And I would be more than happy to wave good-bye to you, Tricia thought. She gestured toward her car across the parking lot. “Shall we?”
Sheila grabbed her purse and locked the bungalow’s door. “Let’s get this over with.”
They climbed into Tricia’s Lexus and she started the engine, then pulled out of the lot. Once they made it to Main Street, she headed north.
What could they talk about? The weather? That seemed innocuous enough. But Tricia had other questions she wanted answered. Whether her mother would answer them was debatable. There was nothing to do but plow ahead.
“So exactly how long have you and Daddy been married?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Sheila demanded.
“An honest one.”
“Why would you even ask?”
“Because Daddy said you’d been married fifty years, and Angelica is fifty-one.”
“He must have made a slip of the tongue,” Sheila asserted.
“Maybe. I guess it wouldn’t be hard to find out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I could always go back to New Haven and check the records at City Hall. Of course, it might be even easier than that. A lot of public records are now on the Internet,” Tricia bluffed.
“They are?” Sheila asked, sounding none too pleased.
“Yes.” She glanced askance at her mother, who looked distinctly unhappy. The timing of Angelica’s birth may have been inconvenient, but there was no question that she and Tricia shared the same parentage. The Miles nose was a dead giveaway.
“Why don’t you tell me about your wedding?” Tricia said.
“I told you about it years ago.”
“No, you never did.”
“I’m sure I did.”
“It was a quiet affair,” Tricia guessed. Yes. It would have to have been if Angelica had been born out of wedlock, or perhaps just a few months before the nuptials. And perhaps that might have explained why Sheila had insisted that Angelica and she be treated to such extravagant weddings. Had her mother been living vicariously through her daughters? Tricia had let her mother talk her into the big church wedding with the opulent dress, and Sheila had insisted that she have the six attendants and a guest list that had bordered on the obscene. It was during the whole planning process that she’d felt closest to her mother.
They drove in silence straight through the village. It was Sheila who broke the quiet. “It’s rather pretty around here.”
“Yes, it is. And a lot of the improvements during the past two years are because of Angelica’s hard work as Chamber of Commerce president.”
“Oh?” Sheila asked offhandedly.
“Especially the flowers along Main Street. Stoneham has come in the top five for prettiest village in New Hampshire for the last two years. One day we’ll win it.” Because they sure weren’t even in the running for safest village, thanks to all the deaths that had taken place during the past few years within the village’s boundaries.
Tricia stopped at the highway entrance and turned left.
“What happened to your hand?” Sheila asked.
“Sarge jumped up and knocked a pan of hot grease on it.”
“Animals are dangerous,” Sheila grumbled. “Your sister should get rid of it.”
“Oh, no! He’s a wonderful little dog. He didn’t mean it, and it’s not serious. It’ll heal.”
“It looks terrible. You might need plastic surgery. Did you see a burn specialist?”
“Just Angelica. She knows about these things. It’s already a lot better than it was.” Tricia almost added “don’t worry,” but figured Sheila wouldn’t anyway. Then again, she had asked about it. Could it be her mother didn’t entirely despise her? She wasn’t ready to make that leap of faith.
“How much farther do we have to go?” Sheila asked irritably.
“Not far. What are you going to say to Daddy?”
Sheila let out what sounded like a bored breath. “I’ll probably remind him what a fool he is.”
“That’s not the way to win friends and influence people.”
“Said she who was divorced.”
“I didn’t initiate it. And before his death, Christopher asked me to remarry him.”
“Were you going to?”
“No.”
Tricia momentarily glanced at her mother once again, but, as usual, her face was impassive. Sometimes she wondered if the woman had any feelings at all—other than negative ones. Or, if she was fair, perhaps her mother had dealt with so much pain in her life that she’d simply shut them off—or, more likely, refused to experience them. She hadn’t considered that before. But that still didn’t excuse the woman’s treatment of Tricia for more than four decades.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the journey—a very long five minutes—but finally Tricia pulled into the parking lot of yet another apartment complex outside of Milford.
“Shabby,” Sheila commented. “Not at all your father’s style.”
“It may be that he’s adjusted to a lower standard of living. From what he’s said, he had to.”
Sheila turned to look at her. “Do you think I should have given him money to maintain the lifestyle he’d become accustomed to?”
“That’s between you and him.”
“You wouldn’t have given Christopher money after he left you. Why should I?”
“Christopher gave me a very generous settlement. Daddy made it sound like your separation was a mutual decision.”
“It was not,” Sheila said simply.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tricia said truthfully. She’d been devastated that someone she’d trusted with her life could one day up and announce he was leaving—not only her, but his job, and moving halfway across the country, too. It had taken several years for Christopher to figure out that he wanted his old life—and her—back. He hadn’t wanted to believe that she had moved on.
Would Sheila be able to accept it if John had decided to move on, too?
Tricia wondered if she was about to find out.
Sheila opened the car door and got out. Tricia followed.
“Which apartment is it?”
“Number three.” Tricia started for the building’s entrance, but Sheila held out a hand.
“I’ll take care of this.”
“Are you sure?” Tricia asked.
Sheila’s gaze was blistering. Tricia now understood where Angelica had learned that burning glare.
Tricia hung back, watching as her mother entered the building, her back straight, her head held high. Was she going to beg her father to return to her? Somehow, Tricia couldn’t see that happening.
She waited a minute before she advanced toward the steel security door, which didn’t live up to its name, because she was able to crack it open without being buzzed in and without a key. She poked her head inside and listened. She could hear voices—one male, one female—reverberating in the two-story open atrium, but she couldn’t make out the words. She closed her eyes and listened harder, but still, the words were just a muddle. Frustrated, Tricia retreated to her car.
She didn’t have to wait long. Less than five minutes later, Sheila exited the building, her expression just as stoic as when she’d entered.
Tricia waited until her mother had gotten back in the car before she’d started the engine and engaged the air-conditioning before she spoke. “Well, what did he say?”
Sheila wouldn’t look at her. “He’ll think about it.”
“About what?”
“Coming home.”
“Do you really want him back, knowing that he’s been with other women?” Tricia asked.
Sheila turned her icy gaze back to her daughter. “You may not believe it, but I actually love that old fool.”
“What will you do if he doe
sn’t want to come back to you?”
“I will deal with it,” Sheila said acidly.
“When did he say he’d give you an answer?”
“I gave him an ultimatum. He has twenty-four hours. So it looks like I’m stuck here until at least tomorrow,” she said as though that might be a prison sentence.
“Perhaps you might like to go to the wine and jazz festival. Angelica’s daughter-in-law has put the whole thing together. She’s done an amazing job. I think it would please Ange if you came.”
“Daughter-in-law?” Sheila said.
“Yes, Angelica’s stepson, Antonio, is the chief operating officer for Nigela Ricita Associates. The company owns quite a bit of the village and is a major player in its resurgence.”
“Really.”
“Yes. But there’s just one thing . . . Angelica hasn’t told the world at large that she’s his stepmother. She would like to keep that quiet.”
“Whatever for?”
“She has her reasons—as does Antonio.”
Sheila shrugged. “Then I shall keep her secret.”
“Thank you,” Tricia said, and eased her gear shift into reverse, backed up, and then pulled out of the parking lot.
“Will I get to meet these people?”
“If you’d like. Antonio and Ginny have a daughter. She’s absolutely adorable. Her name is Sofia.”
“That’s an Italian name.”
“The baby was named after Antonio’s mother. But her middle name is Angelica.”
“Why doesn’t Angelica want anyone to know about her relationship with this man and his family?” Sheila pushed.
“She has her reasons. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Keeping secrets, Tricia?”
“Yes. It seems to be a trait the Miles family shares.”
Sheila’s mouth drew into a straight line. She made no comment in that regard. “When I went to the restaurant for breakfast this morning, I heard talk about another murder in the village. There was talk—about you, too.”
Tricia steered toward Stoneham, considering how she wanted to reply to that statement. “Sarge, Angelica’s dog, sniffed out the dead man when we took him for a walk last night.”
“Oh, I heard it was you who found him. That you make a habit of such things.”
Word did get around.
“People exaggerate.”
“It sounds foolish and dangerous.”
Tricia didn’t bother to give an explanation. Chances were Sheila wouldn’t listen or would just find yet more fault with her. She changed the subject. “What would you like to do for the rest of the day?”
Sheila sniffed. “I suppose I could see Angelica’s shop and restaurant.”
“It’s more of a café. She also owns a share of the Sheer Comfort Inn, which is very nice.”
“She seems to be quite successful. A lot more successful than you.”
“I guess that depends on one’s definition of successful. Angelica is driven.”
“And you’re not?” Sheila asked.
“I like to think we both are—but in different ways.”
“How do you two get along? When you were younger, you couldn’t stand each other.”
Tricia had to bite her tongue. It seemed to her that for years, Sheila had pitted the sisters against one another. That was no longer the case. Tricia and Angelica were now best friends. There wasn’t anything Tricia wouldn’t do for Angelica, and she had no doubt that her sister felt the same way.
“We understand one another. We’re family.” Tricia braked for a red light. “There’s nothing that could ever come between us.”
“Really?” Sheila asked, as though the concept of unconditional love was totally foreign to her.
“Yes. Angelica’s even been teaching me to cook.”
“And how is that going?” Sheila said, and Tricia looked to her right to see her mother eyeing the gigantic blister on her hand.
“Not bad, actually. I’m planning a dinner party when my renovation is complete, and I plan to cook everything I offer my guests.”
“Your grandmother liked to cook,” Sheila admitted, “though God knows why.”
“Because it turns out there’s a certain satisfaction about feeding those you love.”
“And who do you love?” Sheila asked, although it sounded almost like an accusation.
“Lots of people. Angelica, Antonio, Ginny, who was my former assistant, Sofia, and Grace and Mr. Everett.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Everett is one of my employees. He and his wife are very dear to me.”
Sheila curled her lip. “Fraternizing with the help is just unacceptable.”
“No, it isn’t. Mr. Everett is a wonderful man. I kind of look at him as my surrogate father.”
“You have a father,” Sheila reminded her.
“Whom I’ve rarely seen for the past ten or more years,” Tricia reminded her. “You two made yourselves pretty inaccessible by moving to South America.”
“The weather was pleasant, and until recently, it was a nice place to live.”
“Until Carol Talbot was murdered—and Daddy became a suspect—we didn’t know he had a criminal record.”
“Your father’s a murder suspect?” Sheila asked, aghast.
“Oh. Didn’t Angelica mention that?”
“No, she did not! Why is he a suspect?”
Oh, dear. Was this the time to mention that Carol and her father had been lovers?
“Um, it seems Daddy and Carol had a little tiff at my bookshop the night of Carol’s death.”
“What did they fight about?” Sheila asked, her voice sounding shaky.
“Daddy was looking for a place to stay and asked if he could stay with her?”
“Why would he ask a perfect stranger if he could stay with her?” Sheila demanded.
“It seems they knew each other.”
“When did they meet?”
“When Daddy came to visit in January. It seems they became friends.”
“How close a friend?”
Tricia wasn’t brave enough to risk looking at her mother. “Pretty close.”
“I see,” Sheila said, her voice as hard as Tricia had ever heard it.
Tricia didn’t want to pursue that subject. “Angelica and I were pretty upset to hear about Daddy’s past.”
“It’s not something I’m proud of,” Sheila said.
“It seems Daddy may not have changed his ways.” Tricia braked as they entered the village.
“In what way?”
“Back in January, he left the village owing many of the merchants money. And he took some valuable items from the Sheer Comfort Inn. Angelica made good on his debts, but she was devastated over the theft.”
When she next spoke, Sheila’s voice was again shaky. “I think I’ve heard enough.”
Yes, and Tricia had been the bearer of bad news. Was that likely to cause her mother to dislike her even more? It wasn’t something she could do anything about.
“It’s nearly lunchtime. What do you want to do?”
“Please take me back to the hotel.”
“I could call Angelica and the three of us—”
“I’m not up for company right now. I need to digest all that you’ve told me.”
“I understand,” Tricia said as the Lexus rolled down Main Street at a rather sedate speed. Traffic had certainly picked up in the hour or so they’d been gone. “The wine and jazz festival starts this evening. Angelica and I are planning on attending. As I mentioned, we’d like you to come with us.”
“What would I do at this festival?”
“If nothing else, drink wine and listen to some jazz.”
“I haven’t been to a concert in ages.”
“Then it sounds like
this could be right up your alley.”
Tricia rounded the corner and drove to the Brookview, pulling into the parking lot and stopping as near to the bungalow as she could. She eased the gearshift into park.
Sheila unbuckled her seat belt, grabbed her purse, and exited the car, walking around it. Tricia was about to take off again when Sheila paused and turned. She motioned for Tricia to roll down her window. “I’ll let one of you know if I’m up for company later this evening.”
Tricia nodded. “Okay.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
Sheila turned, and Tricia waited until her mother had entered the bungalow and closed the door behind her before she backed out of the lot and headed for the exit.
Sheila hadn’t said no to the invitation. Was there a chance Tricia and her mother might have more conversations of a civil nature? And now that Sheila had found out that her husband had been unfaithful to her twice—and maybe more—during the previous five months, how would this impact all their lives?
Tricia wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Tricia was shocked that it took nearly fifteen minutes for her to drive from the Brookview Inn to Haven’t Got a Clue, and then she was unable to find an empty space in the municipal parking lot and had to park several blocks away. It wasn’t that she minded the walk, but it could become inconvenient if she had to park so far out for the rest of the festival. Perhaps she’d try to snag a parking space tomorrow morning and just not move her car until the event ended.
The heavy traffic brought with it many potential customers, and Pixie spent a good part of the day ringing up sales while Mr. Everett bagged the purchases. They staggered their lunches so that there’d be two of them in the store for the entire afternoon—not that Tricia went anywhere other than the basement office to attend to the regular business dealings that needed attention. It was almost closing time before she returned to ground level.
“Wow—this was certainly a great day for sales,” Pixie said as they prepared to close the store for the day. “It was almost as good as a Saturday in December, and there was hardly any noise from the construction guys upstairs. Maybe that means you’ll soon be moving back in.”
“I sure hope so. Camping out on Angelica’s couch isn’t exactly a laugh riot.”
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