A Killer Edition

by Lorna Barrett

  “County fair,” Angelica groused, but then she looked thoughtful. Aha! Tricia had planted a seed. Angelica could never walk away from a challenge.

  “What’s for dinner?” Ginny asked, which was a welcome change of subject.

  “Steaks for us, and a tube steak for Sofia—that is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sofia would eat hot dogs twenty-four/seven if I let her. They’re the ultimate kid treat.”

  From then on, the conversations turned to more mundane things, which was a welcome relief. No one mentioned Pets-A-Plenty, and the subject of Vera Olson was laid to rest as well. Tricia was determined to enjoy the rest of their family gathering and put thoughts of the Bake-Off out of her mind as well.

  She didn’t need to feel anxious until the day of the competition.

  If that was possible.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  When Tricia returned home from the weekly family dinner, she went straight to her computer to try to find the video clip Angelica had mentioned seeing on Monterey Bioresources. It came up on the second page of listings, which was probably why she’d missed it the last time she’d done an online search. The less-than-two-minute report was more about people protesting than about providing information on the company itself. Just another false lead.

  After closing down her computer, she chose another book to lose herself in—this time, it was Erle Stanley Gardner’s This Is Murder—and settled in the reading nook in her master suite with Miss Marple to keep her company. Her eyes grew heavy and Tricia turned in, but not before checking her phone. No missed call from Marshall, and no texts, either.

  Tricia awoke early that Monday morning to the sound of roaring vehicles barreling down Main Street. With one look at the clock—5:16—she threw back the covers and leapt out of bed, startling her cat, who had been snoozing at the bottom. Rushing to the window, she caught sight of the last of what looked like a convoy of trucks. Written on the side of the truck were the words GOOD FOOD CHANNEL and an obnoxiously large picture of Chef Larry Andrews.

  Tricia hurriedly dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt, grabbed her keys, and headed out the door, walking at a brisk pace and heading toward the high school, not really sure why, as it wasn’t on her usual exercise route. Pure nosiness? she asked herself.

  From two blocks away she could see a mass of cars and trucks already surrounding the school. The Eat Lunch food truck, owned by Nigela Ricita Associates, was parked nearby and was already doing a brisk business selling coffee, pastries, and breakfast sandwiches to the crew. Trust Angelica to think of everything. Tricia stopped to buy a cup of joe and crossed the street to linger and watch as a crew of men and women began to unload the truck with the Good Food Channel’s logo on it and filled with television equipment, while another team set up a remote station in another of the trucks that bore no signage.

  As Tricia angled to get a better view of the organized chaos ahead of her, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled, grateful her coffee had a cap or else she would have spilled it.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Angelica said, looking so much shorter than usual thanks to the sneakers she wore—shoes Tricia hadn’t known her sister even owned—and looking sweet in a pink tracksuit, which would be far too warm within an hour or so.

  “Did the trucks wake you?”

  “Who could sleep with all that racket?” Angelica craned her neck to get a better view. “Isn’t this exciting? I wish we were going to be on TV for our portion of the Bake-Off.”

  “Not me. I’ll be nervous enough just trying to bake, knowing a famous chef—and Grant Baker—are going to be judging my efforts.”

  “Grant’s a judge?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Angelica’s face fell. “I’m doomed.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The man can’t stand me—never could.”

  “Oh, you’re being silly,” Tricia chided, but Baker had treated Angelica with less than the respect she deserved, and on more than one occasion.

  Angelica sighed. “Well, it will be a strike against me—but I will win him over with my cupcakes. They will be divine.”

  “She said modestly,” Tricia muttered.

  “Self-confidence is a must in any competition. You have to believe you can win or you won’t.”

  Six months before, Tricia wouldn’t even have thought about entering any kind of cooking contest, but she’d been an apt pupil, eager to excel, and it had paid off. If she did well in the Bake-Off, maybe come September she really would enter the Hillsborough County Fair, and if she did well with that, maybe she’d try entering her cupcake recipe at one of the state fairs, too. It was something to consider.

  “But there’s more good news,” Angelica said.

  “I’m all for that,” Tricia said.

  “It seems the students have an in-school TV station and do a weekly report that’s sent to the local cable company.”

  “Oh, yeah. I think I’ve seen it.” Hadn’t the temporary receptionist at the Chamber mentioned that, too? “But the rumor was that it was going to be shown on the local cable channel.”

  “Highlights only, dear. Even though school’s out, they’re going to be allowed to take part in the Bake-Off by televising it via closed circuit to the school’s auditorium. For a ten-dollar fee, anyone can spend the day watching the pro contestants.”

  “I admit, I’ve watched more than a few of the Good Food Channel’s TV shows, but let’s face it, they take hours—even days—of film and boil it down to an hour. Sitting there for the whole day might be as interesting as watching paint dry.”

  “Not for me.”

  “I guess it would depend if they have one static camera focused on the room at large, or if they’re going to be allowed to switch points of view.”

  Angelica shrugged. “We won’t know until the day of the shoot—which is tomorrow!”

  “I wonder if you could pay for the day but slip in and out if you needed to.” Or if it got incredibly boring.

  “I don’t see why not. But you’d probably lose your seat.”

  “Not if someone was saving it.”

  Angelica shrugged. “I’m going to stay the whole day, although I may want to pack a lunch. I wonder if they’d let you bring one.”

  “I can’t imagine they would. There’s the auditorium’s upholstery to think of.”

  “Teenagers are messy. If I spilled something, I would at least know the proper agent to clean just about every stain imaginable.”

  “I’m sure the Eat Lunch truck will be well stocked to feed the crew and rubberneckers.”

  “They may bring in their own catering people—they certainly haven’t called Eat Lunch, Booked for Lunch, or the Brookview to fill the need.”

  “Could any of them handle it?”

  “Any and all.” Angelica scowled. “Okay, it would be a little tough for Booked for Lunch since our short-order cook is in the competition, but I’m sure other arrangements could have been made.”

  “What’s Tommy going to make?”

  Angelica looked coy. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, but I can tell you this—it’s delicious. I think he’s got a real shot at winning.”

  “Against Nikki?”

  “Her cupcakes might be prettier, but they’re just average in taste.”

  They were better than average, but maybe not spectacular. In fact, Tricia had never had a spectacular cupcake from the Patisserie. Now, some of Tommy’s soups—they were truly spectacular.

  More and more people seemed to be gathering in front of the school.

  “I don’t suppose there’s much more to see,” Angelica lamented.

  “Why don’t you come with me on my walk?”

  “I really should get to work. I have a lot to accomplish today if I’m going to take tomorrow and Wednesday off. And beside
s, I’ve got Larry’s book signing this afternoon.”

  She spoke of the chef as if they’d been friends for years. Still, Tricia envied her sister with a full day ahead of her. “Okay,” she said cheerfully. She’d spend the time not only walking to get fit but thinking. Her daily walk always was the best time to ponder and brainstorm ideas for the future—or even the present.

  The sisters left the area and headed south down Main Street.

  “Um, I have the teensiest favor to ask of you,” Angelica said.

  “Oh?”

  “We’re expecting quite a crowd at the Cookery this afternoon. Would you be able to spare Mr. Everett to help out?”

  “It’s his day off.”

  “Oh, darn. I forgot.”

  “But I’d be glad to pitch in. What do you need?”

  “If you could open the books and hand them to Larry to sign, that would be fantastic.”

  “And while I’m doing that—?”

  “June will be on the register and I’ll be coordinating things.”

  More likely she’d be sucking up to the chef. It didn’t matter; Tricia had loads of time to kill. “Sure thing.”

  Angelica patted Tricia’s arm. “You are just the best sister!”

  “Don’t I know it,” Tricia said, but she appreciated the compliment nonetheless. “What time do you want me there?”

  “Two thirty.”

  “No time for our usual lunch, then?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No problem. I’ll grab a bite at home. If nothing else, I’ve got tons of cupcakes in the freezer.”

  “Did I mention that you’re the best sister?”

  Tricia laughed. “Not nearly enough.”

  When they reached the corner of Main and Locust Streets, the sisters split off. Tricia headed west and Angelica carried on south to return to the Cookery.

  The whole circus atmosphere surrounding the Good Food Channel’s arrival in the village seemed to revitalize Tricia, who picked up her pace, arms pumping. Even if she didn’t place in the competition, she felt the Bake-Off might just be the stepping-stone to some other aspect of her life. Too bad she had no idea what that might mean.

  * * *

  * * *

  After returning from her walk, Tricia whipped up a strawberry smoothie for breakfast and sat down in front of her laptop to check her mail before starting the day. Happily for her, she’d received an e-mail from a fellow bookseller, Ken Drummond. Unhappily for him, he was holding a liquidation sale that began that morning. This particular store was not mystery oriented, but they did have a large new-and-used section and he was offering a good price for his stock. Was she interested? She wasted no time in answering, telling him she could be there in two hours. That would give her plenty of time to shower, change, and drive to . . . Concord.

  Concord: the home of Monterey Bioresources.

  After checking Google Maps to get directions, Tricia printed them out and considered her morning. She didn’t have to be at Angelica’s store until midafternoon, which would give her plenty of time to hopefully fill her car with books and take a drive by Monterey Bioresources. But then she remembered what Cori at Pets-A-Plenty had told her: You couldn’t even see any of the buildings from the road. Tricia did a Google drive-by and found it was true. Though the area had been photographed some two years before, Tricia doubted much had changed. All that was visible were trees, long expanses of freshly mowed grass, iron gates at the end of the drive, and nothing much of interest to see.

  The TV report had been made in April. Was it possible protesters still picketed the company?

  There was only one way to find out.

  * * *

  * * *

  Tricia texted Pixie, telling her about the book sale, and took off before her assistant manager made it into work.

  The drive to Concord was uneventful, and Tricia listened to an audiobook to help pass the time.

  Drummond’s Book Stall was located in a strip mall that had seen better days. More than half the shops sported FOR RENT signs, and it didn’t seem at all surprising that the shop would soon be joining those ranks.

  The door was locked, but Tricia knocked on the glass, and soon a tall, gangly man emerged from the back of the store. Dressed in a bright yellow T-shirt that bore the name of his store, Ken Drummond had managed a welcoming smile, but the look in his eyes was infinitely sad.

  “Tricia Miles?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Come on in. Thanks for coming.”

  “I’m sorry about the circumstances,” she said sincerely.

  Drummond looked around his rather messy store, which was filled with flattened cartons and piles and piles of books on the floor. It looked like he’d already sold off most of his display pieces. Thanks to Pixie, Haven’t Got a Clue’s business was booming, while this poor man’s store had been decimated.

  “The mysteries are over here,” he said, and led her to the back of the store.

  Tricia crouched to better take in the spines. The newer books tended to favor thrillers and bestsellers, with a small number of cozier reads. He had several copies of Fiona Sample’s works, as well as Ellery Adams’s earlier novels. Tricia immediately picked those. In fact, she took just about everything Drummond had on offer, feeling sorry for the man, and sorrier still about the price he wanted for the stock—low. Then again, there was no point in returning new books for credit if you were going out of business anyway.

  It didn’t take them long to box up everything.

  “What can you tell me about Monterey Bioresources?” Tricia asked.

  Drummond yanked a long strip from his tape gun and applied it to one of the cartons. “Not much. Every so often, a bunch of protesters goes out there and pickets. They’re not militant, so they don’t get the kind of coverage other animal activists get. I’ve heard of some pretty ruthless protesters in other countries sending nail bombs and mobbing companies, destroying windows and furniture and terrorizing the employees of firms that do animal experimentation.”

  “But Monterey doesn’t experiment on the animals they raise.”

  “But they sell them to those who do.”

  Tricia nodded.

  “Monterey employs over three hundred people. That gives them some clout. Forcing them to move or shut down would create quite a hardship for the people around here who depend on that paycheck—and from what I hear, they pay really well and have good benefits. That happy workforce shields them from a lot of flak.”

  Yes, it would.

  Drummond fetched a dolly from the storeroom and piled it with boxes, then he and Tricia went out to her car with the first load. In all, there were seven boxes, which filled Tricia’s trunk and the back seat of her car. Drummond gave her the total and she rounded it up to the nearest hundred. He gazed at the check. “Aw, you didn’t have to do that.”

  “You’ve given me one heck of a deal. I really appreciate it.”

  He shrugged. “I might just break even if I can sell the rest of the stock before I have to be out of here at the end of the week. The owner has someone ready to move in at the end of the month.”

  “I’m surprised by that, considering how many other storefronts are empty.”

  “New management. The whole plaza will get a makeover before the end of the summer. They’re aggressive and have already signed up three new tenants. I would have had to move anyway.”

  “Have you got any prospects?”

  “My brother-in-law owns a McDonald’s franchise up by the highway. He’s willing to take me on as an assistant manager trainee.”

  “Have you ever worked in the food-service industry?”

  “No, ma’am, but at my age, my options are limited.”

  Tricia nodded and offered him her hand. “I wish you all the best of luck. And I’ll speak to some of my fellow booksellers t
o see if they’re interested in contacting you.”

  “I e-mailed every bookstore in New Hampshire and northern Massachusetts. I’ve had a couple of replies.” He raised his hand and crossed his fingers. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Good-bye,” Tricia said, and got in her car. She watched as Drummond reentered his store and locked the door; then she turned the key in the ignition and drove away.

  It didn’t take long for her to travel the three or so miles to Monterey Bioresources. As she suspected, there were no picketers, the iron gates to the property were closed, and there was no sign of life anywhere around the property, which was surrounded by trees and grass—just as she’d seen online.

  Tricia drove past and headed back toward the highway and home, hoping that Pixie would be pleased with the number of books she’d scored to restock Haven’t Got a Clue’s shelves. All in all, a successful morning for her—and devastating for poor Ken Drummond.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Once again, Tricia parked her car in the alley in back of Haven’t Got a Clue and struggled to cart the boxes of books up the stairs to sit outside the back door. She moved her car to the municipal parking lot and hurried back to bring the books into the store, arriving via the front door.

  “Hey, Tricia—how’d the sale go?”

  “Pretty well. I got the books for a good price and should fatten our inventory and keep us afloat for at least a month.”

  “Vintage books?”

  Tricia shook her head. “Mostly new, but the covers are in good shape and it will help us to keep going until and if I can find us more vintage titles.”

  “We’ve got a lull going. Want me to help you sort through them?” Pixie asked eagerly.

  “I was just going to take them down to the stockroom and start putting them in the inventory.”

  “Too bad Mr. E has the day off. That’s one job he loves to do,” Pixie said wistfully. “I guess he could start tomorrow.”

  Tricia was going to begin the task, but she suspected Pixie might also like to take some time getting to know the new stock. “Would you like to empty the boxes while I hold the fort?”