Joelle straightened her shoulders, her smile one of triumph. Tricia wondered if her next question would wipe the look from Joelle’s face.
“I understand you’ve recently suffered a loss,” Tricia began.
Joelle looked wary. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t mean to be nosy, but I understand you and Stan Berry were good friends.”
Joelle exhaled loudly, her lips a flat line of annoyance, or was it chagrin? “The past tense is correct. But we parted on good terms.”
“You were at the Brookview Inn the morning Stan was killed. Did you speak to him?”
“I believe we said hello to one another but that was the extent of our contact,” she answered stiffly.
“Do you mind if I ask why you were at the inn?”
Joelle bristled. “If you must know, I had to speak to Antonio. I’d finished the wedding reception’s seating chart and wanted to get his approval. Unfortunately, he was busy with the Chamber of Commerce breakfast. I hung around and waited, but I had another appointment, so I never did get to talk to him that morning.”
“Were you in the building when Stan was found dead?”
“No!” Joelle’s eyes widened in irritation. “Ms. Miles, I realize your life revolves around mysteries, but let me assure you that I harbor none.”
That seemed unlikely. The fact that Stan had been attracted to Joelle and had presumably bedded her, too, hovered in the realm of the impossible, and yet they had had some kind of oddball relationship. Could Joelle actually have a personality that she hadn’t shown to Tricia or Ginny? If she and Stan had been together for a year or more, she must have had some qualities other than organization that she showed to a minority of the people she interacted with.
The shop door opened, admitting a couple of potential customers.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll talk to Ginny, but I truly think she’ll be just fine,” Tricia said.
“I hope you’re right, Ms. Miles. And by the way, if you and Mr. Benson decide to retie the knot, I hope you’ll consider me to take care of the details. A woman as successful and career-oriented as yourself cannot afford to forsake her business when there’s another who can take on the details and plan the most recent happiest day of your life.”
“I honestly don’t think it’ll come to that.”
“Perhaps,” Joelle said, threw her head back, and sniffed. She pivoted and, without a word, stalked toward the exit. Her head was held so high, though, that she failed to see the door swing open and walked right into the customer who entered through it.
“Excuse me,” the man said, ruffled.
Joelle threw her head back further and exited the shop.
The man timidly entered the store, trying to look invisible.
Pixie abandoned the pretext of working and joined Tricia at the cash desk. “That dame is a ditz,” she declared. “And full of crap, too.”
Tricia shook her head. “Poor Ginny. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Joelle who was making her feel miserable about Nigela Ricita being a no-show at the wedding. It’s not like Ginny to act this way.”
“From what I’ve seen, Ginny is a stand-up chick. She’ll be fine. And everybody knows the honeymoon is way more enjoyable than the wedding, anyway.”
The comment made Tricia smile. Angelica had described her the same way just the day before. “Unfortunately Ginny has to wait a couple of months for that.”
“Hey, she’s got Mr. Eye-talian stud in her bed every night. That’s where the real fun is.”
Tricia wasn’t going to dignify that remark with a reply, but she nonetheless had to stifle a smile.
“And what about that ex-husband of yours? Is there a chance you two could get back together?”
“Perhaps. When hell freezes over,” Tricia added.
Pixie snorted with laughter. “So when do I get to meet him?”
“He seems to have talked to just about everyone in the village. I’m sure he’ll eventually show up here, too. He’s threatened to come visit Miss Marple.”
“Is he a hunk?” Pixie asked, waggling her rather bushy eyebrows.
Tricia thought about Christopher, who only seemed to get better looking with age. “I guess you could say so.”
“Yeah, but if he left and broke your heart, he must be a real jerk.”
Christopher, a jerk?
Maybe.
Tricia didn’t want to discuss him—and especially not with Pixie. “I find talking about the past very difficult.”
“I’m sorry,” Pixie apologized. “But you know, you’re a real nice person. I’m sure you’re gonna find Mr. Right one day.”
“Really?” Tricia asked, and then realized just what Pixie was saying. Had word gotten around the village that she and Baker had called it quits? She decided not to comment. And honestly, she wasn’t all that broken up about it. Right now she was more interested in finding happiness in the simple things of life. A nice meal, a good glass of wine, and spending time with her sister and friends. Maybe one day she’d consider Christopher her friend once again, but for now he was persona non grata.
“It’s time you and Mr. Everett went to lunch,” Tricia said.
Pixie looked up at the clock. “So it is. We’re snagging his missus and heading over to Milford and the Mexican joint. You want we should bring you back some enchiladas or quesadillas?”
Tricia thought about the fat content in both entrées and shook her head. Now if they’d been heading to the Indian restaurant in Merrimack, she could’ve rattled off any number of items she’d accept from the take-out menu—most of them low fat and vegetarian. “Maybe next time.”
Pixie nodded, content with that answer. “Come on, Mr. E. There’s a fajita with my name on it just waiting for me.”
Mr. Everett hurried to the back of the store, grabbed their coats, and joined the woman by the readers’ nook. “I wish you could join us, Ms. Miles. It’s a shame we can’t all have lunch together.”
“I promised we’d have brunch together soon. Let’s make it Sunday, if that’s okay with you, Pixie?”
“I’d love it. And as it’s my day off, I’d have time to shop here in Stoneham.”
“I’d enjoy it, too,” Mr. Everett said as he zipped his jacket.
“Then it’s settled,” Tricia said. “Enjoy your lunch!” she called as her employees headed out the door. Chances were, they’d be back late, but she didn’t mind. It was a blessing they got along so well.
As Tricia returned to the cash desk, she found Angelica’s bundles of rulers and the list of Chamber members she still needed to visit. It had been a while since she’d spoken to Chauncey Porter. This was one visit she was actually pleased to make, and she might as well fit in lunch, and a trip to the bank, on the outing, too.
That settled, she set it aside and looked around the empty shop before she picked up her copy of The Plague Court Murders and enjoyed the guilty pleasure of reading on the job.
And then the phone rang.
Tricia set her book aside and picked up the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia. How—?”
“Tricia, it’s Grant.”
Tricia closed her eyes and sighed. “I thought we’d said everything we needed to say yesterday.”
“I still have some questions for you about the investigation.”
“Couldn’t you assign one of your officers to ask?”
“I am the officer in charge of the investigation,” he said with an edge to his voice.
Tricia sighed again, hoping he not only heard it but got the message behind it. “When do you want me to come to the station?”
“I thought we could talk about it over lunch.”
“That sounds more like a date than an interrogation, and I thought I made it clear—”
“You made yourself perfectly clear. This is purely business. But we both have to eat and I will have to insist that you pay for your own meal.”
“Oh, all right. But Pixie and Mr. Everett ha
ve gone out to lunch and won’t be back for at least an hour—maybe more.”
“Then meet me at the Bookshelf Diner at two thirty. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Baker hung up and Tricia put the receiver back in its cradle with far more force than she had intended. She picked up her book, but the mood had been broken. Instead, she left the cash desk and headed for the beverage station, intending to give it a good scrub. That way she could work out her frustration before meeting Baker. Getting together for lunch didn’t seem like a very good idea. But on the off chance he might tell her something useful about the murder, she was willing to at least go through the motions. And she did need to eat.
Grabbing the antibacterial spray bottle, she squirted the counter and began to clean. Goodness knows, she didn’t have anything better to do.
*
Pixie and Mr. Everett returned to Haven’t Got a Clue earlier than Tricia had anticipated, and in great spirits. It turned out that Mr. Everett was a fine baritone and he and alto Pixie shared a love of holiday standards. They came in singing “Winter Wonderland” and were just starting a rousing chorus of “Jingle Bells” when a trio of customers arrived and thankfully ended their recital. But it did remind Tricia that she should dig out the Christmas CDs, and she sighed when she realized they’d be listening to them beginning on Black Friday straight through until Christmas Eve.
Tricia took that opportunity to run her errands before she met with Baker. Since the Armchair Tourist was closer than the bank, she went there first.
The bell over the door tinkled cheerfully as Tricia entered Chauncey’s store. Unlike other times when she’d visited, there were actually customers browsing the shelves, while Chauncey rang up a sale. Earlier that year, Chauncey feared he might be forced into bankruptcy, but since diversifying his product line, business had picked up. Tourists bought items they’d forgotten when packing, and the villagers who needed advice or travel supplies made the Armchair Tourist the first stop on their journey.
Tricia patiently waited until Chauncey had a few free moments to talk.
“What can I do for you today, Tricia?”
“Hi, Chauncey. Looks like business is booming.”
“It sure is,” he said with a grin. “Thanks to you.” He cocked his head and winked at her.
Tricia grimaced and shook her head, embarrassed. “Let’s not go there.”
“But I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness. If you hadn’t cosigned for the loan I took out from the Bank of Stoneham, I’d be living in my car right now, a victim of bankruptcy.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “You’ve already paid off the loan—and six months ahead of schedule, too.”
“If you and Angelica hadn’t advised me on how to maximize my business—”
Tricia shook her head. “Angelica gets full credit for that.” She was the one who’d encouraged Chauncey to branch out. Tricia had only helped him secure the loan to do it.
“I’m grateful to both of you. Now, what brings you to my fair shop this lovely day?”
Lovely? The sky was overcast, but Tricia envied his ability to see beyond the gloomy weather.
“I brought you these.” She withdrew a bundle of Angelica’s rulers from her coat pocket.
Chauncey took them from her, removed the rubber band, and laughed. “Angelica doesn’t need to bribe me to vote for her for Chamber president. I’d vote for her dog before I’d vote for that miserable skinflint Bob Kelly. The way he’s raised my rent year after year, I’d almost think he was trying to put me out of business.”
Tricia said nothing. She wasn’t about to bad-mouth Angelica’s opponent—at least not until after the election. If Angelica won, she hoped Bob would quietly fade into the woodwork, although she suspected that if he lost he’d become an even more painful thorn in Angelica’s side.
“Other than that, life seems to be treating you well these days. You look terrific,” Tricia said.
“And I feel great. My doctor took me off all my meds. I’m saving a small fortune because of it, which is how I paid off that loan so quickly. But even better, I’ve finally got a love life.”
Tricia fervently hoped he wasn’t going to go into intimate detail about his relationship with Eleanor. Chauncey must have read her mind, for he laughed.
“They say finding love late in life can be the sweetest, and I agree. I wish Eleanor and I had found each other a lot sooner. We’d have been happier and healthier much longer.”
“Then things are getting serious between you?”
Chauncey motioned her closer and lowered his voice. “I’m thinking about popping the question on Thanksgiving.”
“So soon?” The two had only been dating for five months.
“At our ages, why wait?”
Why, indeed.
“I know you won’t say a word. I want this to be a surprise. I’ve already picked out a ring and everything.”
“My lips are sealed,” Tricia promised.
“And I hear that you might soon have some good news?”
“Oh?” Tricia asked and couldn’t think of what he might be referring to.
“I met your ex-husband when he came into my shop yesterday.”
Tricia frowned, more than a little annoyed. “It seems he’s been making the rounds.”
“He said he’d moved to the White Mountains to be closer to you.”
“Did he really?” He seemed to have told plenty of people that—and before he’d said it to her.
“Yes. I thought it rather sweet.”
“That’s Christopher all right.” Sickeningly sweet.
The shop door opened, letting in a couple of customers. “I’d better get going. I’ve got another errand to run. See you at the Brookview on Wednesday for the election.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Chauncey said and gave her a wave as she exited the shop.
Damn Christopher. He had no business talking about her to her friends—and for him, mere strangers. Then again, that might be exactly what he wanted: an opportunity to engage her in conversation.
Tricia plunged ahead, fighting the north wind as she headed for the Bank of Stoneham. What was with the men in her life? Were they determined to drive her crazy? She had a feeling she might find the answer to part of that question when she met Grant Baker for lunch.
FIFTEEN
The Bookshelf Diner was located halfway between Haven’t Got a Clue and the Stoneham police station, which had made it a convenient place for Tricia to meet Chief Baker for lunch. As usual, she was the first to arrive. Since they both tended to order the same things off the menu, Tricia took it upon herself to order for both of them; a julienne salad for herself, and a cheeseburger and fries for Baker, hoping he would arrive before his order got cold. Tricia sipped coffee while she waited.
She was on her second cup when Baker finally arrived, a little out of breath. He sat across from her, without stopping to give her even the briefest of kisses.
“Did you jog all the way?” she asked.
“Just most of it. It’s my exercise for the day,” he said. “Did you order already?”
She nodded. “If I know you, you’ll eat and run. It can’t be good for the digestive process.”
“I don’t suppose it is,” he said and reached for his water glass to take a sip.
“Have you made any headway on the investigation?” Tricia asked, as though their conversation earlier that day hadn’t happened.
“Not yet. That’s why I want you to tell me once again everything you remember before and after you found Stan Berry dead. Every detail—no matter how small.”
Tricia sighed but granted his request. It was better than rehashing why their relationship would never progress. When finished, she asked, “I assume everyone you’ve talked to is sticking to his or her story?”
“So far,” he admitted. “Nearly everyone says they didn’t really know Stan Berry and had little to no personal contact with him. How on God’s earth did
Berry think he had a chance to win the Chamber election?”
“Maybe he figured a direct challenge might jolt Bob into paying more attention to what the members who aren’t located on Main Street might want or need, instead of just doing as he pleased.”
“Possibly. What about Angelica?” he asked.
“She wants to win but had nothing against Stan. By the way, how would you like a ruler for your desk?” Tricia pulled one out of her purse and handed it to him.
He studied it. “Thank you. I think.” He set the ruler on the table. “Why is Angelica wasting her time with a piddly organization like the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce, anyway?”
“She sees it as a learning experience—and as a chance to network. She wants to be the next Martha Stewart.”
“So she told me. Do you see Bob Kelly as a viable suspect in Berry’s death?”
At least he still respected her opinion on such matters. “Not a chance. He’s too arrogant to think someone could get more votes than him. And he’d never do anything that could get him thrown in the pokey.” At least she’d always believed that … until yesterday. Should she mention the incident at the municipal parking lot? She decided against it. For now.
“He tried to bribe you last spring. And he rigged the Chamber raffle for a free night at the Sheer Comfort Inn,” Baker reminded her.
Oops. Tricia had forgotten all about that. “Okay, so he’s fully capable of petty crime, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.”
“I’ve spoken with everyone who was at the Brookview Inn on Friday. It seems everyone has an alibi for the time of the murder. Each and every story has been corroborated.”
“Have you spoken to Joelle Morrison?” Tricia asked.
“She was seen in the Brookview lobby minutes before the victim was found, and the fact that she had recently ended a relationship with the deceased certainly has our attention, but at this point, she is not a person of interest.”
So, Baker knew about Joelle. Still …
“Oh, come on, Grant, a woman scorned? It’s the basis of many a murder mystery. Joelle had the motive, the opportunity, and—”
Not the Killing Type Page 15