Sentenced to Death

by Lorna Barrett

  Tricia marched up to the door. What was she going to say to him? They hadn’t parted on good terms the day before. Would he even open the door?

  She ascended the stairs and pressed the door bell. From inside, she could hear an electronic version of the Westminster chimes. It hardly seemed to go with the humble abode, but then maybe it had been Deborah’s idea of a joke.

  The door opened and David stood before her, dressed in a holey gray sweatshirt and grubby jeans. Could the holes have come from sparks from welding? If so, shouldn’t he have worn some kind of protection over his clothes?

  “What do you want?” David asked, sounding weary. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Was it guilt that kept him from peaceful slumber?

  “We need to talk. About Deborah,” Tricia said.

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “David, please.”

  He sighed. “What the hell,” he said, and walked away from the door.

  Tricia entered the home. She’d never actually been inside the house before, although she’d often dropped Deborah off after one of their Wednesday night girls-only dinners. The descriptor that came to mind was … cutseypoo. The living room sported all-white slip-covered furniture, with not a sign that a small child lived in the home. The accent colors were pastel, and the walls were filled with shabby-chic accessories. Not the real thing but the kinds of pictures and knickknacks Deborah sold at the Happy Domestic. And while Deborah was herself a bookseller, there were no signs of any books or magazines cluttering up the room.

  Was the rest of the house so precious? Or had Deborah given David—and little Davey—rooms for themselves?

  “Sit if you want,” David said.

  “Are you going to stand?”

  “Deborah doesn’t like me sitting on the furniture in my work clothes.”

  “Deborah isn’t here,” Tricia pointed out.

  David looked at her in what looked like disbelief and then laughed. “That’s right. I can do what I damn well please now.”

  “It seems that’s all you’ve done since she died,” Tricia pointed out.

  His expression hardened. “Don’t start on me.”

  “Someone needs to. You’ve sold your wife’s store, her car—” She paused, waiting for David to deny it, but he didn’t. “You didn’t hold a ceremony to mark her death. And you’ve totally neglected your own son.”

  “That you’ve got wrong,” he said with a sneer. “Davey isn’t my child.”

  Tricia blinked, taken aback.

  “You mean you hadn’t noticed he doesn’t look a thing like me?” David accused.

  “He takes after Deborah’s family,” Tricia said, but suddenly realized that wasn’t true, either.

  “It’s pretty easy to determine these things nowadays. All I had to do was wipe a swab on the inside of Davey’s cheek and do the same to myself. I sent them to a lab. Do you want to read the report yourself, or will you take my word on it?”

  Tricia opened her mouth to speak but could think of nothing to say. Finally she blurted, “How long have you known?”

  “A little over a year.”

  Tricia’s knees felt wobbly and she sank onto one of the slip-covered chairs. David towered over her.

  “But Deborah said you wanted more children.”

  “Stupid of me, wasn’t it? I thought if we had our own child, maybe we could save our marriage.”

  “Then who … ?”

  “Who’s Davey’s father? Some jerk she met at one of those gift shows she went to in New York. Believe me, when she told him, he disappeared fast. He was smarter than me.”

  Tricia had known Deborah during most of her pregnancy. She hadn’t let on at that time that she and David were having marital problems. That had come later—after Davey’s birth. About the same time David found out he wasn’t the boy’s father?

  “You’re not totally innocent yourself,” Tricia bluffed. “You and Michele Fowler …”

  “We’re friends,” he said, and then a sly smile crept onto his lips. “And maybe just a little more. Deborah cheated first—and Davey’s the living proof.”

  But it had been only a couple of months since Deborah had said David wanted more children. Had their marriage soured that much in just mere weeks? Could that be a reason for him wanting to rid his life of her?

  “You’ve made out well since her death. I heard the shop sold for more than it was worth. What will you do now? Open a studio?”

  “It’s really none of your business—any of this—but yeah, I intend to buy a place up on the highway that I’ve had my eye on. Now I have the means to do it. I’m putting in my two weeks’ notice at work tomorrow.”

  “How generous of you,” Tricia said with contempt. Then again, Ginny had reluctantly given less than a day’s notice.

  “Look, I’ve got things to do. It’s time you left.”

  “But—”

  David grabbed her arm and pulled her up from the chair, pushing her toward the door. “It’s been a nice visit. Don’t hurry back. In fact, if we never speak again, it’ll be fine with me.”

  “But Deborah—”

  “Is dead, and it’s time we both moved on.”

  Did he realize how guilty his attitude made him look? Here he was the classic cuckold husband wanting revenge. What better excuse was there for murder?

  “Good night,” David said, pushed Tricia over the threshold, and closed the door behind her.

  Tricia stalked back to her car, got inside, and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She punched in Elizabeth’s number and waited. After four rings, it rolled over to voice mail, so she left a message asking Elizabeth to call her. Elizabeth may have been too upset by Antonio’s visit to be taking calls. Tricia couldn’t blame her. But she needed to do something and she had an idea of what that might be.

  She hit the speed dial for Angelica, who answered on the second ring. “What have you got planned for the evening?”

  “I’m working on the manuscript,” Angelica answered.

  “Can you spare a couple of hours?”

  “Why? What did you have in mind?”

  “It’s time to play stakeout again.”

  “Oh goody,” Angelica squealed. “I’ll bring the snacks.” She paused. “Just who are we going to be watching?”

  “David Black.”

  “Delicious. When can you get here?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  “I’m packing the Cheez Doodles right now.”

  FIFTEEN

  Angelica stared out at the darkened street and sighed. Tricia had counted at least ten bored sighs since they’d followed David Black from his house more than an hour before, right after Tricia had returned to the municipal parking lot, parked her car, and got in the passenger’s side of Angelica’s car. Then they’d returned to Oak Street, parked in Frannie’s driveway—cleared in advance, of course—and waited to see what David would do.

  Sure enough, just after dark he’d left the home he’d shared with Deborah. Tricia had expected to follow him to Portsmouth, where she presumed he’d meet up with Michele Fowler, but instead, he’d driven three blocks to a large home on Fifth Street. The sign out front said TINY TOTS DAY CARE. Across the front, the wording had been partially obliterated by hand-painted lettering that said CLOSED.

  “What kind of person names their child Brandy?” Tricia asked, still puzzled by David coming here.

  “An alcoholic?” Angelica suggested, and tipped the Doodles bag upside down. Not a crumb remained. “For all we know, she’s a fine girl, and a good wife she might be.”

  Tricia glared at her sister, who shrugged and sat back in her seat. “I don’t think she’s married.”

  Angelica checked the bottle of ice tea that sat in the beverage restraint device just under her car stereo. It, too, was empty. “I’m bored. We’ve been sitting here for over an hour and nothing has happened.”

  “Nothing that we can see, at least.” Tricia corrected.

/>   “Tell me this blankie story again,” Angelica asked.

  “It could be a reason for David being here. Elizabeth thinks little Davey left his beloved blankie at the day care center the day he broke his arm. He’s been howling for it ever since.”

  “It doesn’t take an hour and a half to negotiate the return of a hostage blankie,” Angelica muttered.

  No, it didn’t. And since David had had little to no contact with Davey, the theory seemed implausible. Tricia stared at the former day care center, not liking what she’d been speculating for the past ninety minutes.

  “Do you believe in flying saucers?” Angelica asked, breaking the quiet.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to Cheryl Griffin or the Dexter twins again,” Tricia said.

  “No, Frannie.”

  “I hope they haven’t suckered her into believing that garbage.”

  “Of course not. She’s not that gullible. She did tell me the Dexters were still worried, though.”

  “Are they still thinking about buying a tenement?” Tricia asked.

  Angelica stifled a chuckle. “Those ladies are pretty single-minded. I wouldn’t be surprised if they manage to get Stoneham the police force they’ve been campaigning for.”

  The sisters were known for carrying clipboards and getting the villagers to sign petitions every six months or so for just that reason. Every year they got closer to convincing the Board of Selectmen that it would be a good idea. Was this the year it would go through?

  Angelica cocked her head to one side and squinted in the darkness. “Isn’t that Russ’s pickup?”

  “Where?” Tricia asked, peering out the passenger window.

  “There. At Nikki Brimfield’s house.”

  The lack of light made it impossible to tell the color of the truck, but it did look like Russ’s.

  “I’m going to go have a look,” Angelica said, and before Tricia could stop her, she’d opened the driver’s door and escaped into the night.

  Okay, what did this mean? That Russ and Nikki were a twosome? And if so, how come nobody had mentioned it to Tricia? Not that she cared. And if Russ was seeing Nikki, why had he mentioned taking her to lunch or dinner just the evening before?

  And why did she suddenly feel hurt? She had no feelings for Russ. But maybe it wasn’t feelings for him; perhaps it was the feeling of being left out.

  His attitude was certainly different this morning. Had he and Nikki come to some kind of decision about their relationship between last night and this morning? That didn’t seem right—not if he was afraid of Nikki seeing him without his bridge. He’d paid extra to make sure he didn’t lose it. They must still be at a stage where appearances counted.

  The driver’s door opened and Angelica ducked back in. “Yup, it’s Russ’s truck all right. And all the lights are off inside the house. I think he must be warming Nikki’s bed.”

  Tricia said nothing.

  “I must say, I thought Nikki had better taste,” Angelica said. “But then, it must be a relief to you. At least with him seeing Nikki, he won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  “That’s true,” Tricia said, and yet on some level it did bother her. She stared out the passenger’s window into the dark night and remembered how nervous Russ had been when she’d visited his house last evening. Had Nikki been there, too? Tricia hadn’t seen any evidence—like glasses or plates for more than one—on the cocktail table. Had Nikki been hiding in the kitchen or upstairs perhaps—warming Russ’s bed? Russ hadn’t been in a hurry to get rid of Tricia, either.

  It didn’t make sense.

  “While I was creeping around, I snuck up to Brandy’s window and peeked in.”

  “Ange! That makes you a peeping Tom.”

  “Peeping Thomasina, maybe,” she corrected.

  “So what did you see?”

  “Nothing. I think they went to bed, too. And that’s probably where we should go. It’s getting late.”

  But Tricia didn’t want to go home. “I wish there were some kind of after-hours place here in Stoneham. Maybe a club that played jazz and served drinks.”

  “And whom would they serve? The sidewalks roll up at dark. The problem is there’s a real lack of hotel space in the area.”

  “But the Brookside Inn—” Tricia began.

  “Isn’t within walking distance,” Angelica countered.

  “Eleanor was worried someone would buy out the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort and put up a motel.”

  Angelica shook her head. “It won’t happen. That place is a gold mine. But if the village could offer other amenities, it could attract the fully clad nudists in the evenings. And it wouldn’t hurt if Stoneham had a day spa, an antiques joint, and a jeweler. Those are the kinds of businesses that cater to the tourist trade. There are a lot of huge Victorian homes here in the village that would make wonderful bed-and-breakfast inns. The Chamber ought to try to convince some of the owners to convert their properties.”

  Tricia laughed. “Have you told Bob all this? Surely he could recruit those kinds of businesses. I mean, he’s done it before.”

  Angelica shrugged. “Bob’s vision only extends to the properties he owns, which are all rented. But there’s plenty of land on both ends of the village that could be rezoned as commercial property. It just takes someone with vision to pull it off.”

  “And why shouldn’t you be that person?” Tricia suggested, with a laugh.

  Angelica shook her head. “I’ve got enough on my plate. But don’t be surprised if Antonio Barbero and Nigela Racita Associates don’t pull it off first.”

  Tricia thought about it. The way things were going, such development might be possible. “I heard that a small village in Canada—Niagara on the Lake—got just such an infusion of cash from a mysterious woman back in the 1990s. It made all the difference in the world.”

  “Have you ever been there?” Angelica said with a sly smile.

  Tricia shook her head.

  “I have, and it’s spectacular. Everything you want without losing that small-town charm. And they’ve got scads of wineries within a ten-or fifteen-minute drive, plus a historical fort and a marvelous theater. And in the summertime, there are flowers everywhere. It’s just gorgeous.”

  “When did you go to Canada?”

  “Years ago, with Drew,” she said with a wave of her hand. Drew had been her fourth husband.

  Tricia leaned back against her seat, wishing she was anywhere else in the state—the country, the planet—than staring at Nikki Brimfield’s darkened house. How she longed to escape her life. She hadn’t had more than a day off—at Christmas—since she’d opened Haven’t Got a Clue. And now, with Ginny gone, she had no hope of having a day’s respite until she’d fully trained someone else. And since she hadn’t felt comfortable enough giving Ginny a key, would she be as restrictive with whomever she hired to take Ginny’s place? Part of her hoped she’d learned her lesson. The other part wasn’t so sure.

  “You’re being awfully quiet,” Angelica said. “Is it because Russ is seeing Nikki?”

  Tricia shook her head. “It’s just one thing piling on top of another. Deborah’s death, losing Ginny … What else can happen?”

  In the dim light, Tricia could see the ghost of a smile light Angelica’s face. “It’s that old Chinese curse… .”

  “May you live in interesting times,” Tricia recited. “Yeah, I know all about it.”

  “Interesting doesn’t necessarily mean good—or bad,” Angelica said. “Just different.”

  She turned the key in the ignition and steered away from the curb, waiting until they were half a block from Nikki’s house before she switched on the car’s headlights.

  Tricia was tired of living a different life. She wanted her old life back. No, that wasn’t right, either. She wanted parts of her old life back, and she wanted them to neatly mesh with the life she’d built for herself since Christopher had left her. That wasn’t going to happen.

  It was time for a new pla
n.

  Too bad she had no idea where to start.

  SIXTEEN

  At nine o’clock Monday morning, the sun was up and the temperature was already near eighty. It would be a hot one. When Tricia opened the door to Haven’t Got a Clue to retrieve her newspaper, she saw Elizabeth Crane at the door of the Happy Domestic. She paused to watch as Elizabeth became more and more frustrated as she juggled keys, a coffee cup, and tried to keep little Davey from struggling out of his stroller.

  Tricia tucked the paper under her arm and looked both ways before crossing the street to join her. “Something wrong?” she asked as she approached.

  “Did you know the sale of the Happy Domestic has already gone through?” Elizabeth said, her voice shrill.

  “I heard,” Tricia said sympathetically.

  “Look at this!” Elizabeth said, and pointed to the shiny brass keyhole. “The locks have been changed. I’m shut out,” she cried in despair, and then burst into tears.

  Tricia gathered her in a hug, patting her back.

  “Nana, Nana!” Davey cried, yanking on Elizabeth’s sweater.

  Elizabeth pulled back and wiped at her eyes. “I apologize for losing it. I just can’t believe how insensitive that Barbero man could be.”

  “He did tell you about the sale last night,” Tricia said.

  “Yes, but he said nothing about changing the locks.”

  “Nana, Nana!” Davey insisted, and Elizabeth turned her attention to her grandson.

  This was Tricia’s first chance to look at the boy since David’s revelation about his paternity the night before. No doubt about it, Davey looked nothing like David Black, and she’d been right in thinking he didn’t resemble Deborah’s side of the family, either. Not with that nose and coloring.

  “Did you get my message last night?” Tricia asked.

  “What? Oh, yes. Sorry. I was upset. I didn’t feel up to making calls. I intended to speak to you this morning, after I opened the store.”

  “But Ginny’s supposed to be in this morning.”

  “I wanted to get here first, to clean up some of the paperwork, and be on hand to welcome her.” She rummaged through the diaper bag and came up with a box of animal crackers.