Poisoned Pages

by Lorna Barrett

  “Yes, but … I’ve come to rely on her. And it took months to replace Ginny. I wouldn’t look forward to doing that again.”

  “Which is why winter is the perfect time to try to find someone else. If they don’t work out—it wouldn’t be a hardship.”

  Tricia frowned, unhappy that she couldn’t refute Angelica’s logic except for one tiny thing. “If I win the Chamber election tomorrow, I’ll need her more than ever.”

  Angelica sighed. “All right. Then let’s make it contingent on what happens tomorrow. If you win, we won’t speak of this again—and I’m pretty sure you will win,” she said with authority. “But if you lose, then Pixie should be given an opportunity to do more with her life than just sell old mystery books.”

  When she put it that way, it made Tricia feel very selfish to even suggest the alternative.

  “All right. You win.”

  “No, an opportunity like this gives Pixie the chance to win.”

  Yes, but it was also just one more thing to feed the anxiety that seemed to be growing within Tricia.

  TWENTY-SIX

  It was after three when Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue and found that, despite a bulging cash register, there was no hint that the store had accommodated more than a dozen customers just hours before. The shelves were once again brimming with books, a fresh pot of coffee had been brewed, and the wastebasket full of customers’ discarded paper coffee cups had been emptied. Pixie and Mr. Everett had more than proved their worth once again.

  “Is everything okay?” Pixie asked once Tricia had hung up her cloak. “You seem kind of down.”

  Tricia forced a smile. “Just considering how many changes there’ll be to my life should I win the election tomorrow.” And just as many if she didn’t.

  “We’ll manage, won’t we, Mr. E?” Pixie asked cheerfully.

  “We certainly will,” he agreed, and even conjured up one of his rare smiles.

  Tricia nodded.

  Pixie grabbed a scrap of paper from the top of the cash desk. “I almost forgot. Antonio called while you were out. He wants you to call him back. He sounded kind of antsy.”

  Oh, dear.

  “Maybe I’d better call him from the office downstairs,” Tricia said, accepting the note.

  She headed for her office and sat down in her desk chair, picking up the phone with trepidation. She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to discuss, and she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation. She punched in the number on her cell phone. Antonio answered almost immediately.

  “Ah, Tricia. Thank you for getting back to me so soon.”

  “I take it you and Ginny have made a decision on what you want Angelica to do about her blackmailer.”

  “There can be only one decision. She must go to the polizia, if only for herself. We believe that is the best course of action, and I know you do, too.”

  “Yes, but—” She didn’t voice the rest of the thought. Angelica was going to be furious with her, no matter what Antonio said. But there was more at stake than just her relationship with her sister—especially when it came to Sofia’s safety.

  “When do you intend to speak with her?”

  “Tonight.”

  “What time?”

  “After I get out of work. It is my turn to pick up Sofia at day care. I will probably arrive at her home about seven.”

  “Okay, that’ll give me time to prepare her for what’s to come.”

  “You do not have to do that.”

  “I feel obligated to do so.”

  “Very well. Then I guess I will see you this evening?”

  “I’ll be there.” Unless Angelica shoves me down the stairs.

  “See you then,” Antonio said, and ended the call.

  Tricia hung up the phone, sat back in her chair, and let out a long breath. The idea of the impending conversation felt like just another brick on her already sagging shoulders.

  *

  • • •

  Unlike the early part of the day, the hours until closing seemed to drag, making the sense of dread Tricia felt seem even more debilitating. She’d gone over various conversational openings and hadn’t come up with one that she felt would quell Angelica’s anticipated ire. But she had come to one conclusion and wasn’t sure how she felt about it. No matter what, they were going to have a very difficult conversation.

  Tricia had donned her cloak and was ready to leave when the phone rang. The store was officially closed, but maybe it was one of the shoppers from earlier in the day. Mr. Everett had found a pair of gloves on one of the back shelves. Tricia answered the call on the third ring. “Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia.”

  “Hey, Trish. It’s Marshall.”

  Marshall? Good grief! She’d completely forgotten they had a dinner date. Now what was she supposed to do?

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our date tonight.”

  Thank goodness!

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, something’s come up and I’ve got an appointment with my attorney in half an hour. I’d cancel that, but I’ve been waiting two weeks to get in to see him to finalize a deal. Who knew the guy would be open to seeing me outside of regular hours?”

  Tricia gave a little laugh. “Who knew?”

  “Can I get a rain check?”

  “Of course.”

  “Great. But I’ll see you at the Chamber meeting tomorrow.”

  “Oh, you’re going to be there?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “All right. I’ll see you there.”

  “And, again, I’m really sorry to cancel on you at the last minute.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Tricia hung up the phone and let out a breath, grateful for the reprieve and wondering what kind of a deal would make Marshall so excited. Could it have something to do with the arrest Baker had mentioned? That didn’t seem likely. Perhaps she’d find a way to bring the subject up tomorrow at the Chamber meeting—or was that too public a place? Probably, but she had other things to think about just then.

  Tricia locked up and walked next door, still unsure how to approach the ensuing conversation. She let herself into the Cookery, like she had more than a thousand times before, and trudged up the stairs. Sarge barked happily, belying her melancholy, and she opened the door. “Good boy,” was all she could muster as she hung up her cloak and followed the deliriously happy dog through the apartment and into the kitchen.

  “There you are,” Angelica said cheerfully as she skewered two queen olives on a frill pick. “What a day I’ve had. I am so ready for this drink. How about you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Tricia muttered.

  Angelica set the olives in the stemmed glasses, poured the drinks, and handed one to Tricia. “Let’s drink to your victory tomorrow.”

  “Isn’t that a little premature?”

  “Nonsense. It’s the power of positive thinking.” They clinked glasses, and Tricia took a fortifying slug from hers.

  Angelica smiled, but then her expression changed to one of puzzlement. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you say you had a date tonight?”

  “Marshall canceled.”

  “Oh?”

  “He needed to see his attorney.”

  “After office hours?”

  Tricia nodded.

  “Did you believe him?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Angelica shook her head and took another sip of her drink. “Men!”

  But Tricia had other matters to attend to. She set her drink down, grabbed the little jammer from off the counter, and switched it on.

  “I have something to tell you, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “Oh?” Angelica asked, sounding wary—her cheerful mood immediately evaporated.

  “Antonio came to talk to me on Sunday afternoon just before dinner.”

  Angelica’s eyes widened—already blazing—an
d she seemed to gain an inch or more as she straightened to her heels-assisted full height. “And you told him?”

  “He’d already guessed. He just came to me to ask for confirmation.”

  “Why? Why did you talk to Antonio when I specifically asked you not to?” Angelica hollered, and Tricia sure hoped the jammer was doing its job. As far as Tricia could remember, her sister had never been so angry with her. Even as children, when they hadn’t gotten along, Angelica had never once raised her voice to Tricia.

  “If you recall, I never actually promised I wouldn’t speak to him about this.”

  Angelica’s glare could have started a five-alarm fire.

  “I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, and I could only come to one conclusion: you wanted me to tell him.”

  “Are you delusional?”

  “No, I’m not. Think about it. You kept secrets from me for decades. If you hadn’t wanted me to know, you would have kept the blackmail letters to yourself. You told me because you wanted Antonio to know. Maybe it was an unconscious decision, but in your heart you know it’s the truth.”

  Angelica looked away, her lower lip trembling.

  “But that’s not all that’s been going on. There’s something you haven’t told me, bigger than the blackmail, and much bigger than just being outed as Nigela Ricita. What is it?”

  Angelica turned away. “Oh, yeah—I’m going to tell you. You’d just run off to someone else and spill my secrets.”

  “Then I’m right—there is an even bigger secret you’ve been keeping.”

  Angelica wouldn’t look at her, but Tricia grabbed her arm, pulling her forward and forcing her sister to look at her. “What is it, Ange? What could possibly be so terrible that you’d risk so much?”

  And then suddenly it occurred to Tricia just what that secret might be.

  Was it worth saying the words aloud? Was it worth possibly alienating her sister forever?

  “You aren’t Antonio’s stepmother. You’re his birth mother, aren’t you?”

  Angelica’s head whipped around, her mouth dropping open in horror. “How could you say that? I’m much too young to have a child that old.”

  “No, you’re not,” Tricia countered.

  Angelica glared at Tricia, just as fiercely as before, but then her eyes filled with tears. She sagged, and Tricia grabbed her with her good arm, bracing her against the kitchen island before she could fall, and then plunking her onto a stool.

  It was then that Angelica began to cry. Not silent tears, but loud, wrenching sobs. Tricia bent down and wrapped her good arm around her sister’s shoulder.

  “Don’t cry, Ange. It’s nothing to cry about. You love Antonio, and you know he loves you.”

  “Yes, but his life is based on a lie. He would never trust me again if he knew the truth.”

  “Do Mother and Daddy know about this?”

  Angelica wiped her eyes and shook her head. “Just me. Everyone else who knew is dead.”

  “Who was Sofia—the woman Antonio thought was his mother?”

  “His father’s sister.”

  “So Rod Perry wasn’t his biological father?”

  “No. That rat bastard. I thought I could trust him. He promised when we married I could bring Antonio to live with us.”

  “But he did visit you from Italy. I remember Daddy telling me so.”

  “Yes, he came for six months, but he had no idea why he’d been brought here to live with people who were virtual strangers to him. Rod was horrible to him.”

  “Did he hit Antonio?” Tricia asked, appalled.

  “No, nothing like that. But he’d make snide remarks. Make fun of Antonio’s limited English. The poor kid was miserable. He wanted to go back to his home in Italy and be with the woman he thought was his mother.”

  “What about Sofia?”

  “She never married. She was content to play the madre role.”

  “But you kept visiting him. You kept supporting him.”

  Angelica nodded miserably. “Sofia concocted the story about her being his mother. She told him Rod was his biological father—that they’d had an affair. I let Antonio believe that.”

  “What did Antonio’s real father say about all this?”

  “Nothing. He died before Antonio was even born. A motorcycle accident. In those days, there were no helmet laws. The back wheel of his bike slid on a wet road.”

  “He was killed instantly?” Tricia asked, hoping it was true, but Angelica shook her head.

  “He died three days later. We were going to be married.” Her eyes filled with new tears, and she began to sob again. “He was the love of my life … until Antonio came along.”

  Had such a loss driven Angelica into a series of bad marriages and unhappy relationships?

  And now Tricia had to ask the hardest question of all. “Why did you leave him?”

  “Because I was twenty. I was stupid. I knew exactly what Mother would say if I came home from my year in Europe with a baby in my arms. She would’ve made my life miserable—told me I’d ruined it. Made me give him up.”

  “But you did give him up.”

  Angelica shook her head. “I stayed in touch. I bought his clothes. I paid for him to go to school. I’d go to Firenze every chance I got. I learned to speak fluent Italian.”

  “Antonio is grateful for everything you’ve done for him. He’s told me so many times. Why do you think he couldn’t accept the truth?”

  “Because I know I would never forgive our mother if she’d perpetrated such a lie.”

  As far as Tricia was concerned, their mother had done far worse by her treatment of Tricia after her infant twin brother had died.

  “I don’t think you give Antonio much credit.”

  Sarge suddenly let out a sharp yelp and bolted upright in his bed. Then he jumped out of it and ran toward the door that led to the stairwell, barking his doggy head off. Tricia knew she had locked the door to the Cookery after her when she’d arrived. She hadn’t known Antonio, too, had a key.

  Sure enough, Antonio entered, his coat damp with melted snowflakes, and again Sarge went berserk with happiness at the sight of another person who was sure to give him a biscuit. Antonio picked up the wiggling dog and allowed it to smother him with kisses. “Sarge, Sarge, calm down, ragazzino.”

  “Oh, no!” Angelica cried. “What is he doing here?”

  “I suspect he wants to help you deal with this blackmail plot in any way he can. He loves you. And he deserves to know the truth.”

  “I can’t tell him, I can’t—” But she didn’t have an opportunity to finish the sentence, because Antonio put Sarge down and walked down the corridor and into the kitchen. He stopped at the biscuit jar on the counter, tossed Sarge a treat, and then walked over to the island.

  Antonio looked down at Angelica, who still sat on the island stool, then bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Cara Matrigna, we have a lot to talk about.”

  Angelica said nothing as more silent tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  Antonio reached for her hand. “And the first thing you must know is that I know you are my madre. I have always known it.”

  Tricia winced, and Angelica burst into sobs once more.

  Tricia moved aside as Antonio bent down and wrapped his arms around his mother, letting her cry on his shoulder.

  Tricia looked away, embarrassed to intrude on their private moment. She saw Sarge sitting, head cocked, watching the human drama, and stooped to pick him up. “Sarge and I are going for a walk. We’ll be back in a little while,” she said, and marched out of the kitchen. She grabbed her cloak and Sarge’s leash and then quietly closed the apartment door behind her.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tricia wasn’t sure it was a good idea to take a prolonged walk along the empty streets of a village that was no longer identified as the “safest” in the state, but she figured with Sarge acting as a barking alarm, she could at least draw attention to herself should someone attack. Still, she confi
ned herself to Main Street, walking up and down the block. If she had to make a run for it, the Dog-Eared Page was open, and she knew she could find someone to help. But … not only was she being just a little paranoid, she was getting cold!

  Tricia picked Sarge up. “If you don’t want to freeze your little paws off, we can go inside. You’ve just got to hide under my cloak and be quiet. Got it?”

  Sarge looked up at her with inquisitive eyes. Well, if he made a noise, they’d just have to leave. She decided to take a chance.

  With Sarge tucked away, Tricia entered the Dog-Eared Page. The place was hopping, with the jukebox playing a jaunty tune with fiddles, bagpipes, and goodness only knew what else, while two couples played darts. There wasn’t an empty seat at the bar, where Chauncey Porter stood—his back to her—with what looked like a glass of ginger ale. As far as she knew, he was a teetotaler and had never set foot inside the pub before that night. He was regaling the others, who seemed to be looking anywhere but in his direction, or ignoring him altogether. He’d chosen the wrong crowd to pontificate to—Tricia didn’t see a single Chamber member in sight.

  The table nearest the door was empty—no doubt because of the draft every time someone came in—but that would be just perfect for her and Sarge. She slid into the booth and rearranged her cloak to ensure that the little dog wasn’t in danger of suffocating.

  Bev, the waitress, approached. “Tricia! Great to see you here at the Dog-Eared Page.”

  “I heard you love working here.”

  “I enjoyed my time at Booked for Lunch, but I really am loving it here. I’m a night person, so this suits me. What can I get you?”

  Back at Angelica’s, Tricia hadn’t finished her martini, but she had no idea when she was likely to have dinner, so she decided she’d order something simple. “How about a gin and tonic?”

  “A G and T it is,” Bev said. “Would you like some popcorn or chips to go with that?”

  “Chips, please.”

  “You got it.”

  Tricia watched as Bev put her order in at the bar, and then as the new bartender, Hoshi Tanaka, made her drink. And, of course, she couldn’t help but hear Chauncey bellow.