Not the Killing Type

by Lorna Barrett

  “No.” But he didn’t offer a more detailed explanation.

  “Good night,” Tricia called as he entered the lobby.

  “Good night.”

  Tricia pulled her coat tighter around her, yanked open the heavy oak door, plunged into the cold, and nearly ran into Will Berry on the inn’s porch.

  “Oh, hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, reaching out to steady her.

  “It’s totally my fault,” Tricia said and brushed the wind-swept hair from her face. “Did you come to the inn for dinner?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, I think I heard that the dining room is booked solid tonight,” she fibbed, since they hadn’t even set up for, let alone started serving dinner.

  “Oh, crap. I’m about sick of diner food.”

  “Why don’t you come home with me?” Tricia suggested.

  Will started. “What?”

  Tricia laughed. “That wasn’t what I meant. My sister is hosting a dinner for friends tonight and one of the guests won’t be able to make it. Not only is she a fantastic cook, but she makes enough food to feed an army. There’ll be an empty seat, so you won’t be putting anyone out. And this will give you the chance to get to know your new neighbors a bit better.”

  “I’d like that,” he admitted. He shrugged. “Okay, you talked me into it. Where are we going?”

  “My sister lives above her store, right next door to my place. Why don’t you follow me? I’ll be parking in the municipal lot, but if you can find a spot on the street, go ahead and take it.”

  “I will.”

  Will followed Tricia to the inn’s parking lot where they both retrieved their cars. Three minutes later, they met outside the Cookery. Tricia unlocked the door and let them in, leading him through the darkened store and up the stairs to Angelica’s loft apartment.

  “Come on back,” Angelica called from the kitchen as they hung their coats on the rack inside the door. Sarge galloped down the hall to meet them, jumping up and down and wagging his tail so hard Tricia thought it might fall off.

  “Well, who’s this?” Will asked, bending down to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

  “That’s Sarge. He’s Angelica’s protector.”

  “What a big brave boy you are, too,” Will said, and Sarge jumped up to lick his face. “Down, boy, down!” Will said, laughing.

  “Come on. The kitchen is this way,” Tricia said, pleased at the dog’s reaction. Sarge didn’t take to just anyone.

  Mr. Everett and Grace were already seated around the large table when Tricia arrived. “Hello, everyone,” she called and the Everetts waved.

  “Oh, you took my advice and brought a guest,” Angelica said with glee, her eyes wide with delight.

  “This is Will Berry. Stan’s son. This is my sister, Angelica… .”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Will said.

  “Oh, that’s right. Sorry. This is my friend William Everett and his wife, Grace,” Tricia said in introduction.

  “I’m so sorry about your loss,” Grace said, ever poised.

  Will pursed his lips and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Henry sends his regrets,” Tricia told Angelica.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping to get to know him better,” Angelica said. “Ginny had already called to say Joelle gave her regrets.” She lowered her voice. “And I can’t say I’m unhappy about it. That woman is a pill.” She turned to Will. “Can I get you a drink? Wine? Beer? Spirits?”

  “A beer would be great, thanks.”

  “Where are Ginny and Antonio?” Angelica asked. Just then the bell in the shop rang out.

  “That must be them now. I’ll go down and let them in,” Tricia said and hurried back down the stairs to retrieve the guests of honor. Antonio held a big silver platter filled with the most amazing appetizers, courtesy of the inn’s chef, Jake Masters, who had once been the short-order cook at Angelica’s café. Ginny carried a couple of bottles of champagne—no doubt what Nigela Ricita had given them.

  “Oh, that Jake, he’s such a sweetheart,” Angelica said with approval when Antonio gave her the tray. “And champagne, too?” she said, accepting the bottles. “Domaine Chandon,” she said, inspecting the labels, and beamed as she put one of the bottles into the waiting, ice-filled champagne bucket. “Someone has very good taste.” Ginny put the other bottle in the fridge, while Tricia put their coats away.

  Soon, there wasn’t an extra inch of space around Angelica’s dining room. Tricia hungrily soaked up the low rumble of the various conversations that circled the table. Was this what big family dinners were like? She had to admit this was more enjoyable than the formal dinners where the Miles clan had gathered in restaurants when she was growing up. There was more to a gracious meal than just starched white linens, crystal goblets, and polished silverware, although Angelica’s collection was just as lovely. At least if Tricia spilled gravy on the tablecloth, she was fairly sure she wouldn’t get scolded.

  “More champagne?” Antonio asked and didn’t wait for an answer, just refilled Tricia’s flute.

  “Thank you.”

  “Nothing is too good for any of us tonight, I think,” Antonio said, as he took a step to his right to fill the next glass.

  “Much as I love my apartment, it’s a bit tight for entertaining,” Angelica said.

  “No, it is perfect,” Antonio insisted. “Just like you, dear lady. Thank you for your generosity by inviting us all.”

  Angelica positively glowed at the compliment. “Very well, but I’m already planning for future holiday gatherings. And if the guest list keeps growing, I’m going to try to persuade you to let me rent out the Brookview’s dining room. If the restaurant isn’t serving anyway, you may as well let me take over that lovely kitchen for the day.”

  “But then you’d be behind closed doors and unable to attend to your guests,” Antonio pointed out.

  “That’s true,” Tricia agreed.

  Antonio sidled around the kitchen island to refill Angelica’s glass.

  “What are your Thanksgiving plans?” Angelica asked Will.

  “I’ll probably go to Shaw’s in Milford and grab one of those rotisserie chickens, a box of stuffing, and a can of cranberry sauce.”

  “I would’ve thought you’d spend the holiday with your aunt,” Tricia told Will.

  He swirled the champagne around in his glass and took a deep swallow and then smacked his lips. “Much better than soda pop,” he commented. “I haven’t been able to track her down yet.”

  In a town as small as Stoneham he hadn’t been able to find one elderly woman?

  “What’s her name?” Grace asked.

  “You see, that’s the problem. Now don’t laugh, but I always called her Auntie Yum-Yum.”

  “Yum-Yum?” Ginny repeated, unable to suppress a smile.

  “What else would you call a woman who gave you heavenly baked treats?” he said and took a much more appropriately sized sip of the chilled bubbles.

  Ginny shrugged. “Yum-Yum sounds about right. What else can you tell us about her? I’m sure someone at this table must know her. Mr. Everett, Grace, and I have lived in Stoneham all our lives.”

  “That’s right,” Grace chimed in. “We all love mysteries”—she glanced across the table—“especially Tricia, here,” she said with a grin. She turned back to Will. “There must be other things you remember about your aunt that would give us a clue.”

  Will thought about it for a few moments. “Well … she was kind of fat.”

  “Fat?” Angelica, who’d been a lot heavier at certain times in her life, blurted.

  Will nodded.

  “Must have been all those cakes, and cookies, and pies,” Ginny said with a laugh.

  “In fact, she wasn’t just fat, she was morbidly obese. I’m not even sure she’s still alive. And if she is, she probably has terrible health problems.”

  “What did she look like—I mean besides her weight? Do you remember the color of her hair?” Grace suggested.
>
  Will looked thoughtful. “Brown. But it probably wouldn’t be that shade anymore.”

  “I don’t know,” Angelica said. “The colorist over at the Milford Beauty Salon does a pretty good job. What color were her eyes?”

  “I’m not sure I remember. Hazel maybe? Or were they gray?” Will shrugged. “My memories of her are pretty hazy.”

  “Was she married?” Tricia asked.

  Will nodded. “She was once, which is why I don’t know her last name. It must have been over by the time I was born, because my mother once warned me not to bring up the subject.”

  “Who’s to say she hasn’t remarried in the intervening years?” Ginny piped up.

  “True, true,” Grace conceded.

  Will shrugged. “Would you pass those bacon-wrapped shrimp? They’re delicious. What did you put on them?” he asked Angelica. Tricia wasn’t interested in the answer, noticing how he’d deftly changed the subject. Did he really want to find this long-lost aunt? Maybe not.

  She watched him chew and swallow the appetizer. Was she sincerely interested in Will as a person, or more as a diversion? If she were honest with herself, it would have to be the latter. Unlike Michele Fowler, Tricia really wasn’t cut out to be a cougar.

  “More champagne, Tricia?” Antonio asked.

  Tricia looked down at her glass. She hadn’t remembered draining it. “Why not?” she said and held it out to be refilled once more.

  “Let’s toast to the happy couple,” Angelica said. “And then let’s eat.”

  All the glasses were refilled, and it was Mr. Everett who stood and raised his glass. “To Ginny and Antonio. May this be but the first of the happiest days of your lives, for I’m sure, as with Grace and me, the best is yet to be.”

  They all reached across the table to clink glasses. Tricia let her gaze wander in Will’s direction. He winked at her.

  And just what, if anything, did that mean?

  THIRTEEN

  Tricia drank far more of that lovely champagne than she should have and, if pushed, might admit to having just a slight headache the following morning, but it was well worth it. The feeling of love, appreciation, friendship, and camaraderie that had flowed in Angelica’s small apartment the previous evening had cheered Tricia more than anything that had happened in the years since her divorce and move to Stoneham. Yes, despite the headache, she was feeling pretty chipper.

  After following all her morning rituals, Tricia and Miss Marple descended the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue and started their workday. But all too soon a knock at the shop door caused Tricia to look up from her paperwork. The store wasn’t slated to open for another hour; still she peeked outside the big display window’s blind and saw her former assistant standing before the shop’s door. Tricia hurried to let her in. “Good morning.”

  “And the same to you,” Ginny said and proffered one of the cups of the Coffee Bean’s best brew that she held.

  “What a nice surprise,” Tricia said, taking the coffee and ushering her in.

  Ginny laughed. “Just trying to repay the favor.” She shrugged out of her jacket and they both sat down in the readers’ nook. Miss Marple deigned to join them, sitting atop a pile of crooked back issues of Mystery Scene magazine.

  “That sure was sweet of Angelica to host our rehearsal dinner last night. The food was out of this world.”

  Tricia smiled, happy to hear that her sister’s efforts had been so appreciated. “Nobody plays hostess like Angelica, that’s for sure.”

  “I’d like to do something special to thank her. Is there anything she needs or wants?” Ginny asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “I have the same problem when it comes to Christmas shopping for her.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Ginny said and took a sip of her coffee. “But then I seem to be drawing a blank a lot lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After dinner last night, I wracked my brain trying to think of anyone who fit Will Berry’s description of his aunt.”

  “I’ve been trying to think of every elderly woman I know in the village. All I come up with is Grace and Stella Craft—the high school English teacher who taught Zoë Carter and Kimberly Peters.”

  “And me, too,” Ginny piped up. “Neither of them is terribly overweight, either.”

  “Do you know if Stella has any relatives?”

  Ginny shook her head. “Haven’t got a clue.” Then she laughed. “I mean, who gets friendly with—let alone hangs around—their old high school teachers?”

  “You’ve got a point. Yet you’ve lived here all your life. Who do you know who fits the overweight elderly lady criteria?”

  “That depends on your definition of elderly—and overweight. You mentioned Grace, and I know she’s in her late seventies, but I don’t think of her as elderly because she’s so active. When I think of elderly, I think of someone with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.”

  Tricia had to admit she felt pretty much the same. She wondered about Mrs. Roth, Jim Roth’s mother. He’d owned History Repeats Itself and had died in an explosion the previous spring, but she quickly discarded the idea. That elderly lady was English. She wasn’t overly heavy, either. And she’d told Tricia she had no living relatives—at least in this country.

  Tricia changed the subject. “How much do you know about your wedding planner?”

  Ginny frowned. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Frannie told me that until recently, Joelle and Stan Berry were lovers.”

  “Get out!” Ginny cried in wide-eyed surprise.

  Tricia nodded. “Honestly. So, I take it she never mentioned him to you.”

  “Not a hint.” Ginny shook her head. “With her thorny personality, I didn’t think Joelle could handle friendship with another woman, let alone a relationship with a man.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think she killed Stan, do you?”

  “I don’t know. But being dumped is a terrible blow to the ego.” And don’t I know it. “It’s possible she could have been angry enough to …” She didn’t finish the sentence. “Then again, she’s so self-confident and sure of herself, she’s just as likely to move on without a qualm.”

  “That’s true,” Ginny conceded. “But if she did kill Stan, I hope they don’t catch her until after the wedding. Much as I wish I could’ve done more myself, without her help and guidance, this wedding just would not happen on time.”

  “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t want a murderer working on your wedding,” Tricia chided.

  “As long as she doesn’t kill us or any of our guests… .” Ginny glanced at the clock. “Look at the time! I’ve got to get to work before I lose my job.”

  “Fat chance of that happening. In another five days, you’ll be the boss’s stepdaughter-in-law.”

  “If she can’t be bothered to come and meet me, she’s not likely to let me keep my job if the business tanks,” Ginny said sourly. She drained her cup but didn’t toss it. Tricia knew she’d use it throughout the day and only reluctantly throw it away when it was no longer useful, making sure it went into the recycle bin. “Gotta fly. Talk to you later,” Ginny said and stood, donning her jacket once more. “If you think of any way Antonio and I can thank Angelica, please let me know.”

  “I will,” Tricia promised, following her to the exit. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Ginny waved as she opened the door, letting in a fierce wave of chilled air. Tricia hurriedly closed the door behind her.

  Tricia started back toward the cash desk where she’d been working but paused to look at the blind cord. With Ginny gone, the shop seemed cold, lonely, and a little depressing. It wouldn’t hurt to open the shade and let in the daylight. Tricia pulled on the cord, and as she did she saw Frannie Armstrong walking up the sidewalk, heading for the Cookery. She was just the person Tricia needed to talk to, and she waved to get her attention. Frannie waved back but seemed in a hurry. Tricia scooted to her door, opening it and letting in
another blast of cold air. “Frannie, have you got a minute?”

  “A minute,” Frannie said and stepped into Haven’t Got a Clue. “What’s up?”

  “This is going to sound really odd, but I was wondering if you could tell me when the garbage is picked up on Oak Street.”

  “That is odd,” Frannie agreed, “but I’ve known you long enough not to question those kinds of information requests—because I know you’re not likely to tell me anyway. The trash gets picked up tomorrow.”

  “Do most of your neighbors put out their garbage cans the night before?”

  “Yes. The truck comes early—between seven and eight.”

  Perfect.

  “Anything else you want to know?” Frannie asked.

  “Um … if I wanted to visit your street tonight—”

  “After dark?” Frannie asked. She knew Tricia well enough to guess what was in the offing.

  “Possibly. Would you mind if I parked in your driveway?”

  Frannie’s grin was positively evil. “Why, of course not. But you know you’re going to have to eventually spill the beans as to why.”

  “Eventually,” Tricia promised.

  Frannie nodded. “Did I just see Ginny leave here?”

  “Yes. She wanted to know if there was something she could give or do for Angelica as a thank-you for the rehearsal dinner last night.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “Everybody seemed to enjoy themselves. And the food was to die for.”

  “Oh, good. I can’t wait until Saturday and the wedding.” She shook her head wistfully. “Little Ginny getting married. I’m bringing plenty of hankies because I’m liable to cry my eyes out through the whole ceremony.”

  Tricia smiled. “I may join you.”

  Frannie laughed.

  “By the way, do you know of anything Angelica would like or need? Ginny wants to repay her for her kindness. I’d like to know, too. Christmas is coming and Angelica is the hardest person on earth to buy for.”

  “Don’t I know it? Last year I ended up giving her flowers for Christmas. She seemed to like them, but they’re only a memory after a couple of days.”