A Just Clause

by Lorna Barrett

  “Of course, I heard the sad news about Christopher, but I didn’t know where to send a card.”

  “I’m still in Stoneham. I own the mystery bookstore, Haven’t Got a Clue.”

  “Is that so?”

  Tricia had to bite her tongue. She’d only owned the store for six years. Apparently it wasn’t a subject that came up when Bunny and her mother conversed.

  “So have you had to testify against the horrible man who killed him?”

  Tricia sighed. “The trial is set for the fall. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

  While Bob Kelly’s lawyers had done everything they could to delay the trial, what they hadn’t been able to do was get a judge to give Bob bail, for which Tricia was grateful. At least she didn’t have to worry about running into him at the supermarket or dentist’s office.

  “So, what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Bunny finally asked.

  “I understand my mother has returned to North Haven.”

  “Oh, yes! Sheila’s got a gorgeous condo not far from where you grew up. You mean she didn’t give you her address?”

  “It must have slipped her mind,” Tricia fibbed, knowing full well her mother could care less if Tricia knew where she lived and what she was up to these days. “Angelica and I would like to contact her. You see, it’s just come to our attention that she and Daddy are now separated.”

  “And long overdue, if you ask me,” Bunny muttered.

  Tricia hadn’t. “Angelica and I would like to get Mother’s perspective on the subject.”

  “How is dear Angelica? Sheila tells me she’s quite the entrepreneur and fabulously successful with her restaurant, store, and bed and breakfast.”

  Funny how Bunny knew all about Angelica and nothing about Tricia.

  “Yes, she is,” Tricia admitted, changing tacks. “In fact, it was Angelica who asked me to call you. She’s so terribly busy—but she desperately wants to touch base with Mother, and—”

  “Let me get that phone number right now.” Bunny evidently put the phone down, for Tricia heard a loud clunk and then the rustle of papers before Bunny came back on the line. “Here it is.”

  Tricia took down the number just as the shop door opened and Pixie entered amid the jingling bell.

  “Oh, dear—look at the time. I’m afraid I need to say good-bye, because it’s time for me to open my shop. It’s been lovely to speak with you, Bunny.”

  “Oh, but Tricia—!”

  “Good-bye, and thank you.”

  Tricia pressed the rest buttons on the phone and then hung up the receiver.

  “You didn’t have to get off the line on account of me,” Pixie said.

  “Believe me, I’ve been looking for an excuse for the last twenty minutes.”

  Pixie’s eyebrows rose. “Anybody interesting—and male?”

  Tricia sighed. “No such luck.” She grabbed her purse and began to rummage through it. “I’m dying to hear how the rest of your shower went yesterday after Angelica and I had to leave—but first I want to give you this.”

  “Another present?” Pixie asked hopefully, but as Tricia placed the man’s watch into her open palm her smile faded.

  “It’s Fred’s watch. I was able to track it down. Would you mind giving it to him?”

  “Not a problem,” Pixie said, pulling the expandable watchband over her right wrist. “Did your father hock it?”

  Tricia nodded. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Pixie shrugged. “Hey, my old man was a thief who did time. It’s kinda embarrassing, but now that he’s been dead twenty years, nobody but me remembers.”

  Was it going to take two decades for Tricia to live down this humiliation?

  “Is your father okay?”

  “Yes, thanks for asking. He’s supposed to be released today. Angelica was going to go to the hospital and talk to a social worker to find out what our options are.”

  “Sorry to say, but I think you’re stuck with the old guy.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure Angelica will phone as soon as she figures out what’s going to happen.”

  Pixie nodded, and Tricia changed the subject. “So how was the cake yesterday?”

  “Oh my God—it was delicious!” Pixie nearly squealed, and launched into a detailed description of it and every other aspect of the bridal shower Tricia had paid for and had to miss. But unlike her conversation with Bunny, Tricia actually enjoyed listening to Pixie’s monologue, which was punctuated with more than a dozen utterings of “thank you.”

  “I bought a couple of boxes of pretty thank-you cards with pansies on the front and I plan to write all my notes tonight to everybody who came and for all the wonderful presents. I brought them along with me today . . . in case things get slow.”

  Tricia smiled but didn’t have a chance to comment, as a customer entered the shop and Pixie became all business. The telephone rang just then, and Tricia picked up the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue—”

  “It’s your sister,” Angelica sang on the other end of the line.

  “What’s the news on Daddy?”

  “As we feared, they’re discharging him,” Angelica said, sounding not entirely happy about the situation. “I spoke to the resident on duty and was told he was doing remarkably well. He can be left on his own, but has to avoid stairs—so you were right; he can’t come stay with me. The other bungalows at the Brookview are booked solid for the rest of the week.”

  “Does that mean I have to move out?”

  “I can give you a lovely room at the Sheer Comfort Inn.”

  “What about Miss Marple? I don’t think she’d enjoy being cooped up in such a small space all day and night. It’s so noisy here during the week, she doesn’t enjoy coming to the shop.”

  “I thought of that. I just got off the phone with Grace. She and Mr. Everett would be more than happy to take care of Miss Marple until things settle down.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. She already adores them both.” As though the cat knew she was being spoken about, Miss Marple jumped down from her perch to the cash desk and rubbed her head against Tricia’s shoulder. She’d have to get out the lint roller when she got off the phone.

  “Is there a chance you could go over to the Brookview now and pack up? I can take Daddy out for brunch, and that should give you about an hour.”

  Tricia sighed. “Pixie’s here, so I guess I can do it. I’ll give Grace a call this afternoon and ask if I can drop off Miss Marple after the shop closes.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I spoke to Bunny and have Mother’s number. Are you game to call her?”

  It was Angelica’s turn to give a martyred sigh. “Yes. But I think I should do it this evening. That way I can fortify myself with a good, stiff drink. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to be present. I can put the call on speaker. You don’t have to join in the conversation, but at least if you’re there I won’t have to repeat everything.”

  “Then you’d better make a pitcher of martinis,” Tricia agreed.

  “That was part of my plan. Meet me at my place around six.”

  “See you then,” Tricia promised. She hung up the phone just in time to ring up the customer’s sale. Pixie really was an excellent saleswoman. She’d convinced the woman to buy the first book in at least five different series, as well as reprints of a number of books by Josephine Tey. Once they’d said a cheerful good-bye to their happy buyer, Tricia gathered up her purse.

  “That was Angelica on the phone. She’s installing our father in my bungalow at the Brookview, and I’m moving to the Sheer Comfort Inn. I hope to be back in plenty of time to close the shop.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine here on my own. If it gets slow, I can always dust, vacuum, or write my thank-you notes,” Pixie said cheerfully.

  “You’re a doll,
” Tricia said, and hurried out the door. She had a lot to accomplish during the next couple of hours.

  • • •

  Tricia was dismayed to discover she’d accumulated a lot of stuff during her enforced relocation and had underestimated the equipment necessary to ensure a happy cat. It took two trips to transport her possessions to her new digs in order to make the bungalow at the Brookview available for her father, and another carload of stuff to accommodate Miss Marple for her stay with Grace and Mr. Everett. Angelica had arranged for the room to be cleaned and the sheets changed, and Tricia felt guilty for keeping the chambermaid waiting almost ten minutes as she finished gathering up the last of her belongings.

  Her guilt was reinforced when she dropped her cat off at the Harris-Everett home, but Miss Marple didn’t seem at all concerned and was already firmly entrenched on Grace’s lap, purring like a well-oiled machine, as the door closed on Tricia’s back.

  It was ten minutes to six when Tricia arrived at Angelica’s, and once again Sarge greeted her with the unbridled enthusiasm only a dog can muster.

  “Calm down!” Tricia implored, and laughed. “You’re liable to rupture something vital!”

  “Hopefully his vocal cords,” Angelica said, but it only took her command to “Hush!” and the barking abated. Sarge really was a well-trained canine.

  Angelica was clad in a flowing caftan, which meant she was already in for the evening. She turned to the refrigerator and removed the pitcher of martinis, then retrieved the frosted glasses from the freezer. “I’ve waited all day for this.”

  “Did Daddy give you a hard time?”

  Angelica poured, setting the olives skewered by frill picks in the glass with a flourish. “He gave me no trouble whatsoever, which raised my hackles. I told him to order from room service and told the desk to approve any movies he wants to watch.”

  “Even X-rated?”

  “If it keeps him quiet and in one location. But I had them limit his calls. If he needs help, he’ll have to call the desk. I don’t want him calling anyone on an outside line, because goodness knows what other trouble he could get into.”

  “Thanks for taking care of all that,” Tricia said, wondering if she’d reached her guilt quota for the day.

  They clinked glasses and then drank deeply. Tricia was the first to speak. “What if Mother isn’t home when you call?”

  “Then I’ll leave a message. And try again once every hour until I do get her, because Daddy needs to go home!”

  If anyone could make that happen, it was Angelica.

  Tricia handed over the slip of paper she’d written on earlier that day. Angelica took another fortifying swig of her drink and picked up her cell phone, punching in the number and the speaker function. It rang three times before the call was answered.

  “Hello?” came a voice the sisters knew well, and that sounded remarkably happy.

  “Mother? It’s Angelica.”

  “Oh.” The happiness had immediately evaporated. “Why are you calling?”

  “Just to see how you are. Well, I hope.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence ensued.

  “That’s—that’s great. I’m fine, too. And so is Tricia.”

  More silence.

  “How did you get this number?” Sheila asked, sounding annoyed.

  “The Internet is just full of interesting information,” Angelica lied.

  “But I paid to make sure my number was kept private.”

  “These days, everything is fair game,” Angelica fudged.

  Yet more silence.

  “What do you want?” Sheila asked bluntly.

  Angelica took another fortifying sip of her drink before answering. “It’s Daddy.”

  Again, silence.

  “He came to visit us earlier this week, and yesterday he had a heart attack. I thought you should know.”

  Even more silence.

  “Mother?” Angelica prompted.

  “Will he live?”

  “Yes. Thankfully, it was pretty minor. But he needs loving care and time to recover.”

  “And you don’t want to give him that,” Sheila stated bluntly.

  “That’s rather a cold statement,” Angelica countered.

  “But true,” her mother asserted.

  Tricia picked up the martini pitcher and topped up Angelica’s glass. She was going to need it, going head-to-head with their mother.

  Angelica took another healthy swig of her drink before answering. “It seems that Tricia and I have been kept in the dark about Daddy’s . . . proclivities.”

  Silence yet again. This was getting tiresome.

  “Your father was always a rogue,” Sheila finally exclaimed. “It was what first attracted me to him.”

  “And it must have been enough to entertain you, since your marriage endured for five decades.”

  “If nothing else, your father always managed to make me laugh.”

  “And why did you stop laughing?” Angelica pressed.

  “Bermuda,” Sheila answered simply.

  Bermuda. Where Angelica had insisted they talk about the painful past. Her mother had berated Tricia and refused to engage in such a conversation—which had been too much for Angelica to endure. It had made Tricia infinitely sad, and yet incredibly indebted to and in awe of her older sister.

  “I suppose Tricia is standing beside you listening in,” Sheila accused.

  “Why shouldn’t she?” Angelica asked.

  “Hello, Mother,” Tricia said, but wasn’t acknowledged in return.

  “Let’s get back to your father,” Sheila said succinctly. “I assume you want to ship him back to me.”

  “If nothing else, you’ve taken care of him for most of his life. And from what we’ve gathered, bailed him out of trouble as well.”

  “I think after doing that for half a century I’ve had my fill.”

  “Why are you angry with Daddy? Just because he stuck up for Tricia?” Angelica demanded.

  “Yes.”

  Sheila couldn’t have hurt Tricia more if she’d stabbed her in the heart.

  “Do you know how unreasonable you are?” Angelica accused.

  “I don’t care,” Sheila declared.

  Angelica swung her gaze to Tricia and then back to the cell phone sitting on the kitchen island.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mother. I think this conversation—and our relationship—is over. Have a happy, lonely life. You reap what you sow,” Angelica said, and stabbed the end-call icon.

  “Oh, Ange. I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  Angelica’s cheeks flushed, and the hand holding her drink shook just a little. “I can’t imagine anything Antonio could do that would ever, ever make me angry enough to cut him out of my life, and he isn’t even my flesh and blood.”

  “He’s very lucky to have you on his side,” Tricia said quietly.

  “There’s such a thing as unconditional love. That’s what I feel for him, for Ginny, for Sofia, and especially for you. You are my sister, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

  “Oh, Ange,” Tricia said again, and suddenly the sisters were in each other’s arms, tears streaming down their cheeks.

  It was Angelica who finally let go, reaching for the paper towel roll that hung from under one of her kitchen cabinets. They blew their noses on the rough paper, wiped their eyes, and tossed the toweling into the trash can.

  Sarge was suddenly standing at their feet, quietly whining.

  “You are just the best boy,” Angelica said, turned, and reached for a dog biscuit in the jar she kept on the counter. She tossed it to the dog, who caught it in midair.

  Despite her heartache, Tricia managed a soggy laugh, but unfortunately she sobered pretty darn quick. “This still leaves us with the problem of what to do w
ith Daddy.”

  Angelica sighed. “Yes, it does. The social worker said that he had been evaluated and been found to be mentally competent. That you and I don’t have to worry about him and can”—she waved a hand in the air—“set him free.”

  “To get into what kind of trouble?” Tricia asked.

  “There’s not much we can do. We have no power of attorney. He’s a free man. He can do as he pleases.”

  “Including stealing from our friends and doing who knows what else that’s against the law,” Tricia said bitterly.

  “We can’t let him define who we are,” Angelica said. “You and I are a force for good in this village, and that’s the way I want it to stay.”

  “You’ve paid a pretty hefty price to keep it that way, too,” Tricia said.

  Angelica shook her head. “I’ve always made sure any business endeavor I’ve been a part of is aboveboard and honest, and I don’t intend to change.”

  Tricia shook her head. “How did neither of us know that our father was a”—it hurt to say the phrase—“con man?”

  “Because both you and I only want to believe the best of everybody we meet. To learn that our father can’t reach that criteria has been sobering to say the least.”

  “So what do we do now? Encourage him to leave Stoneham to wreak havoc on some other community?”

  “I don’t know. If Mother couldn’t rehabilitate him in half a century, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell you and I will do any better.”

  Tricia shook her head. “Poor Grandma Miles. It must have broken her heart to know her son was a ne’er-do-well.”

  “And now another generation feels the same way,” Angelica said tartly.

  There didn’t seem to be much to add to that conversation.

  Tricia drained her glass. Her stomach growled. “What are we going to do about supper?”

  Angelica shrugged. “We are both in need for comfort food. I’ve got eggs and bread. I could make either omelets or French toast.”