A bloodcurdling scream cut the air as Tricia lost her balance and fell to the floor.
So did Frannie.
“Tricia!”
Angelica dodged the bookshelves and displays and was suddenly there, grabbing Tricia’s sore arm and hauling her to her feet. “What happened?”
“I think Frannie just electrocuted herself.”
Angelica took in the crumpled figure on the floor behind the door, the bare wires and the sodden carpet.
“Call nine one one!”
Tricia did as she was told, while Angelica jumped into action once again.
“She’s not breathing.” Angelica felt for a pulse, and then immediately started CPR.
“Frannie poisoned Ted. She’s the vandal. She’s the one who was blackmailing you!” Tricia cried, but Angelica was not to be deterred. She kept up the chest compressions.
“Then it’s … in my best interest … to make sure she lives … to go to jail … where she can rot!”
THIRTY-TWO
“I guess the third time was the charm,” Chief Baker said, closing the shop door behind the EMTs. He’d just gotten off the phone after calling in the state police crime scene team to come to take care of things at the Cookery.
A disheartened Angelica sat on the stool behind the Cookery’s sales counter. “Charm?”
“He’s right,” Tricia piped up. “You gave CPR to Ted Harper and Chauncey Porter without success, but your efforts tonight saved Frannie’s life.”
Angelica sighed. “She was my very first employee,” she said, watching as the lights of the ambulance disappeared—with a police escort—up Main Street toward Milford and St. Joseph Hospital.
Frannie had regained consciousness and hadn’t been at all grateful that she now owed her life to Angelica—a fact she’d railed about to the police and the EMTs, who had arrived only minutes after Frannie’s near death from electrocution. And she didn’t go quietly, either—shouting and hollering abuse at Angelica and Tricia for “ruining my life!”
“That’s not entirely true,” Tricia said, remembering that when Angelica had first taken over the Cookery, she hadn’t been able to keep any of her hired help. Whether that was Angelica’s fault or the fault of the workers who hadn’t lasted, Tricia wasn’t sure. There was no denying that Angelica had honed her hiring skills and now seldom if ever made a mistake in that regard.
“Well, she was my first employee who stuck,” she amended, and shook her head ruefully.
Chief Baker went back to looking at the cell phone he’d picked up from the sales counter, scrolling through the apps. “There’s no doubt about it. Frannie was definitely listening in on both your conversations, and doing it with this phone.”
“The last few times I saw her, she did have on earbuds. I thought she was listening to music while she worked,” Tricia said.
“We’ll get a warrant and search her home. I’m betting we’ll find evidence on her computer to build a case against her for blackmailing you, Angelica. Especially after we take a look at her bank accounts. And, of course, she’ll be charged not only with Ted Harper’s murder but for attempting to kill you, too, Tricia.”
The thought that she’d come very close to being electrocuted made Tricia shudder.
“I just don’t understand how she could do this to me. What did I do to her?” Angelica asked.
“You didn’t offer her a better job. She was furious to know that you wanted to hire Pixie.”
“For what?” Baker asked. “Clean rooms at the B and B you’re part-owner in? Wait tables at Booked for Lunch?”
Angelica covered her face with her hands.
“You’re going to have to come clean and publicly confess,” Tricia said, not unkindly.
“Confess what?” Baker said.
“That I’m Nigela Ricita.”
“Oh, yeah,” Baker said. “I guess I forgot about that.”
No doubt Angelica had told him everything that morning when he’d met her and Antonio at the Brookview Inn after the Chamber meeting—which now seemed like weeks instead of hours ago.
“But you know, I don’t think it’s all that big a secret,” Baker said.
Angelica removed her hands from her eyes. “It’s not?”
Baker shook his head. “Not really.”
“You knew?”
“Half the village knows. I mean—Ricita is an anagram for Tricia—and everybody knows the two of you are practically joined at the hip.”
“But Nigela is not an anagram for Angelica,” Angelica asserted.
“So you’re a lousy speller.”
“Who else knows?” Tricia asked.
“That I know of?” Baker looked thoughtful. “A couple of my officers. Boris and Alexa Kozlov. Joyce Widman. Jim Stark.” He bit his lip, thinking. “Toni Bennett, Shawn at the Dog-Eared Page—”
“Is there anybody who didn’t know?” Angelica asked, sounding frustrated.
“Russ Smith,” Baker guessed. “Otherwise he would have blown your cover a long time ago.” He leveled a gaze at Tricia. “He’s not the nicest man in the world.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“Did you want to press charges against him for trespassing in your store earlier today?”
“A part of me would love to say yes. He told me that Nikki’s leaving him—and for some reason he seems to blame me. I’m worried about him trying to stalk me again.”
“You could get a restraining order.”
“How is that going to work when our businesses are so close and he’s going to be the Chamber of Commerce president?”
“Do you really think he’s going to go through with that?” Angelica asked.
“I do,” Tricia said. “Once Nikki leaves him—and Russ is convinced she’s going to bleed him dry—what else will he have to do to occupy his time?”
“I thought he didn’t want the job,” Baker said.
“I’m sure he doesn’t, but he isn’t going to allow me to have it, either,” Tricia said.
“Spiteful jerk. What did you ever see in him?” Baker asked.
“I have no idea—and I certainly don’t want to revisit those memories.”
“When can I get my light switch fixed?” Angelica asked. “I can’t open the shop tomorrow with live wires hanging out.”
“Do you really want to do that?” Tricia asked.
“I’ll call June to see if she’d like to take Frannie’s hours, at least temporarily, until I can find some other help.”
“If she can’t, I can offer you Pixie.”
Angelica’s eyes lit up.
“You can’t have her—at least not in a retail position,” Tricia said firmly.
“It was just a thought, and it would only be temporary. And anyway, that would be up to Pixie.”
“Yes, it would,” Tricia grudgingly agreed.
Angelica looked up at Baker. “Chief, do we have to sit here and wait for the crime team?”
“Yes, there’s a pitcher of martinis waiting upstairs, and I, for one, could use one,” Tricia said.
“So could I,” Angelica said, sounding exhausted.
“Sure, go ahead. If I need you, I know where to find you,” Baker said. “And I’ll call Jim Stark to see if he can send someone over to fix the switch.”
Angelica rose to her feet. “Thank you, Chief.”
Tricia followed her sister up the stairs to her third-floor apartment. As promised, Angelica took out the pitcher of martinis and poured. “What do we drink to?”
Tricia stared at her glass. “How about the good and the bad?”
“What do you mean?”
“Take Chauncey. The good for him was that he won the Chamber election. The bad was that I lost. The bad for him was that he worked himself into a massive heart attack over the job. But the good was that Mary won’t have to marry a tyrant.”
“That is good, but the truth is Mary never had to marry him. It was her choice to accept his proposal.”
“And one she�
��d come to regret.”
“Anything else?” Angelica asked.
“Mr. Everett and Charlie. The bad was losing Charlie. The good was that he gave Charlie almost two weeks of happiness. Otherwise, Charlie would have died in a cage at the shelter, where he’d spent far too many of his kitty lives.”
“That would have been bad,” Angelica agreed. “Any more good? I’d rather hear that than the bad.”
“The best of the good? Your blackmailer was caught and Sofia is safe.”
Angelica managed a small smile. “That is the best of the best.”
They clinked glasses and drank.
THIRTY-THREE
White fairy lights twinkled on the Christmas tree at the far end of Tricia’s living room. She had never hosted a holiday celebration, but this one was looking to be a big success, as evidenced by the pile of wrapping paper and ribbons that littered the floor that Christmas Eve.
“We must open presents on vigilia di Natale,” Antonio had insisted, and so they had—with an even bigger extravaganza planned for the following day.
Their little family had enjoyed a Thanksgiving turkey dinner, with all the trimmings, at the Brookview Inn, with Angelica promising that next year it would be in her revamped home. Tricia had made all the food for December 24, and Angelica was all set to cook a prime rib of beef for the gang in Tricia’s kitchen come Christmas Day.
Between Frannie’s arrest and the holidays, it had been a rough six weeks. Pixie and Mr. Everett pitched in at the Cookery until Angelica could find part-time help, and June was only too happy to take over as the manager of the shop.
Mr. Everett hadn’t wanted to speak about Charlie’s loss, and Tricia knew he’d been devastated. But the hustle and bustle of the season had considerably cheered him, and he was almost his old self once more.
Baker had wrung a promise from Russ not to bother Tricia—under threat of arrest. But Tricia wasn’t sure she trusted that oath. Nikki and Russ had separated, and as she’d promised, Nikki was determined to get what she could from their union. As far as Tricia knew, Russ hadn’t bothered to seek joint custody of his son and hadn’t even visited the boy.
And best of all, Angelica’s secret hadn’t gone public. Yet. Of course, once Frannie went to trial, it was sure to come out. Angelica was considering hiring a PR firm to help draft an announcement. But she felt she still had time.
The phone rang, and Tricia hurried into the kitchen to pick up the extension. “Hello. Merry Christmas.”
“Tricia? Hi, it’s Pixie.”
“Oh, hi. What’s up? I thought you and Fred had another party to go to.”
“We did. But it broke up early. Since we were in the neighborhood, I wondered if I could drop off a little present. Could you come down and get it?”
“That is so sweet of you, Pixie. You’ve got a key. Why don’t you come on up? Is Fred with you? Bring him, too. We’ve got tons of food, and I know everybody would love to have you join us.”
“Oh, no. It’s getting late.”
“It’s not that late,” she said, looking at the clock.
“Well. Okay. But just for a few minutes. We’ll be right up.”
Tricia hung up the phone. “Hey, everybody. Pixie and Fred are coming up.”
“That’s nice,” Angelica said.
“I haven’t seen her since—” But then Ginny stopped; it had probably been the night of Tricia’s cocktail party almost two months before.
“I’m so glad she could be here,” Mr. Everett said. He wore a silly green and red polka-dot bow tie that had been a gift from Sofia. When you pressed a button, it played “Jingle Bells,” which delighted the baby to no end.
“I’m glad she could join us, too,” Grace said.
Seconds later, Pixie knocked before opening the door to Tricia’s apartment. “Merry Christmas,” she called as she entered, with Fred right behind her.
A chorus of “Merry Christmas” greeted them.
Tricia took their coats and directed them to sit in the living room—which no longer was rife with listening devices. When the professionals had done a sweep, they’d found two more, which Frannie must have planted the night of the cocktail party.
Pixie looked rather embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I only brought one gift.”
Just about everyone looked from Pixie to Tricia and seemed surprised when instead she presented it to Mr. Everett.
“For me?” he asked, surprised.
“Uh-huh. I thought you might like it.”
The large, rectangular gift box was exquisitely wrapped in gold-and-red-striped metallic paper, with a jumbo scarlet bow fastened on the top.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Everett said.
“Open it, open it, Mr. E,” Ginny encouraged. She herself was wearing a bow taped to the top of her head.
While Mr. Everett fumbled with the wrapping, Angelica swooped in with a tray of glasses filled with wine, offering them to Fred and Pixie, who graciously accepted. Antonio had his cell phone out and was furiously snapping photos.
Mr. Everett lifted the box lid and pulled aside the white, sparkly tissue paper. “Oh, my,” he said as the rest of the room crowded around to see what was inside.
“It’s a scrapbook,” Pixie said as Mr. Everett extricated the gift from the box and his eyes filled with sudden tears.
The front of the book featured a picture of a big tabby cat, and across the cover, in what looked like gold leaf, was the word Charlie.
“Grace raided your cell phone and sent me the pictures. I hope you like it,” Pixie said quietly, while Grace beamed and reached for her husband’s hand.
There were oohs and aahs as Mr. Everett reverently turned the ten or so pages. The photos all had captions, and they showed Charlie sitting on Grace’s and Mr. Everett’s laps, eating, sleeping, and playing with his toys—and the very last one was of Mr. Everett with Charlie nuzzling his chin. He tapped the picture. “This is my favorite. It’s how I shall always remember my first boy.”
“First?” Tricia asked.
Mr. Everett squeezed Grace’s hand. “Hard as it was to lose Charlie, we’ve decided we cannot be a cat-free family.”
“That’s right,” Grace piped up. “It broke our hearts to lose him, but we know Charlie’s last days were happy and that he knew he was loved. We’d like to give another older cat the same experience.”
Mr. Everett nodded, and then turned to Pixie. “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift. I will treasure it.”
Pixie bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mr. E.”
Mr. Everett blushed, but seemed extraordinarily pleased.
“I don’t know if you remember,” Tricia began, “but I know of a cat who could use a loving home.”
Mr. Everett looked up.
“But it’s a girl—not a boy.”
Everyone looked puzzled.
“Her name is Penny. She’s an orange and white tabby. Frannie’s cat. She’s been sitting in a cage at the shelter for the past six weeks just waiting and hoping for a new forever home.”
“How old is she?” Grace asked.
“Three.”
Grace and Mr. Everett exchanged glances. “I suppose we could have two cats.”
“Yes,” Grace agreed, smiling. “What’s to stop us?”
The whole group broke into cheers and applause.
“This calls for another round,” Tricia said, and headed toward the kitchen to get another bottle of wine.
“I’ll help,” Pixie volunteered, and Mr. Everett passed the scrapbook to Ginny and Angelica so that they could admire it.
Tricia grabbed another chilled bottle from a cooler on the floor and opened it. “There’s a tray full of canapés in the fridge. Would you get them out, please?”
“Oh, sure,” Pixie said. She placed the tray on the counter and took off the plastic wrap. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve thought long and hard about working for Nigela Ricita Associates.”
If Pixie knew Angelica was beh
ind the company, she hadn’t mentioned it.
“And?” Tricia asked, dreading the answer.
“I can’t do it.”
“What?”
“I can’t leave you and Mr. E. You’re like family to me—better than anybody I’m actually related to. I couldn’t bear to be away from you guys.”
“Are you sure you don’t even want to interview for a job?”
Pixie nodded. “Yeah, me and Fred have talked about it a lot. Why should I give up a job I know I love, with the two greatest people on the planet—besides Fred—for the unknown? Maybe that makes me kind of a jerk, afraid to leave my comfort zone, but these past couple of years have been the best of my life, and I sure don’t want to blow it.”
Tricia smiled and remembered what Pixie had told her about the possibility of losing the race for the Chamber presidency. “Would it make you happy to work yourself into an early grave without a minute to sit back, relax, read, and pet your cat?”
No. It wouldn’t have.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about, too. I’m ready for new challenges. I’m not giving up Haven’t Got a Clue—but I am going to try something new, and if you’re willing, I would like for you to take on some new responsibilities at the store when I do.”
Pixie smiled. “I’d sure like to try.”
“I’m so pleased.” Tricia gave her friend and assistant a hug, then pulled back. “Now, let’s get this food and drink out to that hungry mob.”
“You got it, boss,” Pixie said, and picked up the tray.
The phone rang, and Tricia grabbed it. “Hello! Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Tricia.”
“Marshall?”
“It’s me.”
“Long time, no hear.”
“I’m sorry about that. With all the trouble you and your sister have been through—and the Christmas rush and all—I thought I’d give you some space.”
He was right. She’d been so caught up in depositions and juggling work schedules and shopping, cooking, and everything else that went with the holidays that, while she’d thought of Marshall, it hadn’t been all that often or too intently.
Poisoned Pages Page 26
