“Why didn’t you hire her? After all, you interviewed her twice,” Tricia pressed as Mindy covered her with yet another plastic cape. She was tempted to ask Randy if Susan’s age had been the reason. Their only concession to an older worker had been to hire Pixie for a short stint on Saturday afternoons. Angelica had done it out of kindness, only to find that Pixie was sought after by customers for her talent and charm.
Randy frowned, and Angelica shot Tricia a warning glance.
“Because . . . because . . .” Randy faltered, “. . . because she was too fearful.”
“Fearful?” Tricia asked.
Randy nodded. “She put on a brave front. But I noticed that while we talked, anytime the door opened, her gaze would dart around the room as though she was looking for an escape route . . . as though she thought she might be attacked. Of course, after reading the story about her tragic experiences in the Stoneham Weekly News on Monday, I can understand where she was coming from. But even without knowing that, I could tell she wasn’t a good candidate to work in this environment. While we talked, a gentleman came in for a buzz cut. She kept looking at him, and her expression was more than wary; it was fearful.”
Tricia nodded as Mindy snipped the locks at the base of her neck.
“I’m a hairdresser by trade, not a shrink. I have a business to run,” Randy said, shooting a glance in Angelica’s direction. “Susan just wasn’t a good fit.”
“Did she tell you much about herself?” Angelica asked.
“Just that she’d been in the military and had a daughter. Other than that, no.” But then Tricia noticed Randy turn thoughtful. “Well, she did say that she wanted to change her living situation. At the time I had no idea she was homeless. Had I known, I might have made a different decision And I know—because she waited on me—that she did just fine working at the village’s new candy shop. And she seemed happy there. I was glad for her. It’s not often one finds joy in one’s work.”
“I hope you don’t mean you’re unhappy working here at Booked for Beauty,” Angelica declared.
Randy smiled and patted Angelica’s shoulder. “Not in the least, dear lady.”
Angelica laughed, and Tricia gave the spa’s manager a smile. It wasn’t at all surprising that Susan was fearful of men after her experience in Las Vegas, but it was sad that, decades later, she hadn’t gotten over the ordeal. Then again, when she thought about it, Tricia had never really recovered from her mother’s rejection.
Susan had likely suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder at a time when it wasn’t well understood—and women and men were expected to “just get over it.”
Did Tricia suffer from the same complaint? She didn’t think so. She could go days without even thinking about her mother or the times when, as a child, she’d been ignored for days on end.
But Tricia felt empathy for the dead woman. Unfortunately, that meant nothing now—at least as far as Susan was concerned. She’d been killed and Tricia still had no idea why.
EIGHTEEN
Angelica protested when Tricia said she would get her car to drive her sister back to her apartment, but not enough to deter Tricia. Angelica was in no hurry to go home, and they ended up at their usual lunchtime eatery, Booked for Lunch, where Angelica was given a round of applause and many well wishes from the staff and regulars.
They took their usual seats at the back of the little café, and Molly filled their water glasses. “What’ll you have, ladies?”
“I’m starved,” Angelica said. “Do you think Tommy could rustle me up one of his open-faced Reubens?”
Molly nodded. “And for you, Tricia?”
“Splurge!” Angelica encouraged.
Tricia again thought of those pounds she’d gained and frowned. “Oh, what the heck,” she said, and turned her attention back to Molly. “I’ll have a club wrap with everything on it.”
“Red onion?”
“The works,” Tricia said. “And don’t forget the chips.”
“You got it.”
Molly turned and headed for the kitchen.
“My, a club wrap. That’s adventurous of you,” Angelica commented.
“There’s no way I can eat the whole thing, so I’ll either keep it for tomorrow or offer it to Pixie.” At the mention of her subordinate’s name, Tricia realized she hadn’t told Pixie she was taking Angelica to the hairdresser or that they were out having lunch. She whipped out her phone and sent a terse apology.
Not a problem, Pixie texted back. Mr. E and I have already figured out our lunchtimes and we’ll be here waiting when you get back. P.S. Mr. E took Sarge for a walk, so you don’t have to hurry back.
“I can’t believe I forgot all about my own business,” Tricia told her sister.
“You’ve got good people working for you. I’m sure Pixie had already figured it out.”
“Yes, and Mr. Everett has taken your dog for a comfort call, so you won’t have to go home to a puddle—or worse.”
“That darling man. We are the luckiest people in the world, aren’t we?” Angelica said.
“Yes. And you’ve given me the perfect opening to ask if you’ve spoken to Antonio about hiring Hank Curtis.”
“Yes, I called him this morning about hiring a food service manager for all our various eateries.”
“And?” Tricia asked.
“He thinks it’s a good idea. Food service was never his specialty, but he’s done a good job. Antonio agrees if we hired someone for that job, it would allow him to do what he loves best.”
“And what’s that?”
“Taking on new and exciting projects.”
“What else can you guys possibly do in Stoneham?” Tricia asked.
Angelica looked startled. “Oh, my dear, there’s so much more we could do for the village. For one, I’d like to see that warehouse where Russ has located the Chamber torn down. It’s an eyesore, and the lot is ideal for retail. We could bring in some kind of business that can thrive on the tourist trade during the summer and local and Internet sales during the off-season. I’d also like to build a professional building and lure in a dentist and doctor or two. There’s that tract of land next to the dialysis center, across from the Brookview Inn, that would be perfect for professional space. We could use a pharmacy, a pizzeria . . . I could go on and on about the possibilities.”
“It sounds like Curtis would be a great fit.”
“I don’t know about that,” Angelica said, “but I’m not opposed to interviewing him.”
“You’d interview him?”
“Antonio and me.”
“But wouldn’t that jeopardize your”—Tricia lowered her voice to a whisper—“secret identity?”
Angelica giggled. “You make me feel like Wonder Woman. And the answer is no, not at all. I’ll bring my laptop to the Brookview’s conference room and employ my voice-altering app.”
“You’ve got a voice-altering app?” Tricia asked.
“Doesn’t everybody?” Angelica asked incredulously.
Tricia certainly didn’t.
“Anyway,” Angelica continued, “how are you going to get the guy to come into the village for an appointment? I don’t suppose he has a car.”
“Not that I saw.” She let out a breath. “I suppose I could pick him up and take him back to the camp.”
“That sounds a little risky.”
“If you’re seriously considering giving him the responsibility to take over your food management service, you’ll have to show some trust in him as well.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Angelica conceded, and shrugged. “If you bring him to the Brookview, you can sit with me in the conference room and listen in on the conversation.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great. Now all you have to do is convince this Curtis fellow to agree to an interview.”
&n
bsp; “I’ll do that. Maybe this afternoon.”
“Good.”
“How soon do you want to speak with him?”
“The sooner, the better.”
“Tomorrow?”
“If you can arrange it. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
Molly arrived with their lunches, first placing Tricia’s in front of her. It looked good enough to photograph, but Tricia knew in a heartbeat that she’d never be able to finish her meal. Yet, after just the first bite, she wasn’t sorry she’d ordered it, either.
Angelica attacked her Reuben, which was smothered in melted Swiss cheese. She took a bite and nearly swooned. “Goodness, this is tasty.”
The sisters ate in silence for a couple of minutes before Angelica spoke again. “By the way, I forgot to mention there’s been a development in the Baker nuptials.”
“Oh?” Tricia asked, wondering if the bride might have changed her colors from the golds of autumn to a more muted shade.
“The ceremony—and the reception—have been canceled,” Angelica said with an almost sly lilt to her voice.
Tricia’s mouth dropped open and for a moment she thought she’d heard wrong. “You’re kidding, right?”
Angelica shook her head and let out a breath. “I’m beginning to think that weekend is cursed. Two weddings planned and both canceled. At least we hadn’t ordered the linens and everything else that such a wedding entails. Antonio and the rest of the staff will be spreading the word that the date is open for other functions. The contract the bride signed calls for her to pay a fat cancellation fee. I seriously doubt we can rent the space on such short notice, but at least we’ll be compensated for our trouble.”
“Did she give you a reason?”
“Antonio spoke to the jilted bride, who was quite upset.”
“Grant called it off?” Tricia asked, dumbfounded.
“I guess so. But then, you shouldn’t be surprised. He wasn’t willing to make a commitment to you, either. Maybe cold feet are just part of his genetic background. I don’t suppose he gave you any hint he might pull such a stunt when you last spoke.”
Tricia pursed her lips and thought about it. “No, but he spoke about the lack of a honeymoon just this morning.”
“Why didn’t he just tell you he’d called it off?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because he thought I’d say something about our own breakup. Of late, he’s sure been crabbier than usual . . .” Except when she’d reported that her store had nearly been broken into for a second time. Then he’d been almost solicitous. Had he already been thinking about calling off the wedding? Was that the reason he’d been working late that Saturday night? Had he already delivered the bad news to his Diana? “. . . but I just thought he was probably antsy about tying the knot again.” Tricia shook her head. “Poor Grant. I don’t think he has a clue about what he wants in life.”
“Well, I certainly don’t have that problem,” Angelica quipped. She signaled for Molly to return to the table. “When you get a chance, could you bring me a cup of coffee?”
“Sure thing. How about you, Tricia?”
Tricia shook her head. She barely had room for half of her wrap—and a good portion of the chips. Boy, did she like potato chips. She wondered how she could have survived without them for nearly three decades of her life. But she found herself chewing slower as she thought about Grant Baker and his ditched fiancée. All those wedding plans down the proverbial toilet. When Tricia got married, it wasn’t just a question of buying a dress and a ring. Not with the circus that had surrounded her nuptials. And, of course, her marriage had ended in divorce—and she wasn’t the one who’d called it quits, either.
As she thought about it, her indignation grew. Here she was feeling sorry for Grant when he’d just betrayed the woman he’d (apparently) claimed to love. Just as Christopher had done to her.
Tricia took a savage bite of her wrap and chewed.
Men. Were they all rats?
NINETEEN
After making sure Angelica was settled in her apartment and had everything she needed within reach, Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue with her leftover lunch wrapped in waxed paper. Angelica’s businesses were jumping on the green bandwagon—and about time, too. But before she had an opportunity to head upstairs to deposit the brown bag into her refrigerator, she was reminded of why she did not think all men were finks. Mr. Everett quietly hummed to himself as he wielded his lamb’s-wool duster. And she thought about Antonio, who was the partner in his family who was eager to welcome a second child.
Tricia paused to speak to her employee. “Thank you, Mr. Everett, for taking such good care of the store—and my sister. We really appreciate how you’ve stepped in to help her out these past two weeks.”
“It was my pleasure. And if I can be of any other help, I do hope you and she will let me know.”
“We certainly will,” she said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Of course he blushed a furious red, but he did look pleased.
After putting her leftovers in the fridge and making sure Mr. Everett could handle the store until Pixie returned from lunch, Tricia collected her car and started off for the homeless encampment. On the way, she stopped at a big-box store and bought a cheap flip phone. If Hank Curtis couldn’t communicate with the outside world, there was no way he’d be able to keep a job. She bought a hundred minutes of service and had the associate at the counter set up the phone, then continued on her way to the camp.
Catcalls and whistles erupted when she parked her car beside the muddy field, and as happened during her last two visits Curtis was the one who walked out to greet her.
“Sorry about the guys. They’re just messing with you. Just can’t stay away, eh?”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t bring more provisions. I came to see you.”
“What for?”
“To see if you’d like to interview for a job.”
Curtis’s eyes widened. “Doing what?”
“You were a food manager, right? To manage food.”
“For who?”
“I’m friendly with the staff at Nigela Ricita Associates.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Curtis said cautiously.
“I inquired if they might be willing to interview you as a food service manager for their collective businesses, and they said yes.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” he echoed, sounding shocked as the color drained from his face.
“Why wait?”
Curtis looked down at his attire, then swung his gaze up to look at Tricia once again. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”
“People in Stoneham do things like that for others all the time.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Heard what?”
“That there’s a bunch of do-gooders in the village.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
Curtis shrugged and gave a mirthless laugh. “Nothing, I guess.”
“What have you heard?” Tricia asked.
“That the big fancy restaurant has an ex-con as its head chef.”
“And?”
“That you hired a former prostitute as your assistant manager.”
“And?”
“That Nigela Ricita has hired over a hundred locals since she came to town and opened a shitload of businesses.”
“That she has.”
“And now she wants to interview me?”
“She doesn’t live in the area, but you’ll meet with the Brookview Inn’s manager, Antonio Barbero, and Ms. Ricita will speak to both of you via Skype.”
Curtis looked uncomfortable.
“What’s the matter?” Tricia asked.
“It’s been a long time since I interviewed for a job.”
“You got something against beards?”
“Not at all. But yours could use a trim. So could your hair.”
Curtis grabbed at the ponytail at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he sheepishly admitted. “I guess they could.”
“Is tomorrow morning too soon?” Tricia asked, trying to pin him down.
“It doesn’t give me much time to prepare.”
“I could pick you up early in the morning and take you to the barbershop and to buy you a shirt and tie.”
“Why? What’s in this for you?”
She gave him a watery smile. “It brings out the do-gooder in me.”
“What if something comes up and you have to cancel or something? I’d lose out on this opportunity.”
“That won’t happen—but just in case . . .” Tricia reached into her jacket pocket and brought out the flip phone, handing it and the paperwork to him. “I bought this on the way over. You’ve got a hundred minutes to get started.”
Curtis stared at the small phone in his hand, and for a moment Tricia thought he might cry. But he had been a soldier. He nodded and pocketed the device. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I can’t guarantee you a job, but this could still be a new beginning for you.”
“Maybe,” Curtis agreed. “How can I ever thank you?”
“You haven’t got the job yet.”
“I know, but you’re right.” He glanced over his shoulder at the muddy field. “I’m ready to go back to a sticks-and-bricks place to live. A place with running hot water, and a fridge with food in it. Believe me, lady, I’m more than ready.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself to you,” Tricia said. She smiled and held out her hand. “Tricia Miles.”
They shook. “Nice to know you, Tricia. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yes. Please tell me what you know about Joe King.”
Curtis seemed to mull over the request but then shrugged. “Not a lot. Some of the guys don’t share much about themselves. He was here for a while before he told us he was in the Navy, but we’d already figured that out.”
Handbook for Homicide Page 18