Tricia’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and frowned. Now what did Chief Baker want?
“Hello, Grant,” she said, feeling weary.
“Hi, Tricia. I’m calling to give you an update on the brick-throwing motorcyclist.”
“Did you catch him—and her?” she asked eagerly.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It seems they had an accident.”
The muscles in her arms tensed. “Go on.”
“They must have hit a greasy patch on the highway. A motorist with a flat tire saw the bike down in a gully. He called nine one one and . . . Well, it must have been instantaneous.”
“Are you sure it was the right couple?”
“The license plate was ZBR3. There was a partial print on that brick thrown through your window. We’ll have proof positive once the state lab confirms it belonged to the male victim.”
“What was his name?”
“Tyler Holden.”
“And the woman?”
“Ashley Emery.”
The names meant nothing to Tricia.
“Are you okay?” Baker asked. “You sound kind of down.”
A shudder ran through her. “Angelica and I had a little tiff. It’ll all blow over in a couple of days.”
“Does that mean you’re free for dinner tonight?”
Tricia frowned, glad Baker couldn’t see her sour expression. The guy just wouldn’t give up! She kept her voice neutral. “Sorry, but I already have plans.” Yeah, to sit alone at her kitchen island and eat a sandwich or something even less interesting. And why was she being so careful with his feelings, anyway? She should have just said No!
“Well, if you need a sounding board, I’m available,” Baker offered.
“Thank you,” she said, if only to be polite. “Would you keep me posted on any other developments?”
“Sure.”
“Have a good evening,” Tricia said.
“You, too.”
Tricia ended the call. She sat staring at the phone. So, the man who lobbed a brick through her window and the woman who’d texted him were now both dead. The man who’d run down Marshall and had possibly torched Ginny’s and Antonio’s home was also dead.
What did they have in common?
That they’d made attacks on the Miles-Barbero families. They appeared to be petty criminals.
That they had probably been paid to wreak havoc, and now they were dead. One had been murdered. Was the accident that killed the biker and his girlfriend a premeditated murder?
Whoever had hired them had also silenced them . . . or had them silenced—and permanently.
The shop door opened and several women entered. Tricia immediately brightened. “Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m the owner, Tricia. Let me know if you need any help.”
The women smiled and dispersed to begin browsing.
Tricia gave herself a little shake and gazed out the window, where she could just see the sign for Booked for Lunch. It reminded her that she needed to get a shopping list together. She grabbed a scrap piece of paper and began to make notes.
Still, the thought of that trio of felons lying dead in a morgue was still stuck in her mind.
Her phone pinged. She glanced at the screen. It was a text from Ginny. Are we still on for lunch?
Tricia cringed. Their weekly lunch had been postponed twice.
Why don’t we just wait until Thursday? Tricia texted back.
She expected an immediate text back, but instead, her phone rang: Ginny.
“Hey,” Tricia said, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb her customers.
“Why weren’t you at our Sunday dinner last night?” Ginny demanded.
Tricia hesitated before answering. Should she tell the truth, or would that make the situation that much worse? She took a chance. “Uh . . . I was asked not to come.”
“By whom?” Ginny demanded.
“Angelica.”
“What? Why?”
“I really don’t want to go into it.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . because it’s all rather silly. At least, it should be.”
“Does this have anything to do with Antonio and that miserable excuse of a newspaper they acquired?” Ginny asked, her voice tightening.
“Well, sort of.”
“I knew it. I knew that rotten excuse for a fish wrapper had to be the cause.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since Antonio came up with the idea of running that birdcage liner, he’s been obsessed with becoming the next Clark Kent.”
“Have you heard from Becca?”
“Not since she canceled our practice on Friday. I was going to text her this morning to see if we’re going to play.”
“She may not answer your message.”
“Why not?”
“Because Antonio badgered her about Marshall’s death and details about his past—and hers. Angelica’s in his court because . . . well, I don’t have to tell you why, but Becca also . . .” Tricia let the sentence trail. She wasn’t about to reveal how Becca had disparaged Ginny.
“She said I was a lousy player and beneath her skill level.”
“Well, sort of.”
Ginny let out a dismissive breath. “She’s told me that since the second day we played. If I’m such a slouch, why did she keep asking me to come back?”
Ginny had a point.
“You’re not offended.”
“Ha! How many years did I work in retail? Nobody can insult me and take me down unless I let them. Becca’s a blowhard, but she’s also taught me a lot in the past week on how to improve my game. After the new baby arrives, I’m going to join a tennis league and get back into it. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed playing.”
“I’m glad something good has come out of this whole messy situation.”
“But not for you,” Ginny said bluntly. “I knew something was up last night when Antonio and Angelica kept looking at each other every time your name was mentioned.”
“That’s not the only collateral damage. Mr. Everett quit this morning.”
“What?” Ginny practically wailed.
“I have a feeling Grace made him do it. This is just supposition on my part, but I’m guessing she sensed there was a rift and if he continued working for me it could alter things. If it appeared they were choosing sides, she might be afraid that you and Antonio could keep them from seeing Sofia and . . . well . . .” But Tricia couldn’t go on.
“Good grief,” Ginny said, sounding exhausted. She let out an exasperated breath. “I refuse to let that Russ Smith–tainted ad rag unhinge our lives.”
“Ginny, please don’t do anything to—”
“Oh, you better believe I’m going to do something. I will not stand for any kind of bullying. Not from Antonio or Angelica. And they are going to hear from me. I will not let my daughter think that kind of behavior is acceptable. Not from her nonna and especially not from her father,” Ginny said fervently.
She is woman, hear her roar, Tricia thought with the smallest hint of a smile.
“I need to nip this behavior in the bud,” Ginny declared. “And right now. Talk to you later.”
The call ended.
One of the women customers ambled up to the cash desk. “Excuse me, but there are so many wonderful books here, I’m having a hard time making a choice. Can you give me a recommendation?”
Tricia’s insides felt wobbly after two jarring conversations in a row but somehow she managed a smile. “I’d be delighted.”
* * *
* * *
The shop was devoid of customers when, less than an hour later, Ginny marched into Haven’t Got a Clue with a humble-looking Antonio and Angelica following in her wake. Because of their hangdog expressions, Tricia was surprised Ginny hadn’t dragged them in by their ears.
“Hi, Pixie. Would you excuse us for a few minutes?” Ginny asked, her voice
as sweet as could be.
Pixie shot Tricia a glance before answering, “Uh, sure. I’ve got some work down in the office I can do.”
“Thank you.”
Tricia had a feeling Pixie would hang out at the top of the stairs and listen to every word that was said, but she also knew Pixie wouldn’t breathe whatever she heard to another soul. At least she was pretty sure she wouldn’t.
Once Pixie was out of sight, Ginny turned, arms akimbo, and glared at the guilty parties. “Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?”
Antonio’s gaze was fixed on the carpet. “I . . . I am sorry I was unreasonable. When you said we should agree to disagree, I should not have protested. I behaved like a child.”
“And you, Angelica,” Ginny prompted sternly.
Angelica’s fingers tightened on the handle of her cane. In her other hand was the shopping bag she’d received at the Bee’s Knees. “I’m sorry, too, Tricia. I was only trying to be supportive of—”
“I know,” Tricia said. “I accept your apologies and thank you for coming.”
“I brought you a peace offering.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, they’re not my size.”
Angelica offered Tricia the bag. She took it and peeked inside to see a shoebox. Slipping the top off, she nudged the tissue paper and smiled: black sequined sneakers.
“Thank you.”
Suddenly Angelica lunged forward with tears in her eyes and grabbed Tricia in an awkward hug. “I’m sorry, Trish. I’m so sorry,” she whispered in Tricia’s ear between sobs.
Tricia patted her back. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Angelica pulled back.
“Now, why don’t you three sit over there in the reader’s nook and talk things through,” Ginny suggested. “I still have to speak to Grace and Mr. Everett and straighten things out with them before I can pick Sofia up at day care.”
The three of them nodded solemnly and watched as Ginny flounced out the door.
Tricia offered the others a shy smile. “I guess we’d better do as she asked.”
“Yes, or else I will be in the cur house.” He meant doghouse, but Tricia got the gist.
They all took a seat in the reader’s nook and looked at one another self-consciously. “Well?” Tricia asked.
“I should explain why I was so stubborn on Saturday,” Antonio began. He looked at Angelica, who nodded, as though to encourage him. “When I met Ms. Chandler on Saturday morning, there was something very familiar about her face.”
“Well, she was a world-renowned tennis player,” Tricia pointed out.
Antonio shook his head. “That is not it. I know nothing about her past career. I knew I had seen her at the Brookview Inn . . . and not that long ago.”
Tricia’s eyes widened. “But she told me she’d never been to Stoneham before last week.”
“As she told me, as well,” Antonio said.
Tricia sat back in her chair and Miss Marple ambled up and jumped into her lap, purring. She turned around three times before she settled down. “You know, when Becca came into the shop the day I met her, she showed me some pictures she’d said Marshall had sent her of Stoneham.”
“What kind of pictures?”
“Of the Armchair Tourist and the Stoneham Weekly News. I didn’t realize it until just now that those pictures showed the mums in the urns in front of each of the Main Street merchants. Marshall couldn’t have sent them to her because they were planted the morning after he died.”
Antonio nodded. “Ms. Chandler has not been entirely truthful on several fronts. It seems she stayed at the Brookview Inn for two nights during last year’s holiday season.”
Tricia felt her mouth drop as she petted her cat. But then she remembered something else. “That makes sense. The other day when I had lunch with Becca at the Brookview, Cindy at the front desk said ‘Welcome back, ladies.’ It wouldn’t have occurred to me that Becca had been there before—especially as she told me she was looking forward to visiting the inn for the first time.”
“Why would she tell so many lies?” Angelica asked.
Tricia felt a slow burn rise up her neck. “Who knows? Maybe Marshall didn’t want her to be seen coming out of his apartment.”
“Do you think they were hooking up?” Angelica asked.
“At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past Marshall,” Tricia said bitterly. “But it also kind of puts the whole revenge plot to rest.”
“What do you mean?” Antonio asked.
“The idea behind the Witness Protection Program is that the person entering it risks his—or her—life by contacting people from their past. Marshall contacted Becca after her accident and they kept in touch for years. Despite that, no one came after Marshall until last week. That tells me no one was watching Becca all that closely—especially if she had met Marshall right here in Stoneham last year.”
“But from what you said, Becca was in the village at least a day before she visited you,” Angelica said. “Could she have been in the area for a day or so before Marshall was killed, and if so, why?”
“Would you feel comfortable asking Ms. Chandler?” Antonio asked. “Or do you think it’s too dangerous?”
That he was concerned for her safety warmed Tricia’s heart. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’ve been iffy when it came to trusting Becca. Now I feel absolutely terrified. We can’t let Ginny practice with her anymore.”
“As she has already agreed to pick up Sofia, I think she is safe tonight, but I will tell her of our conversation as soon as I see her this evening.”
“The less we truck with that woman, the better,” Angelica agreed. “We should go straight to Chief Baker and report all these anomalies.”
“I’m not so sure,” Tricia said.
“That would steal my scoop,” Antonio said, sounding hurt.
Tricia couldn’t help but smile. Ginny may have been right about Antonio’s Clark Kent fixation. “We need more proof that Becca’s up to something nefarious before we talk to the chief.”
“And what about Louise Jameson being arrested for her husband’s death?” Angelica asked.
“She was released this morning after posting bail,” Antonio reported. “I went to her studio to speak with her, but her assistant said the studio would be closed for the foreseeable future.”
“And I still don’t have my proofs,” Tricia muttered.
“It still doesn’t make sense to me that she was arrested at all,” Angelica said. “Okay, I can see she might want to kill her husband—he wasn’t a very nice man. But Marshall? What for? Apparently, he wanted her and she rejected him. Where’s the motive?”
“Then it seems more likely Ms. Chandler would have killed Marshall,” Antonio said.
“I’m still not clear on what her motive could be,” Angelica said.
“Lots of times there really is no motive,” Tricia pointed out. “I mean, didn’t we just go through that with Susan Morris’s murder? It was a crime of passion—or at least unreasonable anger.”
Angelica looked pensive. “When Ginny suggested we talk and compare notes, I was pretty sure we’d come to some kind of consensus. Now I feel confused and more than a little frightened,” Angelica admitted.
“I do not think you should be alone the next time you speak to Ms. Chandler,” Antonio told Tricia. “Please promise me you will call me to escort you should you confront her.”
“She’s already taken a dislike to you,” Tricia pointed out. “It seems to me that I shouldn’t talk to her in person from now on. When I do, I’ll make sure it’s by phone.”
“That makes me feel a little better—but not by much,” Angelica remarked.
“I’d like to speak to both Becca and Louise. I think they’re both credible suspects for masterminding at least one murder each,” Tricia said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about all this to Chief Baker?” Angelica asked.
Tricia shook her head.
“I’m keeping my distance from him until I have something concrete to report. You know he always questions my motives. It’s the prime reason we broke up in the first place.”
Angelica nodded and her bottom lip quivered once again. “I . . . I’m so sorry I bit your head off on Saturday. I was—”
Tricia held up a hand. “We never have to speak of it again. We’re sisters and no one and nothing can come between us again.” She waited, half afraid her sister might not agree.
Angelica nodded. “Never again.”
A surge of affection for her sister rushed through Tricia, but all too soon it faded. She glanced at Antonio. “Today was your deadline to put the next issue to bed. Did you print anything about Marshall?”
Antonio shook his head. “My instinct is to wait. We are printing a death notice, but we don’t yet have the full story behind Marshall Cambridge’s life. What about your promise to Ms. Chandler?”
“I did my duty to her. I asked you not to delve into Marshall’s past. If you choose to pursue the story, I can’t stop you.”
“Yes, but now you are invested in trying to discover the truth,” Antonio pointed out.
Tricia nodded, albeit reluctantly. “I have more information than I had on Saturday morning. I no longer feel a loyalty to that promise, to Becca—and sadly, even to Marshall. It’s a bitter pill to swallow when you’ve been lied to on multiple fronts.”
“I am sorry,” Antonio apologized.
“What are you going to do next?” Angelica asked.
Tricia sighed. “I want to speak to Louise Jameson, and fairly soon.”
“Good luck pinning Mrs. Jameson down,” Antonio said.
Tricia pursed her lips. “I’m going to call her now.” She pulled out her cell phone and tapped Louise’s name on her contacts list. The phone rang and rang, only to be picked up by voice mail. She decided to leave a message.
“This is Tricia Miles. I’d like to speak to Ms. Jameson about the proofs from my photo shoot last Thursday. I haven’t yet received them.” She gave her e-mail address. “I might also be able to help her with her current legal problem. Please have her call me.” She left both her cell and landline numbers and ended the call.
Booktown Mystery 15 - A Deadly Deletion Page 24