Sentenced to Death bm-5

by Lorna Barrett

  And who had been furious the evening before?

  Elizabeth Crane.

  With her cell phone still in hand, Ginny came out from the back room, her face twisted into a grimace and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Tricia,” she wailed, and rushed for her, throwing her arms around her.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tricia soothed, patting Ginny’s back. And it would be okay. The person who’d made the mess had taken his—or her—aggression out on inanimate objects, not the new owner—or manager—of the store.

  A tinny voice came from Ginny’s cell phone. “Miss, Miss—”

  Tricia pulled back. “Pull yourself together, and talk to the dispatcher,” she said firmly but with kindness. “We’ll make this right. I promise.”

  Ginny nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She raised the phone back to her ear. “I’m here,” she said, her voice sounding stronger.

  Tricia heard the sound of a siren, and looked out the store’s display window to see a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pull up outside. The driver’s door flew open and Deputy Placer leapt from the car. “You reported a robbery?” he asked Tricia.

  “The store’s manager did,” she said, indicating Ginny with a nod of her head. “It must have happened sometime last night—after midnight.”

  Placer frowned. Tricia could almost read his thoughts. No action here!

  Through the window, she saw Boris and Alexa Kozlov standing on the pavement. They were soon joined with other rubberneckers who’d come to see what was happening.

  “You don’t belong here,” Placer said to Tricia.

  “Ginny—Miss Wilson—called me when she discovered the mess.”

  “Why don’t you wait outside while I talk to her,” Placer said.

  Tricia frowned. Despite their many encounters, she and the deputy had never become buddies, and apparently never would, either. “I’ll do that. Ginny, I’ll be outside.”

  Ginny sniffed and nodded.

  “What happened?” Alexa asked as Tricia stepped over the threshold.

  “Last night, someone broke into the Happy Domestic and did a lot of damage.”

  “Hmm,” Boris grumbled, and turned away, heading back for the Coffee Bean. For an instant Tricia wondered if he could’ve been responsible for the mess inside the store, but then she instantly dismissed the idea. Boris had been angry with Deborah and Elizabeth—not the new owner of the store. But then, did he know the store had already changed hands and was now owned by Nigela Racita Associates?

  Tricia shook the thought away. She was letting her imagination run wild. Much as she hated to admit it, there was someone else with a much better motivation to ransack the store, and for some reason—maybe a misplaced sense of loyalty—she refused to consider it.

  Whoever had vandalized the Happy Domestic had a score to settle. And, unfortunately, there was more than one possible suspect. The problem was, which one did it?

  Time did not fly when there were few suspects to consider for the robbery at the Happy Domestic, and no sales at Haven’t Got a Clue, either. Tricia had sent Mr. Everett across the street to help Ginny with the cleanup and, more important, for moral support. It pleased her that the two had such a good rapport. Of course, the Sheriff’s Department investigators probably weren’t letting him do much of anything yet, but she knew Ginny would appreciate his being there.

  Sheriff’s Department patrol cars lined the street, and did nothing to improve the morning’s sales. Tricia hoped they’d clear off before the expected busload of tourists arrived at one thirty.

  “Yow!” Miss Marple announced, startling Tricia from her reverie.

  “Yes, it sure is lonely here without Ginny and Mr. Everett. We’ll have to do something about that pretty soon. But if Elaine Capshaw turns down my job offer, I will not hire Cheryl Griffin,” she reaffirmed. “You and I will run the store alone rather than put up with her and her threats of alien invasions.”

  Miss Marple almost seemed to nod before she set to licking her paw and rubbing her ear, the beginning of yet another prolonged bathing session.

  Tricia sighed and closed the store’s copy of Marjorie Allingham’s Death of a Ghost. Even reading didn’t appeal to her right now—she had too much on her mind.

  Her attention turned back to the window, just as a uniformed officer stepped out of the Happy Domestic and looked in Haven’t Got a Clue’s direction. Why, it was none other than Captain Baker, whom she hadn’t spoken to in five days. He looked to the right and left for traffic, and then jaywalked across the street, heading her way.

  “Looks like we’re about to get some company,” Tricia told Miss Marple, who did not acknowledge the remark but began to lick her stomach.

  Out on the sidewalk, Captain Baker removed his high-crowned hat before entering. Tricia wondered if he would grow his hair longer once he left the Sheriff’s Department. It would better suit him than the buzz cut he now wore, she decided.

  The shop door opened and Baker entered. “Hello,” he called, looking around the store, apparently not seeing her standing behind the register.

  “Over here,” she called.

  His head whipped around and he blushed, and then stepped over to the cash desk. “Slow day?” he asked, and nodded toward the lack of customers in the store.

  “It won’t be in another hour or so. No offense, but I hope you and your men will be long gone before the next tour bus arrives.”

  “They’re finishing up now. Do you have any ideas on who might have broken into the Happy Domestic?”

  “Ideas but not a shred of evidence.”

  “How about the former manager?” he asked.

  “Deborah’s dead. You mean her mother, Elizabeth Crane?” Baker nodded. “She was angry last night when she came to pick up her grandson at the Happy Domestic, but I can’t imagine she’d actually break in and do that kind of damage. Her daughter loved that store and everything in it.”

  “And it was sold out from under Mrs. Crane by her sonin-law,” he pointed out.

  “I agree David could’ve waited a decent amount of time before doing that. I guess he needed the money for something. But I suspect he’s got an alibi with at least one of the women he’s currently bedding.”

  “Is that a touch of anger I hear in your voice?”

  Tricia sighed. “This whole situation becomes more tangled every day.” Baker seemed to be waiting for her to say more on the subject. Instead she asked, “When will you talk to Elizabeth?”

  “As soon as we track her down. She wasn’t at the number Ginny gave me. I’ll drive by her house. If she’s not there, I’ll have one of my men stake out her home and wait for her to return.”

  Tricia nodded. “You did know someone tried to run her down last evening.”

  “Yes, Deputy Placer informed me. Did you see what happened?”

  Tricia shook her head. “I found Elizabeth lying on the sidewalk, and the car speeding away.”

  He nodded.

  There didn’t seem to be much more to say on the subject.

  Baker cleared his throat. “Uh, have you given any thought to our discussion the other night?”

  “Quite a bit, actually,” Tricia said. That was putting it mildly. It was among the many topics that had kept her awake these last few nights. “I still think it’s unfair of you. You want all the perks of a loving relationship without the commitment.”

  “That’s not what I proposed,” he said, sounding hurt.

  Tricia forced a laugh. “No, you made it quite clear that a proposal was never going to be part of the deal.”

  Baker frowned. “What are you talking about? I thought we could be friends—hang out together. Have some fun.”

  “Yeah, and then you’d leave.”

  “I never said I’d definitely be leaving, just that it was a possibility.”

  “Has that changed?” Tricia asked.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve been offered a job here in southern New Hampshire. I’ll probably relo
cate, but I anticipate moving closer to you—not farther away.”

  Tricia blinked in surprise. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “And what was your answer?” she asked.

  Baker straightened. “I accepted the job. I’ll be sworn in on January first.”

  “That’s four months away.”

  “I’m committed to the Sheriff’s Department until December thirty-first, and there are other obstacles that have to be cleared before the job becomes available. Plus it gives me time to put my house up for sale and find somewhere else to live. It ends up being perfect timing for me.”

  “What does this mean for us?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you’d sound a little more enthusiastic about my new situation.”

  Tricia sighed. “I’d be willing to work at that.”

  Baker smiled. She liked the way his eyes lit up when that happened. “I should have a lot more free time in my next position.”

  “Weekends off?” Tricia asked.

  “That depends on how many officers they hire to keep the peace.”

  “Will you have a say in that?”

  Baker moved closer—much, much closer. “I sure hope so.”

  Tricia smiled and Baker jerked forward, planting a tentative kiss on her lips. He pulled back, as though to gauge her reaction.

  She smiled. “I’d thought about not replacing Ginny. But now . . . I might need to delegate authority here at Haven’t Got a Clue . . . if I’m going to be spending more time off, too.”

  “Yow!” Miss Marple seconded, and the two of them laughed.

  “I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Would you be willing to help me find a place to live—somewhere between here and Nashua?”

  “House hunting,” Tricia repeated, warming to the idea.

  Baker nodded.

  “Sounds like fun.”

  He edged closer again. “Mandy took most of our furniture. Maybe you could help me pick out some new stuff.”

  Tricia could feel the heat of his body. She leaned in closer for another kiss, and the door rattled, startling her so she jumped back. A couple of women entered the store and Baker settled his hat back on his head. He cleared his throat.

  “And just remember, Ms. Miles—safety first.”

  Tricia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

  “I’ll call you later,” Baker whispered, did a smart about-face, and headed for the door.

  Tricia couldn’t help but smile, her gaze lingering on the door long after he’d left.

  The much-anticipated tourist bus arrived, and all too soon departed. Tricia barely had time to wait on the ten or so customers who’d patronized her store before the bus was outside, its driver hammering on the horn to get them moving. By the time the crowd had dispersed, it was well after three o’clock.

  Tricia was tidying the cash desk when Mr. Everett returned. His moustache was beginning to fill in, even though he’d only been growing it a few days. Sadly, it would never rival the magnificent Magnum moustache, but she supposed he could dream.

  “Ginny has sent me over to relieve you for a lunch break.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Everett. Everything cleaned up over there now?”

  He nodded. “Mr. Barbero arrived and had Ginny order more display shelving. It should arrive by tomorrow morning. She’ll also be getting some new stock shipped overnight. By tomorrow, no one should be able to tell the place was ransacked.”

  “I’m so glad. It was a terrible thing to happen Ginny’s second day on the job.”

  “Yes, but she’s handling it well. I think she’ll be a grand success.” He beamed with grandfatherly pride. “But now, it’s time you were off for your lunch. I’ll just go get my apron,” he said, and tottered off to the back of the store.

  By the time he returned, Tricia had gathered her purse and petted Miss Marple good-bye. With a wave of her hand, she was out the door. As she waited for traffic to abate, she noticed Ray’s roach coach was parked outside the village square. Something different about the truck captured her attention. The chrome doors were just as shiny as ever, but now the back of the truck bore colorful vinyl graphics proclaiming EAT LUNCH and, under that, the words A DIVISION OF NIGELA RICITA ASSOCIATES. Was there no business in the village that Antonio and his employer wouldn’t soon have their fingers in?

  Tricia crossed the street in a hurry.

  “Hello,” Tricia said as she approached Ray, who was polishing the chrome with a tattered bit of rag.

  “Hi,” he said, barely looking up from his work.

  Tricia studied the items on display. Gone was the Lucite box that held wrapped sandwiches. Instead, a small grill took its place. Alongside it were condiments, as well as containers filled with chopped onions, peppers, lettuce, tomatoes, and packages of wrapped cheese slices. The menu was now distinctly different, too. Burgers, hot dogs, Italian sausage, chips, and sodas.

  “Uh . . . how much are the burgers?” Tricia asked.

  Ray pointed to a sign to her left.

  “I’ll have one with lettuce, tomato, and mayo.”

  “Ketchup?” he offered.

  “Of course.”

  “Coming right up, made to order,” Ray announced, and abandoned his polishing. He donned a pair of plastic gloves and went to work on the grill, which already had a couple of burgers waiting in the wings. “Would you like a soda with that?”

  “I’ll have a bottle of ice tea and one of those big chocolate chip cookies.” Tricia figured the more she bought, the more he might be willing to talk to her. Ray handed her the tea and cookie. She gave him a ten-dollar bill and waited as he made change.

  “I see something new has been added to your truck,” Tricia said, indicating the new graphics.

  “Yup, I’ve been bought out,” he said, but his words held pride, not shame.

  “Had you been trying to sell the business?”

  “Oh, no. I got a call from some Italian guy asking me if I’d be willing to talk. What he said made a lot of sense.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That I would do better not to compete with the diners in the village. So I upgraded. Got the grill. He was right. Burgers and dogs sell much better than sandwiches.”

  “So now you work for them?”

  “Yeah, and they’re paying me really well to do it, too.”

  “Are you on salary?” she asked.

  He nodded. “For the first time in twenty years. I’ll tell you, lady, it’s been tough these past couple of years, what with the economy and all. But now I have a five-year contract. If I decide to retire by then, well and good. Or maybe I’ll hang around for another five years. Who knows? Either way, this has been great for me.”

  Yes, it certainly had.

  The burger was done at last, and he wrapped it in paper and put it in a sack before handing it to her. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Nice talking to you,” Tricia said, and headed back down the street to Booked for Lunch. Angelica wasn’t likely to be happy, but the money she’d spent was well worth the information she’d received. Now, what was she going to do with it?

  Tricia pushed open the door café’s door to find Angelica at the counter, her manuscript pages one again spread out before her. She looked up. “There you are. I was beginning to worry. What with Ginny being robbed and all, Stoneham is turning into crime central.”

  “You got that right. But she’s okay, and Antonio authorized her to buy whatever she needs to get the store up and running again.”

  “What a guy,” Angelica said, and then focused in on the bag in one of Tricia’s hands, and the bottle of ice tea in the other. “What are you doing bringing food you purchased elsewhere into my café?” she demanded. “And for a third day in a row.”

  “I wanted to find out the dirt on Ray’s roach coach,” Tricia said, taking a seat at the counter.

  “Dirt?” Angelica said, suddenly sounding interested.

  “Ray has sold out
.”

  “To whom?”

  “Who else? Nigela Racita Associates.”

  “What?” Angelica cried.

  “My sentiments exactly.” Tricia unwrapped the burger and took a bite. Not bad. She unscrewed the cap on her ice tea. “He’s got a five-year contract.”

  Angelica frowned. “Okay, let’s do a recap,” she said, and counted off her points on the fingers of her left hand. “One, this Nigela Racita outfit bought the lot two doors down from me. Two, they’ve heavily invested in the Brookside Inn. Three, they’ve taken over the Happy Domestic. And now they’ve taken over Ray’s roach coach. There can’t possibly be any other businesses on the selling block . . . or can there?”

  Tricia shrugged and took another bite of her burger. It was pretty tasty!

  “Since we were at the Happy Domestic with Ginny, I missed the Board of Selectmen’s meeting. Apparently Nigela Racita Associates was the talk of the town,” Angelica said. “Mary Fairchild from over at By Hook or By Book ordered lunch delivered this afternoon—so naturally I took it over. She attended the meeting and was willing to tell all. She’s worried this foreign outfit is going to take over the entire village. And she’s not the only one, either.”

  “I don’t blame her. It seems like the person behind that company is absolutely ruthless,” Tricia said, and wiped ketchup from the corner of her mouth.

  “What do you mean?” Angelica asked.

  “Swooping in to snatch up the Happy Domestic within hours of Deborah’s death. Locking out Elizabeth. Grabbing my best employee.”

  Angelica nodded thoughtfully. “That does sound pretty ruthless,” she agreed. “I hope they don’t come after me and mine—and that includes you.”

  “Haven’t Got a Clue is not for sale—at any price,” Tricia added, and took a sip of her ice tea.

  “Likewise the Cookery and Booked for Lunch,” Angelica piped up. “Still, I hear Ginny’s boyfriend looked really sharp when he unveiled the plans for the empty lot.”

  “Oh?”

  Angelica nodded. “Mary said he looked up old photos of Stoneham at the library and found there used to be a fire station here on Main Street. They’re going to build the façade to look like the old station. I guess someone asked if they were going to put the fire pole in and he said yes! Doesn’t that sound cool?”