A wave of guilt washed over Tricia. “I’m sorry about that.”
Ginny waved a hand in dismissal. “I admit it: I wasn’t that interested. I didn’t see retail as a career. But at that time there weren’t many options here in Stoneham. When Nigela Ricita Associates came to the village, everything changed.”
“For the better?” Tricia asked.
Ginny nodded. “I probably wouldn’t have met Antonio if I hadn’t been working at the Happy Domestic. All our lives would be different—and I don’t think for the better.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Tricia said, forcing cheerfulness when what she really felt was even more guilt.
Molly arrived with their lunches, setting them down on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Sure thing,” Ginny quipped, and plucked half of her sandwich from the heavy china plate.
Tricia picked up her spoon and plunged it into the soup, coming up with a piece of potato that still bore its skin. She changed the subject.
“Did anything else interesting happen while I was gone?”
“The Brookview Inn is in a bit of a tizzy, what with planning a last-minute wedding.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s getting married?’ Tricia asked.
Ginny picked up a potato chip from her plate. “I thought someone would have told you already.”
“Told me what?”
“That Chief Baker is getting married.”
“Oh, that?” Tricia said, trying to sound like she really wasn’t interested in that piece of news. “Pixie mentioned it, but she didn’t have many details.” Okay, that was a fib, but Ginny might have more information to share, and Tricia sure as heck wasn’t going to discourage her from talking about it.
Ginny picked up one of her potato chips and chomped on it. “I guess they’re in a hurry to get married—at least, that’s what I heard.”
Grant Baker in a hurry to get married? Now Tricia had heard everything.
Well, not really.
“I don’t suppose you heard anything about their plans,” Tricia mentioned offhandedly.
“Oh, sure. Antonio told me all about it. I guess it’s going to be quite the affair.”
“Oh?” Tricia asked innocently, taking a sip of her water.
“Well, of course. The chief’s bride-to-be is the former governor’s daughter.”
Tricia nearly spewed the mouthful of H2O with which she’d been bathing her gums. “What?” she asked, almost choking.
“Oh, yeah. I thought you knew.”
“I knew Grant had been dating someone; I just never heard who.”
“She’s a lawyer who works pro bono for high-profile cases. I guess she’s filthy rich.”
How had that fact eluded Tricia for so long?
“That’s . . . that’s so nice,” she said, and managed what she hoped was a sweet smile.
Ginny wasn’t fooled. “I’ll bet she’s a bitch.”
“Ginny!”
“Well, what power does she have over the chief that he chose her when he couldn’t see what a prize he had in you?” she said, sounding hurt.
Tricia gave her niece-in-law a fond smile. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“I want you to be just as happy as I am, Tricia.”
Did that mean happily mated? And hadn’t Ginny spoken just minutes before about her uncertainty when it came to her and her husband’s views on expanding their family?
“It was me who walked away from that relationship,” Tricia reminded Ginny.
“Well, if he hadn’t dragged his feet and turned on you every time a dead body showed up around town—”
“My, this soup smells good,” Tricia said, cutting Ginny off and picked up her spoon, desperate to change the subject, and then began an in-depth description of the books Pixie had acquired while Tricia had been out of the country. Ginny played along but hurriedly ate her lunch. She had more important things to attend to, and Tricia could almost sense Ginny’s anticipation to get back to work. She loved her daughter and she loved her job. Tricia didn’t envy the choices Ginny might be forced to make in the future.
And then there was Tricia. It seemed that she had all the freedom in the world and yet nothing the least bit challenging on the horizon.
Then she thought again of Pixie and the fear she’d seen in her eyes that morning.
Perhaps a more drama-free life was best in the long run.
But not nearly as interesting.
FOUR
The weather was fine, but the customers were few and far between. That gave Tricia and Pixie time to sort through the books for shelving and those that needed treatment. Pixie took care of the former, while Tricia attended to the latter. She used several methods to deodorize books, ranging from kitty litter to baking soda to dryer sheets. One or a combination of all three usually did the trick. Once the books were placed in a sealed box, Tricia returned to the sales floor to rejoin her assistant manager.
Although it was Mr. Everett’s day off, he popped into Haven’t Got a Clue that afternoon after taking Sarge for a walk. “That little dog is a joy to spend time with,” he said, brandishing one of his rare smiles.
“That he is,” Tricia agreed. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Oh, no. I just stopped in to say hello.”
“And we’re glad you did,” Pixie said. Her melancholy from earlier in the day seemed to have diminished.
“Ms. Miles, I meant to tell you how much Grace and I enjoyed the interview you did for the cable news channel,” Mr. Everett said. “You did Haven’t Got a Clue proud.”
Tricia felt a blush rising. Was everybody in the village going to mention it?
“Thank you,” she said, and quickly changed the subject. “Now that you’re here, Mr. Everett, I wonder if I might impose upon you for a favor?”
“I’ll do whatever I can. What do you need?”
Tricia explained what she wanted to be done on the dumbwaiter, and Mr. Everett was only too happy to oblige. He left immediately for the big hardware store on Route 101, and within an hour was back with several bolts and set to work to affix them to the dumbwaiter doors. “I bought enough to retrofit your sister’s doors as well. We can’t have your homes unsecured. Not in these troubled times,” he said.
While he worked on the floors above, Tricia noticed that Pixie’s gloomy mood reappeared during the afternoon, leaving a rather solemn pall throughout Haven’t Got a Clue. That is, except when customers entered the store. Then, like a dedicated thespian, she came alive, talking and laughing, and finding the exact book that any avid reader was sure to love. It was a gift, but once the door had closed behind the shopper, Pixie’s mood plunged, and she looked as though she’d lost her best friend. She was worried, and with reason, about what the future might hold, and Tricia felt helpless to reassure her.
Once he’d finished his work, Mr. Everett left them with a cheery “See you tomorrow” and headed next door to the Cookery to take Sarge on yet another walk, and the rest of the afternoon dragged. Eventually the hands on the clock pointed toward six o’clock.
“There’s no point in staying open another minute,” Tricia said after Pixie had tidied the store and cleaned the beverage station to perfection. “Why don’t you head on home?”
“You’re too good to me, Tricia.”
Tricia shook her head. “Not nearly enough. And tomorrow, why don’t you wear your pretty yellow floral dress.”
Pixie shook her head. “It’s too summery.”
“Nonsense. You could wear your white sweater with it.”
“After Labor Day?” Pixie asked.
Tricia raised an eyebrow in response.
“Okay. I guess I could,” Pixie said, sounding defeated.
“Great. Now, go home to your husband and have a wonderful evening.”
“Okay.” It sounded more like she’d be facing a firing squad.
Pixie retrieved her hat, grabbed her purse, and gave a halfhearted wave before heading out the door.
Tricia sighed but then moved to lower the blinds, turn off the lights, change the OPEN sign to CLOSED, grab the second box of chocolates she’d purchased earlier in the day, and then lock the door. In just a few steps, she opened the door to the Cookery and stepped inside. June was tidying up, getting ready to leave for the day.
“Hey, Tricia. Did you have a good vacation?” Angelica’s store manager asked.
“Great. Just great.” If another person asked her about her vacation, Tricia was sure she was going to scream. Even though people were trying to be polite, she was getting tired of talking—or even thinking—about the vacation she hadn’t really enjoyed.
“Angelica’s upstairs, waiting for you. And you don’t need to worry about Sarge. Mr. Everett came back for a third time today and took him for a comfort stroll. I’ll lock up and see you tomorrow, huh?”
“Probably. Have a good evening, June.”
“You, too.”
Tricia headed for the back of the store, opened the door marked PRIVATE, and locked it behind her before she headed up the stairs. Sarge heard her and began to bark. When Tricia entered the apartment, he went absolutely berserk with joy. “Calm down, calm down,” she coaxed, and hurried to the kitchen island, where she set down the chocolates and opened the crystal biscuit jar on the counter, quickly tossing the dog one, but he was too wound up and kept jumping in the air as though on a trampoline.
“Sarge, hush!” Angelica ordered from her perch on one of the island’s stools, her right foot elevated on another.
The dog quieted but still danced around Tricia’s legs for another minute, demanding her attention.
“I’d say you were terribly missed,” Angelica said, then nodded toward the counter. “What’s with the candy?”
“Isn’t one supposed to bring a gift to an invalid?”
“Just what I need when I have to lead a sedentary lifestyle for the next few weeks.” Angelica shook her head but then said, “Thank you. You know where the drinks and glasses are,” she directed.
Once Sarge had finally calmed down and accepted the biscuit, Tricia washed the slobber from her hands, dried them, and fetched the glass pitcher from the fridge, pouring the drinks.
“Thanks for sending Mr. Everett over to secure my dumbwaiter doors. It never occurred to me they could be a potential security breach. And the dear man wouldn’t let me pay him for the hardware, and he’s been so good about walking Sarge. We couldn’t have asked for a better friend.”
“I totally agree.”
“When I’m back on my feet, no pun intended, I’m going to bake something special for him,” Angelica declared.
“He’ll like that,” Tricia said, and passed one of the glasses to her sister. “Boy, am I ready for this,” she said, and took a swig.
“Bad day?” Angelica asked, and again pointed to the fridge, where Tricia retrieved a bowl of Tommy’s guacamole, removing the plastic wrap and setting it on the island. She grabbed a bag of tortilla chips sitting on the counter and poured some out into another bowl.
“It could have been better.”
“Where do you want to sit?”
“It’s still nice out. Let’s go out on your balcony. We won’t be able to do that for much longer.”
Angelica nodded. “All too soon it’ll be a skating rink. Can you bring out everything?”
“Sure,” Tricia said, and snagged the drinks, setting them and the chips and dip on a tray.
They made their way across the apartment and Angelica opened the sliding glass doors, closing them again after she, Tricia, and Sarge stepped onto the balcony. They took their accustomed seats, Angelica settling her legs on the chaise, with Sarge jumping up to nestle beside her. Tricia kicked off her shoes.
“So, what spoiled your day?” Angelica asked.
“I wouldn’t say spoiled, but . . . why didn’t you tell me Grant Baker was engaged?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” Angelica asked, feigning innocence.
“You know perfectly well you didn’t.”
“Well, maybe because I knew it would spoil your day.”
“It didn’t spoil my day,” Tricia reaffirmed. No, it was a combination of things that had rattled her. “I was just taken aback.”
Angelica nodded. “It’s always unsettling when a former lover—”
“Chooses someone other than you—or, in this case, me?”
“Well, I hadn’t intended to put it so bluntly, but yes.”
Tricia shrugged and took a larger sip of her drink.
“Have you heard from Marshall?” Angelica asked hopefully.
“No.”
“Have you thought about calling him?”
“No.”
“Oh, dear,” Angelica said, and scowled before taking a sip of her drink.
“Please don’t ask me about him anymore,” Tricia implored.
“Ever?” Angelica asked, alarmed.
“No, but for at least today. We’ll talk to each other when we’re ready to talk.”
The sisters didn’t speak for a minute or so. Angelica dipped a chip into the guacamole while Tricia stared at the churchyard beyond the fence in the alley behind their buildings. It was Tricia who broke the quiet.
“So, what kind of reception is Grant having?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I’m just curious. I love weddings—even if they aren’t mine.”
Angelica scowled. “I wasn’t sure you ever wanted to get married again.”
“I don’t.”
Angelica eyed her sister. “Doth thou protest too much?”
“No.”
Angelica frowned and shrugged. “Well, it’ll be a nice reception for fifty people. The Brookview is catering, of course, and the couple will provide their own cake—although goodness knows our own Joann Gibson is the best pastry chef in the area now that Nikki’s flown the coop,” she muttered. “The bride’s colors will be harvest shades, and we’ll be coordinating the linens to match.”
“What’s the entrée?”
“Surf and turf. And an open bar, of course.”
“Nothing’s too good for the former governor’s daughter.”
“Who told you that?” Angelica asked.
“Ginny. What’s the woman’s name?”
“Diana.”
“Named after the princess?” Tricia asked tartly.
“Probably. She seemed very nice. She’s younger than Chief Baker and a career woman.”
“So Pixie said,” Tricia said, ignoring the mention of the fair Diana’s age. “I hear she defends people for nothing,” Tricia repeated.
“Why not? Apparently, she’s filthy rich.”
“And was that the attraction?” Tricia asked, knowing the lady attorney’s bank account would far surpass that of the chief’s.
“Tricia,” Angelica chided, “it’s not like you to be catty.”
No, it wasn’t. Still, Tricia plunged on.
“I suppose you’ve met her?” she said to deflect attention from her former remark.
“Um, I just happened to be at the Brookview when she came for a tour and put down a deposit.”
“Why are they having their reception in Stoneham? Are they slumming?”
“Tricia,” Angelica scolded once again. “The Brookview is a historic inn with an extensive pedigree. And don’t forget, the property has had almost a complete makeover since Nigela Ricita Associates took over.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tricia muttered and took another sip of her martini. She was feeling catty.
“We had a cancellation, and it was lucky we could accommodate them,” Ange
lica explained. “Besides, the chief does work in the village. Maybe he wanted to contribute to our prosperity.”
“Or maybe it was the only place they could find on such short notice,” Tricia suggested.
“Be that as it may . . .” Angelica said testily, and took another sip of her drink.
“So, when’s the wedding?”
“Four weeks from Saturday.”
Tricia blinked. “So soon?”
“They’ve been an item for a while; why wait?”
Tricia pursed her lips, feeling like a sore loser. It had been she who’d cut things off with Baker when he wasn’t willing to commit to her. Why she felt any emotion connected to the man—except, perhaps, annoyance—was beyond her.
“They’re getting married by a judge—an old friend of her family, I guess,” Angelica added.
“I suppose you’ve even seen her dress.”
“Just a sketch. Do you want to hear more?” Angelica asked.
“I don’t think so.” Tricia shifted her gaze to the bowl of guacamole, selected a chip, dunked it in the dip, and ate it. “Not bad.”
“Tommy thought of our appetizer, but Antonio sent over dinner from the Brookview. He’s such a good kid,” Angelica said and sighed, then gave herself a little shake. “How did your lunch with Ginny go?”
“Okay, but she doesn’t exactly seem happy that Antonio wants another child,” Tricia said.
“It’s not news to me,” Angelica replied.
“Ginny likes being a working mom.”
“Well, of course. And why wouldn’t she? I’m an excellent employer.”
“And what do you want them to do?” Tricia asked.
“Of course, I’d love to have another grandbaby, but there’s no way I’m going to insert myself into that conversation. They have to work that out for themselves.”
Tricia said nothing, but she had to admit she was rather surprised by her sister’s reaction. When it came to just about any other subject, Angelica felt free to offer her opinion—and sometimes forcefully.
Her sister scrutinized Tricia’s face. “You look skeptical.”
Handbook for Homicide Page 5