Bookmarked For Death (Berkley Prime Crime Mysteries)

by Lorna Barrett

  Among the missing, Grace Harris and Mr. Everett. Tricia hadn't expected to see her employee--he never spent money frivolously--but she'd more than half expected to see his lady friend, who often acted as the book group's unofficial spokesperson.

  "Glad you could make it," Frannie said, handing Tricia a menu.

  "Where's Grace?" Tricia asked, noting an empty chair at the middle of the table.

  "Grace Harris come to a diner?" Frannie asked, incredulous.

  "Why not? I never got the impression she was a snob."

  "Oh, I didn't mean that. She's the nicest woman on the face of the planet," Frannie hurriedly attested. "It's just that she's so classy, what with her lovely clothes and jewelry. I would just never expect her to get down and dirty and eat eggs, bacon, and home fries with ketchup."

  Tricia had to agree with that statement. And it was also true that, gracious as she was, it was the reading and the discussion of the books that she enjoyed, not necessarily the company of the people in the group. Except for Mr. Everett, that is.

  Tricia glanced at her menu. She'd already eaten a bagel, and wasn't the least bit hungry. Maybe she'd just order toast and a cup of anything other than coffee. She set the menu aside.

  "Anyway," Frannie started, addressing the others, "as I was telling you, if you don't want to be responsible for the deaths of innocent creatures, you've got to contact the Board of Selectmen and tell them."

  "They wouldn't really kill the geese, would they?" Julia Overline asked.

  "I don't care if they do," said a woman in a blue sweater, sitting farther up the table. "They're messy and they're noisy. Think of all the homeless people we could feed with them."

  Oh, yeah, that's the answer, Tricia thought, considering all the health regulations that proposed solution would violate. Some people just didn't have a clue . . . or were just woefully ignorant. She chose to think the latter.

  At the head of the table, Nikki sat in animated conversation with a woman Tricia didn't know.

  "Poor Nikki. I'm glad so many people showed up to cheer her up," Frannie said, changing the subject.

  "She's worked so hard," Julia piped up. Of all the members of the book group, Tricia knew Julia the least. Grayhaired and plump, wearing a floral-embroidered sweatshirt, she was a voracious reader who'd recently joined the readers group, and had bought at least ten books, which certainly endeared her to Tricia. "She's had such a rough life. The family's home burned to the ground when she was just an infant. Her father died, too, but that was years after her mother's disappearance."

  Tricia blinked. "Her mother's what?"

  "Disappearance--when Nikki was just a young girl. It was the talk of Stoneham for months."

  "And she was never found?"

  Julia shook her head.

  "Did the authorities feel it was foul play?" Tricia asked

  Julia shrugged. "She just disappeared. No sign of a struggle, or blood, or anything. She didn't take any clothes. Her purse was still in her home. Her car was parked in the driveway. She was just gone."

  "Didn't they suspect her husband?"

  Julia shrugged. "Of course. After all, it was no secret he used to hit the poor woman. But they never arrested him for it. He was at work--with witnesses--the day she disappeared.

  Tricia knew that in cases like the one Julia described, the husband was always suspected--especially if the relationship had involved domestic abuse. "How old was Nikki at the time?"

  "Nine or ten. Years later they had her mother declared dead in order to settle the estate so Nikki could go to that fancy pastry institute in Paris."

  "They? Who's they?"

  "Nikki's grandmother and her aunt--Phil's mother and sister."

  Poor Nikki. Tricia had never really been as close to her mother as she would've liked. Angelica had been the child her parents never thought they'd have. Tricia's arrival five years later had been a surprise, and perhaps not as welcome as that of the favored Angelica. But Tricia had had her grandmother to love. A grandmother who'd imparted to her the love of books--especially mysteries.

  "Sounds like Nikki's a real fighter," Tricia said.

  "She sure is," Frannie agreed, and took a sip of her ice water. "Which is why I'm sure she'll bounce back from this loan disappointment. And speaking of fighting, just look at the muscles on that guy's arms," she said, with an admiring glance at Fenton.

  "Oh, yes," Julia agreed. "It's so sad about him, too."

  "Sad?" Tricia asked.

  "He was once considered a shoo-in for the Olympic track team, until he hurt one of his knees."

  "He used to be a personal trainer at the Stoneham gym." Julia gave Tricia a knowing glance. "You don't think he developed all those heavenly muscles lifting trays of cookies and cakes, do you?"

  "Gym?" Tricia asked. There was no gym in Stoneham.

  "It folded before you got here," Frannie explained.

  Tricia studied the hunk at Nikki's side. He had to be a decade older than Nikki--more Tricia's age--reminding her of a younger, more handsome version of Bruce Willis. "Are they involved?"

  "Not a chance," Julia answered, and laughed. "Nikki told me she was through with men after her divorce. They say she married a man just like her father--and just as abusive."

  "I've seen Steve walking or jogging around the village or out on the road to Route 101," Tricia said.

  "Of course. He doesn't drive, you know."

  "Why is that?" Tricia asked.

  Julia shrugged. "I guess because he's such a fitness nut. I've also seen him tooling around the village on a bike in good weather."

  Frannie leaned closer, spoke with a hint of excitement in her voice. "I heard you were involved in some excitement last night."

  "Me?" Tricia said, frowning.

  "Yes, it's all over town that you and Russ Smith chased away a burglar and saved Kimberly Peters's life."

  "Oh, that," Tricia said, and looked around, hoping to see the waitress and snag a cup of something hot.

  "Did you really?" Julia asked eagerly. Obviously the whole town wasn't talking about it. Conversation around the table had stopped, all of them now looking at Tricia, waiting for her to spill the whole story.

  "It wasn't that big a deal. Kimberly had already called nine-one-one. We just got there before the deputies did."

  "What about the burglar?" Julia asked.

  "Russ went after him, but he got away."

  "Kimberly? Wasn't she that awful young woman at the signing with Zoe Carter?" Julia asked.

  Tricia nodded.

  "Why do you think someone came after her?" Frannie asked.

  "I have no idea," Tricia lied.

  "I heard Kimberly's in critical condition," Frannie said. Had she called the hospital to find out, or had she relied on her network of friendly informants to get this information?

  "I didn't know that," Tricia said.

  Frannie nodded. "She suffered head injuries. It's touch and go if she'll live." She shook her head and tsked. "I've been reading a lot of detective books lately, you know, and I think Kimberly's attacker was probably the same person who killed her aunt."

  "Oh, that's obvious," Julia said. "But the funny thing is . . . it's probably someone we all know." Her gaze flitted around the table. "Someone who was in your store on Tuesday, Tricia."

  As though she hadn't already considered that fact one hundred times. Then again, there was no one she would even think could be capable of such a heinous act.

  Still, she wondered about Grace. How she'd suddenly left town either the night of the murder or the morning after. And Mr. Everett had lied about it. But there was no way Grace had killed Zoe. She'd been accounted for during the entire ten or fifteen minutes Zoe had been absent from the group.

  It couldn't be Grace. Grace, who'd had some as yet unknown beef with Zoe.

  But what if the killer was someone Grace knew? Someone she'd tried to shield? What if--?

  "Can I take your order?" Janice, the Bookshelf Diner's weekend waitress stood
by Tricia's elbow. She'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't even noticed her arrival.

  "Just an order of wheat toast and a cup of tea, please."

  Frannie tapped Tricia's arm. "No wonder you've managed to keep your figure. You never eat anything fattening."

  "That you know of," Tricia said, and forced a laugh.

  Janice continued circling the table until she'd taken all the orders, then retreated. The woman in the blue sweater tapped her water glass, gaining everyone's attention. She stood up and held her glass up in a toast. "Stoneham has, unfortunately, had a spate of serious crime. What one individual has done has shaken many of us. And yet it can't be argued that our little town isn't safe. It's outsiders that have attracted the wrong element." Her gaze momentarily settled on Tricia before moving back to the head of the table. "The real citizens of Stoneham know what true friendship is. That's why we're here this morning, to show our love and support to our dear friend, Nikki."

  "Hear, hear," someone echoed.

  Tricia's cheeks flushed. She glanced at Frannie to find her tight-lipped, and her complexion just as rosy.

  The woman sat down.

  "Of all the nerve," Frannie muttered under her breath.

  Though this wasn't the first time Tricia had experienced the undercurrent of an us-against-them mentality from some of the denizens of Stoneham, she hadn't ever heard anyone voice that sentiment so blatantly.

  Nikki stood and cleared her throat. "Thanks, Linda. I can't thank everyone--and I mean everyone--enough for coming here today." She focused her attention on Tricia and Frannie, and laughed nervously. "You guys are the best."

  Everyone at the table broke into applause, with Frannie clapping the loudest.

  It wasn't hard to get back into the groove of hand-selling mysteries, and Tricia fell in love with her store all over again. Mr. Everett was back to his cheerful self, and Miss Marple luxuriated in the afternoon sunshine that poured through Haven't Got a Clue's front display window. Trade was brisk for a Sunday, and only a few people loitered around the washroom, hoping for some titillating clue about Zoe Carter's murder. The fingerprint powder had been nearly impossible to fully clean, and every time Tricia shooed away some curious gawker, she saw another spot of the stuff that needed eradicating.

  She'd just shut the washroom door for the fifth time when Mr. Everett signaled her from the register. "We're out of coffee, Ms. Miles. I made a pot before the last crowd of customers came in. It won't last until closing. Shall I go get another couple of pounds?"

  Tricia shook her head. "I'll go. And I'll pick up a few goodies from the patisserie. Can you handle everything here for ten or fifteen minutes?"

  He nodded, always dignified. "Certainly."

  "I'll just grab my coat, then."

  Though the temperature was only in the forties, the sunshine felt warm on her cheeks as she stopped first at the Coffee Bean, then made her way down Main Street to the Stoneham Patisserie.

  For the first time in a long time, the patisserie was not overflowing with customers. Nikki stood behind the counter, waiting on a customer who bought a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread. She rang up the sale. "Have a nice day," she said, and turned to Tricia.

  "I'm surprised to see you here."

  "Why?"

  "Isn't Haven't Got a Clue back in business?"

  "Yes, thank goodness. Mr. Everett is holding down the fort. I just came to get some cookies for our customers."

  "I've got some nice raspberry thumbprint cookies." She leaned forward, lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think they're Mr. Everett's favorites."

  "Then how about two dozen of those? If any are left over, he can take them home."

  "Sure. Let me wrap them up."

  The door opened and another customer entered. "Nikki,

  I need three loaves of Italian bread--now! I've got guests arriving in ten minutes, and--"

  Nikki looked from her new customer to Tricia, who waved a hand. "Take care of her first. I'm not in a rush."

  "Thanks," Nikki said gratefully.

  Tricia wandered the store, peeking through the display cases at the bread, cookies, cakes, and pies. Pretty pedestrian fare for someone who'd trained in Paris, but if that was what the local traffic demanded, that's what Nikki had to supply.

  The door from the shop to the working bakery beyond was propped open with a rubber wedge, and Tricia noted the now-silent industrial-size mixer and bowl, which currently sported a bread hook. Angelica had a regular-size model on her kitchen counter. She recognized a bread slicer and saw a metal cabinet filled with trays of baked goods. It was from there that Nikki gathered the cookies. Steve stood at a counter with what looked like a nail in one hand and a pastry bag in the other, magically producing a beautiful rose out of pink icing. He plopped it on the frosted cake in front of him and started another.

  Tricia's bored gaze wandered, but soon stopped on the floor against the far wall, focusing on something she hadn't expected to see in a bakery: a satchel of tools. Sticking out of the top were a can of spray paint and what looked like a . . . sledgehammer. But it couldn't be. Sledgehammers had long handles, and this hammer's head stuck out of a bag that could be only nine or ten inches in height. And why did Nikki have a bag of tools in the working part of her bakery?

  Nikki finished plucking cookies from the tray and brought the bakery box back into the shop, setting it on the counter and tying string around it. Tricia handed her a ten and Nikki made change.

  "Thanks," Tricia said, pocketing the money.

  "Are you okay?" Nikki asked, concerned. "You look kind of funny."

  Tricia forced a smile. "I'm fine."

  "Thanks for coming to the diner this morning. Only I can't apologize enough for Linda's rude comments about 'the wrong element' here in Stoneham. Honest, Tricia, not everyone in the village thinks like her. I tried to give Frannie a call and apologize to her, too, but she wasn't home."

  "No, she's helping Angelica at the Cookery this afternoon."

  "She's got a big heart."

  The door opened and another customer wandered in.

  "I'd better go," Tricia said, sounding nervous even to herself.

  "See you on Tuesday at the book club," Nikki called, as Tricia made good her escape.

  "Is something wrong, Ms. Miles?" Mr. Everett asked as Tricia closed and locked the shop door on the last of their customers. The clock read five o'clock even.

  "No." That wasn't true, especially not when her suspicions about Nikki had so recently been ignited. "Yes, there are several things wrong. One of them concerns you, Mr. Everett." It was time to clear the air at last.

  "Me?" he asked, puzzled.

  "Something you said the other day. You told me Grace had to leave town to take care of a sick sister. When I mentioned to her that I was sorry to hear about it, she told me she didn't have a sister."

  Mr. Everett lowered his head so that his gaze was focused on the carpet.

  "It's none of my business what Grace was doing or where she went, but I am concerned that you--"

  She hated to say that four letter word.

  He said it for her. "I lied. And I'm not proud of it."

  "But why?"

  "I didn't feel it was up to me to discuss another's personal business."

  "I understand that. And I would never ask you to betray a confidence, Mr. Everett. But I don't appreciate it when someone I work with breaches my trust. You've been a businessman, I'm sure you can understand where I'm coming from."

  He nodded. "If Grace wants you to know her business, she will tell you. I can't betray her trust."

  Tricia nodded. "I accept that. But please, Mr. Everett, don't lie to me again. Next time, just tell me it's none of my business."

  He nodded. "Then I must respectfully tell you that this is none of your business, Ms. Miles."

  Tricia straightened to her full height. "Thank you, Mr. Everett. We won't speak of this again."

  "Thank you, Ms. Miles." Mr. Everett turned away.

  An
d Tricia knew no more now than she had before they'd started the conversation.

  e i g h t e e n

  Not ten minutes after Mr. Everett had left for the evening, a knock on the door caused Tricia to look up from her paperwork. Angelica stood outside. Tricia crossed the front of the shop and opened the door. "Why didn't you use your key?"

  "It's upstairs. I thought I'd invite you over for dinner."