Tricia smiled. “I don’t think I’ve had French toast in at least a decade.”
“There’s bacon in my freezer, and I have a half-gallon jug of New Hampshire’s finest Grade A amber maple syrup in the cupboard. It sounds like French toast might just fit the bill.”
“Sounds like heaven to me,” Tricia said, smiling.
Again, Sarge whined just a little, his little brown eyes filled with nothing but the unconditional love Angelica had mentioned just minutes before.
Angelica turned to crouch before one of her cupboards, taking out a couple of shiny frying pans. “Are you game to help?”
“I’ve never actually made French toast before. I’d sure like to learn.”
Angelica smiled. “It’s not rocket science.”
“Then let’s make it together,” Tricia said, grinning. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen such a happy expression on her sister’s face.
EIGHTEEN
Tricia arrived at Haven’t Got a Clue early the next morning—but not early enough to beat the construction workers. A huge pile of drywall had arrived and was being hoisted by a JLG lift into the hole where there had once been a window. New energy-efficient windows were also on the to-be-done list of upgrades. The plans also called for a balcony with French doors leading to it to be added to the second floor overlooking the alley. True, the view wasn’t spectacular, but it would be nice to have some kind of outdoor space—although the way things were going, Tricia wasn’t sure she’d get to enjoy it this summer.
She found herself looking out the window, waiting for Mr. Everett to arrive. While her new digs at the Sheer Comfort Inn were cramped, she missed her cat something fierce and was eager for a full report on how Miss Marple had fared during her first lonely night away from Tricia.
When he came into work, Mr. Everett entered the store with not only a smile on his lips, but whistling a happy tune: “High Hopes,” another tune off one of the CDs Pixie had brought into the store.
“My, but you’re in a good mood today,” Tricia said by way of a greeting.
“It’s a beautiful morning and enough to make one glad to be alive. I’ll just get my apron and then I’ll get the coffee going?” Mr. Everett said, and headed toward the back of the store.
“Wait!” Mr. Everett turned back to face her. “How did Miss Marple make out last night?”
Mr. Everett positively grinned. “Splendidly.” He moved closer to the sales counter. “She took turns sitting on our laps all evening.” He leaned in closer. “But I do think she’s partial to me.”
It was the first time Tricia had ever heard Mr. Everett brag.
“Did she eat her dinner? I’m worried that disrupting her routine may have an adverse effect on—”
“She ate every bite last night, and tucked in with gusto this morning.”
“I’m so pleased. Did she sleep in her carrier?”
He shook his head. “We usually sleep with the bedroom door closed, but Grace was afraid Miss Marple might be lonely in the night, and we left it open a crack. When we woke up this morning, that darling cat was nestled between us, purring happily.”
Tricia’s stomach did a little flip-flop. “She didn’t miss me?”
“Not a bit,” he said quite cheerfully, which didn’t make Tricia feel any better. “You know, I haven’t had a pet since my dog, Nipper, died when I was ten. It was too painful. But having Miss Marple in our house has made it seem more like a home.”
“It’s a well-known fact that having a pet is good not only for your soul, but for your health as well.”
“I’ve read that, too,” Mr. Everett said, nodding. “Of course, at our ages, we’re much, much too old to even think of adopting a pet.”
“Not necessarily,” Tricia said. “There are many elderly pets who’ve been abandoned and are in need of loving homes.”
“Yes, but like when I lost Nipper, it would be very heartbreaking to have to say good-bye.”
“That’s true,” Tricia admitted. “But just think; you might fill an older animal’s last days with pure joy. And isn’t that a better way to go than in a cage or to be euthanized?”
Mr. Everett’s happy mood seemed to have completely evaporated.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lecture you.”
“What you’ve said makes a lot of sense. I shall think long and hard about it, but I can make no promises. For now, I shall simply enjoy Miss Marple’s company for as long as she stays with us.”
“And I know she couldn’t be in better hands.”
The ghost of a smile returned to the elderly gentleman’s lips. He nodded and turned, heading for the back of the store once again, and again he started to whistle.
The phone rang and Tricia picked up the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia—”
“And it’s me, your sister,” Angelica said. “Do you have any lunch plans?”
“Just the usual—meeting you across the street when the Booked for Lunch crowd thins out.”
“I spoke to Daddy just now, and I think we should have lunch with him. We need to figure out his future.”
“I want to grill him about the”—she glanced askance to see if Pixie was listening in as usual before remembering that she hadn’t yet arrived for work—“you-know-what.”
“You might want to call the chief to see if he’s going to arrest Daddy.”
“Well, at least that would get him out of our hair.”
“I would prefer that he quietly leave town. I want your opinion on that—and if we agree—”
“I would be glad to pay my fair share to resettle him.”
“You know, that’s a good idea. I wonder what it would cost to have him move into the development where Mother lives.”
Tricia smiled in spite of herself. “You know, that’s a very good idea.”
“I’m sure Daddy has plenty of friends in North Haven. Maybe he can play cards or golf with his old buddies. That would be enough for him.”
“It can’t hurt to ask.”
“Great. I’ve booked the Brookview’s private dining room so we won’t be disturbed and can talk freely.”
“Good idea.”
“Shall I pick you up at one?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Fine. See you then.”
• • •
Angelica’s suggestion that Tricia call the chief was a good one, but before she had an opportunity to do so, he showed up at Haven’t Got a Clue, and she knew without a doubt that it wasn’t a social call.
“Hi, Grant. I bet I can guess why you’re here.”
“I’ll bet you can. Where would you like to go to talk?”
Tricia felt like she’d left the premises—abandoning her employees—far too often during the previous week.
“Would you like to see how my renovation is progressing?”
For the first time in what had seemed like an awfully long time, the chief actually smiled. “Yeah. Lead the way.”
“I’ll be back down in a few minutes,” Tricia told Mr. Everett, and started toward the back of the shop with Baker following close behind.
They climbed to the top of the building and entered the large expanse that was to be Tricia’s new master suite. “Wow,” Baker said, his voice hushed. “You really have moved on.”
She wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, but figured this might be an opportunity to clear the air. “So have you, apparently.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, sounding wary.
“I understand you’ve got a new lady friend.”
“Joanna,” he said simply. “We’ve been seeing each other for about a month now.”
“Congratulations.”
“I understand you’re still not seeing anyone.” Was that a taunt?
“No. I’ve got a lot on my plate
right now, what with the reno and all.”
“And your father visiting,” he added rather pointedly.
“Yes.” She thought about elaborating, but decided to wait. She didn’t want to talk about such things in a space where the two of them had been intimate on so many occasions. So instead, she walked him through the space, telling him about the improvements that had yet to be made, and then they went down to the second floor, where they could at least lean against the kitchen island while they talked.
“I don’t know if you know it, but my father had a heart attack on Saturday afternoon.”
“That was how I tracked him down. The EMTs filed a report.”
“Angelica picked him up from the hospital just yesterday.”
“He’s staying at the Brookview Inn—the bungalow you previously rented,” Baker said. So he already knew what was going on.
“Yes. I got tossed out to make room for him. I’ve had to farm Miss Marple out to Mr. Everett for the duration.” Gosh, it actually hurt to say those words.
“Now that your father has reappeared, I need to speak with him. I’d like you to arrange that.”
“Angelica and I are having lunch with him at the Brookview’s private dining room this afternoon. He and our mother have separated, and we’ve got to figure out what to do with him. We thought a nice assisted-living site might be good for him.”
“You mean to keep him out of trouble.”
Tricia sighed. “Yes, that’s a major concern.”
“I don’t want him leaving the village until we clear up the Talbot murder case—or at least until I’m sure I can trust whatever it is he’ll tell me about his relationship with the deceased.”
“I understand that. I imagine it’ll take several weeks to get him established somewhere else.”
“And far away from Stoneham.”
“Angelica would like to engineer a reconciliation between our parents,” she said.
“If anybody can accomplish it, it’s her,” Baker agreed. Tricia wasn’t sure he’d ever liked her sister, so it was a rare compliment.
“How’s your investigation into Carol’s death going?”
He took a moment, seeming to mull over his answer before speaking. “Slowly. We know someone broke into her house on the night she was murdered.”
Tricia felt every muscle in her body stiffen. “Oh?”
“The neighbors called to report seeing lights inside, but before a patrol car could get there, whoever had been there was gone.”
“Was it forced entry?” Tricia asked.
“No.”
“What was missing?”
“The place wasn’t ransacked, and the intruder took care, because every flat surface in the house seemed to have been cleaned of fingerprints. We had a hard time finding even those of Mrs. Talbot.”
That seemed odd. Tricia’s father had arrived in town only hours before Carol’s murder. If, as he’d boasted, he had been Carol’s lover some five months before, it was possible that his fingerprints might still have been found in her home—but only if they’d gone there for their trysts. Had John decided to go back and make sure he’d obliterated all evidence he’d ever entered the home and then stolen Carol’s jewelry as an afterthought?
It was a sobering notion.
“Will you be hauling Daddy off to police headquarters this afternoon?” Did that mean they’d need to hire a lawyer for him?
“We aren’t going to accuse him of murder. We’d just like to know what his relationship was with the deceased.”
“I could answer that, but I suppose it’s better if you hear it from Daddy.”
“If you tell me now, I’ll have a place to start.”
Tricia mulled over the rather damning answer. If she told the chief what she knew, her father would know that either she or Angelica had spilled the beans—and there went any trust he had in them. And yet, not only had he abused their trust, he’d repeatedly stolen from Angelica.
“I do know—and so does Angelica—but I think it should be Daddy who tells you what we were told in confidence. That said, if he lies to you, then I will tell you everything he told me, with one caveat: that it, too, could be a lie.”
“That sounds fair. Do you mind if I call you after I speak with him? Or, if you’d like, you can be there when I speak with him.”
“That might be the best option.”
“Okay. What time did you say you were having lunch?”
“One. If you could give us an hour and then show up, that would be more than fair.”
“Okay. I’ll be there at two o’clock.” His gaze bore into hers. “I know this is very hard for you, Tricia. You and Angelica have always presented yourself as honest and trustworthy. It’s got to be like a stab in the heart to find out that your father isn’t the man you thought he was.”
He had that right.
“I need to get back to work,” Tricia said.
“So do I.”
They left the dirty, unfinished space, and Baker trundled down the stairs after Tricia. He barely said good-bye before he was out the door.
Pixie had arrived for work and was stationed behind the cash desk. “Well?” she asked eagerly.
“Well, what?” Tricia said.
“Are you two getting back together again?”
Tricia understood where Pixie was coming from. She was in love. She wanted the whole world to be in love, too.
“He’s got a girlfriend.”
“What?” Poor Pixie actually sounded distressed.
“At last he’s moved on, and it’s a great relief for me.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry, Pixie. If I’m meant to fall in love again, it’ll happen.”
“I guess you’re right. I sure as hell never thought I’d meet a great guy like Fred and fall in love. And I never in a million years thought I’d ever get married.” She smiled, and her thumb rubbed the engagement ring on her left hand. “But there is just one thing I’m not gonna do, and that’s change my name to Pillins.” She shuddered. “I don’t like that name. I like being a direct descendent of Edgar Allan Poe. It’s good for the shop.”
And it was extremely unlikely she could be Poe’s descendent, since the man had never procreated. Well, not that anyone knew, at least.
The bell over the door tinkled, and a man and woman entered the store. Pixie went straight into her well-practiced, and extremely successful, mystery-buff saleswoman shtick. Tricia had no doubt that, if given half a chance, the woman could sell vintage mysteries to whales under the ocean.
Tricia retreated behind the cash desk, feeling a little discombobulated. Did Baker already suspect John Miles had been in Carol Talbot’s home after her death? Would Baker be able to tie the stolen jewelry to John? And how could she explain the fact that she and Angelica had retrieved the loot and that it was still in her possession?
Oh, what a tangled web, Tricia thought, and dreaded what might befall them all.
NINETEEN
Angelica’s car showed up across the street at ten minutes to one, and Tricia grabbed her purse and hurried out the door. She crossed the road and jumped in the car. Angelica stepped on the accelerator and the car took off.
“You’re early,” Tricia said as she buckled up.
“Sorry. Better early than late. Especially when I’ve got this terrible fear that Daddy may have escaped.”
“Really?”
“He was still in his room as of ten minutes ago. I had Antonio tell the staff to watch him.”
“Were they told why?”
“Just that he’s been ill. They don’t have to know the rest of the sordid details.”
“And speaking of sordid, I spoke to Grant this morning.”
“Oh?”
“He’s going to suddenly appear at the private
dining room at two o’clock to talk to Daddy. He invited us to sit in.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah, although with his background, I’m sure Daddy knows when not to speak to a policeman so that he doesn’t incriminate himself.”
“Just lovely.”
“Worse than that, Grant knows somebody was in Carol’s house the night she died.”
“What do you mean?”
“Neighbors reported seeing lights on.”
“The ones we spoke to or someone else?”
“I have no idea.”
Traffic was less than light, and they arrived at the Brookview in less than two minutes. Angelica parked the car and they walked to the bungalow to collect their father.
They knocked on the door, but there was no answer. “Oh, no,” Angelica groused. “I sure hope he hasn’t absconded.”
“You said he was here only minutes ago.”
Angelica looked around, as though to see if anyone was watching, and then rummaged through her purse and came up with a key ring Tricia had never seen before. “What’s that?”
“My master set. I can get into any door in any establishment I own—not that I do. I have it for emergencies. I’d much rather open a door than have someone—like the police—kick it in.”
She found the appropriate key, shoved it into the lock and the door magically opened.
It was obvious that the room was empty, but Angelica charged into the bathroom just to make sure.
“Now what?”
“We check inside. My hope is he’s already gone to the private dining room and has ordered a drink—or two.”
They walked across the parking lot and entered the Brookview’s back entrance, walking down the corridor to the lobby, where they paused at the reception desk. “Hello. I’m Angelica Miles. I’ve reserved the private dining room for one o’clock.”
“Yes, your other party has already shown up.”
She offered a grateful-looking smile. “Thank you.”
The sisters turned right and headed for the private dining room.
The door was closed, and Angelica knocked before they entered.
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