Handbook for Homicide

by Lorna Barrett

  “He swears she did pick him up and take him to McDonald’s. They sat inside and ate Big Macs, fries, and Cokes. Afterward, she offered to drive him back to the camp. That’s when he said he found the earring. He picked it up off the passenger-side floor and stuffed it in his pocket. It had no intrinsic value.”

  Did Baker feel as apathetic about the ring he’d given to Diana or did he consider that collateral damage?

  “King didn’t want to get nailed for such a petty theft,” Baker continued. “You said yourself, you had to dig to get the other earring out of the glove box, which means Ms. Morris probably had no idea where it was.”

  “Yes, but ask yourself this: Why would a man who was dishonorably discharged want to celebrate his time in the Navy?”

  “Who knows why people do the stuff they do?”

  “And you aren’t just the least bit interested?” Tricia challenged.

  “I don’t think King killed Susan Morris. Is the guy a creep and a thief? Yeah, but that earring had no real value.”

  Maybe not to Joe King, but it meant the world to Susan Morris.

  “So, where is he now?” Tricia asked.

  “I asked Kimberly Herbert if she wanted to press charges. She just wanted the earring back. King came up with it, and I let him go.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Baker shrugged. “He left the station on foot.”

  “And you have no idea where he went?”

  “No. Is that all?” Baker asked, sounding bored once again.

  “No. Yesterday morning, after you arrested and hauled King away, a pickup towing a Bobcat arrived at the homeless camp. They destroyed it and chased off everyone who’d been living there.”

  “And?”

  “Were you responsible for that?” Tricia demanded.

  “No,” he said wearily. “But I did know it was going to happen.”

  “And you didn’t warn the men living there? The people who did that—”

  “Own the land they were squatting on,” Baker pointed out patiently. “They had every right to demand they leave.”

  “Those men had little more than the shirts on their backs. They were run off with nowhere to go and nothing to their names.”

  “Why do you care so much?” Baker asked.

  “Because I’ve got more than an ounce of compassion in me,” Tricia declared.

  “Yes,” Baker admitted. “You’ve always had a big heart and fought for those who have no voice.”

  Tricia blinked, taken aback by his admission. So he had noticed.

  “I was lucky enough to find temporary homes for two of the men, but what of the other ten or so?” she demanded.

  “They’ll just have to make do. Isn’t that what we’ve both done when life handed us lemons?”

  “Except that we have money and better life skills to deal with those kinds of situations.”

  “You’re right,” he said affably. “You’re absolutely right.”

  He was agreeing with her? This was a new side of him. No, not new . . . a side she’d known but hadn’t seen for quite a while. The man had always been a little too cynical, no doubt because of his line of work. And yet she’d seen flashes of kindness from him. She’d thought it was long gone, but now . . .

  But she wasn’t finished. “Did Joe King know there was no encampment to go back to?”

  “It may have come up in conversation.”

  Tricia shook her head. Where would King go? Would he hang around the village? Baker didn’t tolerate panhandlers, and Stoneham had no homeless shelter. Would he have hitched a ride to Nashua or maybe Concord to find a place, or maybe crash with friends? Tricia hadn’t been impressed by the man, but she did feel sorry for his circumstances. And she wondered if she should express sympathy for another situation.

  “I heard that your wedding was called off.”

  “I called it off,” Baker admitted, sounding just a little sheepish.

  “And why was that?”

  “Because . . .” He was silent for a long moment. “Because I knew that in the end it wasn’t going to work out. I wanted it to work, but I came to the realization that Diana and I just didn’t mesh like . . .”

  Like who? Like he and his ex-wife had meshed, or like he and Tricia had? She’d called it quits when she thought he was unable to make a commitment, and now he’d proven it once again by abandoning the latest woman in his life.

  “Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t make it work,” Tricia said contritely.

  “You have no idea what it took for me to admit it. But calling it quits in a year or two would have been a whole lot harder.”

  Tricia didn’t doubt that for a moment. She shook her head, unwilling to pursue that topic further. “Will you at least consider my theory about Susan Morris’s death?”

  “I don’t know how I’d be able to prove it.”

  “Talk to the people on Main Street. At least two of them had similar stories. Maybe more would, too.”

  “Okay,” he said, his tone resigned.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Now, how could Tricia end the conversation?

  “I’d better let you go. You or your men have a lot of questions to ask the business owners along Main Street.”

  “So we do.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Tricia said, realizing just how lame that statement sounded.

  “I’m sure,” Baker said quietly.

  “Good-bye.”

  “Bye,” Baker said, and ended the call.

  Tricia set the heavy receiver back down and frowned. Why had her conversation with a man who’d once been her lover leave her feeling so discombobulated?

  She wasn’t sure . . . and for some reason it really bothered her.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Pixie arrived ten minutes before opening and already had the coffee going, when the door opened and the little bell above it jingled cheerfully. It was Mr. Everett’s day off, so Tricia wasn’t expecting to see him. Yet, right on time, he walked through the door to Haven’t Got a Clue.

  “Did you forget what day it is?” Tricia asked, giving the old man a smile.

  Mr. Everett shook his head. “I’ve just come from your sister’s. Sarge and I had a lovely walk. It’s a beautiful morning. It’s supposed to hit eighty degrees later this afternoon.”

  “I didn’t have a chance to check the weather report, but that sounds fine to me.” Especially after the last few days filled with rain and gloom.

  “I’ll second that,” Pixie agreed. “Got time for a cup of joe, Mr. E?”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  Pixie nodded and selected mugs for all three of them from the shelf below the beverage station while Tricia led the way to the reader’s nook, with Mr. Everett following. They took their usual seats, and Mr. Everett unbuttoned his cardigan sweater before sitting down. “I doubt I’ll be needing this in an hour or so.”

  Tricia wondered if she should turn on the store’s air-conditioning. If so, she wouldn’t bother to change her pink sweater set.

  Pixie served the coffee and sat down, too. “So you just dropped in to say hello?” she asked.

  “That and to deliver a message.”

  “From whom?” Tricia asked.

  “Grace. She asked me to tell you that Ms. Morris had contacted our foundation for financial assistance.”

  “When was this?”

  “Only a week before her death. We have so many applicants that it hadn’t been addressed before she died,” he said sadly.

  “What did she ask for?” Pixie asked.

  “First and last month’s rent for an apartment in a complex on the outskirts of town near the highway. I believe it was the same place where your husband lived before your marriage,” he told Pixie. />
  “Oh, yeah, I remember that dump,” she groused, and took a sip from her cup.

  Tricia, too, remembered the cluster of shabby buildings, as she’d visited it once the summer before. “So she wasn’t all that happy about living in her car after all?”

  “There was no mention of that in her application. But she did say that she had a job and was sure she would be able to make the monthly payments. She just needed a little help with the up-front costs.”

  “How sad,” Tricia said, and shook her head. “Would Grace and the foundation board have approved her request?”

  “Undoubtedly. It was, after all, one of the more modest appeals we receive.”

  “I don’t think Susan mentioned that to her daughter,” Tricia said. “It might have given Kimberly some peace of mind.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want her daughter to get her hopes up in case it didn’t happen,” Pixie guessed.

  Tricia realized that Susan’s memorial service was set for the following day, and her sadness over the situation increased that much more.

  “Grace invites you to call her if you want more information,” Mr. Everett said. “Of course, she doesn’t usually talk publicly about the applications the foundation receives, but she knew you two had a special interest in Ms. Morris—or Radnor—due to the circumstances of her body being discovered behind your store.” Mr. Everett shook his head. “So many terrible things have happened in our village these last few years.”

  “That’s true,” Tricia agreed, “but there have been many good things, too.”

  “Yes. Many people have jobs—”

  “Like us,” Pixie agreed.

  “—and the booksellers brought in tourists and encouraged reading at a time when far too many people are more focused on their cell phones,” Mr. Everett noted.

  “And, thanks to Nigela Ricita Associates, the whole village looks fresh and sweet,” Pixie pointed out.

  “Yes,” Tricia agreed. “We may yet win the title of Prettiest Village in New Hampshire.”

  A customer came through the door, and Pixie shot to her feet to wait on her.

  Mr. Everett sipped his coffee. “I may be back later, as I’ve promised your sister I would take dear little Sarge out for another walk after lunch with Grace. We’re going to the Brookview Inn.”

  “For a celebration?” Tricia asked.

  A rosy blush moved up Mr. Everett’s neck to color his cheeks. “Every day with Grace is a celebration,” he admitted shyly.

  Tricia smiled. “I don’t doubt that.”

  Mr. Everett drained his cup and stood. “I’d best be going and let you two ladies take care of our customers. And I do hope this wonderful weather brings them out in droves.”

  Tricia laughed. “So do I. Here, let me take your cup.”

  “Oh, no. I can wash it myself.”

  “Today you’re not an employee; you’re our guest,” Tricia told him.

  Mr. Everett nodded and relinquished his mug. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Tricia watched him go and carried his cup and her own to the washroom. As she swabbed the mugs with the Haven’t Got a Clue logo on them with soap and a paper towel, Tricia wondered if she should give Grace a call. But then, what else could she possibly tell her that Mr. Everett hadn’t already conveyed? And, honestly, nothing on the application could have anything to do with Susan Morris’s death.

  Perhaps it was time to stop asking questions about the woman and do as Angelica had suggested: let the Stoneham Police Department handle the investigation. Tricia had done what she could to bring what she knew to light. It was up to the cops to figure out what happened to Susan . . . if they bothered. Susan wasn’t a resident of the village—in fact, she was considered a transient—but she’d apparently wanted to be a part of village life. Getting a job and then asking for help to find her a place to live nearby was proof of that. And someone had taken all that away from her. Someone who could still be in the village.

  The thought made Tricia feel uneasy—very uneasy.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was nearly noon, and Tricia was ringing up a customer’s purchases, with another person waiting in line, when Pixie tapped her on the shoulder. “I can take over.”

  “Not to worry. I’m okay,” Tricia assured her.

  “Sure, but you’re supposed to meet Ginny for lunch in about a minute.”

  “Oh, my goodness! I lost track of time,” Tricia said as she made change for her customer and then thanked her for shopping at Haven’t Got a Clue.

  Pixie grasped Tricia by the shoulders and pushed her away from the cash register. “See you in an hour—if not sooner.”

  Tricia grabbed her purse and phone, then scooted around the cash desk and out the door, heading for Booked for Lunch for her usual Thursday lunch with Ginny.

  Of course, as usual, Ginny was late, and when she entered Booked for Lunch, Tricia noticed she’d lost the usual bounce in her step. She slid onto the bench seat across from Tricia, looking like she’d lost her best friend.

  “Are you okay?” Tricia asked.

  “Yeah, I’m just fine,” she said sourly. “And pregnant.”

  “So I heard,” Tricia said. “I’m sorry it had to happen at an inconvenient time.”

  “Yeah, well, Angelica has a lot of ideas on how to make it work.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Grateful,” Ginny said sincerely. “I’ve heard terrible stories about nasty mothers-in-law, but Angelica couldn’t have been more supportive. She made me feel like we could actually make this work.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Tricia said, proud of her sister.

  Ginny ducked her head. “And I’m sorry I bit your head off on Sunday at our family dinner. I was just feeling . . .”

  “Overwhelmed at the prospect of having another baby?”

  “Yeah. Your heart was in the right place when you wanted to find a loving home for little Russell.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about it now. Nikki came back to Stoneham, picked him up, and took him to California to be with her.”

  Ginny let out what could only be taken as a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that. You know, for a long time I got the feeling that Nikki was jealous of me. I had a great job and a loving, supportive husband, and she was saddled with debt and a child her rat of a husband didn’t want while struggling to keep her bakery afloat. But then she won that baking contest and seems to be on top of the world, and now I find myself envying her.”

  “Why?” Tricia asked.

  “She’s got her business—unless she decides to sell it. She’s in California, where it will be warm all winter, and if the rumors are true, she’s going to be a famous TV chef.”

  “Fame can’t buy happiness,” Tricia said.

  “You don’t think she’s happy?”

  Tricia shook her head. “She talks a good game, but now she’s juggling even bigger problems. Okay, maybe that’s just my opinion, but when we spoke the other day, she seemed pretty bitter to me.”

  Ginny nodded, looking thoughtful. “I guess I need an attitude adjustment.”

  “You’ll get there,” Tricia said, hoping she sounded encouraging.

  “Yeah. I know I’ll love this baby just as much as I love Sofia. It’s just . . .”

  “The timing,” Tricia supplied.

  “Yeah.”

  The café’s door opened, and Tricia noticed Patti Perkins enter and make her way to an empty seat at the counter. Patti saw her and gave a rather enthusiastic wave before sitting down on one of the red Naugahyde–covered stools.

  Molly, the waitress, stopped by their table. “What can I get you girls today?” she asked brightly.

  “I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Ginny s
aid apologetically. “I’m working on an important proposal for the firm that has the potential to make Stoneham the tourist attraction of southern New Hampshire next summer. I’m going to have to ask for my order to go.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Tricia said.

  “We’ve still got at least five or ten minutes to talk,” Ginny offered.

  Tricia forced a smile. “Well, we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

  Ginny ordered a club sandwich, and Tricia ordered her old standby, a tuna plate—also to go. If she was going to have to eat her lunch by herself, she would rather do it in her own home, especially since she hadn’t brought along a book to read. Besides, she’d never felt comfortable eating alone in a restaurant.

  Once Molly had retreated, Tricia said, “Tell me about the changes you and Antonio are going to make to your home.”

  Ginny immediately brightened. “I love my little cottage in the woods, but it’s way too small for a family of four. I had some thoughts about how to expand it, but Angelica must have been thinking about it for quite a while, because everything she suggested just rang a bell with me. I admit it, I’m not as much of a homebody as I could be, but she’s definitely got a vision of what we could do that actually makes me excited for the future.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Tricia said sincerely.

  Ginny launched into the changes they were considering. It would be a big renovation, which would add a gourmet kitchen on the ground floor and a master suite above. The changes would be so great that the family would probably have to vacate the property for several months to make it happen, but Ginny didn’t seem to be deterred by the possibility and looked forward to choosing the fixtures, appliances, and finishes.

  Molly arrived with their lunches packed in environmentally safe packaging and, as usual, there was no bill for them to pay. Angelica was their benevolent benefactor.

  Ginny got up first. “I’m so glad we got to talk today, Tricia. I really needed to clear the air and now I feel so much better.”

  Tricia rose and gave her former assistant and now niece by marriage a heartfelt hug. “It’ll work out. I know it will.”