Was it Baker getting back to Tricia about her bugging situation?
“Hello?”
“Tricia? It’s Marshall.”
“Oh. Uh, hello.”
“What are you doing tonight for dinner?” he asked, and Tricia turned to find Pixie and Mr. Everett trying to look innocent of any form of eavesdropping.
“I’m sorry. I’ve already made plans.” Did he think she’d been sitting by the phone just waiting for him to call?
“That’s too bad. How about tomorrow?”
“Uh, yes. I suppose. Where and when?”
“I can pick you up—or are you worried about making it home unscathed?”
She wasn’t sure if she was annoyed by the question. “No. But I am rather rusty at this.”
“So am I. Gives us something else to discuss over drinks, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“How’s six forty-five, and I’ll pick you up outside your store?”
“Okay.”
“Right. See you then.”
“Bye.”
Tricia hung up the phone.
“Somebody’s got a date,” Pixie sang.
“It’s just dinner. Food. Sustenance is required to support life.”
“Uh-huh,” Pixie said, not believing a word.
“Was that Mr. Cambridge?” Mr. Everett asked. She hadn’t told him who she’d had lunch with the day before, but it seemed the entire village already knew.
“Yes.”
Mr. Everett didn’t look happy—rather like a concerned parent or grandparent—but he said nothing. Pixie, on the other hand, looked elated. Before she’d met her husband, Fred, she’d gone for bad boys, and to the village at large, Marshall had just that reputation.
Tricia glanced at the clock. One minute to six. “Time to close.”
“I’ll get our stuff,” Pixie said, and headed to the back of the store at a fast clip, returning with their coats, scarves, and hats. They donned them quickly and headed for the door. “Good night!”
Tricia waved good-bye to her employees and locked up, giving Miss Marple a snack before leaving for Angelica’s and dinner.
She made it up the long flight of stairs to Angelica’s third-floor apartment to the accompaniment of Sarge’s excited barking from within.
“Yes, yes! It’s good to see you, too,” Tricia said as she walked through the door. Much as she loved Miss Marple, there was something about a dog’s greeting that never ceased to make her smile. “Biscuit!” she called, and Sarge went flying off in the direction of the kitchen while Tricia hung up her cloak and removed the bug finder from her slacks pocket.
“Hello!” Angelica called.
Tricia entered the kitchen just as her sister was pouring their first martinis. “Just what I need.”
But Sarge was not to be ignored and continued to bark.
“Hush!” Angelica commanded, and the dog went silent. Tricia tossed him a dog biscuit, and he happily retreated to his kitchen bed to eat it.
“I brought some deviled eggs back from Booked for Lunch. I thought they’d be a nice appetizer,” Angelica said.
“Yeah,” Tricia said, noncommittally.
“Don’t sound so bored—I made these myself. They’ve got a wonderful little kick.”
“Did you add gin?”
“No. Just wait.”
“Speaking of waiting,” Tricia said, and brandished the bug finder, then held a finger up to her lips to warn her sister from saying anything she might not want overheard. Angelica nodded.
“Let me get those eggs out.”
Tricia nodded and switched on the device. She took a step forward, and the little gadget let out a squeal. She quickly turned it off and bent down. Sure enough, under the lip of the granite counter was another one of the little round listening devices.
Angelica’s lighthearted smile immediately evaporated.
“Do you mind if I borrow your bathroom?”
“Sure; go ahead,” Angelica said.
Tricia signaled that she was going to do a circuit around the apartment to look for more of the offensive little contraptions. The living room was clear, as was the bathroom, but she found two of the little buggers in Angelica’s bedroom: one under the nightstand where her telephone resided, and another on the underside of the bed frame. How tacky!
Tricia made a show of flushing the toilet and then running the sink, in case Angelica’s listener had tuned in.
Upon returning to the kitchen, she removed a sheet of paper from the pad that was stuck to the fridge via a magnet and wrote a quick message.
Three bugs in all. Two in the bedroom. Night table and bed.
Angelica’s mouth opened in horror, but Tricia silently hushed her again.
We’d better be very careful what we say. Grant said not to disturb them. He’ll get back to me soon—she hoped—with instructions on what to do.
Angelica nodded, but didn’t look mollified.
“Where’s that drink?” Tricia said, and Angelica handed it to her. She took a sip and had an idea. “Why don’t we go sit in the living room and relax a bit before supper.” She pointed to the kitchen’s bug and then the jammer.
Angelica nodded in understanding. “Sounds heavenly. You take your drink, and I’ll bring the rest of the stuff.”
But before Tricia left the kitchen, she switched on the jammer. Still, neither of them spoke until they were far from the kitchen island.
Angelica set the small platter of egg halves on the coffee table and sat down on the couch, while Tricia took the adjacent chair. “Having a bug sure curtails spontaneous conversation,” she complained.
“I agree, but better safe than sorry.”
“Do you think you’ll hear from Chief Baker tomorrow about those nasty little contraptions?”
“I hope so.”
“What do you think having three of them in my apartment means?” Angelica asked. “It kind of blows your theory about you being the target.”
“Not necessarily. Just about everybody knows I spend more evenings here with you than at my own place. And it’s you who’s been telling anyone who’ll listen that I was your heir apparent to the job of Chamber presidency.”
Angelica nodded and reached for a deviled egg. “But why my bedroom?”
Tricia shrugged. “Have any strangers been up here lately?”
Angelica looked thoughtful and took a bite of her egg, then moaned in ecstasy. “God, that’s good.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Just our little family. Although … come to think of it, I did have someone in to look at the fridge.”
“A repairman?”
“One of the guys from the Brookview. Antonio sent him. I thought the back might be clogged with dog hair, but he said I should consider getting either a new gasket for the freezer or a whole new fridge. He thought the gasket was the better solution. I have had a few things freeze on me.” She ate the rest of her egg.
“What do you think?”
Angelica chewed and swallowed. “A gasket would be easier than hauling this monster down the stairs and another one up. I’ll save that for when I do my remodel in the spring.”
“Do you think he could have planted a bug?”
Angelica looked uncomfortable. “I did let him use my john.”
“We should ask Antonio about him.”
“Will do,” Angelica agreed.
“Anyone else?”
“Jim Stark and one of his helpers, about a week ago—just before your party. That’s when I asked him for a quote for my proposed remodel. He and the other guy traipsed through the whole apartment, and down in my storeroom. Do you think he’s a possibility?”
“Jim and I haven’t always gotten along, but he seems okay. Did you recognize his helper?”
“Why would I?” Angelica asked.
“Maybe he was the one who planted the bug.” Tricia reached for one of the eggs and took a bite—immediately surprised by the sharp tang of horseradish. She coughed. “Wow!”
“I
did warn you they had a kick,” Angelica said, and took another. When she finished it, she picked up her glass and took a sip before speaking once again. “All this talk of bugs and conspiracy is freaking me out. Let’s drop it.”
“Agreed.”
“Did anything else happen today?”
“Pixie made a video as a last-ditch campaign promotion.”
“Really?”
“Here, I’ll show it to you.”
Tricia pulled out her phone, tapped the appropriate icons, and handed it to Angelica, who watched, enraptured. “It’s wonderful!” she cried, delighted. “The production values aren’t spectacular, but for your purposes, I think it’s just darling.”
Tricia smiled. “Pixie thought we should sleep on it in case we wanted to make any changes before sending it out in an e-mail blast to the Chamber members tomorrow, but I think it’s perfect as is.”
“Pixie is certainly surprising me with all her creativity and experience. I’m beginning to think she’s too good to be just a salesclerk.”
“Don’t you dare think about poaching her from me.”
“If I could find the appropriate place for her in Nigela Ricita Associates, would you really deny her the opportunity of advancement?”
Tricia’s shoulders slumped. “Not when you put it that way. But that would be two people you’ve grabbed from my store.”
“Can I help it if you excel at nurturing talent that fits in with my business plans?”
“What kind of a job would you offer her?”
“I have no idea. But I’m sure I could find something better for her to do than sell old books.”
“Would you do the same for Frannie?”
Angelica’s enthusiasm waned. “Mmm … probably not.”
“Why? I thought that you were very happy with her work.”
“I was—I mean, I am. But she doesn’t show a lot of initiative. She doesn’t have that spark of someone who really cares about her job.”
“After four years behind a register, she’s probably bored out of her mind.”
“You’re right. I should try to think of other things for her to do … it’s just other women to whom I’ve given a chance have been proactive about their jobs. Ginny is my star, but even Bev has stepped up her game now that she’s moved to the Dog-Eared Page. She’s like a new person, and she told me she loves going into work every night.”
“Couldn’t you find a clerical job for Frannie?”
“I’m not sure she’d want to go back to that kind of work.”
“Why don’t you ask?”
“Maybe I will.” Angelica polished off her martini. “Is anything else new?”
Tricia sighed, wondering if she should admit she’d made another date with Marshall. But then, Angelica would have to know that she was unavailable for dinner the next night anyway. “Yes. I’m having dinner with Marshall tomorrow night, so I won’t be available.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Okay?” Tricia asked.
“I figured you two would probably go out again.”
“Yes, but—I thought you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No?”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Tricia had no answer.
“Where are you going?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Then let’s hope it’ll be a nice surprise.”
Angelica got up and headed for the kitchen. Tricia followed. “We’d better not—” And she pointed to the counter and the bug.
Angelica nodded.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” Tricia asked, and tripped the switch on the jammer, turning it off.
“Pork medallions with a balsamic honey glaze; another fabulous recipe from my first cookbook,” she said in the vicinity of the bug. What was she doing—making a commercial for their listener?
“Sounds heavenly.”
“But first I need another drink,” Angelica said, and glared at the edge of the island where the bug lurked below.
“Me, too.”
“You pour, and I’ll start dinner,” Angelica said.
Tricia did just that. But the fact that someone, somewhere nearby, was tuning in to their every word was inhibiting.
She hoped Chief Baker would have something to tell them in the morning that would be the start of the end of being surveilled by an unfriendly entity.
TWENTY-FOUR
For the first time in what seemed like ages, Tricia had a good night’s sleep. Her arm didn’t hurt as badly, and the video going out and the dinner with Marshall were things she had to look forward to. She treated herself to a big bowl of oatmeal, laced with raisins and walnuts, and instead of coffee, made a mug of tea and enjoyed it when she went to the basement to fire up the computer for the day. After going through her e-mail and reading the day’s headlines on the Internet, she prepared the promotional e-mail to go out to the Chamber members later that morning.
Miss Marple seemed eager to go to the shop and start her hard labor of sleeping soundly for most of the day, so they headed back up the stairs to the shop a little early, which gave Tricia plenty of time to get the beverage station up and running. She even had time to sneak over to the Patisserie to get a treat for Pixie and Mr. Everett.
Donning her cloak, Tricia locked the store and briskly walked four doors down to the bakery. There seemed to be a lull, as there were no customers inside and no one stood behind the counter. “Hello!”
“Be there in a minute,” came Nikki’s voice from the back room.
Tricia examined the refrigerated glass cases filled with decadent sweets, breads, and savories, making the decision of what to get all that much harder. Mr. Everett loved raspberry thumbprint cookies, but Tricia was getting a little tired of them. They needed something different—and celebratory. Perhaps cupcakes? They were decorated with gorgeous lifelike roses in a multitude of colors, or topped with a mountain of white frosting and an avalanche of fluffy coconut, or with towers of rich, dark chocolate, for those with an extra-sweet tooth. Maybe she’d get a selection.
Nikki breezed through the saloon doors that separated the shop from the bakery itself. “Hello, Tricia,” she said in rather a snide tone—or perhaps Tricia had just imagined it.
“Hi.”
“What can I get you today? Another gross of thumbprints?”
No, her imagination was not at all involved. “Uh, is something wrong, Nikki?”
“Wrong? What could possibly be wrong?”
“You seem … a little angry?”
“Angry? Why should I be angry?”
“Let me guess. Because Russ is running for Chamber president and somehow you blame me?”
“Of course I blame you,” she snapped.
“Why?”
“Because he’s only doing it to keep you from having the job.” Which Tricia already knew.
“Do you think he’s got a chance of winning?” Since she hadn’t seen or heard of him actively campaigning, it was still more likely she’d prevail. That is, if the organization’s female members voted for her and the men split their votes between Russ and Chauncey—at least, that was her hope.
“Of course, he’s the only sane choice. You and Chauncey are both at the far end of the spectrum. Chauncey wants the Chamber to do nothing and you want them to do too much, which is asking a lot of those of us who are chained to our businesses.”
Nikki never lost an opportunity to drive home the point that she had wanted to be a stay-at-home mom and resented the fact her child had been placed in day care since six weeks after his birth.
“Did you talk about this before Russ threw his hat in the ring?”
“No.”
And that’s why she was so angry. But did she have to take it out on Tricia?
“Now, hurry up and order. I’ve got things to do in back.”
Tricia shook her head. “Sorry, but I think I’ve lost my appetite.” And without another word, she exited the shop.
The breeze was stiff and cold, blowing up and under her heavy wool cloak, and Tricia walked to the crosswalk, looked both ways, and traversed Main Street, heading for the Coffee Bean. She turned and saw that Nikki was watching her. Well, when you’re treated with rudeness, there’s no reason to support one business when another will be happy to serve. And Alexa was behind the counter, only too happy to sell Tricia some cupcakes that she had made just that morning. They weren’t as pretty as Nikki’s, but Tricia had a feeling eating them would be far more satisfying.
She returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, hung up her cloak, and was setting the cupcakes on a dish when Pixie breezed through the door in her big faux fur coat, carrying her purse and a large shopping bag.
“You brought the scrapbook?” Tricia asked by way of a greeting.
“You bet your booty,” Pixie said, and laughed. She set the bag on the reader’s nook coffee table and went in back to hang up her coat and don her Haven’t Got a Clue apron. Mr. Everett arrived just seconds later.
“Good morning,” he called, but his face looked careworn.
“I wasn’t expecting you in this early. Did you take Charlie to the vet?”
He nodded, looking sad. Pixie came up to stand in front of them.
“Something wrong, Mr. E?”
“It’s Charlie.” Tricia could tell it wasn’t going to be good news.
“Why don’t we all sit down,” she suggested. “Hang up your coat, and then we’ll have a cup of coffee. I got cupcakes for us.”
“Aw, that’s awfully sweet of you,” Pixie said, but she looked almost as downhearted as Mr. Everett.
When he returned, Mr. Everett took a seat, and Tricia passed around the coffee. “What did the vet say?”
“That Charlie has had a long life, and that we should enjoy him during his last days.” His voice broke, his lips trembling.
“Oh, Mr. Everett, I’m so sorry.” Tricia reached across the table to rest her hand on top of his. His fingers curled around hers ever so gently.
“Did she talk about putting the little guy to sleep?” Pixie asked, and seemed to cringe as the words left her lips.
Mr. Everett shook his head. “No. She doesn’t think Charlie is in any pain, just … tired.”
“Did she tell you how long he’s got?” Pixie asked.
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