“Not so far. According to Grant, everybody’s got an ironclad alibi.”
“Then it must have been a stranger who killed Stan. Antonio says a lot of people come into the inn from the dialysis center across the street. They drive their loved ones to Stoneham, and while the patient gets treatment, the relatives go to the inn for lunch or dinner, or for just a cup of coffee.”
“Grant didn’t mention anyone like that as a suspect, and he’s thorough. I’m sure he’s already checked that out.”
“Which means it had to be one of the Chamber members. Maybe even someone who’s coming to my wedding!” Ginny frowned. “Now my creep factor has risen another eight or nine notches.”
Bev arrived with their lunches and discreetly moved to tidy the café’s counter.
Ginny picked up her fork. “What do you think of Will Berry?”
“I hope you didn’t mind me bringing him to the rehearsal dinner the other night.”
Ginny shook her head. “The more the merrier. Besides, he’s kind of cute. Not nearly as handsome and marvelous as Antonio, mind you, but he must have no trouble getting dates.”
“He asked me out,” Tricia admitted.
Ginny leaned forward, her eyes widening in surprise. “You’re kidding. You’re old enough to be his—his …” She paused, as though realizing she was about to make a major faux pas. “His older sister.”
“Nice save,” Tricia said with a smile. “But you’re right. I told him I was seeing someone.”
“If Chief Baker hasn’t solved the murder by Saturday, does that mean you’ll have no date to bring to the wedding?”
Tricia sampled her tuna salad. “He says he’s made arrangements with his staff to insure he gets to come. But he’s blown me off so many times, I never get my hopes up. If he’s free, he’ll come. If he’s not, you’ll have paid for an extra dinner and I’ll have to apologize for him.” She wasn’t ready to tell Ginny the truth.
“Don’t worry about it. We already figured on a no-show number. Antonio says it happens with every wedding.”
“And what if you get more guests than sent in an RSVP?”
“Somebody has to eat tuna.” She looked at Tricia’s lunch and laughed. “Maybe that person will be you.”
“Thanks a lot.” Tricia sipped her coffee. “By the way, I spoke to Russ Smith yesterday. He’s a bit annoyed that, thanks to your popularity, his wedding to Nikki is getting short shrift when it comes to wedding guests.”
Ginny bristled. “It’s not our fault they chose the same wedding day as us, or that we got our invitations out earlier than they did. Although when I tried to order the wedding cake from the Patisserie, Nikki was downright rude to me. So much for trying to patronize local businesses. The Milford bakery was very happy to take my order.”
“Poor Nikki.”
“Poor Nikki?” Ginny echoed. “What about poor me?”
“First of all, you’ve got Antonio. Nikki has Russ,” Tricia deadpanned.
“Oh, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“She’s sure to feel slighted that the majority of her friends and colleagues will be at your wedding, not hers.”
“This is her second marriage,” Ginny pointed out. “By all rights it should be low-key with mostly family and close friends attending. This is our first and only wedding. Why shouldn’t we go whole hog?” Which seemed to negate what Ginny had previously said about wanting a no-nonsense celebration of the day.
“No reason that I can think of,” Tricia said.
Ginny picked at her salad, looking grim.
Tricia changed the subject. Well, not entirely. “I spoke with Joelle yesterday. She seems to think I’m shortchanging you as your maid of honor.”
“How?”
“She said you were under a terrible strain and that I should do more to keep your morale high.”
“Good grief. Is that why everyone keeps asking me how I feel and if I’m okay? Yeah, I feel stressed, but it’s my own fault—not yours or anyone else’s. I’d better give Joelle a call and straighten her out. I know she reports to Nigela, but this is my wedding, and I don’t want her alienating my friends. Bottom line, this wedding is one day in our lives. And if it’s too perfect, we’ll have no funny stories to tell our children in the days to come.”
“Then I’m glad I mentioned it,” Tricia said with amusement.
Ginny took another bite of her salad, chewed, and swallowed. “Were you aware your ex-husband has been in town visiting all the merchants on Main Street?”
“Don’t tell me he visited you, too?” Tricia asked, and why did she feel so uncomfortable hearing that statement?
Ginny nodded. “You never mentioned what a hunk he is.”
There was that word again. “The subject never came up. What was he doing in the Happy Domestic?”
“He bought a clock. The better to mark the time without you?” she asked.
“I doubt it.” Tricia turned her attention back to her food. With so much gabbing she hadn’t made much of a dent in her tuna salad.
Ginny’s familiar ringtone blasted from inside her purse, and she quickly grabbed the phone, studying the number. “Oh, dear. It’s Brittney. I can’t even get away from the store for half an hour without her experiencing—or creating—some kind of crisis.”
“You’d better take it,” Tricia advised.
“I’ve a mind not to—but then she might abandon the store completely to come here and drag me back. Honestly, I don’t see how she’s going to handle everything on Saturday and Sunday when I’m otherwise occupied.”
The phone went silent. “I’m sure Mr. Everett wouldn’t mind spending a few hours over there on both days. After all, the wedding isn’t until evening.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll give him a call when I get back to the store. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without my friends. You guys have been like family to me.”
Tricia couldn’t help but smile, but before she could say something, Ginny’s phone started up again. She signaled Bev. “Check, please. And could I have a box to put my salad in?” She looked back at Tricia. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Ginny tossed some cash onto the table, tossed what was left of her lunch into the take-out box Bev supplied, and practically flew out the door. Bev set the check down on the table but paused to speak. “I met your husband this morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Ex-husband,” Tricia emphasized.
“Isn’t that just a formality? Although I had thought you were still going out with Chief Baker.”
Tricia opened her mouth to answer, but then decided not to.
“Can I freshen up that coffee?” Bev offered.
Tricia sighed and shook her head. She was going to have to speak to Christopher. And soon!
*
The afternoon shadows were lengthening. Darkness came far too early this time of year and seemed to smother the joy out of life. Already Tricia found herself counting the dreary weeks until spring would arrive, bringing with it crocuses, daffodils, and tulips. Pixie had offered her a plastic pine wreath for the shop door, which she had politely declined. Maybe next week she’d buy a fresh one, and hope it lasted until the last days of the holiday shopping season. The scent of fresh pine might inspire shoppers to spend their hard-earned cash … those who weren’t allergic, that is.
Tricia was still thinking about what color bow would best suit a wreath when the shop door opened, the little bell over it jingling merrily, but the expression on the face of the woman who entered was anything but happy. Joelle Morrison’s head hung, and she seemed to shuffle across the carpet, slowly making her way to the cash desk where Tricia stood.
“Good afternoon, Joelle. Is there anything I can do for you?”
Joelle’s gaze seemed to sink lower. “I’m here to … to …” She didn’t seem able to finish the sentence.
“Yes?” Tricia prodded. She wasn’t about to cut the woman any slack
. Not when she’d made her own, plus Grace’s, and especially Ginny’s life, miserable for the past month and more.
“That is … I may have overstepped my bounds when I … spoke to you about …”
Pixie wandered up to join them. “You mean when you bugged the hell out of half the town, nagging them to be more supportive of Ginny when she doesn’t need it?”
Joelle turned so sharply Tricia was afraid she might fall over. “I believe I’m talking to Ms. Miles,” she grated, “not you!”
“Pixie, could you give us a few minutes?” Tricia asked kindly.
“Sure thing,” Pixie said and turned away, her expression smug.
Joelle watched until Pixie had gone to the readers’ nook to straighten up the magazines before she spoke again. “At any rate, I wanted to apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” Tricia said gravely. Okay, she would cut the woman some slack after all.
Joelle nodded and started to turn for the door when Tricia’s voice stopped her. “I wonder if you could answer a few questions for me.”
Joelle looked back, her expression wary.
“Why did you and Stan Berry break up?”
“That’s really none of your business, Ms. Miles.”
“Perhaps not, but you do realize it makes you a suspect in his death,” Tricia said, sounding concerned.
“I’ve already spoken to the Stoneham police chief. I see no reason to bare my soul to you.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I thought we were becoming friends.”
Joelle’s eyes widened. “You are not my friend. You are the business associate of one of my clients.”
“Oh, well, if that’s all I am, then when I need the services of a wedding planner, I guess I’ll consult the Internet to find one.” If everybody thought she was about to renew her vows with Christopher anyway, it might not hurt to play it up.
Joelle blinked, taken aback. “But I thought you said it was unlikely.”
Tricia shrugged.
Joelle straightened, schooling her features. “I would hope you’d give me the opportunity to help plan your remarriage.”
“As you say, it’s only business. Although perhaps I would become friendly with the person who would work to make my wedding day perfect.” That’s laying it on thick, Tricia thought. But Joelle’s resolve appeared to be crumbling.
“I suppose I do become more than a business associate to my clients. There is a strong element of trust involved.”
“Yes. Ginny told me that she trusts your judgment implicitly.” Not!
“Ms. Wilson has been a joy to work with,” Joelle replied stiffly. Probably not when she’d chewed her out an hour before, insisting she apologize to both Tricia and Grace.
“Since I’ve already had a big church wedding,” Tricia went on, “I’d be looking for something completely different.” And with someone completely different.
“I can certainly understand that,” Joelle said.
How much more chitchat was necessary before Tricia could steer the conversation back to Stan? But then Joelle gave her the opening she’d been looking for.
“I had thought I’d be planning my own wedding … that is until just a few weeks ago,” Joelle admitted.
Tricia donned her most sympathetic frown. “You must have been devastated when …”
“When Stan and I decided that our fundamental differences made it impossible for us to continue seeing each other.”
If Joelle had been planning her wedding, Tricia was pretty sure she wasn’t the one to initiate the breakup.
“You see, Stan thought of himself as a free spirit,” Joelle continued.
Free from making a commitment, Tricia automatically assumed.
“He’d been married before, and unhappily so …” Joelle went on.
Because he hated being tied down and forced to support his child.
“Sadly, I couldn’t be the woman that would make Stan happy.”
Since no woman in her right mind wants to look like Stan’s fantasy woman.
“Did you argue about it?’ Tricia asked.
“Once or twice,” Joelle admitted.
A lot!
“Did Stan find a new someone?”
Joelle shrugged. “But as I said, our split was mutual, and I wished him well.”
Like hell! You were as mad as hell. But angry enough to kill? Now that’s another story.
“I’m so sorry, Joelle. It seems the road to true love can be full of potholes. Christopher and I still have some things to work out before we …” She let the sentence dangle.
It would be a cold day in hell before she would take Christopher back, not that he had come right out and said he wanted to come back—although he did seem to have some kind of agenda working. And whatever it was, she wasn’t going to get suckered into it.
Joelle reached into her purse and withdrew a business card. “I do hope when the time comes to make decisions about your upcoming nuptials that you will consider my services.”
Tricia graciously received the card. “I certainly will.”
Joelle managed a weak smile. “I must be going. I have other errands to run.”
“It’s been very nice talking with you today, Joelle. And if I don’t see you before Saturday, have a nice Thanksgiving.”
“You, too,” Joelle said and made a hasty exit.
Pixie practically flew across the store as though she’d been catapulted. “What was that cock-and-bull story you handed that broad all about?”
Tricia didn’t answer right away; instead she gazed out the window, watching Joelle jaywalk across the street and head straight for the Everett Foundation offices, where she no doubt had a second apology to deliver.
Tricia turned back to Pixie. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“About getting remarried. I’m sure if that was true, you’d have said something to me and Mr. E long before now.”
“You’ve got that right. And no, I’m not planning to get married anytime soon. To Christopher or anybody else.”
“Things a little chilly with the chief?” Pixie asked, her eyebrows rising so high they were in danger of being swallowed by her hairline.
“Chief Baker is always a little distant during these kinds of investigations.” Why should she spill the beans that they’d broken up—especially as they were going to make one last appearance as a couple at Ginny’s wedding?
“Uh-huh,” Pixie said and frowned.
The door opened again, this time admitting an older couple. Pixie shifted into customer service mode and turned toward them, offering to help them find a title among the shelves. They took her up on it, and she led them back to one of the bookcases on the north wall.
Tricia picked up her book and looked at the words, but couldn’t seem to make herself read. Her conversation with Joelle hadn’t strengthened or weakened her suspicions that she could be a viable suspect in Stan Berry’s death. Joelle had admitted that she’d spoken to Baker—of course she had, she’d been seen at the inn just minutes before his death—but had she told him of her relationship with the dead man? Should Tricia volunteer that information?
She’d think about it for a while. After all, what was the hurry? Nothing would bring Stan Berry back from the dead.
Turning back to her book, Tricia allowed herself to become lost in the adventures of Sir Henry Merrivale and was startled to look up and see Pixie standing before her all bundled up and ready to face the cold. “Oh, my. I guess I lost track of time.”
“That’s okay. Mr. E vacuumed while I cleaned the coffee station. I even swished the brush around the toilet bowl so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Thank you, Pixie.”
Pixie shrugged. “All in a day’s work,” she said. “Besides, it’s a lot better than some of the jobs I had while in stir. That laundry room”—she threw her head back and rolled her eyes theatrically—“you wouldn’t believe the stench. What some of those inmates were up to—”
“I wouldn’t even wan
t to imagine,” Tricia said, hoping she’d cut off a vivid recitation on the subject.
“So, do you think we’ll be busy tomorrow?” Pixie asked.
“We were last year—and the year before,” Tricia said.
“Go figure. So no closing early the night before a big holiday?”
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Tricia asked.
“I’m not much of a cook, but I promised I’d bring the Jell-O salad to Angelica’s on Thursday.”
“Jell-O doesn’t require cooking,” Tricia pointed out.
“Easy for you to say. I never really had a kitchen until I rented my current crib. A microwave and a hot plate were all I ever had before. Now I have a real stove and fridge. Geez, the place is practically paradise.”
Michele Fowler had once driven Pixie home and had confided that the ex-con’s apartment occupied a tiny portion of a run-down Victorian home. But, compared to prison, it had to be a virtual palace.
A smiling Mr. Everett strolled up to join them. He had already donned his jacket and cap. “What a wonderful week this is,” he said. “I can’t remember such a whirlwind few days packed with so many social occasions.”
“What are you bringing to Angelica’s Thanksgiving feast?” Pixie asked.
“My carving knives. I was trained as a butcher long before I owned my own grocery store. I’ve been recruited to carve the turkey. Grace is going to make her family’s favorite—green bean casserole.”
Tricia smiled. “I have a feeling this is going to be one of the best holidays I’ve had in a long, long time.”
Pixie positively giggled. “Me, too. How about you, Mr. E?”
Mr. Everett’s smile was faint but sweet. “It’s been a long time since I felt part of a big family. Last year was nice. This year is …” He paused. “Marvelous. Thank you, Ms. Miles—and your sister—for welcoming Grace and me into your fold.”
Tricia’s throat constricted. She did not want to start crying. “We’ve still got a full day ahead of us before the holiday.”
“Yeah, but coming here every day ain’t like real work,” Pixie said, smiling. “It’s a treat. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
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