Mr. Everett immediately brightened.
Pixie took a cookie and passed the bag to her coworker, who did likewise. Stuffed with lobster, Tricia passed.
“So, what did you and the big-time author talk about?” Pixie asked.
Tricia could have fibbed, but chose to tell the truth. “Poor Carol. Apparently he’s been asking questions about her around the village. He thinks she’d be a great subject for his next book.”
“Really?” Pixie asked, skeptically.
“Really?” Mr. Everett repeated, sounding aggrieved. Of course, he knew about Carol’s past and Pixie didn’t. Yet. Tricia wasn’t going to go around gossiping about it, but it was sure to be brought out in the open once again for a new generation to learn—or wouldn’t Nikki allow Russ to report that, either?
“I must admit, despite our many darts games, I really didn’t know much about Carol. Like—did she work? What were her other hobbies? Did she have friends and family who will mourn her loss?”
“Gee, I dunno,” Pixie said, sounding clueless.
“Life is so fragile,” Tricia went on. “I wish I’d taken the time to get to know her better.”
Mr. Everett let out a breath. “Although I wasn’t friendly with her, I know that she worked at the library.”
“Oh? I guess I don’t remember seeing her on my visits to see Lois Kerr.”
“She didn’t work at the checkout desk, but I used to see her shelving books and performing other duties.”
The cookies had worked, and now Tricia had a starting point for her own investigation into Carol’s death.
The construction guys must have taken only a five-minute break, for suddenly the banging two floors up started in again. Tricia, Pixie, and Mr. Everett immediately stuffed the plugs back in their ears. Tricia grabbed the pad of paper and a pen that sat next to the phone and scribbled down a note, reading it over before handing it to her employees.
Going to run an errand for Pixie’s shower. Should be back in an hour or so.
Pixie grinned, her gold canine tooth flashing. “You’re the best,” she mouthed.
Mr. Everett merely nodded.
Grabbing her purse, Tricia made a break for the exit, feeling guilty to be leaving her staff to face the noise and dust without her, but, she told herself, it was for a good cause. She was determined to find out who killed Carol Talbot before Steven Richardson could.
• • •
Tricia was ashamed to admit that it had been more than a year since she’d visited the Stoneham Public Library. But, really, if she wanted a book, she could afford to buy it—and buy them she did, in droves. While the many used bookstores in Stoneham brought prosperity to the village—and to most of the booksellers—it didn’t help the average citizen. Lots of people without discretionary cash depended on the local library to fulfill their yearning for new, bold, adventurous entertainment. Tricia had contributed to the library—with both books and checks—but sometimes it was just nice to pay a visit and soak in the wonderful aura that the library exuded.
And while it had been quite some time since she’d visited, it had been even longer since she’d spoken to the library’s director, Lois Kerr.
Tricia bypassed the reception desk and headed straight for Lois’s office. She found the director’s door open and Lois hunched over her computer, furiously hacking at the keys. The years had not been kind to the director, who looked like she’d aged a decade since Tricia had last spoken with her. She knocked on the doorjamb. “Hi, Lois. Have you got a minute?”
Lois momentarily held up a hand, pounded out a few more words, and then stabbed the enter key with such force, it could have broken something. She looked up. “Gosh, that felt good.”
“What on earth were you typing?”
Lois shook herself. “A note with the intent to reason with an idiot. A member of the Board of Selectmen wants to cut our budget by fifty percent because he feels that, thanks to the Internet, libraries are obsolete. What an—” She stopped herself, but Tricia had a feeling she knew the particular noun the librarian would have liked to have said, and she smiled despite herself.
Lois stood and gestured toward the guest chair before her desk. “Sit down and tell me what’s up, although I have a feeling I know why you’re here.”
Tricia stepped forward, took the seat, and succinctly said, “Carol Talbot.”
“I’m not surprised.” Lois moved to close her office door before she resumed her seat. “All of us here at the library were sad to learn of her death.”
The words were right, but Lois’s expression seemed to say another thing entirely.
“Did you know her well?”
Lois seemed to squirm. “Well enough.”
And what did that mean?
Tricia chose her words carefully. “Did you know about Carol’s past?”
“It seems you did,” Lois said, without admitting anything.
“I’ve heard secondhand. Did you hear firsthand?”
Lois nodded. “Yes. When you work with someone for almost thirty years, the dirty laundry is sometimes aired. I know all about Carol’s murder conviction. Truth be told, I Googled it only a couple of years ago out of morbid curiosity. But, actually, Carol was pretty up front about it.”
“And how did you react?”
Lois offered a weak laugh. “I didn’t. Because it seemed to me that when Carol spoke of her past it wasn’t with remorse—more like annoyance. Being incarcerated interrupted her life and changed its course. It was then I decided I didn’t want her as a friend.”
“How sad; for both of you.”
Lois nodded. “Like you, I read murder mysteries for entertainment, but actually knowing a murderer—murderess—changed the way I feel about such books.”
Sadly, Tricia had been acquainted with far too many murderers, the worst of which was the man who’d killed her ex-husband. Somehow, she’d managed to hang on to her love of mystery fiction, because it was the one place where justice always seemed to prevail. Was there a chance Bob Kelly would get away with murdering her ex-husband—despite the stacks of evidence against him? If there was one person on earth who could weasel out of trouble, it would be Bob. Though she might be in denial, Tricia refused to accept that scenario.
For the most part.
Damn, but she hated that debilitating feeling of uncertainty. Bob’s attorneys had succeeded in having his trial postponed time after time. It was now scheduled for the fall, and Tricia felt conflicted. The idea of having to go over that horrible day in front of a courtroom of people filled her with dread, but the prosecution needed her testimony to convict him. She would do whatever was necessary to assure that outcome.
She put it out of her mind.
“I’m assuming Carol was at least an acceptable employee,” Tricia said.
“For the most part. She performed her duties in a reasonable fashion.”
“And what is it you’re not saying?”
Lois shrugged. “I guess because of her past, it shouldn’t be surprising that she wasn’t good at relating to people—our patrons. As long as she worked behind the scenes, she was an exemplary employee. But put her in front of the public and there was a real disconnect. She didn’t seem to have a sympathy chip. If someone came in and said they’d lost a loved one, Carol missed the opportunity to empathize.”
How sad.
“Of late, there were other problems, but Carol was addressing them.”
Lois didn’t elaborate, and Tricia got the feeling that asking what she meant wouldn’t get her any answers. She changed tacks. “Did Carol have many friends?”
“She only ever spoke about her neighbors—and even that wasn’t often. She did seem a little bit more outgoing after she lost her husband.”
“She was lonely?”
“I think so.”
“Did you know her husband?”
“Not really. He came to some of our celebrations, but he didn’t speak much or mix—not even with Carol. I got the impression they weren’t particularly devoted.”
“Why was that?”
“Even when they were together—they weren’t. Their body language, maybe.” Lois shrugged and then looked Tricia in the eye.
“Did she have any hobbies—besides playing darts, I mean?”
“Yes, she mentioned that she’d been playing regularly at the Dog-Eared Page. I gather you two went head-to-head on a regular basis.”
“We did play often—and usually not on the same team. But other than that, what did she do in her leisure time?”
“You mean like gardening or something?”
Tricia nodded.
Lois frowned. “She often mentioned her husband’s collection.”
“What did he collect?”
“I’m not sure. She never really specified. She mentioned artwork and playing cards. For all I know, he could have collected football or baseball posters and trading cards. I gather some of the old cards are very valuable.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
Lois leaned forward. “Bright and early Wednesday morning, I had a visit from thriller author Steven Richardson asking the very same questions as you.”
“Oh?” Tricia asked with faux sincerity.
“Yes. He told me he wanted to write about Carol’s unfortunate past.”
“And what did you tell him?”
Lois’s smile was ironic. “A lot less than I’ve told you.”
That the librarian held her in such esteem meant a lot to Tricia, and yet it didn’t seem appropriate to say anything in reply.
“He came bearing a gift—his latest book.”
So that’s where it went. Had it been the reason Baker had eliminated Richardson as a suspect so quickly? But how could the author have proved that that particular copy of the book was the same tome he’d taken from Haven’t Got a Clue?
“I suppose you’ve spoken with Chief Baker as well,” Tricia said.
Lois nodded. “Not ten minutes after Richardson left my office.”
“Did he know about Carol’s past?”
“Yes. I don’t think he learned anything new during our conversation.” She eyed Tricia. “I’m rather surprised you didn’t come to see me sooner than this.”
“There have been many distractions,” Tricia said truthfully.
Lois nodded, but didn’t inquire further.
Tricia stood. “Thank you for speaking with me. I appreciate your candor.”
“I know you have Carol’s best interests at heart. Not many people would.”
A pang of guilt cascaded through Tricia. Carol’s best interests? Hardly. She wanted to prove her father was innocent of the crime, if only to stave off even more embarrassment from his antics. And she still had to report his latest indiscretion to Angelica, which was going to be painful for both of them—the telling and the listening.
Tricia turned and opened the office door, but paused. “I hope it won’t be so long before we have an opportunity to speak again, and under much better circumstances.”
“As do I.”
Tricia had hoped she’d feel better after speaking with the library’s director, but as she walked back to her car she realized she had a lot of catching up to do if she was going to figure out who killed Carol Talbot before Steven Richardson did.
She was already more than two steps behind him.
THIRTEEN
“And how was your day?” Angelica asked as she poured their first martinis of the evening. It was going to take that kind of rocket fuel to get through the ensuing conversation. Tricia was glad Angelica had stopped somewhere and picked up a cheerful bouquet of mixed flowers. The pink and red roses, lilies, and greenery not only looked beautiful and brightened Angelica’s kitchen, but their heavenly scent permeated the kitchen as well.
“After a morning of doing nothing, the construction crew showed up and attacked the main waste stack, which meant we had no bathroom for several hours. But now I guess the upstairs bathroom is set to go as far as plumbing is concerned.”
“That’s good.”
“Good, yes. But not everything about today was good. In fact, I have some very unhappy news for you.”
“I don’t know what could be worse after what happened last evening.”
“Then take a good, stiff swig of your drink, because what I have to tell you will be hard to hear.”
Angelica did as she was told and then plunked her glass back onto the counter with a noticeable thud. “Okay. Give it to me straight.”
Tricia let out a long and heavy breath. This was not going to be an easy conversation. “I went to Fred Pillins’s apartment this morning. If Daddy was there, he wouldn’t open the door to see me.”
“Which isn’t surprising.”
“But since I was there, I went to have a look at the Dumpster in the parking lot.”
No sooner had she said those words than tears began to form in her sister’s eyes. “Please don’t tell me—”
Tricia nodded. “I’m afraid so. Everything Daddy stole from you last night was in there—rotting.”
“What on earth was he thinking?” Angelica cried, her anguish quite palpable.
“My guess is he thought he could rope poor Fred into trying to flog the stuff to his regular customers, but no way was Fred going to be open to that kind of deceit.”
Tears leaked from Angelica’s eyes. “That Daddy could steal from me is one humiliating thing. That he would try to rope a law-abiding citizen into aiding and abetting his despicable actions . . .”
She didn’t have to say more. Tricia knew exactly how she felt.
“Have you reported the theft to the police or your insurance company?”
“No. Much as I would like to see Daddy pay for his abhorrent behavior, I’m still his daughter.”
Was she?
“What are we going to do about him?”
Angelica sighed. “Perhaps the only thing we can do is just give him what he wants—money—and tell him to go away.”
“So that he can wreak havoc on some other community?”
“It’s not a perfect solution, but the only viable thing I can think of to do.” Angelica picked up her drink once more. “Please, can’t we talk about something—anything—other than Daddy?”
Tricia thought about telling her sister about her visit to the library, but that might bring up the subject of their father once again. Was her lunch with Richardson a safer subject, or just as potentially volatile?
She decided to risk it.
“I finally had lunch with Steven.”
“And?” Angelica prompted.
“In the Brookview’s private dining room. Antonio offered to comp it, but I told him no. I was determined to make Steven pay for his lies and for the way he treated me.”
“You little bitch, you.”
Tricia smiled. “The truffled lobster risotto was excellent.”
“Just another recipe I picked up on my travels,” Angelica boasted, but then frowned. “I suppose you only spoke about Carol’s murder.”
“It was the main topic of discussion. He already knew all about her past, and apparently her present. He’s way ahead of me.”
“And why do you care?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
Angelica sighed, nodding. “Let’s talk about something completely different.”
“Such as?”
“Pixie’s shower. I’ve spoken with catering at the Brookview, and we’re set to go for the food tomorrow, and I contacted everyone on your list to tell them about the change of venue.”
“Great. I’ve already ordered half a white sheet cake from the Patisserie.”
“Um, yes
, I know,” Angelica said, her voice just a tad higher—meaning something was up.
“And?” Tricia asked.
“I think it’s a great idea to have a white cake. But I spoke to Nikki about the presentation.”
“Presentation? It’s a sheet cake.”
“But that’s so pedestrian. Honestly, it needs to go with the theme of the party.”
“It’s only going to be eaten.”
“Yes, but don’t you want Pixie to remember this party for the rest of her life?”
“She’ll have her wedding cake to remember for the rest of her life. Tomorrow we’ll take pictures of the cake before it’s cut and they will refresh her memory in years to come.”
Angelica scowled.
“I’m not going to win this one, am I?”
“I’m afraid not,” Angelica said contritely. “Nikki thought my idea was perfect and made a sketch right on the spot.”
“A sketch?” Tricia could see the dollar signs mounting. Not that she couldn’t afford to make a grand gesture, but a simple shower for less than a dozen seemed to be turning into an extravaganza.
“You know that Pixie is all about vintage clothes. What better cake than a doll in a big nineteen-fifties dress. Think Lucille Ball; she was the quintessential woman of that era.”
Tricia frowned. “Like a Barbie doll?”
“No, no, no. That’s too childish. Perhaps a mannequin. That’s what Nikki sketched.” She turned and retrieved a piece of paper from the counter behind her.
Tricia studied the drawing. The mannequin did indeed wear a shirtwaist dress, with a wide belt at the middle and pearls around the neck. It kind of did remind her of the costumes Lucille Ball wore on I Love Lucy, which she’d seen in reruns since she was a child.
“Mind you, this was just the first sketch. We discussed it in more detail, and we’ll see the final result tomorrow.”
“Well, I have to admit, I do think Pixie would enjoy it. But how do you cut such a cake?”
“That’s not your concern. You just have to pay the extra it will cost. In fact, since we’re hosting this little soiree, I decided to hire one of the waitresses from the Brookview Inn to act as our server. Nikki will give her instructions on how to cut the cake, and we can feel free to mingle with our guests.”
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