Chapter & Hearse bm-4

by Lorna Barrett

  “And now?” Tricia asked.

  “Now I’m not so sure. He’s acting guilty—and that’s something he’s never done before.”

  “Do you think he’s cheating on you?”

  Angelica frowned, and suddenly looked all of her forty-seven years. “I don’t know. I hope not. Way too many men have betrayed me in the past. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t pushed my relationship with Bob too far, too fast.” She swirled the wine in her glass, and stared into space for several moments before she shook herself and sat straighter. “Let’s change the subject,” Angelica said, and abruptly emptied her glass with one large gulp. “What’s been happening in your world?”

  It was about time she asked. “It seems I’ve got a stalker.”

  “A stalker!” Angelica was on her feet in an instant. “Why didn’t you say something? Have you called the Sheriff’s Department? Are you getting nasty phone calls?”

  “Whoa—whoa!” Tricia said, making a T with her hands for a time-out. “It’s Russ.”

  “Russ? Give me a break.” Angelica sat back down, grabbed her glass, and poured more wine.

  “Maybe stalker is too strong a word, but he’s gotten awfully possessive the past few days. I was having dinner with Captain Baker tonight, and—”

  Angelica smiled lasciviously. “Now the story’s getting interesting.”

  “Just as friends,” Tricia said, then continued. “Then Russ came in and attacked him.”

  “And, and?” Angelica pressed, her eyes wide.

  “Grant had him arrested.”

  “My, my, little Tricia part of a lovers’ triangle. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “I don’t.”

  “It’s all much more exciting than my book tour, let me tell you,” Angelica said, and sighed. “I feel like I’m living in my car. And those hotel beds range from rock hard to squishy soft. I’ll be glad when it’s all over.”

  “And you were so looking forward to it. How many more weeks will you be on the road?”

  Angela’s frown grew deeper. “Three, off and on.”

  “The perils of being published,” Tricia said without sympathy. Her gaze lit on the shopping bag from the Cookery that still sat on her counter. It was time to change the subject. “I had a rather bad experience last night.” She paused, embarrassed to admit it. “I baked.”

  Angelica actually giggled. “You? Baked? That’s priceless. I only wish I could’ve witnessed it.”

  “I’ll thank you not to mock my efforts.”

  “Did you save any for me to try?”

  Tricia hesitated. “No.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure they were just delicious,” Angelica said, failing to stifle a smirk. She didn’t sound one bit sorry, either.

  “I was wondering if you could you give me a few tips. I have to bake some muffins for Jim’s wake tomorrow.”

  “It’s tomorrow already? Where does the time go?” When it came to cookery, Angelica was all business. “First off, have you got the ingredients and the appropriate tools?”

  “Yes. I visited the Cookery and bought everything I need.”

  “You visited my store? Oh, Trish, that was sweet of you. Thank you.”

  “Yes, and I have your receipts down in my safe. I’ll bank them for you on Monday.”

  “Great. Now, let’s eat this pizza and get to baking.”

  “You have to get up early in the morning. And besides, you must be exhausted after being on the road for three days.”

  “Darling Trish, I live to bake. After being away from my kitchen for three days, I’m going through cooking withdrawal. The oven’s already up to speed—there’s nothing to stop us.”

  “Okay, but only because you insist.”

  The timer went off, and Angelica got up. She took the pizza out of the oven, returning it to its cardboard box. She set it on a trivet, then grabbed a slice and a plate. “Anything else happen while I’ve been gone?”

  “All is not happiness and light at Booked for Lunch,” Tricia said as she reached for the wine and topped up their glasses. “You’ve got a problem.”

  “So I gather.”

  “The receipts just don’t match the cash—we’re talking every day,” Tricia said. “I don’t want to accuse anyone of anything, but I want you to have a look before you take off again.”

  “I don’t have time, but I’ll be back on Friday and stay for the weekend. I’ll figure out what the problem is then.” Angelica took a bite of pizza, chewed, and swallowed. “Darcy and Jake just don’t get along. It may not have been a good idea to hire her.”

  “Are you sure it’s not Jake who’s the problem?” Tricia asked.

  “Jake? He’s fabulous. Mark my words, in a couple of years I’ll lose him when he opens his own restaurant and becomes the toast of Nashua . . . or did he say Manchester?” She shook her head and took another bite.

  “He was quite rude to me this morning.”

  “Jake, rude?” Angelica laughed.

  “Did you know he was convicted of a felony? That he’s done jail time?”

  “Of course I knew.” Angelica’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find out?”

  “Darcy told me. Jake wouldn’t say what he was put away for.”

  Angelica stared at Tricia, frowning.

  “Well?” Tricia pressed.

  Angelica looked away and picked a rogue piece of green pepper out of the box, putting it on her pizza. “It’s really none of your business.”

  “What?” Tricia demanded. “You’re my sister, and you’ve got a convicted felon working for you. Of course it’s my business.”

  “Somebody’s got to hire former prisoners, or else they’ll have to continue to lead lives of crime. You of all people should understand that. Most of the bad guys get put away in all those mysteries you read. They have to get out of jail at some point, and then they need jobs to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. I suppose even Russ will need someone to give him a break once he’s out of the pokey.”

  “I’m sure he made bail.”

  “Whatever,” Angelica said with a wave of her hand.

  “You’re really not going to tell me Jake’s crime?” Tricia asked, feeling hurt.

  “No, I’m not. And don’t you go asking that wannabe boyfriend of yours to dig up dirt on my employees, either.”

  “Wannabe boyfriend? What are you talking about?” Tricia wasn’t about to admit she’d already asked Captain Baker about Jake.

  “Oh, the way Captain Baker looks at you, like a lovesick teenager.”

  “He does not. In fact, he’s the one who wanted to cool things between us.”

  “Well, he’s got a sick ex-wife, hasn’t he? It just proves there are some men still out there who feel loyalty, or at least compassion, for someone they were once in love with.”

  That shut Tricia up. She pushed away the plate with the half-eaten slice of pizza.

  Angelica closed the lid on the pizza box, picked it up, and put it into the refrigerator. Then she spied the shopping bag on the counter and emptied it. “Why didn’t you buy my cookbook?” she demanded. “It’s got recipes for muffins in it.”

  “I didn’t think about it.”

  Angelica frowned. “How am I supposed to become a fabulously rich and famous author if my own family doesn’t buy my book?”

  “I’ll buy it tomorrow.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  If they were any more civil, the kitchen’s temperature might plummet to downright frigid. Angelica broke the ice. “Shall we get going on those muffins? You can make them, and I’ll correct you as you go along.”

  Tricia sighed. It was going to be difficult not to strangle Angelica, but she was sure she’d somehow find the will-power. Tricia collected her ingredients and placed them in a row on the counter, then gathered up her tools.

  “Aren’t you going to wash that muffin pan?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia sighed,
squirted some dishwashing liquid on the pan, and ran it under the tap.

  “Make sure it’s totally dry. You don’t want the muffins to stick to the cups.”

  Tricia ground her teeth as she dried each and every muffin cup with meticulous care.

  “Okay, first you measure the flour. Have you ever done that before?” Angelica asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Where’s your sifter?” Angelica asked, opening a cupboard.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have one? Everybody has at least one.”

  “Not me.” Maybe asking Angelica for help hadn’t been such a good idea.

  Angelica closed the cupboard. “Since your birthday is coming up, I’ll get you one.”

  “Don’t bother. I don’t plan to make baking a hobby.”

  “Ah, that’s what they all say—until the baking bug hits.” Angelica leaned closer and squinted. “Tricia—I do believe you’re wearing a necklace.”

  “I am?” Tricia said, playing dumb.

  “Yes. I can see the chain around your neck.”

  Tricia lifted a portion of the chain with her left thumb. “Oh, this? Yes, I guess I am wearing a necklace.”

  “But you don’t wear jewelry.”

  “I don’t?”

  “Well, you haven’t since I’ve been living here in Stoneham—maybe longer.”

  “I’m sure you’re wrong,” Tricia said and tugged on her right earlobe, which was decorated with a gemstone stud.

  “I’m not talking about earrings or a watch—they’re givens.”

  “Are they?” Tricia asked, skeptical.

  “Was it a birthday gift? Did Captain Baker give it to you?”

  Tricia didn’t answer the first question. “No, Grant didn’t give it to me. It’s just something I had lying around and decided to put on.”

  “Oh.” Angelica sounded disappointed.

  “Now, can we get going with this baking? You’ve got to hit the road early tomorrow.”

  Angelica sighed. “Don’t remind me. Okay, first, let me go home and get my sifter. If we’re going to make these muffins and expect people to eat them, we’re going to make them right.”

  “Aw, but Ange—”

  “No buts. It’s what our grandmother would have done.”

  Tricia winced. Pulling the grandmother card was no fair. “Fine. Go get your sifter.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Angelica said, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door.

  Tricia grabbed her wine glass and emptied its contents. At least she’d sidestepped the question about her new necklace.

  Four more days and she’d be a year older, which was absurd. She grew older every day—but it was the anniversary of birth that aged you another year, not the intervening days.

  Four more days. And then it would be over. No one to celebrate with. No one to share the joys and sorrows of the day with.

  As though reading her mind, Miss Marple said “Yow!”

  “Oh, yes, I forgot. According to Christopher, you’re the one I love best.”

  “Yow!” Miss Marple replied.

  “And I know you love me best.”

  Again, Miss Marple agreed.

  “Then we’ll spend my birthday together. Just the two of us.”

  And didn’t that sound like loads of fun?

  Tricia fingered the chain around her neck. It was long past time to stop thinking about the past—and hoping for a future with someone who had made the choice of a life of solitude. Except for the note that came with the locket, she hadn’t heard from Christopher in eighteen months. He might have moved on and found someone else, and sending the locket was his final message, telling her to move on as well.

  That decided, she reached for the clasp on the chain—then thought better of it. The locket was meant to be a birthday gift. She’d wear it until Wednesday, then put it away with the rest of Christopher’s gifts in the back of her closet.

  Again she fingered the chain, felt the weight of the locket that hung between her breasts—close to her heart. Was that the reason Christopher had chosen such a gift? She much preferred it to a sifter. But then, she wasn’t likely to get any other gifts on her birthday.

  “Come Wednesday, we will not have a pity party. Maybe I’ll buy a precooked lobster and one of Nikki’s mini cakes. You like lobster and frosting,” Tricia told Miss Marple, who agreed by purring.

  “Then it’s decided,” Tricia said, with just the slightest catch in her voice. The plan sounded good—but she had a feeling that despite her resolve, a pity party might still be on the agenda. She would just have to resist the temptation.

  The door rattled and Angelica returned, clutching a battered and discolored metal sifter that had obviously seen heavy use. “Look, Trish, it belonged to Grandma Miles,” she said, handing it over.

  Tricia examined the sifter and smiled, remembering how she’d watched her grandmother use it when making cakes.

  “I want you to have it,” Angelica said.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Tricia said and tried to hand the sifter back. “I know how much it means to you.”

  Angelica refused to take it. “You don’t know how much it means to me to know you’re interested in baking. I want to encourage that in you.”

  Tricia swallowed a lump in her throat and gazed at the worn red wooden handle. “Thank you, Ange. This is the nicest gift you could have given me.” A sentiment she would not have believed five minutes earlier.

  Angelica beamed. “Let’s get to baking!”

  And for the first time in her adult life, Tricia enjoyed it.

  Sixteen

  Tricia was up early the next morning, but when she called to wish Angelica a safe trip, she found her sister had already hit the road for her next round of book signings.

  After her usual stint on the treadmill, a leisurely shower, and a cup of coffee, Tricia gathered her purse and the plate of big, beautiful muffins covered in plastic wrap, and headed down to Haven’t Got a Clue, with Miss Marple following her. Although it was only nine thirty, she decided to get to Jim Roth’s wake early, figuring Frannie might need help to get things set up. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” she told the cat, backed out the door, and locked it.

  As she turned around, Tricia saw a SALE PENDING sticker had been plastered across the Kelly Realty FOR SALE sign. She turned right around, unlocked the door, and reentered Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple still sat where Tricia had left her mere seconds before, and gazed at Tricia quizzically.

  “I know, I know—but I’ve got to make a call,” she said, put her purse and the muffins on the counter, picked up the receiver, and dialed the old-fashioned rotary phone.

  Bob Kelly answered on the fourth ring. “Hello,” he barked.

  Tricia put on her sunniest voice. “Hi, Bob, it’s Tricia. I thought I’d give you a call to see how you’re feeling.”

  “Fine,” he said succinctly.

  “Do you need anything?” Tricia asked.

  “No, thank you.” The man was positively infuriating.

  “Will you be coming to Jim Roth’s memorial service this morning?”

  “No. I’m not feeling well.”

  He’d just said he was feeling fine. Tricia plowed ahead. “I see you’ve put a Sale Pending sign up on the lot on Main Street. I’m surprised it sold so fast. You put the For Sale sign up only yesterday. That was rather quick, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Tricia ground her teeth to keep her anger from seething. “Do you mind if I ask who bought it?”

  “Some development company. I never heard of them before.”

  “And they are?”

  He sighed. “An outfit called Nigela Ricita Associates. Their representative contacted me last night. They want to sign the paperwork as soon as possible.”

  “Sounds like a woman-owned business,” Tricia said.

  “I don’t care who owns it, just as long as they pay me so I can dump the property. I don’t want to be
associated with it.”

  “Why not? It wasn’t your fault someone tampered with the gas meter.” She decided to push in the knife—just a little. “Was it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why are you being so coy about what you were doing at History Repeats Itself the night of the explosion?”

  “I’m not being coy. I was there to collect the rent. Period.”

  “And did Jim pay you?”

  “We hadn’t gotten that far.”

  “Witnesses put you at the store for some time before the explosion.”

  “What witnesses?” Bob demanded.

  Okay, just one witness—Ginny. But Tricia wasn’t about to tell him that. “You’ll have to ask Captain Baker about that. But, come on, Bob, you know that keeping mum on what you were doing there just makes you look bad. You can’t afford a tarnished reputation.”

  “My reputation is sterling.”

  “Well, it won’t stay that way if it looks like you have something to hide.”

  “This conversation is going nowhere,” Bob said. “Goodbye, Tricia.” Tricia heard a click, and then the line went dead. She replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  “Yow!” Miss Marple said.

  “Yes, he is being a big pill! I don’t know how Angelica can stand him.”

  “Brrrrp!” Miss Marple agreed.

  Tricia glanced at her watch. If she was lucky, she could make it to the inn in time for the . . . service? That didn’t seem the right word. Perhaps celebration of Jim’s life was a better description. “You’re in charge, Miss Marple,” she told the cat, collected her purse and the muffins once again, and struck out for the Brookview Inn.

  It was exactly nine fifty-five when Tricia pulled into the Brookview Inn’s already full parking lot. Parked in a tow-away zone was a Sheriff’s Department cruiser. Had Captain Baker decided to attend the gathering—or had he sent one of his underlings to scope out the mourners?

  There was one vehicle parked in the lot that Tricia had hoped she wouldn’t see: Russ’s junky old pickup truck. She’d been right: he’d made bail. I am not going to let his presence bother me. I won’t, Tricia told herself, but she didn’t feel all that confident. Still, perhaps he wouldn’t behave like a horse’s ass at what was supposed to be a solemn occasion.