Betsy reached the last folded piece of paper. She eyed the piles and picked up the one on her right, flipped through the sheets and counted them twice. She noted the tally on the top sheet, picked up the other pile of papers and did the same, all the while her face was expressionless. She wasn’t about to let anyone know what the outcome was until it was announced. She stood, and Ginny stepped closer to recount the votes. After she’d gone through both stacks, she whispered the results to Betsy, who nodded. Apparently Ginny wasn’t about to give away the winner, either, and looked down at the floor, staring at her shoes.
A stone-faced Betsy rose from her seat, walked the six feet to the lectern, and handed Bob a folded piece of paper. The room was silent, save for the sound of the forced-air heating system.
Bob unfolded the paper, his expression stoic. He swallowed and stepped up to the lectern’s microphone. He had to clear his throat twice before he spoke. “As everyone can see, the votes were counted, and then counted again to make sure there were no mistakes. It was a close vote. Twenty-six to twenty-three. And the results …” He looked around the room, taking in each and every face. Was he trying to figure out who’d voted for whom? And why was he dragging out the results?
“The president of the Chamber of Commerce for the upcoming year will be …”
Again he paused.
“Get on with it!” John Marcella called.
“Angelica Miles is your new Chamber president … and may God help you all,” he said with an edge to his voice.
The room exploded with the sound of both cheers and groans.
“Yahoo!” Ginny hollered and clapped her hands. Tricia, Michele, and several others joined in as Bob banged the gavel and said, “This meeting is now adjourned.” Angelica jumped up from her seat as though she’d been goosed. She practically ran to the podium but first stopped to offer her hand to Bob. He took it, shook it, and quickly yanked his arm back. Grinning, Angelica waved her hands in the air to quiet the room, and, a bit breathlessly, she pulled the lectern’s microphone closer to her mouth.
“First of all, I wish my honorable opponent hadn’t adjourned the meeting so quickly, so I can only address you unofficially, but I promise to do my best for each and every merchant in the organization. Thank you to those of you who voted for me. And to those of you who did not vote for me, I want you to know that I will earn your trust. Together we’ll make Stoneham the prettiest town in New Hampshire, the best tourist destination, and, God willing”—she paused and glared at Tricia—“we’ll somehow manage to regain our title of safest village in New Hampshire.”
At least that last got a laugh, albeit at Tricia’s expense. Meanwhile, Bob kept shaking his head as though in disbelief. Tricia could almost feel the despair dripping from him.
Angelica turned back to her new constituents. “If anyone would like to stay behind to talk, I’d be glad to listen to anything you have to say, and I look forward to serving you as your next Chamber president. Let’s make this the best holiday sales season yet—and look for even better days ahead. Okay, everyone, back to work!” she said brightly.
Her impromptu speech received a smattering of applause, but the majority of Chamber members didn’t have to be told twice. They shoved back their chairs, got up, and headed for the exit.
Michele turned to Tricia. “Well, I’m glad that’s over. That vote was so close… . I’m glad it wasn’t a tie.”
“Me, too,” Tricia said.
Michele sat back in her chair, picked up her coffee, and sipped it. “I wonder what the vote would have been if Mr. Berry hadn’t been killed.”
“A mess. We’d probably have had to go through a runoff. As it is, I’m surprised Bob didn’t even mention Stan.” Tricia turned her gaze to the front of the room. Angelica and Bob appeared to be in the middle of a heated discussion. Bob’s face was beet red, and he seemed to be holding on to the gavel for dear life. The sight would be comical if the memory of Stan Berry, stabbed to death, wasn’t still so fresh in her mind.
“I didn’t see Angelica’s car in the lot,” Michele commented.
“I drove us. But it looks like it’ll be a while before she’s ready to leave.”
“If you want to leave her your keys, I’d be happy to drive you home.”
“Thanks, but I’m sure Ange is going to want to crow about her victory. She’d be disappointed if I didn’t give her the opportunity.”
Michele grinned. “You are a good sister. I’ll just go up and offer Angelica my congratulations. Ta-ta for now,” she said and gathered up her coat and purse and made like a salmon swimming against the current, heading for the front of the room to congratulate Angelica.
Ginny grabbed her coat, said a quick good-bye, and marched over to where Antonio stood at the side of the room. Joelle Morrison had appeared once again. She was probably on site to go over more last-minute details for the wedding on Saturday.
Tricia frowned, wondering if she believed it was Joelle who had dumped Stan or the other way around. But then half of Stoneham was convinced that it was Tricia who had let a gem like Christopher get away. Who knew what the truth was in Stan’s case? And though Joelle was pleasingly plump, she didn’t seem to possess the strength or the animosity that could have compelled her to drive a letter opener into Berry’s chest.
Tricia couldn’t think of anyone at the last Chamber meeting who fit those criteria. Although Eleanor did say that she and Chauncey did weight training. Still, Baker had never even mentioned Chauncey as a suspect. That left Eleanor, the owner of the murder weapon. But that was preposterous. Eleanor was one of the sweetest people Tricia had met since her arrival in Stoneham. And it would have been plain stupidity for her to stab Berry with her own letter opener. And it was Tricia herself who had established an alibi for the inn’s receptionist. Well, sort of. She’d been present when Eleanor declared the letter opener to be missing. She’d made quite a fuss about it. But that was after Berry had already been fatally stabbed. Had she been trying to establish an alibi?
No. After all, what possible motive could Eleanor have had to kill Stan? He liked his women overly chunky and Eleanor was not only a few years older than Berry, she was not in the weight class that attracted Stan. Although … could Eleanor have been obese at one point in her life—just the kind of woman depicted in the chubby chaser magazines that Stan collected and enjoyed?
Tricia’s musings were interrupted when she looked up to see Will Berry standing just inside the dining room’s main entrance, motioning her to join him. She got up and joined the tail end of the line of Chamber members who were exiting.
“Hey, Tricia,” Will called and held up what looked like a piece of a card. Was that a photo in his hand? She wished the line would move faster.
It took almost a full minute before she reached Will. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were going home,” she said and stepped away from the last of the stragglers.
“I stayed the night here in town with a friend.”
A friend? And who could that have been? The only place he’d gone while in the village was to Angelica’s for dinner on Sunday night and … the Dog-Eared Page. Had he hooked up with a certain older barkeep who enjoyed being known as a cougar? Tricia was too well mannered to ask.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the paper he held.
“A picture of my aunt. I almost forgot about it. I found it yesterday while digging through a pile of junk at my dad’s house.” He handed her the photograph.
Tricia felt the blood drain from her face as she studied the face in the photo, instantly recognizing the woman in it.
No doubt about it. Behind the rolls of fat and the puffy face, the woman was none other than Eleanor McCorvey.
Tricia swallowed and looked out the open doorway where Eleanor had been stationed when she’d arrived at the inn some thirty minutes before. But the reception desk appeared to be abandoned. Had Eleanor recognized her nephew when he’d entered the lobby, and fled before she could be recogni
zed, or had she left her desk to attend to a guest’s needs?
“Are you okay?” Will asked, concerned.
“Oh, yes,” Tricia said and managed a wan smile. “Um … my sister just won the Chamber election.”
“Hey, that’s great. I’ll have to congratulate her and thank her again for letting me crash her dinner party the other night.” His expression was expectant. “Well?”
“Well?” Tricia repeated, uncomprehending.
“Do you recognize the woman in the picture?” Will asked.
Of course! she nearly yelled but instead thought better of it. She needed to talk to Eleanor before she introduced Will to his long-lost great-aunt. “Why don’t you let me show it around town and if I come up with something, I’ll get back to you.”
Will shrugged. “Okay. Let me give you my home phone number. If you find her, you can call me, although I’ll probably be back as soon as the cops let me back in Dad’s house. I still have to clear it out before the end of the month. By the way, I got a call last night. I found someone to teach me the sign business, that is if I can salvage the machinery and any of the supplies.”
“That’s great news.”
“Yeah. I’m going to put everything in storage until I can find another place to rent, but I’d like to relocate to the area, although it might not be in Stoneham. I don’t want to have to deal with Bob Kelly.”
“I can’t blame you for that. I’m glad you decided to stay. Stoneham needs an in-town sign shop.”
Will handed her a slip of paper with his number. “In the meantime, can I kiss you good-bye?” he asked.
Tricia’s smile was tentative. “Oh, why not,” she said, expecting a buss on the cheek, but instead Will lunged forward, planted his lips against hers, and tried to force his tongue into her mouth. The desperate move took her by surprise and she pulled away and almost stumbled. “Will!”
The young man seemed to realize he’d made a serious faux pas. “Sorry. I kind of hoped you’d … that maybe after last night we might have some fun together. Nothing permanent, but—”
“Friends with benefits?” she asked.
“Sure. Why not? After all, you and the cop are on the outs—you’re free as a bird.”
That might be, but Tricia hardly felt desperate for male company, especially knowing Will had probably spent the night with Michele Fowler, if not some other woman he’d picked up at the pub.
“I don’t think so.”
Will shrugged. “Could you still look for my aunt?”
“Yes. I’ll … I’ll let you know in a day or so what I come up with.”
“Thanks. I guess I’d better go.” He said the words, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to leave the dining room.
“Good-bye, Will,” Tricia said, put her hands on his shoulders, turned him in the right direction, and gave him enough of a push to get him started. He took the hint and left.
Tricia turned to look at the front of the room, where Angelica and Bob still seemed to be involved in a heated, but very quiet argument. Their mouths moved, but she couldn’t hear a word they were saying. She looked down at the photograph in her hand. Shielded by layers of fat, the Eleanor of years past looked much older than the one Tricia was familiar with. Had Stan Berry recognized her on the morning he’d been killed? Could he have said or done something so outrageous that it spurred her to kill him?
Tricia wasn’t sure what to do. She should just call Baker and give him the photo and let him interrogate Eleanor. For all she knew, Eleanor had already fled the inn, and if so, then it might be imperative that Baker put out an APB to find her.
Tricia took a step into the lobby, looked past the cheerful, glowing Christmas tree, and saw Eleanor striding down the corridor, heading back to the reception desk. Her hands were clenched at her side, and her face was creased with worry.
Much as she didn’t want to believe it, Tricia was afraid she’d found Stan Berry’s killer. She forced herself to move forward. She would ask Eleanor a few innocent questions, anything to help her assuage her guilt at the knowledge that she’d have to turn in someone she truly had liked. And she prayed she’d believe whatever answers she received.
TWENTY-TWO
Tricia approached the inn’s reception desk with trepidation. She could almost hear Grant Baker’s plaintive voice inside her head pleading, “Why didn’t you call me?”
Because he might not be available.
Because he might blow her off.
Because she had blown him off and he was hurt, because he’d blown her off one too many times and she was hurt.
Because in the long run, she might just be wrong.
Tricia stopped before the reception desk, resting her hands on the oak top and forcing a smile. “Eleanor, I have good news.”
“Oh? Did Angelica win?” Eleanor asked.
“Yes, she did.”
“That’s wonderful,” Eleanor said without enthusiasm. “But how will that affect me?”
“It probably won’t, but I think I might have some happy news for you.”
“Oh?” Eleanor certainly didn’t sound cheered.
“I met a young man on Saturday who said he might have a long-lost relative here in Stoneham.”
Eleanor said nothing.
“He was looking for someone he called Auntie Yum-Yum.”
Eleanor’s eyes went wide with what looked like fear. She said nothing but turned. On her desk sat a small plastic container of what looked like chocolate powder. Beside it stood the glass of milk Tricia had seen earlier. Eleanor pried the lid from the container. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re suggesting.”
“Will Berry gave me a photo of his mother’s aunt. I think it might be you.”
Tricia wondered if she was making a mistake by handing Eleanor the photo. Would she rip it to shreds?
Eleanor stared at the picture in absolute horror, her face going deadly pale.
“Stan Berry was married to your niece, wasn’t he?”
Still Eleanor said nothing. Instead, she set the picture down and reached for her purse. With trembling hands she withdrew a folded piece of paper and set it on her desk.
“He was an abusive man with unusual tastes—especially when it came to the women he was attracted to,” Tricia said. Part of her wondered why she was torturing the poor woman before her, and another part felt compelled to find out the truth behind the violent act that had robbed Stan Berry of his life.
Eleanor swallowed, picked up a plastic spoon that sat on a napkin next to the glass, and measured out a heaping teaspoon of the chocolate powder and dumped it into the glass. “That man stole my niece’s life,” she said, her expression hard and unforgiving. “He deserved to die.”
“How did he steal her life?” Tricia asked.
“She was in her first year at Smith College, with a full scholarship—the first member of our family to ever go to college, but he talked her into dropping out. She wanted to be an industrial engineer, and instead she ended up behind a register at Shaw’s grocery store in Nashua. She got pregnant. They had no money, and when the going got really tough, when that sweet child Will was little more than a toddler, Stan just up and left. Louise depended on welfare and the kindness of her relatives to stay afloat. That bastard left the state. He never paid her a nickel in child support. Is it any surprise she drank herself to death?” Eleanor shook her head in disgust, picked up the spoon, and added another portion of chocolate from the container to her glass of milk.
“Oh, Eleanor, Stan Berry’s death has now ruined your life as well?”
Eleanor shook her head and stirred the contents of the glass. “What life? I work at the Brookview for not much more than minimum wage. I wait on people with better lives than me. People who have the cash to stay in a fancy-schmancy inn. Beautiful people who have careers. People who have retired and don’t have to worry about paying the utility bills or wonder if they should buy their meds instead of food.” She took a small sip of her drink.
Tricia did
n’t quite believe Eleanor’s bitter words, or at least didn’t believe she’d admitted the real reason she’d killed Stan Berry. Should she spout her harebrained theory? All Eleanor could do was deny it.
“I think there’s a much more personal reason why you killed Stan,” Tricia said, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Eleanor’s eyes flashed, and her lips pursed, but she said nothing as she carefully set her glass on the desktop.
“I think years ago you weighed a lot more,” Tricia ventured. “Stan was fascinated with extra-large women. I think he might have made unwanted comments. Comments that were insulting, or—”
“Insulting?” Eleanor accused. “You don’t know the half of it, Tricia.” Eleanor lowered her head, and for a moment Tricia thought of a bull getting ready to charge. “That man …” She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was low and full of vitriol. “That man spied on me—took pictures of me. He sold them to a magazine. Worst of all, Stan Berry sexually assaulted me.”
“Oh, Eleanor,” Tricia said with a horrified gasp. Had Will thrown away the very issue that had contained those terrible photos?
“The first time it happened …” Eleanor stopped, took a breath, and swallowed several times before she could continue. She’d gone terribly white. Had she ever confided this awful secret to anyone else before now?
“Oh, Eleanor—it happened more than once?”
She nodded, and a tear slid down her cheek. “That man robbed me of …” Eleanor let out an anguished sob. “He robbed me of my self-esteem. He took all the joy out of my world. He …”
Tricia rested what she hoped was a comforting hand on Eleanor’s arm, but she pulled away from the touch as though scalded.
Eleanor wouldn’t look at Tricia. “I felt … dirty. Sullied. Forever. What he did ended whatever chance I had at having a loving relationship with any man.” Her hand moved to clasp the glass on her desk. “I lost weight. I lost more than a hundred and fifty pounds, but I could never shed the image of that horrible man … how rough he was with me … For years and years, somewhere in the back of my mind I heard his mocking voice calling me the magic mountain mama.”
Not the Killing Type Page 24