“Yes, well, you haven’t. So go home and rest up, because tomorrow promises to be a very busy day.”
Pixie saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned to Mr. Everett. “Let’s hit the trail.”
“And by the way, you might have to open for me tomorrow,” Tricia called. “The Chamber election is tomorrow, and if it runs late …”
“Not to worry,” Pixie said as she headed out the door. “We’ll be okay.”
“Good night, Ms. Miles,” Mr. Everett called and shut the door behind them.
Well, that was a nice ending to the day, Tricia thought as she looked around at the tidy store. Once again she shook her head in wonderment at her good luck in finding Pixie, someone she was sure would never work out, becoming such an asset to the business.
Tricia turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, pulled down the blinds, and was about to head upstairs to her loft apartment when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue.”
“Tricia? It’s me—Christopher. Are you busy?”
Tricia exhaled a long breath. Just the man she didn’t want to speak to. But now that he was on the phone … “Christopher, what have you been telling the people of Stoneham?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been getting reports from all over the village that you’re going around hinting to people that you and I are about to reconcile, and you know that’s absolutely not true.”
“I never said anything of the kind.”
“Then what have you been saying?”
“That we were married and I’ve come back to the East Coast to be near my family.”
“We are not family.”
“I didn’t say we were. It’s not my fault if people think that we’d make a perfect couple.”
“How could they make that assumption without some input from you?” she asked.
“Wishful thinking?” he suggested.
“Christopher, you know I’ll always love you, but I am no longer in love with you.”
“I know that. I’m sorry if people got the wrong impression.”
Did she believe him?
“And why are you calling now?” she asked.
“I want to apologize for the other day.”
Tricia sighed. This was her day for apologies. And he was doing it again. Trying to worm his way back into her heart. But, she decided, she could forgive—as long as she didn’t forget what he had done in the past. “Apology accepted. Anything else?”
“Are you free for dinner?”
“No.”
“That was a pretty fast answer. Don’t you even want to think about it for a while?” he asked, sounding hurt.
“No.”
“Well, how about joining me for a drink?”
“No! If people see us together they’re going to get the wrong idea.”
“But it’s not as if we hate each other. You just told me you still loved me.”
Again Tricia sighed. “Did you hear the rest of the sentence?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re not in love with me anymore.”
“And you’re not in love with me, either.”
“Who says?”
“The State of New York’s divorce court.”
“Oh, yeah. Well … I may have made an error.”
“That’s too late to correct now.”
“What about later?”
He’d just crossed the line. “I’m hanging up the phone right now. Have a nice evening. Have a nice life.”
“But I haven’t even—”
She didn’t hear whatever else he was going to say, because she’d replaced the receiver in its cradle once more.
Miss Marple jumped onto the counter from her perch behind the register. “Brrrpt?”
“I have no idea what that man’s plans are, and we’re not going to find out.”
Miss Marple rubbed her head against Tricia’s shoulder. “I know you love him and want to see him again, but we can’t encourage him.”
Miss Marple began to purr, as if begging her to reconsider.
“No. And why is it whenever I say that word no one believes me?”
The purring became even louder.
“Come along. I’m going to feed you and then I’m going out. And I’m going to turn off my cell phone so that my evening isn’t interrupted.” She started walking toward the back of the store. That was all the encouragement Miss Marple needed to jump to the floor and follow.
Ten minutes later, Tricia had fed her cat, changed clothes, spruced up her hair and makeup, and headed out the door, determined to have fun. She just hoped Christopher wasn’t in a mood to track her down.
NINETEEN
The lively sound of Celtic music reverberated through the Dog-Eared Page and could be heard halfway down the block. What a change from years past when Stoneham rolled up its sidewalks every evening by seven. The Dog-Eared Page had brought new life to the village, and Tricia was not immune to its lure.
She entered the warm and inviting pub, noting that every stool at the bar was occupied, as were most of the tables. She hung up her coat and threaded her way around the other patrons. The music was too loud for her to say hello or converse, so she waved to her friends and acquaintances. The table farthest back had only one person seated: Will Berry. Tricia used hand signals to ask if she could sit down. Will grinned and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
No sooner had the band finished their tune than they started another. A waitress with a tray came by, delivering a beer to Will. Tricia had to practically scream to put in her order for a glass of Chardonnay.
She was sipping the last of her wine when the band finally took a break.
Will stuck a finger in his right ear and wiggled it. “My ears are ringing.”
“Mine, too,” Tricia agreed and found herself speaking far too loudly—but then so was everybody else in the cozy pub.
“Same here,” Baker said and slipped into the chair next to Tricia. She hadn’t seen him approach. Was her evening to be dominated by men whose attentions she no longer desired?
“It’s a surprise to see you here, Mr. Berry,” Baker said, his tone just a tad condescending.
“Why?”
“When we last spoke, you indicated you’d be leaving town soon.”
“Not all that soon. Besides, I’m beginning to see the appeal of this quaint little village. It’s no wonder my father enjoyed living here.” Not that he’d patronized the Dog-Eared Page, at least not that Tricia had ever noticed.
“Have you made any progress in locating your aunt?” she asked Will.
He took a sip of the beer he’d been nursing and shook his head. “I haven’t had much time to look. I spent most of the day trying to find someone to manage dad’s business. If today was any indication, it’s going to take a lot longer than I thought.”
“Have you given any more thought to running it yourself?” Tricia asked.
“Yeah, but I’d still need someone to show me the ropes.”
“Most sign shops are closed on the weekends. Maybe you could pay a sign shop owner from Nashua to teach you. You wouldn’t be poaching their customers.”
“Good idea,” he said. “But I’ve still got probate to contend with. All dad’s assets are frozen. It’s a major pain in the ass. I even considered closing up the house for the winter and worrying about it all in the spring. That would give me time to tie up my own loose ends.”
Baker had been listening with rapt attention. Had Will made it to the top of his suspect list?
“There’s just one problem,” Will continued.
“Oh?” Baker asked.
Will faced him. “Yeah. I thought my dad owned his house, or at least that he had a mortgage on it. But it turns out it’s leased. Bob Kelly wants me to clear out the place by the end of the month.”
“Is he forcing you out?” Tricia asked.
“He says he’s willing to release the estate from the terms of the lease.”
Tricia remembered something Stan sa
id just minutes before he died—that Bob kept raising the rent, making it hard for the merchants to compete.
“When did your father sign the lease?” Tricia asked.
“A month ago.”
No wonder Stan was bitter. Bob’s motivating force in life was the acquisition of money. Did he want to cancel the lease for fear the rent would be late—or that he might not get it at all? She glanced at Baker. “Can Bob do that?”
Baker nodded. “When I was in the Sheriff’s Department, we handled a lot of evictions. As the person who signed the lease is now deceased, Mr. Kelly is within his rights to ask that the premises be vacated.”
“But he’s giving me less than two weeks,” Will protested.
Baker merely shrugged.
“Oh, there you are, Tricia dear.” No mistaking that voice. “Do you mind if I join you?” Angelica asked.
Tricia had a feeling Baker was about to say no, so she spoke first. “Of course not, Ange. Please, sit down.” She hadn’t meant it to sound imperative.
Angelica flopped down on the remaining chair at the table. “What a day I’ve had. It’s a good thing the Chamber election is tomorrow. I don’t think I could handle another day of campaigning. Does everybody have one of my rulers?” she asked, already dipping into her purse and withdrawing a bundle. She handed one to both Will and Baker.
Baker’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the ruler—his second one. He soon turned his attention back to Angelica, his expression reminding Tricia of a dog tracing a scent. “Just what have you been up to?”
“Visiting a lot of the Chamber members and handing out my campaign reminders.” Will didn’t seem to know what to do with his ruler, so he set it on the table. “I’m so sorry your father died, Will,” Angelica continued. “If he hadn’t, there would have been no need for me to campaign at all.”
“Ange,” Tricia admonished.
“It’s okay,” Will said, sounding amused. “She’s only being honest. It’s kind of refreshing, actually. Everyone else is tiptoeing around the fact my dad was murdered. I want people to talk about it. Maybe that would make it easier for the chief here to make an arrest.”
“My department is following up every lead we receive,” Baker said defensively, but Tricia knew that phrase usually meant the police had run into a dead end. “In fact, one of our leads concerns you.”
Then again.
“According to your credit card company, you stayed at the Holiday Inn Express in Merrimack on Wednesday and Thursday nights. The guy working the reception desk described you to a T. You also charged dinners at a family restaurant on both those nights.”
Will downed the rest of his beer in one gulp, avoiding Baker’s gaze.
“Now, do you want to tell me about when and where you last saw your father?”
Will had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“You can tell me here, or tell me down at the station. It’s your choice,” Baker said, in a voice that conveyed the full scope of his authority.
Tricia made to stand. “We’d better give these guys some privacy, Ange.”
“And miss all the juicy details? Not on your life,” Angelica said, her eyes wide with interest.
“It’s all right, Tricia. I don’t mind if you stay.” Will turned his attention to Baker. “Yes, I did see my father before he was killed. We talked.”
“Just talked?” Baker pressed.
Will seemed to squirm. “Okay, we argued.”
“About what?” Angelica asked.
“Excuse me, but Mr. Berry is talking to me. I’ll ask the questions,” Baker barked.
“Okay, okay—then get on with it,” Angelica said, annoyed.
All eyes turned to Will. “We argued about why he left my mother and me. But it was a good kind of discussion. It finally cleared the air between us.”
Baker’s expression was skeptical. “And isn’t it funny that you inherit your father’s entire estate when you have all those student loans to repay.”
“I’m not the only person on the planet with loans to repay. And my father’s estate isn’t all that big,” Will countered, his turn to sound defensive.
“Did you know its worth before he died?” Baker asked.
Will seemed to squirm once again. “No.”
“I’ll ask again; where were you on Friday morning when your father was killed?”
“Driving around the area. The only thing I killed that day was time.”
“Do you have any witnesses?” Baker asked.
Will shook his head. “None.”
So Will could have had a motive for murder, but Tricia didn’t believe it. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe it? And had he lied about the job at the law firm? Pixie suspected as much. Will said he’d quit when his employer wouldn’t give him the time off to take care of his father’s affairs—but he’d already been in the area two days before Stan’s death. Why?
Will stood. “Unless you’ve got any more questions, it’s time for me to call it a day.” Baker sat back in his chair, letting his hand come to rest on the service revolver at his side. Will swallowed and turned his attention to Angelica. “Good luck with the election tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Good-bye,” Tricia said, her tone neutral.
Will nodded before making his way through the pub. They watched as he claimed a jacket from a peg near the door and then exited the bar.
Angelica looked down at the table. “Oh, darn. Will forgot his ruler!” She shrugged, scooped it up, and put it back in her purse.
Tricia turned to Baker. “So, are you going to concentrate on Will as your prime suspect?”
“People who lie make very good suspects. And he’s lied more than once.”
“About what?” Tricia asked.
“His job, for one.”
“He didn’t work for Weinberg, Metcalf, Henley, and Durgin?”
“Oh, he did, but not as an intern. He’s a paralegal and, from what I gather, not very good at his job. Maybe that’s why he considered reopening his father’s business.”
“Was he fired?”
Baker nodded. “Last Tuesday. It’s not surprising he came to see his father. He probably hit him up for money.”
“Then why did he book a hotel room in Merrimack? Why not stay with Stan?”
Baker shrugged. “I’ve already said too much.”
Angelica picked up where he left off. “My guess is they really did argue and Stan refused to give Will any money, and then told him to get out.”
“Did Stan really leave everything to Will?” Tricia asked.
“He told the truth about that. Still, I haven’t finished making inquiries into his past.”
“Have you ruled me out yet?” Angelica asked. “Because I have enough to worry about with the election, preparing a sumptuous Thanksgiving dinner, and getting my hair done on Saturday before Ginny’s wedding. I do not need to be considered a murder suspect, as well.”
Baker’s expression was impassive. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Angelica frowned. “You know, Trish, what good is having a cop for a boyfriend if he isn’t willing to give you and yours the benefit of the doubt? But then, I guess as you two aren’t together anymore it’s just something you’ll have to spend the rest of your life wondering about.”
Baker shot Tricia an annoyed expression. Was he really surprised she’d spoken to Angelica about their so-far unannounced separation?
Tricia shrugged, looking as innocent as she could under the circumstances.
“Ladies, I have a job to perform.” Baker turned back to Angelica. “I’m sorry if it inconveniences you in any way.”
“Oh, lighten up, Grant,” Angelica said. “You’re off duty. Order a drink and relax.”
“I agree,” Tricia said. “You remind me of a clock wound tight. One false move and your mainspring is going to explode and spew shrapnel.”
“It’s my nature. You can’t change your nature.”
“Maybe you
should just unburden yourself about the case. As you’ve said before, reading as many mysteries as I have, I could’ve no doubt aced the police academy exam. If you need someone to talk to about suspects, feel free to bounce ideas off me.”
He scowled, annoyed. “You know I can’t do that.”
“So who do you talk shop with?” Angelica asked and signaled the waitress.
“My second in command. He makes a great sounding board.”
Angelica gave her drink order, but Tricia and Baker declined another.
“I’d better get going,” Baker said. But no sooner had he said that than his cell phone rang. Baker stuck a finger in his free ear—the better to hear the person calling. “Okay. No, I know the address. Thanks.” He slapped his phone shut.
“What was that all about?” Tricia asked.
“Looks like I’ll be making a detour before I go home—alone—for the evening,” he told Tricia.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Stan Berry’s house. Young Will just called it in. The place has been burgled.”
He got to his feet, reaching for his wallet to pay his bar tab.
“Can I come, too?”
“What for? To offer the boy comfort?” Baker asked.
“You never know,” Tricia said.
“Why not?” Baker said and tossed six dollars on the table. Obviously he wasn’t going to pay for Tricia. She pulled a ten out of her wallet, left it on the table, and made to follow.
“Call me later, Trish,” Angelica called out, then grabbed a ruler from her purse and waved it in the air. “Hey, as long as you’re going to see Will, you can take him his ruler!”
*
There was only one reason Tricia could think of for Baker to allow her to accompany him to a crime scene: he wanted to get back in her good graces, and was willing to stretch police department rules to do it. That said, she knew enough to keep out of his way—and that of the patrol officers already on the scene, but she also made sure she stayed near enough to hear everything that went on.
“Long time no see,” Baker told Will as he entered the brightly lit garage that had served as Stan Berry’s business—apparently the scene of most of the destruction.
“Believe me, I would have much rather come back to dad’s house and found everything in order instead of virtually destroyed,” Will said bitterly.
Not the Killing Type Page 20
