“What do we owe you?” Tricia asked as Angelica inspected the booty.
“Two grand ought to do it.”
“Two grand!” Angelica echoed, and nearly dropped Fred’s father’s watch.
“Hey, we gotta make a living,” the man said. “Of course, there’s no price one can put on family heirlooms.”
No, there wasn’t. But the families that had once rightfully owned the items on display had not been her own.
“Pay the man, Angelica. We’ve got places to go.”
Angelica reluctantly handed over her credit card and watched as the man rang up the sale. Angelica signed the receipt and their “purchases” were boxed up. Tricia took charge of the plastic bag the man handed her.
“If your father needs money in a hurry anytime soon, remind him we’re always glad to do business with him.”
Neither Tricia nor Angelica commented, and they headed straight for the door. They didn’t speak until they were well away from the store.
“That wasn’t Mother’s engagement ring—or wedding band,” Angelica said tartly.
“No, but it was engraved.”
“And whose name was inside?”
“Carol Talbot’s.”
SIXTEEN
“What?” Angelica practically screamed.
“Shhh! Wait until we get in the car,” Tricia admonished, leading the way.
Once there, Angelica hit the button on her key fob and unlocked the car’s doors. The sisters got in, and Angelica immediately started the engine, opening the windows until the air-conditioner was ready to spew an icy gale their way.
“Carol’s wedding ring?”
Tricia nodded. “And, except for Fred’s watch, I’m betting the rest of the jewelry belonged to her, too.”
“But how in the world would Daddy have gotten hold of it?”
“Two ways; either he broke into her home, or he had a key.”
“How likely is that?”
Tricia shook her head, still in shock—and maybe a little denial—that her father was nothing but a common thief. And stealing from the dead made the offense that much worse.
“What are we going to do about this?”
“As I see it, we have two choices. We can either go right to the Stoneham Police Department and hand the stuff over, or—”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to suggest we try to sneak into Carol’s home and plant the stuff.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
Angelica’s eyes narrowed. “That isn’t a viable suggestion.”
“Why?”
“Her neighbors, for one. If they see us sneaking in, we’re dead meat.”
“They obviously didn’t see Daddy sneak in. No doubt he did it under cover of darkness, which is what I would suggest we do as well.”
“Why do we have to do anything?”
“Because . . . because . . .” Tricia thought about it. Maybe doing nothing did make the most sense.
“We could just ditch the stuff that belonged to Carol.”
“Throw it away?”
“It isn’t doing anybody any good,” Angelica pointed out. “As far as we know, Carol was childless. She was an only child. Perhaps she had no heirs.”
“I suppose I could ask Grant about it. Perhaps he and his officers found a will when they searched Carol’s house.”
“That would be a good time to ask if he or his men found anything missing. Like, say, the lack of a jewelry box.”
“The stuff we just acquired wouldn’t fill such a box.”
“Maybe it was a small box—or maybe Daddy just threw away anything he thought had little or no value. We could ask him.”
“I’m not sure that’s a conversation I want to have. How would you start it? ‘Tell me, Daddy, when did you become a cat burglar?’ Would he even answer such a question?”
“We’ll never know until we ask,” Angelica said.
“You ask.”
“I just might.”
And then another terrible thought crossed Tricia’s mind. “What if Daddy left fingerprints at the scene?”
“It’s been four days since Carol died. Surely if they had prints they would have come after him by now, especially as he already has a criminal record.”
“Sometimes getting comparison prints from another state takes time—much longer than those TV crime shows would have you believe. And Grant has been pursuing Daddy. He just hasn’t caught up with him yet. Who besides us and Pixie and Fred knew where he’s been staying?”
“Everybody’s going to know where he’s staying once he gets out of the hospital—unless he just plain runs away.”
“Which brings me to another consideration that needs to be voiced.”
“And that is?”
“You invited Daddy to stay with you.”
“Reluctantly, but yes.”
“Except it’s three flights up to your apartment. Don’t you think that’s a little too much exercise for a man recovering from a heart attack?”
“Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“We’re going to have to come up with some alternate plan, and pretty darn quick, as we’re supposed to pick him up in the morning.”
“I don’t want him staying in any of my establishments. It’s one thing for us to lose something precious—I don’t want anyone else suffering such a loss. My God, think of the possible lawsuits.”
“What about one of the Brookview’s bungalows?”
“They’re all booked for the next week—including yours.”
“I guess Miss Marple and I could find other accommodations.”
“It’s too bad the old house the Chamber was using isn’t habitable.” Nigela Ricita Associates had bought the house and used it as the Chamber’s temporary headquarters, and had since moved into a newly constructed building down the street. The little house had been transported to a lot on the edge of town. While it had been settled on its new foundation, it still needed a lot of work before the real estate end of Angelica’s business could hook it up to utilities and put it on the market.
“And shouldn’t somebody look after someone who’s had a heart attack? I mean, we can’t just dump him anywhere—can we?”
“It does sound rather callous,” Angelica agreed.
“You know, hospitals have social workers. Maybe we can talk to one before we fetch Daddy.”
“Good idea. But you know what the real solution is?”
Tricia shook her head.
“We need to get Mother and Daddy back together again.”
“Do you really think that’s possible?”
“She put up with him for over fifty years—maybe she missed him during the past few months.”
“How would we even find her? Connecticut isn’t as big as Texas, but it may as well be, since we have no idea where to look for her.”
“I’m sure we could track her down. She still has plenty of friends around North Haven.”
“Like whom?”
“Bunny Murdock.”
“Her old grade school friend?” Tricia asked. She’d never been fond of the woman, whom, because of her nickname, she’d always considered to be a dumb bunny.
“Last I heard they were still in contact,” Angelica said.
“How long ago was that?”
“Maybe a year? You know how Mother loves to play bridge. I’m sure the first thing she did when she returned to the States was figure out where she could round up enough old pals to play a few hands.”
“It’s a start,” Tricia conceded. “How about tomorrow?”
“I’m up to my eyebrows in work. Is there a chance you could call her?”
Tricia scowled. “Bunny’s such a flake.”
“But she always seemed to like you—probably because Mother didn’t.”
/>
Thanks for rubbing that in, Tricia thought. “I suppose I can. The guys won’t be working on my apartment reno tomorrow. I’ll try to track her down then.”
“Great idea.”
“But if I get the number, you’re going to have to be the one to talk to Mother.”
Angelica sighed. “Okay. But she may hang up on me. The situation wasn’t exactly happy the last time we spoke.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that now. Maybe I can get Bunny to tell me about the breakup.”
“Reticence has never been Bunny’s strong point,” Angelica observed.
Tricia nodded.
The air-conditioning had finally come up to speed and Angelica put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road.
“In the meantime, who should hang on to Carol’s jewelry—you or me?” Tricia asked.
“You?”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re used to all this intrigue—and I’m just an innocent bystander,” Angelica said.
“There were surveillance cameras all over that pawn shop. Depending on how good the video is, we both could be directly traced to the stolen items.”
“Damn! What if we cleaned it up—made sure there’re no fingerprints on anything, and then mailed the items to Chief Baker?” Angelica asked.
“Haven’t you ever looked at a postal receipt? Everything that goes through the postal service has an ID number.”
“Not letters.”
“No, but any kind of package does. Besides, just like everywhere else, most post offices have surveillance cameras.”
“What if we drove to some little Podunk town and mailed them?”
“You mean even smaller than Stoneham?” Again Tricia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Well,” Angelica said, sounding utterly defeated. “There’s always the option of flushing the stuff down the toilet.”
“Then you’d better hope it doesn’t get clogged.”
Angelica heaved a sigh. “I was just not cut out for a life of crime.”
“That’s for sure.”
They drove in silence for several minutes before a disheartened-sounding Angelica spoke again. “What do you want to do for supper?”
“You mean besides drink heavily to forget?”
“Now that I’ve restocked the fridge at Booked for Lunch—to the tune of four hundred and thirty-seven dollars and change—there’s plenty to eat.”
“Maybe we deserve something better than luncheon fare,” Tricia suggested.
“I’m not up to cooking tonight,” Angelica admitted.
“We’re in Nashua. There’re a lot of nice restaurants here. In the mood for seafood?”
“Let’s get our priorities straight. We’re either going to drink heavily to forget or eat out. I’m not going to risk a DUI arrest.”
“Okay, okay. It was just a thought.”
“But . . . we could call the Brookview. For an outrageous amount of money, they will deliver.”
“You own the place. Can’t you get it comped?”
“Nigela Ricita owns the place. I’m just another customer as far as everyone else is concerned.”
Sometimes Tricia forgot that little fact.
“Okay, then, let’s go to your place and order the best thing on the Brookview’s menu.”
“I thought you already tried the truffled lobster risotto.”
“Okay, then the second-best item on the menu.”
At least Angelica managed a smile. “I like the way you think.”
SEVENTEEN
Tricia pulled her car into the municipal parking lot early that Sunday morning—early being a relative term—and with only the teensiest bit of a hangover. Thank goodness there would be no construction work done on that day.
Since her shop didn’t open for another hour, she wanted a sneak peek at the progress being made in her apartment and didn’t want to run into Jim Stark or any of the other laborers, who made her feel like she was an intruder on her own property. Since it was to be a quiet day, she’d again brought Miss Marple along. Tricia parked her car, extracted her cat’s carrier, and locked the vehicle. Mary Fairchild had pulled into the lot just after her, so she waited so they could head down Main Street together. Mary took a big bag of what looked like knitting yarn out of her backseat, shut and locked the door, and caught up with Tricia.
“Hi, Mary. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It sure is—just another day in paradise.”
At that moment, Tricia’s definition of paradise would have been waking up in her own home, in her own bed, and no construction again—ever!
They headed for the sidewalk.
“Can I carry something for you?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Mary said, as she tossed her long purse strap over her shoulder. “That sure was a nice shower you and Angelica threw for Pixie yesterday. It’s too bad you couldn’t have stayed for the whole thing.”
“Emergencies happen,” Tricia said simply. She didn’t want to dredge up the whole thing, but Mary wasn’t going to let it go.
“How is your father?”
“Better. Thanks for asking.”
“That’s good.” A rather sly smile crept across her lips. “How have you been feeling lately?”
“Quite well,” Tricia answered cautiously.
“That’s good. All recovered from the loss of your ex-husband?”
Where was this conversation heading?
“Uh, yes.”
Mary nodded. “It’s hard to get over a broken heart, and it’s so nice when you fall in love with someone you know is going to change your life for the better.” Her gaze wandered down to the small diamond solitaire on her engagement ring, and again Tricia thought she looked unhappy about its size. “I’m not the only one who seems to have found a new love. Chauncey and I went bowling in Milford last night and ran into Chief Baker and his new girlfriend at Left Hook Lanes. She’s very pretty—and young.”
“Well, how nice,” Tricia said, even though it was a struggle to keep her voice from cracking. She slowed her pace. Not that she cared if Grant Baker found someone new. More power to him—or rather to her, since it was unlikely the man would ever make a commitment. Besides, she was happy with the way her life was unfolding.
For the most part.
“They seemed pretty serious. I wonder why the chief doesn’t bring her to Stoneham.”
“No bowling alleys?” Tricia suggested.
“Maybe.”
“And here I am at my store. It was nice to see you again, Mary. And thanks for helping to make Pixie’s shower so much fun.”
“Not a problem. Bye.”
Tricia watched her neighbor carry on down the sidewalk. Had she taken just a little bit of pleasure in letting Tricia know that Grant Baker had finally moved on? They hadn’t dated for years. It didn’t bother Tricia in the least that he was with somebody new.
Oh, yeah? Then why had her stomach done a little flip-flop at the news?
Because it was a surprise—that’s all, Tricia reassured herself.
She unlocked the door and let herself in. She set the carrier on the floor and opened its door. After a brief hesitation, Miss Marple ventured out, looking around. The cat seemed happy to be back in familiar—and quiet—territory.
After getting her cat a bowl of fresh water, Tricia closed the door to the stairs behind her and crept up the steps. The entire second floor was still in disarray, with wood shavings and other dust covering every flat surface. For all the noise they’d been making, there didn’t seem to be much improvement from the last time she’d seen what she thought of as “the big mess.” However, the bones of the custom cabinet that was to house the most valuable of her vintage mystery collection had been constructed, taking up most of the north wall. It would be the f
ocal point of the room, and even though the glass doors weren’t anywhere in sight, it was a sign of good things to come, giving her a much-needed shot of hope.
Climbing the steps to the third floor, she noted that the gate to what would be her master suite still hadn’t been installed. Crossing the expanse of still-scuffed wooden floors, she ducked into the bathroom. Ceramic tile had been applied to the shower stall and travertine graced the floor, but the walls were still absent. Why did everything move so slowly? On TV, they could gut and rebuild a home in less than an hour!
She gazed around the wide expanse that was to be the new bedroom and sitting room. She’d shared intimate moments with two different men in that space. Men who’d gone on to relationships with other women. And it wasn’t the guys who’d walked away from both relationships; it had been Tricia herself—and with good reason.
And she really was happy with her life. Well, maybe not during the whole renovation process. Being forced to stay somewhere else for goodness knew how long was jarring, but she was made of tough stuff. As Ginny and Angelica had repeatedly reminded her, she was going to be deliriously happy with the changes in her living space—when it was finished.
Tricia headed back downstairs, but she took her shoes off before entering the store. She wiped them off before heading back to the front of the shop and the cash desk. Haven’t Got a Clue had more than enough dust in it, and she feared for the health of her vacuum cleaner, which was getting a great deal of use since work had begun upstairs.
Miss Marple had taken up residence on the little shelf above and behind the cash desk and was already happily napping, and with time to kill, Tricia pulled out the slip of paper with Bunny’s phone number on it, picked up the vintage phone’s heavy black receiver, and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Bunny? It’s Tricia Miles.”
“Good grief! Talk about a voice from the past. What’s it been—ten years since we’ve spoken?” the older lady asked.
“Probably longer,” Tricia admitted. “I hope you’re well.”
“Well, I’ve got this sciatica problem,” Bunny said, and then launched into a long and extremely detailed list of her past and current ailments and all the different treatments she’d sought to no avail. Tricia muttered an occasional “Oh, dear” and “That’s awful” when she could get a word in edgewise. She’d counted the squares of tin on the ceiling above her, wiped down the counter, and made at least twenty circuits around the cash desk by the time Bunny finally wound down.
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