“Hello!” Angelica called, sounding annoyingly bubbly.
“Hi,” Tricia groused.
Angelica scrutinized her sister’s face. “Bad day?”
“In more ways than one.”
“Then I’d better hurry and pour the drinks. Do you want to sit outside again?”
It was a beautiful summer evening, but Tricia wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss what was on her mind in front of a potential audience, should someone be walking their dog or taking a cut through the back alley on a bike.
“Inside is fine.”
“Let’s sit in the living room. It doesn’t get used nearly enough. Besides, I have a surprise for you.”
“I’m not sure I’m up for another one.”
“Oh, dear. That doesn’t sound good. Go and sit down. I’ll be right with you.”
Feeling downtrodden, Tricia wandered into Angelica’s living room, placed the canvas bag on the big coffee table, and flopped down on the couch, feeling as though her bones might no longer be able to support her weight for another minute.
Angelica brought a polished silver tray with the martini pitcher, two glasses, a small plate of cocktail wieners wrapped in puff pastry, napkins, and toothpicks. Tricia had been so distracted, she hadn’t even caught the aroma when she’d arrived. But Sarge had and had abandoned his biscuits for something he figured was much tastier.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Angelica admonished her dog. “They’re not healthy for you.”
“They’re not healthy for humans, either—but we eat them anyway.”
Angelica frowned. “I suppose you’re right.” She addressed Sarge. “Okay, but just one.”
Sarge’s wagging tail went into overdrive.
Angelica fed her dog the treat and then ordered him back to his bed so that he didn’t bug them for more. Nothing like having a well-trained dog. She then poured their drinks, handing one to Tricia. “Here’s to tomorrow being a better day. In fact, here’s to the surprise I spoke of—and I hope that it makes your day.”
Tricia raised her glass. She could use some cheering up. She took a hearty sip. Damn fine.
Angelica took a sip of her drink and then put down her glass. “You look so down. What happened?”
Tricia explained how Grace had tried to fix her appointment to the Pets-A-Plenty Board of Directors.
“Oh, dear.”
Tricia nodded. “Nothing says loving like a little touch of nepotism.”
“But you know she did it out of love and caring.”
“I know, but I would much rather have earned it.”
“And who says you still can’t?” Angelica asked.
“Toby Kingston has made his feelings clear. And after Grace speaks to him, I’m sure I won’t be invited to return for their next meeting.”
“Well, then it’s their loss. You have years of experience running a nonprofit. They’d be fools not to snap you up and exploit your expertise.”
“One would think.”
“I’m so sorry, Tricia. I know you really wanted to help them.”
“There are plenty of other things I can do with my time.” It was just unfortunate that she hadn’t found many of them during the past six months, when she’d had far too much time on her hands.
“So what’s your big surprise?” Tricia asked.
Angelica’s eyes lit up. “Well, as you know, the day spa is nearing completion. Since Randy came on board, we’re actually a little ahead of schedule. The sign went up today. Did you happen to see it?”
Tricia shook her head and took a sip of her martini. “I passed the shop, but I guess I had other things on my mind and didn’t notice.”
“I took a picture.” Angelica retrieved her cell phone, tapped the photo gallery icon, and swiped through a number of images before enlarging the picture to fill the screen and handing the device to her sister.
Tricia gave it a bare glance and was about to politely say, “How nice,” when she actually read the wording. Her eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open in horror. “You named it Haven’t Got a Care?” Tricia cried.
“Yes, isn’t it brilliant?” Angelica said with delight.
“Brilliant?” Tricia practically squealed in distress.
Angelica frowned. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Why would I be pleased? It’s going to prove very confusing to my customers. They’ll walk into your day spa expecting to find vintage mysteries and come out upset and annoyed, not to mention walking into my store and expecting a makeover.”
“Or they might get a manicure or facial and feel really good about themselves,” Angelica asserted.
“Why on earth would you think a similar name would be good for my business?” Tricia demanded.
Angelica shrugged. “I sure wouldn’t mind if it was mine.”
“Well, I mind,” Tricia said, and threw back the rest of her drink, nearly choking on it.
Angelica looked despondent. “I’m sorry, Trish. I thought you’d be flattered. I . . . I don’t think it can be changed before the grand opening. I’ll have to go back to square one. Get a new DBA, file for a new LLC—or at least see if I can amend it . . .”
“Forget it,” Tricia said, even if she wasn’t in a forgiving mood. To keep from having a total meltdown, she asked, “What can you tell me about the lease for the candy store?”
“I didn’t ask for all the fine details. That’s up to Karen to work out with Donna. But we are willing to offer her a hell of a deal. And we’ll prorate the lease so that she has an opportunity to get on her feet. One year at fifty percent, then six months at seventy-five, and after that the full market value.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“It is,” Angelica said with no hint of hubris. “The first year is the hardest for anyone going into business. I believe in her product and I want that chocolate shop to succeed.”
And she hadn’t even met Donna North.
Now to hope Donna didn’t talk herself out of such a great opportunity.
“Speaking of Donna, she’s invited me to her aunt’s house to evaluate and possibly buy parts of her book collection.”
Angelica sat just that much straighter. “Really?”
“She says there are cookbooks, too, and that I can bring you along . . . if you want to go.”
“I would,” Angelica said. Then she frowned. “You’re being awfully nice to me considering how angry you were just a few minutes ago.”
Tricia sighed. “You’re my sister.”
Angelica nodded. That seemed to be a good enough answer for her.
“And now it’s time for my gift for you, or at least the Cookery,” Tricia said, and reached for the canvas bag. She withdrew the vintage cookbooks and, much to Angelica’s delight, handed them to her.
“Where did you get these?”
“The Milford Library had a sale.”
“And you picked these up for me?”
“If you want them. Otherwise, feel free to sell them. They didn’t cost much.”
“It’s the thought that counts.”
“I was looking at them while I ate my lunch and they reminded me of the cookbooks Grandma Miles had. I wish I’d paid more attention to the things she cooked—and taught you how to make.”
“She had a lot of patience,” Angelica said, leafing through one of the books.
“Do you have any good cooking stories about her?”
Angelica’s smile was sweet with remembrance. “Do I ever!”
“Well, why don’t you pour us another drink and tell me a few. I would sure love to hear them.”
“I’m going to make sure Sofia knows about her Great-Grandma Miles and I’ve already started thinking about writing a children’s book with the tales,” Angelica said, and poured their drinks from the sweating glass pitcher.<
br />
“Oh, yeah?”
“I’ve already got the beginning memorized. It goes like this . . . ‘Once upon a time, there was a granny who loved her little granddaughters so much, she baked them magical treats. . . .’”
TWENTY-TWO
By the time Tricia left her sister’s home several hours later, her heart felt lighter. And then she returned to her dark apartment and the veil of depression threatened to fall once again. Marshall hadn’t called or texted, so Tricia found herself alone on a Saturday night with her cat. Not unexpected but just a little sad.
As melancholy overwhelmed her, she had a little pity party and sat at her kitchen island and ate one of her luscious cupcakes accompanied by a mug of steaming cocoa, then spent way too much time trying to figure out the calorie count before she decided the hell with it and ate a second one, something she would have never dreamed of doing a year or two before.
She went to bed early with Look to the Lady by Margery Allingham, one of her favorite Campion mysteries, and read it until the wee hours before falling into an exhausted sleep.
Not surprisingly, Tricia woke up late the next morning, feeling downhearted until she remembered that she and Angelica were going to check out Vera Olson’s library. The thrill of the hunt gave her something to get out of bed for.
Since Angelica’s car had the bigger trunk, they decided that she would drive to Vera Olson’s home. Minutes after leaving Stoneham’s municipal lot, she pulled into the driveway behind a little red Hyundai, which must have belonged to Donna.
“Cute house,” Angelica said upon exiting the car and inspecting the front of the home with its many painted birdhouses hanging from the limbs of the ornamental trees. “You said she was an animal freak?”
Tricia nodded. “Apparently she liked birds, too.”
“I’ll say.”
They approached the house and were immediately scolded by a purple finch, which sat on one of the euonymus shrubs that flanked the front door. “It’s okay; we’re not going to hurt you,” Angelica said.
“There must be a nest nearby,” Tricia observed. She pressed the doorbell. Seconds later, Donna opened the door.
“Hi. Come on in.”
Tricia stepped inside the house with Angelica on her heels. The entryway was small, with a colorful stone floor and a closet. Two steps farther and she was in the living room, which was set up like a mini library, complete with a large worktable, a reading nook with a comfortable armchair, floor lamp, and small table, and shelf after shelf of books and other reading material. “Wow, your aunt really did love to read.”
“She bought a lot of the books at yard and library sales, so I’m pretty sure there isn’t much of value, but that’s kind of what I wanted someone who knows the market to tell me.”
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” Angelica said sincerely.
“Thanks. Nobody expects a family member to die so horribly,” Donna said.
“Will there be a service?” Tricia asked.
“Not a funeral. She was cremated. I thought we might hold a memorial service in a couple of weeks. Sunday would probably be the best day for it. Pets-A-Plenty is closed and more of her friends might be able to come.”
“Did she ever speak to you about what goes on at the shelter?” Tricia asked.
Donna shook her head. “As I said, we weren’t all that close. Aunt Vera thought making candy was pretty frivolous.”
“I’ve tasted your product from the Coffee Bean. It’s anything but frivolous,” Angelica said.
Donna smiled self-consciously. “Thanks. I know you ladies have stores to run. You should probably take a look at what Aunt Vera had.”
Angelica was trying to peer around the corner and into what looked like the kitchen. “Did she keep her cookbooks in here or in the kitchen?”
“The kitchen. By the way, I’m Donna.”
“And I’m Angelica Miles. As Tricia must have told you, I own the Cookery on Main Street.”
“And Booked for Lunch and that new spa that’s going up,” Donna said.
Angelica smiled. “That’s right.”
“I’ll show you where she kept her cookbooks.”
While Donna took Angelica into the kitchen, Tricia wandered around the shelves in the living room, glancing at the titles. Vera had had an eclectic taste in reading material. Her collection was full of books on domestic and wild animals, which she kept in a tall shelf unit. Beside it was an entire bookshelf of fiction, which ranged from mystery and romance paperbacks to women’s fiction and horror in the shape of every Stephen King novel ever published, the most recent in hardcover. Another smaller shelf held old copies of National Geographic, Dog and Cat Fancy magazines, and in labeled containers, newsletters from several animal rescue associations.
Tricia returned to the shelves with the mystery novels. Most of them were pretty beat-up and looked like they’d been purchased secondhand. She was able to pick out a few, but they were newer mysteries—nothing that could be called vintage.
She set them on the worktable and retraced her steps to look at the romances. Most of them were in good shape and probably something Joyce Widman might have liked for her shop, but it wouldn’t be in good taste to suggest to Donna that a woman who was a person of interest in her aunt’s murder investigation should come and have a look. Instead, Tricia entered the kitchen, where it seemed Angelica was having much better luck. Already there were at least ten vintage cookbooks piled on the worn white Formica countertop.
“Look what I found,” Angelica exclaimed, brandishing a buff-colored book that was at least two inches thick. “The Lily Wallace New American Cook Book! Grandma Miles had this exact edition from nineteen forty-seven.” She flipped through the pages. “Look, wine soup, planked chicken, and how about macaroni and chipped beef en casserole?”
Tricia wasn’t sure she was eager to try any of those recipes.
“And look—there are sheets of paper with handwritten recipes, too. Gosh, I love to find them in old cookbooks. They were probably shared by a friend or neighbor or maybe copied out of a newspaper. They’re like little pieces of history.”
Tricia nodded. “Looks like you found more, too.”
“You can buy them all,” Donna said. “I’m not into vintage recipes.”
“They’re wonderful. Like a cookery time machine.”
“Did you find much, Tricia?” Donna asked.
Tricia shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Do you mind if I keep going through these cookbooks?” Angelica asked.
“Sure.”
“Your aunt seems to have been a big bird fan, judging by all the birdhouses out front,” Tricia commented.
“There’re even more in the backyard—although I suspect the birds prefer to build their own nests rather than use them.”
“Would you mind if I had a look?”
Donna shrugged. “Help yourself.”
The setup was the same as at Joyce’s home next door. Sliding glass doors opened to a small covered patio, and several fruit trees dotted the yard. The big maple still domineered, despite its recent attack by a chainsaw-wielding tree surgeon.
Tricia was drawn to the maple and wanted to have a look at the door that led to Joyce’s yard and inspect it from Vera’s vantage point. It was closed. She pushed against it, but once again it had been bolted from Joyce’s side of the fence.
Along the back side of the yard was a rather tangled garden filled with a large array of unkempt vegetation. Tricia was no gardener and didn’t have a clue what most of the bushy plants were. The garden itself was unusual since Vera’s home was tidy and her grass was well maintained. It wasn’t until Tricia saw the milkweed plant that she realized what she was looking at: a butterfly garden. So, Vera was a friend to all kinds of animals and wildlife.
Was her first—and really only—impression of the
woman in error? Tricia wanted to be in Joyce’s corner. After all, Joyce had said that Vera stole her herbs. Tricia wished she could remember what she’d seen in Joyce’s yard—and then it came to her. It wasn’t mint that was growing in her herb garden; it was catnip. Frannie Armstrong had probably planted it for her cat, Penny—who now belonged to Mr. Everett. Bonnie had mentioned that Vera often brought catnip for the cats at Pets-A-Plenty. She must have liberated it from Joyce’s yard. Frannie probably hadn’t cared if Vera swiped it. Catnip seeds often traveled on the wind, and if one wasn’t careful, it could take over a garden just like its cousin, mint.
Tricia ambled over to one of the fruit trees—apple by the look of it—and was once again scolded by a nesting purple finch. “Okay, okay. I won’t hurt your babies.” She backed off and headed for the house once again, glancing over her shoulder for one last look at the maple before reentering the kitchen.
“Oh, there you are,” Angelica said from the counter, looking up from the checkbook she stood over. She looked back down and signed her name with a flourish. A large cardboard carton had appeared and Donna was in the process of filling it with vintage cookbooks. “Your books are in there, too, Tricia.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d be glad to carry the box to your car,” Donna offered.
“Thank you.” Angelica stowed her checkbook and pen back in her purse. “And thank you for letting us look at your aunt’s collection.”
Donna let out a breath and looked around the kitchen. “She was a bit of a packrat. When I think about how much work it’s going to take to empty the place . . .”
“Couldn’t you hire an estate liquidator?”
“I could,” Donna admitted. “But they take such a large chunk of the proceeds, and I’m going to need every penny I can lay my hands on if I’m going to get my candy shop up and running.”
“I’ve tasted your wares,” Angelica said. “I think you have a bright future here in Stoneham.”
“Thanks. I sure hope so. Do you have any advice on how to get rid of the rest of the books?”
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