“Is she alive?” Tricia looked up into Nikki’s worried face.
“So far. What’s taking the rescue squad so long to get here? They’re only up the street.”
True to her words, she heard the sound of a siren and looked up to see the fire truck approach. It rolled to a halt, and in seconds the EMTs spilled from the cab.
“What happened?” one of them asked, crouching down to touch Elizabeth’s neck, checking for a pulse.
“I heard the roar of a car, a squeal of brakes, and a scream.”
“Did you see the car’s make?” the second EMT asked. Tricia shook her head. “It all happened so fast—I’m not even sure I could tell you the color.” She stood, backing away to allow the men to do their work.
“Do you think she’s going to—” Frannie didn’t seem able to finish the sentence.
“Did someone deliberately try to run Elizabeth down?” Nikki asked.
“Hey, what happened?” Russ called from across the street, as he emerged from the Stoneham Weekly News with his Nikon slung around his neck. With no traffic in sight, he bounded across the road without even looking to the left or right. He stepped onto the curb and exchanged a worried glance with Nikki. For a moment, Tricia thought they might grab one another, kiss passionately, and then cling to each other, but then they both looked down at Elizabeth with concern. Russ showed great restraint by not photographing her at her worst.
Soon Elizabeth began to stir. Her first thoughts were of Davey, still strapped in his stroller. He’d ceased crying and now whimpered, arms outstretched, trying to reach his nana.
“Davey, Davey,” Elizabeth called, which seemed to upset the boy even more.
“He’s okay,” the EMT assured her. “But you’re going to the hospital to get checked out.”
“Who’ll take care of Davey?” Elizabeth wailed, her eyes wild with fright. “I’m all he’s got!”
“We’ll find someone,” the second EMT said as he fastened a cervical collar around her neck.
Elizabeth’s gaze roamed all the faces towering above her and finally focused on Tricia. “Tricia, you were Deborah’s best friend here in Stoneham. Will you take care of Davey for me?”
“I . . . I . . .” was all she could get out as the EMTs rolled Elizabeth onto a backboard. She howled in pain.
The EMTs soon transferred her to a gurney and hustled her to the back of their ambulance.
“That poor woman,” Nikki murmured. “First she lost her daughter, then the shop, and now this.”
Someone—Russ?—pushed the stroller in front of Tricia. No one else seemed interested in taking charge of the toddler, and already the sidewalk seemed to be clearing. Tricia looked down at the whining child, wondering what she’d do with him. Had he had dinner? Was he potty-trained? The paramedics had grabbed Elizabeth’s purse, but there didn’t seem to be a diaper bag anywhere in sight. What had Elizabeth been doing walking down Main Street after business hours? Nothing was open. Shouldn’t she have been at home getting Davey ready for bed?
Tricia glanced around and saw that Angelica had emerged from the Cookery and was conversing with Frannie, who nodded and stepped back inside. Angelica advanced on Tricia, who felt rather shell-shocked. What on earth was she supposed to do with a not-quite-two-year-old boy?
“Why would Elizabeth pick you to take care of the kid?” Angelica asked. “You never even earned your Girl Scout child care badge. Have you ever babysat in your entire life?”
“No,” Tricia said, desperate to keep from panicking.
If nothing else, Angelica was quick on her feet. “Didn’t Deborah have a playpen for Davey over at the Happy Domestic? Maybe it’ll still be there.”
Ginny had not been drawn to the accident scene. Could she still be at the store?
As the ambulance pulled away from the curb, Tricia pushed the stroller across the street, with Angelica following behind. They paused outside the darkened storefront. Still, they could see a light burning in the back of the shop.
Angelica pounded on the door.
“Maybe Ginny went home and just forgot to turn off the lights,” Tricia said.
Angelica kept hammering on the door until Tricia was sure she’d rattle the glass loose.
“Stop, stop! You’ll break something,” Tricia said, but instead a silhouette appeared in the doorway that led to the store’s back room. It paused for what seemed a long time before darting forward.
Ginny fumbled to open the door. “We’re closed!”
“We’re not here to shop,” Angelica said, and barged in, holding the door open for Tricia to come inside. “Is there still a playpen or crib in the back room?”
“Yes, but—” Ginny protested, but Angelica was like a steamroller and barreled forward, and Tricia followed without protest.
Angelica had a better memory than Tricia. The back room contained not only a small, colorful rectangular mesh and plastic playpen that could double as a crib, but a changing table, toy box, and a large package of disposable diapers—everything needed to take care of Davey for the next few hours until they could figure out something else.
“You can’t be here,” Ginny protested. “I’ve got tons of work to do and no time to mess around with a baby.” She seemed to shake herself. “And what are you doing with Davey Black, anyway?”
“Elizabeth was hit by a car a few minutes ago. They’ve taken her to St. Joseph Hospital to get checked out. She wanted me—of all people—to take care of Davey.”
“Whoa, she must have been desperate,” Ginny blurted, and then seemed to realize she’d just insulted her boss. Oops—former boss, Tricia reminded herself.
“What else are we going to do with him?” Angelica asked. “We’re not prepared to take care of a small child. Everything we need is here.”
Davey seemed to sense the tension building and started to cry once again. Ginny, too, appeared on the verge of tears.
“It’ll only be for a couple of hours,” Tricia said.
“You hope,” Angelica said, and Tricia felt like kicking her.
Tricia bent down to extricate Davey from the belt that held him in place. As she picked him up, she caught an unpleasant odor wafting from his nether regions. The poor kid must have literally had the crap scared out of him during this whole ordeal. She carried him over to the playpen and set him down. “Anyone know how to change a baby?”
“How hard can it be?” Angelica said.
“What am I going to tell Antonio?” Ginny insisted.
“Tell him you’re being a good neighbor,” Angelica said, and turned to Tricia. “Have you got David’s phone number? The kid is his—he ought to be the one taking care of him.”
Tricia winced. “Technically—David isn’t Davey’s father. Biologically, that is. He’s more or less dumped the boy on Elizabeth.”
“You’re kidding,” Ginny said, aghast.
Angelica threw her hands into the air. “Another man who can’t—or won’t—take care of his responsibilities.”
“That’s the thing—Deborah cheated on him and passed Davey off as David’s son. That’s one of the reasons they hit a snag in their marriage.”
“This is all very interesting,” Ginny said, “but I need to get some work done. I’m not terribly confident as it is, and all the distractions—”
Angelica turned to face her. “Why don’t you show me what’s got you bogged down? Maybe I can help. I do successfully run two businesses,” she bragged.
Ginny brightened. “That would be great.”
“Why don’t we take the books out front and spread them over the cash desk. We’ll give Davey some privacy while Tricia changes him.”
“Thanks a lot,” Tricia groused.
Angelica hustled Ginny, along with the pile of papers she’d been working on, into the shop, leaving Tricia with Davey. The boy screwed up face as he plucked at the seat of his rompers.
Tricia swallowed and held out her hands to pick the boy up. “Come to Tricia,” she said in what she hoped wa
s a cheerful voice, “and I’ll tell you about the Ten Little Indians—Agatha Christie–style.”
The pizza had a chewy crust, double cheese, pepperoni, and onions. Angelica did the ordering, of course. She did consult Tricia and Ginny first but ordered what she wanted, anyway. It was tasty, so Tricia didn’t see the need to complain. Aloud.
“Is that child asleep yet?” Angelica asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.
Tricia stood between the door to the back room and the Happy Domestic’s showroom. “Finally,” she said, and tiptoed back to the chair she’d occupied just moments before. “It’s a good thing I never had kids—I don’t think I’m cut out for motherhood. Has there ever been a more important and yet less appreciated job?”
“Not in my experience,” Angelica said.
Ginny didn’t comment. With a pizza slice in one hand, she had her nose buried in the pile of spreadsheets in front of her. “If we can’t figure out the passwords in the computer, it’s going to take a long time to duplicate these data,” she said with a worried frown.
“But at least you have an idea of what you’re in for now,” Angelica said cheerfully.
Ginny nodded. “Thanks to you. I don’t think I would’ve been able to puzzle all this out.”
“Call the local geek squad tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Angelica said. She closed the lid on the pizza box. “Why don’t you take it home, Ginny? I’m sure you’ll make better use of this than Tricia or I would.”
“Thanks. If I have a lot of late nights here at the store, my stove will probably sport cobwebs.”
A banging on the door caused the three women to look up. Backlit by the picturesque gas lamps stood Elizabeth Crane. “Good grief,” Tricia called, and hurried to open the door. “Elizabeth, come in, come in. We were so worried about you. Are you okay?”
Elizabeth stood rooted on the rush welcome mat. “I’ve been better,” she said testily. “You might have at least put a note on your shop door to tell me where you’d be. I’ve been calling all over town trying to track you down. And after what I’ve been through tonight . . .”
“I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me to—”
Elizabeth cut her off. “I’ve come for my grandson. Will you please get him?”
Angelica stepped closer. “Are you all right, Elizabeth?”
“I’m fine.” Could she have been more curt? But then, except for the brush burn on her cheek, she did indeed seem fine.
“Elizabeth, come in,” Ginny said, coming up from behind.
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said more sternly. “I never want to set foot in this store again. Now will you please get my grandson, or do I have to call the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I’ll get him,” Ginny said, and flew for the back room.
“Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” Tricia asked. “How did you get back to Stoneham? Can one of us drive you home?”
“I don’t need any of your help. You’ve done enough. You’re all in this together, along with David. Conspiring against me, taking Deborah’s store from me.”
Had her brain been addled when the car hit her?
“Elizabeth,” Tricia said, hurt.
“Tricia,” Angelica said, in nearly the same tone as Elizabeth.
Before another word could be said, Ginny arrived with a sleeping Davey strapped in his stroller. Tricia and Angelica stepped aside so she could steer the stroller through the door. “He didn’t even wake up,” she said.
Elizabeth snatched the handles from her, jostling the boy, who awoke with a start and began to cry. She bent down and smoothed his sleep-tousled hair, which had the desired effect, and he settled down again. She looked up. “I’ll send someone over to collect Davey’s toys, the playpen, and changing table, or did David sell them along with the rest of the inventory?”
Ginny shook her head.
“Really, Elizabeth,” Angelica chided, “there’s no need to be so nasty to us. If you want to be angry with David, be my guest. The man’s a jerk. But we’ve tried to be your friends.”
“Shut up,” Elizabeth said, grabbed the stroller’s handles, and started up the street.
Angelica blinked. It was rare that she didn’t get the last word.
Tricia stepped forward and shut the door. The three women looked at one another and then turned back to the cash desk. “I’d say that put a damper on the evening,” Tricia said.
Ginny straightened the papers, while Angelica searched for and found her purse on the floor.
“Did it feel like you’ve just been kicked in the teeth?” Angelica asked.
“Perhaps gratitude isn’t in Elizabeth’s lexicon,” Ginny grumbled.
“Never mind,” Tricia said. “She suffered a trauma, what with nearly getting killed earlier this evening. She’ll probably get over it in a couple of days and come back and apologize.”
“Or maybe with Deborah gone, Elizabeth will take Davey and move out of Stoneham. We can but hope,” Angelica said.
“She does have other children,” Ginny said, pausing to turn out the lights.
“But as far as I could tell, Deborah was her favorite. Will they want to take in their mother, when she let everyone know Deborah had the top spot in her heart?” Tricia asked.
“Who says she has to live with them?” Angelica pointed out.
“Very true,” Tricia agreed.
Ginny closed and locked the door.
“We’ll walk you to your car, Ginny,” Tricia said.
“That won’t be necessary. Stoneham is completely safe.”
“How soon you forget. Let’s see, who was murdered in the past couple of years?” Angelica asked. “The Cookery’s former owner; that hot-shot New York Times bestselling author; Tricia’s ex-roommate; Jim Roth—”
“And Deborah,” Tricia put in.
“Okay, walk me to my car,” Ginny said, surrendering. She and Angelica walked side by side up the sidewalk, with Tricia following. “Angelica, I don’t mean to be a pain, but would you please explain again how you figured out that equation on the spreadsheet?”
“It’s easy, really,” she began, but Tricia tuned her out. It was Elizabeth and her spiteful attitude that whirled through her thoughts. Was she just rattled by her experience that evening, or was she serious about blaming them, along with David, for all of her problems? Either way, it left Tricia feeling troubled.
The entire situation left her feeling troubled. Angelica had the right attitude. Move on. She’d said it about Christopher, too.
It was often hard to take good advice, especially when it ran up against everything you believed. But for now, Tricia decided that Angelica was probably right on all accounts. She’d just never give her the satisfaction of saying so.
Nineteen
Tricia and sleepless nights were getting to be a common pair since she’d moved to Stoneham. Was it the fact that she’d experienced more death in thirty-six months than she had in more than thirty- six years, or was it just the fact no one shared her bed anymore?
There’s more to life than just sex, she reminded herself, but early that morning she couldn’t think of what it might be.
Four miles on the treadmill seemed like forty, so there was no way she’d make up for the missing miles from days before. It took two cups of coffee to perk her up before she and Miss Marple headed down the stairs to start their day at Haven’t Got a Clue. When she’d heard the car roaring down the road that had hit Elizabeth Crane, she’d bolted from the store without doing her end-of-day tasks. And when she’d returned after midnight, she’d been too tired to tackle them. She still felt tired, but forced herself to haul out the Hoover and start to vacuum the carpet.
The phone rang. Since the store wasn’t due to open for half an hour, Tricia thought about letting it go to voice mail, but on the fourth ring, she shut down the vacuum cleaner and grabbed the receiver—much to Miss Marple’s relief. “Haven’t Got a—”
“Oh, Tricia, we’ve been robbed—we’ve been robbed,” Ginny
sobbed.
For a moment Tricia couldn’t understand why Ginny was so upset. A quick look around Haven’t Got a Clue told her that everything was still in place as it had been the night before. Even the till, with its meager offerings, was intact. And then she remembered that Ginny no longer worked for her and in fact now managed her own store.
“What’s missing?” Tricia asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know the stock well enough yet to tell. But there’s busted glass all over the floor. And there’s a huge mess in the back room.”
And everything had been in perfect order the night before.
“What about the alarm, did you set it last night before we left?”
“Elizabeth didn’t give us the code, and the security company hasn’t gotten back to us yet. Oh crap—I don’t even know if the insurance will cover this. Antonio is in charge of all that.”
“Did you call him?”
“His voice mail kicked in. He must be at a meeting.”
“Did you call the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I couldn’t think what else to do, so I called you.”
“Hang up. Call 9-1-1, and I’ll be right over.”
“Oh, thank you, Tricia.” The line went dead and Tricia replaced the receiver in its cradle, her hands shaking. She couldn’t remember any of the stores along Main Street being robbed—at least since the murder at the Cookery two years before. And even then, only one item had been taken—and there’d been no wholesale destruction. Poor Ginny having to face this on day two of her new job.
Grabbing her keys, Tricia locked the store and once again crossed the road for the Happy Domestic.
The shop door was ajar, and Tricia pushed it open with her elbow. She wasn’t about to put her fingerprints in the mix—she knew enough about crime scene investigations to avoid that. As Ginny had said, the carpeted floor was covered with broken glass from several smashed display cases. The remnants of porcelain figurines and delicate Waterford crystal glassware lay among the overturned card carousel. Books had been pulled from the shelves, their dustcovers ripped to shreds.
Whoever was responsible had been mighty angry.
Sentenced to Death bm-5 Page 18
