Bookmarked For Death (Berkley Prime Crime Mysteries)

by Lorna Barrett

  Ginny positively beamed.

  n i n e

  Tricia was glad Kimberly answered the phone after only two rings, though she quickly made it clear she had no desire to discuss her aunt. That is, until Tricia suggested they meet for dinner; then suddenly Kimberly was only too happy to oblige. They made plans to meet at the Bookshelf Diner at seven.

  Tricia adopted her bravest smile and prepared to spend the next five hours hand-selling--she nearly shuddered-- cookbooks.

  But before she had a chance to dive into the world of cookery, a Milford Florist Shop truck pulled up outside and double-parked in front of Angelica's store. Tricia watched without interest as the driver got out, went to the back of the truck, and opened the gate. He consulted a clipboard, then pawed through his inventory and withdrew a large white box. He jogged to the door and opened it. "Delivery," he called.

  Angelica rushed forward, her face flushed with pleasure. "Oh, that Bob! He's such a sweetheart." Her grin soon disappeared as she looked at the card on the top of the box. She turned, annoyed. "They're for you, Trish. Seems to be your week to receive gifts."

  Tricia stepped forward, unsure she wanted to accept the box. They had to be from Russ, and she wasn't sure she was ready to accept an apology. She took the card, opened it, and frowned. Please forgive me. Love, Russ.

  Love? He hadn't uttered that word to her in person.

  She set the card aside and removed the red ribbon that bound the box. Drawing back the green tissue, she gasped. She'd expected roses, but instead found nine perfect calla lilies--her favorite. Had she ever told him? How else could he have known?

  She glanced at Angelica, who seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. Was there a conspiracy in the works?

  "Ooooh," Ginny cooed, coming up behind her. "Someone thinks a lot of you."

  "Possibly," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, and lifted the card to read it once again.

  "I think I've got a vase in back," Angelica said, and disappeared to find it.

  "Are you going to call him?" Ginny asked.

  "Who says they're from a 'him'?"

  "Oh, come on, Tricia, they've got to be from Russ."

  Angelica returned with a tall, clear, pressed-glass vase. She stopped at the little sink in her demonstration area to fill it with water, then set it on the counter. "You are going to call and thank him, I hope."

  Tricia blinked innocently. "Who?"

  "Russ."

  She frowned. "Why does everyone assume these flow ers are from Russ?"

  "Well, who else have you been dating for the past five months?"

  Tricia turned up her nose. "I have a lot of admirers."

  "Not in this burg," Angelica quipped.

  The door opened, and several customers entered. Angelica and Ginny both sprang into action, leaving Tricia at the sales counter with her flowers. She lifted them one by one and placed them in the vase.

  Love, Russ.

  She didn't love him, at least not yet, but, she admitted to herself, she was quite fond of him. She didn't like there being tension between them. Still, she didn't want him to think he could buy her affection with a vase of flowers-- beautiful though they might be.

  Love, Russ.

  She glanced around, saw Angelica, Ginny, and Mr. Everett were busy, and turned back to her lilies, allowing herself a small smile.

  It was after six, and the sun hadn't yet begun to set as Mr. Everett buttoned his coat, getting ready to leave for the evening. Ginny had grabbed her purse and jacket. "Are we coming back here tomorrow?" she inquired, her voice almost a whine.

  "I didn't hear from the sheriff that I could open tomorrow--so I guess we're stuck here at least one more day."

  Ginny let out a long breath and almost looked like she wanted to cry.

  Since there were no customers in the store, Angelica flounced around the bookshelves with her lamb's wool duster, humming happily.

  "Today wasn't so bad, was it?" Tricia asked.

  Mr. Everett looked to Ginny, who seemed all too ready to speak for the two of them. "No, but that's only because you were here. You will be here tomorrow, won't you?"

  "As far as I know."

  "I shall say good night now," Mr. Everett said. He called to Angelica. "Good night, Mrs. Prescott."

  Angelica looked up from her dusting, and frowned. "That's Ms. Miles," she reminded him. "Good night. And good night to you, too, Ginny!"

  "Good night," Ginny growled, and turned her back on Angelica. "I'd better leave before she finds one more thing for me to--"

  "Oh, before you leave--" Angelica said, hurrying to the front of the store.

  "Go!" Tricia ordered, and Ginny and Mr. Everett quickly made their escape.

  "Hey," Angelica protested, "I wanted Ginny to post a couple of bills for me."

  "I'll do it when I leave to go to dinner. I'm meeting Kimberly at the Bookshelf Diner."

  "You're not eating here?"

  "Kimberly insisted we meet there. I want to please her. If she's happy, she might be more open with me about her aunt."

  "What more do you need to know about the woman? She's dead. Seems like you've talked to everyone in town who knew her. Whoever killed her isn't going to just walk up to you and say, 'Hello, I killed Zoe Carter.' "

  "Have you seen Sheriff Adams--or even a patrol car-- roll by even once today, let alone enter Haven't Got a Clue?"

  "No, but what's that got to do with--?"

  "As long as Wendy Adams isn't breaking a sweat to investigate this murder, it's up to me to do all I can. I want my store to reopen. Now!"

  Angelica backed off. "Okay, okay!"

  The door opened and Nikki Brimfield stepped inside. "Am I interrupting something?"

  "Not at all," Angelica said with relief.

  Tricia remembered yesterday's box of goodies and flushed with guilt. "Nikki--I meant to drop by and thank you for the cookies. That was so sweet of you."

  Nikki waved a hand in dismissal. "I just felt so bad for you. What rotten luck. And I see the sheriff still hasn't let you reopen. Are you on for tomorrow?"

  "No, which is what we were just discussing when--"

  The door opened, the bell above it jingling. There stood Russ.

  Angelica gave Nikki a nudge. "Let me show you this marvelous new cake cookbook that just came in," she said and grabbed Nikki's arm, pulling her away, apparently willing to temporarily forget that Nikki competed for her customers.

  Russ didn't even seem to know they were there. He stepped forward. "Hi, Trish," he said shyly.

  "Hi," she answered.

  His eyes were drawn to the flowers still sitting on the sales counter. "Oh, good. They arrived okay."

  "Yes, thank you, they're lovely."

  "Like you."

  Their gazes held for a few long seconds, then Tricia turned to admire the flowers. She picked up the card. "I wondered about this. Did you mean it?"

  He studied the card in her hand for a moment, then his gaze met hers. "I'm pretty sure I did."

  "Pretty sure?" she asked.

  "That's about as definite as I can be right now. How about you?"

  "I'm not at all sure, but I'm willing to hang around to see if it happens."

  He took her hands and pulled her forward, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips before pulling away. "Can we try dinner again?"

  The thought made her throat constrict. "On one condition. No more tuna noodle casseroles--ever."

  "I think I could pull that off." He smiled, and tugged on her hand. "Get your coat. Let's go."

  She stood firm. "I can't. I promised Kimberly Peters I'd have dinner with her tonight." Disappointment shadowed his eyes for a few brief seconds, and then they flashed. "No," Tricia said resolutely, "you're not invited."

  "I didn't say a word," he protested.

  "No, but I could read the thought balloon over your head. You're still working on your story," she accused.

  "It's not much of a story until something breaks. Did you notice the Boston and
Manchester TV vans have left town, although they might be back for the statue dedication on Saturday? Bob Kelly has sent press releases to half the East Coast news outlets."

  "Only half?"

  "He's still got another day," Russ added dryly. "When can I see you again?"

  "I'm not doing anything for lunch tomorrow."

  "I was thinking more along the lines of dinner, remember. How about Saturday?"

  "Saturday's fine."

  The corners of his mouth lifted. "And then maybe . . ."

  "Maybe what?"

  "We could . . . become friends all over again."

  She felt the edges of the card still clutched in her hand. Love, Russ.

  Out the corner of her eye, Tricia noticed Nikki and Angelica peeking around a bookshelf, eavesdropping. She cleared her throat, and they disappeared. Turning her attention back to Russ, she said, "Saturday night it is."

  The Bookshelf Diner pulled out all the stops for its evening crowd, offering early bird specials and even lighting the miniature hurricane oil lamps that sat on each table. Kimberly was already seated in the last booth when Tricia arrived. She settled in the seat across from her, and shrugged out of her jacket. "Have you been waiting long?"

  "No," Kimberly said, barely looking up from the laminated menu she consulted. She ran her finger down the list of appetizers. "I haven't had a cigarette in two days, and I'm starved." She looked up. "You did say I was your guest, didn't you?"

  She quit smoking? Obviously she wasn't stressed about the death of her aunt. "Of course."

  A nasty little smile twisted Kimberly's lips. "So what was it you wanted to know about dear Aunt Zoe?"

  So much for small talk. And Tricia wasn't sure she was ready to discuss what she knew--or at least thought she knew. "Several people I've spoken to wondered about your aunt's unsold novels." Not the truth, but not a total lie, either.

  Again Kimberly looked up from her menu, her expression darkening. "Unsold?"

  "It's a known fact that the first efforts of most authors usually aren't up to publishing standards. And for Zoe to burst out of the gates and not only win the major mystery award and hit best-sellerdom, she had to have a few 'practice' or trunk novels squirreled away. You know, things that she never thought would appear in print."

  Kimberly ran her tongue across her lower lip. "Not that I'm aware of."

  "But you were her assistant. Didn't she confide in you about her early work? Her dreams and plans for her future work?"

  Before Kimberly could answer, Eugenia, the perky blonde, college-age night waitress, approached the table. "Good evening, ladies. What can I get you to drink?"

  "I'll have a glass of the house red," Tricia said, noticing Eugenia had added a pierced brow to her already pierced nose and ears.

  "Me, too," Kimberly echoed.

  Eugenia nodded. "I'll be back to take your orders in a few minutes."

  Tricia waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again. "The unsold books," she prompted.

  Kimberly's attention was again focused on the menu. "I'd have to search her files. She may have left something in one of the file cabinets. She did most of her work in the Carolina house these past few years. Maybe I'll check when I get back home."

  "You don't consider Stoneham your home?"

  Kimberly looked up sharply. "This dump? Not on your life. I hate the winters. And besides, who can you meet here?"

  If it was husband material Kimberly was talking about, Tricia had to agree. Most of the booksellers were married, and as Lois Kerr had pointed out, the majority of young people in the village seemed to move to Boston, Portland, or New York as soon as they could escape. "When will you be going home?"

  "When I can find the gas money. All Zoe's accounts have been frozen until probate is complete. I'm not her executor," she reminded Tricia. "She didn't trust me enough for that."

  "Who is her executor?"

  "Until recently, it was her agent. Now it's some lawyer. At least he's given me permission to stay in either of the houses until they're sold. But it makes more sense to close up this one as soon as possible, since that's what she wanted. I never intend to live in, let alone visit, Stoneham ever again."

  Why had Zoe changed executors? Did she have a fallingout with her agent? He'd sounded eager to attend the memorial service. She shook the thought away. If nothing else, it would look good for him to be there. But whom did he want to look good for?

  Eugenia returned with their wine, and soon held her pen over her pad, ready to write. "All set to order?"

  Kimberly nodded. "I'll have the twice-baked potato ap

  petizer, French onion soup, the chicken pot pie with a side of mashed potatoes, and a slice of the cherry pie. Oh, and a Diet Coke."

  Tricia folded her menu, wondering how someone as thin as Kimberly could eat such great quantities of food. She sighed. "I'll have the Cobb salad plate with peppercorn dressing on the side. Thanks, Eugenia."

  Eugenia collected the menus, nodded, and headed for the kitchen.

  Tricia addressed Kimberly once more. "At the signing, you made a big point of reminding your aunt about taking her medication. Why?"

  Kimberly shrugged. "The old girl was diabetic. She'd been known to keel over if her sugar dropped. We hadn't had dinner that night--just ran out of time. I'd gotten so I could pretty much gauge when she was going to need another insulin shot."

  That sounded reasonable. Tricia thought about the big question that had weighed heavy on her mind. Despite Stella's warning, she decided to test Kimberly. "Your aunt told my customers she was done with the Jess and Addie series. Had she started another?"

  Kimberly hesitated. "No. Like Margaret Mitchell and Harper Lee, my aunt only had one set of characters whose stories she cared to tell. Only in her case, instead of just one novel, it came out in a five-book arc."

  "I've been talking with a number of people around the village. Some people find it hard to believe Zoe actually wrote the Jess and Addie mystery series."

  Kimberly raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her expression bland.

  Tricia decided to try a different approach. "You wouldn't want to tell me why you were so angry at your aunt the night of her death, would you?"

  "For just that day, or do you want the full ten-year list?"

  "Just that day will do," Tricia said.

  Kimberly leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "My aunt was very wealthy, but you wouldn't know it to see the way we've lived."

  "But she had two houses."

  "Two cheap houses. I worked my ass off on this book tour, but she couldn't--or wouldn't--acknowledge it. Good press? Oh, that was from the publisher--not from the interviews I lined up for her, or the coaching I gave her. She didn't like to fly. Who drove her ten thousand miles in the last two months?"

  "Why didn't you leave?"

  Kimberly hesitated. "Let's just say I had my reasons. But I was quickly running out of them. In fact, just before we came to your store, I told her I was ready to walk. She called my bluff, but not before dangling another carrot in front of me."

  "And that carrot was?"

  Eugenia chose that moment to set the appetizer in front of Kimberly, who plunged her fork into it with zeal.

  "Would you like the soup with your entree?" the waitress asked.

  Kimberly shook her head, already wolfing down a bite. "Bring it now, thanks."

  Eugenia shot Tricia a look that asked "What gives?" but Tricia could only shrug. She looked back at Kimberly. "Sure thing," she said, and headed back for the kitchen.

  "What did Zoe offer you to keep you from leaving?" Tricia asked.

  Kimberly shoveled in another forkful of potato before she set down her fork. She took a sip of her wine. "That's none of your business. But I'll be honest with you about one thing, Tricia. I'm broke. Flat busted. There's no food in Zoe's house, and I have no idea how I'm going to manage. I've even contemplated snagging one of those pesky geese roaming the village and roasting it. That would probabl
y feed me for a week." She gave a half-hearted laugh, but soon sobered. "Until probate is settled, I've got a roof over my head but no income. This food," she pointed at her plate, "will have to last me a few days. After that . . ." Her mouth trembled, and her desperation was nearly palpable. "I don't know what I'll do."

  Tricia resisted the temptation to reach out and comfort Kimberly, who probably wouldn't have appreciated it anyway. Kimberly's despair wasn't grief for her aunt--more for her own circumstances. And what could Zoe have possibly offered to keep her in a situation she found so miserable?