A Just Clause

by Lorna Barrett

  Somehow that didn’t ring quite true—especially since he’d avoided her for more than a day after Carol’s murder.

  “What are you really doing here in Stoneham?” Tricia demanded.

  “I told you. I came for your signing and to talk to Carol Talbot. It’s too bad she died before I could get what I needed for my book.”

  “And what was that? A grandstand ending?”

  Richardson said nothing.

  “You may have an alibi for Carol’s death—but what about Brad Shields?” she bluffed.

  “Why would I want to kill him?”

  “He was very protective of Carol. They had a years-long relationship. When her husband died, he wanted to leave Ellen and live with Carol, but she was no longer interested in continuing their liaison. She felt guilty. It drove her to drink—and she nearly lost her job because of it.” Okay, as far as Tricia knew, that was a complete fabrication, but she was on a roll.

  “You’re delusional,” Richardson said.

  “No, she’s not,” came a voice from behind them.

  Tricia looked over her shoulder and saw Ellen Shields standing behind her, hands on her hips and looking almost as angry as Tricia felt.

  Ellen continued, “We thought about swapping partners for good, but then Dale died. I couldn’t bear the thought of Brad moving in with Carol and me being alone.”

  “So you killed him?” Tricia asked.

  Ellen’s mouth dropped open, her expression one of outrage. “Of course I didn’t.”

  “Then who did?”

  Ellen’s gaze swung toward Richardson.

  The author’s expression was skeptical. “You’re living in a fantasy world. What motive could I have had for killing someone I didn’t even know?”

  “As Tricia said: a grandstand ending for your miserable excuse for a book.”

  Richardson scowled. “You’re not addressing who killed my golden goose.”

  Ellen let out a breath. “It was Brad,” she admitted in almost a whisper.

  “But why?” Tricia asked, confused.

  “Because he found out about her fling with your father.”

  Tricia blinked in disbelief. “When?”

  “Minutes before he killed her near that bar.”

  “How do you know he killed her?” Tricia asked.

  “Because I followed him that night. He was obsessed with her—she wasn’t even pretty—but he wanted her,” Ellen practically sobbed, and seemed unaware that some of the concertgoers were now actively listening in. “I saw him drag her onto the darkened patio. I saw him come out alone. I didn’t know what to do. And then I saw you and your sister coming down the sidewalk.”

  “What about the book? How did Brad get a copy of A Killing in Mad Gate?”

  Ellen glanced at Richardson. “Carol told Brad some author was hounding her, wanting to dig up her past and humiliate her. She knew that even when you pay your debt to society, you’re never really forgiven and that there’s always someone out there who wants to bring up every bad memory.”

  “You felt sorry for her?”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far. Brad went to one of his”—she nodded in Richardson’s direction—“book signings in Boston.”

  “I never met the man before last week,” Richardson declared.

  “Brad waited until after the signing and bought a signed book.”

  “Why?” Tricia asked, still confused.

  “Because he was a fan.”

  Richardson smirked. “I do have more than a million of them.”

  The smug bastard. But Tricia also believed what Ellen had said—that she was looking at a murderer.

  “Carol had also told Brad that this man”—she said the word as though it was an epithet—“was hounding her because of her past. That made him curious.”

  “What about the collection?” Tricia asked.

  “Brad took it the night of Carol’s death,” Ellen admitted. “What was left of it. He was afraid Dale or Carol had taken pictures of us during our swaps.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “I don’t know. But I know that this man”—again she glared at Richardson—“knew about it. He offered to buy it from Brad.”

  “I did nothing of the kind. Your claims are ridiculous.”

  “I’m sure Chief Baker will want to talk to you about Brad’s death,” Tricia pointed out.

  “I didn’t kill Shields, so I have no doubt I’ll be exonerated—that is, should you push your absurd agenda,” he told Ellen.

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”

  Richardson’s mouth twisted into a caricature of a smile as he suddenly advanced toward Ellen. He stopped before her and bent down to grab his pants leg. Then he stood and, with no warning, lunged toward the woman.

  Tricia leaned forward, but couldn’t understand what was happening until Ellen fell back onto her rear end. Richardson straightened, whirling on Tricia. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist with his left hand, wrenched the wineglass from her right hand, and smashed it against the tree. Then he yanked her forward.

  “Keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt,” he grated.

  Tricia strained her neck to look behind her and saw Ellen doubled over, a patch of crimson staining her shirt.

  Had Richardson just stabbed her?

  The author yanked Tricia along, pulling her through the village square. She knew that she needed to do something, but what that something was she wasn’t sure.

  And yet, Tricia wasn’t about to let this horrible man—someone she once thought she’d like to get to know, someone she’d kissed—get the better of her.

  Anger swelled within her, and she dug in her heels and stopped dead. “The hell with you,” she declared.

  Richardson brandished the broken wineglass. “Are you sure you want to make a stand right here, right now?”

  “You just stabbed Ellen. You killed her husband. There’s no way you’re letting me go.”

  “You’ve got that right,” he muttered, digging his fingers into her side until Tricia winced. “Move!”

  “No!”

  Their faces were mere inches apart, and Tricia met Richardson’s gaze, his expression one of pure malevolence. In that moment, Tricia experienced true terror. This man was a cold-blooded killer—and now he was determined to snuff out her life as well.

  But then the background music was drowned out by a banshee wail. A missile in the form of a woman barreled toward Richardson, knocking him off his feet. Then another human projectile from the opposite direction was suddenly there, pushing Tricia aside with the strength of a Patriots linebacker.

  On the ground, the three bodies thrashed around, the woman screaming as she punched Richardson over and over again. “How dare you—how dare you threaten my daughter!”

  It was then Tricia realized who the woman was—her mother!

  “Mother, Daddy!” she hollered as the two of them continued to pummel the author.

  Angelica was suddenly beside her, waving her arms and hollering. “Help! Help!”

  In no time, a crowd of people rushed forward. A couple of men made a grab for Sheila’s flailing arms, trying to yank her away, but she fought with the strength of a mother tiger protecting her cub, while John held Richardson pinned to the ground by the shoulders.

  “Mother, Daddy—stop!” Tricia cried.

  The music abruptly ended, as a bunch of uniformed security men rushed onto the scene, assisting the bystanders who struggled to haul Sheila and John off Richardson.

  “What’s going on?” the security chief demanded.

  “I’ll sue! I’ll sue!” Richardson hollered, and rubbed at his already swelling left eye.

  “Get an ambulance. This man stabbed Ellen Shields!” Tricia cried, pointing back toward the tree where Richar
dson had smashed her glass, but she could already see that there was a crowd surrounding Ellen. The sound of a wailing siren cut the air. Someone must have called 911.

  “These people are crazy!” Richardson bellowed, staggering to his feet, his face mottled where Sheila had punched him.

  “He had a broken glass—he was going to cut my daughter!” Sheila hollered, and rushed forward, hauling Tricia into a startled hug. “I’m so sorry, baby—I’m so sorry. And I’m so damn glad you’re safe.” She began to cry—great, heaving sobs. John was suddenly there, enveloping his wife and daughter in a bear hug. And, like Sheila, tears streamed down his anguished face.

  Tricia wasn’t sure what to say and simply reached up to pat her mother’s back.

  Angelica suddenly loomed into Tricia’s view, looking sheepish. “Well, this was unexpected.”

  It certainly was.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The festival’s second act didn’t begin their set for more than an hour after Ellen Shields had been stabbed. That had given Ginny and the sound crew more than enough time to tweak the decibel level to a more tolerable level, with the use of recorded music to fill the gap. By that time, an ambulance had taken Ellen to the hospital in Milford, and Chief Baker had arrived on the scene, shoving Richardson in the back of one of the police cruisers while he tried to get coherent statements of what had happened from all the participants and witnesses.

  It looked like it was going to be another long evening.

  Tricia, Sheila, John, and Angelica shared one of the park benches, with Tricia sandwiched between her parents, both of whom held her hands for dear life. It made the burn on the back of her hand throb with every beat of her heart, but she wasn’t about to tell either of them to let go. Some part of her had been waiting for this moment her entire life.

  A worried Antonio pushed Sofia’s stroller past the assembled Miles family for what must have been the tenth time, but not close enough for John and Sheila to hear the baby’s squeals of “Nonna!” every time she saw Angelica.

  “Why do we have to wait so long?” Sheila grumbled. “What’s taking the police so long to question everybody? It’s an open-and-shut case.”

  Tricia raised an eyebrow at her mother’s choice of words. “That’s just the way the police work. They need to make sure they collect all the evidence so that when Richardson comes to trial he’ll face the maximum penalty.”

  “Which he deserves. Do you think that poor woman will be all right?” Sheila asked, in another surprising show of empathy.

  “I sure hope so,” Tricia said.

  “I heard one of the paramedics say her vitals were good, so that’s a hopeful sign,” Angelica said. “I still can’t believe Richardson would be so reckless to assault her and try to kidnap you in such a crowded venue.”

  “Thank goodness he did, otherwise Ellen and I might both be dead,” Tricia said.

  “You’re safe now, and that’s all that matters, Princess,” John said.

  “Yes,” Sheila agreed, and squeezed Tricia’s hand even tighter, which really hurt. Still, she forced a smile.

  “I’m glad we’re all safe. Once the police let us leave, maybe we could go out to dinner and talk. We have a lot of things to discuss,” Tricia said, not the least of which was her mother’s sudden change of heart. Or was it? She had seemed concerned to learn about Tricia’s injured hand, and they’d had several civil conversations earlier that day. Had there been other evidence, however slight, that under her decades-old resentment her mother had some feelings for her youngest daughter that Tricia had never noticed?

  Antonio made another circuit, trying, but not succeeding, to look nonchalant.

  “Why does that young man with the baby keep passing by?” Sheila asked, sounding slightly irritated.

  “Because he’s worried,” Angelica said, and sighed.

  “About who?”

  “Tricia and me.”

  “Who is he?”

  “My son, Antonio.”

  “He’s not your son,” Sheila said once again.

  “Yes he is! That little redheaded girl is my grandbaby.”

  “Grandchild?” Sheila repeated.

  “I’m her great-auntie,” Tricia said, reminding their mother of their conversation earlier that day.

  “How come I didn’t get to meet them back in January?” John asked.

  “I told you about him in Bermuda. You never asked to meet him, and I didn’t volunteer to introduce you to him because . . . because . . .” Angelica had to swallow a few times before she could finish. “Because I’d never let anyone hurt my son and his family, and I wasn’t sure you’d be entirely kind to him.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Sheila asked.

  Angelica turned her gaze to her sister. Sheila looked at her youngest daughter, and her eyes filled with tears, but then she cleared her throat and straightened. “It may interest you to know that since your father and I parted I’ve been going to counseling.”

  “You have?” Tricia blurted. Talk about unexpected.

  “Yes. I have a lot of work left to do, but I’ve been working through issues that have haunted me for years.”

  “Really?” Angelica asked.

  “I’m—I’m shocked,” John said, and by his expression, he truly was.

  “It’s not something I want to discuss further here in the park, but . . . my therapist wondered if we all might like to have a session or two with her. I was afraid to mention it to any of you because . . .” But that’s where she ran out of an explanation.

  “It might be very painful—for all of us,” Tricia stated, “but I’m willing to try.”

  “Me, too,” Angelica agreed.

  Three pairs of eyes swung in John’s direction. He shrugged. “I’ve put fifty years into this marriage—I guess I’m willing to at least try to save it.”

  “What does this mean?” Sheila asked.

  “Maybe that finally we’re a family,” Angelica said.

  “What do you think about that, Princess?” John asked.

  Tricia shook her head and forced a smile. “That it’s about time.”

  Resigned, the four of them sat on the bench for several long minutes.

  Antonio made another circuit, but this time Angelica waved him over to join them. He pushed the stroller closer to them, his expression tight. “Mother, Daddy, I want you to meet my son, Antonio.”

  Antonio offered his hand, shaking John’s first. “I am pleased, finally, to meet you, sir.” He bowed slightly before offering his hand to Sheila. She hesitated, and then she, too, shook it.

  “And this is my bambina, Sofia.”

  “Nonna! Nonna!” Sofia called, raising her arms to be picked up.

  Angelica scooped her out of the stroller and kissed the child’s cheek. The baby instantly grabbed for her necklace and laughed.

  Sheila’s smile was faint. “You and Angelica used to do that when you were babies.”

  Had she just admitted to a pleasant memory from Tricia’s childhood?

  Perhaps there was hope for this family after all.

  ANGELICA’S SUMMERTIME ZUCCHINI RECIPES

  ZUCCHINI SAUSAGE CASSEROLE

  2 pounds zucchini, coarsely grated

  1 pound hot or sweet ground Italian sausage

  2 onions, chopped

  3 garlic cloves, chopped

  1 cup heavy cream

  1 cup fresh bread crumbs

  5 large eggs, lightly beaten

  2 to 3 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese

  salt

  freshly ground pepper

  hot sauce

  TOPPING

  6 tablespoons butter, melted

  ¾ cup fresh bread crumbs

  ½ cup grated cheddar cheese

  Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease a wide, 2-quart baking dish, or coat
it with nonstick spray. Put the grated zucchini into a colander to drain for about 30 minutes or wrap it in a clean tea towel and gently squeeze it to remove the excess liquid. Place the zucchini in a large mixing bowl.

  Heat a large skillet and add the sausage. Cook until the sausage starts to brown, stirring to break it up. Pour off all but about 3 tablespoons grease. Add the onions and cook until soft, about 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 more minute. Add the zucchini to the sausage mixture. Stir in the cream, the bread crumbs, the eggs, and the cheese. Add salt, pepper, and hot sauce to taste. Pour the mixture into a baking dish. The casserole may be refrigerated at this point for up to 2 days or frozen for up to 3 months.

  For the topping, combine the butter and the bread crumbs. Sprinkle evenly over the casserole. Bake, uncovered, until hot through, about 30 minutes. Sprinkle the top with the ½ cup of cheese and return to the oven just until the cheese is melted and lightly browned.

  Yield: 6 servings

  ZUCCHINI SOUP

  1 tablespoon butter

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  1 small onion, finely chopped

  1 garlic clove, thinly sliced

  kosher salt

  freshly ground pepper

  1½ pounds zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced ¼-inch thick

  ⅔ cup vegetable stock or low-sodium chicken broth

  1½ cups water

  In a large saucepan, melt the butter in the olive oil. Add the onion and garlic; season with salt and pepper and cook over moderately low heat, stirring frequently, until softened; 7 to 8 minutes. Add the zucchini and cook, stirring frequently, until softened; about 10 minutes. Add the stock and the water and bring to a simmer; cook until the zucchini is very soft, about 10 minutes.

  Working in batches, puree the soup in a blender until it’s silky-smooth. Return the soup to the saucepan and season with salt and pepper. Serve it either hot or chilled, garnished with julienned zucchini.

  Yield: 4 servings

  ZUCCHINI AND BACON QUICHE

  1 (9-inch) refrigerated pie dough round