"It doesn't matter. It wouldn't be hard for Nikki to do," Ginny said.
"What do you mean?"
"I've worked in several stores in Stoneham. Half the merchants on the street have the identical system we do. Even the Cookery."
"You think the Stoneham Patisserie might have the same system? That Nikki disabled our system and came in the back of the store to kill Zoe?"
"It's possible."
"But what's her connection, her motive?"
Ginny shrugged. "The only way we'd know that is to ask her. And I doubt she'd say a word."
Tricia thought about the awful scene at Zoe's home on Saturday evening. "The last thing Kimberly Peters said before she lost consciousness was 'stone.' "
"Stone," Ginny repeated, looking thoughtful.
"I thought she was talking about the statue that got ruined."
"But it's marble, not stone."
"Technically, marble is stone."
"Stone," Ginny repeated again. "It seems like I should remember something about that word."
Tricia looked across the room. "Mr. Everett?"
Mr. Everett paused in straightening the shelves to join the two women. As a lifelong resident of Stoneham, he was a font of useful information. "Is there a family in the area named Stone?"
The old man shook his head. "Hasn't been for years. Stoneham was named after Hiram Stone, who opened a quarry back in the mid-eighteenth century, although the village wasn't incorporated until 1798."
"So they died out generations ago?"
"Oh, no. One of my favorite customers was Faith Stone. Wonderful woman," he said. "Very generous with her time. I occasionally saw her when my grocery store donated dented canned goods to the local food pantry where she volunteered. I believe she and Grace were acquainted. Something to do with the library."
"What happened to her?"
He shook his head. "No one seems to know. She just disappeared one day."
A shiver ran through Tricia as she remembered what Julia Overline had said the day before at Nikki's brunch.
"Her family had her declared dead so that the estate could be freed up and fund her daughter's further education," Mr. Everett continued.
"Who was her daughter?" Tricia asked, dreading the answer.
"The manager of the Stoneham Patisserie: Nikki Brimfield."
"Nikki?" Ginny repeated.
Mr. Everett nodded. "Brimfield is her married name, although I believe she's now divorced."
"And her maiden name?" Tricia asked, already knowing the answer.
"Stone, of course."
Since Mr. Everett had mentioned that Grace and Faith had been acquainted, Tricia's first impulse was to call Grace. She did, but there was no answer. Grace didn't have voice mail or even an answering machine, so Tricia could only slam down the phone in frustration.
Her next thought was to talk to Stella Kraft. Unlike gadabout Grace, Stella was pretty much a homebody, and answered the phone on the first ring. "I'd be glad to talk with you again, Tricia."
"Can I come over now?"
"Now is fine. I'll put on a pot of coffee."
Tricia left Ginny and Mr. Everett with a few hurried instructions, donned her coat, and started down the sidewalk. In a moment she heard her name being called.
"Tricia, Tricia!"
Tricia turned, delighted to see Grace Harris waving to her. She waited until the older woman caught up with her. "Grace, what brings you out so early on a Monday morning?"
Grace looked down at the sticky goo on her shoe. "Oh, dear, not again," she muttered, and tried to scrape the goose poop from her sole. "I've run out of the Coffee Bean's superior blend. When I saw you, I wanted to tell you how much I admire you for helping that Peters woman the other night."
"News certainly gets around."
"She wasn't very nice, but I can't imagine the cruelty it took to inflict those injuries."
Tricia shuddered, remembering the amount of blood that had soaked into Kimberly's clothes and pooled on Zoe's office floor. "It was the least I could do."
Grace nodded.
"Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?" Tricia asked.
"Of course not, dear."
"At Zoe's signing, you said you were glad to speak to her under 'happier circumstances.' What did that mean?"
Grace bowed her head. "Had I known she was destined to die within minutes, I never would have brought it up. It was thoughtless of me."
"You couldn't have known she'd be murdered."
"Yes, well, I like to think of myself as a good person. And bringing up an unpleasant incident from the past is just plain bad manners."
This was maddening. "What was it?"
"A confrontation--in public--over her not supporting Stoneham's efforts to promote ourselves as a book town."
"Oh, that," Tricia said, blowing it off. "Bob Kelly mentioned it to me last week."
"He did? Why--that--how could he?" Grace sputtered.
"Grace, it was years ago, and I'm sure everyone-- everyone but Bob," she amended--"has forgotten about it."
"I hadn't forgotten it, but whatever feelings I had about it, they didn't stop me from supporting her as an author."
Finding out the truth about who actually had written the books would have done it, for sure.
"It's all in the past now. I think you should just forget about it," Tricia said.
"I have tried," Grace admitted. "I was sorry I couldn't make it to her memorial service on Saturday, but it sounds like that was a fiasco as well."
"Yes, it was."
"I had an appointment at the New Hampshire Medical Center," Grace volunteered.
"Oh, dear, I hope nothing's wrong."
Grace smiled. "Luckily, no. Thank you for your concern."
"Is that also where you were early Wednesday morning?" Tricia asked, pushing the boundaries of polite conversation, but she wanted to know what Mr. Everett felt so strongly about that he would lie to her.
"Yes. In the past I had some female problems," Grace said, without elaborating.
"I see," Tricia said, and nodded. "Well, I'm certainly glad you're all right."
"Thank you."
"I had another question for you, too. It concerns Faith Stone."
Grace laughed. "Good grief, I haven't thought about her in years."
"Mr. Everett says you were friends."
"Not really. We were acquainted. We belonged to the same book club--not unlike the one you host at Haven't Got a Clue, only this was sponsored by the Stoneham Library. A nice little group. Mostly retirees and stay-at-home mothers."
"Did you know Faith wanted to be a writer?" Tricia bluffed, wondering where the idea had even come from.
"Oh, yes. She used to carry a notebook around with her, scribbling down thoughts and ideas for some great saga she said she hoped to write one day."
"She didn't say she was actually writing it?"
Grace frowned. "She didn't talk a lot about herself, poor thing."
"Poor thing?"
"Her husband was the jealous kind. I can't say I was surprised when she went missing, although they were never able to pin anything on that brute Phil Stone. More than once she came to our meetings with bruises on her arms or legs."
"Her husband was the controlling type?"
Grace nodded. "She ultimately stopped coming to the meetings. It wasn't long afterward that she disappeared."
"And no one's ever heard from her?"
"I think her body was probably dumped in the woods somewhere. Perhaps some hunter will find her bones one day."
"Perhaps," Tricia said.
Grace put a hand on Tricia's arm. "You were obviously on your way somewhere, and I'm holding you up."
"No, I'm just running an errand."
"Well, I'll let you go. I'll see you tomorrow evening at the book club meeting. I'm grateful we won't have a guest," she said with a laugh.
"I'm so glad what happened last week hasn't scared you off," Tricia said.
"O
h, I think you'll find that we'll return. After all, don't we love a good mystery?" Grace asked.
Tricia laughed. "Yes, but I prefer mine between the covers of a book."
"Good-bye, dear," Grace said with a pleased smile, and continued on her way.
Tricia pushed forward, glad to have one more mystery cleared up . . . and another still facing her.
Stella Kraft opened her back door before Tricia could press the bell. "I knew you'd eventually figure it all out," she said smugly, her pale blue eyes sparkling.
Tricia pursed her lips, annoyed. "Why didn't you just come right out and tell me about Faith Stone?"
"Come in, come in. I'm not paying Keyspan to heat the great outdoors," Stella chided.
Once again the smell of boiled potatoes and mothballs filled the immaculate kitchen. Stella had set the table with mugs, spoons, and napkins, and a plate of gingersnaps. "Let me take your coat."
"I don't want to be a bother. I'll just drape it over the back of the chair," Tricia said, and settled at the table.
Stella moved to the stove, picked up the coffeepot, and poured. "Now, what led you to Faith?"
"A number of things." Tricia told Stella about her conversations with Kimberly and Artemus Hamilton; Nikki's tainted cookies and cake; Mr. Everett's revelation; and Grace's confirmation. "Nikki sure had me fooled. She always seemed so even-tempered at our book club meetings, always bringing the refreshments and all. Did you have her for a student?"
Stella nodded, taking her seat. "She's another one who slid through my class without making much of an impact. Such a disappointment after having her mother."
"And you lied to me when you said you had no idea who really wrote Zoe's books."
"I didn't actually lie," Stella said. "I kept the truth to myself. That's not lying. Exactly."
Tricia wasn't about to debate her. Instead, she said, "Tell me about Faith Stone."
Stella sat back in her chair, a smile lighting her face. "Faith was the best student who ever passed through my classroom. She had a real thirst for learning. Even in high school she had a wonderful gift for storytelling."
"You said you didn't keep any of your students' work."
"That was no lie, but it wasn't easy to forget her way with words, even at that age. I hoped she'd go far. Obviously, she would have, if the books had been published before her disappearance. They would have set her free." She shook her head sadly.
"But how did Zoe get hold of Faith's manuscripts?"
Stella reached for a cookie. "Near as I can figure, it was from the estate sale."
"Estate sale?"
"After she disappeared, Faith's former in-laws pushed to have her declared dead."
"Her in-laws, not her husband?"
Stella nodded. "Five or six years after she disappeared, her good-for-nothing husband, Phillip Stone, died in a work accident. He was a lineman for PSNH." The local power utility. "Faith's daughter went to live with her grandmother. I don't know if the in-laws ever legally had Faith declared dead, but they made a big show of it and had a big sale at the house. I believe Zoe got the manuscripts at that sale. Faith's in-laws wouldn't have known what they were--and would have cared even less. They considered her writing a frivolous waste of time. Her ex-mother-inlaw was dead by the time the books were published. Her sister-in-law never recognized Faith's work, or I'm sure she would have tried to get her hands on some of the money Zoe raked in."
"How long after Faith disappeared was the first book published?"
"Oh, maybe ten years. I'm assuming Zoe had the manuscripts for a couple of years before she figured out what to do with them. Not the sharpest pencil in the box, that one."
"Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you let people know Zoe didn't write those books?"
"I told you, I did hint about it to my colleagues, but I had no proof. All I could do was be enraged on Faith's behalf. Eventually--" She shrugged. "I got over it."
"But what about Nikki? Didn't she deserve compensation? Imagine what she must have felt like. It's certainly motive enough to kill someone."
Stella frowned. "The only one who deserved to benefit from Faith's work was Faith herself."
"Which was impossible. She was dead."
Stella blinked, then smiled. She picked up her coffee mug and took a sip. "Faith's not dead. She just lives in Canada."
t w e n t y - o n e
"Not dead?" Angelica murmured in disbelief. Tricia had left Stella's home in a fog. The exteacher wouldn't say much more, leaving Tricia with far more questions than she'd had before she'd arrived. Armed with new knowledge, she knew she'd burst if she didn't tell someone, and her first thought was to call her sister. She had pulled the cell phone from the pocket of her jacket and dialed.
"Well, where is she? Where's she been?" Angelica asked, when she'd heard the tale.
"In Canada. Somewhere."
"And no one knows she's still alive--not even Nikki?"
"As far as I know, only you, me, and Stella know. She wouldn't tell me more. She said it wasn't up to her to out her former student."
"But what about Faith? Why doesn't she want her daughter to know she's not dead?"
"Stella wouldn't say. But if I had to guess, I'd say because it's been over twenty years. Maybe she doesn't want to intrude on her daughter's life. Maybe she's ashamed she left without taking Nikki with her. I know that would be my reaction."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Look for Faith myself."
"In Canada?"
"No, on the Internet. The only clue Stella would give me was that Faith is still writing, and has been published."
"Under her real name?"
"Apparently not."
"That's going to make finding her a little difficult, don't you think?"
"Difficult, but not impossible."
"Ha! Who died and made you Sherlock Holmes?"
"Hey, I've read enough police procedurals and true crime novels to have picked up a few tips."
"Well, all I can say is 'go for it.' And tell me everything as soon as you know, will you? I feel like I've just put down a book I can't wait to get back into."
"You and me both."
Tricia arrived back at Haven't Got a Clue just in time for the afternoon rush, which kept her from her laptop for another hour. By then she was ready to jump out of her skin. But between customers she'd thumbed through the Sisters In Crime and Mystery Writers of America membership directories she kept near the sales register. Not surprisingly, there was no Faith Stone listed. She'd searched for last names that began with S that had first names beginning with F. There were no published authors she recognized.
"What am I thinking?" she said, and gave her forehead a slap. "I'm not going to find her in a U.S.-based group."
"Find who?" Ginny asked.
"A writer," Tricia said.
"Maybe I can help."
"I need the laptop. I've got to check the Crime Writers of Canada Web site."
"Crime Writers of Canada? We don't carry any books from Canadian publishers, do we?"
"Not really. To make any kind of a living, most Canadian authors have U.S. publishers."
"So what's the name of this Canadian author?"
"I'm not sure."
"Then how can you look him--or her--up? Or do you have the book title?"
Tricia shook her head. "No author, no title, no ISBN."
Ginny spread her arms wide. "Then--how?"
"I'm going to take a good guess." Tricia headed for the back of the store and the stairs to her loft apartment. "I'm going to go online to check. Call me on my cell if things get hairy down here."
"You got it," Ginny said.
Miss Marple saw Tricia heading for the stairs and jumped down from one of the bookshelves to lope after her. Tricia opened the door to the stairs and the cat took off like a shot.
Less than a minute later, Tricia had powered up her computer and waited as it found the Internet connection. At the Google site, she typed in "Crime W
riters of Canada," and in seconds was taken to the CWC home page. She clicked on the button labeled Member Bios, selecting S. A fast perusal came up with only one name that had the initials F and S: Fiona Sample.
Bookmarked For Death (Berkley Prime Crime Mysteries) Page 22
