“The polizia should be called.”
“I know. I’ve tried to talk her into it, but she won’t listen.”
“She will listen to me. And we will take steps to protect Sofia, even if we must leave the village to do that.”
“Oh, no! She couldn’t bear to be apart from the three of you.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“I don’t know.”
“How much has she paid?”
“Five thousand. And now the blackmailer is demanding she pay more on a weekly basis. She’s got a lot of money, but nobody can pay forever.”
“She should never have made one payment. She should have immediately gone to the polizia,” he said testily.
“She wanted to keep your family safe. And for that, you can’t be angry.”
Antonio let out a long breath. “I suppose you’re right.”
“What will you do now?” Tricia asked.
“I must speak to Ginny before I can do anything. We will make a decision together. But I want you to know that I will not allow her to be upset with you. You have been a good sister, and you only have her—and our—best interests at heart.”
Just like Angelica. But if that was so, why did Tricia feel so guilty?
*
• • •
The atmosphere at the weekly family dinner was tense, and everybody seemed to sense there was something amiss, as evidenced by the awkward silences, rigid smiles, and a serious lack of appetite on everyone’s part despite the wonderful meal Angelica had prepared. Sofia’s golden laugh as she chased Miss Marple around the apartment was the only highlight of the evening.
The gathering ended earlier than usual. Angelica waved away offers of help to clean up, and the guests all departed. Then she, impeded by Tricia, rinsed the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, and washed the pots. Once that was accomplished, Angelica poured another two glasses of wine and the sisters sat by the window that overlooked Main Street, watching snowflakes whirl outside.
“That was a wonderful roast,” Tricia said.
“We’ll be eating leftovers for days,” Angelica lamented. “Do you like hash?”
“I bet I would if you made it,” Tricia said, and offered her sister a smile.
That evening, Angelica seemed incapable of a reciprocal expression. Tricia’s guilt rose as she thought about her conversation with Antonio, but she was determined not to talk about it.
Angelica sipped her wine, her gaze focused outside the window, staring at the cloudy sky above, when she looked up sharply. “With everything that went on today, I completely forgot to ask you about your date with Marshall Cambridge.”
“It was not a date. It was lunch.”
“Lunch? I thought you said you were going to have coffee only.”
“It was after one. I was hungry. A girl’s gotta eat, you know.”
“So what kind of a pig is he?”
“Ange, it’s not like you to say things like that.”
“You like him?” Angelica accused, sounding incredulous.
“Much to my surprise, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because, like you—I originally judged him by what he sells.”
“I’d say that was pretty good criteria.”
“I admit, I don’t approve of porn. It’s distasteful; it demeans women. But the more we talked, the more I kind of liked him.”
Angelica looked skeptical.
“He isn’t even into porn; he likes to read true crime, which he also sells. He actually wanted to pump me for information on my experiences with local deaths.”
“Including Ted Harper?”
Tricia shook her head. “We barely spoke about him. And after a while, we just talked. And ate lunch,” she added as an afterthought. “Maybe he’s a little odd, but I think in spite of what he sells, he may have a modicum of decency.” Tricia changed the subject. “Have you heard from your blackmailer again?”
Angelica’s expression soured. “Of course not. It’s Sunday. Those letters come through the US mail.”
Antonio might call or show up at any time, and Tricia needed to try one more time to get her sister to face the inevitable. “You know, Grant could probably get a DNA sample from the envelopes.”
“Yeah, and in six months or a year he’d finally hear from the backed-up state criminal lab. I know how these things really go. And besides, a damp cloth will seal an envelope just as well as a wet tongue.”
“You’re making excuses.”
“Did you hear Sofia laugh this evening? Did you really listen? The idea of never hearing her laugh again would kill me. And if it was my fault she was hurt or killed—I’d kill myself.”
“Oh, Ange. Don’t even talk like that.”
“I mean it.” From the fire in her eyes, Tricia believed her.
“You should talk to Antonio about this.”
“Absolutely not. And don’t you, either,” Angelica commanded.
Tricia didn’t promise, because she’d already done the deed.
Angelica drained her glass and stood. “I need to get home and feed my dog.” She retrieved her coat, dipping into the pocket to capture her keys. “I have meetings in the morning, but I’ll be back well before lunchtime and see you at the café at the usual time, right?”
“Okay.”
Tricia stood and, on impulse, pulled her sister into a hug. “It’s got to get better,” she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.
Angelica sighed. “I sure hope you’re right.”
*
• • •
Tricia followed Angelica downstairs, locked Haven’t Got a Clue, and set the security system, then ventured back up to her apartment, where she found Miss Marple patiently waiting behind the door.
“Did Sofia terrorize you tonight?” she asked as she bent down to pet her cat. Miss Marple rubbed her head against Tricia’s legs, purring happily.
“I suppose you’d like a kitty snack as a reward.”
“Yow!” the cat answered enthusiastically. She didn’t have a huge vocabulary, but Miss Marple sure knew that term.
“Just a small one. I don’t want to spoil your dinner,” Tricia said, and led the way to the kitchen. She opened the cupboard door, picked up the package, and then shook a few of the little pillow-shaped morsels into the waiting bowl. Miss Marple dug in, and Tricia sniffed the bag and shuddered, unable to see the appeal. She put the package away and wandered back into the living room, restless. About then she needed a comfort read. She paused in front of the temperature-and-light-controlled cabinet where her most valuable vintage mysteries were stored. Of course, she had duplicates of the tomes that she could actually handle and read, but sometimes she just wanted to take them out, flip through the fragile pages, and sniff the binding. There was nothing like the smell of a good book.
But instead she wandered around the apartment, ending up by the windows that overlooked the street where the snow still swirled.
Miss Marple hopped onto the top of the washstand beside her. “Yow!”
“You know better than to jump up there.”
Miss Marple sashayed across the marble top, her tail flicking back and forth.
“Get down right now,” Tricia ordered, but the cat was obstinate.
Tricia sighed. Her cat was seldom bad. Of course, she had no idea if Miss Marple stomped across the counters and breakfast bar when Tricia wasn’t nearby to scold her, but she seldom had to reprimand her furry companion.
“Please get down now!” she said more firmly.
Miss Marple sat down and said, “Yow!”—and rather defiantly, at that.
“Now!” Tricia said again.
Miss Marple stood and batted at a pen that someone had put on the table. Plop! It landed on the newly sanded hardwood floor.
“You’re being very naughty,” Tricia told the cat.
Miss Marple pawed at the tiny crystal bud vase at the back of the stand, and that was when Tricia turned. “No you don’t,” she said, and made a dive to catch th
e glass before it could shatter on the floor.
“You’re a bad kitty,” Tricia admonished, and she got down on hands and knees, crawling forward to retrieve the pen when she looked up and saw it—whatever it was. Something that looked like a small black disc that had been attached to the washstand’s back apron. “What the—?” she said, leaning in closer to examine the little round plastic object. Whatever it was, it didn’t belong there. She was about to reach for it to pluck it off when she thought better of it. Instead, she sat back on her heels and stared at the object.
It didn’t look like a camera. Some kind of recording device? Yes—she could believe that. But who would want to be listening in on her conversations?
She’d bought the washstand at the Antiques Emporium. Any number of people at the shop could have known she’d purchased the table. There’d been a number of vendors present stocking their booths when she’d purchased it. Could Toni have put it there? Or what if Russ or Chauncey had put it there? What would they hope to gain by recording her? Did either of them want the job of Chamber presidency that much that they’d stoop to eavesdropping on her to try and get something they could use against her? Neither of them had been in her apartment since the table had been delivered, but could they have paid one of the deliverymen to attach it either before it was delivered or before the men left her home?
Tricia swallowed, her body tensing with irritation that bordered on rage.
“Yow!” Miss Marple said, in what sounded like satisfaction, which was absurd. The cat couldn’t possibly have known the recording device was there. And now that Tricia knew about it, she wondered what she should do. Her first impulse was to yank it off and stomp on the offending thing, but that wouldn’t tell her who had placed it on the washstand in the first place.
“Yow,” Miss Marple said, and began to purr.
“You think you’re so cute,” Tricia said, and Miss Marple closed her eyes briefly and seemed to nod.
Tricia got to her feet and removed the cat from the washstand. “Come along, miss. You’re going to get what you deserve.”
Tricia took her cat into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, taking out the package of kitty snacks. This time she shook a generous amount into Miss Marple’s empty bowl, and the cat descended on them like she hadn’t eaten in a week, instead of just five minutes before. Tricia stood over her, watching, and thinking about her next move. Maybe she should take a picture of the offending article. Yes, she’d do that and then get on the computer to see if she could find the nasty little bug.
Retrieving her phone, she did just that, then sat down at her laptop and began her computer search.
Most of the recording devices displayed online were bigger and bulkier than the little snooper attached to the washstand, and Tricia was getting frustrated with her choice of keyword searches when she found it: the Whisper Ear 3200. Whoever had planted it had spent nearly two hundred dollars on the sound-activated device with a thirty-two-hour battery life. That “life” only passed by when the recorder was activated—which meant it could be viable for weeks, if not months. Her apartment was silent for most of the day and night. And the device could be controlled via a cell phone with a radius of almost a thousand yards. Did that mean someone had to be within that distance to listen to the device, or just to control it?
Tricia sat back and noticed that Miss Marple had joined her, sitting quietly at her feet. She was about to commend the cat for her detective work, but then thought better of it. Someone was listening to her every move—her every sound—making her feel self-conscious.
Okay, now that she knew she was being recorded, what should she do about it? Tell Chief Baker? That was an option. It was blatantly illegal to surreptitiously record someone—and whoever was doing it obviously didn’t care about legalities.
Tricia sat up straighter and entered a new query into the browser’s search field: how to tell if you’re being bugged.
Almost immediately the computer presented her with a website with advice on how to tell if there were spying devices in your home. As she read down the page, one of the questions made a shiver run down her spine: Are you the victim of a stalker?
Tricia wasn’t currently—at least that she knew of—but she had been stalked in the past, and by none other than Russ Smith.
He’d made no bones about the fact that he blamed her for the current unhappy state of his life. Could he really be petty enough to stalk her again?
Anything was possible. She hadn’t thought him capable of menacing her three years before, and yet he’d done it. She’d trusted him—until he proved untrustworthy. After he’d fallen for and married Nikki, she’d let her guard down. While she wouldn’t call them friends, she did think of him as an acquaintance she could trust. Obviously, that trust had been given far too freely.
Now the question was, what was she going to do about the situation?
TWENTY-ONE
Tricia suffered yet another troubled night of sleep. Not so her cat, who comfortably snoozed at the bottom of her bed. With orders not to get her arm wet, she did her best to give herself a sponge bath. Even after a couple of cups of coffee, Tricia still felt groggy when she left her apartment to descend the stairs to the bookshop below, with Miss Marple following in her wake.
She was early, and decided to get the coffee going before Pixie or Mr. Everett arrived. And she still didn’t know what she wanted to do about her discovery of the listening device under the washstand the evening before.
Truly, she had one real option: report it to Chief Baker. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that just yet. First, she wanted to talk it over with her sister. Angelica was respected and well-liked by a majority of the Chamber members. However, the fact that there was support for Chauncey’s bid to take her job meant that a minority of members—and Tricia hoped it was just that—had not been pleased with Angelica’s contributions to the association. More fool them.
But the plain fact was that Angelica was being blackmailed. Might she, too, be bugged?
On impulse, Tricia retrieved her cell phone from her slacks pocket and tapped Angelica’s name under her contacts list.
“Morning, Tricia,” Angelica said, more cheerful than she’d sounded the day before. “You’re calling early.” And obviously she hadn’t spoken to Antonio; otherwise Tricia was sure her sister’s greeting would have been anything but warm.
“Hi, Ange. I wanted to catch you before you took off for your meetings. I was wondering if we could break our routine and have lunch at the Brookview today.”
“Oh? Do you have something special to celebrate?”
“Not exactly.”
“What’s this all about?” Angelica asked, sounding intrigued.
“It’s a surprise.” Boy, was it.
“I like surprises … most of the time,” Angelica said cautiously.
Yeah, and this was a doozy.
“Okay. Only, I’ve got that meeting in Nashua with my fellow Chamber presidents. It’s my last one, and I can’t miss it. It won’t end until at least eleven thirty. But I can meet you at the inn by one.”
“Great. I’ll ask Mr. Everett and Pixie to switch lunchtimes with me. I’m sure they’ll be accommodating.”
“Fine.”
“By the way, I called around and found someone to replace all the bulbs that were broken over the weekend—or at least they’ll knock on each business owner’s door to ask permission before they do. I told them not to bother you—just to do it and send the invoice to me. He’ll show up sometime today.”
“Thanks for taking care of it.” Yes, one less thing to worry about.
“I’ll see you later at the inn. Toodles.”
Tricia hit the end-call icon and stared at her screen for a few moments, making the decision to postpone her chat with Baker—at least until she spoke with her sister. Of course, the Brookview was also treacherous territory, for Antonio’s office opened onto the main lobby. Still, it wasn’t likely to be bugged.
Next, Tri
cia went back to her computer and did a quick search to find out about jamming devices. Yes! They were available. No, they weren’t cheap. But she could get one in Nashua that very morning. In fact, maybe she’d get two of them—one for her and one for Angelica’s home—just in case.
With that decided, she pulled out her phone once more and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number for the Brookview’s front desk, but just before she tapped the call button, she decided perhaps it would be prudent to check out her store for listening devices. Since that would take longer than contacting the hotel, she decided to make her call. Two minutes later, she was crawling on her hands and knees as she looked for a camera or listening device. She found none, but that could simply mean she’d missed finding it—or them.
She had just finished her search when the shop door opened and Pixie breezed inside. “Good morning!”
“I sure hope so,” Tricia said, and looked at the clock. “I’ve got to run an errand. Are you okay with taking care of the store this morning? And I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you and Mr. Everett to again accommodate me for a different lunchtime today, as well.”
“Not a problem,” Pixie said, donning her Haven’t Got a Clue apron and tying it around her waist. “After all, once you’re Chamber president, we’ll both be taking on more responsibility.”
Tricia smiled. “Thank you. But let me remind you, it isn’t a done deal.”
Pixie positively grinned. “Yet!”
*
• • •
Driving with one arm impaired was a challenge, and even more so since snow flurries chased Tricia to and from Nashua, but she picked up the scramblers and another device and made it back to Haven’t Got a Clue in time for Mr. Everett to take his lunch. Pixie had no problem waiting a few extra minutes for her own lunch hour, and Tricia left in plenty of time to get to the inn by one.
The Brookview was all decked out for Thanksgiving, with pretty orange-and-gold-leafed garlands coiling around the massive columns on the big front porch.
A staff member escorted Tricia to the private dining room, and she ordered a couple of martinis before taking off her cloak to wait for Angelica. The wait wasn’t long—less than five minutes—before her sister arrived. During that time, Tricia had crawled around the room, looking under tables and chairs until she was satisfied that she and Angelica would have complete privacy.
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