw,” Tricia greeted. “Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. What brings you to Stoneham?” Too late, Tricia noticed the woman’s eyes were red-rimmed and that she’d obviously been crying. “Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, feeling like a heel.
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
Tricia hurried over to the beverage station and poured a cup. Elaine followed. She set her purse on the floor and accepted the cup. Tricia pushed the nondairy creamer and sweeteners toward her, but Elaine shook her head. She took a sip. “Nice blend.”
“I get it from the Coffee Bean across the street.”
“Can you believe it? I’ve lived in Milford for the past twenty years and never ventured into Stoneham before today.”
“From what I hear, until the last few years—when the booksellers arrived—there was no reason to.”
Elaine nodded and took another sip. She frowned. “I had to see where Monty died. At first I told myself it wasn’t necessary, but—I didn’t think I could move on until I did.”
Tricia wasn’t quite sure what to say to that—so she said nothing.
“I was surprised,” Elaine continued. “There’s not much to see. Just some missing lawn and the crumpled gazebo. I’m sure the grass will soon grow back and they’ll repair the gazebo, and in a couple of years no one will ever remember that two people died there.”
Tricia had tried hard to put the memory of the crash out of her mind, but she was sure she would never forget the horror of seeing the small plane smash into the gazebo, killing her friend.
“I’ll remember,” she said quietly.
Elaine’s mouth trembled and she took another sip of coffee. “I understand there are five stages of grief, but I’m afraid I haven’t got time to go through them. My financial situation . . .” She let the sentence trail off.
Tricia’s eyes widened. Was Elaine unaware of the tenthousand-dollar deposit that had been made in her—or was it only her husband’s—bank account? She bit her lip to keep from asking about it. And Russ had said Monty was insured to the hilt—did she know that, too?
Looking into Elaine’s grief-stricken eyes, Tricia doubted she was aware of her upcoming economic windfall.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked.
Elaine sighed. “I need to find a job. I’ve been out of the job market for quite a while; my skills are pretty rusty.”
“What were you thinking of applying for?”
“I used to be a secretary, but that was before employers wanted you to know every software program on the planet, plus do their accounting, and make coffee and scrub the toilet, too. I’ll probably have to settle for a retail position.”
Tricia bit her lip. Should she offer Ginny’s job to Elaine Capshaw? So far, she’d liked what she’d seen of the woman. She was mature, probably more than capable. “Do you like mysteries?”
Elaine gave a halfhearted laugh. “I read them all the time. I’m constantly nagging the director over at the Wadleigh Memorial Library in Milford to buy more of my favorite authors.”
“Does she?” Tricia asked.
Elaine smiled. “You bet. I love cozy mysteries, and Mary Jane Maffini is one of my favorite authors. I just love her Charlotte Adams mysteries—but the library carries her Canadian titles, too. I like the classics, too. I’ve always loved Josephine Tey’s books, and I think I have every one of them. And then there’s the queen of mystery, Agatha Christie. Nobody did it better.”
Tricia mulled it over for all of ten seconds before asking, “Elaine, how would you like to come and work for me?”
“Here?” she asked, surprised.
“It just so happens my full-time employee was offered the manager’s job for a business across the street.” She didn’t bother to tell Elaine that her husband had killed the former owner. That would come out in its own good time.
“Oh, well. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Think about it,” Tricia said. “You don’t have to make a decision today.”
“But I can’t leave you hanging.”
“Take a couple of days. If it seems like something you’d like to try, we’ll give it a go.”
“Thank you, Ms. Miles.”
“Tricia,” she said, and offered her hand.
Elaine shook it. “Thank you, Tricia. She gazed out the window. I don’t know if I could pass the place where Monty died every day. But”—she looked around the store—“I sure like what I see here.”
“Think about it,” Tricia said again.
Just then Elaine’s purse moved, and a quiet “yip” sounded. Over at the cash desk, Miss Marple stirred, looking alertly around her. The purse moved again, and Elaine looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t usually make any noise when we go anywhere.”
“You’ve got Sarge in your bag?” Tricia asked.
“He doesn’t like to be alone,” she admitted, and picked up the purse. As she did so, a small curly white head popped out of the top of the bag. “Yip,” Sarge said again, cocking his head to one side. Tricia was sure the dog had been bred just to look cute.
Miss Marple jumped down from the cash desk, trotted over to the beverage station, committing a total breach of kitty etiquette, and jumped onto the counter. She glared at Sarge, who wasn’t quite sure what to make of the cat. Had he ever seen one before?
The fur along Miss Marple’s back stood on end and she reared back and hissed at the dog.
“Miss Marple,” Tricia admonished.
Sarge blinked at the cat, then lunged forward to lick her. Miss Marple jumped from the counter. Sarge made a mighty leap from the bag, but Elaine caught him before he could charge after the cat. She struggled to hold on to the wiggling dog, while Miss Marple beat a hasty retreat to the safety of the shop’s washroom.
“I’m so sorry,” Tricia apologized.
“No need. Cats and dogs are like oil and water—they don’t mix all that well.”
She placed the dog back into her purse, but Sarge began to whine, his eyes riveted on the spot where he had last seen Miss Marple. “I’m afraid I’ll have to find some kind of doggy day care for Sarge before I can accept any kind of job. I certainly can’t bring him with me to work.”
That was a given.
She hefted the bag over her shoulder, and Sarge disappeared from sight.
“Doesn’t he get heavy?” Tricia asked.
“He only weighs ten pounds. I’ve gotten used to lugging him around with me.” She smiled. “Thanks for your hospitality. And I really will give the job offer some serious consideration. I’ll let you know before the weekend.”
Tricia extracted a business card from the holder on the counter. “That would be good, thank you.”
Elaine tucked the card into the outside pocket of her bag. “Thanks again.” The bell tinkled as she closed the door behind her.
As though sensing the danger had passed, Miss Marple poked her head around the washroom’s door.
“It’s okay, that big, mean dog is gone,” Tricia called.
Miss Marple sauntered back through the shop to jump onto the cash desk, while Tricia got out the disinfectant spray and cleaned the beverage center’s counter. “You were naughty,” she admonished, but Miss Marple ignored her, instead turning her face to the afternoon sun, closing her eyes, and enjoying her sunbath as though nothing had happened.
Tricia tossed the paper towel into the trash, hopeful Elaine Capshaw would take the job. She liked Elaine, but it was asking a lot for the poor woman to have to face the site where her husband had died. Still, if Tricia had already found one likely candidate for the job, there had to be others. There was no way she could work with Cheryl Griffin.
The day dragged on. Customers came and went.
Tricia’s stomach growled and she eyed the clock. With Mr. Everett working with Ginny for the day—possibly week?—there’d be no time for lunch. She’d have to call Angelica and tell her she wouldn’t make it to Booked for Lunch for her usual tuna plate. But just as she re
ached for the phone, the door opened and Mr. Everett entered.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pleased to see him nonetheless.
“Ginny thought you’d be ready for your lunch break about now. We’ve both had ours.”
“Are you finished for the day over at the Happy Domestic?” she asked hopefully.
Mr. Everett shook his head. “Ginny’s been studying the paperwork while I’ve taken care of the customers. She hasn’t said anything to me, but she seems to be quite worried about something.”
“Oh dear.” Probably the missing inventory and those empty boxes she’d told Tricia about.
“I’ll just get my apron, and then you can be off,” Mr. Everett said, and headed for the back of the shop. A few moments later, he was back, and finished tying it around his waist before he took Tricia’s former position behind the counter. He petted Miss Marple, who burst into spontaneous purring.
“I’ll try not to be long,” Tricia said, and headed out the door. Once outside, she looked both ways before crossing the street, and saw the Patisserie’s sign. The last time she’d spoken to Nikki, she’d seemed nervous. Now Tricia knew why. Making a spur of the moment change of plans, she headed north down the sidewalk.
Only in the past couple of months had Tricia begun to really appreciate the smell of fresh baked goods, and when she entered the Patisserie she had to restrain herself from standing in the middle of the store and just breathing deeply.
Only one person stood at the counter. Nikki made eye contact but quickly looked away and continued to wait on her customer. Tricia had time to kill, so once again studied the contents of the refrigerated cases. She wouldn’t buy any coconut cupcakes today. With Ginny gone, she had no one to share them with anyway. The idea of never working with Ginny again saddened her, making her want that cupcake all the more.
Finally, Nikki made change and bid her customer a good day.
Tricia stepped forward. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Nikki said, sounding nervous again.
“You can relax now. I know about you and Russ.”
Nikki seemed to deflate. “Thank goodness. I feel like we’ve been sneaking around for weeks.”
“I still don’t understand why you guys felt you had to keep your relationship so hush-hush.”
“I know you two had some problems. Russ had a hard time letting go. Because of that, I asked him to see a counselor before I would date him. He did.”
“Do you know for sure?” Tricia asked.
“Yes, because I went with him.”
Tricia blinked in surprise, but when she thought about it, it made sense. Nikki had had enough heartache in her life—from a lonely childhood, then a bad marriage, to a lovesick admirer who would do anything—even kill—for her love and admiration. It was no wonder she’d been cautious before getting involved with anyone else. Especially after the tales Tricia had told her concerning Russ.
“Thank you for being so candid,” Tricia said.
“I wanted to say something, but Russ insisted he be the one to mention it to you.”
“I haven’t had feelings for him for a long time,” Tricia said.
“I know. But the heart is a funny organ. It aches even when it gets what it wants.” She frowned. “That didn’t come out quite right.”
“I know what you mean. I was surprised to hear about the two of you. Maybe a little hurt—but only because I consider the two of us friends. If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
“Actually, I’m quite happy. We’re quite happy,” she amended with a laugh. “You’d be surprised how much the bakery and news businesses have in common.”
“You think?” Tricia asked.
Nikki laughed. “No. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?”
Tricia smiled. Their friendship would withstand this small strain.
“What can I get you?” Nikki asked.
“A coconut cupcake. Actually, make it two. I think I deserve it.”
“I think you do, too!” Nikki said, grabbed a white bakery bag, and carefully snagged two cupcakes, nestling them between crinkled-up baker’s tissue.
Tricia paid for the cupcakes and took her change. “Will I see you at the next book club?”
Nikki looked skeptical.
Tricia nodded. “That’s how things go when you’re into a new relationship. You want to spend all your time with that person.”
Nikki managed a laugh. “I guess those kinds of things never change.”
“When you’re ready to rejoin us, we’ll be waiting.”
“Thank you. And thank you for being so understanding.”
“Gotta go. See you,” Tricia said, and waved as she walked out the door. Back on the sidewalk, she glanced at her watch. Could she eat an entire tuna salad plate in under ten minutes? She’d have to try.
She crossed the street at the corner and headed south down the sidewalk. As she passed the Happy Domestic, Tricia waved at Ginny, who was with a customer, and then she hurried on to Booked for Lunch.
“About time you got here,” Angelica said from her perch at her usual counter seat. “I’d about given up on you.”
“I brought a peace offering. One of Nikki’s coconut cupcakes.”
“Oh, great. I’ll pour the coffee,” she said, and got up from her seat, crossing to the coffee urn, and poured them both a cup. She set the coffee in front of Tricia, then grabbed the tuna plate from the undercounter fridge. “Anything interesting happen today?”
“I confronted Russ about his relationship with Nikki.”
“Spill the juicy details,” Angelica said with relish as she rested her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands.
“Not much to tell. Nikki’s got his number, and even made him go to counseling before she’d date him.”
“Good for her. And good for Russ, too. Maybe he isn’t the world’s biggest jackass after all. Anything else?”
“Russ found out a big deposit was made to Monty Capshaw’s savings account the day he died. A cash deposit.”
“You still don’t think someone paid him to kill Deborah, do you?”
“You have to admit it looks suspicious.”
“Maybe,” Angelica reluctantly agreed.
“Elaine Capshaw came to visit me earlier,” Tricia said, and took another bite of tuna. Oh, how she missed all those wonderful crunchies when Jake made it. She swallowed. “I asked her if she wanted to come work for me.”
“You don’t waste any time.”
“Cheryl Griffin also came to visit just before that. Did I tell you she thinks she’s about to be abducted by aliens?”
“If only it would happen,” Angelica said wistfully.
“She wanted the job, too. I am not hiring her.”
“You can hire anyone you like,” she said, and straightened. “So, what’s it like on your first day without Ginny?”
“Lonely. I loaned Mr. Everett to her for a couple of days. She wasn’t happy with the way things were left at the Happy Domestic.”
“How so?” Angelica asked.
“Missing inventory, for one.”
“Oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“She wasn’t sure how to bring it up to Antonio. I told her to just tell him.”
“Wise decision.” Angelica studied Tricia’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Tricia looked away. “Nothing.”
“Oh, yes there is. Now spill.”
Tricia kept her gaze fixed on her plate. “I guess I’m not a big fan of change. You were right. I was in a nice, comfortable rut at Haven’t Got a Clue. Ginny, Mr. Everett, and I made a great team. The business had done far better than I could have hoped. . . .”
“And you’re afraid Ginny leaving is going to jinx that.”
Tricia frowned and glared at her sister. “You know I don’t like that word.”
“No, but it’s an accurate descriptor. Trish,” she said, softening her voice, “the only thing certain in life is that nothing ever stays the same.”
&
nbsp; “I think I knew that.”
“With your mind, but not your heart.”
“Nikki said just about the same thing not ten minutes ago.”
“She’s a sharp lady.” Angelica got up from the counter and topped up their coffee cups. Then she reached into the bakery bag and extracted the cupcakes. She set one in front of Tricia and removed the paper from the outside of her own. “Carpe diem,” she said, raised her cupcake in salute, and then took a bite. Loose coconut shards rained onto the counter and a smear of white icing clung to her lip. “Damn, that tastes good.”
Tricia pushed her nearly finished tuna plate aside and picked up her cupcake, removing its paper and holding it aloft, too. “One thing in life is certain. There will always be cupcakes.”
“Amen,” Angelica said, and took another bite.
Eighteen
Considering how boring the day had been, Tricia was looking forward to a quiet evening with a glass of wine, a good book, and Miss Marple’s company. But as she went to turn the deadbolt on the shop door, she heard the muffled roar of an engine zooming up Main Street, the screech of brakes, and a scream. She yanked at the lock and wrenched the door open in time to see the taillights of the car heading north and what looked like a pile of clothes and a stroller on the sidewalk. A child screamed, and Tricia recognized the stroller. Could the pile of clothes be—?
“Elizabeth!” she nearly screamed, and ran toward the huddled mass on the sidewalk. She ran up the sidewalk, as other shop doors along the street also began to pop open.
“What happened?” Frannie called.
“Call 9-1-1!” Tricia hollered as she approached Elizabeth, who wasn’t moving. She crouched beside her, noting her scraped cheek where her face had done more than just kiss the sidewalk. Davey continued to scream, but the stroller looked intact and he didn’t appear to be hurt—just terrified.
“Elizabeth?” Tricia called, afraid there would be no answer. She was still breathing, which was a hopeful sign, and there was no sign of blood. Still, she could be badly hurt with internal injuries. Tricia decided not to touch her—just in case.
Sentenced to Death bm-5 Page 17
