Book Clubbed (A Booktown Mystery)

by Lorna Barrett

  “Surely you can hang on until the tourists return in a couple of months,” Tricia said.

  “Barely. That won’t help my bottom line—or hers.”

  “You can’t take it out on the poor baby,” Tricia chided.

  “Tricia, I’m forty-five. When my kid graduates from high school I’ll almost be eligible for Social Security. And besides that, will I still be able to throw the kid a baseball?”

  “You might have a little ballerina on your hands,” she said.

  “Whatever it is, it’s going to need clothes, shoes, and a college education. We can’t afford a kid, and Nikki’s got her heart set on staying home with it. That just isn’t going to happen. We’ve been arguing about it for days.”

  “Stop being so negative,” she chided, frowning, and thought of her mother and how her negativity had shaped Tricia’s life. “I can tell you from experience that what you say and do in front of your child will have a lasting effect that will stay with him or her for their entire life.”

  “What kind of experience? Are you talking about your mother?” Russ pushed.

  She nodded. When they’d been dating, she’d told him all about her stormy relationship with her mother. “Angelica finally spilled the beans on why I’ve been persona non grata my entire life.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to share it with me?”

  Tricia thought about it for a moment. Russ’s opinion of her mother wasn’t likely to be improved, but then he wasn’t ever likely to meet her, either.

  “It turns out I had a twin brother who died at two months. It seems my mother has held it against me my entire life.” There. She’d said it aloud. She’d said it without rancor. She was getting used to the whole idea and while it didn’t feel good, she thought she was near acceptance.

  “And you never knew?” Russ asked, surprised.

  She shook her head.

  “Are you going to bring it up the next time you talk to her?”

  Tricia shook her head once again. “What’s the point? Nothing I say will change her mind. She’ll always blame me for what happened.”

  “But you were a baby.”

  She managed an ironic laugh. “Yeah, go figure.”

  Russ’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Trish.”

  “Me, too. That’s why I want you to promise me that you’ll give yourself a chance to fall head-over-heels in love with your child. I have a feeling you’re going to think that having this baby was the best thing that ever happened to you and Nikki.”

  “I sure hope so.” He sat back in his chair, signaling it was time to move on from that subject. “What else is on your mind? Or should I even bother asking. Betsy Dittmeyer’s death, right?”

  Tricia nodded, and unhappily so.

  “If I know you, you’ve been poking your nose into things. What have you found out?”

  “The face Betsy showed the world was far different than the way she lived in secret.”

  He smiled and his eyes opened wide as he leaned forward, eager for her to spill what she knew. “For instance?”

  “She was a hoarder.”

  Russ winced. “I’ve seen a couple of TV shows on the subject. It’s pretty nasty business.”

  “It sure is.”

  “Can I assume that you—and probably Angelica—visited Betsy’s home to learn that piece of news in person?”

  “I’m not admitting to anything,” Tricia said. “I can tell you that from what I’ve discovered, Betsy wasn’t a very nice woman, and she had a lot of money—from multiple sources, not all of them aboveboard.”

  “Did you come here thinking I might have some inside information on her?”

  “You do seem to be able to dig up dirt the rest of us would never have access to.”

  Russ shrugged. “I admit, I have spoken to a few people about her.”

  “Are you willing to share?” Tricia asked.

  He shrugged. “Since I’m only going to be doing an obit, I might as well. Although I’ll probably skew it to the sunnier side of her life.”

  “You’re not going to run a straightforward news story?” Tricia asked, surprised.

  “Whatever I’ve got will be old news by the time the next issue comes out.”

  “Not necessarily. Will the Nashua and Manchester papers even care about her death two weeks down the line?”

  Again he shrugged. “You’ve got a point. Okay, I’ll share. Betsy was an alcoholic.”

  “I knew that.”

  “She had a bitter divorce.”

  “Knew that, too.”

  “She had a daughter who died young. I guess it crushed her spirit.”

  “I heard that, too.”

  Russ scowled. “Then why don’t you tell me something about her that I haven’t heard.”

  Tricia wrestled with her conscience. “All right, I’ll share the biggie. Betsy was embezzling money from the Chamber of Commerce.”

  Russ’s eyes widened in surprised. “That’s a biggie, all right. What do Bob and Angelica think about that?”

  “I’m pretty sure Bob doesn’t know. Angelica was appalled and she’s arranging to have the books audited. She’ll probably have to sue Betsy’s estate to get the funds back. Betsy’s Chamber files also contained a dossier of members that was highly uncomplimentary.”

  “Am I on the list?” he asked warily.

  “Everybody is on the list, and none of it is complimentary. I wondered if she might be using it for blackmail purposes, but I haven’t found any evidence to support it—yet.”

  “Who’s going to admit it and paint themselves as a suspect? That said, it could explain where she got some of her money.”

  Tricia thought about the file she’d opened the night before. “I wonder if she kept lists like that on her previous employers and fellow employees. Over the years she might have collected a lot of cash. I know she had a lot of investments.”

  “How much is a lot?” he asked.

  “Millions.”

  “That’s a lot,” Russ agreed.

  “And she recently disinherited her younger sister. Joelle Morrison said it was because she nagged Betsy to get counseling, but I’m not sure I swallow that excuse.”

  “Have you narrowed down the list of suspects?” Russ asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “I’m stumped. There are plenty of people with an ax to grind, but their motives just aren’t strong enough to warrant a murder charge and a long jail sentence.”

  “People do stupid things in the heat of passion, and from what I learned from your police chief friend, someone strangled the old witch before pulling a bookshelf onto her.”

  Tricia nodded. She and Russ stared at each other for a long minute, and for the first time in a long time she realized she once again saw him as a friend. The anger at his rejection of her and then from stalking her was suddenly gone. He’d changed since meeting Nikki—and for the better. She’d brought out his more noble qualities and Tricia hoped they could reach a compromise about their new arrival. “I don’t have much else to go on. When will you write Betsy’s obituary?”

  “The paper goes to bed on Friday afternoon. Do you think you’ll find out anything else before then?”

  Tricia shrugged. “I don’t know. This one’s a puzzler. If the people on Betsy’s unflattering list knew about the information she’d collected on them they’d be angry—but I don’t think there’s anything on the list worth killing for.”

  “Good. Then count me out,” Russ said with a laugh.

  Tricia stood, grabbed her coat, and put it on. “I’ve got to get back to my store.”

  “And I’ve got to get back to my spreadsheets. Promise you’ll share whatever else you find out?”

  “Only if you do, too.”

  He gave her a wink. “You got it.”


  “And think about what I said about your new arrival. I have faith that you and Nikki are going to be wonderful parents, and when that baby arrives, you’ll wonder how you ever lived without him or her.”

  He still looked skeptical. “I sure hope you’re right.”

  “Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

  Russ shook his head and smiled. “Never.”

  Tricia returned his smile, glad she and Russ no longer had to be at odds. “I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Tricia was chagrined to find just how late it was when she finally returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. She found Pixie sitting in the empty store’s readers’ nook with stacks of catalogs piled on the large square coffee table before her, her reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose and a big yellow highlighter in hand. Miss Marple was curled up on the chair across from her, while a Sinatra CD played quietly on the store’s stereo. “Oh, you’re back,” Pixie called in greeting, and even Miss Marple opened a sleepy eye to acknowledge Tricia’s presence.

  “Angelica called wondering where you were for lunch.”

  “I was so busy I never got around to it. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you and Mr. Everett to go out together,” she said, and shrugged out of her coat.

  “That’s okay, he went to the diner and got us sandwiches to go.”

  “Have we had many customers since I’ve been gone?” Tricia asked, folding the coat over her left arm.

  Pixie shook her head sadly. “Not a one. But Miss Marple and I have been studying catalogs, and I fielded a number of calls. We got another invitation to look over a book collection—leftovers from an estate sale. I told them you’d call back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How did your errands go? Did you learn anything new?” Pixie asked rather hungrily. And why not? Except for Mr. Everett, the poor woman had been cut off from human contact for a good chunk of the day.

  “Not as much as I’d hoped.” Tricia left it at that.

  She was about to head to the back of the store to hang up her coat when she remembered that she’d promised Angelica she’d ask Grace about her attending Mr. Everett’s surprise birthday party on Friday. She made an about-face, set her coat on the back of one of the nook’s comfortable chairs, and headed to the cash desk to make the call.

  “Hi, Linda. It’s Tricia Miles. Is there a chance I could talk to Grace?”

  “I’m sorry,” said an unfamiliar voice, “but Mrs. Harris-Everett has stepped away from her desk.” Tricia winced. How could she have forgotten that Grace had said that her assistant, Linda, was out following an emergency appendectomy? The person who answered was no doubt the temp she’d mentioned she’d hired.

  “Oh, dear. I was hoping to speak to her before this afternoon. Could you please have her call me?”

  “Of course. Although if you want to catch her, she said she was going to stop by the Dog-Eared Page. Perhaps you might see her there.”

  Tricia couldn’t help but smile. Grace really must have enjoyed that sherry the other day. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  “Have a good evening,” the temp said and ended the call.

  Tricia set down the receiver and picked up her coat once more.

  “Going somewhere else?” Pixie asked.

  “Um, yes. I need to run across the street for a minute or two. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

  “Take your time,” Pixie said, and went back to studying the catalogs. “Me and Miss Marple have got nothing but time to kill.”

  Pixie killing time during working hours was not terribly efficient, but it was convenient to have her there when Tricia wanted to run errands. She donned her coat and headed out the door once more.

  Tricia opened the door to the Dog-Eared Page and found it quiet, with only three or four customers. Shawn, the daytime bartender, was waiting on several early-evening customers, while the pub’s manager, Michele Fowler, sat at one of the back tables with Grace. Tricia paused. She could hardly ask Grace to invite Angelica to Mr. Everett’s birthday celebration with Michele there.

  She was about to turn and leave when Grace saw her, waving a hand for Tricia to come and join them. She pasted on a smile and threaded her way between the tables, heading toward the back of the room.

  “Tricia, what brings you here at this time of day?” Grace asked, smiling.

  “The woman in your office told me I might find you here.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s about Friday night,” she said, lowering her voice.

  “William’s birthday?” Michele asked with a grin. “Grace was just telling me about it. Sounds like it will be a jolly good time.”

  “Yes, it does,” Tricia agreed warily.

  “The thing I miss most about working days is joining friends for dinner. I’m missing out on all the fun,” Michele said with a pout.

  “What was it you wanted to ask?” Grace asked Tricia.

  There was no other way to get around it. “It seems Angelica would like to be included in Mr. Everett’s birthday bash. She was going to call you herself, but I didn’t want her to put you on the spot.”

  “Nonsense. I’m sure William would love to have her join us. That is, he would if he knew about the party, especially as she’s included us in so many of her own celebrations. I feel ashamed that I didn’t think to include her from the start.” She turned to Michele. “Now you are sworn to secrecy,” she chided.

  Michele laughed, and for a moment held her index finger to her lips. “I shan’t tell a soul. But should you want to continue the celebration after dinner, I hope you’ll come back to the pub. We’ll have live music, lots of drink specials, and the first round is on me.”

  Grace beamed. “Perhaps we shall.”

  Tricia felt awkward standing there. “I’d better get going. I’m so looking forward to Friday. See you then.”

  Grace lifted her glass as though in a toast, and Tricia waved before she turned to leave.

  The sky was a washed-out gray and the wind was fierce when Tricia stepped out of the Dog-Eared Page. She waited for several cars to pass before she crossed the street and saw a man with a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks bundled in a ragged camouflage coat, a matching hunting cap, and a scarf wrapped around his face, who stood in the space between By Hook or By Book and the Outer Limits Sci-Fi and Comics shop. The man had wrapped his arms around himself and looked half frozen. Were there actually homeless people tramping the streets of Stoneham?

  The man seemed to notice Tricia staring, and turned and hurried down the street. There was something familiar about his gait. And then Tricia realized just who it was she’d been studying. “Bob! Bob Kelly! Wait!” Her calls only made the man break into a run.

  Tricia frowned, checked traffic once again, and crossed the street for her shop.

  The bell over the door jangled cheerfully, but Tricia felt anything but cheerful as she entered. Still seated in the readers’ nook, Pixie looked up from the catalog she’d been perusing. “Is something wrong?”

  “Did you see a man in a camo jacket outside just a few minutes ago?”

  Pixie nodded. “Yeah, I did. Looked like some old rummy. Not the kind of guy you usually see hanging around the village.”

  “I think it was Bob Kelly.”

  “Shut up!” Pixie said, rising from her seat and moving to join Tricia.

  “I’m serious.”

  They both looked south out the big display window. “I’ve never seen that guy without his green sport coat,” Pixie said with a shrug. “Has he come on hard times?”

  “He seems to have been hiding for the past couple of days—maybe as long as a week.”

  Again Pixie shrugged. “Has he got a reason to hide?”

  Tricia sighed. Yes, he did. But she wasn’t sure she should be talking to Pixie about it.

  Pixie
looked at the clock on the wall. “Holy cow, it’s about time for me to hit the road.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long and for most of the day, especially since you said you needed to get a new tire for your car.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow I’ll just set my alarm for an hour earlier and see if I can get that tire before I come in to work. I might have to wait, though, so don’t panic if I’m a few minutes late.”

  “I won’t.” Pixie took Tricia’s coat and went to the back of the store to fetch her own.

  “I really appreciate all the boring hours you’ve put in this winter.”

  “Are you kidding? I haven’t been bored for one second of the time I’ve spent here at Haven’t Got a Clue. You want boredom? Spend a couple of years in stir. That’s almost as bad as a death sentence. And thanks to your giving me this job, I’m never going to jail again.”

  For a moment Tricia thought Pixie might burst into tears. “I’m glad you feel that way, Pixie. Now, shoo! Go get that new tire for your car.”

  “Thanks, boss. See you tomorrow.”

  As Pixie went out the door, Angelica entered, carrying a large pizza box. “Anybody hungry?” she called cheerfully.

  “I’ll say. I missed lunch today.”

  “And don’t I know it,” Angelica said. “Your tuna plate is still sitting in my undercounter fridge.”

  Miss Marple raised her sleepy head and looked at Angelica as she unfastened her coat, shrugged out of it, and tossed it onto the cash desk. “Let’s eat this in the readers’ nook.”

  “No soda?” Tricia asked.

  “Rats. Sorry. I forgot. Have you got any wine?”

  “By the time I run upstairs to get it and some glasses, the pizza will be cold. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Coffee dregs and pizza?” Angelica asked, appalled. “No thanks.”

  No longer drowsy, a hopeful Miss Marple sat primly in her chair, watching Tricia’s every move as she grabbed a wad of paper napkins from the beverage station and joined Angelica in the nook.

  Angelica opened the box, letting out a burst of steam, and selected a slice before shoving the pie toward Tricia. “Oh, good, veggies,” Tricia said.