Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion

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Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion Page 19

by Lorna Barrett


  “That’s nice,” Randy said blandly.

  “We’re booked this afternoon at Louise Jameson’s photography studio. Do you know her?” Tricia asked. She seemed to be asking that question of everyone.

  “The local photographer?” Randy asked, his expression souring as he spritzed Angelica’s hair with water.

  Tricia nodded.

  “Please hold still,” Marlene told her.

  “Oh, sorry,” Tricia said, going rigid.

  “Mrs. Jameson dropped by earlier this summer looking to make a deal with the salon,” Randy commented. He did not sound happy.

  “What kind of deal?” Angelica asked. She owned the day spa, but Randy ran the operation. He evidently didn’t convey to his boss everything that went on in the salon.

  Randy snipped a lock of hair at the base of Angelica’s neck. “She said she was partnering to open a wedding venue somewhere north of the village and she wanted a deal providing brides with a discounted hair-and-makeup package.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Angelica said.

  “Not with the discount she was asking for—fifty percent, with a ten percent kickback going to her business for bringing in the trade!”

  “And you didn’t go for it?” Tricia asked.

  “Girl, I need to keep the lights on, you know.”

  From what Angelica had told her, so far Randy was doing a great job—and the business was doing well under his management.

  “What kind of discount would you have given them?” Angelica asked.

  “Twenty—with no kickback. It should be up to the lady to build that into her price packages. And honestly, I can get more locals through the door with a ten percent coupon. That nice woman Ginger at the Stoneham Weekly News is going to take care of everything. The first one will go in next week’s issue.”

  Evidently, Angelica hadn’t known that fact, either, but it brought a smile to her face. Naturally, she wanted Antonio’s new venture to succeed, but Tricia knew she wasn’t about to browbeat anyone—even those who worked for her—into supporting him, either.

  One of the other stylists brought her client back to the chair next to Tricia’s. The woman’s hair was wrapped in a black towel, as she’d just returned from the hair-washing station in the back of the salon.

  “So, what time is your sitting?” Randy asked Angelica.

  “Two thirty. I’m glad it’s not windy today. I wouldn’t want my blowout to be for nothing.”

  “Are you getting a business portrait done?”

  “I haven’t decided, but that’s a good idea.”

  “We could hang it here in the salon.” Randy struck a pose, indicating a space on the wall near his employee-of-the-month display, which showed snapshots of the day spa’s stylists. He laughed. “We could hang a plaque that says ‘our founder.’ ”

  Angelica seemed to mull it over and shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Are you going to the photography studio over on Cedar Avenue?” the woman in the chair next to Tricia asked.

  “We’re both going,” Tricia said as Marlene snipped to trim the layers in her hair. “Have you been there?”

  “No, but my sister has.” The woman frowned.

  “Didn’t she like her work?” Angelica asked.

  “Oh, she liked the pictures. It was her radical ideas that put her off.”

  “What do you mean?” Tricia asked.

  The woman shook her head. “Children. I heard that photographer and her dentist husband don’t like them. Can you even trust someone who doesn’t like or want kids?”

  Tricia knew plenty of women who’d never had children, herself included. But she’d had a career and her childbearing years had slipped away in the interim. And then she’d been divorced. She’d never considered single parenthood, though she knew at least three of her former coworkers who’d grown tired of waiting for Mr. Right and jumped into motherhood via adoption or in vitro fertilization.

  “Don’t want or can’t have children?” Tricia asked.

  It was apparent from the woman’s expression that she hadn’t considered the latter possibility. “Well, now that you mention it . . . I don’t know.”

  Then you shouldn’t spread such a negative suspicion, Tricia thought, wishing she could educate the woman, but then she might be looked at with even more negativity.

  “Well, I’m looking forward to having my portrait taken,” Angelica said.

  “Me, too,” Tricia echoed, although not as enthusiastically.

  The woman sniffed and turned her head away.

  “So,” Randy said, his voice light, as though to ignore the dark turn the conversation had taken. “What about those Patriots?”

  “Football?” Angelica asked, appalled.

  “Okay, then, who’s read the latest edition of Vogue, and what did you think?”

  No one answered. The canned music, which Tricia was sure none of the customers enjoyed, played on.

  Was the woman beside her the only person in the village who held a grudge—however misplaced—against Louise Jameson?

  Maybe Tricia would find out later that afternoon.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Because the makeshift Miles-Barbero-Everett family was to assemble later that afternoon for the photo shoot, Tricia and Ginny postponed their usual Thursday lunch to the next day—if Ginny could get away. Since Angelica was used to eating alone on Thursdays, Tricia retreated to her own apartment and made a salad out of the odds and ends she had on hand and ate it while checking her store’s e-mails. Her online reputation was growing as the place in the New England states to find vintage mysteries. Pixie was a big part of that. Since she’d arrived on the scene, her love of tag and estate sales had been a big source of keeping Tricia’s store supplied with the vintage mysteries that kept the business afloat. Pixie didn’t ask for anything but the price she paid for the books she purchased, knowing her salary depended on Haven’t Got a Clue being well stocked at all times. But such sales became fewer as autumn edged closer to winter. Soon Tricia would have to start scouring the Internet for more vintage tomes.

  After loading her lunch plate into the dishwasher, Tricia grabbed her jacket and purse and headed out the door. It was such a beautiful fall day, that instead of driving, she decided to walk the three blocks to Louise Jameson’s photography studio.

  The bell over the door rang cheerfully as Tricia entered.

  Louise looked up from a camera on a tripod. “Hello, Tricia. I’m almost ready for you and your family. I need to finish a few chores out back.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just look at some of your work, if I may.”

  “Sure.”

  Louise ducked out back and Tricia strolled around the studio, studying the photographer’s work. She heard Louise speaking with what sounded like another woman as Tricia studied the portraits on display in greater detail. After looking at several of the large wedding photos she concentrated on one detail . . . the copyright. Instead of Louise’s name, all the display photos were marked Mark Jameson Enterprises.

  That was odd. Did that mean that Louise didn’t actually own the copyright for any of her work? Had she and her husband entered into a financial agreement with some kind of tax incentive in mind?

  A rattle at the door caused Tricia to turn and see that the rest of the Miles-Barbero-Everett gang had shown up in two cars, minutes apart, parking on the street outside the studio, everyone dressed in their Sunday best and ready for their portraits to be taken.

  A young woman Tricia had never seen entered the studio. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, with straight brown hair that was held in check by a thin white elastic headband, and dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans. “Hello, I’m Kristin. I’m Louise’s assistant and I’ll be helping you choose just the right photo package for your family.”

  Kristin was well versed in the services the studio sold, and it took more than half an hour of negotiating terms before the photographer actually entered the studio to take the pictures.

&n
bsp; “Hello. I’m Louise Jameson. Thank you for choosing me to be your family photographer. Now, let’s get started.”

  Louise suggested seating arrangements and props, and took pictures with the enthusiasm expected of a Fashion Week pro. The group shots came first, followed by family separations, and finally individual portraits for those who wanted them. After what the woman in the day spa had said about Louise and children, Tricia was sure she was wrong. Louise was great at coaxing smiles out of Sofia and had her laughing throughout the shoot.

  As Louise had predicted, the whole ordeal had taken just about two hours. Tricia let everyone else have their photos taken, being the last in line. By prearrangement, Angelica caught a ride back home with Antonio and Ginny while Tricia lagged behind. She had a number of questions for Mrs. Jameson.

  “Tilt your chin to the left. That’s right. Now to the right. Good—good.” Louise snapped photo after photo as Tricia wondered who, if anyone, would want a professional portrait of her. Maybe she could use it for promotional purposes, but she couldn’t think when. She didn’t even have a boyfriend to give a wallet-sized print to. Then again, she’d have proof sheets e-mailed to her by the next day and only have to pay for the photos she selected.

  “That’s a wrap,” Louise called, sounding pleased, and held out the small screen on her digital camera to flip through and show Tricia several of the shots she’d taken.

  “They look great.”

  Louise smiled. “I’m glad you like them. If you’d like any of the photos to be corrected, though, that will be an additional cost.”

  “Corrected?”

  “Photoshopped.”

  Photoshopped pictures? Did Louise think her current clients were that vain? Okay, maybe Angelica would go for a little smoothing around the neck, but Tricia felt grounded in reality. Like it or not, she wasn’t getting any younger.

  Louise began to pack up her equipment, but Tricia wasn’t in a hurry to leave. It was time to push for some answers.

  “I understand you knew my friend Marshall Chandler.”

  Louise visibly straightened, her expression guarded. “We were acquainted.”

  “He died last week. A hit-and-run accident. I assume you were aware of that.”

  “I heard,” Louise said succinctly, her features rigid as though she was desperately trying to hold her emotions in check.

  “A couple of weeks ago, he took me on a picnic on a beautiful piece of property just north of the village, telling me it’s a soon-to-be wedding venue.”

  Louise merely stared at Tricia.

  “He said a friend of his owned the venue. I’ve heard that friend was you.”

  Still Louise said nothing.

  “It’s a beautiful property.”

  Louise swallowed. “Thank you.”

  Tricia nodded. “Funny, he never told me that the two of you were such good friends. How did you meet?”

  “Uh, through the local Chamber of Commerce.”

  Unless she’d joined in the past few months, Tricia knew Louise’s words were a bald-faced lie. Due to her volunteer work for the Chamber, Tricia had an intimate knowledge of the Chamber’s membership list. Did Louise even know Tricia was on the recruitment committee with her husband?

  “Did you know Marshall’s ex-wife was in town?”

  “Ex-wife?” Louise asked, startled. “I—he told me she was dead. An accident.”

  “She did have a serious accident, but she recovered. This was after their divorce.”

  “But Marshall told me . . .” Louise didn’t finish the sentence. Obviously, Marshall had shared his false history with her, too. “What’s she doing here?”

  “Ostensibly to wind up his affairs.”

  “That was quick, wasn’t it?”

  “Time waits for no one,” Tricia said.

  Louise sighed. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m sad Marshall died, but we were really just acquaintances.”

  “That’s not what his ex said.”

  Louise’s eyes widened. “She . . . what?”

  “Apparently, she and Marshall spoke often. She knew all about your affair—and the fact that he asked you to leave your husband.”

  Louise’s mouth dropped open and she quickly looked to see that her assistant wasn’t within listening distance. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed.

  Tricia stepped closer to the door, with Louise following, her eyes wide, fear shadowing them.

  “Becca quite bluntly told me that it was you he wanted to be with, but as you’d rejected the notion, he’d settle for me.”

  Louise’s lips quirked into the ghost of a smile. “That couldn’t have been easy to hear.”

  Aha! Acknowledgment . . . but the fact brought Tricia no joy.

  “It didn’t matter. I had no intention of saying yes.”

  “Poor Marshall,” Louise said blithely.

  “Yes. It seems nobody loved him enough to be a lifelong partner. Not his ex-wife, not you, or me, either. What do you propose to do with what you learned about Marshall and me?”

  “Nothing,” Tricia said honestly. “But you should know that your husband and I are on the Chamber of Commerce recruitment committee for a new president.”

  Now Louise looked downright scared, probably knowing she’d not only been caught in at least one lie but also that her husband might find out about her tryst with Marshall.

  “I have no intention of saying anything to Mark. It’s not my business, but I thought you should know.”

  Louise’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you come here? To taunt me?”

  “No, we honestly wanted our portraits taken. You do good work.”

  “Get out,” Louise said.

  Tricia grabbed up her coat from the rack near the wall and left the studio.

  She had a feeling she wasn’t going to get her photographic package.

  * * *

  * * *

  Tricia walked back to Haven’t Got a Clue, grateful for the brisk air. It helped clear her head of the junk that was beginning to accumulate. As she turned onto Main Street, she could see a Granite State tour bus parked near the village’s municipal lot, and the sidewalk was crowded with people. She hoped her store would be just as full.

  Mr. Everett had not returned to the shop after the picture-taking session, and Pixie was holding the fort, but Tricia quickly stowed her jacket behind the cash desk and jumped in to help take care of the customers who were lined up. Tricia looked at the clock and saw it was nearing five. The customers were already getting antsy, worried they might miss the bus, but between them, Tricia and Pixie cleared the line in less than ten minutes. Finally, the door closed behind the last of them.

  “Whew!” Pixie cried. “That was intense. But I loved every second of it. It’s such a challenge during peak times when it’s just the two of us.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get back sooner. It was such a pretty day I wanted to walk—and then I spent a few minutes after our session speaking to the photographer. I should have—”

  But Pixie held up a hand to interrupt Tricia. “I thrive under this kind of pressure, so don’t apologize.”

  It was true, Pixie loved dealing with the customers, she was efficient, and just as knowledgeable as Tricia when it came to current and vintage mysteries.

  “How do you think we did today?”

  “Enough to pay the day’s rent.”

  Since Tricia owned the building outright, that wasn’t a concern.

  “How did the picture-taking go?” Pixie asked.

  “Well. We got to see a few of the photos, but she’ll be sending us electronic proofs via e-mail, probably by tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see them. Did Mr. Everett wear a nice tie?”

  Tricia stifled a grin. “Yes, he did. But I won’t tell you which one, because you’ll want to be surprised.”

  “Maybe he can show me tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Pixie surveyed the shop. “Goodness, look at
the mess those customers left. There are books piled everywhere.”

  It took the two women nearly an hour to tidy the store and get it ready for the next day’s onslaught of customers.

  Since they’d had no shoppers since those on the bus had departed, Tricia decided to close the shop five minutes early. She and Pixie donned their coats and locked up.

  “See you tomorrow!” Pixie called, and headed up the sidewalk, and Tricia entered the Cookery.

  “You’re just in time,” June called cheerfully, shrugging into the sleeves of her jacket. “I’m ready to call it a day.”

  “I’ll lock up,” Tricia said, and said good-bye. A minute later, she was inside Angelica’s apartment. Much as she enjoyed their happy hours above the Cookery, Tricia would be glad when her sister’s foot healed enough that they could share some of those hours after work at her place. She’d paid a lot of money to transform her apartment and it seemed she rarely got to spend time in her lovely living room. About the only time she spent in her kitchen was when she made cookies for her staff and customers. She mentioned as much to Angelica.

  “Give me another week and we’ll try it.”

  “Only if you think you’re up to it.”

  “Thanks to that royal jelly, my incision is healing nicely.” Angelica assembled crackers and slices of sharp cheddar on a plate while Tricia poured their drinks. “So, what did you think of our photography session?”

  “It went well,” Tricia said.

  “I hope the e-mail with my proofs comes tomorrow. I can’t wait to have beautiful pictures of Antonio, Ginny, and Sofia scattered around my apartment.”

  “What about my picture?”

  “Oh, yeah, you, too,” Angelica said almost dismissively, and picked up the plate of crackers. “Did you learn anything interesting after the rest of us left the studio?”

  Tricia carried the tray of drinks into the living room. “Definitely. And it’s official,” she announced. “Louise and Marshall did have an affair.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Angelica said, taking her usual seat. “How did she take the news that you knew about their tryst?”

  “Not well. I suspect I may be out the cost of my portrait package.”

 

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