“And so have you.”
A blush inched up Fred’s neck to color his cheeks. “I’d better get this car back to my friend.”
He climbed behind the wheel and started the engine, while Tricia returned to the porch, standing there long enough to wave good-bye before she joined the rest of the ladies in the parlor.
Pixie had removed her scarf, glasses, and gloves and stood in the center of the room. “I can’t believe it. This is the first party that anyone’s ever thrown for me!” she squealed with delight.
“Wait’ll you see the cake and the stack of presents,” Ginny sang.
“I get presents?” Pixie gushed.
“Of course. This is a bridal shower,” Angelica said, and laughed.
“Will there be games, too?” Pixie asked.
“What’s a shower without games?” Grace called.
Debra, a server from the Brookview Inn, was decked out in a black vintage waitress dress with a crisp white apron. “Would anyone like some punch?”
“I would,” Ginny called as everyone was seated.
Pixie pulled Tricia and Angelica aside. “I don’t know how to thank you guys.”
“We’re happy to do it,” Tricia said.
Pixie took in the decorations and peeked around Angelica to see the cake standing in the place of honor on the dining room’s sideboard. “And that cake!”
“Nikki made it.”
It was a cake to behold. In honor of Pixie’s vintage wardrobe, Nikki had fashioned a two-foot-high confection in the shape of a dressmaker’s mannequin, but she’d changed the design to a stylized wedding gown with a sweetheart neckline, a skirt with oodles of fondant ruffles, and a string of pearls.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Tears filled Pixie’s eyes. “You know, I’ve always been afraid to let myself be truly happy, because something always happens to spoil it. But right now—this is the best day of my entire life.”
“Well, you have many happy days in front of you, too. You and Fred,” Tricia added.
“Beside you guys, he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Tricia beamed.
“Would someone take my picture with the cake?” Pixie asked.
Calls of “I will—I will!” flooded the room, and most of the guests pulled out their phones once again, hurrying to join the bride-to-be.
Mary Fairchild, owner of the By Hook or By Book craft shop, hung back, looking wistful. She’d recently become engaged to Chauncey Porter, owner of the Armchair Traveler. The ring on her left hand was no bigger than Pixie’s, but unlike Tricia’s assistant, Mary seemed embarrassed by its size.
“It’s always a thrill the first time,” she lamented.
Tricia’s wedding to Christopher sure was. If she ever decided to tie the knot again, she vowed to skip the pageantry and elope.
“Have you set a date?” Tricia asked.
Mary shook her head. “Chauncey wants to get married by a justice of the peace, with no fanfare. He doesn’t see the point of spending a lot of money on frivolity.” She didn’t look happy about the situation. “He said that because this is my second marriage, we shouldn’t make a fuss.”
“Everybody deserves at least a little fuss on their wedding day,” Angelica said kindly.
Mary shrugged.
“Men!” Tricia said in exasperation, because Mary wasn’t looking for advice—just commiseration.
“I guess,” Mary said.
A gushing Pixie and her entourage returned to the parlor. “Everything’s just so beautiful. Party favors and everything!”
“Why don’t you sit down and have some punch and we can get started with the rest of the party?” Angelica suggested. “You sit there—in the chair of honor.”
Pixie actually giggled. “Okay.”
She sat down, and Debra stepped forward once again to offer her a glass of punch from the silver tray in her hand.
Angelica made to step forward, but Tricia grabbed her arm and turned her aside.
“What’s up?”
“I spoke with Fred before he left,” Tricia said, keeping her voice low.
Angelica inspected her sister’s face. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like what you have to tell me?”
“Because I wasn’t happy to hear the news, either. Fred had to ask Daddy to leave his apartment.”
“Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. What are we going to do about him now?”
Angelica took in the guests filling the parlor. “We’ll get through the party and then we’ll think about it. I’m sure Daddy will show up sooner or later. And when he does, I’m going to give him what for!” She eyed the glasses of punch being handed out. “I know where the liquor is kept. I may go spike my drink.”
“And I may join you.”
But before Tricia and Angelica could grab glasses, a familiar figure opened the swinging door from the kitchen to the dining room, beckoning them forward.
“Oh, no,” Angelica groused. “What on earth is Daddy doing here?”
“We’d better find out—and fast,” Tricia said.
Angelica charged forward like an angry bull, and Tricia turned to her guests. “We’ll be right back,” she said, and smiled, but since everyone was conversing, she doubted anyone really noticed.
She pushed through the swinging door.
“Oh, there you are, Princess.”
“Daddy, what are you doing here?” Tricia asked, noting that though it wasn’t hot, her father’s upper lip was beaded with sweat.
“I came to say good-bye. I know my being here in the village has just upset you girls, and it’s time for me to say au revoir.”
“And not a moment too soon,” Angelica interrupted.
“That is, if you can spot me a few hundred,” John amended.
“Are you okay?” Tricia asked her father.
Angelica barreled on. “You have the nerve to ask for money after clearing my café of cold cuts and then trashing them!”
“Just as a loan. I’ll pay you back—I promise!”
“Are you feeling all right? You don’t look well,” Tricia said.
Angelica paused in her hissy fit to take in John’s face, and her strong streak of compassion overwhelmed her anger. “No, you don’t look well.”
“I’m fine. And I know it’s an imposition, but you see, I’ve got this business opportunity, and”—he took a deep breath and waved a searching hand behind him—“I think I might like to sit.”
The kitchen was used as a work area only, and the only seat was a utilitarian stool. Still, Tricia grabbed it and shoved it under her father’s posterior before he could fall.
“Daddy, you look positively green. I think we’d better call the paramedics.”
“Nonsense. It’s just the heat of the day.”
“The weather is perfect—unless you’re wearing a pink wool poodle skirt, and then it’s a little toasty,” Angelica groused.
“I’m perfectly fine. But I could use a lift to the bus station in Nashua. There’s a Greyhound to Boston at six o’clock. I’ve got plenty of time, so maybe one of you girls could take me after your little party.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Angelica said, and turned for the phone on the wall.
“Who are you calling?”
“As Tricia suggested, the paramedics.”
“No!” John said, struggling to his feet, but the effort seemed to tax him. Clutching his chest, he sank to the floor.
FIFTEEN
Tricia paced the confines of St. Joseph Hospital in Milford. The fact that the ambulance crew had brought her father there instead of heading for its big brother in Nashua probably meant that his life wasn’t in danger.
She hoped.
Still, she felt more than a little foolish to be seen in her trashy-looking
Sandy Olsson Grease costume. Angelica managed to look dignified no matter what the situation. No one had asked about their choice of attire, for which she was extremely grateful.
Tricia gazed through the window to the parking lot outside the ER’s waiting room. “Poor Pixie. She said she was afraid to be happy because something always comes along and spoils it. And then Daddy had to show up and ruin her shower.”
“He didn’t ruin it,” Angelica said, sounding weary. “Ginny stepped right in with all the poise of Audrey Hepburn and took over. I’m sure she made sure all of the guests had a wonderful time.”
“I so wanted to see how that cake was going to be cut,” Tricia lamented.
“I’m sure someone will post it on Facebook.” Angelica sighed, her expression darkening. “Daddy didn’t look well at all when they put him in the ambulance.”
“No, he didn’t. But I’m going to remain hopeful that this is just a speed bump in the road and that he’ll be up and about in no time.”
“And out of our hair?” Angelica asked quizzically.
Tricia didn’t have an opportunity to answer.
“Miles family?” called a voice from the vicinity of the ER’s reception desk.
The sisters stood and hurried over to meet the lab-coated woman. “Family of John Miles?”
“That’s us,” Tricia said. “We’re his daughters.”
The doctor eyed their attire, but said nothing. “I’m Dr. Petrov,” she said with a faint Russian accent. “Your father has suffered a mild heart attack.”
“I knew it,” Angelica muttered.
“But the damage doesn’t appear to be too great. With a change in diet, some regular exercise, tender loving care from his family, and follow-up with his regular physician, he should make a good recovery. We’ll be keeping him overnight, but you can take him home tomorrow.”
The sisters looked at each other uneasily.
“Can we see him?” Tricia asked.
“Certainly. If you’ll follow me.”
They trailed behind the doctor to a cubicle with a multicolored drape. The doctor pulled it aside and let them enter. Despite the backdrop of monitoring equipment and IVs, John lay back on the gurney looking none the worse for wear. Certainly his color had improved since he’d collapsed in the Sheer Comfort Inn’s kitchen.
“Princess! Angelica!” he called, his voice sounding pretty much normal. “I’m sorry I gave you such a scare.”
“You certainly did,” Angelica said, and stepped closer to the bed to give her father a quick peck on the cheek, although from the look in her eyes, all had not been forgiven. Tricia moved to the other side of the gurney and kissed his other cheek.
“The doctor says you can leave tomorrow,” Tricia said.
“But where will I go?”
“I’ve had an amazing piece of luck,” Angelica said with what sounded like great reluctance. “My reupholstered couch was delivered just this morning.”
“You can hardly ask a sick man to sleep on a lumpy old couch,” John said, his voice dripping with faux sadness.
“Of course not,” Angelica said. “You can have my bed.”
John’s answering smile was triumphant, and not at all lost on Angelica.
“They’re going to find me a room for the night,” John said. “But I thought I should tell you that I left my suitcase on the back porch at the inn.”
“We’ll retrieve it,” Angelica promised.
“Where are your clothes?” Tricia asked.
“In a white bag. I think they stuffed them under this bed.”
Sure enough, Tricia found the bag. Stuffed was the right word. They’d been tossed in with no regard for wrinkles. “I’d better fold these, otherwise you’ll look like a hobo when you leave tomorrow.” She turned away, emptied the bag onto the lone guest chair in the cubicle, and folded his shirt, underwear, socks, and lastly his pants—but not before shoving her hand into his pocket and extracting his wallet. She looked over her shoulder, making sure Angelica and her father were engaged in conversation before she checked the contents. Sure enough, she found not one but six pawn tickets. Poor Fred. The wallet also contained a fistful of twenty-dollar bills.
Tricia folded the pants, putting them back in the bag, but kept the wallet. “Daddy. It’s not safe for you to be separated from your wallet. I’ll put it in my purse for safekeeping.”
“Thank you, Princess.”
A nurse stepped into the cubicle. “It’s your lucky day, Mr. Miles. We’ve already got a room waiting for you.”
“The service sure is great in this hotel,” John said and laughed.
“As soon as we can snag a couple of the guys, we’ll be taking you up there. In the meantime”—she turned back to her patient—“I need to take his vitals. If you ladies will excuse us.”
“Sure thing,” Tricia said, already backing out of the room.
“We’ll hang around until you’re settled in your room, Daddy,” Angelica promised, following her sister.
The nurse pulled the curtain, and Tricia stood there just looking at it.
“He sure doesn’t look like a guy who just had a heart attack,” Angelica commented.
“The tests don’t lie.”
“I suppose not.”
Tricia held out the pawn tickets. “As soon as we make sure Daddy’s tucked in for the night, we’ve got a stop to make before we go home.”
“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
“Like? I have a feeling we’re both going to hate it.”
• • •
It was late afternoon by the time Tricia and Angelica walked into the U-Trade pawn shop in Nashua. Tricia figured her father would have either had to take a cab or, more likely, a much cheaper bus ride from Stoneham to the state’s largest city to visit the money monger where John had hocked not only Fred’s father’s watch but other items as well.
“I’m terrified Daddy stole something I can’t replace,” Angelica admitted.
“Since the tickets are only dated yesterday, there’s a good chance the items haven’t been sold and we can recover them,” Tricia said.
Angelica held up her left hand, crossing her fingers, while she clutched the car’s steering wheel with the other and headed east. “I do wish we could have gone home to change . . .”
“Yeah, well, we couldn’t. Not unless we wanted to wait until Monday to find out what Daddy’s been up to.”
“I’ve never even been in a pawn shop. How icky are they?”
“I don’t know. From what Pixie’s said, there are TV shows about them, but I’ve never seen them.”
“So you think it will be a safe place for two unescorted women?”
“Are you expecting to be attacked or something?”
“No, it’s just that . . . it all sounds so sordid. Six months ago, I would have argued that Daddy didn’t even know what a pawn shop was for. Now—I don’t even feel like I know a thing about our father.”
“I’m in agreement with you there,” Tricia said.
They drove along Nashua’s main drag, with Tricia keeping a sharp eye out for three gold spheres hanging from a bar. “There!” She pointed them out, and Angelica turned at the next side street to find a parking space.
They got out of the car, heading back for the main thoroughfare. “What do we do when we get there?” Angelica said.
Tricia pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head as though they were a headband. “Proffer the pawn tickets and see what they want for us to recover the items.”
“What else do you think Daddy stole from Fred?”
“I have no idea.”
The large plate-glass windows of the squat brick building sported a plethora of neon signs proclaiming, DIAMONDS, WE BUY GOLD, and ANTIQUES. Tricia pushed through one of the heavy double glass doors and was surprised
to see the place looked like a store, with high-end bicycles hanging from the ceiling, cases filled with estate jewelry and other collectibles, and shelves filled with all kinds of interesting-looking merchandise. A few people stood at the long glass counters at the back of the shop, speaking with employees, and mounted near the ceiling, covering the showroom from all angles, were a number of surveillance cameras.
“It’s not what I expected,” Angelica muttered.
Tricia charged ahead, aiming for the sales counter. A burly white man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a blue bandana tied around his head leaned forward on the glass. “Going to a costume party, girls?”
“We’re on the way home, actually,” Tricia fibbed. “I hope you can help us. Our father was in here yesterday.” She produced the pawn tickets. “We’d like to get his things out of hock.”
“There’ll be a charge.”
“We figured as much,” Angelica said, already reaching for her wallet.
“I’ll be right back.” The man disappeared behind a curtained doorway.
“Do you think we’ll have enough room in the car to put everything?”
“Since Daddy probably came here by bus, I’m betting it’ll be small stuff—things he could stuff in his pockets, like Fred’s watch.”
Angelica nodded, and her gaze went to take in their fellow customers, who were dressed a lot more conservatively than the two of them.
It didn’t take long for the man to return with a small plastic box. He withdrew each item, matching them with the tickets. As expected, one of them was a man’s watch, but there was also a number of other pieces of jewelry, including a gold ring.
“Good grief. Did Daddy hock his wedding band?” Angelica asked.
Tricia picked up the piece. “It’s too small to fit him.”
“Mother’s?” Angelica asked.
Tricia squinted at the names engraved on the inside of the ring and felt the blood drain from her face. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes, it’s Mother’s,” she said hurriedly. She examined the rest of the jewelry. A pair of what looked like diamond stud earrings, a tennis bracelet, an opal broach, and a diamond engagement ring—which was definitely not the one her mother had been wearing on her left hand for the previous five decades.
A Just Clause Page 14