They discussed the upcoming Bake-Off, but Tricia’s mind kept wandering back to something Joyce had said about the bolt on the gate in her yard. If it had been bolted on Joyce’s side of the barrier, and the gate to the front yard had been locked, too, how had Vera gotten into the yard in the first place?
FIVE
By the time Joyce left Tricia’s place, it was already past ten o’clock. Tricia didn’t bother loading the dishes in the dishwasher but set them in the sink, then grabbed her purse and cell phone and hurried down the stairs. Pixie was helping a customer and Mr. Everett was hard at work dusting the bookshelves with his beloved lamb’s wool duster, while Miss Marple sat nearby and attentively admired his work.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to run,” Tricia said. “The deadline for registering for the Bake-Off is in less than an hour.”
“Hop to it, then,” Pixie said. “We’ll hold the fort.”
Tricia dashed out the door and headed up the street toward the municipal parking lot. She had to get to the Chamber of Commerce office before eleven if she was going to be a part of the competition. The Chamber was not sponsoring the Bake-Off, but it was handling the registration for the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society. Of course, the last person Tricia wanted to see was the man who had beaten her for the Chamber presidency the previous fall.
She and Russ Smith had a history that wasn’t made of fond memories. She and the owner of the village’s small-time newspaper, the Stoneham Weekly News, had been lovers for a short time, but then he had dumped her when he thought he was about to be hired by the Philadelphia Inquirer. When that didn’t happen, he decided he wanted her back—and she wanted nothing to do with him. That’s when he’d stalked her. Eventually, he’d courted and married Nikki Brimfield, who’d previously been very friendly toward Tricia—until she’d developed an unhealthy and unwarranted jealousy of her. After two years—and one child—the couple had parted, and Russ and Nikki were in the process of divorcing, but that hadn’t tempered Nikki’s animosity toward Tricia—and Russ’s blatant campaign against her for the Chamber presidency hadn’t endeared him to her, either.
Russ had certainly put his stamp on the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce in the months since he’d become its leader—by doing everything he could to dismantle the improvements Angelica had made during her two-year tenure. He’d moved the Chamber from a lovely office in a brand-new building on Main Street to a much cheaper location in what was essentially a run-down warehouse. He’d slashed the budget for the flowers that had decorated the village streets and put them right out of the running for Prettiest Village in New Hampshire. He’d also fired the Chamber’s receptionist and had been making do with temporary office help ever since. The problem was he made the job so uncomfortable for the temp workers that they tended to last a few weeks—and often only days—before quitting in disgust.
Tricia only hoped that Russ was minding the shop for his crappy little fish wrapper and that she wouldn’t run into him at the Chamber office.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
Tricia parked her car in the warehouse’s dirt lot and got out. She opened the big steel door that was the front entrance to the new Chamber office and immediately saw her foe standing over the desk of the harried-looking young woman with blonde hair and a streak of blue that cascaded down the left side of her head. She sat in front of a tiny computer screen. What had happened to the state-of-the-art equipment that had been available to the former receptionist? Had Russ sold it on Craigslist to the highest bidder and replaced it with a crappy laptop several computer generations older?
“What do you want?” Russ growled, his voice full of venom.
“Excuse me, but I’m a longtime member of the Chamber and I’m here to sign up for the upcoming Bake-Off.”
“Well, then do it and get the hell out of here,” he groused and then turned back toward the horrible little office that had been partially walled off with bare plywood just steps away from the receptionist’s desk. He made a point of slamming the unfinished hollow-core door.
Tricia said nothing.
The young woman at the receptionist’s desk looked over her shoulder to the office behind and seemed to shiver. “Sorry about that,” she apologized sincerely. “Mr. Smith is . . .” But then she didn’t seem to have a reasonable explanation for her boss’s rudeness.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tricia said. “As I said, I’m here to sign up for the Bake-Off.”
The young woman smiled. “This is like something out of the Good Food Channel. I hear it may even be televised on local cable. I can’t wait to see what happens—and who will win.”
Tricia smiled. “Well, I can’t lie. I hope it will be me. How are things going?”
The young woman looked around, as though someone might be listening. “You didn’t hear it from me, but there aren’t as many applicants as everyone thought there’d be. A lot less than the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society figured. It’s too bad only one person can win in either division.”
“Then it’s kind of like the Olympics.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Someone is going to feel the thrill of victory—while the others experience the agony of defeat,” Tricia sort-of quoted.
“Wow. That is so profound,” the young woman spouted, looking awed.
Ah, to be so young, Tricia thought.
“Please, I need to sign the paperwork right now—before the deadline.”
“Of course,” the young woman said, and shuffled through her desk to come up with the appropriate forms.
“What’s your charity?”
“Is anyone doing it for Pets-A-Plenty?”
“Three, actually.”
“Is it okay for me to sign up for the same one?”
“Oh, sure. That just means they’ve got a better shot at raking in the most dough.”
It took only a couple of minutes for Tricia to fill in the paperwork. The receptionist stamped it and then filled in the time: ten forty-five. Tricia had made the deadline by a full fifteen minutes.
“Congratulations. And I hope you win,” said the young woman, handing Tricia a copy of the rules and her sponsor sheet.
“Thank you. Will you be attending the competition?”
The young woman’s expression said, Are you kidding? and Tricia wished she hadn’t asked.
“Uh, no. And I’m going to ask the temp agency not to send me back here. It’s not a fun place to work,” she said, and again eyed the closed door behind her desk.
Tricia nodded. She couldn’t blame the woman. “Thanks for helping me sign up.”
“You’re welcome. And I’ll make sure nothing happens to your forms before the auxiliary ladies come to pick them up,” she promised.
Would Russ be petty enough to sabotage Tricia’s chance of competing?
It was entirely possible.
“I appreciate that,” she said sincerely. After Russ’s not-so-warm welcome, she didn’t want to contemplate just what he might have been tempted to do with them.
Just then, the door to the office opened and a silver-haired woman with pink cheeks and a face filled with wrinkles born of years of smiles entered. “Hello,” she called brightly, and walked up to the desk. Tricia backed away and was about to leave but paused when the woman introduced herself. “I’m Adelaide Newberry, head of the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society. What happened to Belinda?”
“Uh, I’m afraid she left the Chamber,” the young woman said. “But I can help you. I assume you’ve come to pick up the entries for the Bake-Off.”
“I certainly have. Oh, dear. It looks like I’m a few minutes early. I just power walked all the way from Oak Street—great for the old ticker,” she said, and chuckled.
Tricia stepped forward. “Hello, I’m Tricia Miles. I own the vintage mystery store here in the village—Haven’t Got a Clue.”
“I’ve never been there. Very busy with my charity work—so much to be done in this big cruel world. I don’t even own a television set so I won’t be distracted from my efforts.”
“That’s very noble of you,” Tricia said.
“Well, somebody’s got to do it,” Adelaide said, and gave a theatrical sigh.
Tricia wasn’t sure if the woman was putting her on. “Um, I guess I’m the last entrant in the contest.”
“That’s splendid, splendid. Happy to meet you,” the older woman said, and offered her hand. “I’ll be the third judge in the competition. It’s going to be so much fun!”
“Are you a chef?”
“Oh, goodness no. But I can tell a good cupcake when I taste it. In fact, some of our members have lost their sense of taste because of the medications they take. Me, I don’t take any. That’s the benefit of regular exercise. That and a glass of red wine every night with dinner, but don’t tell my doctor that. He thinks he’s been keeping me fit for years. It would hurt his ego to know I’ve been taking care of myself by myself.”
Tricia smiled. She liked Adelaide Newberry. “It was very nice to have met you. I guess we’ll see each other at the competition next week.”
“Best of luck,” Adelaide said, then seemed to catch herself. “Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. Others might think I have a bias.”
Tricia’s grin widened. “I doubt it. Until next week.”
“Good-bye, dear,” Adelaide called, and waved as Tricia left the makeshift office.
She started toward her car and decided—what the heck—and began to swing her arms. If power walking was good enough for Adelaide, it was good enough for her, too.
* * *
* * *
It was almost eleven when Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. Once again Pixie had everything in hand and was waiting on a customer, while Mr. Everett helped two more people select books in a new-to-them series. Once again, Tricia knew he didn’t need her help, so she climbed the stairs to her apartment to go through a couple of cookbooks. It was then she realized that she had an appointment for later in the afternoon that she needed to keep, and in fact, it would conflict with her lunch with Angelica. Pulling out her cell phone, she texted her sister and asked if they could meet an hour earlier than usual.
Okay with me, came the reply.
Tricia bent down to inspect her kitchen bookshelf, which was filled with cookbooks. Angelica had picked out most of them for her, and she’d shared a few vintage ones she’d purchased when inspecting collections as possible stock for her own store.
Tricia chose one of the newer tomes and began flipping through the pages of one that featured nothing but baked goods. The Bake-Off entry forms had made it clear that the ladies’ charity had decided that all contestants would make cupcakes for the contest. That was fine with her, and it gave everyone a level playing field.
As she paged through the beautifully photographed luscious desserts with their accompanying recipes, Tricia wondered if she should try something exotic or play to her strength, which employed the KISS principle: Keep it simple, stupid. Of course, Angelica would work hard to impress the judges, especially Larry Andrews. So, she thought she had an in with the chef. Tricia was pretty sure not only would he not remember her, but if he did, he might disqualify her. A judge with any integrity would do so.
Tricia became so engrossed in her task that she almost forgot about lunch. When she finally looked at the clock on her kitchen wall, she saw that it was only five minutes to one, closed the book, and rushed out of her apartment.
Upon entering Booked for Lunch, which was filled with a crowd of chatty customers downing sandwiches and wraps, pop and iced tea, Tricia found her sister at her usual back table. Like Tricia, she, too, had been perusing a cookbook. In fact, she was flipping through a book by an author called the Cake Boss.
Tricia scooted into her side of the booth, but Angelica didn’t even bother to look up. “Did you sign up in time?”
“Just,” Tricia admitted. “And if he’d had his way, Russ wouldn’t have let me enter at all.”
“What a spoilsport.”
“The temp told me she would safeguard my entry until it could be picked up by the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society.”
“Sounds like she’s too good to last long at the Chamber.”
“From the sound of it, she didn’t intend to return after today, either.”
“Smart woman.” It didn’t do to talk too much about the changes at the Chamber since Angelica had retired from its presidency. In addition to undermining all Angelica’s hard work, Russ had also squandered the goodwill of most of his constituents.
“Anyway, as I was about to leave, the head of the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society came in. Her name’s Adelaide Newberry and she’s a real character.”
“In what way?”
Tricia described her meeting with the eccentric woman. “Have you ever heard of her?”
Angelica shook her head. “No.” A devilish smile crossed her lips. “Do you know that some people consider me to be a character?”
“I can’t imagine why,” Tricia said drolly.
“Well, I have even better news. There’s a chance Larry Andrews might do a signing at the Cookery.”
“Even with this last-minute an invitation?”
“You were right. I should’ve been on this like a tick the minute I heard he was coming to town.”
“I’ll say.”
“But I’ve now got Antonio working on it.”
“Isn’t that kind of a conflict of interest?”
“Why?”
“Because the Cookery is under the Angelica Miles umbrella, not”—Tricia lowered her voice—“Nigela Ricita Associates.”
Angelica waved a hand in dismissal.
“I thought June was arranging it.”
“She kept getting the runaround. They turned her down, so she just said thank you and hung up. I had to keep urging her to try again and finally just gave up. Antonio gets things done.”
Tricia couldn’t argue with that. “When would you hold the signing?”
“Whenever the chef can fit it into his schedule.”
“How will you rally enough people to fill the store on such short notice?”
“All I have to do is put up an announcement on social media and there will be droves of women showing up on my doorstep, drooling for a signed book. I’ve got an emergency order in for copies of his last three books that should arrive by tomorrow morning. This could be quite the coup.”
“You haven’t had a signing in quite a while.”
“I haven’t had anybody signing-worthy show up in the area, either.”
Molly, the older, buxom blonde waitress, finally arrived at the table. “What can I get you ladies?”
“The soup of the day is potato bacon,” Angelica told Tricia.
“I’ll have a cup of that.”
“So will I.” Angelica looked up at her sister. “Want to split a BLT?”
“Sounds good to me,” Tricia agreed.
Molly nodded and turned to leave.
“So what’s this appointment you have to go to this afternoon?” Angelica asked.
Tricia sighed. “Another fruitless discussion with the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue.”
“Oh, dear, you are not still chasing that impossible dream, are you? Can’t you take the hint that you’re not wanted?”
“I don’t know why some of the members—or should I just say the director has decided to dislike me. I’ve never given him any reason to,” Tricia said.
“If you ask me, he feels threatened because of your experience and knows that you would do an outstanding job and outshine them all.”
“Now you’re being facetious.”
“Not at all. I speak the truth. Just remember, they are tiny fish in a
small pond.”
“And what am I?”
“A king salmon—or maybe just the queen.” Angelica found her words funny and laughed.
Tricia was not amused.
Angelica closed the book and set it aside. “How are things at Haven’t Got a Clue?”
“Just dandy,” Tricia said, and managed not to roll her eyes. “If I never showed up for work again, I’m sure they’d never miss me.”
Angelica scowled. “It sounds to me like someone’s sulking.”
“Not sulking, just feeling a little like a fifth wheel.”
“There’re still plenty of other things you could do to find fulfillment. Everybody keeps talking about opening a candy store. You even said so yourself that Stoneham really needs one.”
“And what do I know about making candy?”
“You didn’t know how to cook until you gave it a try. Like me, you would succeed at anything you attempted. If it’s capital you need . . .”
“No, but thank you.”
“I was only going to offer you an opportunity.”
“I’ll make my own opportunities,” Tricia said firmly.
Angelica shrugged.
Molly arrived with a tray with two cups of soup and small plates with half a sandwich on each, along with a small mound of potato chips. “As you’re the owner, I won’t be charging you a plate fee for splitting your meal.”
“How kind of you,” Angelica said. They’d heard that line a little too often since Molly had been hired.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Just water,” Tricia said.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, and backed off.
Tricia waited until Molly was out of earshot before speaking. “I miss Bev.”
“You’re not the only one, but Molly has more or less settled in. And, of course, you did see Bev last night on your date, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
A Killer Edition Page 5