“What would you like to do?” Angelica asked.
“Open a vintage clothing store.” Pixie sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s no market for that in Stoneham, so I’ll just have to be satisfied with the best job in the world—working for Tricia. I could do a testimonial for you if you want.”
Tricia laughed. “That won’t be necessary.”
Pixie eyed the eats table. “I’d better go grab some grub before it’s all gone. Be right back.”
Tricia and Angelica sipped their coffee, but waited for Pixie to return before digging into their pastry choices.
“I didn’t get a chance to see the bags you ladies made up,” Angelica said.
“I’ve only got a few left,” Pixie said, and reached under the table to retrieve one, handing it to Angelica.
“Oh, they’re adorable. You do nice work, Pixie.”
Pixie blushed, picked up her cheese Danish, and took a bite.
Tricia did likewise—her big indulgence for the day.
A number of people stopped by the table to offer Tricia their congratulations on her decision to run, and some serious mingling went on around the coffee urns until Angelica glanced at her watch. She usually called the meeting to order at eight thirty, and it was just about that time.
Angelica reached into her large purse and pulled out her gavel, then strode to the podium. She checked to make sure the microphone was live and then called the meeting to order.
“Before we open the floor to take names for our upcoming election, we have some unfinished business from our last meeting.” Angelica donned her reading glasses and pulled out her agenda.
Tricia found it hard to concentrate on the business at hand, rather surprised at the anticipation building inside her, for the moment forgetting how much work the job of Chamber president would entail. She’d run for class secretary her senior year in high school and had been handily defeated by a popular cheerleader who had seemed more interested in making time with the football jocks and had explained to anyone who’d listen that the job would look good on her college entrance forms. Tricia hadn’t sought any kind of “office” since then. She had no one but herself to impress, and she had to admit that, should she be elected, she’d be stepping into Angelica’s considerably big shoes. Then again, so would anyone else. Angelica had always been a hard act to follow.
At last, Angelica moved on to the part of the meeting Tricia had been waiting for.
“As you know, today we’re seeking the names of those who wish to run for the Chamber presidency.”
“You can’t leave us!” hollered Joyce Widman.
Angelica smiled. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Joyce. You’re very sweet, but I must attend to my various businesses. And I’ll still be a part of the Chamber and hope to work on various committees.”
“Atta girl, Angelica,” yelled a male voice from the peanut gallery.
Again Angelica smiled, but then sobered, looking over the assembled members. “So, those who wish to run, please raise your hands, and then you’ll have a chance to share your platform.”
Pixie giggled.
Tricia raised her hand, and, as expected, so did Chauncey Porter. But then she frowned as someone else in the crowd raised his hand, too.
“For the record,” Angelica began, “I recognize Tricia Miles, Chauncey Porter, and Russ Smith.”
Pixie’s head jerked around, and she glared daggers at Russ. “What’s he doing entering the race?” she demanded in a harsh whisper. “His wife already thinks he doesn’t spend enough time with her and their kid. How in the world can he take on Chamber business as well?”
She was echoing Tricia’s exact thoughts, but Tricia didn’t acknowledge the fact.
“Well,” Angelica said, sounding just a little miffed, “why don’t we listen to the candidates’ proposals. In fairness, we’ll do it alphabetically. Tricia, would you please come to the podium?”
Tricia knew all eyes were upon her as she rose to her feet. But before she could move, Pixie thrust a copy of her platform in her hand—the same as the ones included in the swag bags they’d assembled.
Angelica moved aside as Tricia approached the lectern. A sprinkle of applause broke out among the members—a bit less than she would have expected. She unrolled the paper and held it down with one hand, intending to use it only as a guide. This speech would be pretty much off the cuff.
“Hello, everyone. As you know, I’m Tricia Miles. Thanks to the nearly six months I spent volunteering for the Chamber of Commerce while my store was out of commission last year, I had the pleasure of meeting just about all our members. My time with the Chamber not only gave me experience working with the day-to-day tasks that keep the organization running like a well-oiled machine, but it also gave me the opportunity to shadow our current president and act as a sounding board for her ideas and plans for the future.
“My wish for the Chamber is that it continue on the path that Angelica Miles has set. For one, to win the title of Prettiest Village in New Hampshire. And, of course, to win back our reputation as the safest village as well.”
“And how do you plan to do that, Village Jinx?” a male voice called out.
Tricia cringed. If there was one thing she detested, it was that moniker. Still, she cleared her throat and continued.
“There are a number of ways. First and foremost, the Chamber needs to continue its close association with the Stoneham Police.”
“How about some other examples?” Leona Ferguson, owner of Stoneham’s Stoneware, inquired rather pointedly. Tricia and Leona had never been chums.
“Video cameras mounted along our main drag.”
That suggestion was met with a number of boos and catcalls.
“Establishing a neighborhood watch. Working with the Board of Selectmen to enhance the village infrastructure with better lighting and establishing a second municipal parking lot. Encouraging our local businesses, along with the Chamber, to sponsor events like this past summer’s Wine and Jazz Festival. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Tricia cringed. How many more clichés was she liable to use if she kept talking?
“We’re a great village, and the Chamber of Commerce works hard every day to make it just that much better. As your president, you can rest assured that I will make it happen. Thank you.”
A smattering of applause followed her remarks, with Pixie giving her a standing ovation.
Head held high, Tricia marched back to her seat, trying to shush Pixie as she sat down once more.
Angelica stepped up to the podium once again. “Will our second candidate, Chauncey Porter, please approach the lectern?”
Chauncey rose from his chair and seemed to loom over those still seated. Tricia watched as he swaggered to the front of the room, and for a moment she thought he might actually push Angelica away from the microphone. Luckily, she stepped aside just in time.
“Most everybody knows me, but if you don’t, I’m Chauncey Porter, and I run the Armchair Tourist shop on the west side of Main Street. I’ve been a merchant in Stoneham since the first booksellers were recruited more than a decade ago and feel that my presence has had a stabilizing effect on the village.”
Tricia frowned. The Armchair Tourist had been near bankruptcy before Angelica had given Chauncey some much-needed business advice and Tricia had guaranteed a loan for him to invest in said shop, but apparently Chauncey had a short memory.
“Although some businesses in the village have done well during this difficult economy”—his being a shining example—“the Chamber wastes a lot of money on frivolous things like the flowers lining the street during the summer and hosting our meetings at the most expensive restaurant in the area.”
Angelica’s lips pursed at that dig—she’d been giving the Chamber a break by offering the inn’s services at cost without regard to profit.
“Under my guidance, we’d also find cheaper office space. There’s a warehouse at the edge of the village that’s stood empty for years.”
And who would refurbish the place to make it habitable? And if they couldn’t find an underwriter, how much would that cost?
“Eliminating the almost daily Chamber e-mails would give us all more time to work at our businesses instead of reading silly notes. We could also cut the secretary/receptionist’s weekly hours in half.”
Such an austerity program had been suggested two years before. The membership hadn’t had a chance to vote on it, because the man who’d proposed it had been found dead within minutes of offering his platform.
The Main Street member owners looked uncomfortable, while those located on the edge of the village—with little to no foot traffic—seemed encouraged.
“My goal,” Chauncey continued, “is a leaner, meaner Chamber of Commerce. One we can all afford. Thank you.”
As Tricia predicted, those without foot traffic applauded, while those on Main Street looked dumbfounded.
Angelica approached the podium once more. “Thank you, Chauncey,” she said without enthusiasm. “And our last candidate is Russ Smith. Russ?”
Russ rose from his seat and walked toward the front of the room. He was dressed casually, in an open-necked, light-colored shirt and a dark blue cardigan sweater, slacks, and loafers, apparently trying to look like Mr. Rogers, of PBS fame—and much snappier than his attire at Tricia’s party five days before.
Angelica stepped aside and Russ paused for a moment, looking over the crowd before he spoke.
“Hi, everybody. You know me—Russ Smith; owner of the Stoneham Weekly News. If it seems like I’m late tossing my hat in the ring, I want you to know that I put a lot of thought into what I could do as head of the Chamber. I guess you could say I’m in the middle between my two distinguished opponents. Do we need flowers on Main Street? I’d say ‘yeah.’ Do we need to be as extravagant? Probably not. Should we find another venue for our breakfast meetings? I’m sure our present president did her best to negotiate a great price. Lovely as it is, do we need to stay here? That would be something I’d investigate. Winning the title of Prettiest Village in New Hampshire would be nice, but I’d rather see us regain our past title of Safest Village in New Hampshire. Can it be done?” And with this he leveled his gaze directly at Tricia, as though she were personally responsible for the deaths that had occurred and had snatched the title from them. “That remains to be seen. But it’s something I’d definitely speak to Police Chief Baker about.
“Are we spending too much time and money with clerical help? I’d find out, but I’m pretty sure we have a lease with Nigela Ricita Associates, and it may be some time before we can move.”
“You’d better believe that,” Tricia muttered. And in retrospect, perhaps Angelica had been overly generous when she’d given them such a cheap option with a five-year lease, when she probably could have charged a retail establishment at least double.
“We’re a good group, full of smart people, and if I’m elected, I will listen to everyone’s comments and opinions.”
He’d better be ready to hear nothing but complaints, Tricia thought sourly, and suddenly wondered why she wanted the job at all. But the fact was—she did. And she didn’t want to be beaten by either Russ or Chauncey.
“I’ll be handing out my business cards at the door at the end of the meeting. Feel free to call me at any time during the coming week to talk about your needs as a Chamber member. Thanks.”
And with a nod to Angelica, Russ sauntered back to his seat.
Angelica stepped back behind the lectern, her smile rigid. “That concludes our candidate platforms, and our meeting. There’re still plenty of Danish and gallons of coffee left, and we may as well use them up. We certainly wouldn’t want to waste them,” she said, her tone icy.
Tricia winced. Even from a distance, she could almost feel the blistering heat of Angelica’s ire.
Angelica banged the gavel against the lectern. “Meeting adjourned.” She sidestepped the podium and practically stalked across the front of the room to join Tricia and Pixie, who gave Tricia a sidelong glance.
“Um … I think I’ll head on over to Haven’t Got a Clue. See you there.” And she rose and hightailed it out of the dining room.
Tricia waited for her sister. “Why don’t you have another cup of coffee. I know the management. I’m sure I could get you a shot of Irish whiskey to go with it.”
“I may just do that,” Angelica said through gritted teeth. Then, suddenly, she offered her most stunning smile and waved to someone behind Tricia, who turned to see that Russ had kept his promise and was already stationed at the door, doling out cards to those who hadn’t gone to the food table to stuff several pastries into paper napkins to take with them.
Tricia turned back to face her sister. “What do you think my odds are at winning?”
“Before this morning, I would have said ninety percent. Now I’m thinking more like fifty.”
“Really?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But let’s not talk about it here.” Angelica looked over Tricia’s shoulder. “Excuse me. I need to speak to one of my constituents.” She rose, and off she went.
Tricia looked down at the half-empty coffee cup at her place setting and the rest of the crumb-laden plates that littered the table. Already the waitstaff had swooped in and were clearing the tables.
Since nobody had come to speak to her about her candidacy, she reached under the table to retrieve the box that had carried her swag bags. Would the decadent candy entice votes in her favor, or would it look like just a high-priced plot to cajole the members to vote for her and her apparently extravagant ideas when following in Angelica’s footsteps?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
ELEVEN
Much as they would have liked it, neither Tricia nor Angelica ordered an Irish coffee, and since they’d driven in separate cars, they didn’t have an opportunity for a private conversation, either. Tricia would just have to wait for a powwow until they reconvened at Booked for Lunch later that afternoon.
Upon arriving back at Haven’t Got a Clue, she found that Pixie had hung up her suit jacket and donned a bright pink angora sweater, which certainly looked more cheerful than Tricia felt on that gloomy morning.
“Coffee?” Pixie offered solicitously.
“I proposed something stronger to Angelica but … there wasn’t time.”
“Well, it’s hot if you change your mind. What was with that crowd? And how could that Chauncey guy be so mean about Angelica’s accomplishments? I read that lease agreement with Nigela Ricita Associates when I was working for the Chamber last year, and they couldn’t have been nicer about it. And cheap, too.”
“I know. And the same for the Brookview. That agreement will have to be renegotiated come March, and I doubt they will be as accommodating. Angelica actually negotiated a reduction from what the Chamber had been paying when—” She stumbled when it came to naming names. She wasn’t about to say Angelica’s predecessor’s moniker aloud. “When the last contract was inked.”
Pixie nodded.
Tricia swallowed before asking, “What do you think my chances of winning are?”
Pixie looked chagrined. “Not as good as they were before Russ Smith stepped up to the plate. He looks like Mr. Moderate, while you look like a spend-a-holic and Porter looks like a skinflint.”
“That was my impression, too.”
“Well, buck up,” Pixie said encouragingly. “If it comes to it, you don’t really need the hassle.”
“I don’t,” Tricia agreed. “But …” She let out a frustrated breath. “I sort of wanted to show the world that …” She let the sentence trail off.
“That you’re as good as—and successful as—your sister?”
Tricia’s shoulders slumped. “Yes.”
“That’s pure horse-hockey. The only person who might think you aren’t is you. And if anyone else does, they’re jackasses. One thing I’ve learned over the years is the only real person you’re competing against in the esteem race is yo
urself. Sure, Angelica has a lot of businesses, and makes a boatload of money—probably more than you—but do you really need it? Would it make you happy to work yourself into an early grave without a minute to sit back, relax, read, and pet your cat?”
When she put it that way … “No.”
“Then ya gotta look at the situation differently. If you win, you win. If you lose, you don’t win—but that don’t make you a loser, either.”
Pixie’s simple way of looking at things made a lot of sense.
Tricia let out another breath, but this one wasn’t quite so filled with frustration. “Maybe I will have another cup of coffee.”
“There you go. Since we don’t open for another half hour, sit back, relax, pet your cat, and maybe thank your lucky stars for all the wonderful things you got, and the terrific people in your life.”
“Like you?” Tricia asked, and smiled.
“Yeah, like me. I’m a gem. No brag; just fact,” Pixie said in all seriousness.
“That you are,” Tricia agreed.
Just then, the door burst open and Mr. Everett entered with a smile on his lips. “Good morning, ladies. Would you like to see more pictures of Charlie?”
“Sure thing,” Pixie said. “Go hang up your coat and let me get you a cup of coffee. Tricia’s gonna have one, too—and she’s going to pet her cat.”
Suddenly Miss Marple was there at Tricia’s feet, looking up at her with hopeful eyes that spelled k-i-t-t-y s-n-a-c-k. “Yow?”
“Yes, you may have a treat,” Tricia said, and retrieved the bag of snacks she kept under the sales counter and headed for the reader’s nook. Soon the four of them were assembled, with cups of coffee, a cat on Tricia’s lap, and Mr. Everett’s cell phone to pass around so they could admire new photos of Charlie sleeping, eating, and placidly sitting on Grace’s lap. And for a few moments, winning the Chamber election didn’t seem quite that important.
*
• • •
Booked for Lunch was nearly deserted, with only a couple of stragglers nursing cups of coffee at the counter, when Tricia arrived just after two that afternoon. As usual, Angelica was seated in the back corner booth, waiting for her. “There you are.” She sounded much more cheerful than she had some five hours before. “How’s your day going?”
Poisoned Pages Page 9
