A Just Clause

by Lorna Barrett

  “So she killed the other girl?” Tricia said, aghast, and thought back to all the times she’d beaten Carol at darts.

  “I don’t suppose she meant to do it. Can a child that age understand the far-reaching implications of murder?”

  “What happened?”

  “This was before children could be charged as adults. As I understand it, Carol was remaindered to a juvenile detention facility back in her home state of Indiana and wasn’t released until the age of twenty-one. She wasn’t welcomed back to the town where the murder occurred and was forced to relocate. Apparently she met her husband-to-be soon after, and they faced unpleasantness in several communities every time her past caught up with them.”

  “That explains why she was so reticent, but not why someone would have wanted to kill her.”

  “I agree,” Grace said.

  “I’m sure you saw for yourself that she not only had words with and slapped my father but with Steven Richardson, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “While Steven spoke, I heard unpleasant mutterings from someone attending the event.”

  “It was Carol,” Grace affirmed.

  “Have you mentioned this to Chief Baker?”

  “I have.”

  “Does he know about Carol’s past?”

  “I assume so. I didn’t feel it was my place to volunteer the information. It wouldn’t be hard for someone in his position to find out the woman had a criminal record.”

  “You don’t think her record was expunged because she was a youthful offender?”

  “It’s possible,” Grace agreed. “That would be something only Chief Baker could answer.”

  And Tricia intended to ask at the first possible moment. “I suppose someone from her past could have taken revenge, but why wait so long?”

  “Perhaps whoever it was didn’t know how to find her.”

  “It’s not all that easy to hide these days. Thanks to the Internet, you can try to conceal information about yourself, but so much data is out there—in places that we don’t even know about. Most cities have cameras on every corner, as do stores, restaurants, hospitals, and just about every public gathering place. Websites plant their cookies on your computer and can tell where you go online, to whom you communicate, and what you buy. They’re collecting data twenty-four seven.”

  “Big Brother really is watching,” Grace commented.

  Tricia nodded ruefully.

  “This whole situation with Carol is frightening,” Grace said, “but it’s up to the police to try to find out who killed her. I probably shouldn’t say this, but, dear Tricia, you put yourself in harm’s way far too often. I so worry about you.”

  “Thank you, Grace. But be assured, I have no intention of putting myself in danger.”

  “No, you never do—but you always seem to end up that way.”

  She said the words kindly, but it still felt like a rebuke. However, Tricia was determined not to take it personally. It felt good to know someone cared enough to worry about her—unlike her own parents.

  A white van pulled into the parking lot with the Horticultural Society’s logo emblazoned on the driver’s side door.

  “Ah, and here are the flowers.”

  “In case Russ doesn’t show up, take some pictures with your cell phone so I can see them at our next family gathering.”

  “I’ll do that, dear.” She leaned forward to embrace Tricia. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Tricia pulled back, and the women parted.

  “See you!”

  Tricia crossed the lot for her car, got in, and started the engine. Already the interior temperature had risen to an uncomfortable level. She pressed the buttons and opened all the windows. It was only a short drive to the municipal parking lot, and she could comb her hair before she left the car for her store.

  As she pulled out of the lot, her thoughts returned to Carol Talbot’s sordid past. A killer at eleven, and over a spelling bee. Even at an early age, Carol hadn’t liked to lose in a competitive situation. Had she ever wished Tricia ill during their darts contest?

  The thought was quite disquieting.

  • • •

  It was another morning filled with renovation noise, noise, noise—and Tricia was beginning to understand why the Grinch who stole Christmas was such an irritable guy. She also had to fight the urge to climb the stairs to check on the progress. It felt rather odd not to have free reign in her own home, but her contractor preferred to invite her up when he felt she’d be most impressed with the work they’d accomplished. She’d pushed it—the day before.

  Still, it was Thursday—her favorite day of the week. Since Ginny had left her employ over two years before, she and Tricia had a standing weekly lunch date so they could catch up as friends. This was apart from the frequent family dinners Angelica hosted. Since early spring, Ginny had had to cancel on more than a few occasions because her new job as events coordinator for Nigela Ricita Associates didn’t always allow her that luxury. Tricia understood. Her own life had been just as hectic when she’d worked for the nonprofit agency in New York. But she couldn’t help feeling disappointed when that happened. On that morning, though, Ginny had called Haven’t Got a Clue to confirm the date, so Tricia ordered two box lunches to go from Booked for Lunch.

  Bev was waiting for her, and this time Tricia did pay for the meals—not that Angelica would have begrudged feeding her and Ginny. As Bev made change, Tricia noticed the man who’d held the door for her the day before—Carol Talbot’s neighbor—sitting alone at the other end of the counter. He caught sight of her looking at him, and she smiled, but he looked away—turning his attention back to his sandwich. Was he employed in the village? He didn’t seem dressed for work, and he was only a few blocks from home. She gave a mental shrug. Perhaps he was homebound and didn’t like making his own lunch. Perhaps he’d taken early retirement and his wife still worked.

  She gave herself a mental shake. What did it matter?

  Bev handed Tricia a white plastic bag. “Enjoy your lunch!”

  “Thanks.”

  Tricia turned and exited the café, nearly bumping into Ginny on the sidewalk. “You timed that right.”

  Ginny laughed. She looked smart in beige slacks, a white blouse, and sensible brown flats. “I was looking out my office window when I saw you cross the street to go to the café.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the Dog-Eared Page. The second floor was used for office space, while the third floor had been rented as an apartment. Tricia’s late ex-husband, Christopher, had lived there for a short time. Tricia and Angelica had sorted through his things, and then Antonio and Ginny had helped them empty the place. Many of the boxes still resided in Tricia’s newly climate-controlled basement storeroom. Christopher’s death less than a year before was still too fresh a memory. She’d set no timetable for parting with his possessions.

  “We’d better get going,” Tricia said, nodding toward the north and the village square. “I’m surprised, but pleased, you could make time for lunch considering your busy schedule. Angelica says you’re settling in well and making great progress setting up the wine and jazz festival.”

  “She’s being generous,” Ginny said, her sunny expression turning dour.

  “In what way?”

  Ginny shook her head and frowned. “When it comes to management, I’m a miserable failure.”

  Tricia stopped. “That can’t be true.”

  “But it is. I constantly mess up in front of my employees, and when they slack off, I can’t seem to motivate them to get back to work.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I’m a lot younger than they are. They all started as desk clerks at the Brookview Inn. They think because Antonio is a bigwig with the company, that I got preferential treatment when this job opening came up.”

  Well, of course she di
d! She was, after all, the big boss’s stepdaughter-in-law. Still, more than anyone, Tricia knew Ginny was smart and capable.

  They started off again. “You’ve only had the job for a few months. Everybody knows that it takes a while to feel comfortable in a new work situation, and you started this division from scratch and on a very tight timeline.”

  “I must have been out of my mind to try to pull off this festival in such a small window of time.”

  “Will you make it?”

  Ginny met her gaze, straightening. “If it kills me!”

  Now that was the Ginny Tricia knew so well. “You excelled as my assistant, and you did even better managing the Happy Domestic. I’m betting this festival will be a huge hit and will come off seamlessly.”

  Ginny crossed her fingers, holding them up for Tricia to see. Then she shook her head, sobering. “I thought I’d be toiling fewer hours when I stepped into a more traditional job, but I still end up bringing work home almost every night. Once Sofia goes to bed, I’ve usually got an hour or more of stuff to do just to keep on top of things. I thought my weekends would be free, but I’m often juggling something during my time off then, too.”

  “I’m sure it will all work out,” Tricia said, not knowing how else to bolster Ginny’s confidence.

  “I just don’t want to disappoint Angelica. She could have hired someone with a lot more experience than me. And I’ve heard a couple members of my team talking about jumping ship because they don’t see a future for themselves in the company where nepotism trumps their efforts.”

  Tricia could understand their point, but she also knew what a hard worker Ginny was, as well as her desire to please—not only her stepmother-in-law, but her husband, as well.

  “Would you like me to speak to Angelica about them?”

  “Oh, no!” Ginny said, sounding panicky. “I don’t want her to think she made a bad decision by promoting me, and I certainly don’t want to sound like a whiner.”

  “You’re not a whiner,” Tricia said, hoping she sounded encouraging. “You just need a sounding board.”

  Ginny almost laughed. “You’re probably right. Thanks for listening. I haven’t mentioned this to Antonio, because I don’t want to disappoint him, either.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.” They’d reached their favorite bench, under the shade of a large maple. They sat down and Tricia removed the boxes from the plastic bag, handing Ginny the one marked Egg Salad and opening the one marked BLT. She withdrew the small bag of potato chips, opening it. “Now what have you got left to do to make this event a success?”

  Ginny unwrapped her sandwich. “I lost one of my acts, so I’ve got to find time to listen to a few other bands. It’s really short notice, but what I’ve already heard is good. I’m coordinating with Milford Nursery and Flowers to get a couple of giant bunches of grapes made with green and purple balloons. They’ll look really festive, and they’re not nearly as expensive as I’d feared. I’ve got tents ordered in case of rain, but I’m hoping the weather will hold and that we can go without them.”

  “What about concessions?”

  “I’ve lined up the best—including a food truck that specializes in crepes.”

  Tricia couldn’t help smiling. “I love crepes!”

  Ginny grinned and cracked the cap on her bottle of iced tea. “I know. That’s why I booked them.”

  “You’re a doll.”

  Ginny’s smile widened.

  “How’s your budget?”

  “Holding steady. We may not make money this first year, but unless something unforeseen happens, we shouldn’t lose any, either.” She took a bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “Okay, enough about me. We should talk about something a little more interesting . . . like Pixie’s shower.”

  “Will you be able to make it?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Antonio has already rearranged his schedule so that he can look after Sofia. Angelica said you’ve changed the venue.”

  “There’s just no way I can host it at Haven’t Got a Clue. Well, I probably could—but the truth is, I don’t want to. I was embarrassed the night of Steven Richardson’s signing because of all the dust. No matter how many times Mr. Everett vacuums—”

  “And he’s never shirked his duties,” Ginny put in.

  “—there’s always dust lurking. I noticed a couple of people at the signing the other night were sneezing. It could almost be deemed a hazardous work zone.”

  “Now you’re joking,” Ginny said.

  “I wish I were.”

  “But your home is going to be gorgeous when it’s finished.”

  “At least I have that to look forward to,” Tricia admitted. “I’m not as good at party planning as Angelica, who volunteered to coordinate a lot of it.”

  “No doubt about it—no matter what she sets her mind to, it turns out well.”

  “I know,” Tricia agreed. “It feels like I’m shirking, but in the long run, my goal is for Pixie to be happy, and if Angelica can pull it off better than me, then all is good. Still, when she volunteered, I had a feeling that she’d already been plotting something.”

  “What kind of something?”

  “Something that she thinks is terrific and I might find embarrassing.”

  “In what way?”

  “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it will be something Pixie will enjoy.”

  “Why don’t we look on the bright side? Whatever Angelica is plotting might also be fun for us, too. My job is so stressful, I’m looking for any excuse to cut loose and have a little fun.”

  “You’re right. No wonder Antonio loves you so much.”

  Ginny grinned. “Well, I am incredibly cute, too.”

  Tricia laughed. “Yes, you are.”

  They ate their sandwiches and chatted about Tricia’s renovation, Angelica’s quest to use up Tommy’s zucchini harvest, and Ginny showed off a dozen new pictures of Sofia. The one thing they didn’t talk about was Carol Talbot, which was just as well. Tricia was well and truly stumped. She didn’t want to believe her father or Steven Richardson could possibly be responsible.

  But then who in Stoneham might have wanted the woman dead?

  EIGHT

  All was quiet when Tricia arrived back at Haven’t Got a Clue, which seemed like a blessing until Pixie announced that all the workmen had left for the day.

  “What? But it’s only just after one o’clock.”

  Pixie shrugged. “I guess the guy who needs to do some plumbing stuff was too busy to come today, and so they’re stalled on the master suite until he can find time to drop by and finish whatever it is that needs to be done.”

  “But my kitchen—my living room! Surely somebody should be working to finish those areas!”

  Again, Pixie shrugged. “At least it’s nice and quiet, although Mr. Everett said he’d be vacuuming and dusting again when he returns from lunch.”

  Tricia sighed, wondering when she’d ever get to sleep under her own roof again.

  “Angelica called while you were gone.”

  “Did she leave a message?”

  “Just for you to call her cell phone.”

  “Okay.”

  “I thought I might go down to the storeroom and sort through some of the boxes to find more Christie titles. We’re running low.”

  “Go ahead. I can handle things up here for a while.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Pixie said, and headed for the stairs to the basement.

  Tricia retrieved her phone, then stowed her purse under the sales counter. She flipped through her contacts until she came up with her sister’s number, then tapped it.

  “Hello!” Angelica sang.

  “It’s me, your sister. Pixie said you called.”

  “Yes, I’m about to have a liquor emergency. I used the last of
the gin on our martinis last night, and I’m up to my earlobes in work. There’s no way I can go to the state liquor store. I was wondering if you’d have time to go this afternoon. They’re open until seven.”

  Tricia was well aware of the store’s hours. “It’s not a problem.”

  “Good. Pick me up a case of the usual, and half a case of vermouth, as well.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well . . . I do need my dry-cleaning picked up, too, but I can handle that either tomorrow or Monday.”

  Tricia refrained from letting out a scream. “Good.”

  “You can drop the boxes off at my place, but bring over a bottle of both of them to Booked for Lunch after you close your store. We’ve got tons of leftovers, and I simply won’t have the time or energy to cook tonight.”

  “All right.”

  “Excellent. Tootles.”

  “Bye.”

  Tricia stabbed the end call icon and looked around the empty store. Since they weren’t inundated with customers, perhaps she’d go to the liquor store sooner rather than later. She was getting low on cat food, kitty treats, and litter for Miss Marple. She could stop off at the grocery store in Milford and pick up what she needed on the same trip.

  With not much else to do, Tricia decided to straighten the shelves, but found everything in order. Pixie and Mr. Everett kept on top of those kinds of things. Tricia put some music on the store’s stereo and returned to her station behind the register, realizing she’d forgotten to bring the paperback she’d nearly finished. There was certainly no shortage of reading material in Haven’t Got a Clue, and she was about to check the nearest bookcase when Pixie appeared once more. She opened the dumbwaiter and extracted a box, then brought it over to the reading nook, settling it on the table.

  “I swear these books get heavier on humid days.”

  “Is the dehumidifier down in the basement working?”

  “It was nearly full. I emptied it. I checked the gauge, and the humidity is in the safe zone, so we’re good. Did you call Angelica?”

  “Yes, she wants me to run an errand for her.”