“Or maybe with Deborah gone, Elizabeth will take Davey and move out of Stoneham. We can but hope,” Angelica said.
“She does have other children,” Ginny said, pausing to turn out the lights.
“But as far as I could tell, Deborah was her favorite. Will they want to take in their mother, when she let everyone know Deborah had the top spot in her heart?” Tricia asked.
“Who says she has to live with them?” Angelica pointed out.
“Very true,” Tricia agreed.
Ginny closed and locked the door.
“We’ll walk you to your car, Ginny,” Tricia said.
“That won’t be necessary. Stoneham is completely safe.”
“How soon you forget. Let’s see, who was murdered in the past couple of years?” Angelica asked. “The Cookery’s former owner; that hot-shot New York Times bestselling author; Tricia’s ex-roommate; Jim Roth—”
“And Deborah,” Tricia put in.
“Okay, walk me to my car,” Ginny said, surrendering. She and Angelica walked side by side up the sidewalk, with Tricia following. “Angelica, I don’t mean to be a pain, but would you please explain again how you figured out that equation on the spreadsheet?”
“It’s easy, really,” she began, but Tricia tuned her out. It was Elizabeth and her spiteful attitude that whirled through her thoughts. Was she just rattled by her experience that evening, or was she serious about blaming them, along with David, for all of her problems? Either way, it left Tricia feeling troubled.
The entire situation left her feeling troubled. Angelica had the right attitude. Move on. She’d said it about Christopher, too.
It was often hard to take good advice, especially when it ran up against everything you believed. But for now, Tricia decided that Angelica was probably right on all accounts. She’d just never give her the satisfaction of saying so.
NINETEEN
Tricia and sleepless nights were getting to be a common pair since she’d moved to Stoneham. Was it the fact that she’d experienced more death in thirty-six months than she had in more than thirty-six years, or was it just the fact no one shared her bed anymore?
There’s more to life than just sex, she reminded herself, but early that morning she couldn’t think of what it might be.
Four miles on the treadmill seemed like forty, so there was no way she’d make up for the missing miles from days before. It took two cups of coffee to perk her up before she and Miss Marple headed down the stairs to start their day at Haven’t Got a Clue. When she’d heard the car roaring down the road that had hit Elizabeth Crane, she’d bolted from the store without doing her end-of-day tasks. And when she’d returned after midnight, she’d been too tired to tackle them. She still felt tired, but forced herself to haul out the Hoover and start to vacuum the carpet.
The phone rang. Since the store wasn’t due to open for half an hour, Tricia thought about letting it go to voice mail, but on the fourth ring, she shut down the vacuum cleaner and grabbed the receiver—much to Miss Marple’s relief. “Haven’t Got a—”
“Oh, Tricia, we’ve been robbed—we’ve been robbed,” Ginny sobbed.
For a moment Tricia couldn’t understand why Ginny was so upset. A quick look around Haven’t Got a Clue told her that everything was still in place as it had been the night before. Even the till, with its meager offerings, was intact. And then she remembered that Ginny no longer worked for her and in fact now managed her own store.
“What’s missing?” Tricia asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know the stock well enough yet to tell. But there’s busted glass all over the floor. And there’s a huge mess in the back room.”
And everything had been in perfect order the night before.
“What about the alarm, did you set it last night before we left?”
“Elizabeth didn’t give us the code, and the security company hasn’t gotten back to us yet. Oh crap—I don’t even know if the insurance will cover this. Antonio is in charge of all that.”
“Did you call him?”
“His voice mail kicked in. He must be at a meeting.”
“Did you call the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I couldn’t think what else to do, so I called you.”
“Hang up. Call 9-1-1, and I’ll be right over.”
“Oh, thank you, Tricia.” The line went dead and Tricia replaced the receiver in its cradle, her hands shaking. She couldn’t remember any of the stores along Main Street being robbed—at least since the murder at the Cookery two years before. And even then, only one item had been taken—and there’d been no wholesale destruction. Poor Ginny having to face this on day two of her new job.
Grabbing her keys, Tricia locked the store and once again crossed the road for the Happy Domestic.
The shop door was ajar, and Tricia pushed it open with her elbow. She wasn’t about to put her fingerprints in the mix—she knew enough about crime scene investigations to avoid that. As Ginny had said, the carpeted floor was covered with broken glass from several smashed display cases. The remnants of porcelain figurines and delicate Waterford crystal glassware lay among the overturned card carousel. Books had been pulled from the shelves, their dustcovers ripped to shreds.
Whoever was responsible had been mighty angry.
And who had been furious the evening before?
Elizabeth Crane.
With her cell phone still in hand, Ginny came out from the back room, her face twisted into a grimace and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Tricia,” she wailed, and rushed for her, throwing her arms around her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tricia soothed, patting Ginny’s back. And it would be okay. The person who’d made the mess had taken his—or her—aggression out on inanimate objects, not the new owner—or manager—of the store.
A tinny voice came from Ginny’s cell phone. “Miss, Miss—”
Tricia pulled back. “Pull yourself together, and talk to the dispatcher,” she said firmly but with kindness. “We’ll make this right. I promise.”
Ginny nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She raised the phone back to her ear. “I’m here,” she said, her voice sounding stronger.
Tricia heard the sound of a siren, and looked out the store’s display window to see a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pull up outside. The driver’s door flew open and Deputy Placer leapt from the car. “You reported a robbery?” he asked Tricia.
“The store’s manager did,” she said, indicating Ginny with a nod of her head. “It must have happened sometime last night—after midnight.”
Placer frowned. Tricia could almost read his thoughts. No action here!
Through the window, she saw Boris and Alexa Kozlov standing on the pavement. They were soon joined with other rubberneckers who’d come to see what was happening.
“You don’t belong here,” Placer said to Tricia.
“Ginny—Miss Wilson—called me when she discovered the mess.”
“Why don’t you wait outside while I talk to her,” Placer said.
Tricia frowned. Despite their many encounters, she and the deputy had never become buddies, and apparently never would, either. “I’ll do that. Ginny, I’ll be outside.”
Ginny sniffed and nodded.
“What happened?” Alexa asked as Tricia stepped over the threshold.
“Last night, someone broke into the Happy Domestic and did a lot of damage.”
“Hmm,” Boris grumbled, and turned away, heading back for the Coffee Bean. For an instant Tricia wondered if he could’ve been responsible for the mess inside the store, but then she instantly dismissed the idea. Boris had been angry with Deborah and Elizabeth—not the new owner of the store. But then, did he know the store had already changed hands and was now owned by Nigela Racita Associates?
Tricia shook the thought away. She was letting her imagination run wild. Much as she hated to admit it, there was someone else with a much better motivation to ransack the store, and for som
e reason—maybe a misplaced sense of loyalty—she refused to consider it.
Whoever had vandalized the Happy Domestic had a score to settle. And, unfortunately, there was more than one possible suspect. The problem was, which one did it?
Time did not fly when there were few suspects to consider for the robbery at the Happy Domestic, and no sales at Haven’t Got a Clue, either. Tricia had sent Mr. Everett across the street to help Ginny with the cleanup and, more important, for moral support. It pleased her that the two had such a good rapport. Of course, the Sheriff’s Department investigators probably weren’t letting him do much of anything yet, but she knew Ginny would appreciate his being there.
Sheriff’s Department patrol cars lined the street, and did nothing to improve the morning’s sales. Tricia hoped they’d clear off before the expected busload of tourists arrived at one thirty.
“Yow!” Miss Marple announced, startling Tricia from her reverie.
“Yes, it sure is lonely here without Ginny and Mr. Everett. We’ll have to do something about that pretty soon. But if Elaine Capshaw turns down my job offer, I will not hire Cheryl Griffin,” she reaffirmed. “You and I will run the store alone rather than put up with her and her threats of alien invasions.”
Miss Marple almost seemed to nod before she set to licking her paw and rubbing her ear, the beginning of yet another prolonged bathing session.
Tricia sighed and closed the store’s copy of Marjorie Allingham’s Death of a Ghost. Even reading didn’t appeal to her right now—she had too much on her mind.
Her attention turned back to the window, just as a uniformed officer stepped out of the Happy Domestic and looked in Haven’t Got a Clue’s direction. Why, it was none other than Captain Baker, whom she hadn’t spoken to in five days. He looked to the right and left for traffic, and then jaywalked across the street, heading her way.
“Looks like we’re about to get some company,” Tricia told Miss Marple, who did not acknowledge the remark but began to lick her stomach.
Out on the sidewalk, Captain Baker removed his high-crowned hat before entering. Tricia wondered if he would grow his hair longer once he left the Sheriff’s Department. It would better suit him than the buzz cut he now wore, she decided.
The shop door opened and Baker entered. “Hello,” he called, looking around the store, apparently not seeing her standing behind the register.
“Over here,” she called.
His head whipped around and he blushed, and then stepped over to the cash desk. “Slow day?” he asked, and nodded toward the lack of customers in the store.
“It won’t be in another hour or so. No offense, but I hope you and your men will be long gone before the next tour bus arrives.”
“They’re finishing up now. Do you have any ideas on who might have broken into the Happy Domestic?”
“Ideas but not a shred of evidence.”
“How about the former manager?” he asked.
“Deborah’s dead. You mean her mother, Elizabeth Crane?” Baker nodded. “She was angry last night when she came to pick up her grandson at the Happy Domestic, but I can’t imagine she’d actually break in and do that kind of damage. Her daughter loved that store and everything in it.”
“And it was sold out from under Mrs. Crane by her sonin-law,” he pointed out.
“I agree David could’ve waited a decent amount of time before doing that. I guess he needed the money for something. But I suspect he’s got an alibi with at least one of the women he’s currently bedding.”
“Is that a touch of anger I hear in your voice?”
Tricia sighed. “This whole situation becomes more tangled every day.” Baker seemed to be waiting for her to say more on the subject. Instead she asked, “When will you talk to Elizabeth?”
“As soon as we track her down. She wasn’t at the number Ginny gave me. I’ll drive by her house. If she’s not there, I’ll have one of my men stake out her home and wait for her to return.”
Tricia nodded. “You did know someone tried to run her down last evening.”
“Yes, Deputy Placer informed me. Did you see what happened?”
Tricia shook her head. “I found Elizabeth lying on the sidewalk, and the car speeding away.”
He nodded.
There didn’t seem to be much more to say on the subject.
Baker cleared his throat. “Uh, have you given any thought to our discussion the other night?”
“Quite a bit, actually,” Tricia said. That was putting it mildly. It was among the many topics that had kept her awake these last few nights. “I still think it’s unfair of you. You want all the perks of a loving relationship without the commitment.”
“That’s not what I proposed,” he said, sounding hurt.
Tricia forced a laugh. “No, you made it quite clear that a proposal was never going to be part of the deal.”
Baker frowned. “What are you talking about? I thought we could be friends—hang out together. Have some fun.”
“Yeah, and then you’d leave.”
“I never said I’d definitely be leaving, just that it was a possibility.”
“Has that changed?” Tricia asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve been offered a job here in southern New Hampshire. I’ll probably relocate, but I anticipate moving closer to you—not farther away.”
Tricia blinked in surprise. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“And what was your answer?” she asked.
Baker straightened. “I accepted the job. I’ll be sworn in on January first.”
“That’s four months away.”
“I’m committed to the Sheriff’s Department until December thirty-first, and there are other obstacles that have to be cleared before the job becomes available. Plus it gives me time to put my house up for sale and find somewhere else to live. It ends up being perfect timing for me.”
“What does this mean for us?” she asked.
“I was hoping you’d sound a little more enthusiastic about my new situation.”
Tricia sighed. “I’d be willing to work at that.”
Baker smiled. She liked the way his eyes lit up when that happened. “I should have a lot more free time in my next position.”
“Weekends off?” Tricia asked.
“That depends on how many officers they hire to keep the peace.”
“Will you have a say in that?”
Baker moved closer—much, much closer. “I sure hope so.”
Tricia smiled and Baker jerked forward, planting a tentative kiss on her lips. He pulled back, as though to gauge her reaction.
She smiled. “I’d thought about not replacing Ginny. But now … I might need to delegate authority here at Haven’t Got a Clue … if I’m going to be spending more time off, too.”
“Yow!” Miss Marple seconded, and the two of them laughed.
“I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Would you be willing to help me find a place to live—somewhere between here and Nashua?”
“House hunting,” Tricia repeated, warming to the idea.
Baker nodded.
“Sounds like fun.”
He edged closer again. “Mandy took most of our furniture. Maybe you could help me pick out some new stuff.”
Tricia could feel the heat of his body. She leaned in closer for another kiss, and the door rattled, startling her so she jumped back. A couple of women entered the store and Baker settled his hat back on his head. He cleared his throat.
“And just remember, Ms. Miles—safety first.”
Tricia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’ll do that.”
“I’ll call you later,” Baker whispered, did a smart about-face, and headed for the door.
Tricia couldn’t help but smile, her gaze lingering on the door long after he’d left.
The much-anticipated tourist bus arrived, and all too soon departed. Tricia barely had time to wait on the ten or so customers who’d patronized her sto
re before the bus was outside, its driver hammering on the horn to get them moving. By the time the crowd had dispersed, it was well after three o’clock.
Tricia was tidying the cash desk when Mr. Everett returned. His moustache was beginning to fill in, even though he’d only been growing it a few days. Sadly, it would never rival the magnificent Magnum moustache, but she supposed he could dream.
“Ginny has sent me over to relieve you for a lunch break.”
“Thank you, Mr. Everett. Everything cleaned up over there now?”
He nodded. “Mr. Barbero arrived and had Ginny order more display shelving. It should arrive by tomorrow morning. She’ll also be getting some new stock shipped overnight. By tomorrow, no one should be able to tell the place was ransacked.”
“I’m so glad. It was a terrible thing to happen Ginny’s second day on the job.”
“Yes, but she’s handling it well. I think she’ll be a grand success.” He beamed with grandfatherly pride. “But now, it’s time you were off for your lunch. I’ll just go get my apron,” he said, and tottered off to the back of the store.
By the time he returned, Tricia had gathered her purse and petted Miss Marple good-bye. With a wave of her hand, she was out the door. As she waited for traffic to abate, she noticed Ray’s roach coach was parked outside the village square. Something different about the truck captured her attention. The chrome doors were just as shiny as ever, but now the back of the truck bore colorful vinyl graphics proclaiming EAT LUNCH and, under that, the words A DIVISION OF NIGELA RICITA ASSOCIATES. Was there no business in the village that Antonio and his employer wouldn’t soon have their fingers in?
Tricia crossed the street in a hurry.
“Hello,” Tricia said as she approached Ray, who was polishing the chrome with a tattered bit of rag.
“Hi,” he said, barely looking up from his work.
Tricia studied the items on display. Gone was the Lucite box that held wrapped sandwiches. Instead, a small grill took its place. Alongside it were condiments, as well as containers filled with chopped onions, peppers, lettuce, tomatoes, and packages of wrapped cheese slices. The menu was now distinctly different, too. Burgers, hot dogs, Italian sausage, chips, and sodas.
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