And what about Marshall’s death? Tricia still strongly believed his killer could have come after him as an act of revenge on behalf of Martin Bailey.
Both villains who’d menaced her had been strangers. Joshua Greenwell and now the man-and-woman team who’d taken out her window. Had both of them been for hire?
Tricia pulled out her phone and did a little Internet research. After ten minutes, she had the information she needed. But she still had questions. After her conversation with Baker earlier that morning, Tricia didn’t want to ask his opinion. But there was someone else she could ask.
Since Tricia was already wearing her coat, she grabbed her purse and phone. “I’m going to run a quick errand. I shouldn’t be gone long,” Tricia said. “Call me if the closure team shows up, will you?”
“Sure thing,” Pixie called from the back of the store, where she and Mr. Everett were at least out of the wind.
Tricia hurried south down Main Street and entered Stoneham’s newest shop once again.
“Welcome back to the Bee’s Knees. What can I help you with today?”
“Hello, Mr. Harvick. I wonder if I might bend your ear for a minute or two.”
“Call me Larry.”
“Thanks, Larry. I have a question about police procedures I was hoping you could answer.”
Harvick shrugged. “Shoot.”
Tricia winced. Just what she suspected might have happened.
“My store suffered vandalism this morning.”
“Yeah, I went to the bank earlier and couldn’t miss that gaping hole where your front window used to be.”
“I Googled the MO,” Tricia said, noting Harvick’s skeptical expression at her nomenclature, “and found there’ve been a number of these hit-and-run brick-wielding attacks in southern New Hampshire over the past few months. It’s almost as though it’s a vandalism-for-hire type of crime. Had you ever run into anything like that during your time with the Sheriff’s Department?”
He nodded. “More than once. Usually, they’re protection rackets. A pay-up-or-we’ll-break-your-legs kind of thing. Either that or for insurance fraud. I hadn’t heard of this specific crime, but I wouldn’t put it past someone to offer such a service. These are interesting times we live in.”
A little too interesting for Tricia.
“How would someone go about advertising such a service?”
Harvick shrugged. “Word of mouth. Same as if you were looking for any kind of vandalism. Of course, if I were you, I’d be wondering who’s targeting you and why.”
“It’s been on my mind. My niece’s home was also targeted. Arson.”
Harvick shook his head. “I’m assuming you’ve reported all this to the police?”
“Yes.”
“And why are you asking me about it instead of Chief Baker?”
“Let’s just say he and I don’t always get along.”
“Uh-huh.” Harvick had probably heard about Tricia’s reputation as the village jinx—and how unlucky she was when it came to love, too. News spread quickly in a small village.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Harvick asked.
Tricia looked around the tiny shop before deciding to buy a few more tubes of lip balm. After all, you can never have too much—not that she’d be kissing anyone anytime soon.
At that moment, she was okay with that.
As she passed By Hook or By Book, she heard a pounding on the window and saw Mary get up from her chair behind the cash desk, casting what looked like a crocheted baby blanket aside and running for the door.
“I’m so glad I caught you,” Mary said, just a little breathless.
“What’s up?”
“Mark has called a meeting of the Chamber recruitment committee for eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Sorry it’s such short notice, but you know how he is.”
Tricia refrained from rolling her eyes.
“Can you make it?” Mary asked.
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll see you then,” Mary said, and hurried back into her shop, and Tricia continued walking.
The others on the committee must have spoken to all the candidates. Tricia would send texts to all those who hadn’t returned her calls. If they didn’t respond, then it was a sure bet they weren’t interested in rejoining the Chamber. No doubt they’d wait until whoever was elected the next president instilled a reasonable level of confidence in the Chamber and those who’d stuck with it. She couldn’t really blame them. If she hadn’t been an integral part of the operation during the time her store was closed, she’d have no faith in the organization, either.
* * *
* * *
When she returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia sent Mr. Everett home for the day, not willing to risk him catching a cold, but Pixie insisted on staying. A few curious customers dared to enter the shop but were chased away as soon as the emergency enclosure team arrived, setting up sawhorses, noisy Skilsaws, and a compressor for their nail guns.
An hour later, the store was secured, and Pixie had made a DON’T MIND OUR MESS sign on the computer to hang on the store’s glass door. Tricia had borrowed several lamps from her apartment, and while the lighting was a little more than subdued, it was also kind of cozy with so much incandescent light. Ginny wouldn’t have approved, as every time she arrived at Tricia’s apartment she would lecture her to replace the bulbs with halogen or some other more efficient lighting. Yeah, she really should do that . . . but she found that incandescent lighting was warmer. Either that or she was just stubborn.
Pixie ducked across the street to get some take-out sandwiches and the soup of the day from Booked for Lunch and they hunkered down to eat.
“Are we going to open tomorrow?” Pixie asked.
Tricia sighed. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll see how the rest of the afternoon goes. I sure don’t want to lose customers—not at such an important time of the year—but we don’t look very inviting right now.”
“Did you get an estimate on when the window can be replaced?”
“I think I might do an Angelica and just pay for it up front and hope the insurance company writes me a check fairly soon. I’ll call the guys who replaced it last time and see if they can come tomorrow to at least give us an estimate.”
Pixie nodded and carefully took a bite of her club sandwich, chewing on the left side of her mouth and washing the food down with a gulp of coffee.
The door opened and both women looked up hopefully, but it was only Antonio.
“Dear Tricia, what on earth happened to your store?”
Tricia sighed. “It’s a long story.”
Antonio joined them at the reader’s nook, taking the seat next to Tricia. “I have time to listen.”
Tricia noticed that Antonio was carrying a steno pad. Was she to be the top story for his first edition of the Stoneham Weekly News?
Tricia told him everything she knew, including her theory about who had vandalized her store earlier in the day, but leaving out the fact that she suspected Joshua Greenwell may have targeted Marshall and perhaps also torched Antonio’s home. She wondered if she should send him to speak with Larry Harvick. Yes, perhaps she would.
Antonio listened, jotting down a few notes as she spoke. “It certainly is very worrisome,” he told her after she’d finished.
“What other stories will you be covering in your first issue? The opening of the Bee’s Knees perhaps?”
“Ah, yes. Patti suggested we cover that as well. Perhaps I can convince them to advertise with us.”
“Give them front-page coverage on their opening and I’m sure they will. Starting out so late in the season, they’ll need all the locals to know they’re open for business. They have wonderful gift items—great for the holidays.”
“Are you sure they haven’t hired you to promote their store?” Antonio asked with a grin.
Tricia laughed. “I just want to see them succeed.”
“As do we all. And what of the recruitment
committee for the Chamber of Commerce?”
“I’m on it,” she confirmed. “In fact, we’re having our second meeting tomorrow morning. Are you going to cover that?”
“Sì. I have an appointment to speak to Mark Jameson this very afternoon. It seems he’s had a cancellation in his dental office.”
Pixie gave Tricia a sidelong glance and a smug smile.
“From what I’ve heard, that seems to happen quite a bit,” Tricia said.
Antonio shrugged, wearing a poker face. Would he prove his journalistic prowess and probe into the reasons for the patients who fled Jameson’s practice?
Only time would tell.
“Have you had an opportunity to write the short death notice for your friend?” Antonio asked.
Tricia cringed. She’d forgotten all about it. “I’ll try to get it to you before Friday.”
Antonio nodded. “Very good.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I will let you ladies finish your lunch in peace. And I will see you on Sunday,” he told Tricia.
“I haven’t missed one of our Sunday dinners yet,” Tricia said, smiling.
Antonio gave them a wave and headed for the door. After he was gone, Pixie plucked a potato chip from the snack bag on the table and sighed. “Ginny sure is lucky to have a swell guy like that.”
“Yes, she is,” Tricia agreed. “But you’ve got a great guy, too.”
Pixie grinned. “I sure do. Once you reach our age, love ain’t that easy to find.”
Was she referring to Fred and herself or her and Tricia? Pixie had at least a decade on Tricia.
The door opened, letting in a potential customer, and Tricia leapt to her feet. “Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. Let me know if you need any help finding a book.”
The woman nodded.
Tricia picked up the remnants of her lunch and retreated to the cash desk, with Pixie’s observation about love still stuck in her mind. Lately, she’d begun to think she was better off alone. At that moment, she wasn’t at all sure.
TWENTY-THREE
Tricia didn’t spend much time at Angelica’s apartment that evening. She felt restless and anxious about the photo shoot with Louise Jameson the next day, knowing she was going to confront the woman about her tryst with Marshall. Or she could just ignore what Becca had told her—humiliated her, really. And even before that, she’d probably clash heads with Louise’s husband, who, like more than a few people in the village, had taken a dislike to Tricia without really knowing her.
She awoke the next morning feeling as though she lurked under a dark cloud, despite the clear blue sky that greeted her once the sun was up.
Tricia arrived at the drafty warehouse that housed the makeshift offices of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce precisely at eight o’clock, walking in with Mary Fairchild.
“So, what do you think our fearless leader will have to say?” Mary muttered.
“Who knows,” Tricia said.
They entered the building and took their seats on the cold, plastic folding chairs. Nobody had shucked their coats, as the temperature inside matched what was outside—forty-something degrees.
With no niceties like fresh-brewed coffee to warm those in attendance nor a box of local pastries, Tricia was glad she’d eaten an early breakfast of an egg-white omelet with frozen peppers—but no onions—she’d thawed in the microwave. No chance of bad breath that way.
Mark Jameson stood at the head of the table and called the meeting to order. “Thanks for being here, everyone. I’m pleased to say that Leona Ferguson has graciously agreed to run for the presidency of the Chamber. But as several of you have pointed out, she needs an opponent. Therefore, I have decided to run against her.”
“Wait a minute,” Mary called out. “You didn’t tell us you were interested in running for Chamber president. Shouldn’t we choose from the other candidates we’ve vetted?”
“And who are they?” Mark asked.
“You tell us! You took that process on yourself,” Mary said, her voice rising.
“Believe me, I tried to convince others to step up to the plate and no one was interested.”
“So, what about Tricia?” Terry McDonald asked. “The vote was split within a very close margin during last year’s election. You’re relatively new to the Chamber. How many of our current members even know your name?”
“I have a reputation here in the village,” Mark said gravely.
Yeah, and as far as Tricia knew, it wasn’t all that good.
“What do you think, Dan?”
The Bookshelf Diner’s owner gave a sidelong glance at Tricia and smirked. “I’m fine with you running for Chamber president, Mark.”
Tricia ignored him. “I’m very flattered you want me to run, Mare and Terry, but it was agreed at our last meeting that I wouldn’t.” Not that she’d really been consulted. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
The corners of Mark’s mouth quirked up. “Fine. Now, we’ll campaign until the second Thursday in November and then hold a vote. What’s our budget look like, Mary?”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve spoken with the Chamber’s accountant and he’s agreed we should call in an outside party for the audit.”
“How are we going to pay for it?” Mary asked.
“With future earnings.”
“How long can we run on a deficit?” Terry asked.
“Not long,” Jameson muttered. “But I’ve spoken with law enforcement and they are going to look into Russ Smith’s finances. It’s doubtful we can recover what he’s taken, but we’re sure going to try.”
Who did he mean by law enforcement? Chief Baker or the county district attorney’s office? Tricia didn’t bother to ask.
“Did everyone call or drop in on the former members on their lists?” Jameson asked.
Nods and a yes or two answered his query.
“And Tricia?” Why did he keep eyeing her so critically?
“I stopped in to a number of stores or left messages for everyone on my list, and even one that wasn’t. The Bee’s Knees opened just yesterday.”
“Were they interested in joining?” Mary asked.
Tricia shrugged. “Perhaps there’s a lot of distrust after the way Russ vandalized the Chamber.”
“We need to reestablish a permanent meeting place. Everyone loved going to the Brookview for the breakfast meetings,” Mary said.
“With no budget?” Terry asked.
“Would you care to host a meeting at your diner, Dan?” Mark asked.
“No, I would not. I don’t have a party room big enough, and I’m not about to foot the bill for coffee and Danish for a bunch of freeloaders.”
“Potential members,” Tricia reminded him.
“Until they cough up their membership dues, they’re freeloaders,” Dan stated.
“Tricia, you’re friendly with Antonio Barbero. Couldn’t you get us a freebie or at least a discounted price at the Brookview Inn?” Mary asked, sounding hopeful.
Tricia shrugged. “Antonio no longer manages the inn. He’s taken over the Stoneham Weekly News.”
Mary pursed her lips, looking annoyed.
“But I can reach out to NR Associates, who own the inn, and ask what they could do for the Chamber. They’ve been very good to us in the past,” Tricia reminded them all.
“Fine. You do that,” Jameson said condescendingly, and she bristled at his tone. “In the meantime, we’re stuck with this warehouse until at least January, but we need to look for something a little less industrial.”
“And how are we going to do that without money?” Dan asked.
Mark turned to Tricia again. “Got any contacts at NR Realty?”
Tricia sighed. Did they really expect Angelica, or at least her alter ego, to cough up for everything the Chamber needed? “I will ask. That’s all I can do. I spoke with their manager, Karen, just the other day, and she’s said she’ll endorse the Chamber to her prospective clients.”
“So, she expects to rejoin?” Dan
asked.
“None of the NR Associates businesses ever left the Chamber,” Tricia said bluntly.
“That’s all well and good,” Jameson said, “but we need to woo those who have left.”
How perfectly ungrateful of the man! If Tricia were a different person, she wouldn’t even speak the Chamber’s name to Angelica or anyone in her network of businesses.
Jameson blathered on about potential future plans, while Tricia spent the time counting the days until she could be free of her frustrating volunteer job—and Mark Jameson.
* * *
* * *
No sooner had Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue than it was time for her to join Angelica to what their father had always called get beautified when their mother had her weekly appointment at the local hair salon.
Tricia met Angelica outside the Cookery. “Are you ready for this?”
“More than,” Angelica said.
“Are you sure you want to walk to the day spa? I can get the car and—”
But Angelica held up a hand to cut off her sister. “No. I need to exercise my foot if it’s going to recover. If it swells up later today, I’ll just employ RICE. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation are my best friends.”
Tricia admired her sister’s tenacity but worried she might be pushing her healing foot too far too soon.
It took them almost ten minutes to walk the two blocks to the day spa. Once there, Tricia and Angelica were greeted by Booked for Beauty’s manager, Randy Ellison. At other times when the sisters had jointly arrived at the day spa, Randy would personally do Angelica’s hair while Tricia was open to accepting anyone who was working that day to take care of her tresses. Every one of the stylists was a skilled hairdresser, and so far she had no complaints.
“I was surprised at your sudden appointment,” Randy said as he draped a black plastic cape around Angelica’s neck and shoulders, while Marlene did the same to Tricia.
“We’re going to get our pictures taken this afternoon—our whole little adopted family group,” Angelica gushed.
Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion Page 18