Rebecca’s mouth thinned with displeasure. “You’re talking about Cori Haskell?”
“Why, yes.”
Rebecca nodded. “She’s no longer with us, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?”
Rebecca sighed. “She was spouting all kinds of conspiracy theories about Pets-A-Plenty and Monterey that were just pure fantasy. Toby asked her not to return.”
Tricia wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. Vera had thought something was fishy about Monterey Bioresources and might have died because of it. Cori Haskell had reservations about the company and now she’d been dismissed by the shelter.
“Oh, look!” Rebecca called and pointed. “It’s Nikki Brimfield and Toby.”
Tricia glanced in their direction. Sure enough, a smiling Toby stood next to Nikki—who had apparently not only ditched her married name for the contest but had done it for all aspects of her life as well. They seemed rooted to the school’s top steps, with his arm around her shoulders, but it was Patti Perkins from the Stoneham Weekly News taking the photo—not Russ Smith. Was it because he couldn’t stand to see his soon-to-be ex-wife with another man—or he just couldn’t stand her?
“Don’t they look cute together?” Rebecca said, beaming at Toby and waving enthusiastically.
“I guess,” Tricia said. “I didn’t know Nikki was dating.”
Rebecca turned and gave Tricia a puzzled look. “Dating? Toby?”
Tricia nodded.
“They’re not dating. They’re cousins.”
And then Tricia understood why Nikki had taunted her with the information about Grace pressing to get Tricia the Pets-A-Plenty board position. Had Toby asked his cousin for information on Tricia? Nikki would have been only too happy to put the worst possible spin on things, and he must have told her about the Everett Foundation’s donation and the stipulation that came with it, knowing she would taunt Tricia—just to make her miserable. Unfortunately, it had worked.
“I’m so thrilled for Nikki. Imagine going to California to try out for the next Big-Time Chef competition. I think she’s got what it takes to win and get her own TV show. Wouldn’t that be a boon for Stoneham?”
Not that Tricia could see—or was that just sour grapes on her part because Tricia and Nikki’s friendship had not only cooled but was totally in the freezer?
Rebecca’s eyes shone with delight. “I think I’ll try to join them. Would you mind taking my picture with them?” She dug her phone out of her purse.
Swallowing her pique, Tricia forced a smile. “I’d be delighted.”
Rebecca started worming her way through the crowd until she reached the school’s steps, which she quickly ascended. She spoke to Toby and Nikki, who seemed to find her request more palatable than Tricia did. Tricia stepped up closer and held the phone up. “Smile!” She clicked a few shots and then Rebecca trotted down the steps to retrieve her phone.
“Thanks. See you later,” Rebecca said, and practically bounded back up the steps to rejoin Toby and to bask in Nikki’s glory.
Tricia turned and was surprised to see Angelica waving to her from the back of the crowd. She quickly joined her.
“I thought you were going to the day spa.”
“I did, but Randy has everything under control for now, although he asked me to come back later this afternoon to talk to one of the distributors. As I hadn’t seen you pass by, I decided to see if you were still here.”
“I was just about to leave.”
“Ready for lunch? Bobby worked today so Tommy could compete, but his soup special is just as good.”
Tricia consulted her watch. “It’s earlier than we usually eat, but it sounds okay to me.”
“I was so hyped, I skipped breakfast, but now I’m ready for something.”
“You mean you didn’t snack on Sofia’s animal crackers when I took my walk?”
“I was far too engrossed watching the action.”
Action? For Tricia, watching Nikki and Joann bake—with no sound and no narration—had been painfully mind-numbing.
“Then we’d better get you some sustenance before you keel over,” Tricia said, and the sisters started off.
“What a long morning,” Angelica commented, but sounded oddly satisfied.
Yes, it had been. And somehow not only dull but anticlimactic as well.
Clouds were beginning to clutter the sky, Tricia noticed. A storm might be brewing, which did nothing to heighten Tricia’s mood. She already had too many dark thoughts whirling through her mind and wasn’t sure where they might take her.
TWENTY-EIGHT
During their walk to Booked for Lunch, Angelica chatted about the Bake-Off. Like Rebecca, she, too, thought Nikki might have the chops to take on other wannabe chefs angling for a TV cooking show of her own and just couldn’t seem to stop talking about it. Tricia was contemplating shoving one of Sarge’s squeaky toys in her mouth when they finally reached the retro café.
Bobby, the weekend short-order cook, had whipped up gazpacho to go with a vegetarian sandwich made of avocado, cucumber, and lettuce with a lemon vinaigrette that sounded light and refreshing after the far too many cupcakes Tricia had ingested during the past few weeks.
Tricia ate her lunch only half listening as Angelica speculated about how the Bake-Off would differ for the amateur chefs the next day.
“And, of course, I’ve got an uphill battle to win.”
“Why’s that?” Tricia asked.
“Because I’ve got two judges who’ve taken a dislike to me.”
“I think you’re probably overreacting.”
“We’ll see,” Angelica said.
The sisters agreed to meet later at Angelica’s for happy hour and dinner and parted in front of Haven’t Got a Clue.
Tricia reentered her store.
“Ms. Miles,” Mr. Everett greeted her with enthusiasm. “How did the Bake-Off go?”
“It went,” she said unenthusiastically.
“And the winner?”
“Nikki Brimfield.”
“Ah, as suspected,” he said, nodding.
Mr. Everett peppered her with a slew of questions, while Pixie listened and nodded. She seemed subdued, not unlike how Tricia felt.
“It seems I may have a better shot at winning than I thought,” Tricia said.
“Why is that?” Pixie asked.
“Angelica is convinced that two of the judges might not be supportive of her efforts.”
“How come?”
Tricia shrugged. “She and Chief Baker have never exactly been pals, and Chef Andrews was rude to Angelica’s customers at the signing yesterday and she called him on it.”
“He was rude?” Mr. Everett asked, appalled.
“Especially to the Dexter twins.”
“Those sweet old ladies?” Pixie asked.
Tricia nodded.
“There’s no excuse for rudeness,” Mr. Everett said solemnly. “I went to several of his demonstrations on the Authors at Sea cruise and he seemed perfectly nice.”
“Yesterday must have been an off day for him. I would hope all the judges would strive to be impartial when it came to choosing the best cupcake.”
“Yes,” Mr. Everett said, looking troubled.
The door opened, and Pixie and Mr. Everett immediately went into hospitality mode. Tricia quietly bowed out and retreated to her office down in the basement, where there were no windows and not much to do. Mr. Everett had attacked the task of updating the store’s inventory spreadsheet with everything but the cost of the books. Tricia glanced at the prices he’d assigned to each and found them acceptable. She then divided the total cost by the number of books she’d purchased to come up with her base cost and filled in that field.
With that done, Tricia decided to go on eBay and look for more books to stock the store. That wa
s something that could prove to be a time sink, but on that day she welcomed it.
She’d put bids on more than twenty books by the time the store closing rolled around, and she mounted the stairs to consult with Pixie before the store was shuttered for the day.
Mr. Everett had already left, and Pixie was gathering up her purse when the door opened and Angelica stepped inside.
“What are you doing here?” Tricia asked.
“I’m back from the day spa and I came to collect you.”
“I’d better be going,” Pixie said hurriedly. “Good luck at the Bake-Off tomorrow,” she called. “Both of you.” And she was gone.
“Wow. I wonder what’s gotten into her,” Tricia said at her assistant manager’s abrupt departure.
Angelica didn’t answer; instead, she queried, “Are you ready for happy hour?”
“Just let me close the blinds and lock up.”
A minute later, they exited the store. The wind had picked up, the sky was an angry steel gray, and the air felt heavy with humidity as they walked over to the Cookery, which had already closed for the day. June had left a note on the door to the stairwell saying she had let Sarge out just after closing the store, which meant Tricia’s martini wouldn’t have to wait. Of course, Sarge was ecstatic to see his dog-mom, and despite her orders to hush, it was only three biscuits that finally quieted him.
“I just can’t get over what an interesting day it’s been—and in more ways than one,” Angelica commented as she washed her hands at the sink.
“Well, I can,” Tricia said, and marched straight to Angelica’s liquor cabinet to retrieve the gin and vermouth.
“Oh, let me do that,” Angelica said, while Tricia got the olives out of the fridge and jabbed them onto frill picks. “I’m sorry there are no goodies to go along with our drinks, unless you want crackers.”
“I’m fine. Let’s sit out on the balcony and watch the weather.”
“Sure. There’s nothing like a good thunderstorm,” Angelica agreed. She picked up the tray and followed Tricia to the balcony, set the tray down, and unfurled the awning, which would keep them dry once the rain began. They sat down and Angelica handed Tricia a martini. “While we were having lunch, Randy interviewed a new candidate for one of the spa’s nail-tech positions. Cheers.”
They raised their glasses. “I thought you’d already hired a couple of them.”
“Yes, we did—but Randy wanted me to consider a third person. He described her as an older woman and a rather colorful character. From her crazy red hair to a gold canine tooth, and dressed like one of the Andrews Sisters.”
Tricia’s mouth dropped. That was an apt description of Haven’t Got a Clue’s assistant manager, Pixie!
“Why on earth would Pixie need a second job as a nail tech? I pay her a good wage. And she’s constantly telling me how happy she is working for me.”
“Well, she and Fred now have the little house on Maple Street. I gave her a good deal on it, but we don’t know what other expenses they might have incurred. Maybe just decorating it put them over budget.”
“Pixie is a thrifter. I doubt she’d go into hock to buy anything new when she adores everything vintage—and has a nose for bargains,” Tricia pointed out.
A rumble of thunder sounded above them.
“Maybe you should talk to her about it.”
“And say what?”
“Why are you interviewing for another job?”
“Wouldn’t that sound like I’m spying on her?”
“Do you want me to ask her? I am the spa’s owner—and I consider us to be friends, too.”
“Maybe she didn’t consult with you because she didn’t want it to look like she was asking for a favor.”
“Maybe. But we’ve all seen how nicely she keeps her own fingernails. I’m sure she’d be just as good at doing it professionally as she is selling vintage mysteries.”
There was no doubt about that.
“Why don’t you call her right now?” Angelica suggested.
“Pixie just put in a full day. I don’t want to bother her at home. And besides, the way she bolted from my store, she probably knew you were going to tell me about it.”
“Then text her and ask her to come in early so you can talk before we have to be at the Bake-Off in the morning.”
More thunder rumbled above them, and a crack of lightning split the clouds to the east as fat droplets fell beyond the fringe of the awning.
Tricia didn’t have to be at the school until ten o’clock, the exact time Pixie started work at Haven’t Got a Clue. Asking her to come in early shouldn’t be that much of an imposition. She could let Pixie leave early, since without the TV coverage, the amateurs’ portion of the Bake-Off was sure to be over far quicker than the professionals’ competition had been. It wouldn’t give them much time to speak, but enough to have one question answered.
Why?
* * *
* * *
The storm had passed and the sky had cleared and was darkening to indigo when Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. She’d had a lot to think about during the preceding hours, and instead of heading upstairs for her apartment, she went down to her basement office and fired up her computer once again. Besides her upcoming conversation with Pixie, thoughts of Cori Haskell and her dismissal from Pets-A-Plenty played on her mind. She did a Google search, but nothing came up for the woman. Next, she tried looking for her via the online White Pages. Unfortunately, unless she had a paid subscription to the site, they weren’t going to give up any information.
Tricia sat back in her chair and wondered if Cori was on social media. If so, which platform was she likely to use?
First, she tried Instagram and came up with three people with the same name, the same spelling. The icons were too small to decipher, so she clicked on each and—bingo!—came up with a positive on the third try. Unfortunately, Cori’s account was set to private. Forget that. Next, she tried Facebook and came up with five possibilities. She clicked on the face that matched that of the woman she’d spoken to. They weren’t Facebook friends, so Tricia couldn’t leave a comment—but she did try to private message the woman. Sometimes that worked; sometimes it didn’t. It depended on if the not-friend looked in her inbox. Tricia reminded Cori of her name and the circumstances of their meeting at Pets-A-Plenty.
Tricia didn’t expect a reply but thought she ought to stay online for a while—just in case. To kill time, she pulled up her sales spreadsheet and clicked to make a graph. No doubt about it, since Pixie had taken the job as Haven’t Got a Clue’s manager in January, overall sales had improved. She had suggested and, upon Tricia’s approval, taken on projects to make that growth happen. Considering that for the first four months of the year sales were usually dismal, they were more than 10 percent above the previous year’s figures. Pixie was damn good at her job. She came in every morning with a smile on her face and an off-key song in her heart. She delighted and educated customers with her encyclopedic knowledge of vintage and current mystery authors. There was no way Tricia could afford to lose her. Not that there wasn’t dignity in being a nail tech, but Pixie had proven herself in the managerial position. She had seemed to thrive on the work. There had to be a serious reason for her to contemplate leaving Haven’t Got a Clue, and Tricia wanted to know what that was.
Her computer gave a ping and Tricia looked up to see that Cori had indeed received her message. Tricia wasted no time in replying.
Would you be willing to speak to me about what happened at Pets-A-Plenty and why you were asked to leave?
No way.
Can I ask why?
Because I don’t want to end up like . . . you know who.
Tricia guessed Cori hadn’t meant the villain from the Harry Potter stories, Lord Voldemort.
Could we meet?
No. I’m leaving town. Please don’t contact me a
gain.
Tricia stared at the words on her screen. On impulse, she typed Cori’s name into the search bar and hit the little magnifying glass. The various profile pictures came up on her screen once more, only this time the Cori Haskell from Milford, New Hampshire, was no longer there. Tricia had been blocked.
Had Toby Kingston threatened Cori? Was she so scared she’d decided to leave town? And if so, could Tricia really blame her?
The uneasy feeling in Tricia’s gut seemed to grow, and she wasn’t sure what to do to make it go away.
TWENTY-NINE
Sleep didn’t come easy, and despite the blackout drapes covering the windows in her bedroom, Tricia was still up at sunup and wasn’t sure if the anxiety she felt was because of the upcoming Bake-Off or confronting Pixie. Either way, she wasn’t about to veer from her usual routine and fed her cat, dressed, and headed out for a brisk walk before breakfast.
But it wasn’t just the events of the day that had her thoughts in a jumble as Tricia power walked down the empty sidewalk along Main Street. The memory of Vera Olson’s dead body never seemed to leave her. Despite being a person of interest, Joyce had not been arrested, but there hadn’t been any news, let alone rumors, about other suspects. Was there a chance Tricia could talk to Chief Baker before or after the Bake-Off? The day before, he’d been surrounded by the TV crew and the other assorted people associated with the contest, and it would have been impossible to catch a word with him. Was he aware of Joyce’s liaison with Cindy Pearson? If not, was it Tricia’s place to tell him? And what about Toby Kingston? Everything about him seemed shady. And now it appeared he’d threatened Cori Haskell because she’d spoken about a possible connection between Pets-A-Plenty and Monterey Bioresources.
By the time Tricia returned to her apartment, her stomach was unsettled and she decided against making coffee. On a day like the one she was facing, the last thing she needed was caffeine to make her feel even more jittery. To kill time, she took a leisurely shower and fussed with her hair and makeup—despite the fact that the only camera she was likely to face that day was from the Stoneham Weekly News—not that Russ would allow any photo of her face to appear in its pages. If she won the Bake-Off, he’d probably highlight someone else or kill all references to the amateur portion of the competition out of spite.
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