A Just Clause

by Lorna Barrett

  Sheila Miles strode toward Angelica’s store and entered.

  How soon would the phone ring?

  Tricia glanced toward the back of the store and made her decision. She locked the door and turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, then made a mad dash for the stairs to her loft apartment. She’d been waiting impatiently all day to see just what the workmen had accomplished, and she wasn’t about to let her mother’s arrival cheat her out of it.

  Throwing open the door to the stairs, she dashed up to the second floor and peered into what had once been Haven’t Got a Clue’s storeroom. A smile crept across her lips. The walls in the entire open space were now clad in Sheetrock, the joints filled with compound had had at least one sanding, as evidenced by the thick layer of dust that seemed to cover everything. But one word rang in her mind: Progress! Surely this was a huge step in completing the job. She continued up to the next floor and was happy to see that it, too, had undergone a miraculous transformation. Ducking into the master suite, she saw that all the fixtures were in place, the tile work was finished, and all the walls were up. More work would be necessary, but at last she began to feel hopeful that her renovation nightmare would soon be over.

  The “Ode to Joy” ringtone trilled from the phone in her pocket. Tricia pulled it out and glanced at the number. Angelica, of course.

  “Hi, Ange.”

  “You’ll never guess who’s here with me,” Angelica said with forced goodwill.

  “I saw her car park in front of your store.”

  “Yes! It’s Mother. And she’s dying to see you.”

  “I am not!” said a voice in the background.

  Tricia sighed. “Is it really necessary for me to come over?”

  “Oh, yes!” Angelica sounded just a teensy bit desperate.

  “You will owe me for this.”

  “But of course,” Angelica answered cheerfully without missing a beat.

  “Why do I think this is not going to be a pleasant experience?”

  “I’m making a pitcher of martinis the second we end this call.”

  “And I may need a double,” Tricia groused.

  “Me, too,” Angelica said with false bravado. “See you in a minute.”

  The connection was broken.

  Tricia replaced the phone in her pocket and sighed. At that moment, she’d prefer to face an oral surgeon than her mother. Twice in one year was far, far too much.

  With a heavy heart, she left a construction zone and headed for what she hoped wouldn’t be a destruction zone.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Tricia let herself into the Cookery, which was deadly quiet. She locked the door behind her and tiptoed toward the back of the shop, opened the door marked PRIVATE, and headed for Angelica’s loft apartment.

  This time, there was no welcoming committee in the form of her sister’s dog, which seemed very unusual. It was quiet; way too quiet.

  The door at the top of the stairs was unlocked, and Tricia opened it and stepped into the hall that led to Angelica’s kitchen. “Hello!”

  “In the kitchen,” Angelica called.

  Still no sign of Sarge.

  Tricia entered the kitchen, looking around warily. “Where is she?” she whispered.

  “In the bathroom,” Angelica answered in kind.

  “What kind of a mood is she in?”

  Angelica merely shrugged.

  Tricia looked over to Sarge’s basket, to find him cowering. “What’s wrong with the little guy?” Tricia said, and crossed the floor to crouch down beside him, letting Sarge first sniff her fingers before she petted him. The poor dog was actually trembling.

  “I don’t know. He took one look at Mother and took to his bed. He hasn’t moved since.”

  Until that day, Sarge had never met a man or woman he didn’t like. Well, except for the person who had kicked and nearly killed him—before Tricia had rescued him.

  The sound of a door closing caused Tricia to stand, and she and her sister turned to face the hall. Sheila Miles seemed to glide toward them like some odd kind of apparition. She hadn’t changed a bit since they’d last seen her in January, except for the sneer on her lips, which seemed to have deepened.

  “Hello, Mother,” Tricia said.

  “Hello,” Sheila replied without inflection.

  “How about that drink?” Angelica asked, sounding a little desperate. “Tricia and I are having martinis. What would you like, Mother?”

  “Mineral water.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Sheila looked around the kitchen with disdain. “Your home is very small, Angelica.” Then she leveled her evil eye on Sarge. “And you have an animal.”

  Angelica bristled. “Sarge is not an animal. He’s my companion.”

  Sheila raised an eyebrow. “If you could hold on to a man, you wouldn’t need a companion.”

  “May I remind you,” Angelica said in a dangerous tone, “that you are here after your philandering husband.”

  Sheila’s gaze was just as critical. “I don’t need you to point that out.”

  Tricia did not want to be a part of this discussion. Luckily, Angelica poured the drinks, handing one to her. They didn’t bother to toast, and both sisters took a big hit of their very dry drinks.

  A long silence fell. It was Tricia who finally broke the quiet. “Where will you be staying?” she asked her mother.

  “Apparently it’s a problem. I understand every room in the area is booked up for some silly event.”

  “Tomorrow the first annual Stoneham Wine and Jazz Festival begins. There won’t be a hotel room available within ten miles,” Angelica said.

  Again Sheila looked around Angelica’s kitchen, her gaze straying in the direction of the hall. “I suppose I could stay here.”

  “I only have one bedroom.”

  “You can sleep on the couch.”

  “I don’t think so,” Angelica said firmly.

  Sheila frowned. “Then you’ll have to stay with your sister.”

  Tricia felt her cheeks redden. The woman couldn’t even bear to say her name.

  “Tricia’s home is undergoing renovation. She isn’t even staying there.”

  “Well, where is she staying?” Sheila asked, as though Tricia wasn’t even in the room.

  “At the Brookview Inn, in one of the bungalows.”

  “Then she can move out.”

  “I’ve barely moved back in,” Tricia protested.

  “Trish!” Angelica implored.

  Tricia glared at her sister, but she also understood her unspoken plea. Let Mother have the room so that she will take Daddy back and GO HOME!

  Tricia let out a frustrated breath. “And where am I to stay?”

  “On my couch,” Angelica said wearily.

  Nobody else wanted to sleep on it—why should she?

  Angelica cocked her head and pouted—adopting one of Sarge’s most pathetic expressions.

  “Oh, all right,” Tricia acquiesced. “But where am I going to put all my stuff?”

  “In my storeroom.”

  Which wasn’t secure. Frannie had the run of the place—and knowing what a gossip she was, Tricia didn’t think she’d be above snooping into boxes and totes, either. Still, she could bring her personal items up to the loft and store the unimportant things on the floor below. Things like her clothes.

  “Do we have to stand around the kitchen?” Sheila asked with scorn.

  Tricia eased onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. “I love this room. The afternoon sun fills the space and feels magnificent.”

  “I agree,” Angelica said, taking her usual seat.

  Sheila did not sit.

  “I suppose we should talk about Daddy,” Tricia suggested.

  Sheila glanced at
the diamond watch on her thin wrist. “It’s too late in the day to do anything about him. I’d best be checking into the hotel.”

  Which meant that first Tricia had to move out of her room. She pushed her drink aside. It could sit in the fridge for an hour or so.

  “I’ll call Antonio and arrange for him to have your things brought here.”

  Tricia stood. “Thanks. But I’d better go supervise.” She turned to face her mother.

  “I have no intention of sitting around a hotel lobby for an hour or more. I’ll stay here. You can call as soon as the room is ready.”

  Tricia had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something she might regret. “As you wish, Mother.”

  Angelica winced at the inflection Tricia used on that last word. “The inn has a wonderful restaurant. Or would you rather I whip us up some omelets for dinner?”

  “I don’t eat greasy food,” Sheila said.

  “Then maybe you would be happier at the inn’s restaurant. They have lovely tossed greens. I’m sure Tricia would be more than happy to take you there, wouldn’t you, dear?”

  Tricia shot her sister a murderous look.

  “I have my own car,” Sheila reminded them.

  “Then you could follow Tricia. I’m sure by the time you have dinner she’ll be out of your room.”

  “My room,” Tricia grated.

  Sheila sighed dramatically. “I suppose I can do that.”

  “Let’s go,” Tricia said, sounding anything but welcoming.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow morning, Mother,” Angelica promised as she followed her mother and sister down the passageway.

  They all trooped down the stairs—except for Sarge, who still hadn’t left his doggy basket.

  Tricia retrieved her car from the municipal parking lot and pulled up on the opposite side of the street from the Cookery. Sheila did a U-turn and followed her to the inn.

  Angelica must have done some fast phoning, for two of the bellboys were waiting outside the bungalow when she arrived. She opened the door, and within five minutes the inn’s van was packed full of her stuff for the second time that day.

  Sheila insisted they put her luggage in the room, accepted the key from Tricia, and then turned without a word—including a thank-you to any of them. Tricia’s cheeks felt hot as she apologized to the bellboys, whom her mother had stiffed, and she vowed she’d make it up to them when they arrived at Angelica’s place.

  As Tricia got back in her car, she pictured that chilled martini glass with her name on it that sat in Angelica’s fridge. After her mother’s performance, she had certainly earned it.

  • • •

  The reception Tricia received upon returning to Angelica’s loft was far more welcoming than what she’d been given an hour earlier. Sarge was back to being his old self, barking happily and wagging his tail so hard Tricia thought it might fly off. She gave him not one, not two, but three biscuits, and for once Angelica didn’t complain.

  “Tell me again what Mother did,” Angelica said, wincing, as though despite the fact she’d asked, she didn’t really want to hear the truth.

  Tricia opened the fridge and retrieved her drink. “She stiffed them.”

  “Was it Bobby and Doug?”

  Tricia nodded.

  Angelica sighed. “They’re probably two of the nicest guys on the planet.”

  “Don’t worry; I took care of them.”

  “Thank you. What happened next?”

  “Mother stalked off into the inn and I left. I’m sure she can take care of herself.”

  Angelica shook her head. “I’m so glad the staff doesn’t know she’s Nigela Ricita’s mother. They might riot.”

  That would be an extreme reaction, but Tricia was sure that after a few days of the same kind of treatment, every member of the staff that came into contact with the Miles family matriarch would be disgruntled. She and Angelica were going to have to do some major damage control in the coming weeks.

  “Let’s talk about anything but our parents,” Angelica suggested as she sautéed onions and bell peppers in a pan on the stove. They were the only fresh vegetables she had on hand.

  “I think this makes the third egg-heavy meal we’ve eaten this week,” Tricia said, and took another sip of her martini. What the hell; she was now in for the night, with no chance of a DUI in her future.

  “We’ll go vegetarian for the next couple of meals,” Angelica promised. “That is, if I can ever get to the grocery store. I’m far too busy during the day, and now I’ve got this whole Mother and Daddy problem on my plate.”

  “Our plate,” Tricia corrected her.

  “Yes. And what are we going to do about it?”

  Tricia shrugged. “Do we take her to Cherry’s apartment, knock on the door and let Mother scream ‘J’accuse!’”

  “While she hasn’t come right out and said so, I truly believe she’s going to take Daddy back.”

  “Because she loves him, or because she needs someone to bully?” Tricia asked.

  “Oh, she’s got you for that,” Angelica said offhandedly.

  “Thanks a lot,” Tricia groused.

  “No, really. From what we’ve pieced together, it sounds like she’s spent the last half century bailing Daddy out. That’s either love or masochism on her part.”

  Was their father a loveable rogue, or just a con artist? Tricia wasn’t certain—and worse, wasn’t sure she cared to find out.

  “How’s that toast coming along?” Angelica asked.

  As if on cue, two slices of beautifully tanned bread popped out of the toaster. “Ready.”

  Angelica slid the perfectly puffed omelet onto a waiting plate and handed it to Tricia. “Here you go.”

  Tricia took the plate to her place at the island and sat down. She bypassed the butter and slathered raspberry preserves onto her slice of toast, while Angelica added a little butter to the pan, letting it melt before she poured more egg mixture into it.

  “What’s our next move?” Tricia asked as she cut into her omelet.

  Angelica looked down at her feet, where a hopeful Sarge patiently sat. “As soon as we’re finished eating, Sarge is going to need to be walked.”

  “No problem for me. I could use the exercise.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t mind taking a walk through the village square to see how things are shaping up for the festival. Ginny e-mailed me a full report on everything that happened today, and I’m sure nothing is lacking, but I’d still like to take a look.”

  “Can we just walk through the square? Won’t there be some kind of security?”

  “Definitely. It was part of the contract we signed with each vendor. But we can at least walk the perimeter to see how things stand.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Tricia said, and took a bite of her toast. Lovely!

  During their meal, the sisters chatted about the day’s events—pointedly avoiding the subject of their parents—and after Angelica placed all the dishes in the dishwasher, she clipped Sarge’s retractable leash to his collar and carried him down the stairs and out the door. Setting the dog on the pavement, they headed down the sidewalk toward the village square.

  The twilight sky had dissolved into inky darkness, and the air carried a bit of a chill, but the square looked festive with bunting and streamers, which would no doubt be lit up the following night.

  “What a beautiful evening,” Tricia said as they crossed the road. They walked along the outside of the square, stopping at a fire hydrant for Sarge to relieve himself before moving on.

  They must have lingered a little too long, for a beefy, uniformed security officer approached them.

  “Can I help you ladies?”

  “Just taking my dog for a walk,” Angelica said cheerfully. She looked beyond him to the square filled with trucks and other equipment. “It looks like
it’s going to be a wonderful festival.”

  “And we aim to make sure of that. Granite State Security is patrolling the area. I’m sure you can understand that the festival sponsors and vendors have a lot riding on this.”

  “And we have no intention of interfering. We’re just going to walk around the square and then head for home. And we won’t leave a mess,” Tricia said, brandishing a grocery bag.

  “Thank you, ma’am. We appreciate that.” He actually tipped his hat. “Have a good evening, ladies.”

  “You, too,” the sisters chorused, and started on their way.

  Tricia waited until they’d walked ten or twelve feet before speaking. “That’s got to make you feel better.”

  Angelica nodded, distracted.

  Tricia glanced at her sister, who seemed unusually quiet. “Is something wrong?”

  Angelica sighed. “Mother and Daddy’s marital problems couldn’t have come at a worse time. Thanks to the festival, Chamber business, and other upcoming Nigela Ricita projects, I’m feeling really stressed.”

  “Is there any way I can help?” Tricia offered.

  Angelica shook her head. “Thanks, but no. But again, let me encourage you to run for Chamber president. You’ve got two employees who are more than capable of taking over your shop in your absence. I really believe you’d be a tremendous asset to the business community, and I know I could trust you to carry on my legacy.”

  “I’ve been giving it some serious thought,” Tricia admitted.

  “And?” Angelica pressed.

  “Because I do have good people at Haven’t Got a Clue who can take care of my business if I have to be away, I think it might be a real possibility.”

  Angelica’s grin was positively beatific. “Oh, I’m so happy to hear you say that. I was so worried that everything I’ve done might be tossed aside by someone coming in who isn’t as forward-thinking as me.”

  “That thought has crossed my mind as well.”

  Angelica clasped Tricia’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “You just might be an even better Chamber president than me.”

  “Okay, now you’re teasing me.”

  “No, really. I think you could far surpass what I’ve done—but only if you’re willing to give it a few years more than I can reasonably do. And, of course, you’d have my guidance, so how could you miss?”