A Just Clause

by Lorna Barrett

  Lengthy steel beams had been installed so that the load-bearing walls could be removed, and the space was now wide open. Tricia looked around, taking in the changes. The tiny bathroom had been gutted and expanded. A refurbished antique soaker tub stood ready to be installed, but the walls were still nothing but studs with just the rough plumbing installed.

  “It’s shaping up,” she said halfheartedly.

  “The plumber will be in again tomorrow and we’ll get moving on the bathroom. We finished the ceiling,” Stark said, indicating that Tricia should look above. Spray foam insulation had been applied and then covered with wood that had been stained. The lighting had yet to be installed, and wires hung waiting for fixtures.

  “We’ll get the bathroom walls up next week, start on the walk-in shower, and get the new floor in. After that, we’ll get to work on the master closet. We should be painting and refinishing the bedroom floor in two weeks.”

  Tricia nodded, feeling a little heartsick. She’d known she’d be living away from her home for at least a month. Now it was beginning to look like it would be longer.

  “What’s your estimate on the kitchen and living room?”

  “Two to four weeks.” He studied her face. “You don’t look happy.”

  “Apart from Christmas, summer is my busiest time. Customers don’t stay long when there’s a lot of construction noise.”

  “If I get another job, I can put you off until the fall, but I don’t think you really want to do that.”

  She nodded. “No. I guess it’s better to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  “I know it seems like chaos now, but we’re pretty much on schedule, and I’m juggling the trades as best I can.”

  “I know. It’s just hard not having a home—and having all my stuff in storage.”

  “When we’re done, you’ll be glad you suffered through the inconvenience.”

  Having gone through one renovation already, Tricia knew he was speaking the truth.

  “Thanks, Jim. I know you and your guys are doing your best.”

  Tricia’s cell phone rang. She retrieved it, saw it was the shop’s number, stuffed a finger in her right ear to muffle the continual banging from below, and hit the talk icon. “Yes?”

  “Tricia. Chief Baker is here to speak with you,” Pixie said brightly.

  “Is he angry?”

  “You better believe it.”

  Rats! “Tell him I’ll be right down.” She ended the call, turned back to Stark and forced a smile. “Duty calls.”

  “We’ll talk again in a few days. Once we get moving on the bathroom, I know you’ll feel a lot better.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Tricia gave him another forced smile and headed for the stairs.

  The steps were slick with dust, and with the banister removed to better allow the workers to move stuff up to the second and third floors, Tricia forced herself to step carefully. Okay, she wasn’t exactly eager to get a tongue-lashing from Baker, so that may have also caused her to move slower than she might have, but all too soon she opened the door to the shop and nearly barreled right into the angry cop.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know you’d been standing in the way,” she explained.

  “I wanted to make sure you didn’t hightail it out the back door,” Baker said, louder than was absolutely necessary.

  “Why don’t we go somewhere else to talk?” Tricia said.

  “What?”

  “I said,” she practically shouted, “why don’t we go outside to talk?”

  Baker grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her toward the front door. Pixie moved to intercept her. “You won’t be needing that hat,” she said, and snatched the headgear from Tricia.

  Once outside, Tricia pulled her arm free. If she hadn’t known the chief so well, she might have had a beef about being manhandled in such a manner. “Why don’t we go to the village square?”

  “Fine.” He started down the sidewalk, heading for the intersection and the crosswalk.

  “I haven’t had my coffee yet,” Tricia called, and hurried to catch up with Stoneham’s finest.

  “This isn’t a social occasion,” Baker said, his tone none too friendly.

  Without her purse, she wasn’t in a position to stop at the Coffee Bean to buy herself a cup, and Baker’s body language told her it was taking all his will to keep from exploding. She’d just have to wait for her morning caffeine fix.

  They waited for Stoneham’s only traffic light to change before crossing the street, and then they had to wait again on the other side before making their way to the square. A couple of elderly gentlemen were tossing crumbs to sparrows, and they moved deeper into the square, heading for the grand stone gazebo and one of the benches that sat nearby. Baker gestured for Tricia to sit, but didn’t perch beside her.

  “So?” Tricia asked, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Two things. First, I spoke to Russ Smith. He says he had no meeting scheduled with Richardson.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Tricia shook her head. “When Steven asked for that copy of his book to give to a reporter, I guess I just assumed he meant Russ. And the second thing?”

  “I heard from other sources that you neglected to tell me what else went on last night at Haven’t Got a Clue.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “I don’t divulge my sources,” Baker said belligerently. “Why didn’t you tell me that Carol Talbot not only slapped Steven Richardson, but she slapped your father as well?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Tricia said, feigning innocence. “I’d completely forgotten about that.”

  She could tell by Baker’s expression that he didn’t believe her.

  “Where can I find him?”

  “I really don’t know. The last time I saw him, he was in my shop. Then I got busy with customers and didn’t see him leave.”

  “I’ve already spoken with the clerks at the Brookview and Sheer Comfort Inns. They say he’s been banned and didn’t stay the night with them. Was he with you or Angelica?”

  Tricia shook her head. “Miss Marple and I are staying at one of the bungalows at the Brookview Inn while my apartment is being renovated. I know Angelica told him she didn’t have room for him at her place, either.”

  “Did you three have a falling out?”

  Tricia shrugged. “No doubt you—and half the village—heard that when my father left back in January, he left a trail of unpaid bills behind him. Angelica made good on them, but it put us both in a rather awkward position with our fellow merchants. Angelica was extremely embarrassed, because she felt it reflected badly on her, as she’s the head of the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “So you’re letting him fend for himself?”

  “We talked about getting him a room at one of the motels on the highway to Nashua, but before we could even talk to him about it, he’d left the shop.”

  “Do you have any idea why Carol Talbot would have slapped him?”

  “None at all.”

  “What was her demeanor during the signing?”

  “I was a little preoccupied dealing with Daddy, and then with customers, but someone—a woman—muttered a few disparaging remarks during Steven’s talk.”

  “So, you’re on a first-name basis with this guy?”

  “Yes. I usually do call authors who sign in my store by their first names. It’s a lot less formal that way.”

  “Go on,” Baker said, sounding none too pleased.

  “I couldn’t tell who spoke, but in retrospect, it was probably Carol—especially since by her actions afterwards, she seemed to have a beef with Steven.”

  “Do you have his phone number?”

  “Back at the store.”

  “Can I have it?”

  “Of course. But as Angelica said, he’s supposed to pick me up for lunch at noon. If you do
n’t track him down before that, you should be able to talk to him at the Brookview’s restaurant. Just don’t take too much of that time. Pixie and Mr. Everett need their lunch hours, too.”

  He nodded. “I have to go.” And without another word, he turned and walked away.

  Tricia watched him stalk off toward the police station feeling . . . not exactly sad, but disappointed that now when they interacted there always seemed to be acrimony between them. Sighing, she pulled out her phone and tapped the contacts icon and then Angelica’s name. Her sister picked up on the third ring.

  “The great and powerful Oz knows all,” Angelica quipped in a forbidding tone.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. Tommy the short-order cook and I were just talking about The Wizard of Oz. Every child in the world must have been frightened by those horrible flying monkeys.”

  “Have you got a minute?”

  “Two. Come over to Booked for Lunch. You can test Tommy’s latest dessert offering.”

  “Since I haven’t had breakfast, I’ll take you up on it. Be right there.”

  “Right there” ended up being about two minutes later, but Angelica had the coffee poured and sat at the table that overlooked the street. She waved as Tricia approached.

  “Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

  Tricia sat, taking in the wonderful spicy aroma that permeated the little café. Before her sat a piece of dark cake with confectioner’s sugar sprinkled over the top—but in a pretty design, like a lace doily. “Smells great.”

  “Today is National Gingerbread Day, and that’s what we’re offering for dessert.” Angelica picked up her fork and plunged it into the rich cake. She took a bite and swooned. “Oh, happy day. This is delish!”

  Tricia did likewise, chewed, and swallowed. “Oh, goodness, you’re right. This is excellent. But I never heard of National Gingerbread Day.”

  “There’s a national something-or-other day every day of the year. It’s fun. We decided we’d try to feature as much food as we can for our daily specials. It’s also National Moonshine day today, but we don’t have a liquor license so decided not to mention it.”

  Tricia wasn’t about to complain. She took another bite, then sipped her coffee. “A few minutes ago, I had a not-so-pleasant conversation with Grant Baker.”

  “I figured you might.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, because I also spoke to him this morning. In fact, I called him. I feel very conflicted, but I told him that Carol slapped Daddy last night.”

  “Why would you of all people tell him that?” Tricia demanded, not exactly sure why she was angry.

  “Because . . . I didn’t want you to get in trouble with him.”

  “I’m always in trouble with him.”

  “I figured if one of us didn’t come clean it would look like we were trying to hide something.”

  “You’re right,” Tricia conceded, and took another bite of cake. “Have you heard from Daddy?”

  Angelica shook her head. “He could have at least said good-bye to us before he left your store last night, although he was probably very disappointed in us—primarily me.”

  “He wasn’t very nice leaving town and leaving you to clean up after him.”

  “I know, but I should have handled it better. It’s just that—things were a little tense at the time.”

  “I’ll say.” Tricia took another bite of cake; she really was enjoying it. “How are we going to track down Daddy? Do you think you should call Mother?”

  “I don’t have a number for her, either. We didn’t exactly part as friends back in January. She may feel that the three of us ganged up on her.”

  “I did not gang up on her.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Angelica admitted. “But maybe you should have,” she muttered, and cut another piece from her slab of cake.

  “Let’s not go there. We need to figure out why Carol was in such a slap-happy mood last night.”

  “You should leave that up to the chief. It’s what he gets paid for.”

  “We have a stake in this: our good family name.”

  “I’m afraid Daddy forever tarnished that back in January.” Angelica ate her cake, looking distinctly unhappy.

  “I have a feeling Daddy didn’t go far. After all, he didn’t get what he wanted last night.”

  “Which was?”

  “Who knows? I’m sure he’ll resurface sometime soon, and then we may be sorry he did.”

  The sisters polished off the last of their cake in silence. Angelica was the first to speak. “Where would we look?”

  Tricia looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “For Daddy? Do you think he might have hitched a ride somewhere?”

  “Maybe. I need to talk to Pixie and Mr. Everett. Maybe one of them saw Daddy leave.”

  “Good idea. I can send some cake over as a bribe.”

  “That’s not necessary. Pixie already put out the leftover cookies from last night. Believe me, we’re good to go for the day—maybe the week and month, thanks to the noise in my shop. I spoke with Jim Stark earlier. He says they’re on schedule for the renovation, and that it should only be another month, but right now it feels like forever.”

  “You’ll love your home even more when it’s done.”

  Tricia nodded. She’d barely had time to get used to being back in her home after the cleanup from the fire the previous year. It had taken too many months after the fire for the insurance company to come up with a check to repair the damage to her store and home, and then another two months for the work to actually be done. She’d lived in her refurbished home a scant four months before the renovation process started again.

  Tricia drained her cup. “Thanks for the coffee and cake. It was just what I needed.”

  “Are you still going to lunch with Steven?”

  “I haven’t heard otherwise.”

  “Good. Call me as soon as you return. I want to hear all the details.”

  “Okay,” Tricia said, and sighed. She rose from her seat. “Talk to you later.”

  “Ta-ta!”

  Tricia left Booked for Lunch and paused at the curb. Traffic was actually brisk on that bright summer morning, and she hoped some of the travelers would make a stop at her store. But as she waited for the line of cars to disperse, she wondered about her so-called lunch date. If Richardson hadn’t been found at the B and B the previous night, and had no reservation, where had he gone? And more importantly, why had he lied?

  FOUR

  The noise had not abated by the time Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, and in fact seemed to be even louder. Since there were no customers inside her store, Tricia beckoned Pixie and Mr. Everett to join her out on the sidewalk in front for a powwow. Both removed their earplugs so they could listen.

  “First, I’d like to thank you both for everything you did to make last night’s book signing such a success.”

  “Just doin’ my job,” Pixie said.

  “It was my pleasure,” Mr. Everett said.

  “I’m sure you heard about Carol Talbot.”

  “Uh, no,” Pixie said. “Fred and I didn’t turn on the TV this morning. We were . . . kind of occupied.” She left it at that. “Did she have an accident?”

  “A fatal one, I’m afraid,” Tricia admitted. “I’m surprised Chief Baker didn’t mention it when he called you last night.”

  “Don’t tell me you found her?” Pixie asked, in what sounded like disapproval.

  Tricia nodded. “Well, Angelica and I found her. She wasn’t that hard to miss—or at least the evidence someone left on the sidewalk near her body made it rather easy.”

  Pixie frowned. “No wonder the chief was so pissed at you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that he—and some of the other citize
ns here in Stoneham—seem to blame you when somebody turns up dead.”

  “I have noticed that,” Tricia muttered. She seemed to be a human divining rod when it came to finding corpses. “I want both of you to give your full cooperation to the chief, because I’m sure he’s going to want to speak with you again about what happened at the signing.”

  “You mean with your Pops and Carol?” Pixie asked.

  “Well, yes.”

  Pixie nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “By the way, did you happen to notice when my father left the signing?”

  “He snuck out the back after he spoke with you and Angelica. I had Fred go after him.”

  “Did he speak with my father?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. He was gone a couple of minutes. I didn’t exactly ask. Fred locked the back door when he came back in, though.”

  “You might want to tell that to the chief. He may want to speak with Fred, too.”

  “Will do.”

  Mr. Everett had averted his gaze when Carol’s name had come up—it wasn’t that he looked guilty, but he seemed very uncomfortable with the topic.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Everett?”

  The elderly man pursed his lips. “It’s a shame about Mrs. Talbot.”

  “But?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.”

  “I agree. She wasn’t always the most pleasant person in the world, but I would like to see the police apprehend the person who killed her.”

  Mr. Everett said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floor.

  Tricia decided not to push it. She knew Mr. Everett would never disparage a living soul—even if they deserved it. Well, she did once see him lose his temper—but it was only once, when he’d first come to work for her and his patience had been pushed beyond reasonable limits.

  It was time to change the subject. “Pixie, your idea to hold a sidewalk sale is brilliant. I haven’t had a chance to ask if we can do it, but let’s go for it. Otherwise, we won’t make any sales for the foreseeable future.”