A Fatal Chapter

by Lorna Barrett

  “Not yet. What did you bring?”

  “Curried deviled eggs and a carrot cake.”

  Grace Harris-Everett’s eyes widened in delight. It was no secret that, like half the village, she loved Angelica’s carrot cake. “That sounds delightful.”

  Suddenly the air was pierced with the sound of someone hitting a glass with a spoon, which effectively cut through the din. The murmur of voices died to nothing, and Michele again addressed the group. “A few of Pete’s friends would like to speak. First, his next-door neighbor, Sandra Marshall.”

  An elderly woman sidled up to the bar. There wasn’t a sound in the room when she started to speak. “Ten years ago, Pete Renquist bought the house next to mine. My husband, Donald, had had a stroke and could no longer take care of our yard or driveway, but Pete stepped up to help. In the spring, summer, and fall, he’d cut my grass. In the winter he and his snowblower cleared my drive. I don’t know what I would have done without him. I don’t know how I’ll manage without him. I’ll miss his kindness. I’ll miss his sweet smile, his generosity. I don’t believe anyone ever had a better neighbor than Pete Renquist—” Her voice broke, and tears filled her eyes. She raised her glass, and everyone drank in Pete’s honor.

  “We have others who want to toast Pete, too,” Michele said.

  This time, a man of about thirty approached the bar. At Michele’s nod, he spoke. “I’m sorry, I don’t know a lot of you. My name is Rob Weber. I worked with Pete for the past two years at the Historical Society. He’s been a mentor to me, a real friend. I didn’t know a soul when I took the job and moved here, but he helped me find a place to live, even fed me for the first couple of weeks while I struggled to figure out a new town. He was a great guy.” Rob raised his glass, and everyone toasted.

  Michele nodded in their direction, and Angelica picked up her glass and stood, then made her way over to the bar. Everyone quieted down once again.

  “As president of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce, I was privileged to spend time with Pete Renquist these last eight months. During that time we formed a solid working relationship that brought benefit to not only the Historical Society, but the people of Stoneham and its merchants. Though at times Pete could have a bit of a sharp tongue, he was never a bully. Like me, he came to love our little adopted village and had only its best interests at heart. We shall miss him.” She raised her glass. “To Pete.”

  “To Pete.”

  Angelica returned to the table. Michele nodded toward the back of the room, and a number of people stepped aside to let the next speaker move up to the bar. Tricia’s eyes widened in surprise as she recognized Toni Bennett. She looked around, but the antique dealer’s contractor husband was nowhere in sight.

  Toni’s face was flushed and her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d obviously been crying.

  She spoke a few words too low for Tricia to hear. She cupped her ear as a male voice called out, “Can’t hear you!”

  Toni started again. “Pete Renquist was my friend.” She stopped, wiping a tissue over her eyes, mopping the tears that leaked from them. “We worked together at the Stoneham Historical Society. He as an employee, me as a volunteer,” she managed, her voice breaking.

  “Her performance is a little over the top, don’t you think?” Angelica whispered from across the table. Tricia held a finger to her lips and shushed her sister.

  “I never met such a kind, considerate, and funny person,” Toni continued.

  Kinder, more considerate, and more fun than her husband? Tricia wondered. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as Toni took a moment to collect her thoughts—and emotions—and Tricia turned to glance at the pub’s front entrance, where she saw Jim Stark standing, his shoulders hunched, his lips pursed, his face flushed with what could only be anger. His gaze was riveted on his wife, who seemed oblivious to his presence.

  “Pete had his faults—we all do—but I choose to remember only the good, and I hope you will, too,” Toni said, and raised her glass.

  Those all around her raised their glasses, too, and chorused, “To Pete.”

  This time, Tricia didn’t raise her glass. She looked back to the pub’s entrance in time to see that Stark was no longer there, and she heard the door shut with a bang.

  “That was weird,” Angelica said, just loud enough for Tricia to hear.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Tricia said.

  “Will I?” Angelica asked coyly.

  Tricia looked at the bottom of her rapidly diminishing drink. “Perhaps.”

  Toni drained her glass, placed it on the bar, and, without further adieu, headed for the exit. Tricia watched her go. By the time the door closed behind Toni, the next speaker stood before the bar.

  They listened as four more of Pete’s friends got up to give their heartfelt farewells. Afterward, Michele invited everyone to partake of the refreshments, and people swarmed the eats table.

  “You’d better hurry if you want to get something to eat,” Tricia encouraged her tablemates.

  Angelica shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Nor am I,” said Mr. Everett.

  “I’d love a small slice of your wonderful carrot cake,” Grace said.

  “I’ll go get you a piece,” Tricia volunteered, and got up from the table. She made her way through the crowd, waiting for her turn. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bob Kelly standing at the back of the pub with a beer in hand. He didn’t seem to be with anyone, and he had the expression of a hunted man. She turned away, only to find her ex-husband standing uncomfortably close.

  “That was a nice speech Angelica gave,” Christopher very nearly hollered over the din.

  “Yes.” Tricia didn’t want to make eye contact and looked around the person standing in front of her, hoping there would still be cake by the time she made it to the table.

  “I thought I might run into you here, Trish.”

  She said nothing, still staring ahead.

  “I wanted to apologize again for the other night.”

  “I forgive you,” Tricia said, still not looking at him.

  “Can we talk?”

  Finally she turned to him. “We are.”

  “I mean really talk.”

  “It seems like all we do is spar.”

  “We need to clear the air.”

  A man juggling a plate of food moved past them, allowing Tricia to step forward. Maybe she should just let Christopher talk and get it out of his system. Then maybe she could finally convince him that she wasn’t interested in resuming any kind of relationship with him.

  “Okay,” she said at last. “I’m sitting with Grace and Mr. Everett. Once they leave, I’ll talk to you.”

  Christopher immediately brightened. “Thanks, Trish. I’ll leave you alone until then.”

  “Thank you.”

  Christopher stepped away, heading for the bar.

  “What a crowd,” the woman next to Tricia grumbled. “I had no idea Pete had so many friends.” The woman was attractive, albeit a little overweight, but she knew how to dress to overcome that obstacle. Her hair was a pleasant shade of blonde, and the makeup she wore accentuated her pretty blue eyes, downplaying the wrinkles from years of smiles.

  “Me, either,” Tricia said.

  “Were you a long-time friend of Pete’s?” the woman asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “I only met him in March. My shop burned down. While I wait for the insurance company to pay my claim, I’m volunteering at the Chamber of Commerce. My sister is its president.”

  “How nice. I mean about your sister. You must own the mystery store.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I met Pete during the restoration of the garden behind the Historical Society.”

  “It’s lovely. I was just there the other day.”

  Several people peeled away fro
m the eats table, and Tricia and the woman were able to advance two steps closer.

  “It was a lot of work to get it back to the way it was when Hiram Stone lived in the house, and it will take a lot of work to keep it that way, but well worth it.”

  “It’s very peaceful. Before her”—Tricia hesitated—“accident, Janet Koch said Pete’s ashes would likely be scattered there.”

  The woman’s smile was bittersweet. “He’d like that. He loved that house and the garden. I hope Pete rests in peace.”

  “Me, too,” Tricia agreed with regret.

  “I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Julia Harrison.” The woman offered Tricia her hand, and they shook.

  “Tricia Miles.”

  Julia Harrison—the woman Mariana had told Tricia about—just the person she had been hoping to meet. But how could she ask Julia about the relationship she’d never quite forged with Pete? She thought about it for a moment before an idea came to her.

  “Pete was a sweetheart, but such a flirt,” Tricia said, and shook her head, plastering what she hoped was a wry smile across her lips.

  Julie laughed and shook her head, too.

  Another few people—plates heaped with food—turned away from the table and sidled through the crowd. Tricia and Julia stepped forward once again.

  “What’s so funny?” Tricia asked.

  “Pete. He was a great guy. Had a wonderful personality, but had an Achilles heel when it came to dating.”

  “Oh?” Tricia asked.

  “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but—” Julia leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He suffered from ED.”

  For a moment Tricia was befuddled. Ed?

  Julia seemed to note her confusion and whispered, “Erectile dysfunction.”

  Tricia’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  Julia nodded sadly. “Pete and I dated for a while. He was such a joy to be with. We could talk forever about the Historical Society, art, food, music—just about everything. But when it came to intimacy, we ran up against a brick wall.”

  “But there are medications for that,” Tricia said.

  “That’s what I told him, but he wouldn’t even consider it. He was too embarrassed to discuss it with even his doctor.” She shook her head sadly. “I may have hit the big five-oh, but I’m not dead yet. It broke us apart.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I was, too, but I got back into the dating game and met a great guy. I don’t know if we’ll end up together for the rest of our lives, but we enjoy each other’s company and have fun—in and out of the sack.” Julia giggled.

  So, Pete’s flirting was just an over-the-top attempt to make people believe he was some kind of lothario when in fact he was ashamed of a treatable medical condition. Tricia felt even sorrier for the poor man.

  Finally, the last few people ahead of Tricia moved away from the decimated food table. Tricia was able to snag the last piece of carrot cake for Grace. She grabbed a plastic fork and some napkins while Julia scored a deviled egg, a roll, and a slice each of ham and cheese.

  “It was nice to meet you, Julia.”

  “Same here. I’ll make a point to visit your store when you reopen.”

  “Thank you,” Tricia said, and turned, heading back for the table.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing Grace the plate.

  “Thank you, dear,” Grace said, and cut a small piece of cake. She sampled it and closed her eyes in bliss. When she swallowed, she said, “This has got to be the best carrot cake I’ve ever eaten. You are amazing, Angelica.”

  “I can’t take credit for this one. Tommy, my short-order cook, took my recipe and bakes them on the side to make a few extra dollars. But don’t tell Nikki Brimfield over at the Patisserie.”

  Grace smiled. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I didn’t know Tommy baked, too,” Tricia said.

  “Yes. In fact, I’m worried that he’ll soon leave me for another job. I’m paying him a lot, but if he’d be happier baking, then I don’t want to stand in his way, either.”

  It was then Tricia remembered that Booked for Lunch’s former short-order cook had been snatched up by the Brookview Inn to be its head chef. Angelica must have masterminded that, too, since she now owned most of the inn. Tricia frowned. It surprised her how many little good deeds Angelica had performed, and not only hadn’t she flaunted her generosity, she’d managed to stay anonymous. Tricia smiled at her sister.

  “What?” Angelica asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Shall I go get the car, dear?” Mr. Everett asked. “You’ll be finished with your cake by the time I bring it around.”

  “Yes, why not?” Grace said.

  Tricia got up from her seat so that Mr. Everett could leave.

  “I’ll say good night, ladies.”

  “Good night,” the sisters chorused. They watched him leave. Other people seemed to have the same idea, and he was followed by several other couples.

  Angelica turned to Grace. “You two are such a cute couple.”

  The elderly woman smiled. “We are rather cute.”

  “Mr. Everett is a dear. I know Frannie will be heartbroken when he goes back to work for Tricia.”

  “In the meantime, he looks forward to your coffee dates,” Grace told Tricia.

  “As do I.” Tricia remembered Mr. Everett’s assessment of Earl Winkler during their last conversation. If she asked, would Grace say what her husband wouldn’t? “Mr. Everett and I talked about Pete the other day, and I mentioned Pete’s little altercation with Selectman Winkler.”

  “William is no fan of Earl, and who can blame him?” Grace said.

  “Oh?” Tricia said innocently.

  “That man played a despicable trick on William back when he owned his grocery store.”

  “What did he do?” Angelica asked.

  “As you know, Earl is an exterminator. His company handles all kinds of infestations, but he’s been known around here as the rat killer.”

  “Rats?” Angelica asked, appalled.

  “Are there really rats here in Stoneham?” Tricia asked.

  “Not that I’ve ever seen, but I’m sure there are. Wherever there is garbage, there are rats,” Grace said knowledgeably. “Anyway, one day some twenty or so years ago, Earl came into William’s grocery store, and William actually saw him remove two brown mice from his coat and place them in the produce department.”

  “You’re kidding,” Angelica said, her mouth hanging open in disgust.

  Grace shook her head.

  “Really? Did Mr. Everett confront him?” Tricia asked.

  “Yes, but Earl swore William was lying, and you know that just isn’t possible. William is incapable of even stretching the truth, let alone lying. But Earl swore his innocence and stormed out of the store. Needless to say, William set a couple of traps straight out of his hardware department, and in hours the mice were history.”

  “Did he call the police to report Earl?” Tricia asked.

  “That’s not William’s way.”

  “Did he ever get his revenge?” Angelica asked.

  Grace’s lips quirked into a smile. “In a way. In those days William was a member of the Stoneham Businessman’s Association, the forerunner of the Chamber of Commerce. Earl tried to join, but he was repeatedly blackballed.”

  “Mr. Everett blackballed him?” Tricia asked, surprised.

  “That I don’t know. I only know that Earl was not welcomed into the association.”

  “I know Earl’s rebuffed every invitation we’ve made to invite him to be a member of the Chamber,” Angelica said.

  “He knows that some people in the village have long memories,” Grace said. “I don’t think he wants to take the chance of someone bringing up his past indiscretions.”


  “You mean he pulled that stunt on more than just poor Mr. Everett?” Angelica asked, concerned.

  Grace nodded.

  “I will definitely take him off our to-be-contacted list.”

  They heard a horn outside go toot-toot! “That will be William. I don’t want to keep him waiting,” Grace said, and gathered her purse and sweater. Angelica got up and let her leave the booth, and Tricia rose, too.

  “I’m sorry we had to see each other on such a sad occasion, but it’s always nice to spend time with both of you.”

  Tricia leaned forward and gave Grace a quick peck on the cheek. “See you soon.”

  She and Angelica watched their friend leave before taking their seats again.

  “Mr. Everett said you were speaking with Christopher earlier,” Angelica said.

  Tricia pursed her lips and nodded.

  “What’s he want now?” Angelica asked.

  “To talk. I told him I’d do that as soon as Grace and Mr. Everett left.”

  “Then I guess I’d better go.”

  “I don’t mean to chase you away.”

  “I have a million e-mails I can attend to before you and I go on flower patrol once again. And it’ll give me time to change, too.”

  Tricia looked at her watch. It was barely nine o’clock. “All right. I’ll see you about eleven.”

  “Eleven it is,” Angelica said, and stood. She hesitated. “Here he comes. You’ll have to tell all later, and I want to know more about Toni Bennett, too.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in on all the details.”

  “See you later,” Angelica said, and stepped over to the bar to speak to Michele. Christopher wasted no time slipping into the other side of the booth.

  “Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Tricia looked at her empty glass, but decided not to encourage him. “No, thank you. So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “Our relationship.”

  “We don’t have one,” she reminded him.

  “But we could again.”

  Tricia frowned. “Funny, when I made the same request six years ago, you didn’t want to see a counselor, and discussion was definitely off the table.”