A Killer Edition

by Lorna Barrett

  “You might want to put together a flyer and either send it to or perhaps make a personal pitch to the booksellers on Main Street,” Tricia said. “Detail what you’ve got and add your phone number. Then if they’re interested, they can make an appointment to come to the house to have a look. If all else fails, the Stoneham Library has an annual sale and would be glad to take them.”

  Donna nodded. “Thanks. I’ll remember that.” She led the way back through the living room and out to the driveway. Angelica opened her trunk and Donna set the box inside.

  “Thanks again,” Angelica said, and she and Tricia waved to Donna, who started back for the house.

  They got back into the car. “Did you have a nice look around the yard?”

  “Yes. Very interesting, and I think I know why Vera was so angry with Joyce.”

  Angelica backed the car down the drive. “Oh?”

  “I’m just wondering if I should confront her about it.”

  “Is it worthwhile? I mean, would it prove she killed Vera?”

  “Oh, no—nothing like that. But it does shed some light on Joyce’s character.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing that we aren’t more than acquaintances since I don’t think I would want her to be my friend.”

  * * *

  * * *

  By the time Angelica pulled into the municipal parking lot, it was twenty minutes ’til noon—almost time for them to open their stores. That would give Tricia plenty of time to get the coffee going, put some cash in the till, and make sure everything was ready for the influx of book-buying customers she hoped to serve that day.

  The sisters got out of the car.

  “Want help hauling that box back to the Cookery?” Tricia asked.

  Angelica shook her head. “I think I’ll go back to the shop and get my dolly. It’s too heavy for just one of us to carry very far, and especially not in these shoes.” She pointed to her Jimmy Choo three-inch spikes.

  “Wise decision,” Tricia said. Angelica did, however, retrieve the mysteries and handed them to Tricia. They started across the lot, heading for the sidewalk, then turned the corner and passed the Patisserie. Tricia was in no mood for another distressing exchange with Nikki and kept her gaze straight ahead, but as they passed Joyce’s romance bookstore, Joyce darted out the door to intercept them.

  “Tricia, did you ever get a chance to talk to Chief Baker on my behalf?” Joyce asked eagerly.

  “Hello, Joyce,” Angelica said rather grimly, as though to remind the woman of her presence.

  “Oh, hi, Angelica. I didn’t see you there.”

  Angelica’s gaze swung over to her sister, who wore flats and was at least two inches shorter than Angelica’s Choo-extended height. She looked back to Joyce. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Angelica pinned Joyce with her gaze. “It seems you have an important matter to discuss with Tricia. I’ll just leave you two ladies to it.” She looked at Tricia. “See you tonight at dinner.”

  “Right.”

  Angelica didn’t bother saying good-bye to Joyce but did at least give her a nod in passing.

  Joyce didn’t seem to notice. “Well? Did you speak to Baker?”

  “I did,” Tricia admitted. “Unfortunately, he wasn’t interested in a testimonial. What I didn’t mention was that you and Officer Pearson seem to be involved.”

  Joyce’s eyes widened and her breaths quickened. “What—what do you mean?”

  “I saw the two of you at the Chinese restaurant in Merrimack the other day holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.”

  “I—I . . .” But then Joyce didn’t seem to have anything else to say. Instead, she grabbed Tricia’s arm and hauled her into her bookshop, no doubt to keep anyone from overhearing their conversation.

  “How did that happen?” Tricia asked. She had no reason to think Joyce would actually answer the question. But then . . .

  “Cindy came into my store, looking for something to read.”

  “Erotica?” Tricia guessed. She couldn’t see the tough-looking cop reading historical romance.

  “I don’t sell it,” Joyce reminded her.

  “She’s new in Stoneham. She probably didn’t know it, either.”

  “No, she didn’t. She wasn’t embarrassed about her preference for that type of romance. Uh, we struck up a conversation and found we had a lot in common,” she said, somehow sounding evasive. “I—I enjoyed our conversation. I didn’t think anything else of it until she came back a few days later. We got to talking once again and . . . we became friends.”

  “And then it became more.”

  Joyce’s cheeks grew pink. “Tricia, what are you implying? Cindy and I are friends.”

  Uh-huh.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Tricia asked.

  “I don’t need to do anything,” Joyce said firmly.

  “I didn’t mean whatever your relationship with Cindy is. I meant what are you going to tell Chief Baker? It might look suspicious if he stumbles across it during his investigation. Cindy could lose her job.”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong. We’re friends,” Joyce reiterated.

  “You’re a person of interest in a murder investigation. Cindy’s an officer who’s worked on that case. I can see where a lot of people might get the wrong impression.”

  “Well, they’d be just as wrong as you,” Joyce said tersely.

  “Have you told Roger Livingston about Cindy?”

  Joyce frowned. “No.”

  “I think you ought to—to protect yourself and her.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Joyce said, but Tricia suspected she wouldn’t.

  “Was there something else you wanted?” Joyce asked pointedly. Had she forgotten she’d been the one to initiate the conversation, not to mention hauling Tricia into her store?

  “I also think I figured out why Vera didn’t want you to cut down the tree limb that hung over your yard.”

  Joyce stared at her blankly.

  “It took me a while to remember exactly what it was I saw in your backyard. Something nobody but Vera—and you—would have noticed.”

  “And what was that?” Joyce challenged, annoyed.

  “The bird’s nest.”

  Joyce’s eyes widened.

  “Vera would no doubt have been upset to see her tree massacred, but she probably wouldn’t have thrown a public hissy fit if you’d done as she’d requested and waited for the birds to vacate the nest. Am I right?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “When we first went into the yard, there were a couple of very upset purple finches fluttering around the tree. Their nest—along with their babies—was gone. Vera was an animal activist. She was incensed when she came back from her volunteer job at Pets-A-Plenty and found part of her tree—the limb with the nest—had been cut down.”

  “I never saw a nest on that limb.”

  “But you knew it was there—Vera told you. And then there was evidence of the nest on the ground in your yard after the wood had been hauled away and the smaller limbs had gone through the chipper.”

  Joyce turned away. “I had every right to have that limb cut down. It was only a couple of baby birds. My garden—”

  “It was only a couple of insignificant birds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew how much they meant to Vera,” Tricia said, unable to keep the disappointment she felt about her neighbor from her voice.

  “I broke no laws,” Joyce asserted.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Joyce. It’s illegal to remove or destroy the nests of native bird species. When Vera threatened to take you to court, she knew what she was saying. She had the law on her side. If you’d known that—”

  “Are you accusing m
e of killing Vera?” Joyce practically shouted.

  “I’m just telling you how it would look to a jury.”

  “A jury! Tricia, you’ve known me for six years. Do you really think I’m capable of murder?”

  “It’s not me you have to convince,” Tricia said firmly. “First, Chief Baker, and if they decide to charge you, twelve honest citizens called to listen to the facts and make a judgment.”

  “I did not kill Vera Olson,” Joyce said grimly.

  “I believe you.” But Joyce had been responsible for killing those baby birds. Sure, many people wouldn’t have cared, but Tricia did. And so had Vera.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell Chief Baker about that, too.”

  “I haven’t decided what to tell him. Talk to Roger Livingston and do the right thing—on both accounts.”

  Joyce said nothing.

  “I’d better get going.”

  “You’ve worn out your welcome,” Joyce muttered.

  “I’m sorry, Joyce.”

  Tricia left the store and knew without a doubt that though she and Joyce had been friendly in the past, they could now never be friends.

  TWENTY-THREE

  As Ginny had mentioned, since Angelica had started hosting weekly family dinners, Tricia found she, too, looked forward to every Sunday. It was a time to connect with her makeshift family. Okay, not quite so makeshift now that she knew that Angelica’s so-called stepson, Antonio Barbero, was actually her biological son, which made him Tricia’s nephew. And she’d been close to his wife, Ginny, who had also been her former assistant at Haven’t Got a Clue. Now Tricia and Ginny were family, too. And, of course, there was their daughter, Sofia—the apple of Angelica’s eye. Also in attendance were Grace and Mr. Everett. Ginny had long ago adopted them as her pseudo grandparents, and Tricia had looked up to them as replacements for the parents she knew had never truly loved her.

  On that day, because of the whole Pets-A-Plenty fiasco, Tricia wasn’t in quite such a jovial mood. That said, she was determined to swallow down her discomfort and enjoy some wine, the conversation, and, of course, a wonderful dinner.

  Lately, Antonio and Ginny had been bringing Grace and Mr. Everett to the gatherings to save them from having to drive themselves home. Now that Ginny was a mom, she worried about everyone in her life.

  And so the group arrived en masse: Grace and Mr. Everett filing into Angelica’s entryway, with Ginny behind them carrying a tote with the wine of the day—the only thing Angelica would let her bring—and Antonio carrying Sofia. Sarge, of course, was nearly crazed with absolute joy! He delighted in seeing the whole family, too.

  “Hello!” Angelica called, practically zooming out of the kitchen to intercept Antonio and take Sofia from his arms.

  “Eh, Mamma—anche io non conto?”

  “Of course you count, too, darling boy,” Angelica said, and leaned over to get a kiss from her son.

  “Hi, everyone!” Tricia called as Ginny handed her the tote with the wine bottles.

  “Pour me a glass—quick!” Ginny said.

  “Bad day?”

  “Sofia has been wound up like a clock all day. I’m hoping she’ll sleep like a rock tonight. She gets so excited about coming to see her nonne and Zia Tricia, and, of course, Sarge.”

  “Sarge, hush!” Angelica ordered, and the little dog instantly quieted, but that didn’t stop him from gleefully dancing around their legs.

  “Dear little Sarge,” Grace called, and attempted to pet the Bichon Frise, but Sarge couldn’t seem to calm down.

  “Tricia, would you get the drinks and appetizers?” Angelica called.

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’ll help, too,” Ginny volunteered.

  While Angelica led the others—and Sarge—out onto the balcony, Tricia removed the sweating bottles from the tote. Angelica had already assembled the glassware, so Tricia uncorked the wine while Ginny grabbed the tray of yummies from the fridge and removed the plastic wrap that covered them.

  “Are you nervous about Wednesday?” Ginny asked, and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge for Mr. Everett, the teetotaler, and poured a glass.

  “Wednesday?” Tricia asked, confused.

  “The Bake-Off.”

  Tricia laughed. “Since I didn’t do any practice baking today, I kind of put it out of my mind. I’m sure I’ll be a wreck the day of the contest, but I’m feeling good about it.”

  “And your recipe?” Ginny asked.

  Tricia stifled a smile. “It’s a secret.”

  “I won’t tell Angelica. Cross my heart and hope to . . . never tell a lie,” Ginny said, and for a moment looked embarrassed at possibly bringing up the fact that Tricia had found Vera Olson.

  “Let’s join the others,” Tricia said, hefting the tray.

  The rest of the family had settled on chairs and the chaise, while Sofia squealed with delight at throwing the ball for Sarge and getting to do it all over again once he retrieved it.

  Ginny winced. “Ugh. Dog spit.” But Angelica was prepared, and on one of the glass-topped tables sat a plastic container of antiseptic wipes. Ginny set the plate down and handed the tea to Mr. Everett, while Tricia put her tray beside it and started pouring wine and handing glasses around.

  “What’s the conversation about?” Tricia asked.

  Angelica looked a little apprehensive. “Mr. E was just telling us about his day off and his visit to the county lockup.”

  Tricia nearly spilled the glass of wine she’d been about to hand to Antonio. She turned to Mr. Everett. “Oh? I didn’t know you were in contact with Frannie.”

  Mr. Everett nodded and took a sip of his already sweating glass. “She gets so few visitors. She contacted us after learning that we had adopted her cat, Penny, asking if we would keep her informed and perhaps send her a picture now and then.”

  “How nice of you,” Angelica said, but her voice was subdued, her gaze drifting to watch her granddaughter at play. Of course, she had reason to still be angry with Frannie, who’d not only blackmailed her but had threatened to harm Sofia—as well as attempting to murder Tricia for figuring out her nasty little scheme.

  “I thought someone should break the news of the death of her friend Ms. Olson in person. Ms. Armstrong hadn’t been told,” Mr. Everett said quietly.

  “It must have been quite a shock,” Ginny said.

  Mr. Everett nodded. “They had been neighbors and friends ever since Ms. Armstrong came to Stoneham—more than a decade before.”

  Tricia sipped her wine and felt yet another twinge of betrayal, which was absurd. Mr. Everett had a heart as big as the ocean. He might not approve of the things Frannie had done, but he also had compassion for a fellow human being who likely would be locked up for the rest of her life without the comfort of her cat and now communication with Vera, who may well have been the only friend she had left.

  “Did Vera Olson ever visit Frannie in jail?”

  “On occasion. I understand they exchanged letters quite often.”

  “Did Frannie ever mention how she felt about Joyce Widman buying her house?”

  “It was not a happy topic. I did not bring it up,” Mr. Everett assured them. “Ms. Armstrong was upset that all her assets were sold to pay her attorneys’ fees. She sees herself as destitute and that all her treasures are forever gone.”

  A small price to pay when one contemplated the life she took—and the lives she had disrupted because of greed and misplaced anger.

  “I wonder what else Vera might have told Frannie,” Ginny said.

  “Something about Monterey something or other. The last time Ms. Armstrong saw Ms. Olson, the latter apparently went off on a wild tangent.”

  Tricia’s ears perked up.

  “About what?” Antonio asked.

  “Dogs. Something about dogs. She didn’t seem to
remember much more, but thought it might be important.”

  “I’ve heard that company name before. Don’t they have a plant outside of Concord?” Angelica asked.

  “If they do, I’ve never heard of them,” Grace said.

  “They have something to do with animal experimentation,” Angelica said. “I saw something about it on the news several months ago.”

  “Do you remember anything else about the report?” Tricia asked, deciding not to mention her conversation days before with Cori at Pets-A-Plenty.

  Angelica shook her head.

  Hmm. Tricia decided that later that evening she would spend some time on her computer and do another Google search on the company. “What else did Frannie have to say?”

  “Ms. Armstrong became lost in her memories of her friend and not only got very upset, but she became disruptive. After she was advised by a guard to be quiet and did not follow orders, I was asked to leave and the guards took her away. A most distasteful experience,” Mr. Everett admitted, and shook his head. Strong outbursts of emotion always seemed to embarrass and distress him. “In future, I think I shall refrain from visiting and simply mail her updates on Penny.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” Ginny said, but her expression more or less mirrored Tricia’s thoughts. And the moral is . . . don’t kill someone and you won’t end up in jail.

  “Can’t we talk about something more cheerful?” Grace asked.

  “I agree,” Antonio echoed.

  “How about the Bake-Off? Are you girls caught up in the competitive spirit?” Grace asked.

  “I don’t know how Tricia feels, of course, but I feel extremely confident,” Angelica said. “I have so many years of baking experience behind me. But I do think it’s terribly brave of Tricia to jump into the contest after spending such a short time behind an apron.”

  “Yes, I feel terribly brave,” Tricia agreed and rolled her eyes, which caused all but Mr. Everett to laugh. “For my next cooking contest, I think I’ll attempt an entry at the county fair. It’s about time I started earning blue ribbons and all the acclaim that goes with it.”