A Fatal Chapter

by Lorna Barrett

  “Yep. It’s a big day for us. Our two-month anniversary. We’re celebrating by getting tattoos.”

  Tricia gaped. “But . . . isn’t it early in the relationship for that?”

  Pixie shrugged. “We talked about that. So I’m getting the sun, and he’s getting the moon. They’re usually done together as one tat. Later, if things work out, I’ll get the moon, and he’ll get the sun. It’s kind of like a promise we’re making to each other.”

  Promise rings wouldn’t be half as permanent.

  “You ever think of getting a tat?” Pixie asked.

  “I can honestly say no.”

  “Everybody gets ’em nowadays. You could get a little book on your arm or ankle. It would be cute, but you need to go to a place that does quality work.”

  “It sounds like you’ve done your homework on this.”

  “Ya gotta. Otherwise, you end up looking like an old rummy sailor who got drunk and went to a hack. I’m wearing this tat to the grave and it has to look good.”

  “You’re braver than me,” Tricia said sincerely.

  Pixie waved a hand in dismissal. “Are you kidding? You’ve stared down killers. That’s not something I could do, so a tattoo would be pretty easy stuff for a stand-up chick like you.”

  Stand-up chick, huh? Tricia liked the sound of that.

  Pixie waxed poetic on all the tattoos she’d seen in prison and beyond, then segued into her latest pedicure and wax—more information than Tricia really wanted to know, but she listened transfixed nonetheless. No doubt about it, Pixie could spin a story. Maybe she’d be interested in volunteering to be a docent for the Historical Society, too, some day.

  All too soon it was time for Pixie to leave. Tricia watched as she grabbed her things and headed for the door.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Pixie paused. “When am I going to get to meet Fred?”

  “You really want to?”

  “Well, of course I do,” Tricia said.

  “Gee, maybe you could stop by Booked for Lunch around ten thirty some morning. That’s when he makes his delivery.”

  “Sounds good. Maybe I could scrounge a cup of coffee from Angelica at the same time.”

  Pixie grinned. “I’ll bet you could.”

  “All right. How about we plan it for some time next week?”

  “Great.” Pixie headed for the door once more. “See ya tomorrow. And I’ll show off my tat as soon as I get in.” And out the door she went.

  Tricia frowned. Pixie hadn’t mentioned just where this tattoo was going to go. Tricia just hoped it wasn’t going to be on an embarrassing body part.

  With time to kill before she was to meet Angelica at her loft apartment, Tricia went out back to water the perennials that some previous owner had planted along the west side of the house.

  Distracted by thoughts of possible tattoos she might one day get, she was halfway through the job, facing away from the drive, when a noise from behind caused her to turn with a start.

  “Bob Kelly, what are you doing here at this time of day?” Tricia asked, nearly watering his shoes with the hose. He took a step back.

  “I need you to make a decision, and I need it now,” Bob demanded, his tone formidable.

  “Bob, what’s gotten into you?” Tricia asked, turning so that the water ran into the grass.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “Yes!”

  “I need the money. I’m going to jail unless I can keep paying that shark of an attorney of mine.”

  “You mean because you ransacked your own property?”

  “No, because I never finished my community service.”

  “I thought that all blew over.”

  “It didn’t. I’ve tried to keep it quiet, but it looks like they’re going to make me do time, and when I get out, I’ll be on probation, and not only will I have to finish my community service, but I’ll be stuck with even more of it.”

  Oh, what a tangled web, Tricia thought without pity.

  “What about all the rent you collect? You own half the village.”

  “Make that past tense.”

  “You’ve sold some of your properties?”

  “Not on Main Street, except for the lot where History Repeats Itself used to be. And now maybe your building, but only because it’s a wreck and I might have to put a lot of money into it if you leave without fixing it.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” Tricia said evenly.

  “You’ve got the money,” Bob said.

  Tricia did have the money, but she didn’t like being pressured. And she didn’t want to pay more than fair-market value, either. He’d already stuck her for more than fair-market rent. “And how would you know about my financial situation?” she bluffed. Angelica had probably told him. It seemed like she’d shared an awful lot of information with him.

  “I have my ways.”

  Tricia looked at him with suspicion. “Have you hacked into the bank’s files?”

  Bob looked away.

  Nobody knew how Betsy Dittmeyer, the Chamber’s former receptionist, had established so many bogus accounts in banks all over the country to hide her ill-gotten gains. Had she confided to Bob how she’d done it when she’d worked for him? Had they worked together? Probably not. If Bob could have gotten his hands on that money, he would have already done so. And once the accounts had been turned over to the district attorney, they were frozen so no one would have access to them.

  “I haven’t done anything illegal,” he said at last.

  “Since you vandalized Stan Berry’s home you mean?”

  “Yes,” he said bitterly. “But I’ve considered doing something very stupid if I can’t buy my way out of this conviction.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m not about to tell you.”

  Was he bluffing, or was he actually that desperate?

  Tricia studied Bob’s face. The skin along his jaw was taut with worry, and the strain he was under was evident by his stooped posture.

  “Come on, Tricia, buy the damn building.” He reached into the inner breast pocket of his rumpled green sports coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I’ve filled out the sales contract, all you have to do is—”

  “No!” Tricia cried.

  Bob slammed his fist against the home’s shingles, and Tricia jumped back, dropping the hose, afraid he might hit her, too. She’d never before been afraid of Bob Kelly, but at that moment she was. She took a shaky breath. “You’d better leave, Bob. Now. I don’t want to be forced to call the Stoneham Police Department to drag you away.”

  Bob shoved the papers back into his pocket. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Tricia.”

  Tricia took another shaky breath but stood tall. “Are you threatening me?”

  But Bob didn’t answer. Instead, he pivoted and stormed off.

  Still feeling shaky, Tricia realized the grass all around her was wet from the still gushing hose. Her hands were trembling as she turned off the water, coiled the hose, and replaced it on the rusty metal holder attached to the house. Taking a deep breath, she walked around the side of the building and walked up the ramp to the side entrance, which she’d left unlocked. For a moment she worried that Bob might have gone inside and was waiting for her, but Miss Marple sat in the middle of the hall leading to the office and didn’t seem at all alarmed.

  Tricia stepped forward and picked up the cat, which nestled its head against her chin and began to purr with enthusiasm. “Thank you for being here, Miss Marple. At this moment, I need a kitty hug.” Miss Marple did not hug back, but her obvious affection helped Tricia to feel calmer.

  All too soon, Miss Marple jumped down from Tricia’s embrace. Just as well. Tricia was going to be late meeting Angelica. She grabbed her keys, made sure she left the outside light s
witched on, and left the house. It would be late when she returned from Pete’s wake—or from replacing the silk flowers. Would Bob be waiting for her? She tried not to think about it as she made her way down Main Street toward the Cookery.

  The store had been closed a good half hour before Tricia arrived. She unlocked the door and let herself in. By the time she climbed the stairs to Angelica’s loft, she heard Sarge announcing her arrival with shrill barks and remembered that she’d forgotten to grab one of his dog biscuits before leaving the Chamber office. Oh well, she’d give him two the next time she saw him.

  “Hello!” she called over the sound of barking. Once Sarge realized who the intruder was, his barking immediately switched from menace to welcome.

  “Come on back to the kitchen,” Angelica hollered.

  Tricia cautiously made her way down the hall with Sarge bouncing along at her side. As they entered the kitchen, Angelica said, “Hush!”

  The barking immediately stopped, and Sarge looked at Tricia with hopeful eyes, his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “I forgot his biscuit.”

  “You know where I keep them,” Angelica said, and Tricia helped herself to one from the canister on the counter. Sarge sat up pretty and accepted the biscuit, then scurried off to his bed to enjoy it.

  “What’s for dinner?” Tricia asked as Angelica piped yolk mixture into half of an egg.

  “Just leftovers from the café, I’m afraid. Salads mostly. And we had a lot of eggs left over, so I’m making deviled eggs.”

  “Quite a few. What’s that, two dozen halves?”

  Angelica nodded. “I thought I could take them to the Dog-Eared Page for Pete’s wake later on.”

  “Good idea,” Tricia said. “Who told you about the wake?”

  “Nobody. I kind of suggested it.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, Michele Fowler is the one who got the word around. I just put a bug in her ear.”

  “She said Nigela Ricita authorized eats for Pete’s wake.”

  Angelica shrugged. “Sad people drink too much. We don’t want anyone to get drunk, have an accident, and sue us.”

  That sounded like the words of a businesswoman, but Tricia didn’t believe it for a minute. Angelica equated food with love. It was so like her to want to feed people—especially those who were grieving.

  “What kind of a day did you have?”

  “Busy. I had lunch with Michele at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery.”

  “Not my kind of lunch venue,” Angelica said, wrinkling her nose.

  “It was quite nice, actually. She already knows quite a bit of local history—and good gossip, too.”

  “And what was the occasion?”

  “She doesn’t want me talking to anyone about the ghost walks.”

  “And so you’re telling me,” Angelica said, looking up from her handiwork.

  “You won’t repeat it. She’s worried that whoever killed Pete and came after Janet might mark her next.”

  “I can’t say I blame her,” Angelica moved on to another egg half. “Anything happen at the Chamber today that I should know about?”

  “Everything’s putting along just fine, but I did have a bit of a scare just before I came here. Bob came to visit me, and he wasn’t friendly.”

  Angelica looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “He shoved a sales contract for my building in my face, and when I wouldn’t sign, he slammed his fist into the side of the house.”

  “Bob threatened you?” Angelica repeated incredulously.

  Tricia nodded. “And he meant to frighten me. He’s determined not to go to jail. He said he might be forced to do something stupid. What do you think that means?”

  Angelica shrugged. “I don’t know. Liquidate his assets?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” Angelica said. “Bob’s family had nothing. Everything he has he earned through hard work.” She shook her head. “It upsets me to think he threatened you. I didn’t think he would stoop that low.”

  “I’ll admit, I was actually afraid.”

  “Have you told Grant Baker about this encounter?” Angelica said, and piped the remaining yolk mixture into the last egg half.

  “No, it happened just before I left to come here. But maybe I should.”

  “What about Christopher?”

  “No. And I don’t want you telling him, either.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to have someone tall and imposing to act as your bodyguard for a few days or weeks,” Angelica said, and bent down to retrieve paprika from her spice stash.

  “No,” Tricia reiterated.

  “All right. I’ll promise not to tell him, but only if you do speak to Grant. Now, promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. I’m sure we can get a couple of people to walk you home after the wake. Perhaps Antonio, if he shows up,” Angelica said, and sprinkled a good measure of paprika over the eggs.

  “Why wouldn’t he come?”

  “Oh, Ginny had an upset stomach this afternoon. He may not want to leave her . . . just in case it’s time for the baby to arrive.”

  “Oh, dear. Keep me posted, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I hear you spoke to the Koslovs about their camera.”

  Angelica nodded and pulled the plastic wrap from one of the drawers. “Boris wasn’t keen to set it up, but Alexa is furious about the flowers being destroyed. She had him set it up right outside their door, so I thought we could start there with our replanting.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “Good.” She covered the eggs and put them into the fridge. “Now, let’s eat. We don’t want to be late for Pete’s wake. I’ll pass the leftovers and you can choose what you want.”

  Tricia stood to receive the bounty and was nearly overwhelmed by the foam containers Angelica handed her—five in all. Tricia placed them on the big granite island and opened them. Angelica hadn’t been kidding when she said salads. Egg salad, tuna salad, ham salad, chicken salad, and a leafy green salad.

  Angelica supplied plates, serving spoons, forks, and a couple of rolls. “Dig in.”

  Tricia picked up a spoon and doled out greens, then topped them with a small helping from each of the other salads. “This is my second picnic of the day,” she said.

  “Picnics to me mean fun,” Angelica said. “Nothing to do with the pressures of the day, just relaxation.” She held up a finger. “Hang on, I forgot the best part.” She reached into the cupboard behind her and bought out a bag of barbeque potato chips.

  “Good Lord—the calories!” Tricia cried.

  “You don’t have to eat any,” Angelica said, opening the bag and spilling some onto her plate.

  “The hell I don’t,” Tricia said, and took the bag from her sister, dumping a small portion onto her waiting plate. Then she paused, staring at the bag and the bounty before her. “This reminds me of the time Grandma Miles took just the two of us to Cove Island Park.”

  “I remember,” Angelica gushed. “Oh, we had so much fun that day. She brought along a couple of plastic bottles of bubbles, and we blew them at each other until we were both sticky.”

  Tricia smiled. “You know, I think that’s my happiest childhood memory.”

  “Really?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia nodded. “At the time, Grandma was the person I loved the best, and now it’s you.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Angelica said, and grabbed one of the rolls.

  “I’m not. I’m being honest.”

  “I’m sorry to say that it took us both too long to appreciate each other. But you know, now that you know about my secret life, I think we could have a helluva good time together.”

  “You want to share it with me?”

  “I thought I made that c
lear the other day. And now with Antonio and Ginny and their kids . . . Just think of the fun we all could have.” She eyed Tricia with a sly grin. “Are you game?”

  Tricia’s mouth curved into a smile, and she remembered what Pixie had said. “You bet your ass.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The Dog-Eared Page was quite literally hopping—or at least several couples were dancing quite energetically to the beat of music that blared from the pub’s sound system when Tricia and Angelica arrived. Tricia held the door open for her sister, who carried a large tray with the deviled eggs and a full-sized carrot cake.

  “Ah, there you are,” Michele called over the cacophony issuing from the speakers. “You can set that down over on that table in the corner.”

  Angelica nodded and threaded her way through the crowd, which was at least three-deep at the bar. The eats table was loaded with platters of cold cuts, various rolls, condiments, pasta and potato salads, grapes, berries, and pineapple, different cheeses, and cookies. Nigela Ricita had been very generous.

  Suddenly, the music ended, catching several people off guard, who’d been yelling to be heard. Looking sheepish, they lowered their voices. Within seconds an old Beatles tune—and much quieter—issued from the sound system: “In My Life.”

  The crowd stopped talking, listening to the haunting lyrics, growing somber. When the music ended, Michele raised her glass. “To Pete. God rest his soul.”

  “To Pete,” the majority of patrons echoed, raising their glasses. Tricia didn’t even know most of the people who’d come to pay their respects to Pete. She and Angelica snaked their way through the crowd to get to the bar, where they ordered drinks: a martini for Angelica and a glass of Chardonnay for Tricia. With glasses in hand, they again made their way through the crowd to a booth on the side where Grace and Mr. Everett sat across from each other. Tricia sat next to Mr. E while Angelica eased in beside Grace.

  The music hadn’t come back on, but the murmur of many voices made it difficult to hear.

  “Glad you could join us,” Grace practically shouted. Before her sat a half-finished glass of her favorite sherry. Before Mr. Everett was a tall glass of what looked like ginger ale.

  “Did you have something to eat?” Angelica asked.