Sentenced to Death

by Lorna Barrett

  “So you’ve gotten over the Brookville Inn stealing Jake?”

  Angelica scowled. “It wasn’t the Brookville Inn that stole him from me. It was Nigela Racita Associates.”

  “Ah, yes,” Tricia said, and uncovered her lunch, balling up the wrap and setting it aside. “But you said it was a good career move for him.”

  “Of course it was. And I was the first to be served dinner the night he started there. I like to think it was me who set him up for greatness.”

  “Jake? Greatness?”

  Angelica frowned. “Obviously you haven’t eaten at the inn since he took over the kitchen. Their last chef was pretty damn good. Jake is better.”

  “You know I haven’t eaten there lately.”

  “Then I will take you there and treat you. What are you doing tonight?”

  “I don’t know that I want to go out. I think I’d rather stay home and read.”

  “You’ve been doing a little too much of that lately. Pining over Captain Baker maybe?”

  “No! It’s just … Deborah’s death has really depressed me. I don’t feel like going out and celebrating—anything. By the way, I loaned out Mr. Everett to Elizabeth for a few days. And Ginny’s upset with me.”

  Angelica blinked. “Because you loaned out Mr. Everett?”

  “No. She thinks I don’t trust her.”

  “Okay, I’m confused.”

  Tricia stabbed a forkful of tuna and related the conversation she’d had with Ginny that morning.

  “You’ve always said she was the best assistant in Stoneham. And if that’s true, doesn’t it seem rather suspicious you haven’t given her more responsibility?” Angelica asked.

  “It isn’t a question of trust—or even responsibility. I’m on the premises most of the day. I don’t stray very far from the store—which is also where I live, I might add. There’s simply been no reason for her to open or close for me.”

  Angelica leveled a narrow gaze at her sister. “You’re a workaholic.”

  “I am not!”

  “You’re worse than Daddy ever was.”

  “That’s not true,” Tricia said, but it did seem to be the one trait she’d inherited from their father.

  “Admit it, you can’t stand to sit still—unless you’ve got a mystery in your hands, and then the world stops. If you ask me, you’ve dug yourself into a rut. If you want to go out with Captain Baker—ask him to take you out, or you invite him to dinner.”

  “You know I can’t cook much of anything.”

  “That’s why the Brookview Inn has a catering menu, dear.”

  “They do? How do you know?”

  “I make it my business to know what every other eatery in the area is serving and what other ventures they’re involved in.”

  That made sense. Tricia took another bite of tuna. Tommy made it differently than Jake. She couldn’t put her finger on just what it was—not so much the taste … maybe the texture. There weren’t as many crunchy bits. Yes, Jake had added more diced celery. Tricia had gotten used to it that way and now found she missed it. Not that she’d ever let Tommy—or Angelica—know it.

  Angelica slipped on her reading glasses that had been hanging from a cord on her neck, and turned her attention back to her manuscript. “Have you heard anything else about the crash investigation?”

  “Only that it’ll take months before they make a determination.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Bob said the plane ran out of gas. End of inquiry.”

  “If only it was that easy.” Tricia sighed and set her fork aside. “I feel like I should be doing more,” she said.

  “What? Helping the cops figure this out?”

  “Don’t be silly. And, anyway, it’s not the Sheriff’s Department that’ll be investigating. It’s the National Transportation Safety Board.”

  Angelica waved a hand in the air. “Whatever.”

  “I thought David might have called me—maybe asked me to help plan Deborah’s service. But, then, he hasn’t even asked any of Deborah’s family for input.”

  Angelica sighed in exasperation. Looking over her glasses and down her nose at Tricia, she leveled her index finger at her. “See, I told you you’re a workaholic. So what if David hasn’t asked for your help. You’ve given Mr. Everett to Elizabeth to work in the store. That will bring in income until David decides what to do with it—and knowing you, you’ll be paying Mr. Everett’s wages. Short of adopting little Davey, what else can you do?”

  Tricia thought about it for a few moments. “I could collect money for Davey—maybe set up a scholarship fund for him.”

  “Unless he’s a boy genius, the kid won’t be going to college for at least sixteen years,” Angelica pointed out.

  “That’ll give the money time to accrue interest.”

  “Not at the ridiculous rates banks are offering these days.” Angelica stared at her sister for a long moment and then shrugged. “Whatever,” she said again. It was beginning to annoy Tricia.

  “Will you donate something?” she asked.

  “Sure, I can spare fifty bucks.”

  Tricia gave her sister the evil eye.

  “Okay, a hundred. Are you going to go door to door like you did when Jim Roth died?”

  “Probably. And I’m going to hit up Antonio Barbero for a very big contribution. If Nigela Racita Associates is plotting to take over Deborah’s store, the least they can do is contribute to her son’s education.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a double whammy? I mean, won’t Davey be on the receiving end of whatever his father gets for the business?” Angelica asked.

  “Not necessarily. The louse could remarry or blow the money on fast cars and fancy women.”

  Angelica scowled. “You really don’t like David, do you?”

  “Not especially.” Tricia lifted her hand and rubbed her fingers together several times. “Come on, write out a check?”

  Angelica got up and stomped around the counter once again. She pulled out her purse from underneath and reached for her checkbook, then paused. “Who am I supposed to make it out to? You? The Davey Black Education Fund?” She placed the checkbook back into her purse and stowed it under the counter again. “Maybe you need to think this through before you rush into it. It might be that you should hit the bank first and set up an account for the kid.”

  “That’s a good idea. I could make Elizabeth the trustee, and then no matter what happens with David in the future, Davey will be all set.”

  “Don’t you think you’d better ask her first?”

  “Do you honestly think she’s going to refuse?”

  “No. But it doesn’t hurt to ask. Besides, it’s just good manners.”

  “I guess you’re right. I’ll give her a call and see if she can meet me at the bank sometime soon.”

  “Why wait? Do it now.” Back out came the purse, and Angelica handed Tricia her cell phone.

  Two minutes later, it was a done deal. With Mr. Everett willing to cover for her, Elizabeth agreed to meet Tricia at the bank in fifteen minutes.

  Tricia folded Angelica’s phone and handed it back to her, then picked up her fork and continued to eat her lunch. Angelica shuffled her pages and stacked them in a neat pile. “I’m not getting any work done here. I may as well go home.”

  “The book not going well?” Tricia asked.

  “It would be going a lot better if I weren’t doing another Easy-Does-It cookbook. I thought I’d be getting my foot in the publishing door with the first one, and then they’d let me do something a little more creative. But no. Now they want the same thing, only different. Why did I have to be so successful my first time out?”

  Tricia laughed. “I’ll bet that’s a problem a lot of authors would love to have.” She’d certainly heard it enough at the author signings she’d hosted over the past two years.

  Angelica stood. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to David when he finds out you’ve made Elizabeth guardian of Davey’s scholarship money?” />
  “Why do I have to tell him anything?”

  Angelica raised her arms as though in surrender. “It’s going to get around, and I don’t think he’s going to be pleased. Everyone knows he doesn’t like you.”

  “Who’s everyone?”

  Angelica sighed, but didn’t bother to reply.

  “Besides, I don’t like him, either. And after Deborah’s funeral, I never have to put up with him again.”

  “Stoneham is a small village,” Angelica pointed out, “and you know how things can get ugly when the townspeople stick up for one of their own and shun the newcomers.”

  “David and Deborah were originally from somewhere on Long Island, not natives of Stoneham. And the villagers have hardly embraced the booksellers.”

  “They’re coming around,” Angelica said. “And I’m counting on them eating here at Booked for Lunch when the winter rolls around and the tourists stay home until spring.”

  Tricia ate her last bite of tuna and pushed the plate away. “You worry too much.”

  “With all the bodies you’ve found in this town, I’d think you’d be a little more concerned.”

  Tricia blinked, taken aback. “Do you honestly think David would threaten me over something as innocuous as setting up a scholarship fund for his son?”

  “Of course not. But you’ve already interfered by loaning Mr. Everett to work in Deborah’s store—a store David wants to close as soon as possible.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Everybody’s talking about it.”

  Tricia was getting tired of hearing about everybody—especially if Angelica wasn’t willing or able to identify who they were. “I’m not afraid of David Black.”

  “Well, maybe you ought to be. Deborah was,” Angelica said casually. “And now she’s dead.”

  FIVE

  Tricia stared at her sister, unable to believe what she’d just heard. “Aren’t you the one who told me the crash was an accident?”

  “Of course it was,” Angelica said. “And wasn’t it handy that it came at a time when the Blacks were having marital problems?”

  “They argued about the amount of time Deborah spent at the store—I’ll grant you that. But they weren’t on the verge of divorce, either.”

  “That’s not what Frannie says.”

  “Frannie?”

  “Well, she lives on the same street as Deb and David. All the neighbors knew about their shouting matches—usually at night when people wanted to sleep.”

  Tricia wasn’t sure how to react to that news. She’d thought Deborah had told her everything. She’d certainly complained about David often enough, but she hadn’t mentioned that their marriage was as strained as Angelica—more likely, Frannie—had indicated. And why hadn’t Frannie mentioned it the previous evening when members of the Tuesday Night Book Club came to Haven’t Got a Clue to commiserate?

  Tricia glanced at her watch. She had to meet Elizabeth at the bank, so there was no chance she could talk to Frannie any time soon. And she couldn’t ask Elizabeth such a question in the bank for everyone to hear.

  Tricia pursed her lips, angry at herself for succumbing to idle gossip. And if what Angelica said was true, she felt a little hurt, too, that Deborah hadn’t been as honest with her as she’d thought.

  She got up from her stool, carried her dishes into the kitchen, and dumped them into the slop sink. By the time she came back into the dining room, Angelica had gathered her manuscript and her purse and had her key out ready to lock up.

  “When shall I tell Frannie you’ll be over to talk to her?” Angelica asked, with just a touch of a sneer in her voice.

  “I have no plans to talk to Frannie today.”

  “I’ll tell her you’ll see her tomorrow then, shall I?”

  Tricia gave her sister a sour smile. “Thank you for the lunch. I’ll see you later.”

  “Today? I thought your plan was to spend the evening with your cat and a book.”

  “I am a woman of mystery,” Tricia reminded her.

  “Since when?” Angelica asked as she ushered Tricia toward the door.

  The answer was since she’d opened a mystery bookstore. And it had been a long time since she’d felt this awkward and unsure—high school, in fact. But Angelica seemed to have the knack to take her back to those feelings with only a couple of sentences.

  “Has anybody ever accused you of being a bully?” Tricia asked, stopping dead.

  Angelica nearly ran into her. “Of course. And I’m working on it.”

  “How’s that? By bullying more or less?” Tricia asked.

  “Go to the bank!” Angelica ordered, and pushed Tricia toward the door once again.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t call me ma’am!”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “That’s better.”

  Angelica closed and locked the café’s door.

  The Bank of Stoneham was filled with customers, people eager to deposit their paychecks and obtain cash for the weekend, when Tricia entered. Elizabeth waited for her, sitting in a chair reserved for those in line to speak to a customer service rep. All of them were busy, so it was Billie Hanson, the bank’s stocky manager, who called them to her office and personally took care of them.

  “That does it for the paperwork,” Billie said at last, and held up a finger, indicating they should wait a moment before leaving. “Let me get you a folder to put your deposit slips and other papers in. I’ll be right back.” She rose from her chair and left Tricia and Elizabeth sitting in the two visitor chairs in front of her desk.

  Elizabeth turned to Tricia and wiped a few tears from her eyes. “I can’t thank you enough, for everything you’ve done for us. Mr. Everett has already been such a help—and now this for Davey.” She pulled a wadded tissue from her purse and pressed it against her nose. “I can’t believe everything that’s happened since yesterday. And to make matters worse, David’s already accepted an offer on Deborah’s store.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth. I’m so sorry.”

  “My daughter has only been dead twenty-six hours and already that man has sold off her most valuable asset.”

  “How could anyone be so cold?” Tricia asked, and yet she had to voice the question that was burning on her tongue. “Was it to—?”

  “Nigela Racita Associates,” Elizabeth finished with a nod and a scowl.

  “Shouldn’t you have done an inventory first? Shouldn’t there have been—”

  “David asked me last night for a ball-park estimate on what the store was worth. Apparently, they offered fifty thousand more than my figure.”

  “That is generous.” Especially since Deborah’s store hadn’t been all that profitable. If nothing else, no one could say Nigela Racita Associates wasn’t at least giving fairmarket value for the assets it obtained. Picking up the Happy Domestic meant that in the space of two months, the development company now owned three local enterprises. Perhaps it was time to find out a little more about the firm. Tricia made a mental date for later that evening with her computer and Google.

  Tricia glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back to my store. I’ve been missing half the day. Ginny’s probably …” She hesitated. Happy about it, she thought, but aloud she finished, “Wondering if I fell off the planet.” She stood.

  “Thank you again, Tricia.”

  Tricia bent down and gave Elizabeth a hug before leaving the cubicle.

  Billie met her halfway to the door, and paused to speak to her. “It’s a good thing you’re doing, Tricia, setting up that trust fund for Davey Black. The whole village will be behind you.”

  “The whole village?” Tricia asked.

  Billie shrugged. “I know some of the villagers don’t like the booksellers, but nobody likes to think of a baby losing his mother. I think you’ll find the people of Stoneham have large hearts.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’d better get back to Elizabeth,” Billie said, and sketched
a wave good-bye before heading back to her cube.

  Tricia watched her, then started when someone touched her on the shoulder. She whirled. A woman who looked about thirty, with short-cropped dark hair, stood in front of her. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing you talking about a bank account for Davey Black.”

  “Yes. After what happened to his mother, her friends and colleagues want to establish an education fund for her son.”

  “I didn’t know Mrs. Black well. Davey was with us for only six weeks.”

  Tricia looked at the woman, puzzled. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  The woman gave a tired smile. “I’m Brandy Arkin. My sister and I run Tiny Tots Day Care over on Fifth Street.”

  “Oh.” Tricia had heard of their business. Deborah had placed Davey in their care—and that’s where he’d broken his arm, falling from a piece of outdoor play equipment. Deborah felt the owners had been negligent, and while she decided not to sue, she had filed a complaint with the county.

  “We’d like to make a contribution to the fund. Can I write you a check?” Brandy asked.

  “Um, sure.” Tricia said.

  Brandy stepped over to the customer counter, set her purse down, rummaged through it, and pulled out a checkbook. She scribbled for a few moments before handing Tricia a check. Ten dollars. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something—especially as Deborah and Tiny Tots Day Care hadn’t parted on happy terms. “Thank you. I’m sure Deborah would’ve been pleased.”

  “I wish it could be more, but under the circumstances …”

  The economy had picked up some, but Tricia knew a lot of small businesses were still suffering. And laid-off workers didn’t send their children to day care.

  “It was very nice meeting you, Ms.—”

  “Arkin,” the woman supplied. She smiled. “See you around the village.”

  Tricia watched as the woman headed for the door. She turned back for the counter and picked up a deposit slip. She may as well add the check to the new account.

  Five minutes later, she exited the building and headed back to Haven’t Got a Clue, dreading that she’d have to walk past the park yet another time.