Poisoned Pages

by Lorna Barrett

  “She’s no good for the village. She cost us the title of Safest Village in New Hampshire, and she caused my fiancée’s injury back in January when we were on that author cruise. Everything she touches is jinxed. Everywhere she goes, trouble follows.”

  That old blowhard—spreading lies far and wide. At least Tricia had been able to get Mary to stop.

  Bev approached with a tray that held her drink and a small bowl. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks. Do you have a minute?”

  “A few seconds,” Bev said, her gaze raking over the crowd in case someone wanted another drink.

  “How long has Chauncey been here talking me down?”

  Bev frowned. “About twenty minutes. As you can see, no one’s interested in what he’s got to say.”

  “Yes, but unfortunately he keeps on saying it.”

  “Want me to call Shawn out to make him shut up?”

  Tricia shook her head. She didn’t need to look like a poor sport, even if it was to people who probably had no interest in the Chamber election or even knew her name.

  Someone signaled Bev. “Duty calls.”

  Tricia nodded and watched her go. Then she reached for one of the chips and heard a whimper from beneath her cloak. “Shhh!” she told Sarge, who was a warm little bundle of fur stretched across her lap. She looked around, then snuck him a chip. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Angelica,” she whispered, relatively sure that their secret was safe from her sister.

  Tricia sipped her drink and tried not to listen to Chauncey prattle on and on, but his booming voice seemed to cut through the rest of the patrons’ quiet discussions.

  “Yessiree, when I’m the new president of the Chamber of Commerce, things will be different around here.”

  Did he think the job would entail enacting new laws?

  “I’m going to bring back prosperity!”

  Actually, Nigela Ricita Associates had almost single-handedly done that, which made Tricia feel terribly proud of her sister.

  “Stoneham will be the star of Southern New Hampshire.”

  And was he going to pull off world peace and cure cancer, too?

  Tricia snuck another chip under her cloak, encountering a little dry nose.

  “I’ll show him tomorrow,” she whispered to Sarge, and crossed her fingers.

  Tricia continued to sip her drink, share her chips, and wish Chauncey would Just. Shut. Up. After about ten minutes of this abuse, her ringtone sounded. She pulled her phone out of her cloak’s pocket, punched the talk icon, and answered, “Hello.”

  “You can come back now,” Antonio said. “We wouldn’t want you—or Sarge—to get frostbite.”

  “Thank you,” Tricia said, although after sitting in the cozy bar, she was anything but cold. She signaled Bev and paid her tab. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Tricia. And—good night to you, too, Sarge.”

  Tricia frowned. She thought she’d pulled off the old disappearing dog act.

  By the time she and Sarge made it up the stairs to Angelica’s apartment, Antonio was at the door ready to leave. He kissed Angelica on the cheek and they embraced one last time.

  “We will talk again tomorrow, Madre.”

  Angelica nodded and watched him until he reached the bottom of the stairs and closed the door to the shop behind him.

  “Are you okay?” Tricia asked.

  Angelica rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. “Yes. Much better.” Then her mouth trembled. “For the first time in my life I can say it aloud. I’m a mother.”

  Tricia laughed. “Yeah, I guess you are.” Then she reached over and hugged her sister. “How about another drink? I never got to finish my martini.”

  “I could sure use one,” Angelica said wearily. “But I’m too exhausted for spirits. How about a glass of wine?”

  Tricia hung up her cloak and went back to the kitchen, where she took two fresh glasses down from the cupboard. Grabbing the opened bottle from the fridge, she poured for both of them and handed one glass to her sister. They clinked the rims and sipped.

  “So, what happens next?” Tricia asked.

  “I guess I have to go see Chief Baker. Antonio said he’d come with me.”

  “Do you want me to come, too?”

  “No. I’ve already involved you in far too much. I agreed to speak to the chief after the Chamber meeting tomorrow morning, although I’ve been thinking—I’d really rather not go to the police station. Do you think Grant would meet us at some neutral location? Like maybe the Brookview?”

  “I’m sure he would. Would you like me to arrange it?”

  Angelica nodded, wiping her bloodshot eyes with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She sipped her wine. It was far too late to think about making dinner. “Is there any pizza left from last week?”

  Angelica offered a wan smile. “Not a chance.”

  “I thought maybe you’d frozen the leftovers. Okay, then let’s order one.”

  Angelica nodded. “And let’s get the works.”

  “Okay, but no anchovies.”

  “Anchovies are good for you. Full of fish oil.”

  “It’s a deal breaker,” Tricia said.

  “Oh, all right,” Angelica acquiesced, but the barest hint of a smile graced her lips. Things weren’t perfect—not by any means—but they just might improve.

  Tricia crossed her fingers and hoped with all her heart.

  *

  • • •

  After a day filled with so much turmoil, it wasn’t surprising that Tricia had a hard time falling asleep. Angelica had calmed down and looked absolutely exhausted when Tricia left her apartment at close to eleven o’clock, and she was grateful that Chief Baker had answered her call shortly after, agreeing to meet with Angelica and Antonio at the Brookview the next morning. With her work over for the day, Tricia finally turned in for the night, intending to read for only a couple of minutes.

  That was the plan, at least. Unfortunately, she’d closed her book and turned the light off at least three times, and still sleep wouldn’t come. She wondered if she should get up and make herself a mug of hot milk and Ovaltine. Her grandmother had made that for her when she was a child. It always seemed to do the trick. But she was feeling lazy and lay there, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to drift off to Neverland when she heard the sound.

  At first, she wasn’t sure just what it was. Stones pelting the brick wall below her bedroom window? Throwing back the covers, Tricia got out of bed and padded to the window overlooking the alley. She peeked through the blinds and saw the silhouette of a man below—and yes, he was throwing rocks at her building, but lower than her window—like he was aiming to break the glass on the big lamp in the alley outside of her shop that had caused her injury some five days before. It had only just been replaced.

  Anger drove her to savagely yank the cord on the blinds, and then throw open the window. “Hey!” she hollered.

  For a moment, the silhouetted man just stood there, looking up at her, and then he turned and ran.

  “Stop! I’m calling the police!”

  But, of course, he just took off down the alley heading north.

  Not bothering to shut the window, Tricia flew across the room and grabbed the phone on her nightstand, punching in 9-1-1.

  “I want to report a vandal!” she announced in no uncertain terms once the call was answered.

  But, as there was no actual damage to her home, she was told she couldn’t file a report for that, though trespassing was a possibility. She could come in the next morning to file a complaint. In the meantime, they would have the officer on patrol drive down the alley several times during the night.

  Tricia wasn’t happy.

  Crossing the room, she closed the window and blinds—and shivered in the now-cold room. Then she climbed back into her bed and yanked the covers up to her chin.

  So, the vandal was a man.

  She tried to remember exactly what she’d seen, and her
anger flared. Although the man’s face had been in shadows, she thought she knew without a doubt who had tried to inflict the damage.

  Russ Smith.

  She had a suspect, but with nothing in the way of proof, was Baker liable to take her claim seriously?

  She doubted that.

  It was a long—a very long—time before Tricia finally dropped off to sleep.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  In the grand scheme of things, Tricia would never have thought the Chamber of Commerce election would have brought out such a high level of anticipation within her. But as she drove to the Brookview Inn the next morning, she found herself feeling as nervous as she’d felt on her wedding day way too many years before. Should she win, it wouldn’t be as life-altering an event as holy wedlock, but at this time of her life, it was almost as exciting. Or had her life become so dull that anticipating the possibility of a new dimension held such appeal?

  That enthusiasm waned considerably when she got in her car, turned the key, and nothing happened. Nothing. Not a thing. Just what she needed on that of all days. But then she remembered what Ginny had told her days before.

  Getting out of the car, she walked to the back of the vehicle and crouched down. Sure enough, a medium-sized russet potato had been stuffed into her Lexus’s tailpipe. Unfortunately, steadying herself with her left hand sent her stitches into red-alert mode while she tugged on the tuber with her right hand. What she needed was something to help her pry the vegetable out. Should she go all the way back to her apartment to obtain a knife, or would the metal nail file in her purse do the trick?

  It took some doing, and gouging the spud bent the file to an almost forty-five-degree angle, but she was able to pull it out without breaking the file. She bent it back into position and walked over to a nearby trash can to toss the potato, then got back in her car, which thankfully started right up, and off she went.

  Angelica had already arrived at the inn, as evidenced by her car, parked in the farthest corner of the parking lot, and Tricia entered the inn through the back door. The lobby was tastefully decorated for Thanksgiving, as was the dining room. The inn was known for its fabulous holiday dinner, and she knew it had been booked solid since September.

  Tricia checked her cloak and stepped into the dining room, which was brimming with Chamber members. Far more were present than had attended the week before when the candidates for the Chamber presidency had been announced. Was it her promotional efforts or Mary’s phone calls disparaging her that had predicated the turnout? She guessed the voting outcome would reveal that answer.

  The Chamber’s receptionist, Mariana, stood by the door, handing out ballots and indicating the white linen–clad table just inside, where a big box with a slit in the top awaited and many pens stood erect in metal holders.

  “Hi, Tricia. Here’s a ballot. Please fill it out and put it in the box.”

  Tricia tried not to look at what her fellow members were checking as she added an X next to her own name and stuffed the ballot into the box before turning to take in the rest of the room. Once again the inn had provided a lavish continental breakfast spread, but Tricia found she was too nervous to partake of the Danish and other sweet rolls, settling instead on a cup of coffee—not that she needed the caffeine. Her nerves were already jangled enough. She caught Angelica’s eye and then crossed the room to join her.

  “Yes, I’m sure there’s precedent,” Angelica was telling Leona Ferguson, “but it’s something the next Chamber president will have to deal with. As of today, I’m a lame duck.”

  “Very well,” Leona said, and without even acknowledging Tricia, turned and walked away.

  “What’s her beef?” Tricia asked, and sipped her coffee.

  “She wants to change our charter and forgo the campaigning for Chamber president. She said she felt harassed by your e-mail and Mary’s phone calls on Chauncey’s behalf.”

  “One e-mail and one call?” Tricia asked, skeptically.

  “Apparently Mary called her several times.”

  That made sense. Tricia looked around and saw Mary sitting at one of the tables for eight, with Chauncey standing nearby boasting about his upcoming win. Mary looked bored, and Tricia could hardly blame her. Chauncey really was an incredible old gasbag.

  It was then that Tricia saw Marshall Cambridge. “Marshall said he’d be here today, and there he is.”

  Angelica turned to look. “A man of his word is to be appreciated.”

  Oh? Angelica hadn’t seemed as forgiving when Tricia had first told her she was going to meet the man socially.

  “I’m going over to say hello.”

  “Well, don’t be too long. I’m going to call the meeting to order in about ten minutes.”

  Tricia didn’t wait and started off to intercept her new friend. “I’m happy you were able to make it here this morning.”

  “I had to cast my vote for you, didn’t I?”

  She smiled. “I’m flattered.”

  He shrugged. “You’re the best person for the job. How’s the arm doing?”

  Tricia raised it just a little. “Much better. I’m probably going to ditch the sling tomorrow. If all’s well, the stitches will come out on Friday.” She noted he had no coffee and didn’t seem to have found a place to sit. “Did you have breakfast?”

  “I’m a ham and eggs kind of guy. I ate breakfast before I came here. There’re too many carbs on that buffet table.”

  “I must admit, I’m too nervous to eat.”

  “Eh, you’re a shoo-in,” he said rather cavalierly.

  Tricia shook her head. “I sure hope you’re right. Would you like to join my sister and me at our table?”

  “Would she mind?”

  “If she did, she’d never say so.”

  He smiled. “All right. Lead the way.”

  By the time they made it back to the table, Angelica was conversing with Toni Bennett. Tricia was glad she’d jotted down her ideas for recruiting a candy shop to come to the village to be part of her acceptance speech. Well, it wasn’t really a speech—just an outline—but it was in her purse and ready to be read as soon as the announcement was made. And if she wasn’t chosen as the next president … well, no one had to know it was there.

  They sat down at the table, and a nervous Tricia looked around the room, wondering which members she could count on to vote for her.

  Russ had arrived, looking just a little seedy in a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans, and seemed to be hanging around the buffet table, scarfing down sticky buns and drinking coffee rather than mingling with his potential constituents. He looked tired, too, no doubt from his nocturnal wanderings the night before. Tricia turned away, unable to stand the sight of him.

  Meanwhile, Chauncey seemed a bit red-faced as he lectured Boris Kozlov about some matter. Boris looked ready to bolt if given the chance.

  “So,” Marshall said, drawing Tricia’s attention back to him. “Sorry about canceling dinner last night. But we’re good to go for dinner tonight, right?”

  “As it turned out, my sister needed me, so I’m glad I was able to be there for her.”

  Marshall looked quizzical, but didn’t ask questions.

  “Where are we going?” Tricia asked.

  “A country club just outside of Nashua. I figured since there was just too much gossip after our Sunday lunch here in the village that it might be nice to go someplace where we’d have a little anonymity.”

  “True enough. How else are people supposed to get to know each other? But we live in a small village, and that’s what happens; everybody seems to know everybody else’s business.”

  “The hazard of living here,” he agreed.

  “But there are a lot of nice things, too,” Tricia said. “The flowers along Main Street in the summer. The Wine and Jazz Festival last June was fun.” Except when someone tried to kill her. “The Dog-Eared Page is welcoming.” Except when someone spends the better part of an hour disparaging you, she thought. “And I do l
ove this inn. I’ve stayed here twice. The food is very good—and the staff is wonderful.”

  “You sound like you’re ready to be Chamber president.”

  “I hope so.”

  “But won’t that cramp your style?”

  “I don’t think so. I enjoyed volunteering for them after my store burned. I made a lot of new acquaintances.”

  “Not friends?”

  She shook her head, and her mouth drooped. “Acquaintances, but one never knows.”

  “As a matter of fact, you first met me at a Chamber meeting,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  They looked at each other and smiled. Tricia even felt a little flutter in her stomach, which hadn’t happened for quite some time. And yet … Marshall sold porn. She liked him, but that was an awfully big hurdle to overcome.

  The loudspeaker overhead issued a squawk as Angelica tested the sound system at the front of the room. “Testing, testing.” She tapped the microphone several times and seemed satisfied it was working correctly. “Attention, everyone!” She waited for those milling around the fringes of the room to quiet down and take their seats before speaking once again.

  “Welcome, Chamber members. I’m so pleased to see so many of you here today to choose your next leader. We have three very qualified candidates.” And here she looked right at Tricia and smiled. “And if you haven’t already done so, it’s now time to place your ballots into the box at the other end of the room. Mariana and Leona Ferguson will retreat to the conference room down the hall and will tabulate the results. It should only take five or ten minutes, and then we’ll announce the outcome. In the meantime, let’s polish off the wonderful breakfast the Brookview has set up for us. Thank you.”

  She switched off the mic and headed straight for the table where Tricia and Marshall were seated, looking exhausted.

  “Is everything okay?” Tricia asked.

  “As you know, I have other things to do this morning, and as soon as I can adjourn the meeting, I’m going to do so. I probably won’t be available for lunch today.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can handle it,” Tricia said. “And I’ve got dinner plans,” she reminded her sister, “but I want you to call me this afternoon.”