Just as Pixie had said. Was it Tricia’s place to tell Donna the truth?
“I also heard she was found behind your store.” Donna’s tone was filled with disapproval.
“That’s true,” Tricia admitted.
“And that this isn’t the first time you’ve found a dead person.”
“I didn’t find her,” Tricia was quick to point out, but didn’t elaborate.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Donna said sadly. “I liked Susan. She was smart, she was funny, she was . . .”
“Homeless,” Tricia said.
Donna blinked. “What?”
“She lived in her car.”
“That can’t be,” Donna said, bewildered.
“I’m afraid it was.”
“Why didn’t she say so? Why didn’t she ask for help?”
Tricia shrugged. “Apparently she was fine with it.”
“How could anybody be fine with living in a car?” Donna asked, distressed.
“I guess it happens a lot more than most of us think.”
Donna shook her head.
“What will you do until you hire someone?” Tricia asked.
“My sister said she could lend me a hand for a few days. She helped me set up the store and knows the routine. Sometimes she works for me on weekends, but she’s got a regular job and can’t help until Saturday. I’ve got a couple of big orders to fill before then. I don’t know how I’ll make out.”
“Have you called one of the temp agencies in Nashua?”
“No, but that’s a good idea. Thanks.” Donna let out a weary sigh. “Did you have a nice time on your vacation?”
Tricia saw no reason to dump more pain on the poor woman and simply answered, “Yes.”
“I haven’t been on a vacation in years, and now, since I opened the shop, it’ll be even longer,” Donna lamented. “But once this place is a success, I’m going someplace spectacular. I’m going to Vegas.”
Tricia stifled a laugh. “I hear it’s nice.”
“Casinos; big, flashy shows; and all-you-can-eat buffets—that’s what I want to experience.”
“I hope the opportunity comes up soon.”
“Meanwhile, we’re here in boring old Stoneham.”
“Not as boring as you might think. Did you know there was an attempted break-in at my store last weekend?” Tricia asked.
Donna’s expression darkened. “No. I take it they didn’t get in.”
“The security system kicked in and apparently frightened them off.”
“I don’t have one. Maybe I should get one installed.”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
Donna’s frown deepened. “With all the expenses I’ve already got, I don’t know how I can afford one.”
“Could you afford to replace your equipment if it was vandalized?”
Donna looked doubtful. “My insurance might pay for it, but I’ve got the bare minimum.”
The women were silent for a long moment before Donna spoke again. “Can I help you with anything else?” she asked hopefully.
Tricia wondered what she could do to lighten Donna’s mood. She should buy something. Then again, she thought about that extra five pounds she was carrying, plus her sister being homebound for weeks with no way to get in even a few hundred steps a day as exercise. But Donna looked disconsolate, and Tricia forced a wan smile. She indicated the display case filled with heavenly truffles, bonbons, caramel corn, peanut brittle, and more that stood between them.
“How about selling me two one-pound boxes of those wonderful chocolate-covered creams?”
* * *
* * *
After returning to Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia hung up her coat and decided to set up the beverage station for the day, placing one of the boxes of chocolates out for her staff and customers to enjoy. She snuck just one piece for herself—maple cream—and bet that Donna had made it with the best New Hampshire syrup, which was produced locally.
The coffee was brewing when Pixie showed up for work just a wee bit late, wearing a black suit, black pumps, and an ebony pillbox hat with a veil that dipped just below her eyes. Her expression was just as somber.
“Good mourning?” Tricia asked.
“Not so much,” Pixie replied.
Tricia didn’t feel up to explaining her little joke and felt bad for even making it. Pixie looked disconsolate. “Would you like me to hang up your hat?”
Pixie’s eyes rolled upward, and she sighed. “I guess this getup is a little over-the-top, but it pretty much reflects my mood.”
“It’s very pretty,” Tricia said. “I especially like that little cluster of pearls on the bow, but it does seem a little—”
“Morbid?” Pixie asked.
“Formal,” Tricia corrected. “I’ve just made a fresh pot of coffee. Why don’t you pour yourself a cup?”
Pixie removed the pearl-tipped hatpin and took off her chapeau. “I’ll hang this up first.”
Tricia watched as Pixie slunk to the back of the store, donned her name badge, then returned to the shop’s front to pour coffee for both of them.
“I bought some chocolates from Sweet As Can Be. Why don’t you have a few? Maybe they’ll cheer you up,” Tricia suggested.
“It might take the whole box, but thanks. And thanks for getting the coffee ready.” Pixie glanced at the clock. “Oh, goodness—I’m ten minutes late for work!” she cried.
“It’s all right.” Tricia waved a hand around the empty store. “As you can see, we’re not exactly inundated with customers.”
“I’m sorry, Tricia. It’s just that—”
“I know what it’s like to have Chief Baker’s judgmental gaze fixed upon one.” She’d seen it far too many times.
Pixie’s gaze dipped to the chocolates and she chose one of the creams, bit it in half, and chewed. Pistachio, from the look of it. She paused before taking another bite. “Yeah. As I was walking home from work last night, the chief intercepted me right on Main Street. He popped out of the police station like he’d been waiting for me and invited me to his office for a little chat,” Pixie said unhappily.
Tricia’s hackles rose. “Oh?”
“Except it wasn’t all that short, and I kept asking if I needed a lawyer.”
“Oh, Pixie—why didn’t you call me?”
“He said if I had nothing to hide, I didn’t need an attorney, and as I wasn’t being arrested—yet—I didn’t need to call anyone.”
“He actually said ‘yet’?”
“Well, no. But that’s what he meant.” Pixie chose another cream.
“What did he want?”
“He kept hammering over and over again the same questions—How long had I known Susan? Where was I on Tuesday?—and he wanted an hour-by-hour description.” Pixie popped the entire chocolate in her mouth and chewed rapidly.
“So you have an alibi, right?” Tricia asked.
Pixie’s expression darkened and she swallowed. “Do you really think I need one?”
“Apparently the chief does.”
Pixie straightened. “Yes, I do have an alibi—several in fact. I was here at the shop all day; then Fred picked me up at closing and we went to the Bookshelf Diner for dinner, where I had a burger, onion rings, and a chocolate shake. I struck up a conversation with Gina, the waitress, so she can pin me to the place and time. After that, we went home. We stopped to speak to our neighbor, Ed, who gave us some of the last of his grape tomatoes. Then we watched TV for a while and went to bed. When the paper came at seven fifteen in the morning, I was there to take it from the delivery guy. I walked to work, for everyone to see, and got here early. Along the way I ran into Mr. E, who was walking Sarge, so he can vouch for me, too.”
“I’m sorry, Pixie. I don’t doubt for a moment that you’re telling the truth.”
“Well, the chief can confirm with everybody I interacted with—if he cares to do so.”
Tricia didn’t blame Pixie for having her doubts about law enforcement. But she also had faith that Baker was just doing his job. Okay, maybe she crossed her fingers that he was just trying to ensure he fulfilled his duty to interview everyone who knew the dead woman.
“With all that went on yesterday, I don’t suppose the chief shared his news with you,” Pixie said.
“News?” Tricia asked. For some reason her abdominal muscles tightened, and she wasn’t sure she wanted her coffee after all.
“Yeah, Chiefy and his girl are going to tie the knot.”
Tricia blinked in surprise. It wasn’t like Pixie to share gossip, so she had to be really irked at Baker. “When did this happen?”
“While you were on vacation.”
It probably shouldn’t have come as a shock. Baker and his lady friend had been seeing each other for more than a year. The man had had quite a problem making a commitment when he was dating Tricia, but it looked like he’d changed his mind. Either that or his girlfriend—and Tricia had never learned the woman’s name—wasn’t as picky as Tricia had been when it came to pinning the man down.
“Well,” Tricia said, managing to keep her voice level, “I wish them all the luck in the world.”
Luck? Oops! She’d meant happiness . . . hadn’t she?
“It’s not going to be a long engagement, either,” Pixie added.
Tricia blinked. “Oh?”
Pixie nodded. “They’ve already booked the Brookview Inn for their reception.”
Tricia’s eyes widened. Why hadn’t Angelica mentioned this little piece of information when they had lunch the previous day? Was she trying to spare Tricia’s feelings, or was she concerned that too much had happened upon Tricia’s arrival home and didn’t want to dump yet another brick on her shoulders?
Brick? Why should she even care what Grant Baker did in his spare time? His private life was none of her business.
Pixie reached for another chocolate, again popping the entire thing in her mouth and washing it down with a gulp of coffee. “With everything that happened yesterday, I forgot to mention that I visited a rummage sale over the weekend and bought some stock. There are a couple of boxes in the office downstairs. I also wrote out an inventory. It’s on the computer. You might want to check it out to see if you agree with my suggested prices. I left a receipt by the phone.”
Tricia hadn’t even visited her office since returning home. “Thanks, Pixie. You’re a doll.”
Pixie actually blushed. “Oh, and it’s Thursday. Don’t forget, you’ve got lunch with Ginny at Booked for Lunch at one.”
“Thank you for reminding me. I’d completely forgotten about it. I’ve got to get back into my routine.”
“It’ll happen soon enough,” Pixie said.
The bell over the door rang—their first customer of the day. Pixie’s demeanor immediately changed for the better as she straightened and smiled brightly. “Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m Pixie. Have you visited us before?” she asked the woman dressed in a heavy denim jacket, which seemed like overkill for the early fall weather.
“Yes, thanks. But I could sure use some suggestions on new authors.”
“New, old, we’ve got ’em both,” Pixie said. “Dead authors, live authors. Do you like cat mysteries? They’re popular these days. Or perhaps supernatural? Witches are hot, too . . .”
Tricia slipped away, heading for the basement office, where she sat down at her desk. First, she Googled bunion surgery, not surprised to see it agreed with what Angelica had told her the day before. Tricia bit her lip and wondered about Angelica’s dog. The little guy needed to be let out at night. Since she lived next door, it made sense that she should volunteer for that duty. Angelica had fed Miss Marple a few times when Tricia had changed plans and spent the night elsewhere or gone on a business trip. She would offer to do so the next time they spoke.
That decided, next she inspected the boxes of books Pixie had mentioned and was soon absorbed by the task. There were several surprises, and several were a bit musty. She would treat them before adding them to the shelves on the floor above.
Eventually, her stomach growled and she glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was ten minutes to one. Pixie should have hollered down the stairs to her and taken her lunch hour fifty minutes before.
Tricia dashed up the stairs and found Pixie behind the combination display case/cash desk, reading. “Why didn’t you call me? You’ve missed your lunch.”
Pixie waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not hungry. I figured I’d go when you got back from your lunch with Ginny.”
Those lunches were usually less than an hour.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. You’d better hurry and get ready,” Pixie said.
Eight minutes later Tricia was out the door and crossing the street for Booked for Lunch.
She entered the little café and took a seat in the booth that Molly, the waitress, had reserved for her and Ginny. She’d already poured two glasses of water and removed the RESERVED sign as Tricia settled her purse at her side.
Tricia needn’t have hurried. As usual, Ginny was late. It seemed to Tricia that these regular Thursday lunches were stolen time away from Ginny’s job as the events planner for Angelica’s company, Nigela Ricita Associates. It gave her a twinge of guilt, but Ginny did deserve a break from her job, and Tricia knew Angelica wouldn’t begrudge her a midday meal.
Tricia didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before Ginny eased into the other side of the booth. “Sorry I’m late.”
Tricia smiled. “Not by too much. “
“Hey, that was some interview you did on TV.”
“So I’ve been told. I’ve yet to see it. I keep forgetting to Google it.”
“You should. It’s great PR for Haven’t Got a Clue and the whole village.”
Tricia felt a swell of pride course through her but didn’t want to push for details. “What’s on your plate today?” Tricia asked.
Ginny’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “My team and I spent the morning brainstorming ideas for the upcoming holiday season. They are the most amazing people—so smart, so talented. I can’t wait to share with the boss all our ideas for the entire Nigela Ricita empire.”
Angelica empire.
Molly approached their table. After almost a year on the job, she knew Ginny was on a tight schedule. “What’ll you ladies have today?”
“A BLT for me,” Ginny said.
“And I’ll have the soup of the day and half a turkey sandwich on whole wheat—with the works,” Tricia added.
“It’s broccoli cheddar,” Molly warned, knowing it wasn’t one of Tricia’s favorites, “but Tommy has some vegetable beef he can heat up if you’d prefer.”
“Yes, vegetable beef sounds like a delicious choice, thank you.”
Molly jotted it down on her pad and made a hasty retreat.
“So, how was your vacation?” Ginny asked eagerly, as though starved for the mere thought of getting away from it all.
“It was . . . okay,” Tricia admitted.
Ginny frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Tricia shrugged. “I knew before we left that it wasn’t going to be a pleasure trip for Marshall—and he was determined to make the tour a success for Milford Travel.”
“And where did that leave you?” Ginny asked with more than a bit of disapproval in her tone.
“I was a tourist who got to see just how beautiful Ireland is—and how generous and welcoming the population at large is, too.”
“Did you have any fun?” Ginny asked.
Tricia hesitated before answering. “The other people on the tour were friendly and everybody had a wonderful time.”
&n
bsp; “Everybody but you?” Ginny pressed.
“I enjoyed the people, the places, and the food.”
“But not your time with Marshall.”
“He was pretty much unavailable,” Tricia said, and sighed.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It was what it was. I bought a lot of books, all new-to-me authors, and I brought back a present for Sofia. I’m sorry, but she’s the only one who’ll get one.”
“And I’m sure she’ll love it when you give it to her on Sunday when we’re all together for dinner.”
Tricia managed a smile. She’d missed two of their family dinners because of the trip and looked forward to the weekend. Sometimes Marshall attended the gatherings, but it was never a given. He said he didn’t feel like he blended in. Maybe if he attended more of them, he would. Maybe she’d invite him again . . . and maybe she wouldn’t.
Ginny sipped her glass of water, looking pensive.
“Is something wrong?” Tricia asked.
Ginny let out a long breath, her head drooping. “Just a little discord on the home front.” She leaned in closer. “Antonio’s been hinting that he’d like us to have another baby . . . but I’m just not sure.”
“Why is that?” Tricia asked.
Ginny let out a sigh. “I love my job. I love my daughter. I don’t think I could handle two kids and work.”
“But Antonio is a great hands-on dad.”
“Yes, he is—when he can be. He’s also a father with a terribly demanding job.”
“You could take a couple of years off.”
“I could,” Ginny admitted, “but I don’t want to. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, Tricia, but when I worked for you, I wasn’t really challenged. I loved working at Haven’t Got a Clue, but at that time I never had an inkling that I was capable of so much more.”
Tricia found it hard to look Ginny in the eye. Back then, she hadn’t been willing to give up the kind of responsibility she allowed Pixie to have. Was it because Ginny was so much younger than Tricia’s current assistant manager? Heck, she’d called them both assistants, and it was Pixie who balked at being a true manager because she knew Tricia couldn’t quite handle relinquishing that role.
Handbook for Homicide Page 4