Bookplate Special

by Lorna Barrett

  “Envelope? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Mr. Paige,” the handler insisted, grabbing his employer by the elbow once more. “We’re going to be late for your ten thirty meeting.”

  “She made copies of pages from a woman’s diary. A woman who wrote about her pregnancy and intended to strong-arm the father of her baby into marrying her-that is, until the child was born with birth defects. Pammy mailed those pages to you several days before her death.”

  Another gray-suited flunky stepped behind Tricia, grabbed her by the elbow, and propelled her forward. “Not the time and place for this, honey,” he growled. “You’re outta here.”

  “Let me go!” The hand on her elbow tightened. At least she was going in the same direction as Paige, heading for the Brookview’s front entrance.

  “Mr. Paige! Mr. Paige!” she cried.

  Paige was on the top step, and turned back to look at her. Shots rang out, splintering wood and shattering glass.

  The flunky let go of Tricia’s arm, pushing her aside. He made a flying leap at his employer, knocking him forward, and the two of them tumbled down the inn’s wooden steps.

  “He’s hit!” came a voice.

  A stream of suited businessmen and businesswomen emerged from the inn’s open doorway, led by Bob Kelly, whose green jacket stuck out like a flag, while Paige’s handlers dragged the wounded man to the side of the inn and out of the line of fire.

  “What happened?” Bob demanded.

  “Someone fired shots at Mr. Paige-my God, at me!” Tricia cried.

  Instead of stopping to make sure she was all right, or even reassure her, Bob barreled down the stairs after Paige and his entourage. “Stuart! Stuart!”

  “Someone call nine-one-one,” a voice behind Tricia shouted.

  Russ was suddenly beside her. “Tricia, what happened?”

  “Is he dead? Is he dead?” another voice yelled.

  Tricia’s knees felt weak as she grabbed the banister to keep from stumbling down the stairs. Somehow, she took off after Bob, with Russ right behind her.

  A pasty-faced Paige sat on the ground behind a linen delivery truck, his bloodied right hand clasping his left shoulder. His crisp white shirt was stained scarlet. Although gasping for breath, he managed to speak with his flunkies, one of who was on a cell phone. Meanwhile, Bob hovered over them all like a worried mother hen.

  The cell phone flipped shut. “The sheriff and ambulance are on their way,” the gray-suited man announced.

  “Can I get you something? Something cold to drink? Something hot?” Bob blathered.

  The flunky in brown pushed him aside. “Why don’t you take care of crowd control?”

  Bob nodded like a bobblehead. “Sure, sure.”

  Again he pushed past Tricia, heading back for the inn’s entrance.

  Tricia surged forward, but a hand held her back. “Tricia!”

  Russ! “Let go,” she growled, and pulled away. She crouched next to Paige. “Had you been threatened before this happened? Who’d want to kill you? Does it have anything to do with those pages Pammy Fredericks sent you?”

  Paige opened his mouth to speak, but Tricia was yanked upright before she could hear what he said.

  “Hey!”

  “Stand back, ma’am. Give the man some air,” said the flunky in brown.

  “I tried to stop her,” Russ said, sounding like a tattletale.

  The wail of a siren cut through the cool autumn morning, and moments later the Stoneham Fire Department’s rescue unit pulled alongside the inn’s entrance. The EMTs jumped out, equipment in hand, and jogged to intercept Gray Suit.

  Tricia and Russ were shunted off to one side, forced to stand with the rest of the rubberneckers. Their attention was riveted on the wounded man, but Tricia stared at the wooded area across the road from the inn. It hadn’t been developed. In addition to trees, the area was thick with brush-the perfect hiding place for someone with a rifle.

  “Is that where the shots came from?” Russ asked.

  She nodded. She was in no mood to look at-let alone speak to-him, and moved aside, skirting the crowd to stand on the other side of the inn’s driveway.

  Once a couple of deputies had arrived, Bob managed to wrangle his way back to the mob surrounding Paige. No doubt he was already pondering the bad press that this incident would generate, and thinking about damage control.

  “He’s going to be all right, right?” he badgered.

  “His wounds aren’t life threatening,” an EMT told him, “but to be on the safe side, we’re going to take him to the trauma center in Nashua.”

  Another Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up outside the inn, and Tricia was surprised Captain Baker wasn’t behind the wheel. Good. That would buy her more time.

  She decided not to wait for the ambulance to take off, and walked purposefully for her car in the back parking lot. If she could arrive at the hospital before the captain, perhaps she could sneak in to see Paige before the sheriff’s deputy could interrogate the philanthropist.

  “Tricia, wait!”

  She turned and stopped. Russ. Again.

  “Tricia!” he called again, and caught up with her. “What were you asking Paige? What’s with the envelope you mentioned?”

  So, he had heard her. And, typically, he was more interested in the story than in her. He hadn’t been this interested on Tuesday before he’d dropped his bombshell about leaving Stoneham.

  Her anger boiled over. But instead of coming up with a scathing retort, she settled on simplicity. “Leave me alone.”

  He reached for her arm, but she wrenched it away. “Come on, we’ve been friends a long time.”

  “A year. We were friends for a year. We’re not friends anymore.”

  “Tricia!”

  She pointed at the crowd still milling around the Sheriff’s Department cruisers and the ambulance. “Go get your story. You need the practice if you’re going to be a big-time crime beat reporter once again.”

  Russ glared at her for what seemed like a long time, and then he turned to stalk back down the driveway.

  Tricia watched him for a couple of seconds before she started for her car. As she walked, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, and punched in the preset button to dial Ginny’s cell phone. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Ginny, it’s Tricia.”

  “Where are you? The store was supposed to open five minutes ago!”

  “I had an errand to run. I’ll be right there. By the way, didn’t you once tell me that Brian has an aunt who works at the medical center in Nashua?”

  “Sure. Her name’s Elsie Temple. She works at the reception desk in the ER.”

  Bingo!

  “Is there any chance you could pull in a favor for me?”

  “I can try,” Ginny said warily. “What do you have in mind?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Brian’s Aunt Elsie wrung her hands nervously. A woman of fifty or so, her neatly coiffed hair was a dull jet black, with not a gray root in sight. “If anyone but Ginny had asked me to do this, I’d have said no right on the spot,” she said, bending to look beyond Tricia, checking for feet in the bathroom’s four stalls, and any eavesdroppers. Finding no one there, she handed a visitor’s badge to Tricia.

  They’d had to meet in a second-floor ladies’ room, well out of the way of any security cameras-just in case. Tricia had no desire to get this nervous wreck of a woman fired.

  “If anyone asks who you’re here to visit, say Smith. Seems like we’ve always got at least one in the ER at any given time. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let on who gave you the badge.”

  “I won’t. And I promise I won’t cause a disturbance. I only want a chance to talk to Mr.-”

  “Don’t tell me the patient’s name. The less I know, the better. Holy smoke,” Elsie nearly whimpered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  Tricia peeled off the backing and applied the sticker to her jacket. “I’d better g
o. Thank you.”

  Elsie nodded, grabbing a paper towel from the wall dispenser and soaking it in cold water. She wrung it out before applying it to her forehead.

  The ladies’ room door closed behind Tricia, who felt like six kinds of a creep, but she had to get to Paige before Captain Baker did.

  Was it possible she could find a dirty laundry bin and rustle up a lab coat? No, without a hospital name badge, she’d be outed in a heartbeat. Playing the visitor card was her best shot to get in and out of the ER without a hitch.

  Head held high, Tricia made her way back to the emergency room lobby, looked around, and confidently strode through the doors into the patient-care area.

  The ER reminded Tricia of a giant horseshoe, with patient cubicles grouped around center workstations filled with computer terminals. Patient names were written on whiteboards outside each cubicle. It had been at least ten minutes since Paige had been brought in. Since his injuries weren’t life threatening, he wasn’t liable to be rushed into surgery… she hoped.

  Thanks to her visitor’s badge, nurses and technicians passed by her without a second glance. Good. She passed the last cubicle on the first side, and started down the row to check out the others. Intent on reading the patient names, Tricia almost bumped into a man in a gray suit. Too late she recognized him as part of Paige’s entourage.

  “What are you doing here?” Gray Suit growled.

  “I-I…” Caught-and without even finding Paige’s cubicle. “I need to speak with Mr. Paige.”

  “Now is hardly the time.” Gray Suit looked around, grabbed Tricia’s elbow, and steered her toward the exit. Now she’d not only be shown the door, but probably be turned over to hospital security.

  Gray Suit guided Tricia through the ER lobby, right past security, and out the Emergency entrance.

  The cool air felt rather refreshing as Gray Suit kept Tricia moving down the sidewalk and away from the hospital. Finally he stopped and let go of her arm. “Paige won’t tell you anything,” he said at last.

  “But you don’t even know what I want to ask.”

  “I heard what you said back at the inn. You asked about an envelope from Pam Fredericks. He never saw it. I’m paid to make sure he doesn’t see things like that.”

  “What happened to the envelope?”

  “It was turned over to one of Mr. Paige’s attorneys.”

  “Does the Sheriff’s Department know about it?”

  Gray Suit shook his head.

  “Were you aware Pammy Fredericks was murdered?”

  Gray Suit looked up sharply. “No, I wasn’t. I don’t pay attention to what happens in hick towns. But that explains why we didn’t hear from her again.”

  “Don’t you find it strange that Pammy attempted to blackmail Mr. Paige and then was found dead a day or so later?”

  “Not at all. Sounds like she was bad news.”

  “A case could be made that someone in Mr. Paige’s organization-say, a bodyguard like yourself-might be responsible for her death.”

  Gray Suit laughed. “Hey, lady, I ain’t no James Bond, and I’m definitely not licensed to kill.”

  Tricia studied his face. He was probably no older than thirty; muscular, with sandy brown hair and dark eyes. Could he be a reader? No, too young. More likely a moviegoer.

  “Now that you know about Pammy’s death, you ought to report receiving that envelope to Captain Baker of the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  At that moment, a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up to the side of the building. Sure enough, Grant Baker sat in the passenger seat.

  “And here he is now. I hope you’ll do the right thing,” she told Gray Suit, “because if you don’t, I will.”

  Baker got out of the car, making a beeline for Tricia and Gray Suit.

  “What are you doing here, Ms. Miles?” he demanded.

  “I came to see Mr. Paige after he was shot.” She jerked a thumb in Gray Suit’s direction. “This gentleman works for Mr. Paige. We were just discussing the envelope Pammy Fredericks sent to Mr. Paige last week.”

  Baker’s eyes narrowed. “Envelope? What envelope?”

  Tricia explained how Lois Kerr had seen Pammy making copies of the diary, and then immediately afterward she’d gone to the post office, where Ted Missile had seen Paige’s name on the envelope.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Baker demanded.

  “Maybe if you hadn’t called me a terrier, I would have.”

  Gray Suit smirked.

  “You know very well I meant you were probably stubborn-and now you’ve proved it.”

  Tricia balled her fists, willing herself not to haul off and smack the captain.

  He’d already moved on. “And you are?” he asked Gray Suit.

  “Jason Turner.”

  “What happened to this envelope?” Baker asked.

  “She’s right,” Turner said with a nod in Tricia’s direction. “The package did come to Mr. Paige’s office. He never saw it. It’s now in the hands of one of his attorneys.”

  “I’ll need the name.”

  Turner gave it to him. Then he went on, “Look, I need to be inside with my employer. I’ll be available for any other questions you have.” He fished inside his suit jacket, came up with a business card holder, and handed the captain one of his cards.

  Tricia watched him walk back through the emergency room entrance.

  Baker stepped around to block Tricia from following. “Wasn’t it just a couple of hours ago I told you to stay out of this investigation?”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking me about the shooting? I was a witness. In fact, what if those shots were intended to kill me-not Paige?”

  “I doubt it,” he said, and frowned.

  Appalled at his disregard for her safety, Tricia felt her mouth drop open. “You’re just as useless as your boss.”

  She turned, but Baker grabbed her by the arm. “Okay, what did you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  Baker pursed his lips. “I’m not going to tell you again: stay out of this investigation.”

  She glared at him. “You’re not my mother.” And with that, she stepped off the sidewalk and marched toward her car-angry at him for bringing out the worst in her.

  Moments later, Baker jogged to catch up with her. “Ms. Miles, please wait.”

  Tricia halted, still fuming.

  Baker removed his trooper hat, holding it in front of him like a scolded child looking for mercy. “Ms. Miles, let me apologize. We seem to have gotten off track today.”

  An apology? From a member of the Sheriff’s Department?

  “I’m sincerely worried that you could get hurt if you continue to poke around and ask questions about Pamela Fredericks’s death. As I understand it, you and your sister were nearly killed in a car accident last fall when you got involved with an unsavory character. And you were physically assaulted last spring. I don’t want to see a repeat of either scenario.”

  Tricia found herself looking into Baker’s sincere green eyes, and felt herself melting once again.

  Damn those eyes!

  She swallowed. “I don’t know anything more about Pammy’s death-or what she did in the hours before she died-than I’ve already told you.”

  “Will you please promise me that you’ll stop looking into this?”

  “How can I promise that? I run a store where every piece of stock involves a mystery. If somebody tells me something, of course I’m going to be curious about the implications. I can’t deny my nature, Captain.”

  Baker exhaled an exasperated breath. “You can be curious all you want. Just don’t act on that curiosity. Please!”

  Tricia shrugged. “I’ll try.”

  Baker squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pursing. Was he about to explode?

  “I think you should ask Mr. Turner where he was at the time of Pammy’s death,” Tricia said. “How do we know he didn’t decide to shut Pammy up aft
er she’d tried to blackmail his boss?”

  Baker sighed. “What would his motivation be?”

  “Protecting his employer.”

  “I will definitely speak with him-and his employer, whenever he’s available. Now, please put this out of your mind.”

  “Pammy Fredericks was my friend.”

  “You said she was ‘sort of’ your friend,” Baker reminded her.

  “Nevertheless, we had a twenty-four-year history, even if we weren’t particularly close. And what headway have you made in the case?”

  “I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”

  “In other words: none. How about the shooter at the inn? Have you scouted out the woods across the road from the inn?”

  “My men are doing that now.”

  “What are the odds it’s the same person who shot at my bedroom window?”

  “Of course, we can’t rule that out. Yet from what I understand, Mr. Paige was not shot with a BB gun or air pistol.”

  “Well, of course not. Although as far as we know, they haven’t dug a slug out of him yet.”

  “As soon as I talk to the doctors, I’ll know more.” Baker set his high-crowned hat back on his head. “Good day, Ms. Miles.”

  “Good day, Captain Baker.”

  He turned away, and Tricia continued on to her car. Thinking… thinking.

  Turner knew the contents of Pammy’s envelope. Baker would probably know the contents of that envelope within the hour. She wanted to know, too. Pammy had wanted money to keep the paternity of the journal author’s child quiet. Paige was the object of her blackmail scheme.

  That explained why Pammy had been killed, but not who had done it. All attention would be riveted on Paige or his associates, as it should be.

  End of mystery, at least from Tricia’s point of view.

  Maybe.

  She unlocked her car and climbed in. It was just as well. She had a wedding to host on Sunday, and losing Mr. Everett to his honeymoon during prime leaf-peeping season, she’d be too busy to think about Pammy’s death.

  It was all for the best.

  Why did she have a niggling feeling that she had missed something?