“Can you tell if anything was taken, or was it strictly vandalism?” Tricia asked.
Baker turned and glared at her. “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.” She shrugged, and he turned his attention back to Will.
“I didn’t know half of what dad owned, and the mess that’s left … I couldn’t begin to guess what might be missing.”
“Try,” Baker ordered.
Will let out a frustrated sigh and looked around the piles of paper, shattered wood, and glass that had once been his father’s livelihood. It looked like someone had smashed it all with a Louisville Slugger or perhaps a sledgehammer. The rolls of vinyl sign material had been slashed multiple times.
“I suppose now you’ll tell me I have to get a hotel room until you can finish your investigation,” Will said sourly.
“You’ve got that right. We depend on the county to supply a tech team. It might take a day or two for that to happen.”
“If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have called you guys.”
“You can’t file an insurance claim without our report,” Baker pointed out.
“Damn.”
“Speaking of which, what are the odds of this happening now? You being forced to vacate, the business in ruins—how much insurance did your father have on it?”
“Not nearly enough to replace any of this,” he said, his voice unsteady.
For a moment Tricia thought he might cry.
Since it didn’t look like Baker was going to cut Will any slack, Tricia placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this so soon after losing your father.”
Will turned a jaundiced eye on Baker before returning his gaze to Tricia. “Thanks.”
“My guys will lock up and seal the house until the tech team can get here. When you find somewhere to bunk, let my office know where to find you.”
Will looked resigned to his fate. “I may as well head home.”
“Please keep in touch,” Tricia said.
“I will.”
“Tricia, please wait in the car while I finish talking to my guys. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Sure,” she said.
“I’ll walk you out,” Will said, grabbing his jacket.
“Thanks.”
They left the shambles behind and, as promised, Will walked Tricia to Baker’s SUV. “Sorry I screwed up your date,” he apologized.
“It wasn’t a date. As you saw, he joined us.”
Tricia reached out to open the door, but Will stopped her. “I really appreciate it that you came along with Mr. No-Nonsense Cop. I didn’t realize until he sat with us at the bar that he was your boyfriend.”
“You’ve got the tense right,” Tricia said, repeating what Joelle had said about her relationship with Will’s father. “He was my boyfriend. The fact is, we broke up yesterday.” Will’s eyes widened in interest. Was that why she’d told him that—hoping to see his reaction? This was ridiculous. Will was far too young for her, but he sure was cute. Handsomely cute.
She made herself stop that train of thought. Handsome he might be—but he also had a problem with honesty. Still … “I meant it when I said I’d like to know how you make out,” she said, surprised she’d admitted it.
“I was sure you did. I appreciate your kindness.”
Again, Tricia said nothing. Though it was dark, there was enough light spilling from Stan’s garage so that they could see each other’s eyes. Will reached out, touched her face, and then he leaned in and kissed her, his lips warm on that cold November night.
Tricia wasn’t sure what to do. Was Frannie looking out her window? Had Baker seen them kiss? Did she care? After all, it seemed like eons since Baker had kissed her like that. Will leaned in again and she closed her eyes, enjoying yet another kiss, then she pulled away. “I’m sorry, Will. I like you, but the timing just isn’t right.”
“I know.”
“I think you might be confusing appreciation with infatuation.” And what was her excuse? Especially since she wasn’t sure she could believe a word the man said. Did he even have an elderly aunt?
“You’re probably right.” Will reached around her and opened the SUV passenger door. “’Til next time.”
“Good luck, Will.” Tricia climbed into the SUV and he shut the door. She watched as he turned away, pulled up his collar, and got into his own car. Seconds later, he started it, pulled out of the driveway, and disappeared into the darkness.
Tricia huddled deeper into her coat. Had Baker seen that kiss? Two kisses, she reminded herself.
She waited and waited for Baker to return. The cold seemed to seep into her bones. How much longer was he going to be, anyway? Tricia raised her arm, hoping to see the hands on her watch, but it was too dark. She opened the SUV’s door and the interior light glowed. It was after nine, she realized, and she still hadn’t eaten anything.
It was only a three-block walk back to Haven’t Got a Clue. Tricia was temped to get out and go home, but then she saw Baker leave the garage and head toward her. He got in the vehicle but didn’t start the engine. Instead he turned to her. “That was some fond farewell you and Will Berry exchanged.”
Tricia sighed. “He kissed me.”
“And you kissed back.”
“I told him he was confused about his feelings, and he agreed.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
“If you’re asking did we make a date to go out, the answer is no.”
“I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business anymore. But I’d hoped you’d at least show some discretion until after Ginny’s wedding.”
“I don’t need an escort. I’m fine going on my own.”
“Well, I’m not. I intend to go.”
“As my date, or as the chief investigator for Stan Berry’s murder case?”
“Both.”
It was Tricia’s turn to be annoyed.
“Any thoughts on the vandalism in Berry’s shop?”
“I don’t think it was Will.”
“When else, then?”
“Bob Kelly?” she asked.
He nodded. “Destroying the business would be one way to make sure Will would leave the place. You did notice that it was only the equipment that was destroyed—not the walls, doors, or windows.”
“Yes.”
“So, is Kelly capable of doing that kind of damage?”
Tricia thought back to Sunday when she’d seen Bob standing next to Angelica’s car, keys ready to gouge the driver’s door. “Until recently, I’d have said no. Now … I’m not so sure. If the tech team does find fingerprints, which doesn’t seem likely, how long would it take to identify them?”
“These things take time. Those TV crime scene shows have the public thinking that we can process this stuff in minutes. It’s going to take months—and that’s only if we get a decent print.”
Tricia shook her head. “Poor Will.”
Baker cleared his throat, which immediately conveyed his annoyance. “I guess I’d better take you home.”
Tricia sighed, resigned. “I guess so.”
Baker started the engine and pulled away from the curb. They rode the three blocks in silence.
Baker pulled up in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. “If we don’t see each other before the wedding, I’ll see you at the Brookview on Saturday evening.”
It seemed he intended to be her date in name only, as now it looked like she was going to have to supply her own transportation. Well, so be it.
Tricia opened the passenger door but hesitated. She looked back at Baker, whose face was impassive. He didn’t lean across the armrest for a good-night kiss, and neither did Tricia. She sighed and opened the car door. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Tricia closed the car door and the SUV pulled out into the street. Baker hadn’t even waited to see if she got into the building without incident. Tricia pulled out her cell phone and pressed Angelica’s number. She answered right away.
<
br /> “Where are you, Ange? At home or still at the Dog-Eared Page?”
“Home.”
“Can I come up?”
“No reconciliation with Grant, eh?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, I’ll get out the wine. Should I get out the tissue box, too?”
“No, but I hope you’ve got something in your fridge to munch on. I’m hungry enough to eat my foot.”
“Now that I’d like to see. Come on up and please do tell all.”
“See you in a minute,” Tricia said and closed her phone. She had a few other ideas on how to spend the rest of the evening and just hoped she could convince Angelica to be her ally in crime.
TWENTY
Angelica topped up Tricia’s wineglass. They’d spent the previous twenty minutes rehashing the events of the evening, coming to no real conclusions. Angelica had seemed upset to think Bob might be responsible for the destruction at the sign shop. She’d truly been fond of the jerk.
“Why is it that you and I are so unlucky in love?” she asked.
“Maybe we’re cursed,” Tricia said and spread some Brie on yet another cracker. “And speaking of lost loves, for some reason Christopher has visited just about every merchant on Main Street—and for all I know, beyond—to tell them I’m his ex-wife, but making it sound like there’s a chance we’ll get back together.”
Angelica looked up from the papers spread before her. “You keep saying no way, but is there any chance you might?”
“No way, although the Stoneham gossip hotline has been buzzing like crazy with that news. And then Grant caught me kissing Will Berry. No doubt Frannie saw it, too. She probably was on the phone spreading the word before I even got back in Grant’s car.”
“Sorry about that. I love Frannie—but not always her mouth,” Angelica said. She studied the seating chart in front of her. “If Grant isn’t coming for Thanksgiving, I’ll have to have a seating contingency plan. How about I invite Christopher?”
“Were you actually listening to me just now, or was I talking to myself?”
Angelica shrugged. “It was just a thought.”
Tricia grabbed another cracker and nodded toward the seating chart Angelica was working on. “Can’t people just plunk themselves in any chair?”
“Oh, no. The table must be balanced,” Angelica insisted.
“Or what? Will it fall off the face of the earth and spin off into space?”
Angelica glowered. “Be serious.”
“I’d rather think about something else. Like who besides Bob would’ve ransacked Stan Berry’s business?”
“His killer, of course. Or his competition,” Angelica said logically.
“Stan didn’t have a competitor here in Stoneham.”
“Didn’t Will say he’d been contacting competitors?” Angelica asked.
Tricia didn’t answer and instead took a bite of cracker.
Angelica made another notation on the pad before her and then set her pen aside. “Just think: twelve hours from now I could be the new head of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce.”
“And if you win, what will you do first?”
“Nothing. I wouldn’t officially take the office until January first. That gives me a full five weeks to figure things out.”
“Do you think Bob will immediately raise the rent on the Chamber’s office building?” Tricia asked.
“In a heartbeat. I’ve got a list of things to do and one is to find a new home for the Chamber. Too bad there’s no separate entrance to the second floor of this building, otherwise we could house it in my storeroom.”
“Would you want Betsy Dittmeyer on the premises five days a week?”
“No, but there’s a rumor going around that if Bob loses the election, Betsy might quit the Chamber and go work for him.”
“And who’s spreading that rumor?”
“Frannie, of course,” Angelica said.
“Would you hire someone else?” Tricia asked.
“Definitely, but I’m not sure the job warrants a full-time person. I’d have to wait and see.”
Tricia ate the last of her cracker and sipped her wine. “Just think, Stan’s murderer could be casting a ballot for you tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t think so. More likely he or she would vote for Bob—and he can have that vote as far as I’m concerned.”
“Why would the killer destroy Stan’s business after they’d killed him? Do you think someone doesn’t want Will to inherit?”
“What about Joelle?”
“For what reason?”
“Spite?”
Angelica shook her head. “I don’t think anyone even knew Will existed until he showed up on Saturday.”
Tricia glanced down to see Sarge looking at her with pathetic eyes. She broke a cracker into quarters, dabbed a little Brie on it, and held it out for him. Sarge sat up, looking hopeful. Tricia tossed it and Sarge caught it, gulping it down.
“Please do not feed my dog from the table,” Angelica said.
“But he’s hungry.”
“I don’t want him pestering my guests on Thanksgiving.”
“Sorry, boy,” Tricia apologized and grabbed her glass, taking another sip. “Okay, we know Stan Berry lived and worked in Stoneham for three years, but hardly anybody seems to have known him. By most accounts, he kept to himself. Why would someone kill him on the day he announced he’d run for Chamber president?”
“Maybe Betsy did it,” Angelica said. “She seems to adore Bob. Maybe she wanted to eliminate half the competition.”
“Then isn’t it more likely she’d get rid of you—especially if she thinks of you as competition? But even that doesn’t wash. She wasn’t even at the Brookview last Friday,” Tricia pointed out. She shook her head. “It all boils down to Will. I mean, he did admit that he and his father argued.”
“But why would he destroy his father’s business? After probate, he could have sold it to help pay off his school loans—if he in fact has them. It makes no sense that he’d wreck the place.”
“Who says the crimes are related?” Tricia asked.
“You mean it’s just a coincidence that someone trashed the place?”
“I suppose it could be.”
“And pigs fly,” Angelica said and drained her glass. “If Will Berry killed his father, he might kill again. You ought to strongly discourage him from contacting you.”
“Can I help it if I’m incredibly desirable?” Tricia deadpanned.
“Which brings me back to my original question. If we’re such hot babes, why are we so unlucky in love?”
“I guess we make up for it in other areas. We’re both successful businesswomen.”
“And genuinely nice people,” Angelica added.
“And our beauty is only surpassed by our modesty,” Tricia said.
“That’s a given,” Angelica agreed, smiling. She poured the last of the wine into her glass.
Tricia sighed and shook her head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about tomorrow.”
“Are you trying to jinx me?” Angelica asked and took a big gulp of wine.
“I’m not a jinx. But I feel like something life altering is going to happen. I just don’t know whose life will be affected.”
“If I win the election, it would certainly alter my life. And if I lose …”
“Will you be crushed?” Tricia asked.
Angelica shook her head. “No. Just disappointed. But while you’ve got a bad feeling about tomorrow, I’ve got a good one.”
Tricia finished her wine, feeling like she ought to cross her fingers. “Now to see whose premonition comes true.” She dusted her fingers of all cracker crumbs and got up from her stool. “I’ve got another favor to ask.”
“And that is?”
“Come with me to the Brookview tonight.”
“What for?”
“To poke around.”
“I repeat. What for? Do you know how late it is?”
“That just means
less people around watching us.”
“What if they throw us out? What’s our excuse going to be for being there?” Angelica asked.
“The wedding, of course—or the election. Either way, we’re going to be there on both occasions. You’re starring at one event, and I’m the featured act at another.”
“Sideshow, more like.”
“The dresses are actually quite nice. I daresay Grace and I could both wear them for other occasions.”
“At least Ginny was kind to you in that respect. Just make sure you and Grace don’t show up at the same gathering when you wear them.”
“So, will you go with me?” Tricia asked.
“What good would that do?” Angelica asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe we’d see something the police and Sheriff’s Department missed.”
“Such as?”
“That’s it. We wouldn’t know unless we looked.”
“The scene of the crime was a restroom. Stan died almost immediately, so there was little or no blood. The cops would have been over that restroom not only with a fine-tooth comb but a vacuum, too.”
“Then maybe I need to walk through the lobby. It might refresh my memory as to what I saw on Friday morning.”
“You think you’ll remember something of grand proportions?” Angelica asked.
“Maybe.”
“I doubt it. And besides, you were there twice on Sunday,” Angelica said. “Shouldn’t that have jarred your memory?”
“Why don’t you want to go?” Tricia asked.
Angelica shuddered. “Because it’s night and it’s cold out.”
“You have to take Sarge out in the cold anyway. You could kill two birds with one stone.”
“The Brookview doesn’t allow pets. Just service animals.”
“That’s never stopped you from stashing Sarge in your purse. He likes to go to new places and see new things.”
“Why don’t you want to go alone?” Angelica asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the notion of there being safety in numbers.”
“Do you think the killer will return to the scene of the crime and come after you?”
“Not really. I mean, there are other guests at the inn, as well as the staff.”
Not the Killing Type Page 21
