Sentenced to Death

by Lorna Barrett

  There was no easy way to broach the subject other than to just do it. Tricia took a steadying breath before speaking. “I had a rather disturbing conversation with David last night.”

  “I haven’t had a decent conversation with him for months,” Elizabeth said, and handed Davey a few of the crackers.

  “Did you know David wasn’t Davey’s father?” Tricia asked.

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped, and for a moment Tricia thought she might burst into tears once again. But then she pursed her lips and looked away. Finally, she nodded.

  “Do you know who Davey’s biological father is?”

  She nodded again, looking down at the child. “But that doesn’t matter. David has more or less said I can keep Davey. I’m more than willing to dedicate my life to bringing him up, but according to the law, David is the boy’s father. He’s responsible for child support until Davey’s eighteen. And I’m going to see to it that he pays.”

  “Why?”

  “To punish him. If he’d been a better husband, Deborah wouldn’t have felt the need to look for affection from other men.”

  There’d been more than one man? “Oh, Elizabeth, that’s so unfair—to David, and to Davey.”

  “Feeling sorry for him? Well, don’t. He’s made out like a bandit. Not only has he sold the store, but he’s going to sue the village, that pilot’s widow, and anyone else he thinks he can shake a nickel out of. He had Deborah heavily insured. I found the paperwork in the store.”

  So, Tricia had been right. “Is it still there?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I took it home on Friday. If I hadn’t seen the crash with my own eyes, I would swear that David had my baby killed for the money.”

  “Have you told the NTSB investigator this?”

  “He doesn’t care about possible motives. All he cares about is the crash. The Sheriff’s Department won’t listen. ‘Not in our jurisdiction.’ ”

  Davey thrashed around in his stroller. “Cookies, cookies!” he hollered.

  Elizabeth grabbed a fistful of animal crackers from the box she still held and practically threw them at the child. He seemed delighted and picked up a miniature lion, biting off its head.

  “Will you one day tell Davey about his real father, or would you rather he hear it from David?”

  “He never has to know.”

  “You don’t think David will be bitter enough to tell him?”

  Elizabeth straightened, and her expression hardened as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I can handle David.”

  Tricia had never seen this side of Elizabeth—so coldhearted. Had Deborah carried the same trait—and just kept it better hidden?

  “You know that’s not fair.” Why was she suddenly feeling sorry for David Black?

  Elizabeth leveled an angry glare at Tricia. “Whoever said life was fair? If it were, my daughter would still be alive. Now I don’t have her, and I don’t have her beautiful store. Instead, it was ripped from me and given to some punk kid who knows nothing about the business.”

  The slur against Ginny caught Tricia off guard. “Oh, Elizabeth—that’s so unfair.”

  “I thought you were Deborah’s friend—my friend,” she sneered. “Now I see you’re just as rotten as David.” She grabbed the handles on the stroller and turned it, nearly smashing it into Tricia’s shins. “Get out of my way.”

  Tricia stood back as Elizabeth strode down the street, head held high, Davey’s childish laugh echoing off the buildings along the empty street.

  Shaken, Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple sat near the door and greeted her with a cheerful “Yow!”

  “Glad you think so,” Tricia said. She deposited the newspaper on the sales counter and headed for the beverage station. She needed a jolt of caffeine—STAT! She grabbed the pot, got water from the washroom tap, and filled the coffeemaker’s reservoir before placing the filter and ground coffee in the machine and hitting the on switch. Now to wait the five or six minutes it would take to brew.

  She felt torn. While she felt sorry for Elizabeth being locked out of the Happy Domestic, she’d been shocked by her attitude about Davey’s paternity. Of course she was upset—she had reason to be. Life had not been kind to her these past few days. Lashing out at David had to be a reaction to his selling the store and not giving her a chance to buy it. While the entire conversation had been upsetting, she could see why Elizabeth would be angry. She’d give her the benefit of the doubt and ask Ginny about the locks and Elizabeth’s status at the Happy Domestic.

  She glanced at her watch. Knowing Ginny, she’d arrive early at her new job—she was probably already in transit. Tricia moved to the front of the store to look out the window, intending to wait for Ginny to arrive.

  By the time the coffee had finished, she saw Ginny walk down the sidewalk toward the Happy Domestic.

  Tricia poured two cups of coffee into the paper coffee cups intended for her customers, capped them, and headed out the door.

  Ginny had already opened the door to the shop by the time Tricia arrived. Tricia knocked on the door, and seconds later Ginny appeared. She noted the coffee in Tricia’s hand and a smile lit her face. “What a wonderful sight on my first day on the job. Come on in,” she urged, and stood by to let Tricia inside.

  Tricia handed one of the cups to Ginny. “Just how you like it.”

  “I always said you were the best boss. Maybe one day I can be, too.”

  “That’s kind of why I came over to see you. Ginny, did you know the locks had been changed since Antonio broke the news to Elizabeth last night?”

  Ginny didn’t answer for a long moment. “It wasn’t something Antonio planned on doing.”

  “I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but wasn’t that uncalled for?” Tricia asked.

  “Please don’t blame him,” Ginny said. “His boss told him to do it last night, right after he talked to Elizabeth. She didn’t take the news well that he’d already taken possession of the store. She was extremely upset—screaming at him. It was David she was angry at, but she took it out on Antonio. He said he’d keep her on, but she grabbed her purse and Davey and stormed out of the store without even closing for the day. Antonio had to call in a locksmith from Nashua and pay double to change the front and back locks. We never did get our celebratory dinner at the Brookview Inn,” she added with a twinge of resentment.

  Tricia shook her head and exhaled a long breath. “What about Elizabeth? Shouldn’t she have been told about the locks?”

  “That wasn’t my decision,” Ginny said, sounding defensive. “It was—”

  “Don’t tell me—Antonio’s boss who decreed it.”

  Ginny nodded. “Look at it from Antonio’s perspective. He didn’t think Elizabeth would be coming back to work after all the nasty things she said.” Ginny frowned. “I had hoped my first day would be pleasant. I hoped Elizabeth would at least tell me how things operated, who the suppliers were—that kind of thing. Now I’ll either sink or swim.”

  “You’ll do fine.” Tricia braved a smile. “There’s still a little time before you have to open. I should get going so you can take a look around and get familiar with your store.”

  Ginny managed a weak laugh. “My store,” she repeated, and shrugged. “Well, as good as, anyway.” Ginny bit her lip. “There is something I noticed when I was poking around last night that I didn’t mention to Antonio. There are a lot of empty boxes in the back room.”

  “Mr. Everett said they’ve been having trash difficulties.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the problem. The figurines are supposedly worth more if they’re in mint condition and in their original packaging. I don’t think Deborah or Elizabeth would sell the Dolly Dolittles without the boxes, and if someone buys them as a gift, they’d naturally ask for a box.”

  “Do you think they were stolen?”

  “I wouldn’t know who to point the finger at if they were.”

  Tricia frowned. “Mr. Everett helped out at the store for two
days. He might have some insight to share. When he comes in, I’ll send him over. He’s welcome to stay if he wants to help out, but I’ll need some coverage for lunch.”

  “That would be great. I’m sure going to miss working with him—and you, of course.”

  “If nothing else, having Mr. Everett on the register will give you time to check the inventory against your stock. That really should have been done before the store changed hands.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Ginny said. “We could have a real mess on our hands come tax time. But Nigela Racita Associates seems to have every contingency covered, so I’ll just putt along as best as I can for now.”

  “Do tell Antonio about it as soon as you can. You wouldn’t want his boss to think you were hiding anything.”

  “Right,” Ginny agreed.

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Tricia said, and headed for the door.

  “Thanks,” Ginny called. “For everything.”

  Tricia smiled and exited the store. The smile was shortlived. As she crossed the road, she considered her earlier encounter with Elizabeth Crane. She’d said she wanted to get inside the store and clean up some of the paperwork. Had she instead intended to get rid of some paperwork? Maybe remove the evidence of all the empty boxes—and all before Ginny arrived?

  Elizabeth had reason to hate David for selling off Deborah’s store. Reason enough to steal from the store, too? But that didn’t make sense, either. The figurines were far more valuable in their original packaging. Unless … one sold them cheap.

  It was time to get out the old laptop and have a look at what was selling on eBay.

  Business was slow, which gave Tricia time to do her Internet searches. Sure enough, someone in southern New Hampshire was selling a boatload of Dolly Dolittle figurines, but every one of the postings was without a picture, and each one listed the item as having no original box. Still, Tricia had no way of knowing who the seller could be. Worse than that, she had no way of proving the figurines were stolen property. All in all, it was pretty much a dead end.

  The bell over the shop door jingled as someone entered. Tricia looked up from the computer screen to see Russ Smith striding toward the cash desk. “Good morning, Tricia.”

  Tricia straightened. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Russ’s smile was jubilant. “I like the sound of that. Always happy to hear a pretty woman thinks it’s a pleasure to see me.”

  Tricia folded her arms and straightened. “Russ, I know about you and Nikki.”

  Exit one smile, with bridge intact.

  “Why did you invite me out to dinner the other night, when you were already in a new relationship?” she asked.

  Russ looked uncomfortable. “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “You’ve had several opportunities since then to tell me. Why didn’t you? And look at the way you came in here just now, as though you were willing to continue with the ruse.”

  Russ’s gaze was now focused on the top of the cash desk. “I’m sorry, Tricia. I don’t know what it is about you that brings out the jerk in me.”

  Tricia raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on that. Instead, she asked, “Is what you have with Nikki serious?”

  “It could be. If I don’t blow it.”

  “Good. I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. We’ve been keeping a low profile because … well, just because.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “No, but I do owe you an apology. Actually, quite a few. I was pretty arrogant, and now I can see how it might have come off as threatening.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Can we go back to being friends?” he asked.

  “Sure.” However, Tricia didn’t offer him her hand to shake on it. She didn’t trust him that much … yet.

  “So, what brings you to Haven’t Got a Clue?”

  “This.” He offered her a folded piece of paper—a photocopy of a story from the Stoneham Weekly News. “I asked Gail if you’d called for a copy of the piece we did on David Black. She said no, so I—”

  “I completely forgot about it. Thank you,” she said, unfolding the paper. The accompanying photo was of David standing next to one of his rusty bird sculptures.

  “I also have some news about Monty Capshaw’s bank account.”

  “Russ—you didn’t hack into it, did you?”

  “Of course not. But I have a friend who did.” He held out his hands in submission. “Don’t even ask. A good reporter never reveals his sources.”

  Tricia frowned, disapproving, though eager to know exactly what he had found out. “Well?” she demanded.

  “A sizable deposit was made the morning the plane crashed.”

  “How big is sizable?”

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  “Sounds cheap, when you consider Capshaw paid with his life.”

  “Hey, he was dying, anyway,” Russ said with a shrug.

  “What about insurance?” Tricia asked, remembering the envelopes she’d seen on Elaine Capshaw’s coffee table.

  “To the max. His wife was the primary beneficiary.”

  “Elizabeth Crane told me Deborah was also heavily insured, with David as the sole beneficiary.”

  “So you said. Interesting. It wouldn’t be the first time people have been killed for profit.”

  “Yes, but how can we prove it? Can you find out who wrote the check Monty deposited?”

  He shook his head. “It was a cash deposit.”

  “To leave no paper trail?” Tricia asked.

  “That’s my guess.”

  Tricia looked down at her laptop on the counter. “Do you think your hacker friend can find out who a seller on eBay is?”

  “What’s that got to do with Monty Capshaw?”

  “Probably nothing. But something odd is going on at the Happy Domestic.” She told him about the missing inventory and the empty boxes piled in the back room.

  Russ shrugged. “eBay is pretty secure. Why don’t you just buy one of the things? That way you’d know for sure who the seller is.”

  Tricia felt like smacking herself in the head. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you read too many mysteries. You think everything has to be so god-awful complicated.”

  Tricia frowned. “Thanks for that.”

  “You’re thinking a theft at Deborah’s store is tied in with both their deaths, but I don’t see how. Selling those figurines sounds more like an inside job to me.”

  “Hey, with what I found out about Deb and some of her shady doings, it’s possible she could’ve been behind the thefts, making an insurance claim and selling the stuff off cheap.”

  “Shady doings?” Russ inquired.

  Tricia told him about unloading trash in the Coffee Bean’s Dumpster.

  Russ shook his head. “Dumping your trash in someone else’s receptacle and petty theft aren’t usually motives for murder.”

  “All these listings were made before Deb died,” Tricia pointed out.

  “So what? If it wasn’t Deb, who do you think that might implicate?”

  “How about her mother?”

  Russ shook his head. “Elizabeth thought the sun rose and set on Deborah. My money’s on David.”

  “He did have keys to the shop,” Tricia admitted. “And their relationship had deteriorated enough for him to do something like that out of spite.” Tricia wondered if she should tell Russ about both Deborah and David’s lack of fidelity, but decided to hold back for now. She could always clue him in later.

  Russ glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to my office. Keep me posted on what you find out—and I’ll do likewise.”

  “Okay.”

  Russ started for the door, then paused and turned to face her again. “I am sorry about the way I treated you for the past year. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Should your relationship with Nikki fizzle, don’t pull the kind of crap on her that you did on me.
”

  “I don’t think you have to worry on that account. I think she’s the one.”

  “The one?”

  “Yeah. Forever.”

  Hadn’t he thought that about the two of them, too?

  “I’ll see you,” Russ said, and headed out the door.

  Tricia watched him cross the street and go back to the Stoneham Weekly News. She wasn’t sure she believed him.

  She shook her head and opened her laptop once again. Russ was right. She should just buy one of the figurines. She pulled up the bookmarked page and was about to finalize the purchase when she stopped herself. Buying it outright would alert the buyer that she was on to him/her/ them. Instead, she reached for the phone and dialed a longdistance number. It rang several times before it was picked up.

  “Hi, Nancy. It’s Tricia Miles. Yes, long time no hear from. Look, are you still an eBay power seller? Good—good. Listen, can you do me a favor … ?”

  SEVENTEEN

  Come Tuesday morning, Haven’t Got a Clue seemed terribly lonely without Ginny and Mr. Everett. Even Miss Marple appeared to sense the wrongness of their new situation and had stayed close to Tricia all morning, offering comforting looks and dampnosed head butts whenever Tricia paused for a minute or more.

  Too bad for Tricia, the day seemed to drag when there were no customers and no one to talk to. She wondered how the shopkeepers who had no employees kept their sanity. Between customers, Tricia called the employment agency in Nashua and was told to go online to fill out a form. So, out came the laptop once again. She had just begun to fill out the form when a customer came in looking for a first edition copy of Aaron Elkins’s Old Bones. Luckily, she had one.

  The bell over the door rang, and Cheryl Griffin stepped over the threshold. This day she had on black slacks that hovered just above her ankles, and a pink long-sleeved knit top that looked too warm for the weather. Tricia rang up her customer’s purchases, keeping an eye on Cheryl as she flitted around the store, picking up books, looking them over, and then replacing them on the shelves. When Tricia bid her customer a good afternoon, Cheryl hightailed it to the cash desk.

  “Hello,” Tricia greeted her. “What can I do for you today, Cheryl?”