A Killer Edition

by Lorna Barrett

  “No, but it does go well with a nice blended whiskey, which I happen to know you’ve got in your liquor cabinet.”

  “I do. I assume you want it with ice and soda?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Angelica cleared away their stemmed glasses and made fresh drinks while Tricia studied the shiny chocolates in the box.

  Angelica returned with two old-fashioned glasses with whiskey and soda on ice. “Cheers.”

  They clinked glasses and sipped, and then Tricia again proffered the box. Angelica chose one at random and so did Tricia. “Down the hatch,” she said, and bit into the chocolate.

  Tricia did likewise and was impressed by the pronounced snap as the chocolate shell broke, its silky texture, and the explosion of pure maple goodness that blessed her taste buds. “Oh, my goodness, that’s fantastic,” she said after swallowing.

  “What did you get?” Angelica asked.

  “Maple cream. How about you?”

  “Pistachio—which is ironic because . . .” But then she didn’t finish the sentence. “It’s absolutely divine.” She polished off the other half of her chocolate, practically swooning. “Where did you say you met this woman?”

  “I didn’t, but it was actually at the bakery at Shaw’s in Milford. Her name is Donna North.”

  “What were you doing there?” Angelica asked with suspicion.

  “Getting a loaf of bread,” Tricia fibbed, because she’d actually forgotten to buy one. “We got to talking and she mentioned she supplied the gourmet chocolates for the Coffee Bean. More than once you and I have talked about the need for a chocolatier here in Stoneham. She might just be the one.”

  “Oh. Well. I think I’d better taste test another one of those goodies to make sure.”

  Again, Tricia held out the box. “Be my guest.”

  They both tried another, Tricia getting an orange cream while Angelica’s turned out to be salted caramel, both delivering the same sensational taste.

  “Tell me more about this very talented woman,” Angelica said.

  Tricia gave her a brief rundown. “Unfortunately, Donna’s thinking of opening her store in Merrimack in a strip mall.”

  “Oh, no. Chocolate this good deserves a beautiful home in a charming setting. I’ll give Karen Johnson”—the woman who managed Angelica’s realty company—“a call later. She’s good at recruiting businesses to locate to the village. We must add Donna North to our roster of talented businesspeople. Good show, Tricia.”

  It never ceased to please Tricia when her sister gave her praise. For too many years it had been absent from their conversations.

  “Besides finding some of the best chocolate in the state, how was the rest of your day?” Angelica asked, and sipped her drink.

  “Relatively quiet.” Tricia sampled her drink once more. The whiskey, with its sweet caramel aftertaste, was an enjoyable change from a martini. “How about you?”

  “Work on the spa continues. Randy has some great ideas for decorating the place.”

  “When am I going to meet this wonderful man?”

  “As soon as you walk down the street and enter the building.”

  “You know I want to wait for the grand opening,” Tricia said.

  “Yes. And speaking of which, just this morning we started taking appointments.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Unlike you, some residents and merchants here in Stoneham are actually eager for us to open. I gave four tours today. My potential customers were pleased to learn we’d have a complimentary coffee bar with snacks, and that although we’ll carry several lines of beauty products, Randy suggested we don’t do a hard sell like some of the national chains. Customers don’t like it.”

  “Another plus,” Tricia agreed. She raised her glass. “Let’s drink a toast to your new spa . . . whatever it’s called.”

  “Yes, here’s to my day spa.” Angelica looked at her glass, which contained just shards of ice. “One more for the road?”

  Tricia shook her head. “We’d better start making supper. I’m meeting Marshall in a couple of hours and I don’t want to be blotto.”

  “Oh, well. Then again, someone might get lucky tonight,” Angelica said with just a touch of salaciousness.

  Lucky?

  Maybe. But it might be another emotion that drew Tricia to connect with her friend with benefits. Something she did not want to acknowledge: a sense of desperation.

  * * *

  * * *

  As usual, the Dog-Eared Page was hopping when Tricia arrived, with a boisterous game of darts going on in the back of the pub, while joyous Celtic tunes played from the sound system overhead. Tricia spied Marshall at the bar, looking far better than a dozen decorated cupcakes.

  He looked up, saw Tricia, and then spoke to the bartender, Hoshi Tanaka, probably ordering their drinks. Hoshi grabbed a stemmed glass and filled it with ice to chill, as Marshall approached.

  “Hey there, beautiful.”

  “Hey there yourself, handsome.”

  They gave each other a light kiss on the lips, and then Marshall led them to one of the few empty tables, as all of the booths were full. “Why don’t we go outside instead? It’s a lovely evening,” Tricia suggested.

  “Okay. I’ll just tell Hoshi and meet you out there.”

  Tricia exited the bar by the side door. Fairy lights lit the area that had once housed the History Repeats Itself bookstore. The brick patio was dotted with a number of bistro tables and chairs, and Tricia took one near the back, away from the other patrons. The music was piped outside but wasn’t nearly as loud as it had been inside the bar. She sat down to wait for Marshall, who appeared in less than a minute. He took the seat opposite her.

  “How was the rest of your day?” she asked.

  “Good.” He gave her a toothy grin.

  “Tell me all about it.”

  He nodded. “Remember I mentioned I was interviewing someone this afternoon for the assistant manager’s position? Well, I may have found her.”

  Her? A frisson of anxiety coursed through Tricia. “Do tell.”

  “Her name is Ava Campbell and she’s in her midtwenties.”

  Was the second-most important characteristic about the woman her age?

  “What are her qualifications?” Tricia asked politely.

  “She’s worked in retail before, but get this—she’s also traveled all over the world.”

  “How does someone that age become a world traveler?”

  “Army brat.”

  Tricia nodded.

  “She speaks three languages—not that I expect she’d get to use them at the Armchair Tourist, but you never know.”

  “Of course,” Tricia agreed, trying to keep her voice light. She hadn’t yet gotten over the fact that the young woman was almost half her age. Was she pretty, too?

  Tricia gave herself a mental headshake. Pettiness didn’t suit her.

  “I’m hoping Ava works out because”—Marshall dragged out the last word—“the Ireland trip I was telling you about at lunch is definitely on.”

  “When would you be going away?”

  “September. That gives me plenty of time to train Ava.” He leaned closer. “Now that Haven’t Got a Clue is running like a well-oiled machine, thanks to Pixie, I thought exploring the world might be something we could do together.”

  Tricia blinked. “Oh?”

  “I can’t think of a better traveling companion than you.”

  Tricia smiled. “Where do you want to go—besides Ireland?”

  Marshall’s eyes widened in anticipation. “Tokyo. Mumbai. Brisbane. Maybe even back to China. There’s an awful lot of that country I haven’t seen.”

  And Tricia had never seen. “I thought the travel agency hosted mostly cruises.”

  “They’re going to be looking a
t more exotic ports of call—they’re just gauging interest right now, but who knows.” His voice practically vibrated with expectation. “What do you think?”

  Tricia forced a laugh. “I don’t know what to think. It sounds appealing.” But what about Miss Marple? If Tricia went on extended trips, how would her cat feel about being abandoned? Oh, sure. Pixie and Mr. Everett could feed her and clean her litter box, but the poor cat would be left alone for sixteen hours a day and sleep alone at night.

  Would Marshall expect Tricia to join him on his first trip? He hadn’t mentioned it and she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. It might not be much fun if he was helping tour members with lost luggage or finding people to fix plugged sinks in their hotel rooms or cabins while she sat in a room all alone twiddling her thumbs.

  Don’t be such a spoilsport, Tricia chided herself.

  Bev arrived with their drinks and a small bowl of potato chips. “Isn’t it a gorgeous evening?” she asked as she set down cocktail napkins, their glasses, and the bowl.

  “Thanks,” Tricia said, and Marshall gave the waitress a nod of approval.

  “Give me a holler if you need anything else,” Bev said, and went to check on the guests at the other outside tables.

  Tricia picked up her glass and gazed at the olives skewered by a bamboo pick with a knot at the top. She wasn’t sure what she was feeling—besides unsettled. As it was, these days she didn’t spend nearly enough time in her store. To leave her home and cat for weeks at a time . . . not to mention Angelica, their family dinners, and her walks with Sarge, made her heart constrict. Was she willing to give that up for companionship with a man she wasn’t likely to fully bond with?

  Friends with benefits. She sometimes wondered if it was the friendship or the benefits she valued most.

  Marshall hoisted his glass. “Let’s drink to the future—and may it be filled with lots of travel to mysterious locales.”

  They clinked glasses, and this time Tricia gave Marshall a more sincere smile, somehow heartened by his enthusiasm. Maybe what she needed was an opportunity to get away from Booktown for a while. Maybe she could look at it as an opportunity to find vintage mysteries in other countries. Considering she’d lived a fairly affluent life, she hadn’t traveled much outside the US. Oh, she’d been to London, Paris, and Rome with her ex-husband, but they weren’t what you could call adventurous vacations. They’d stayed in ritzy hotels and visited museums and churches. She had a feeling Marshall would be a far more exciting travel companion.

  Tricia placed an elbow on the table, rested her chin in her hand, gazed into Marshall’s eyes, and found she was intrigued.

  “Why don’t you tell me more about your plans?”

  EIGHTEEN

  Tricia left Marshall’s apartment—with him still asleep—and walked down Stoneham’s main drag. It was almost six the next morning, and as she’d suspected she would, she received a stern scolding from Miss Marple. If Tricia took Marshall up on his offer to travel, maybe Miss Marple could stay with Grace and Mr. Everett, although she’d been a solitary cat for most of her life. She might not take well to sharing the affection of two of her favorite humans with other felines.

  After feeding her cat, Tricia took an abbreviated walk, showered and changed, and was on the road at just after eight. She found all the ingredients she needed to make chocolates at the grocery store in Milford, anticipating the work—and the fun—that would be involved in making her first molded candies. One thing was for sure—she wasn’t going to tell Angelica about it, not so she could steal Tricia’s thunder at the Bake-Off.

  Everything was set up when Donna arrived at 8:50. Donna had brought not only the book mold but other tools of her trade, including a six-inch scraper, which she said would be necessary to wipe away the excess chocolate. It wasn’t a tool Tricia would need per se, but Donna was a professional and she couldn’t help acting like one. Once she explained what they were going to do, they immediately started to work.

  Donna had been right. Tricia thought she’d melt chocolate and then slap it into a plastic mold, but Donna explained how the molds needed to be clean—really clean—without so much as a drop of water or the grease from a fingerprint, which could mar the chocolate shell. The book mold was made of a soft plastic—but not silicone— which Donna explained meant it had more detail than one made of harder plastic. Sure enough, there were actually little squiggles across the pages to mimic text. Silicone molds, she warned, were a bear to clean.

  Tricia had cleared a shelf in her refrigerator so that they could chill the chocolate in between pours, even though, as Donna explained, the temperature wasn’t ideal—just a little too cool. But then Tricia wasn’t making a confection for the International Chocolate Awards committee.

  While they waited for the chocolate to chill, Tricia introduced a new subject.

  “I had an opportunity to speak to someone at Nigela Ricita Realty about a possible location for a candy store here in the village.”

  “And?” Donna asked cautiously.

  “Do you know where the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce used to be located on Main Street?”

  Donna nodded. “It’s the newest storefront in the village.”

  Tricia nodded. “The back could be converted into a commercial kitchen without too much of a hassle. They’d like to talk to you about it. It seems Ms. Ricita herself is interested in seeing such a store open in the village. She’d like for you to talk to Karen Johnson about it—that’s the Realtor in charge of leasing it.”

  Donna frowned and let out a breath. “This is starting to sound scary.”

  “I thought it was your dream to open a store.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot to think about. I’m worried I might not be ready.”

  “It is scary opening your own business,” Tricia agreed. “For many years, I had a dream to open a vintage bookstore and collected inventory for almost a decade,” Tricia admitted. “When the opportunity arose to relocate here in Stoneham, I jumped at the chance.”

  Donna’s gaze remained fixed on the counter.

  “Is it a matter of money?” Tricia asked, hoping the question wasn’t too unbecoming.

  “Well, not really,” Donna said, a note of despondency entering her tone. “I mean, right now it would be. But as it happens, I’m about to come into an inheritance. Or I will after probate.”

  “Oh, my. I’m so sorry for your loss. Is it recent?”

  Donna nodded. “My aunt and I weren’t all that close, but it turns out she left half of her estate to me and half to the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue.”

  A shiver ran down Tricia’s back. “What was your aunt’s name?”

  “Vera Olson.”

  Tricia blinked, her mouth going dry. “Vera Olson?”

  “Did you know her?” Donna asked.

  “Uh . . . I met her—just the one time. In fact, it was the morning of the day she died.”

  Donna’s eyes widened.

  “She visited the Have a Heart bookstore and was a little upset. I sort of witnessed the disagreement between her and the store’s owner.”

  Donna didn’t seem surprised. “Chief Baker told me a little about their tiff. I find it hard to believe my aunt would cause a scene. She was only really passionate about one thing—animal welfare—which was why she wasn’t as close to our family as she once was. Some of them thought Aunt Vera carried her love of all things furry to an extreme.” Donna eyed Tricia. “What was my aunt so upset about?”

  “Her neighbor—who also owns the romance bookstore—had a limb cut from your aunt’s tree.”

  Donna frowned, nodding. “I went and inspected the house and the property the other day. I saw the raw cut on that old maple. If it had been my tree, I guess I would have been just as upset if I hadn’t been consulted about something like that. It was a sloppy job. But I guess without permission, they couldn’t have come into my
aunt’s yard and cut the limb closer to the tree trunk to shape it up.”

  “I’m afraid Joyce, the neighbor, didn’t ask your aunt.”

  “That was really rude of her.”

  Tricia thought so, too.

  “I suppose she’ll be happy not to have my aunt for a neighbor anymore. Although from the sound of it, she seems to be the top suspect in my aunt’s murder.”

  The only one, as far as Tricia knew.

  “Do you know this woman? Is she capable of murder?” Donna asked.

  “I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?”

  “No. I like Joyce and I certainly wouldn’t want her to be responsible for your aunt’s death. But I also know that Vera didn’t get along with everyone at the Pets-A-Plenty animal shelter.” Toby Kingston in particular. Had Chief Baker looked into that dynamic, too? Tricia would have to find out—but maybe keep silent about what she’d seen at the Chinese restaurant the day before.

  Then again, Toby Kingston wasn’t a ball of personality, either. He’d taken an instant dislike to Tricia as well, not giving her much of a chance to prove herself in spite of the generous donations she’d made in the past, plus her experience working for a nonprofit with a budget that eclipsed Pets-A-Plenty’s by a factor of ten or more.

  “The chocolate should have hardened by now,” Donna said, and turned for the fridge. She’d spread a dishcloth onto the granite counter, then took out the mold and held it in her right hand, gently whacking it on her left to dislodge the candy. “We’ll let it sit on the cloth for a few minutes to let any condensation evaporate.”

  Next, it was time to wash the mold. “A soft cloth, a little dish soap, and then letting it air-dry will extend the life of the mold. Whatever you do, don’t put it in the dishwasher. The harsh detergent can scratch it—and the extreme heat of the dry cycle is bad for the plastic, too.”

  Tricia nodded. She was grateful Donna was willing to trust her with the mold, and she wanted to return it in excellent shape.

  Tricia stared at the little chocolate books. “They’re incredibly cute.”