“I don’t know, but it seems like someone wants to eliminate anyone involved in the project.”
Karen looked even more uncomfortable. She let out a breath. “Let’s have a look.”
Tricia opened the envelope and set the papers on the table before them. “I haven’t even had a chance to look at them. And I don’t even know what I’d be looking for.”
Karen sorted through the pages. “It would seem like the place to start is this map of the cemetery.” She lifted the reading glasses she wore on a chain around her neck and perched them on her nose. The black-and-white map was little more than just lines across the page. “Do you know much about the place?”
Tricia shook her head. “Pete was the expert, but Michele has learned a lot about its history during the past few days.”
Among the papers were several copies of deeds and other official-looking documents. Karen looked at a site map for a piece of land and tapped a finger on it. “I know this property. It’s right next to the rural cemetery. Seems to me I heard a story about it not long after I came to Stoneham.” She frowned, thinking. “There was a tentative agreement between Kelly Realty and Marathon Development. I believe an environmental impact study needed to be made.”
She frowned again, then pawed through the copies of the old documents, coming up with an old black-and-white aerial photo of part of the cemetery. There were several of them in the package. She lay them on the table in a line.
“I need to check something,” she said, got up from the table, and went into her office. A minute later she came back with a color photo printed on copy paper. She tapped her finger on the paper. “This is a satellite photo taken just three months ago. Notice the difference?”
Tricia looked at the photo, unsure what she was supposed to be looking for. Finally she shook her head.
“The old photo of the north side of the cemetery shows a private, probably family cemetery.” She pointed it out, then pointed to the corresponding place on the new photo.
“It’s not there anymore,” Tricia said, not understanding the significance.
Karen nodded.
“What do you think happened to it?”
She shrugged. “The markers were removed, and probably nobody would know the difference.”
“But isn’t that illegal?” Tricia asked, appalled.
“I’m pretty sure it is. A cemetery could be an impediment to development, although not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m from Upstate New York, and I know of two large commercial sites that have small private cemeteries in their midst: a mall in Syracuse and the football stadium in Buffalo. Still, a former owner of the land might have seen the old family cemetery as a detriment to selling it.” Karen frowned again. “The thing is, if there’s a burial plot on a piece of land, it’s required by law to be recorded in the property’s deed.”
Tricia’s mind whirled with possibilities. “Have you ever heard of a deed being modified to remove such a reference?”
“That would be illegal.”
“Which doesn’t mean it would stop someone from doing it.” She thought about it for a moment. “What’s the value of the property?”
“In excess of a million dollars.” She eyed Tricia. “What are you thinking?”
Did she dare voice aloud her suspicion that Bob Kelly was responsible for Pete’s death? He had a lot at stake and yet, at this point in time, not much to lose. He was already looking at a possible jail sentence and was desperate for cash. No way would he want to blow the sale of the property by the cemetery when it could increase his bottom line. She knew Bob had been capable of bending the law, but still—murder?
Had Pete discovered the cemetery was missing? Had he been foolish enough to confront Bob over it? Could they have met at the gazebo? But where would Bob have gotten heroin? Silly question. Just about anywhere these days. But how foolish would he have to be to commit murder in a public place? And yet, there’d apparently been no witnesses. Could Bob have seen Tricia and Sarge walking in the park and hightailed it?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Karen said softly.
“What do you think we should do?”
“We?” she said, and laughed. “I wouldn’t name names, but perhaps if you spoke about this to your friend Chief Baker, he might want to look into it.”
“Good idea. No way do I want Bob to come after me.”
“Do you really think he was responsible for Peter Renquist’s murder?” Karen asked.
“As you said, I wouldn’t want to name names.” Tricia gathered the pages together and replaced them in the envelope. “Thanks so much for seeing me on such short notice, Karen.”
“Happy to do so anytime,” she said, rising. She walked Tricia to the door. “We’ll have to get together socially soon. Are you up for having lunch someday next week?”
“I’d love it.”
Karen lowered her voice. “I get an NRA discount at the Brookview Inn. It’ll be my treat.”
“That sounds wonderful, but only if I can reciprocate another time.”
“I try to never turn down a lunch invitation,” Karen said, and laughed. “I’ll call you midweek.”
“Great.”
“By the way, I wonder if you could give Angelica a message for me when you see her. I’ve been trying to track her down all morning but haven’t had any luck.”
“I’ll see her at lunchtime. What do you want me to tell her?”
“This morning I came into the office early. We’re talking before six.”
“How much before six?”
“It wasn’t quite light.”
“You are dedicated.”
“Just part of the job. Anyway, I saw this funny little man with a—”
“Big black trash bag.”
“Yes,” Karen said, and laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve seen him, too.”
“Yes.”
“He seemed to be stealing the flowers from the hanging baskets.”
“He was. Someone else saw him, too, and I’ve already confronted him about it.”
“Oh, good. Antonio told me Angelica was almost apoplectic about the flowers going missing.”
That sounded like a good description. “The man has agreed to help put back the silk flowers. Now I just have to hope when I tell Angelica about it, she doesn’t go apoplectic once again.”
Karen laughed. “Okay, but if she wants to talk, I’ll be here ’til at least six.”
“A twelve-hour day?” Tricia asked.
“Don’t feel sorry for me—I thrive on being busy.”
“Thanks for helping me with these papers. You’re an angel.”
Karen laughed. “Just trying to earn my wings.”
“See you soon,” Tricia said, and left the office, but instead of turning left, she turned right and hoped she’d find Grant Baker behind his desk at the Stoneham Police Station. She had a lot to tell him.
TWENTY-TWO
No doubt about it, Polly Burgess did not like Tricia and didn’t keep it a secret. As far as Tricia could remember, she had done nothing to alienate the older woman, who acted as receptionist and dispatcher for the Stoneham Police Department. Polly was especially protective of Chief Baker’s time and seemed to consider all of Tricia’s visits to be frivolous, even when she had no clue as to the nature of the call. Was Polly angry because she thought that Tricia had broken Baker’s heart? Tricia couldn’t think of any other reason for the woman’s animosity, however mistaken.
As usual, she told Tricia to sit and wait in the small, seedy waiting room, but Tricia didn’t have time for Polly’s antics that morning. Instead, Tricia pulled out her cell phone and called Baker’s personal number.
“Baker here.”
“Tricia here. I’m standing in your waiting room.”
“W
hy didn’t you come right in?”
“Your gatekeeper,” she said simply.
She heard a click, and a few seconds later the door to the inner sanctum opened. “Come on in,” he called.
Tricia didn’t say a word as she exited the waiting room, but she could feel Polly’s angry glare on her back as she sailed through the doorway.
Baker resumed his seat, and Tricia shut the door before taking one of his guest chairs.
“You’ve been snooping around again,” he said with an edge to his voice.
“I wouldn’t call it that. I was talking to Michele Fowler this morning.”
“I got a full report about what happened last night. Is she okay?”
“A little shaken up, but she’ll bounce back. She believes she was attacked because of the attention the ghost walks will bring to the Stoneham Rural Cemetery.”
“She’s not the only one,” Baker muttered, “but so far we haven’t got a tangible connection.”
“I may have the answer in this envelope.”
He held out his hand and she passed it to him. “Why don’t you tell me your theory.”
Tricia sighed. At least he hadn’t called it a harebrained theory. While she spoke, he examined the papers. When she stopped talking, he stared at the papers spread out before him on his desk and frowned.
“So, what do you think?” Tricia asked, fearing he was about to blow off her suggestion to look into the situation.
“Didn’t I ask you not to keep poking around in this situation?”
“You did ask me to tell you my theory,” she reminded him.
“If what you’re proposing is true, you’ve not only put yourself in danger, but Karen Johnson, too.”
“Nobody knows what we talked about.”
“But someone might make an educated guess.”
“I guess that means you think my theory is credible.”
He shrugged. He had no intention of agreeing with her.
“Will you at least check into it?” she pressed.
“On Monday, I’ll talk to someone at the county clerk’s office to see if there’s anything about a cemetery on the deed.”
“And if there isn’t?”
“We’d have to see if we can find other records that support the existence of the cemetery.”
“And they’d be at the Historical Society. With Pete dead and Janet out of commission for the foreseeable future, I’m not sure there’s anyone there who could help you with that.”
“Let’s take this one step at a time.”
“It could take days, maybe weeks, before you could come up with additional proof. What if the sale of the land goes through before you can prove anything?”
“The wheels of justice don’t always turn quickly,” Baker said. His indifference was beginning to bug her. How could he still wonder why they hadn’t made it as a couple? “In the meantime, I’m taking custody of these pages.”
“You can’t have them. I promised I’d return them to the Historical Society today.”
“I’ll call and explain the situation,” Baker said. “In the meantime, I don’t want you to talk about this—not even to Angelica.”
“Why?”
“Because the fewer people who know about it, the better—for everyone’s safety.”
“Do you know when Bob is supposed to go up before the judge on his past indiscretions?”
“Not offhand, but I can look into it.”
“I hope you will. If he is responsible for murder and attempted murder, we need to get him behind bars as soon as possible.”
“Tricia, what you’ve given me might prove fraud, but that’s a long way from pinning a murder charge on the man.”
Tricia shook her head in frustration. “I can’t help but feel an urgency about this. I’m afraid of the man, and he’s been hounding me to buy his building. What do I do in the meantime?”
“You could file for a restraining order.”
“Sure, and how many women have died at the hands of the men that have been served those papers? Far, far too many.” She stood. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Sarcasm, Tricia? It doesn’t suit you.”
“Your lack of enthusiasm to track down a killer doesn’t suit your job description, either.” She headed for the door but paused, turning back to face Baker once more. “By the way, Boris Koslov set a camera up to try to catch the person stealing the flowers. Unfortunately, you can’t tell from the video who it was. He was wearing a hoodie, but I did dig up two eyewitnesses who identified the man. I confronted him,” she said defiantly. “Well, I and your Officer Hanson, and he’s going to apologize and help restore the silk flowers to the baskets. No other law enforcement intervention is necessary. I thought you should know—not that you care.”
Without another word, she turned and left his office without looking back.
Polly’s sharp gaze seemed to rake through Tricia as she left the building. Tricia hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Baker she was afraid of Bob. His aggression had been building to a higher pitch each time he’d confronted her, and it was becoming more difficult to avoid him.
• • •
Tricia returned to the Chamber office, then went upstairs to shower and change clothes. Twenty minutes later, she was back at her desk.
“I took a message for you,” Mariana said, handing her a Post-it note as she passed. “You’re insurance agent called.”
“Is it good news?” she asked hopefully.
“He didn’t say, just that you should call him.”
Tricia sat down and found her hands were trembling as she punched in the number on her desk phone. It rang twice before being picked up.
“John Martin.”
“John, it’s Tricia Miles. Do you always work on Saturday?”
“Just tidying up a few things.”
“Please tell me that this time you have good news for me.”
“I do, and I didn’t want you to have to wait until Monday to hear that you’ve been approved for the entire amount of your claim. The check will be in the mail Monday morning.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“When can I start repairs on my home—my shop?”
“Anytime you want.”
“I want, I want—believe me—I want!” she cried, suddenly finding herself choking up.
“I assume you’ve been talking to a contractor.”
“I spoke to him just this morning.”
“Good. We can recommend specialized professionals to refurbish your apartment and clean the smoke damage.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to research the subject and have a load of tradespeople all lined up. They’ve just been waiting for the okay to start work.”
“Good. Of course you know you can call me for anything.”
“You’ve been an angel, John. Thank you so much.”
“Do I get an invitation to the grand reopening?”
“You’ll be at the top of the list.”
“Take care,” he said, and they said good-bye.
“Sounds like good news,” Mariana said.
“The best. I’ll soon be going home.” She laughed. “Well, as soon as all the damage is repaired and I replace nearly everything I own.” Suddenly the task seemed daunting.
Tricia spent the next half hour making lists of things to do. She had a lot of plans to make before she could even begin to get her life back.
Looking over her list brought her great satisfaction, and she suddenly wanted to share her good news. Angelica was working at Booked for Lunch. Although it was half an hour earlier than Tricia usually went out for her midday meal, she decided to buck her rut and go early.
“I’m going to lunch,” she said, and stood.
Mariana smiled. “You ought to celebrate at the Brookview Inn�
��s dining room. At least you could get an adult beverage there.”
“It’ll have to wait until later, I’m afraid. But somewhere out there is a martini with my name on it.”
“In the meantime, why not splurge with a cupcake?”
“I just might,” Tricia said, and headed for the door. The way she felt, nothing could spoil her good mood. Nothing in the world.
TWENTY-THREE
By the time Tricia arrived at Booked for Lunch, the midday crowd had thinned. Instead of being jammed with tourists, she saw a number of her friends. She waved to Russ and Nikki, who were seated in the far booth. Ginny sat alone in the one closest to the front window, kept company by her e-reader. She looked up briefly, saw Tricia, and waved, then went back to her book. Meanwhile Pixie, dressed in a vintage white waitress uniform with Woolworth embroidered in green above the pocket, bobbed around bussing tables.
“I’m going to be late getting to the Chamber,” she apologized while loaded down with ketchup-and-mustard-stained plates. “Tommy had to leave early, so I’ll be finishing up in the kitchen for him.”
“Pixie, it’s Saturday—your day off from the Chamber.”
Pixie laughed. “Good grief. I completely forgot.”
“Besides, if you were late, you’ve got a very understanding boss. Isn’t that right, Angelica?”
Angelica stood behind the counter with a calculator in hand; a pencil stuck out from behind her right ear. “Uh-huh,” she muttered, although Tricia doubted her sister had even heard what she’d said.
“Thanks for driving Michele into the village this morning, Pixie.”
“Oh, it was my pleasure. It’s always nice to talk to somebody different.”
“Did you get your tattoo?” Tricia asked.
“Oh, yeah. Right now, it itches like hell. I shouldn’t have worn this polyester dress. I feel like there’s ants crawling all over my chest.”
Oh, so that’s where she’d gotten it.
“If you want to hang around after everybody leaves, I’ll show it to you.”
“Great,” Tricia said, though she wasn’t all that excited to witness the presentation.
“Excuse me; the kitchen calls,” Pixie said, and hefted a full tray.
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