“I had lunch with Ginny yesterday. I picked up our take-out orders,” she reminded Bev.
“Oh, yes—that’s right. It’s just that—”
“I have to get back to work,” Tricia interrupted. “I’ll just take my lunch to go.”
Bev retrieved the salad from the small under-the-counter fridge and transferred it to a foam container. “Enjoy. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she said with a smirk.
Tricia said nothing and left the café.
This time, Tricia didn’t look right or left as she trudged back up the street toward the Chamber office. Instead of eating at her desk, she choked down her lunch at the little bistro table in the small kitchen, just in case Mariana wanted a little more fun at her expense. Afterward, she went back to her desk to attack the ever-multiplying e-mails.
It was after two, and Mariana was on her way back from the storage closet with another ream of paper for the printer, when she said, “Pixie’s late today.”
Tricia glanced at the clock. Sure enough, it was nearly ten after two. “Booked for Lunch was packed a while ago. Pixie might have had to stay late to help clean up.”
Her speculation was proved wrong when Pixie arrived at the Chamber office five minutes later, carrying a cardboard tray with the Coffee Bean’s distinctive cups and one of their bags, no doubt filled with biscotti or muffins.
“Sorry I’m late, but I figured you ladies wouldn’t complain if I brought a treat for all of us.”
“Pixie, you spoil us,” Mariana said, but she sounded pleased nonetheless.
“And it’s fun to do,” Pixie said, her smile wide, her gold canine tooth flashing. She passed out cups and napkins. The muffins were apple raisin, which pleased Tricia. She was becoming adept at convincing herself that anything that contained fruit could be considered healthy.
“Did you hear what happened last night?” Pixie asked, her eyes wide, practically gushing.
“You mean this morning?” Mariana asked, giving Tricia the eye.
“No, it was definitely last night,” Pixie said with confidence. “Janet Koch over at the Historical Society was mugged. Mugged! Right here in Stoneham!” she cried.
“Mugged? Where did it happen?” Tricia asked, alarmed.
“I guess she was working late at the Historical Society and someone jumped her when she was leaving.”
“Is she all right?” Tricia asked, aghast.
Pixie shook her head.
“She’s not—” Tricia couldn’t even bring herself to say the D word.
“No,” Pixie said, “but whoever hit her left her for dead. She was found by the Society’s groundskeeper this morning. She’s at the hospital in Nashua in a coma with a fractured skull.”
“Will she live?” Tricia asked, nearly on the verge of tears. She liked Janet.
Pixie shrugged. “I guess it’s too soon to tell. Poor lady. Alexa”—one of the Coffee Bean’s owners—“says she’s a nice person.”
“That she is,” Tricia sadly agreed, looking down at her muffin. She’d lost her appetite. Poor Janet. And her attack, coming on the heels of Pete’s murder . . . There had to be a connection.
“What have you got for me to do today, Tricia?” Pixie asked.
Before Tricia could answer, Mariana piped up. “I could use some help with the Member Appreciation Day invitations, if you don’t mind, Tricia.”
“Not at all,” she said, distracted.
Tricia tried to go back to work, but her thoughts couldn’t seem to stray from the the idea of Janet lying on the damp ground outside the Society’s headquarters all night. She considered calling the hospital to get an update, but realized that the HIPAA laws would prevent her being told anything of relevance. Instead, she took her cell phone into the Chamber’s small kitchen and called Grant Baker’s personal number and was surprised when it didn’t immediately roll over to voice mail. “Baker here.”
“Grant, it’s Tricia. I just heard about Janet Koch. What happened?”
“It looks like her attacker smashed her head into the stone wall. We found traces of blood on the side of the building. She was found by a coworker. The EMTs estimate she’d been lying on the ground outside the Historical Society’s back entrance all night.”
“But she has a husband. Didn’t he worry about her?” Tricia asked.
“He’s out of town on a business trip. One of their neighbors tracked him down. He’s on his way back from Chicago and should get in this evening.”
“What a terrible thing to come home to. What are Janet’s chances?”
“I haven’t gone to the hospital, but I did talk to a doctor in the ER. It doesn’t look good.”
Tricia’s heart constricted. “She’s such a lovely woman. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”
“It sure looks suspicious. First Renquist is killed, then his coworker is attacked. What’s someone got against the Historical Society?”
“I can’t imagine. They’re all such nice people.”
“I’m warning you, Tricia: don’t use this incident as an excuse to go poking around,” Baker said.
“Me? Poke around?”
“Yes, you. Someone means business, and you may have used up your store of good luck.”
The village jinx having good luck? From the corner of her eye, Tricia saw Miss Marple enjoying her afternoon bath. Tricia had come so close to losing the cat in the fire. Yes, she did possess a lot of luck. But she wasn’t willing to push that luck, either.
“I have no wish to be the next victim,” Tricia said firmly. “I heard Janet is at St. Joseph.”
“Yes. I’ve got a call in to see if I can get some protection from the Sheriff’s Department, and if I do, she won’t be allowed visitors. She’ll need them more when—or if—she recovers.”
If. It was a pretty big word when someone’s life hung in the balance.
“Thank you for speaking to me,” Tricia said.
“I’ll let you know if we come up with anything.”
“Thank you.”
They said good-bye. No sooner had Tricia shoved her phone back into the pocket of her slacks when her ringtone sounded. She recognized the number and frowned: Christopher. She considered tossing her phone out the window, but as Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” continued to play, she stabbed the incoming-call icon. “What?” she demanded.
“Trish?”
“Yes!”
“Are you mad at me?”
“You mean you couldn’t tell?”
Silence.
“What do you want now?” she asked crossly.
“To apologize. It didn’t occur to me that—”
“That you might ruin my reputation?”
“That’s a little strong,” Christopher said reproachfully. “I mean, you are my wife.”
“Ex-wife,” she said with emphasis on the first syllable.
“And it’s not like the village doesn’t know about your past liaisons.”
“Keep talking, Christopher. You’re digging yourself in deeper and deeper.”
“I’m sorry. I mean it. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Please, just leave me alone,” Tricia said wearily.
“You know that’s impossible. I care about you.”
Tricia indulged herself and rolled her eyes.
“Will you and Angelica be working on the flowers again tonight?” Christopher asked.
“Yes, but do me a favor—don’t join us. Stay home. Don’t even look out the window.”
“But I worry about you. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
Yada yada yada.
It was time to cut the conversation short.
“I accept your apology. Have a nice day. Good-bye.” Hoping he’d get the message and not call back, she broke the connection before he c
ould go on (and on). To make sure, she switched off her phone. He could always call the Chamber directly, but she decided she’d let Pixie and Mariana handle all incoming calls for the rest of the afternoon.
With that decided, Tricia returned to her desk and refreshed her e-mail.
The phone rang. Pixie picked it up. “Stoneham Chamber of Commerce. This is Pixie. How can I help you?”
Tricia opened an e-mail from Dr. Wimberly’s dental office inquiring about the monthly networking meeting.
“Oh, sure, she’s right here.” Pixie covered the mouthpiece and looked directly at Tricia. “It’s for you.”
“I’m not taking calls from Christopher Benson.”
“It’s from your insurance agent.”
Tricia’s heart skipped a beat, and she grabbed the receiver from the phone on her desk. “John? Please tell me you have good news about the insurance settlement.”
“Sorry, but sometimes no news is good news.”
That wasn’t what Tricia wanted to hear.
“Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong, but . . . annoying. Bob Kelly has called me every day for the last week, hounding me to settle your claim. He wants you to buy his building.”
Tricia sighed. “I’m sorry he’s nagging you. He’s been bugging me, too.”
“He seems to think that the quicker we settle, the quicker you’ll buy it.”
“Mr. Kelly has an inflated opinion of the building’s worth. According to the agent at NRA Realty, he’s asking at least ten percent over market value. He won’t come down, and I’m not going up.”
“How long is it until your lease is up?”
“Another year. And, unfortunately, I’m still paying monthly rent, though I can’t use the building or live there.”
“We understand that, but as I warned you at the onset, these things take time. There’s a lot to consider and—”
“Yes, yes,” Tricia said, cutting him off. They’d been over this territory far too many times in the past six months. She didn’t need to hear it again. “The next time I speak to Bob—and I’m sure it won’t be long—I’ll ask him to refrain from calling you.”
“Thanks. And as soon as I hear anything, I’ll call you—day or night.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thanks, John.”
They said good-bye and Tricia put the phone down. She noticed Pixie hovering.
“No good news?” Pixie asked anxiously.
Tricia shook her head.
“Don’t get me wrong. I like working here and at Booked for Lunch, but I just want to go home.”
Tricia felt the same way. “I’m glad you think of Haven’t Got a Clue with such affection.”
“Well, I’m not in a hurry for either of you to leave,” Mariana said.
“Unfortunately, once the settlement comes through, we’ve still got to wait for the store to be refurbished. There was a lot of fire, smoke, and water damage on the first floor. It can be fixed, but it’s going to take a couple of months.”
“If nothing else, we’ll be open for the Christmas rush,” Pixie said, her gold tooth flashing as she grinned.
Tricia smiled. Pixie’s faith gave her hope. “Yes, we will.”
“Until then, we’re a team, right?” Mariana asked.
“You bet your ass,” Pixie answered.
“Then we’d better get back to work,” Tricia said.
“Are you nearly done with the newsletter?” Mariana asked.
“Just waiting for Angelica’s okay. Then I’ll pass it along to you two for a final proofread.” She pulled up the file but found it hard to concentrate with so many other subjects preying on her mind. Poor Janet lying in a hospital bed near death while Bob and Christopher kept concocting new ways to annoy Tricia, and the insurance company plotted to delay her check and keep her working gratis for the Chamber. And what would Ginny say when Angelica confessed that she was actually Nigela Ricita? Would the shock cause Ginny to go into labor?
Now you’re not only being melodramatic, you’re being silly, Tricia chided herself.
She scanned the first paragraph of Angelica’s News from the President column and spied a typo. Oops.
Back to work, she told herself, but doubted she’d accomplish too much.
There was just too much going on to worry about, and at the moment she seemed best suited to do just that.
THIRTEEN
Afternoons at the Chamber office tended to drag. Much as she liked Mariana, Tricia enjoyed that final hour of the day with Pixie, even if they only spent the time in companionable silence. And since Pixie had gained a significant other, her life seemed to grow richer and more interesting each day, while Tricia’s life had fallen into stagnation. She needed time to heal after the devastation to her store and her psyche that the fire had caused.
Tricia watched as Pixie gathered up her stuff. “How was the roller derby?”
“Great. I saw a couple of my old teammates. We all went out for a few beers afterward. We talked until past midnight. Man, those were the days.”
“Will you be seeing Fred tonight?”
Pixie shook her head. “He’s gotta get an oil change, so it’s laundry for this old broad. How about you?”
“I’m going out to dinner at the Brookview.”
“With a guy?” Pixie asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Tricia said coyly.
“Who? Your ex? The chief?”
Tricia shook her head. “Antonio Barbero and Ginny.”
“Aw, that doesn’t count,” Pixie said.
“It should be very interesting,” Tricia said. And if Ginny exploded, the fireworks could be very entertaining, too.
“Well, I’m having a frozen dinner, so order something wonderful and think of me,” Pixie said.
“I will,” Tricia promised.
“See you tomorrow,” Pixie called as she headed for the door.
After she’d gone, Tricia shut down her computer. She went upstairs, changed her clothes, and then fed Miss Marple before she locked the Chamber of Commerce. The air was blast-furnace hot and muggy as she started down the sidewalk heading south. She crossed the street at the corner and headed for the municipal parking lot and saw Angelica heading north to join her.
“What a day,” Angelica cried in greeting.
“Tell me about it.”
And Angelica proceeded to do just that. “You’d think that finding appropriate silk flowers would be an easy task, but I had to go all the way to Manchester, and I still don’t know if I have enough.” She glanced toward one of the baskets and an offending lily that now seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.
“I thought you were going to order them online.”
“I didn’t want to wait for delivery.”
“Mr. Everett noticed the flowers—or lack thereof,” Tricia said.
“Well, of course he would. He’s as big a mystery hound as you are, and it’s sure a mystery to me why someone would want to deprive the entire village—and our tourist guests—of their beauty,” Angelica said as she unlocked the car and they got in.
“Hurry with that air-conditioning,” Tricia said. “I feel like I’m half-cooked.”
Angelica started the car and hit the control to let down the windows. “It probably won’t even kick in before we get to the Brookview Inn. Getting back to my story, I bought the flowers and have already sorted them by color, and I have them separated so we won’t need to spend as much time with it tonight.”
Tricia sighed. So she did plan on repopulating the baskets that evening.
“What kind of a day have you had?” Angelica asked.
“One filled with startling news.”
“Do tell,” Angelica said, and waited for a car to pass before she drove out of the lot.
“Did you hear about Janet Koch?”
; “Yes! That poor woman. Do you think she’ll be all right?”
“I don’t know, but I sure hope so. First Pete, now Janet. Speaking of Pete, Grant told me something in confidence—”
“Which you’re about to spill,” Angelica said with relish.
“Pete had a past.”
“Was he a bank robber?” Angelica guessed.
“No! A former heroin addict.”
“Pete Renquist a junkie?” Angelica repeated, incredulous, and braked at the corner.
“Apparently so. He died of a heroin overdose—that wasn’t self-inflicted. Grant seems to think he hadn’t been into the drug scene for many years.”
“So why does someone wait half a lifetime to off the poor guy?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. The sad fact is, we may never know.”
Angelica pulled up to the Brookview Inn and turned into the drive, parking in the back under a tree. “That wasn’t all the news around the village. Frannie couldn’t wait to tell me that Christopher was seen leaving the Chamber office early this morning in his pajamas. Are you two back together?” Angelica asked point-blank.
“No! After walking me home last night, the idiot barged in and wouldn’t leave. He fell asleep on the chair in my sitting room with Miss Marple on his lap. Thinking he’d wake up and go home, I left him there. He didn’t.”
Angelica closed the car windows and gathered up her purse. “Well, if you do decide to start shacking up, please show a little discretion.”
“Believe me, I have no plans to shack up with anyone.”
Angelica shook her head sadly. “Well, that’s too bad.”
Tricia grabbed her own purse and got out of the car, slamming the door. Angelica got out, closed her door much more gently, and pressed the button on her key fob to lock it. An exhaust fan at the back of the restaurant’s kitchen roared, and the mingled aromas of that night’s dinner specials filled the parking lot.
They stood there for a moment, taking in the refurbished and majestic old inn. “How much of this place do you actually own?” Tricia asked.
“Ninety-five percent.”
“You’re kidding,” Tricia said.
“No. The Baxter family didn’t want to sell it outright, and it took a lot of negotiating, but in the end Antonio and I make all the decisions on what goes on. The family really only owns the name.”
A Fatal Chapter Page 14