"Yes, but she's so intimidating, she'll probably frighten everyone into clamming right up. You're more subtle. You'll be able to get them to tell you what they remember."
"That's the problem. Nobody seems to remember exactly when Zoe went to the washroom. Nobody was paying attention. The security system was down, but it might've been disabled for hours. Truth be told, I usually set it and forget it."
"Me, too. I mean, most of my deliveries come in through the front door."
Tricia nodded, her gaze falling to her plate and the small pile of potato chips on it. "I want to talk to Kimberly. She's staying at Zoe's house here in Stoneham, but the phone number is unlisted. All my contact information for Zoe is locked in my store."
"Have you tried reaching Zoe's publicist or agent?"
"No, but that's a good idea."
Deborah moved to one side, looking beyond Tricia and out through the diner's big, plate glass window. "There goes the News Team Ten van cruising down Main Street again. I wonder who she's going to try and nail this time?"
"I'm actually surprised we haven't seen more news trucks and reporters."
"Be surprised no more," Deborah said. "There goes another one. Channel Seven from Boston."
Tricia pushed her lunch away, no longer hungry. "If I was smart, I'd write a press release saying I can't make any comments, and just have Angelica hand it out to everyone."
"Why don't you? Then again, this can only last a few days. By then your store will be open again and things will get back to normal. Until the pilgrimages start, that is."
"Pilgrimages?"
"Of course. You run a mystery bookstore. A best-selling mystery author was murdered there. Her fans--if that's what you want to call anyone that ghoulish--will flock to Haven't Got a Clue in droves. And if she signed your stock, you can ask a fortune for those books."
"She didn't sign the stock."
Deborah shook her head. "Too bad."
Just as well, Tricia thought. Selling the books for an exorbitant price, making money off a dead woman, just wouldn't sit well with her.
Hildy stopped by the table. "Want me to box that up for you, Tricia?"
She nodded. "Thanks."
The waitress took away the plate and Deborah scraped the last spoonful of chili from her bowl, savoring it. "I suppose someone will find out I was at the signing last night and want to talk to me, too." She brightened. "Good promo for my shop."
Exactly what Angelica had said.
"At least you're still open."
"You'll be back in business in a day or so. Look how fast the Cookery reopened after the murder last fall."
"Different circumstances entirely." And besides, it had been six long weeks--a possible death for a going concern.
Deborah pushed her bowl aside as Hildy returned with a Styrofoam box and the check. She glanced at it, then dug into her purse for her wallet. "Hey, I wonder what I could get on eBay for one of the last copies of Forever Cherished that Zoe Carter signed?"
"Now who's being ghoulish?"
"I'm a businesswoman. It's my job to make money. For me!" She peeled off a five-dollar bill and set it on the table, grabbed her hat, then wiggled back into her jacket. "Call me later if you need to talk." And she was off.
Tricia stared down at the cold coffee in her cup, at the desolate little box with her partially eaten sandwich in it, and felt empty. I want my store back. I want my life back.
She put another five-dollar bill and a couple of ones on the table, donned her coat, and steeled her nerves to return to the Cookery, hoping Angelica's wrath had been soothed by the act of baking.
f i v e
Squish! Tricia winced and looked down at her loafer and the gummy substance clinging to it. Not again! She hobbled to the edge of the curb to scrape the bottom of her shoe, cursing herself for not watching where she walked.
Mission accomplished, she started off again, but paused outside the Stoneham Patisserie. It was still crowded with customers; she'd have to thank Nikki for the cookies later.
Business was also brisk at the Cookery, and the air was laden with the heavenly aroma of fresh-baked peanut butter blondies. Nikki's box of bakery cookies was conspicuous by its absence. A smiling Angelica flitted about the store, paper-doily-covered silver tray in hand, offering sample-size morsels--along with paper napkins--to the grateful browsers. Mr. Everett helped customers while Ginny manned the cash register. Her smile was forced, but somehow she managed not to convey to Angelica's clientele her anger at being there, while exhibiting the helpful cookery knowledge she'd picked up while working for the former owner.
"Just a few more days," Tricia whispered to her as she bagged an order.
"I never want to see another cookbook again," Ginny hissed. "She is going to pay us, right? I mean, we haven't even filled out any paperwork."
"Angelica's good for it," Tricia assured her. "And you know I won't let you down if she isn't."
For the first time that day, the tension eased from Ginny's face. "Thanks, Tricia. You're the world's best boss."
"No, I'm not. But I've been where you are--in a new house that needs a lot of work, and with limited funds." Okay, that was a bit of a lie. Tricia had been extremely lucky and had never experienced a day of poverty or even strained finances in her life. But she had read Dickens, and that had to count for something.
"While you were gone, I sneaked a peek on Angelica's computer. There are already signed copies of Zoe's books, dated last night, for sale on eBay. With pictures and everything."
"You're kidding."
Ginny shook her head. "It says right on the screen, 'Item location: Milford, New Hampshire.' "
"Rats. I was hoping no one would try to cash in on her death. At least, not this soon."
"Hey," Ginny said, and shrugged. "It's human nature. Or should I say human greed?"
Tricia frowned. Deborah would have competition selling her copies of the book.
The door flew open, the bell over it jangling loudly. Kimberly Peters stepped inside, her face flushed in anger. "Where do you get off telling people I killed my aunt?" she demanded.
Ginny pointed to herself. "Me?"
Kimberly glared at Tricia. "No, her."
Several customers looked up from the books they were perusing, and Angelica turned so fast, she whipped her tray of blondies away from a woman who'd been about to sample one.
"Excuse me, but could you lower your voice?" Tricia asked.
Kimberly marched up to the sales counter. "No, I won't."
Tricia stood her ground, exhaled an angry breath. "For your information, I haven't accused anyone of killing your aunt, least of all you. Unless I'm very much mistaken, and that's always possible, I figured you were too smart to murder her after that display you put on last night."
It was Kimberly's turn to exhale loudly, although she did lower her voice. "I was a bit upset last night," she admitted. "But you're right. I'm not stupid enough to kill the goose that laid the golden egg. My aunt was very generous to me, and I'd be an idiot to exterminate my only relative and my employer. Now I'll probably have to go out and get a real job."
"You mean she didn't leave you everything?"
Kimberly's glare was blistering. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. She left me only a tiny portion of her estate. The rest will be split up among various charities. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was for the old girl to die."
So the bulk of Zoe's estate was going to charity. Tricia itched to know the circumstances surrounding Zoe's embezzlement conviction--if indeed she had been convicted. Embezzlers usually go to jail, as well as having to pay hefty fines. What about the investors who'd suffered losses when Trident Homes went under? Had Zoe's eventual plan been to give away all her worldly wealth as a final act of atonement before exiting this life?
Too many pairs of eyes still stared at them, and Tricia decided this wasn't the time to pursue Zoe's past with Kimberly. "So who's going around spreading vicious gossip about me?" Tricia aske
d, changing the subject.
"How do I know? I got an anonymous call on my voice mail. And they told me right where to find you."
"They? Man or woman?"
"A man."
Besides Mr. Everett and a couple of Angelica's customers, the only man Tricia had spoken to that day was Russ Smith, and it wasn't likely he'd be spreading that kind of gossip. Not if he ever hoped to woo her again.
Not knowing what else to say to that news, Tricia changed tack. "I'm very sorry about your loss, Kimberly. Your aunt's work was loved by millions."
"Yes," she said, yanking down her suit jacket--brown, and just as wrinkled as the one she'd worn the day before. "It was."
"It." Not "she."
"Were you serious when you mentioned blackmail last night?"
"Sort of."
"How can one 'sort of' be blackmailed?"
"There was no implicit threat. Just a strong suggestion that one should honor one's debts," Kimberly explained.
"And did your aunt owe someone a lot of money?"
Kimberly shrugged. "Not as far as I know. And anyhow, it's not my problem." And with that, she turned and stalked out of the store.
Not her problem? Only if the blackmailer gave up or Kimberly didn't care about her aunt's reputation, which was entirely possible.
Angelica hurried over to the sales desk. "What was that all about?"
"I don't think we need to do a rerun in front of your customers," Tricia whispered.
Angelica shoved the tray of blondies at Ginny. "Circulate the store, will you?"
"Please," Tricia admonished her.
Angelica glowered. "Just do it," she told Ginny, who followed Kimberly's lead and stalked away from the register.
It was Tricia's turn to get angry. "Ange, if this is how you treat your employees, it's no wonder they quit after only a couple of days."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, sounding truly puzzled.
Tricia shook her head. "I would appreciate it if you would treat Ginny and Mr. Everett with respect. I don't want either of them quitting on me because you've treated them badly."
"How have I treated them badly? I treat them just the same as I treat all my help."
"My point exactly."
"What did Kimberly say? What did she say?" Angelica badgered. "Denied everything, right?"
"Well, of course she would. But I don't think for a minute she killed Zoe," Tricia said. "I don't think she'd be that stupid."
"Unless that's what she wants you to think."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I think you're discounting Kimberly far too easily."
"I'm not saying she doesn't have more to tell. But here in the Cookery wasn't the place for a meaningful conversation. I'll have to get her on her own--in a quiet setting. But first I need to find out more about both her and Zoe Carter."
"How are you going to do that?"
"By talking to people."
"Who?"
Tricia shrugged. "Townspeople. Her neighbors."
"You think a local person killed her?"
"Could be."
"You didn't know half the people who showed up at the signing last night. I suppose any one of those strangers could have strangled her."
"Maybe," Tricia said, consulting her watch. It was already after two. "I'd better get going."
"Will you come back to the store before closing time?"
"I don't know. It depends on how many people I can track down who knew Zoe. By the way, I hope you weren't expecting me for dinner. I'm going to Russ's."
Angelica frowned. "But then I'll be all alone with-- with that cat of yours," she said with disdain.
"So? Miss Marple won't bite--unless you tease her. And you'd better not treat her the way you're treating your employees. Or else."
Angelica sniffed. "Perhaps I'll invite Bob over for dinner."
"Great. Maybe you can get him to help you unpack some of those boxes."
Angelica ignored the jab, narrowing her eyes. "Will you be coming home tonight?"
"Your apartment is not my home. And . . . I don't know. Probably." She thought about it--how she and Russ were so involved in their respective businesses that their time together was all too rare. If she stayed with him, they might finally get some quality time together. Then again . . . "We'll see."
It was no secret in Stoneham that Zoe Carter had lived on Pine Avenue most of her adult life. She was, after all, the little village's only real celebrity. But the house in question was no palace, and was in fact the plainest house on the block. Tricia parked her car and scoped out the neighborhood, looking for rogue Canada geese. Sure enough, several waddled down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, occasionally stopping to peck at the exposed grass, no doubt looking for something to eat. She should be safe enough.
Since she wasn't yet ready to talk to Kimberly, Tricia
instead marched up the walk of Zoe's next-door neighbor to the north and knocked on the door. Almost immediately a burly man dressed in a paint-splattered blue MIT sweatshirt and jeans, and sporting a churlish expression, opened the door but didn't say a word.
Tricia adopted her most winning smile. "Sir, my name's Tricia Miles. I own the mystery bookstore in town."
"Where Zoe Carter was killed?"
"Uh, yes," she answered, already rattled. She hurried on. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to talk to me about Zoe?"
"You gonna give me fifty bucks? The reporter from WRBS gave me fifty bucks to tell her everything I knew about the old girl."
Taken aback, Tricia tried to remember how much cash she had in her wallet; a ten and a few ones? "I hadn't thought--" she started.
He waved a hand in dismissal and stepped back to close the door.
"Wait!" Tricia called, but the door slammed in her face.
She tried across the street, but no one answered her knock, despite the fact that a pale blue minivan sat in the drive. She'd canvass the whole street if she had to. But first she'd check Zoe's neighbor to the south. She crossed the street and walked past Zoe's home, once more noting that it was the least attractive house on the street. Not that it was run-down, but no spring flowers or landscaping brightened the drab exterior, its curb appeal nil. Only the green and gold for sale sign gave the yard any color. No car stood in the drive. Was Kimberly home, parking whatever car she drove in the one-car garage, or was she out, possibly making funeral arrangements?
Tricia passed Zoe's home and headed up the walk to the house next door on the south. By contrast, this white clapboard house with pink shutters welcomed her. Scores of sunny daffodils waved in the slight breeze against a backdrop of well-tended yews, and empty window boxes promised more color come summer. A grapevine wreath was intertwined with silk flowers and painted wooden letters in pastel hues that spelled out welcome.
Tricia lifted the brass knocker and tapped it three times. The door sprang open and a diminutive, elderly woman dressed in slacks, sweater, and a frilly white apron tied at her waist stood just inside the door. "Yes?"
"Hello," Tricia said and explained who she was and how she'd known Zoe Carter. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"Do you have some kind of identification? I mean . . . those TV people wanted me to talk about Zoe, and I don't want anything I say to end up on television or in the newspapers."
"I can assure you, it won't." Tricia dug into her purse and brought out not only her driver's license but also a business card for Haven't Got a Clue that she handed to the woman.
The older lady examined both items before returning Tricia's license. "I'm Gladys Mitchell," she said, taking Tricia's offered hand. Gladys shook her head. "It's all very sad, but I don't think I can help you. Although Zoe and I were neighbors for nearly thirty years, we were hardly more than acquaintances. She kept to herself, didn't have much personality. Wasn't interested in chatting or getting to know any of the neighbors."
"She seemed personable enough to me," Tricia said, knowing she was pushing it.
On a scale of one to ten, Zoe might've mustered a four or a five on the personality scale.
"She was peddling her books at the time, wasn't she?"
Tricia nodded.
"Then I expect she learned to force herself to at least appear interested in those who showed up to buy her wares."
"Was Zoe friendlier before she was caught embezzling?"
The older lady pursed her lips. "You know about that?"
"I'm sure once News Team Ten finds out about it, that old scandal will make the story of her death even more titillating."
Bookmarked For Death (Berkley Prime Crime Mysteries) Page 6
