Book Clubbed (A Booktown Mystery)

by Lorna Barrett

  She crawled behind the cash desk, groping around the floor, and finally touched something fluffy—Miss Marple’s tail. The cat didn’t move. Was she already dead?

  Tricia scooped up her cat and stuffed her limp body inside her sweater and began to crawl, backing out from behind the cash desk. Tears and blood mingled, robbing Tricia of her sight, and she used the wall to guide herself to the open door. She crawled through the aperture and strong arms grabbed her, hauling her across the frozen sidewalk and into the street. She’d lost her shoes.

  Sirens wailed, echoing off the buildings, and the Stoneham Fire Department’s rescue squad screeched to a halt along the curb. Seconds later, more strong arms hauled Tricia toward the vehicle, and she found herself sitting on its bumper, her feet freezing in the stiff breeze and an oxygen mask pressed against her face.

  She coughed and coughed, thought about throwing up, and had to shake her head in order to think clearly. “My cat. My cat!”

  “Calm down,” the EMT advised. “We’ll find your cat.”

  Tricia pulled the mask away from her face. “You don’t understand, I’ve already got her.” She lifted her sweater and pulled out the small limp cat. Another EMT took Miss Marple from Tricia, and jumped inside the ambulance.

  “She’s dead. I know she’s dead,” Tricia cried, and started to cough again, but the remaining EMT pressed the mask back to her face and proceeded to work on the cut on her forehead. Across the way, she saw another ambulance and more EMTs working on someone in the street. Was it Joelle?

  “Tricia!”

  Angelica clawed her way through the crowd of rubberneckers, to reach her sister. “Oh, my God. What happened?” she demanded, throwing her arms around Tricia. She was crying so hard her mascara ran down her cheeks in black rivulets.

  “I’m okay,” Tricia said, but speaking those words only made her cough harder.

  “Keep the mask on your face,” the EMT directed, towering over her with a no-nonsense expression.

  “Miss Marple is dead,” Tricia cried. “I tried to save her but it was too late.”

  “Please, ma’am, keep the mask on your face,” the man said once more.

  “You don’t understand, my cat is dead!” Tricia cried, and even to herself she sounded like some hysterical harpy.

  “No, she’s not,” said the EMT from inside the rescue vehicle. Tricia half turned and saw the man holding on to Miss Marple in a very undignified manner, but the cat was dazedly looking around, still limp, but definitely alive. He pressed the oxygen mask back on the cat’s head and seconds later Miss Marple began to struggle in his embrace.

  “It’s a miracle!” Angelica cried.

  “Let me hold her,” Tricia cried and realized she was shivering violently—unsure if it was from the cold or shock.

  “Only if you keep that mask on your face,” said the man standing in front of Tricia.

  The EMT inside the ambulance bent down and handed the cat to Tricia. Afraid Miss Marple might be frightened and try to escape, Tricia lifted her sweater and tucked the cat inside once more. A moment or so later, Miss Marple’s head popped out the top of Tricia’s sweater, and she took in her surroundings. “Yow,” she said weakly.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. Your aunt Angelica has some shrimp in the freezer. I will serve you one hell of a good kitty dinner tonight.”

  Chief Baker’s cruiser rolled to a halt, with more sirens screaming in the background. Tricia and Miss Marple watched as the big fire engine pulled up in front of Haven’t Got a Clue, with firefighters jumping out. Two of them smashed the big display, while another two hooked their hoses to the closest fire hydrant and went to work.

  It was then Tricia realized she might lose everything she owned. She rubbed her chin on Miss Marple’s head, realizing the most important thing in her life had been saved. Still, as she watched the firefighters work, she knew that life as she’d known it might never be the same.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Twinkling stars punctuated the dark sky and all was silent in this little section of southern New Hampshire. After all, it was well after midnight and even the Dog-Eared Page had closed down many hours before. Tricia stood on the sidewalk in front of Haven’t Got a Clue, taking in the sooty residue that clung to its faux stone façade. The large display window that had shown off some of Tricia’s stock was now covered with brand-new pieces of ugly plywood.

  Gone. For all intents and purposes, Haven’t Got a Clue was history. And though the fire had been contained to just the first floor, chances were most of her other possessions, like clothes, her computer, jewelry, and especially her personal collection of mysteries, were smoke damaged and essentially ruined.

  Tricia huddled into Angelica’s too-large cloth coat, which reached her knees, along with a pair of her too-big shoes. Joelle had suffered third-degree burns on her right arm and side, but she would survive. She’d been in shock when she’d given a statement to Chief Baker, corroborating Tricia’s speculation. It was easy enough to find Jerry Dittmeyer—he’d gone straight home to pack a bag and flee, but in his haste he’d run a red light. He was being ticketed by the Milford police when the APB went out on him.

  Tricia wondered at the stupidity of some people. There was still so much she didn’t understand about what had happened, but she guessed she would learn in time.

  She huddled deeper into the coat and thought back on the rest of the evening.

  Angelica was as good as her word and had taken Tricia and Miss Marple in, giving the cat a large selection of goodies to eat, including pâté, shrimp, and small bits of a variety of cheeses. Miss Marple sampled each and looked up at Angelica with what looked like adoring eyes, saying a quiet “Yow” in gratitude.

  Still, Tricia and Miss Marple needed to find temporary digs, since Sarge seemed to feel he’d morphed into a greyhound and that Miss Marple resembled a rabbit just perfect for the chase. Both Christopher and Baker had offered their homes to Tricia. She thanked them, but gave each an emphatic no for an answer. Instead, tomorrow she’d call Karen Johnson—and maybe even Bob Kelly—to find an interim place to live. The coming days would be filled with much paperwork and many errands. She’d have to go to Nashua to buy new clothes, too. The entire situation seemed totally overwhelming, and she felt tears fill her eyes once more.

  “What are you doing out at this time of night?”

  Tricia turned to find Angelica standing right behind her, looking stern. “I needed to see it again, to think about my future.”

  “You can rebuild.”

  “I know,” Tricia said softly, and sniffed. She really needed a tissue. As though reading her mind, Angelica dug into her jacket and pulled out a pocket pack, peeling out a clean tissue and handing it to Tricia.

  “The most important thing is that you’re safe, and so is Miss Marple,” Angelica said kindly.

  “Would you have gone back into a burning building to save Sarge?”

  “It would be the stupidest thing in the world to risk life and limb for a dog but, yes, I probably would.”

  Tears leaked from Tricia’s eyes and Angelica threw an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “You are made of strong stuff, little sister. You will come out of this a stronger person.”

  Tricia let out a shuddering breath. “I sure hope so.”

  “Do you want to know what I found out after they took you to the hospital to get checked out?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia nodded.

  “You and Chief Baker might not be an item anymore, but he still holds you very highly in his regard.”

  Tricia sniffed. “Do you think so?”

  Angelica nodded. “I know so.”

  “So what did you learn and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “There was no hurry, but if you want to hear it now—out here, standing in the cold—I’ll tell you.”

  “Yes, please.” />
  Angelica turned to stare at the sooty building before them. “Betsy was furious when she’d learned her ex-husband and sister were lovers. Joelle had been thrilled to find out she was pregnant, and the first person she’d shared her news with was her older sister. But instead of joy, Betsy had threatened to cut Joelle out of her will and taunted her with hints of her shameful secret, letting her know that proof of it was hidden in that old family Bible you found.

  “Of course, Jerry knew the secret. When their daughter was born with multiple birth defects, the couple had undergone genetic testing. They’d had to face it, and it had nearly destroyed their marriage.”

  “But why did they stay together?” Tricia asked, sickened by what she was hearing.

  Angelic shrugged. “I guess at first they’d stayed together for the sake of their child, and afterward it was just easier to pretend they didn’t share a parent.”

  “How could Jerry do such a despicable thing—knowing what had happened to his own daughter?”

  “Denial is a very strong motivator. The guy was no George Clooney. Maybe he wasn’t very lucky in love, either, and when Joelle was on the rebound from Stan she might have gone looking for solace in the arms of someone familiar.”

  Tricia shook her head, wishing the odor of burned wood wasn’t so strong.

  “Even knowing how his daughter had suffered, that rat Jerry became involved with Joelle and had panicked when she told him she was pregnant. He’d thought she was too old and begged her to get an abortion, but I guess Joelle figured it was probably her only chance to experience motherhood and was determined to go through with her pregnancy.”

  “Poor Joelle. What a foolish choice she made to get involved with her ex-brother-in-law.”

  “Grant told me that Jerry confessed he’d intercepted Betsy when she’d gone to empty her wastebasket behind the Cookery. She thought she had the upper hand and let him accompany her to the storeroom, where they’d argued. Incensed, he’d chased her around the storeroom and when he caught her, tried to choke the life out of her. He maintained that Betsy had pulled the bookshelf over on herself, and that she wouldn’t have died but for that—something Grant didn’t believe for a second.”

  Angelica shrugged. “It seems Betsy had planned to tell Joelle the whole sordid truth on the day of her death, but Jerry made certain she would never talk to Joelle again.”

  The stupid, stupid man.

  “It all seems so pointless,” Tricia said.

  Angelica nodded.

  Tricia’s gaze returned to the ruins of her once-beautiful store and her throat tightened with despair. All her hard work, all her hopes, all her dreams, had literally gone up in smoke. Insurance would take care of the financial loss, but what about the emotional loss?

  Tricia couldn’t tear her gaze from the building’s stone façade that she’d paid so much for and was now a wreck. “I’m so grateful for the invitation, but I can’t stay with you, Ange.”

  “I know, but you know you’d be welcome to camp out at my place for as long as you need to.”

  “I know.”

  Angelica patted Tricia’s back. “Tomorrow we’ll make the rounds. We’ll get you some new clothes, new shoes, and see if we can hunt down an apartment or a sublet. And, most important, we’ll get you to a bookstore that sells mysteries. If I know you, you won’t be happy until you’re surrounded by books once again.”

  “And after that, what? How will I spend my days? What will happen to my employees?”

  “Frannie has been itching to take a vacation, so Pixie and Mr. Everett can either come to work for me or work temp for the Chamber for the next couple of months.”

  “That’s very kind of you. But what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

  “You’ll go online, visit thrift shops, and start to rebuild your inventory for the grand reopening of Haven’t Got a Clue. And if you’re willing to pitch in, there’ll be plenty of work at the Chamber to keep you occupied. I’ve got big plans to expand our reach and it’ll take an experienced businesswoman like you to help me set things up. What do you think?”

  “It sounds okay,” Tricia said, feeling a tiny bit less stressed.

  “This time of uncertainty won’t last forever,” Angelica promised. “Maybe if we sweet-talk Antonio, he’ll get us in touch with the people who helped Nigela Ricita Associates cut through the insurance red tape when they bought the site for the Dog-Eared Page. You might even be back in business in time for the first tourist bus that arrives in May.”

  Angelica was being incredibly optimistic, but her comforting words had given Tricia a much needed shot of hope.

  “Come on back to my place. I’ve got some homemade cookies stashed away for an emergency—and I’d say this counts as one. I’ll also make you a cup of my super-duper cocoa that’ll have you sleeping like a baby. And when you wake up in the morning things won’t look quite so horrible and you’ll feel a whole lot better. I promise.”

  Tricia doubted that but allowed Angelica to guide her back toward the Cookery. Angelica went in first and Tricia paused before entering, turning to take in the apartment atop the Dog-Eared Page. Dressed in only pajama bottoms, Christopher stood in front of his window. It seemed like every light in his apartment was lit so she could see him in perfect detail. He waved, and then blew her a kiss.

  Tricia turned without acknowledging him, and entered the Cookery without a backward glance.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Brookview Inn looked as homey and charming as a Thomas Kinkade painting that Valentine’s Day evening, with the glow of soft lamplight spilling from the windows overlooking the wide and inviting porch. Tricia and Angelica trundled up the freshly shoveled walk, climbed the stairs to the inviting porch, and entered the welcoming lobby.

  Angelica smiled. “This old inn has never looked better, don’t you agree?” she asked as she unbuttoned her coat. Tricia couldn’t remember a time when Angelica’s disposition had been so sunny for so long, and for some reason, her good humor didn’t even seem forced.

  “Yes,” she agreed and meant it.

  The sisters surrendered their coats to the cloakroom attendant and headed toward the French doors that opened out of the inn’s dining room. As they waited for the hostess, Tricia looked around the crowded room. Every table was occupied and Tricia realized that she recognized quite a few of the dinner patrons, nodding a greeting and receiving smiles, nods, and waves in return.

  “Good grief! I just remembered! Weren’t you supposed to pick up the cake for tonight?” Angelica asked.

  “Don’t worry. I did that this afternoon while I was out running errands. Nothing is going to spoil Mr. Everett’s happy day. Did I tell you he’d already started helping me with my Internet orders? I might finally make that part of the business actually pay for itself—and it’ll be the first part of the business that reopens. I just hope that when the time comes he still remembers how to operate the program.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be just like riding a bike. Oh, look, there’s Russ and Nikki,” Angelica said and waved. They waved back, smiling.

  “I spoke to Russ the other day. He was pretty upset about the baby,” Angelica whispered.

  “Not anymore,” Tricia said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I paid Nikki a visit this morning. I told her everything you said about how she could hire a manager and keep the Patisserie going until her little one goes to school, and then she could pick up where she left off. It’s a win-win situation; she’ll still have an income stream and can take care of her baby.”

  “She’s a pretty smart woman. I wonder why she didn’t figure it out for herself?”

  “‘Forest for the trees’ syndrome?” Tricia suggested. “I’m just glad that when I reopen, I’ll still be able to buy thumbprint cookies for my customers—as well as the occasional coconut cupcake for myself.”

&n
bsp; The hostess soon returned, recognized them, and immediately led them to the best table in the house, where Grace, Mr. Everett, Pixie, Ginny, and Antonio were already seated. A silver ice bucket with a bottle protruding from it sat to one side.

  “Hello, all,” Angelica called brightly and took the empty seat next to Antonio. Tricia settled in beside Pixie. Everyone was decked out in their best party wear. Pixie had pulled out all the stops and wore a bright pink and black, low-cut silk dress, her hair piled high on her head and dripping with rhinestones. Ginny’s little black cocktail dress—which seemed to strain at her belly—seemed positively boring in comparison. Antonio, handsome as ever, wore a tux, outshining the guest of honor’s dark blue suit. As always, Grace was the epitome of understated sophistication, from her solitaire diamond stud earrings, to her gray silk, long-sleeved gown. Even Angelica looked extra-smart in a bright pink blouse under a black wool pantsuit, making Tricia feel downright dowdy in a white open-necked blouse and dark slacks, which half an hour earlier had still sported their sales tags.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Tricia said, although they were only tardy by a minute or two.

  “We were early,” Mr. Everett said with a smile.

  “My dear Tricia,” Grace began, “we haven’t had a chance to speak since—” She stumbled over what else to say, looking embarrassed.

  “It’s okay to mention the fire. It’s a fact.”

  “How are you holding up?” Grace asked and Tricia could swear there were tears in her friend’s eyes.

  “Surprisingly well,” Angelica answered for her. “Tricia will land on her feet in no time flat.”

  Angelica had e-mailed their parents to tell them about the fire and their father had immediately called Tricia’s cell phone. “Your mother is too upset about almost losing you that she can’t come to the phone,” he’d lied.