“And how was said date with Marshall?” Angelica asked, leaning forward.
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Did he pay for your drink?”
Tricia nodded.
“Then it was a date,” Angelica asserted, and picked up her spoon. She sampled the soup and nodded with approval. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask what happened after the social part of your evening.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” The fact that they’d simply talked—and she’d revealed things to Marshall she hadn’t told Angelica—gave Tricia another reason not to elaborate.
Angelica sighed. “I guess I’m just a little jealous. I’d like to find a Marshall of my own.”
“You don’t have time for a relationship.”
“That’s true.” She shrugged. “Have you heard anything else about that Olson woman’s death?” Angelica asked.
Tricia shook her head and reached for the pepper shaker. She sprinkled a layer on her soup and stirred before tasting it. It didn’t disappoint. “Although I did speak to Joyce this morning.”
“And?”
“She’s upset—who wouldn’t be? Having a death occur in your backyard has got to be earth-shattering.”
“Someone died in your living room and you didn’t move out.”
That was true, but Tricia hadn’t spent a lot of time in that room for a few weeks after that death, either.
“She’ll recover,” Angelica said, and took another spoonful of soup. “Are there any suspects?”
“I’m sure Grant would look to find someone other than Joyce. At least, I hope so for her sake. I really don’t think she’s capable of murder—especially over such a petty dispute.”
“People have been killed for less,” Angelica said, which was true enough.
“I wonder if I should—”
“Stay out of it,” Angelica ordered.
“I was just going to ask a few questions.”
“Stay out of it,” Angelica said a little more forcefully. “You have more important things to do, like convince the animal rescue people to take you on.”
“I thought you didn’t approve of the way they’ve treated me.”
“I don’t, but if it keeps you from getting involved in situations that are none of your business, I will hope they finally come to their senses and welcome you aboard.”
Tricia didn’t have an opportunity to respond, as Molly finally returned with two water glasses garnished with lemon slices and set them on the table in front of them. “Drink up, ladies.”
Angelica’s smile was tight. “Thank you.”
Tricia ate her lunch and listened as Angelica pondered tracking down Adelaide Newberry to find out when Chef Andrews would be arriving for the Bake-Off, and also wondered if her company, Nigela Ricita Associates, should offer to host a reception. Of course, since most of the village still had no clue that Angelica owned the business with her son, Antonio, there might not be a backlash. But Tricia found it hard to concentrate. Despite Angelica’s warning, she had no intention of not asking whoever might be relevant about Vera Olson. It was too bad Vera’s BFF and the village’s former best source of gossip now languished in jail awaiting trial. There was only one other person who listened intently to gossip: Pixie.
There was only one problem. She listened, but she didn’t usually repeat it.
SIX
The Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue was located on Mason Avenue in the next town over from Stoneham. They were fortunate to have a small facility that could accommodate a number of cats, dogs, rabbits, and ferrets, although many of their wards were in foster homes awaiting their forever families. Mr. Everett and his wife, Grace, had obtained their cats from the shelter, and their philanthropic foundation, funded by the proceeds from Mr. Everett’s lottery win, had given the rescue’s new building drive a generous donation after each adoption. They would need substantially more funds to build the proposed facility on a piece of land on the outskirts of town.
Tricia parked her car on the fringe of the small lot, which was nearly filled to capacity. The board consisted of seven members, and they’d been one member short since Brindle Mears had relocated to Winter Springs, Florida, after one too many New Hampshire winters. Tricia had been invited to sit in on their meetings as a tentative candidate until a permanent replacement could be found. She, too, had given generously to the rescue, which she thought might have given her an edge, but its president, Toby Kingston, had never warmed to Tricia and for some reason seemed to resent her. Tricia knew her reputation as the Stoneham Village Jinx had preceded her and wondered if that was the problem. There wasn’t anything she could do to improve her standing on that account except to offer what she hoped were sound opinions and share the knowledge she’d gained when working for a big nonprofit years before in Manhattan.
As Tricia approached the squat cinder-block building, a woman emerged with a jaunty beagle on a leash. ‘‘Did you just adopt him?”
The woman looked Tricia over with what seemed like suspicion, but then she gave a faint smile. “Yes. He’s on his way to his forever home.”
Tricia bent down to let the dog sniff her hand before she petted it on the head. It looked at her with adoring eyes and seemed to be smiling. “I’m so happy for you, little guy. Have a happy life.”
The woman gave a tug on the leash and walked away. Tricia watched as she coaxed the dog into the back of her car and closed the door. The woman hopped into the driver’s side and drove away. Another happy ending, Tricia thought, and entered the building.
In recent months, Tricia had hoped she’d become a familiar face at the pet rescue. She said hello to several of the staff members as she headed for the conference room at the end of the hall. The door was shut, but Tricia knew she wasn’t late. In fact, she had arrived several minutes before the meeting was due to start, and knocked on the door before she entered. The six members of the executive committee sat around the rectangular conference table with yellow pads of paper and water bottles before them. Most of them clutched pens that were poised to take notes.
“Oh, looks like the meeting started without me,” Tricia said, disconcerted.
Bonnie Connor, who acted as the committee’s secretary, looked up and over her half-glasses. “My goodness, Tricia, we thought you weren’t coming this afternoon.”
“Why would you think that?” she asked.
The gazes of all the members turned toward their leader. Toby Kingston frowned. “Someone left a message saying you weren’t available.”
Every muscle in Tricia’s body tensed. “I don’t know who that could’ve been—because it certainly wasn’t me,” she said, and took an empty seat at the table where there was no welcoming bottle of water. There had been no message, and by the looks on the faces of the others, they seemed to believe the same thing.
“What have I missed?” Tricia asked, struggling to keep her voice level.
“We were just going over the budget for July,” Bonnie said.
“Which we finished,” Kingston said. “We’re ready to move on to the last item on our agenda.”
“The last item?” Tricia asked, feeling confused. What time had they started the meeting?
Kingston didn’t bother to comment and plunged ahead. “The date for the annual Mutt Strut is August fifth. I’ve allocated a hundred dollars for publicity and prizes.”
“That’s less than half of what we allotted last year,” Rebecca Shore piped up.
“If we want that new building, we need to conserve funds,” Kingston said. “However, if any one of you wants to chip in the additional money—or find the funds from other sources—we can revisit the topic.”
“No one person should be making unilateral decisions. The whole board should be voting on these things,” Myron Tinker said with umbrage.
“I was brought in to make the hard decisions,” Kingston asserted, his expression hard
ening. Yes. He was the only paid member of the organization. The nonprofit depended on volunteers for the rest of its staff.
“I would be happy to make up the shortfall,” Tricia said.
“Oh, Tricia,” Bonnie said, “you’ve already been more than generous.”
“My sister and her dog, Sarge, have taken part in the Mutt Strut for the last two years, and I know she and the rest of the participants would be disappointed if it was downsized.”
“It’s a significant source of revenue,” Myron pointed out.
“If Tricia is willing to make up the shortfall, then there’s no reason for further discussion,” Kingston said. He looked at the clock on the wall. “Meeting adjourned at 2:10. Thanks for attending.” He collected his things, stood, and then made for the door.
“Wait,” Bonnie cried. “I have an additional topic we should address.”
Kingston turned but made no effort to return to the table. “What is it?” he asked, sounding irritated.
“One of our most ardent volunteers passed away suddenly yesterday,” Bonnie said. “I’m sure the funeral will be held before our next meeting. It would be nice if we sent flowers for the wake to show our appreciation for all her hard work on our behalf. We could take the money out of the miscellaneous fund.”
“How much are we talking?” Kingston asked unsympathetically.
“Fifty or sixty dollars.”
“Make it twenty-five,” Kingston said, then opened the door and strode out of the conference room.
Bonnie frowned, obviously upset. “He never even asked who it was.”
“Yes, who was it?” Rebecca asked.
“Vera Olson.”
Tricia did a classic double take. “Vera Olson was a Pets-A-Plenty volunteer?” she managed, her mouth going dry.
Bonnie nodded. “Yes. She’s been a part of the organization for more than a decade. Did you know her?”
“Uh . . . I met her just yesterday morning at one of the bookstores in Stoneham.”
“Oh, dear. That must have been just before she passed.” Bonnie leaned in and lowered her voice. “It appears she may have been murdered.”
“Murdered?” Rebecca echoed, shocked.
Bonnie nodded. “It couldn’t have been an accident.”
No, Tricia thought, it surely wasn’t.
“It seems her neighbor is under suspicion over some silly misunderstanding. At least, she’s been named a person of interest,” Bonnie added.
Tricia hadn’t heard that, but she wasn’t surprised.
Bonnie shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone not liking dear Vera.”
After the performance Tricia had witnessed the day before, she certainly could.
“How did she die?” Carl Stover asked.
Bonnie lowered her voice even more. “Run through with a pitchfork.”
“Why on earth would anyone have a pitchfork? That’s a farm implement. Didn’t Vera live in a little Cape Cod home in Stoneham?” Myron asked.
Bonnie nodded.
“Well, I think a twenty-five-dollar bouquet is going to look pretty chintzy,” Phyllis Barnes said. She was the committee’s treasurer and did the bookkeeping for the group. “I’m sure if we walk around the building we’ll be able to collect at least another twenty dollars to get better flowers.”
“I’m sure we could get that right here in this room,” Carl put in, and reached for his wallet. He pulled out a ten. “Poor Vera. How will we ever replace her?”
“It seems she was well loved,” Tricia said, hoping they’d tell her more about the dead woman.
“Oh, yes,” Rebecca said, and shook her head. “She had allergies, so she couldn’t have a pet of her own, but she was a devoted volunteer. She did a lot of clerical work for the organization.”
“But if she was needed, she’d clean cages and would ferry the smaller animals to the Milford Animal Hospital, too. She often brought fresh catnip in for the cats,” Bonnie added.
“Isn’t it unusual for someone who’s allergic to dog and cat dander to volunteer at an animal rescue?” Tricia asked.
“Vera was fine as long as she didn’t actually touch them. And she loved them so—especially any beagles that came in for adoption, although she never said why—at least she never told me,” Phyllis put in.
“Did she get along with everyone here?”
“Oh, yes,” Rebecca answered quickly.
“Not quite,” Phyllis contradicted her. Her gaze moved to the still-open door. “She wasn’t fond of Toby.”
“And who is?” Rebecca whispered conspiratorially.
This was the first time Tricia had heard any kind of dissent within the executive committee. It also showed that she and Vera had at least one thing in common. Tricia didn’t like the man, either.
“Was there a reason Vera didn’t like him?”
“She never verbalized it to me, but there seemed to be some kind of animosity between them the last time they spoke.”
“And when was that?” Tricia asked.
“A week or two ago?” Bonnie asked, looking at Phyllis for confirmation.
“It may have been more. She was prickly for weeks.”
“Did they argue?” Tricia asked.
“No, but they had a private conversation in Toby’s office, and when Vera came out she was quite upset, but when I asked, she wouldn’t say why. Toby can be a bit brusque.”
A bit? Tricia begged to differ.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now that she’s dead,” Carl said. “So who else is going to chip in for the flowers?”
The women reached for their handbags and Myron took out a money clip and extracted another ten from it, tossing it on the table. “Rest in peace, Vera.”
Tricia opened her wallet, took out two fives, and then pulled out her checkbook to make good on her promise to help fund the Mutt Strut. So Vera was loved by most but only tolerated by Toby Kingston. Tricia liked to think that put them in the same camp here at the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue.
One thing was sure: Tricia needed to find out a lot more about Vera Olson.
* * *
* * *
When Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, she found things running smoothly . . . as usual. Pixie and Mr. Everett were helping customers, all of whom seemed to be sporting smiles and spending freely, which once again made Tricia feel like an insignificant cog in the bookstore’s machinery. She gave a wave and then ventured down the steps to her basement office to work . . . or was it to brood? She had a lot to think about, and the one subject she wasn’t willing to think about was her own business.
Settling into her office chair, Tricia kicked off her shoes and, using her toes, swiveled around in a lazy circle. Vera Olson had admirers among those at the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue. Why would such a pet-loving person—and Tricia counted herself as such a woman—be such a witch when it came to being a neighbor?
Okay, Vera resented the fact that her good friend Frannie, who was also a cat lover, had been forcibly removed from society—but Frannie had committed more than one felony. Surely that had to have made an impression on Vera. Or did the woman feel that Frannie had gotten a raw deal? Was she willing to overlook the fact that, through her actions, Frannie had killed someone and attempted to snuff out another life, just because they both had a mutual love of animals? Or had there been more to their friendship than anyone else had observed?
Joyce had said that a number of her neighbors seemed to be on her side. Apparently, they weren’t as in love with Vera as those at Pets-A-Plenty had been. What had Vera done to alienate them? Except for Toby Kingston, the rest of the Pets-A-Plenty executive committee had seemed genuinely sorry to hear of Vera’s death.
No doubt about it, the woman was an enigma.
Tricia thought about the best way to find out more about the dead woman, which was to
talk to the people who knew her. As she thought about it, Tricia knew what she needed was a goodwill ambassador. And the best candidate for that title weighed about eight pounds and usually sported a little blue bow attached to his collar. His name?
Sarge.
SEVEN
Angelica was not in residence when Tricia entered her sister’s cookbook and gadgetry store, the Cookery. At least, that’s what her new manager, June, said.
“I came to take Sarge for a walk.”
June looked at her watch. “It is about time for him to go out, I suppose. It’s been a couple of hours since Angelica was around to do it.”
“That’s why I’m here. We both need the exercise. I’ll just go get him,” Tricia said, as though for some reason June might have a reason to deny her access to the dog. She unlocked the door at the back of the shop and trundled up the steps to Angelica’s apartment. As soon as Sarge heard footsteps, he began to bark, but he was ecstatic to see Tricia because he knew that she was good for either a couple of dog biscuits or the opportunity to take a walk—two of his favorite things in life.
As soon as Tricia reached for his leash, the dog jumped up and down in absolute ecstasy. Oh, if only life were that uncomplicated and rewarding for his human counterparts.
“Calm down!” Tricia ordered, but the little dog’s joyful anticipation was positively palpable. “Yes, I’m glad to see you, too. And we are going to have the most amazing walk.”
Sarge needed no further prodding. He stood before the door, his tongue hanging out, panting expectantly when Tricia scooped him up and took him down the stairs. “We’ll be back soon,” she told June, and took Sarge out back so that he could do his business before she steered him west toward Joyce’s and Vera’s neighborhood.
They started down the alley behind the main drag until they came to the walkway between the Patisserie and Joyce’s Have a Heart bookstore, cutting through to Main Street. Tricia paused to look through the big display window, but it was Joyce’s assistant, Lauren, who stood behind the counter waiting on a customer. Perhaps Joyce was holed up in her office. Tricia continued to the corner. When traffic allowed, she and Sarge headed west toward Pine Avenue.
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