Darcy went sprawling, but quickly rolled onto her back.
The gun exploded, and Tricia felt a searing pain along her left bicep. She fell to her knees with a yelp of pain as Bob knocked the gun from Darcy’s hand and sat atop her, holding her wrists to keep her from punching him.
“Stop struggling,” Bob ordered, as Darcy started to laugh.
“This is just like old times, isn’t it, Bobby? Remember the times you’d tie me up before we had sex? Remember the times you had me spank you?”
“Bob!” Tricia cried, incredulous. “I’m shot!”
“Pull up your sleeve,” Bob ordered.
Tricia did as she was told, expecting to find a neat bullet hole and lots of blood, but instead the wound was more like a deep scrape—and boy, did it hurt.
“I’m not as young as I used to be, Tricia,” Bob said with some urgency. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get on the damn phone and call the Sheriff’s Department. Then run outside and see if you can flag down someone to help us!”
“Oh, good idea!” Tricia extricated her phone from her slacks pocket and opened it, but before she could dial 9-1-1, she saw a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up outside.
In seconds, Captain Baker stood in the doorway, his service revolver in hand. “What’s going on here?”
“Bob just captured Jim Roth’s killer,” Tricia said. “Look at my arm. She tried to kill me, too!”
“I could use some help here,” Bob said, still holding on to a struggling Darcy.
“Where’s the gun?” Baker asked.
“Somewhere on the floor, by the side bookshelves,” Tricia said, pointing.
Baker holstered his gun and advanced on Bob and Darcy, detaching his handcuffs from his belt. He bent down, attaching one of the cuffs to Darcy’s left wrist.
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Darcy hollered. “These two dragged me inside the shop—Bob tried to rape me!”
“Oh, yeah, then how did Tricia get shot?” Baker asked.
“I was protecting myself,” Darcy cried.
“You can tell me all about it down at the station,” Baker said, as Bob climbed off his ex-lover and let the captain take over. His forehead and upper lip were covered in sweat, and his face was an ugly shade of purple.
“What’s going on?” Tricia and Bob turned at the sound of a voice in the shop doorway. “Who kicked in my door?” Angelica demanded.
“That was me, Honey Bunch. Darcy was threatening to shoot Tricia.”
“Threaten, hell,” Tricia said. “She shot me! Look!”
Angelica hurried inside the shop, threw the light switch, and the shop was as bright as day. “Are you okay?” she demanded, and Tricia brandished the welt on her arm. Angelica inspected it. “Hmm—looks like it’s only a flesh wound.”
“Hey, what’s happening?’ came another voice at the open doorway. The room exploded in flashes of light as Russ Smith depressed the shutter on his Nikon with lightning speed.
“Darcy killed Jim Roth, tried to kill me and Angelica, and shot Tricia,” Bob said.
“All right,” Russ cried, absolutely delighted. “Just in time for Friday’s edition of the Stoneham Weekly News!”
Hands on hips, Angelica turned and gave Russ the loudest raspberry Tricia had ever heard.
Tricia glanced down at her throbbing arm and seconded the sentiment.
Twenty-Five
After the paramedics had inspected Tricia’s arm, applied antiseptic and a bandage, and left the scene, there wasn’t much to do except wait for the emergency enclosure people to come and fix the Cookery’s door. Darcy had already been dragged off to the county lockup, and several deputies had taken statements. Still, it was after midnight by the time Tricia made it back to Haven’t Got a Clue and found that a sleepy Miss Marple had waited up for her.
Mr. Everett hadn’t made it to work on Tuesday—he’d been too busy trying to duck the press and hordes of people who’d heard about his windfall and were looking for a handout. He and Grace had already had their phone number changed, and were giving it out only to trusted friends. But he assured Tricia he would make it to work on Wednesday.
Angelica had hit the road for yet another round of book signings, vowing to return on Friday. Tricia’s belated birthday dinner was on hold because Angelica said she and Bob needed to hash out what—if any—of their relationship was still viable. Tricia didn’t mind. Having dinner with Bob wasn’t big on her list of things to do, anyway.
The Tuesday Night Book Club met as usual, but instead of talking about their featured read, the group was more interested in seeing Tricia’s bullet wound and hearing the tale of how she was instrumental in the capture of Darcy Gebhard. Frannie was notably absent from the meeting.
By the time Wednesday morning rolled around, Tricia found herself feeling mildly depressed. After all, she was now officially one year older. She and Miss Marple came down to work early, and Tricia was just setting up for coffee when she heard a knock at the door. It was only nine fifteen—a whole forty-five minutes before the store was due to open. She peeked through the blinds and saw Ginny standing there. She unlocked the door and let Ginny inside.
“Happy birthday!” she cried, and gave Tricia an enthusiastic hug.
“I didn’t know you knew,” Tricia said.
Ginny’s smile was genuine. “Angelica was afraid you’d be lonely on your birthday, so she made a point of telling both me and Mr. Everett.”
“That was sweet of her. I wish she could be here today, but when you get to my age—”
“Like you’re some old fogey?” Ginny asked, laughing.
“—you don’t want to celebrate the same way you did when you were younger.”
“So you’ve got no big plans for the day?”
“I’ll probably just have a glass of wine later today. Although I had thought of splitting a precooked lobster with Miss Marple.”
“Don’t skimp on the melted butter,” Ginny advised.
The door rattled, and Mr. Everett and Grace entered Haven’t Got a Clue. “Good morning, and happy birthday, Ms. Miles,” Mr. Everett said.
“Happy birthday, Tricia,” Grace echoed.
“Thank you, and welcome back, Mr. Everett—or should I say Mr. Millionaire?” Tricia said, laughing.
Mr. Everett winced. “I’m certainly glad I can come back to work today, to get back to my real life. I wasn’t made for celebrity,” he said with disgust.
“I’m so pleased you decided to stay with us here at Haven’t Got a Clue,” Tricia said. “We need you, Mr. Everett.”
“And I need the three of you,” he admitted.
“Three?” Ginny asked.
“Don’t forget Miss Marple,” Mr. Everett said. “I’m sad to say that winning the lottery was the worst thing that could have happened to us.”
“Why?” Ginny asked. “Are the people asking for hand-outs already out of control?”
“Yes,” Grace admitted. “I didn’t know there was such misery and misfortune in the world until we won that money. Yesterday we received over one hundred begging letters in the mail. That was less than twenty-four hours after it was announced we’d won.”
“Speaking of letters,” Ginny said, and pulled a much-folded envelope from the pocket of her slacks. “Tricia, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be paying off my mortgage,” she said, sounding hurt.
Tricia frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I got a notice in the mail saying my mortgage had been paid in full.”
Tricia held out her hands in mock surrender. “Believe me, I’d like to take credit, but—”
“I’m afraid that was me, Ginny,” Mr. Everett said, his voice tinged with embarrassment.
“But why?” Ginny asked, her eyes wide.
“I have no children. I have no one to leave all that lottery money to. You and Ms. Miles, Miss Marple, and Grace are all I have. I wanted to repay you in some way for all the kindnesses you’ve shown me over the past year or so.”
“Oh, Mr. Everett,” Ginny said, her voice cracking, her eyes swimming with tears. She stepped up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems so inadequate.”
He patted her back paternally. “I’ve also arranged to have the roof fixed and all new appliances delivered. Of course, I’ll leave it up to you to decide what you want in your kitchen and laundry room.”
Ginny pulled back. “Mr. Everett, that is way too kind of you. I can’t accept—”
“Yes, you can,” he said softly.
“But I—”
Tricia placed a hand on Ginny’s arm, knowing how important it would be for her to accept Mr. Everett’s generous gift. “Yes, you can.”
“I haven’t forgotten you or Miss Marple,” Mr. Everett said, addressing Tricia.
Tricia shook her head. “We don’t need anything, Mr. Everett, but it’s so kind of you to think of us.”
“I bought a case of Miss Marple’s favorite kitty snacks. They’re in the trunk of my car. I was hoping I could borrow the shop’s dolly to bring them in.”
Tricia laughed. “Of course you can.” Then she addressed her cat. “Say ‘thank you,’ Miss Marple.”
Miss Marple said, “Yow!”
Grace and Ginny laughed, but Mr. Everett turned a somber face to Tricia. “As for you, Ms. Miles, I owe you the most.”
“Me? I don’t understand.”
“During the first six months you were in business, you never chased me out of your store, even though I sat in your readers’ nook for hours and read your books, drank your coffee, and brought you no income. Then, you gave me work, when everyone else had written me off as just an old man. You brought value back to my life, and you saved my darling Grace from a terrible existence, when everyone thought she suffered from dementia. I can never, ever repay you for all your kindnesses.”
Tricia swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply said, “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, but I could think of nothing to get you,” the old man apologized.
“Mr. Everett, your friendship is worth more than millions to me.” She stepped forward and kissed his cheek.
Mr. Everett and Grace beamed.
“What will you do with the rest of the money?” Ginny asked.
“Grace would like us to make a sizable donation to the Stoneham Food Shelf, which we will do. Grace has taken it upon herself to investigate each request we receive, and if it has merit, we will grant it. Of course, our priority will be the people of southern New Hampshire, but I believe there will be plenty of money to go to other worthy causes, as well.”
“It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Mr. Everett,” Tricia said. “I commend you.”
A Milford Florist Shop truck pulled up outside of Haven’t Got a Clue, capturing their attention. The driver got out, opened the back of his van, and pulled out a box, checking a clipboard before he shut the door and advanced toward the shop. “Delivery,” he called, “for Ms. Tricia Miles.”
“That’s me,” Tricia said, delighted, and took the box.
“Ooh, open it,” Ginny said eagerly.
“Give me a chance,” Tricia placated, and slid the pink ribbon from the box, removed the lid, and peeled back the green tissue. Nestled inside were six perfect calla lilies.
“Read the card,” Ginny urged. “Who are they from?”
Tricia removed the envelope, withdrew a card, and frowned. Happy birthday, darling. It was signed “Russ.”
“Russ?” Ginny repeated, appalled. “But—”
At that moment, the shop door opened once again, and a smiling Angelica glided in. “Happy birthday, darling sister,” she called.
Tricia dropped the card into the box as Angelica advanced, embraced her, and planted a big wet kiss on Tricia’s cheek.
“Ange, what are you doing here?” Tricia asked, pulling back.
“You didn’t really think I’d leave you alone on your birthday, did you?”
“But your itinerary said—”
“I lied!” Angelica said, and everyone laughed.
The deliveryman was back with another white box. “Will you sign for this one, too?”
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Tricia took his pen and added her signature to another sheet. The deliveryman went back outside as Tricia slid the peach-colored ribbon from the box and placed them both on the counter. Again she peeled back the florist’s tissue. This time, there were a dozen perfect calla lilies inside. “What does the card say?” Grace asked.
“To darling Tricia. From your big sister.” She turned to Angelica. “Oh, Ange, thank you, they’re beautiful.”
Angelica noticed the already-open box on the coffee station’s counter, and frowned. “Apparently I’m not the only one who remembered your favorite flower.”
“No,” Ginny said, her voice flat. “I’d better see if I can scout up a vase—or two.” She headed for the back of the store just as the door opened once more. This time it was Bob Kelly, who held a white envelope in his hand.
“Hello, Tricia. Happy birthday.” He handed her the card.
“Thank you, Bob.”
Angelica bristled. “Hello, Bob. What brings you here?”
“Tricia’s birthday, of course. You did tell me you’d planned on surprising her today.”
“Did I? Why did you pay attention to that and nothing else I’ve said for the past month or so?”
“I had a lot on my mind,” he admitted.
“How about your other body parts?” Angelica asked coldly.
Bob’s cheeks flushed a dark red. Mr. Everett and Grace looked nearly as embarrassed.
Bob cleared his throat. “I know I’ve abused your trust, Angelica. I’ll do anything I can to regain it.”
Angelica looked away. “How’s that vase coming, Ginny?” she called.
“Angelica, please don’t treat me with such indifference,” Bob pleaded.
“Oh, you mean I shouldn’t emulate your behavior of the last two months? Remind me why.”
Bob lowered his voice. “Angelica, you know how much you mean to me.”
“Oh? And what did Darcy mean to you?”
Bob glowered. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“That’s not what Darcy told Captain Baker.”
“You’d believe her over me?” Bob asked, sounding hurt.
“Let me think about it for all of two seconds.” She looked at the ceiling and nodded her head twice. “Yes!”
Bob chewed at his bottom lip, looking uncomfortable. Much as she didn’t like him, Tricia actually felt a little sorry for him. Okay, on a scale of one to ten, she gave him a one point five worth of pity. Then she recalled he’d saved her life two days before and upped it to two.
The little bell over the door captured their attention as the floral deliveryman once again entered, this time carrying a long white box with a royal blue ribbon. Again he handed the box to Tricia and offered her the clipboard.
“Goodness, another one?”
He nodded, she signed, and off he went again.
Everyone leaned in to watch as Tricia opened the box. She pulled back the tissue, and inside was—no surprise!—six more magnificent calla lilies. She opened the small white envelope and read the card. “Thank you for welcoming me to your village and your country. Happy birthday. Antonio Barbero, Nigela Racita Associates.”
“Didn’t you just meet that guy?” Angelica asked.
“Yes. Ginny must’ve told him it was my birthday today. We were going to have dinner Monday night, but—oh, well, it’s a long story. I’m more interested in hearing what else Bob has to say about Darcy.”
“What about her?” he asked warily.
“I’m assuming Darcy was an old flame. How did you two get reacquainted?” Tricia asked.
“At a meeting of Chamber of Commerce presidents. It was held in Nashua back in February. Darcy was the hostess at the restaurant. We had a few drinks after t
he meeting, and I . . . kind of drove her home.”
“How does one kind of drive someone home?” Angelica asked pointedly.
“And then what happened?” Tricia asked.
“We had a few more drinks and talked and . . . then I woke up in her bed the next morning,” Bob admitted sheepishly.
“Fancy that,” Angelica said.
“I was so hungover, I don’t even know if we . . . you know.”
“Had sex?” Angelica supplied.
Bob wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“How did Darcy come to work for Angelica?” Tricia asked.
“I must have told her Booked for Lunch was looking for a waitress.”
“Did you tell her about us at the same time?” Angelica asked.
“I . . . don’t know.”
“Surely there were plenty of waitressing jobs in Nashua at the time,” Grace suggested.
“Darcy told me she had another job working evenings,” Tricia said, “but she needed the money. To pay off gambling debts, perhaps?”
Bob shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did she hit you up for money?” Angelica asked.
Bob squirmed. “Not exactly—at least not at first. She said she was more interested in reestablishing a relationship. I told her I wasn’t interested. I told her that you and I were a couple, but she hounded me anyway.”
“And, of course, you succumbed to her charms; after all, you’re just a weak man,” Angelica said with scorn.
“I did not sleep with that woman!” Bob declared.
“Haven’t we heard that before? And just what did you do instead of sleeping with her?” Angelica wanted to know.
“I kept a low profile,” Bob explained. “She was forty-one and she wanted to get married to somebody—anybody! When I made it clear I wasn’t interested in her, she set her sights on Jim Roth.”
“Jake said she knew Jim after taking smoke breaks at the same time he did,” Tricia said.
“She started showing up at his Gamblers Anonymous meetings, too,” Bob said. “That was after she saw his house and his business. She figured he was a successful businessman.”
“And when she found out the truth?” Tricia asked.
“Let’s just say she didn’t take the news well. She was angry with me for rebuffing her advances, and she was angry with Jim when she found out he was seeing someone else.”
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