Chapter & Hearse

  “Hopefully in the fall. My employer has many friends in the insurance business. I’m sure she can speed up the process. The polizia have already signed off on the cause of the explosion that destroyed the old building.” He shook his head. “My employer wants the new building to have the same character—to blend in with the rest of the street. Of course, it will have many upgrades: insulation, up-to-date HVAC systems. But the turisti will not know it was not there for one hundred years.”

  Eugenia arrived with a tray, placed paper napkins on the table, and set the glasses down. She did so with care, and this time when she spoke, her voice held respect. “What may I get you, sir?”

  Antonio waved a hand to take in Ginny and Tricia. “Ladies first.”

  “I’ll have the house salad with raspberry vinaigrette,” Ginny said politely. So much for a big steak dinner.

  “Tricia?” Antonio said.

  “I’ll have the strawberry shortcake—with extra whipped cream, thank you.”

  “Tricia?” Ginny asked, amazed at her choice.

  “Life is short. Eat dessert first,” she said simply.

  Antonio frowned, looking like he might have missed something.

  “And you?” Eugenia asked, her voice soft—almost soothing—as she clenched her pencil, poised to write down his order. She hadn’t written down either Tricia’s or Ginny’s request.

  “Steak, medium rare. Baked potato. And salad.” Antonio collected Tricia’s menu and handed them both to Eugenia.” Grazie.”

  Eugenia looked almost as love-struck as Ginny. She gave a little laugh and said, “No problem,” making Tricia cringe.

  Ginny waited for Eugenia to retreat before speaking again. “Do you think you’ll be moving to Stoneham anytime soon?”

  Tricia resisted the urge to shake her head, keeping her teeth clenched. Don’t be so obvious, she wanted to warn Ginny, who gazed at Antonio with cow eyes. Either Antonio didn’t notice, or he had chosen to overlook it. He shook his head. “Not until later this summer. I have much business to take care of before I can relocate. And I wish to thank you, Ms. Miles, for giving me the number of the manager at the Brookview Inn. We are speaking tomorrow about a possible alliance. My employer is very interested in investigating the possibilities.”

  “You wouldn’t buy the inn outright?” Tricia asked.

  “At this point, we are only talking about possibilities. Who knows if we will come to an agreement? I was just telling Bob Kelly—”

  “You’ve spoken with Bob?” Tricia asked. “When?”

  “About twenty minutes ago.”

  “We spent the last hour looking for him,” Ginny said.

  “I’m surprised he took your call. He’s been ignoring all mine,” Tricia said. “Did he say where he was or where he was going?”

  Antonio shook his head.

  “Just that he had business out of town. A mission of mercy, I think he called it.”

  Tricia instantly thought of Angelica. If someone was after Bob, could they be after Angelica as well? She thought of all the little accidents and mishaps Angelica had experienced since Wednesday evening, and suddenly they seemed even more sinister.

  “I have to go,” Tricia said, grabbed her purse, and struggled to get out of the booth. She paused only long enough to dig into her wallet for two twenty-dollar bills. “You two have fun.”

  “Tricia, where are you going?” Ginny asked, concerned.

  “I just remembered something I have to do. I’ll see you in the morning, Ginny,” she said, gave a quick wave, and hurried for the door.

  “Ciao,” Antonio called after her.

  Once outside, Tricia pulled out her cell phone and hit autodial for Angelica’s phone. It went to voice mail on the fourth ring. “It’s Angelica. I’m not available right now. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Ange, it’s Tricia. No time to explain, but someone may be after you—the same person who killed Jim Roth. Call me as soon as you get this message, and don’t trust anyone! I mean no one—not even Bob! Call me!”

  Tricia flipped the phone shut and broke into a jog, heading for Haven’t Got a Clue, her thoughts racing. Where was Angelica’s next signing? She couldn’t remember. She had printed out her whole book tour itinerary, and a copy was taped to the fridge and another was under the counter at Haven’t Got a Clue.

  Tricia was breathless by the time she reached Haven’t Got a Clue. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked the door, and burst inside. Miss Marple was sitting on the sales counter and rose with a sharp “Yow!”

  “No time now,” Tricia told the cat, and practically skidded around the cash desk. “I’ve got to warn Angelica!” She pawed through the stuff littering the shelf under the counter and found the printed sheet, then ran her finger down the page until she found Monday night’s signing in Woodstock. The old rotary phone on the counter was too slow, so she punched in the number on her cell phone.

  “Crazy Hermit Bookstore, Martha here. How can I help you?”

  “Angelica Miles is supposed to sign her cookbook tonight at your store.”

  “That’s right.”

  “This is an emergency. I need to speak with her right away.”

  “I’m sorry, but the signing ended about half an hour ago. Ms. Miles has already left the store.”

  “Did she say where she was going? To her hotel?”

  “I think she said she was driving home.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I wish I could help you more.”

  “Thank you. You’ve already been a big help.” Tricia folded her phone. What should she do now? If whoever killed Jim and had already gone after Bob was gunning for Angelica, too, she would be the most vulnerable on the road. In fact, every time the person attacked, he or she had targeted Angelica’s car—or targeted Angelica with his or her own car.

  Tricia’s mind raced. Angelica had said that whoever chased her on the road the night before had hit a guardrail. Darcy’s car was out of commission and she needed a ride from Jake. Could she have been chasing Angelica?

  That didn’t seem likely. Angelica had never mentioned that Darcy knew anyone in Stoneham prior to her taking the waitressing job at Booked for Lunch. But then, why would Angelica discuss her employee in great detail? She certainly hadn’t mentioned Jake’s past.

  Darcy had been an acceptable, if annoying, employee. Angelica trusted her with the cash receipts.

  Which hadn’t been adding up.

  And it had been Jake who’d brought the receipts over for the past two days—not Darcy.

  And what about that order of chicken Angelica had known nothing about? Darcy had seemed nervous when Tricia wrote out the check for the deliveryman. Jake had been watching from the café’s small kitchen, and had said nothing. Could he and Darcy be in on all this together?

  Tricia didn’t want to believe that. Not with all the faith Angelica had put in Jake.

  She pawed through the papers to find Angelica’s list of emergency numbers and came across Darcy’s phone number. She dialed it, but there was no answer—not even voice mail.

  She glanced at the clock. By now Jake would be at his second job at La Parisienne in Nashua. Unless that was a fabrication, too. But, no, Captain Baker confirmed he worked there. She was getting herself all shook up and confused. She looked up that number on Angelica’s list and dialed.

  “La Parisienne, this is Patty. We have a one-hour wait for seating. Can I take your reservation?”

  “Patty? My name is Tricia Miles. I’m a friend of the sous-chef—Jake Masters—” That was a bald-faced lie. “I need to speak to him—it’s an emergency.”

  “Kitchen help can’t take calls during working hours. Let me take your number, and Jake can return your call on his break.”

  “Did you hear me—this is an emergency! Someone’s life could be at stake. Now, please let me talk to Jake.”

  Patty exhaled an impatient breath. “Hold on.”

  Tricia heard the thud of the phone being pu
t down. In the background she could hear the buzz of voices in the tiny, crowded dining room.

  The minutes ticked by. Finally, Jake came on the phone. “Hello?”

  “Jake, it’s Tricia Miles—”

  “Are you trying to get me fired? We’re up to our armpits in customers, and—”

  “What’s going on with Darcy?”

  “Look, I’m going to hang up—”

  “Jake, I think she might be out to get Angelica. Did she tell you what her car was in the shop for?”

  There was a pause, and again Tricia could hear La Parisienne’s patrons in the background—laughing, the clinking of glasses and silverware. “She said she hit a guardrail. The front end was out of alignment. She also had a big dent in the right front quarter panel, but was going to get that fixed another time.” That was consistent with Angelica’s description.

  “What was with that shipment of chicken that was delivered last Thursday? Angelica didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Ahhh,” he groaned, which didn’t sound encouraging. “The thing is . . . there was no shipment. Darcy and the deliveryman split the money.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

  “I don’t know you. I was waiting for Angelica to come back.”

  “You have her number. You could’ve called her.”

  “Look, now wasn’t the time to rat on Darcy over a couple hundred bucks’ worth of chicken. I mean—we need her right now to keep the place open while Angelica’s on her book tour.” He said the words “book tour” as though it was a frivolous waste of time. “Believe me, I’ve documented everything Darcy’s done. I’m sure you noticed I’ve brought over the receipts for the past two days. I saw her being light-fingered with the till—and pocketing some of the receipts. I need that job. I don’t want to see Booked for Lunch close because of that stinking little bitch’s gambling debts.”

  Gambling debts! Frannie suspected Jim had met some little hussy at a Gamblers Anonymous meeting in Nashua. Darcy lived in Nashua.

  “Jake, tell me everything you know about Darcy. I think she’s already killed one man. She may be after Angelica, too. I need your help to keep my sister safe.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Tricia.”

  “Did she know Jim Roth, the man killed in the explosion last week?”

  “Of course. We’d see him outside the shop when he’d take his smoke breaks.”

  “Does Darcy smoke?”

  “Same brand as me.”

  Maybe those cigarette butts might still come in handy—Tricia was glad she hadn’t yet tossed them. But she still had other questions that needed answering. “Did Angelica leave a copy of her itinerary with you at the café?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “When was the last time you saw it?”

  Jake hesitated. “I don’t remember. Friday—maybe Saturday. I can’t be sure.”

  Darcy had been adamant about leaving work on time— time enough to race around half of New England chasing after Angelica? Slashing her tires? Smashing her headlights? Keying the paint on her car? Why? Had Bob refused to dump Angelica for Darcy?

  “I’ve got Darcy’s number,” Jake said. “I’ll give her a call, but I don’t think—”

  “I’ve already tried calling her. There was no answer. I called the bookstore where Angelica was signing, but she’d already left for home. Bob Kelly went off to intercept her, but there’s a lot of highway between Woodstock, Vermont, and Stoneham.”

  “Call the Sheriff’s Department. Don’t you have a friend on the force?”

  “I’ve already got a call in to Captain Baker, but so far he hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “Call the dispatcher. He or she should be able to track him down, especially if he’s the lead investigator on the Roth homicide.”

  Damn! Why hadn’t Tricia thought of that?

  “I’ll do it right now.”

  “And I’ll make a few calls to see what I can find out—and hope like hell I don’t lose my job over this.”

  “Will you call me back?”

  “Give me your number.” He took it down and hung up—with no good-bye, no nothing. Tricia wasn’t about to berate him on his phone etiquette, and instead punched in 9-1-1.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you shouldn’t be calling Emergency Services to track down a member of the Sheriff’s Department,” the 9-1-1 operator said.

  “But this is an emergency! Who else am I supposed to call at a time like this?” Tricia tried to explain for the third time.

  “Misuse of an emergency—”

  “Oh, never mind,” Tricia said and flipped her phone shut.

  There was only one thing to do—try to intercept Angelica along the way.

  And what if Angelica had deviated from her Mapquest printout?

  Tricia grabbed her purse and keys and headed for the door. She ran to the municipal parking lot, but with every step she thought better of her haphazard plan. There were hundreds of miles of highway between where Angelica might be and where Tricia was now. The old finding-a-needle-in-a-haystack analogy fit this situation perfectly. And Tricia had promised Captain Baker she would not put herself in harm’s way. The logical thing to do was to stay put, be available by phone, and hope and pray Angelica would be okay.

  Tricia turned and started back for Haven’t Got a Clue. She’d make a big pot of coffee. Maybe she’d call Deborah to wait with her . . . not that Deborah could get away. Her husband probably wouldn’t want to forgo a Red Sox game to watch the baby. She could call Ginny, but she might still be with Antonio Barbero, and if she was, wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted.

  Thank goodness for Miss Marple. She’d been a true companion through some of the lowest times of Tricia’s life.

  As she slowly walked back to her store, Tricia sorted through her keys, pausing in front of the Cookery. Something caught her eye, and she looked at the door. The little CLOSED sign that hung on a chain was gently swinging—as though someone had just looked out the blind-covered window.

  But no one should be inside the Cookery.

  Tricia had last seen Frannie at the convenience store. She’d probably gotten a ride back into the village, and if so, her home, not the Cookery, would’ve been her destination. She had no reason to be inside the store at this hour.

  Angelica’s car was not in the parking lot, and Tricia and Frannie were the only other people who had the keys to the Cookery.

  Don’t put yourself in harm’s way.

  Tricia opened her phone, dialed Captain Baker’s number once more, and listened to it ring and ring and ring before voice mail kicked in. She waited for the tone. “Grant, it’s Tricia. Please call me back on my cell phone as soon as possible. Please!”

  She folded her phone and put it in her slacks pocket.

  What constituted “harm’s way,” anyway? Surely not opening a door and peeking inside her sister’s shop.

  Tricia sorted through her keys once more, came up with the one that opened the Cookery, and placed it in the lock. She opened the door slowly. The inside of the shop was dim. Frannie had apparently forgotten to flip on the switch for the security lighting before leaving.

  Or someone had flipped the switch off.

  Tricia’s hand tightened on the door handle. She felt like one of those bimbos in a mystery novel, the ones who walked into darkened alleys, basements, or attics where an armed serial killer lurked. If she walked inside, she might be in harm’s way. Or she might just find that Frannie had forgotten to turn on the security lights.

  She took a step forward. The light switch was just inside on the left. She needed to turn the lights on so Angelica wouldn’t walk into the darkened store.

  She took another step forward, squinting as her gaze swept across the empty shop. The store was eerily silent. Angelica’s life-sized cutout, still clad in the hula skirt and paper lei, stood just ahead of her on the right.

  She took another step forward and reache
d for the switch.

  A sudden movement to her right startled Tricia as the Angelica cutout rushed toward her.

  She stumbled off balance as the cutout shoved her to the ground. The door slammed, and Tricia crawled backward crablike, farther into the store.

  “Stop it! Stop!” she hollered.

  The cutout stopped moving. It was then that Tricia saw the lacquered nails and silver rings on the fingers holding the cutout upright.

  “What are you doing here, Darcy?”

  Darcy poked her head around the left side of the cutoff. “Looks just like Angelica, doesn’t it? Demented. Delusional. Soon to be departed.”

  For some reason, Tricia wasn’t afraid of dumpy little Darcy—despite what she suspected the woman had done. She struggled to her feet. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Duh! I’m waiting for Angelica.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “Through the door. How else?”

  “How did you get through the locked door?”

  “I have a key. I have a copy of all Angelica’s keys. I’ve been in her bedroom. She’s got a lot of nail polish. Why doesn’t she get her nails done professionally? She can afford it more than I can.”

  Tricia could imagine all Angelica’s nail polish bottles spilled or smashed on her rugs and bedspread. A malicious little prank pulled by a malicious little slob.

  “We could dance around what you’re doing here, but why waste time? Why are you jealous of Angelica, and why have you been stalking her?”

  Darcy’s grin was wolfish. “Stalking her? Me? I’m not a stalker, I’m a fan. I’ve been to at least half of her book signings.”

  “But you didn’t go inside the bookstores. Instead, you waited outside, slashing her tires, breaking her headlights, and keying the paint on her car. Calling Angelica a fat bitch by ruining the paint on her driver’s door doesn’t sound like the work of a fan to me. And have you looked in the mirror lately, Darcy? You might benefit from a diet yourself.”

  “Shut up, bitch! Skinny broads like you always have an edge over people like me. You get all the breaks.”

  “Hard work got me my breaks.” That and a nice fat inheritance, plus a generous divorce settlement—but she wasn’t about to go into that.