“Ain’t that what sisters are for?” Pixie asked, and laughed. Tricia had no idea if Pixie had any siblings. The subject had never come up.
“It seems so. I figured I’d go in a little while. Do you want me to help you shelve those books?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
They each grabbed a stack of books and headed for the shelf that housed only Agatha Christie novels, sorting the titles alphabetically.
“Ya know, because of the construction, it’s been really boring around here,” Pixie commented.
“Sorry about that,” Tricia apologized.
“It lets me catch up on my reading, but I also feel kinda guilty,” Pixie said with an embarrassed grin. “But I’ve also been thinking about the dead dame.”
“Carol Talbot?”
Pixie nodded. “Me and Fred seen her around town a lot these last couple of months.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Mostly at the Bookshelf Diner. Fred likes to take me out to dinner at least once a week, and that’s one of our favorite places. They make the best meatloaf and mashed potatoes around.”
“I can’t say I’ve tried them.”
“Well, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Did Carol ever meet someone there for dinner?”
“Nah. She usually sat in one of the back booths all alone. She always got a club sandwich, ate half, and took the rest home—probably for lunch the next day. But that wasn’t the funny thing.”
“Funny?” Tricia said, wedging a copy of Taken at the Flood between Star Over Bethlehem and The A.B.C. Murders.
“Yeah, the old gal used to sneak a little silver flash out of her purse, take a swig, and hide it again.”
“Really?”
Pixie nodded. “Sometimes by the time she left the joint, she’d be three sheets to the wind. I don’t think a flask holds that much, so she must have been potted before she even got to the diner.”
“And this happened more than once?”
“Just about every time we went to the joint!” Pixie headed back for the box and brought the remaining books over to the shelf, letting Tricia take half of them to shelve.
“She was always sober when we played darts.”
“So are you, and that’s because you want to win.”
That was true.
“It’s never good to drink alone. Ya think she was pining for her dead husband? Lots of people become alcoholics after a tough loss like that,” Pixie said.
“Yes.” Tricia had imbibed wine a little too often after Christopher’s death, but she didn’t have a problem—although she was sure some of the villagers thought she might now that Angelica had indoctrinated her to the joys of a well-made martini, which was certainly an acquired taste.
The closest liquor store was in Milford, where Tricia just so happened to need to go. Could any of the people who worked there have known Carol?
There was only one way to find out.
• • •
Tricia steered her car into a slot in the parking lot of a little strip mall in Milford and headed for the liquor store. She was well acquainted with the shop, as she’d purchased her liquor there since moving to Stoneham more than six years before. Judging by the number of cars in the lot, the store and its neighbors saw a lot of what was known in the trade as foot traffic, even though everyone arrived in a vehicle.
Like in her own store, a bell jangled as she entered the store, where a number of people were milling about, checking the prices on the thousands of bottles of wine and liquor. Since she already knew what she wanted, and in what quantity, Tricia marched straight up to the sales counter.
“Hi,” said a guy of about forty, wearing a blue smock over a Jimmy Buffett T-shirt. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like a case of Bombay Sapphire gin in the one point seven five liter bottle and six bottles of Carpano Bianco vermouth.”
“Can do. Having a party?”
Tricia sighed. “A pity party. Or rather, a wake. Someone I know died on Tuesday night, and we’re going to toast her well.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“It was a shock,” Tricia said truthfully. “I guess she was a regular here as well. I don’t suppose you knew her. Carol Talbot.”
The guy held up a finger. “Great body for an older lady; but a leathery face that looked like she either smoked too much or was a heavy tanner at one time. Oh, no offense,” he hurriedly added.
“None taken. So, you knew her.”
He shrugged. “I collect odd names. Hers wasn’t—but she was.”
“In what way?”
Again he shrugged.
“What did she drink?” Tricia tried again.
“Whatever whiskey was on sale. Like you, she bought it by the case. She came in a lot.”
“Was she ever with anyone?”
“Not that I remember.” He smiled. “She was a real ball breaker.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“She liked to flirt. I always played along because she’d tip me well when I carried the boxes out to her car.”
Was that the truth, or was he hinting for Tricia to tip him in kind? And was it likely he knew anything else about Carol? Probably not.
“I’ll go get the stuff you want.” He moved from behind the counter.
“Thank you.”
So, Carol was a lush. Tricia had suspected that after her conversation with Pixie; the counterman had only substantiated it. Still, it was one more piece to the puzzle that was Carol Talbot.
Was Pixie right? Did Carol turn to alcohol after the death of her husband, or was there another reason she’d recently taken up drinking? Was she haunted by her past, the present, or her future?
And . . . was there a way Tricia could find the answers to those questions?
NINE
Tricia dropped off Angelica’s liquor at the Cookery. She sent the boxes up to the third floor via the dumbwaiter, then headed upstairs. As usual, Sarge was ecstatic to see her, and she had to make a big fuss over him before she could unload the boxes and leave the contents on the kitchen island. After procuring a bottle of each, she found a paper grocery bag to put them in and then grabbed the dog’s leash.
“Sorry, buddy; I can’t take you for a walk, but I can take you outside for a quick comfort stop.”
Sarge wasn’t hard to please, happily wagging his tail.
Ten minutes later, Tricia strode into Haven’t Got a Clue.
Pixie stood behind the cash desk, carefully holding a paperback so that she didn’t crack the spine. “You’re back.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Just in time for closing.”
“I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Since it was so dead—we only made about thirty bucks all day—Mr. E felt guilty and left an hour early.”
“I’d feel bad if he needed the money—which he doesn’t—but I’m sure Grace has a lot to tell him about the Stoneham Horticultural Society’s annual luncheon at the Brookview Inn.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll bet that’ll be real interesting,” Pixie said and rolled her eyes.
“Now, now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Different strokes for different folks.” Pixie picked up a bookmark and inserted it between the pages of her book before closing the cover and stowing it under the counter. “Want me to hang around until the hour strikes six?”
“That won’t be necessary. As it’s been so slow, I may as well close for the day anyway. Have you got any plans for the evening?”
“Not much. We decided to head to Portland for our honeymoon. We’re gonna feast on lobster at least once every day. I got me a kind of a sailor dress off eBay that’s god-awful cute, and it only needs to be hemmed. I figured I’d get that out of the way. How about you?”
“Just dinner with Angelica.”
“Same old, same old,” Pixie said, nodding.
What was that supposed to mean? “She’s good company.”
“Not as good as having a man around the house,” Pixie said rather pointedly.
“I guess that depends on the man.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right. Have you heard back from that author guy yet?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“No.” And Tricia was beginning to think she never would.
“Damn him.”
“My sentiments exactly.” Only Tricia wasn’t thinking of the guy in a romantic sense. Obviously Richardson knew about Carol’s past. Had he tried to blackmail her about her past indiscretion—if one could trivialize murder in such a way? What did he have to gain? Tricia had a pretty good idea of what Carol had to lose.
Pixie grabbed her purse from under the counter. “I’m off.”
“Happy hemming,” Tricia called as Pixie exited the shop with a wave over her shoulder.
After she’d gone, the silence was unnerving. Tricia pulled down the blinds on the front display window, checked the cash drawer and found exactly thirty-two dollars in it, and decided to leave it there for the next day. If she got robbed overnight, she wasn’t going to shed tears over the loss.
Grabbing the bag of gin and vermouth, Tricia paused at the door long enough to turn the sign on it to CLOSED, turned off the lights, and locked the door behind her.
Traffic was sparse as she jaywalked across Main Street, heading for Booked for Lunch. As expected, the sign said CLOSED, but the lights inside were on and the door was unlocked—yet Angelica was nowhere in sight.
“Ange?” Tricia called.
“In the kitchen!”
Tricia set the bag down on the lunch counter and headed toward the back of the restaurant. Pushing through the swinging double doors, she found her sister standing in front of the huge stainless steel refrigerator—its doors thrown open—perusing its contents.
“What are you in the mood for, love?”
“Ha-ha,” Tricia quipped. “What have you got?”
“Just about everything on the regular menu—but if you want something different, I can whip something up fast; say, an omelet.”
“You said you were too tired to cook. I’m not going to make you do that.”
“And you’re a saint.” She shut the doors to the fridge. “Did you bring the booze? Let’s have a drink.”
“You don’t have a shaker.”
“No, but I do have a milk shake machine. I can use the canisters for that and top it with a glass. Voila! Instant shaker.”
“You amaze me.”
“Give me a pig’s ear, and I’ll make you a silk purse,” Angelica said, swished past her sister and entered the dining room.
Tricia followed her. Angelica went behind the lunch counter, and Tricia settled on one of the stools. Angelica already had the olive garnishes ready and quite expertly made their martinis in a water pitcher, then doled them out.
“You make it look easy.”
“If pushed, I’m sure I could work a shift at the Dog-Eared Page, but then that would probably give away my secret identity as Nigela Ricita.”
“We can’t have that,” Tricia agreed as Angelica presented her with her drink in a juice glass. “Cheers.”
Tricia raised her glass in salute. But before she took a sip, she needed to get something off her chest. “We need to talk.”
“This sounds serious. What’s the subject?”
“Daddy.”
“Oh, dear,” Angelica said, and then downed a mighty gulp of her drink. “Okay, I’m fortified. Spill it.”
Tricia also raised her glass, but took a much smaller sip. “I spoke with Grant yesterday.”
“Concerning Daddy?”
Tricia nodded.
“And?”
“It may be hard for you to hear this—or not at all. But it turns out our father—”
“Is a rat with a past,” Angelica supplied, sounding none too happy.
“So, how long have you known?” Tricia asked, not sure she really wanted to know the answer.
“Since February.”
“Oh!”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were going to say for years.”
“No. After he left here in January, I was so angry, I hired a private detective in Boston to do a background check. I’ve used the guy before to report on potential employees. He’s very good.”
“And?” Tricia prompted.
“Our father turns out to be a very big disappointment.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
Angelica took another mighty big slug of her drink. “I was angry. Very angry. I knew you were just as disappointed in him as I was, but I wanted to spare you—at least until he turned up to screw us once again.”
Tricia toyed with the olive-studded frill pick poking out of her glass. “You shouldn’t have had to carry that kind of burden alone.”
“Well, I’m your big sister. It’s my job to protect you—although I wish I’d done a much better job in years past.”
“I’m a big girl. I put my big-girl panties on every day and face the world head-on.”
“Yes, you do. And you’re right. I should have told you. Only . . . I’m mortified not only for the two of us, but for Daddy, too. Except, his past doesn’t seem to embarrass him in the least. Have you tried calling Fred’s place today?”
Tricia took a sip of her drink before answering. “No. My day was pretty full.”
“Frannie called me with her end-of-day report and told me you’d let Sarge out a while ago. Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome.” Tricia changed the subject. “Pixie told me she thought Carol might be a lush. I dropped her name when I was at the state liquor store, and the guy behind the counter confirmed it. She drank cheap whiskey, and Pixie intimated she drank a lot of it, and it turns out with reason.”
“What do you mean?”
Tricia spent the next five minutes telling her sister about her conversation with Grace.
“Good grief. A child murderer.” Angelica shook her head and topped up both of their glasses. But before they could drink, a knock sounded at the door. They turned to look and saw none other than their father standing before the café’s door.
“Oh, God,” Angelica groused, but raised a hand to beckon him in. “Pardon my French, but I believe the you-know-what is about to hit the fan.”
“Hello, my darling girls,” John called as he entered and closed the door behind him. He paused to sniff the air. “Is that the seductive aroma of gin and vermouth I smell?”
“Sit down and I’ll pour you one,” Angelica said, already reaching for another glass. She’d made a very big pitcher of hooch.
John bestowed a kiss on each of their cheeks before he took a seat next to Tricia at the counter.
“Daddy, where have you been?” Angelica admonished.
“Around,” he answered evasively, then raised his glass in salute and took a mighty tug on his drink before answering. “Damn good stuff.” He shook himself. “Since my darling girls had no room for me, I’ve been staying at a friend’s place.”
“Pixie told me you’d been staying at Fred Pillins’s apartment,” Tricia said.
“I am.”
“Then why haven’t you answered the phone? I’ve called a number of times,” Tricia said.
“Well, I figured any calls that came in would be for Fred, not me.”
Tricia resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“But where have you been all day?” Angelica asked.
“Here and there.”
“Did you know the police are looking for you?”
“Whatever for?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Angelica said rather f
lippantly. “Just a possible murder charge.”
“Murder? Who am I supposed to have killed?”
“Carol Talbot.”
“Cara mia mine is dead?” he repeated, sounding genuinely shocked.
“Yes, and not half an hour after she slapped you. Would you like to tell us why that happened?—and then I suggest you tell it to Chief Baker, as well,” Tricia asserted.
John held his head high. “It may surprise you to learn that Carol and I were lovers.”
Tricia’s mouth dropped, while Angelica’s eyebrows rose to what had to be a painful height.
“Daddy!”
“I may be in my seventies, but I’m not dead!” John said without shame.
“But—what about Mother?” Angelica asked.
“As you know, we’re separated.”
“Yes, but—”
“She threw me out, telling me to never darken her door again. Well, a man needs a little companionship. Some tender loving care.”
“And you got that from Carol?” Angelica asked, skeptical.
“She had her moments.”
And Tricia would bet they were few and far between.
“Did you know she was a murderess?” Angelica asked.
“Carol?” John asked, shocked.
Tricia nodded.
“I can’t say that ever came up in conversation,” he said, not sounding at all pleased.
“So why did she slap you the other night?” Angelica asked.
“Er, she was a little upset with me.”
“And why was that?” Tricia asked.
“It seems she was a bit perturbed when I left town back in January without mentioning it to her first.”
“Yes, I can see where that might have been a bit upsetting,” Tricia said.
“Yes, and it was to us, too. It’s a subject we need to talk about,” Angelica said in a tone that meant business.
“Talk about what?” John asked, sounding clueless.
“For one, why you’re back here.”
“I told you; I’m here to see my two best girls.” Considering he’d pulled a disappearing act for two days, it hardly seemed a truthful statement.
“And what else?” Angelica pressed.
“Well, I could use a little influx of cash,” he admitted sheepishly.
A Just Clause Page 9