Book Clubbed (6 page)

“We're continuing to investigate,” Baker reiterated, which meant he wasn't going to share whatever else he knew—despite his hint just minutes before. “There is another reason I stopped by. I wanted to let you know that I've heard from the state crime lab with their analysis of the fingerprint evidence from the break-in at Stan Berry's home last fall.”

Tricia had to think about what he'd said before she remembered the incident. Three months before, Stan Berry had been murdered at the Brookview Inn. Days later, his home had been broken into and ransacked in what appeared to be an attempt to eradicate evidence.

“And?” Tricia asked.

“Well, you didn't hear it from me, but the fingerprints match a set already on file with the state: Bob Kelly.”

“Bob?” Tricia repeated, aghast.

Baker nodded.

“Are you going to arrest him?”

“If I can track him down—yes. If you see him, would you please call me?”

Tricia scrutinized Baker's face. “Why are you telling me this? Shouldn't this be confidential until after the deed is done?”

“I felt I owed it to you. You were involved in the case, and you helped bring Berry's killer to justice.”

And he wanted very desperately to get back in her good graces.

“What else?” she asked, knowing there had to be more to it.

“The man seems to have gone to ground. I went to his office on Thursday. He saw me coming and slipped out the back, as though he knew why I had come to see him. Since then, neither I nor my officers have been able to pin him down. Not at his house or his place of business. His business, home, and cell phone numbers all go to voice mail.”

Tricia digested all that he'd said. “It won't work, you know.”

“What won't work?” Baker asked, sounding puzzled.

“Telling me about Bob. And all the other silly excuses you make to see me. Grant, we're not getting back together again.”

“I know that. But I consider us friends. Can't a man talk to his friend? Can't he elicit her help to track down a criminal? Can't he invite her to lunch once in a while just to talk? And maybe to dinner, too?”

Tricia frowned; it sounded like he and Christopher were quoting the same script. “As long as that's all there is to it.”

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” he asked hopefully.

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“Is it true, or are you just saying that to blow me off?”

“I'm telling you I am
not
free for dinner tonight. I've made other plans.”

“Will you be free tomorrow?”

“I don't know.”

“Would you be free if Christopher asked you?” he asked, sounding like a willful child.

“We're not talking about Christopher.”

“Have
you
been talking to him?”

“This is beginning to sound an awful lot like an interrogation,” Tricia said unhappily.

“I'd just like some company when I eat. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Have you considered adopting a pet?”

It was Baker's turn to frown. “Very funny.”

“I'm not trying to be.”

“I'm sorry I brought up the whole subject,” Baker said diffidently.

Tricia sighed. “Grant, have you noticed that every time we talk lately it ends up feeling like an argument?”

“I don't mean for that to happen,” he said, defending himself.

“And neither do I. I just wish . . .” She let the sentence hang for a long moment. “I just wish things had turned out differently. It seems like we connected at the wrong times in our lives.”

“You mean we never quite connected,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“Are you absolutely sure there can
never
be a future for us?”

Tricia felt a smile creep onto her lips. “I never say never.”

“But?” Baker asked.

“Your job doesn't make it easy.”

“Nor does your propensity to find trouble. Trouble in the form of murder.”

“My life revolves around solving puzzles—be it in a mystery book or in life.” She shrugged. “And I'm beginning to think I really was born under an unlucky star.”

“Is that why they call you the village jinx?”

Tricia sighed once more. “I guess so.”

“If it's any consolation, I don't believe it. Not for a minute.”

“Thank you.”

The shop door opened once again, this time admitting Pixie. “Good morning!” she called, sounding insanely cheerful.

“Hi,” Tricia called back.

Baker pursed his lips. “I'd best get back to work. I'm sure we'll speak again in the coming days.”

“No doubt,” Tricia said.

Baker touched the brim of his hat in good-bye and left the store.

Pixie returned from hanging up her coat. “What did he want? To take you out to dinner—again?”

“Yes.”

“And you said no.”

“Yes.”

Pixie shook her head. “It's been so long since either one of us has been with a man, I'll bet we've both forgotten how to do it.”

“Do what?” Tricia said, knowing full well what Pixie was getting at.

“The deed. Getting our bones jumped. Having red-hot, sweaty, wonderful sex.”

Tricia sighed. She wasn't about to talk about her sex life with someone who had performed the act for a living. “Why don't you shelve those bargain books you priced last night?” Tricia suggested.

Pixie's smile was wide. “I don't know why you don't want to talk about sex. I mean, it's as natural as . . . well, getting laid.”

“Pixie, conversations such as that are not conducive to maintaining a good employer-employee relationship.”

Pixie frowned. “Gee, I thought we'd gone beyond all that. I thought by now we might actually be friends.”

Again Tricia sighed. “We are, but—”

Pixie held up a hand to stave off the explanation, but Tricia could tell by her expression that Pixie's feelings had definitely been hurt. “Never mind.” She turned, picked up an armful of books, turning her back on Tricia, and headed for the bargain shelf, leaving Tricia to feel like some kind of repressed prude.

Three of the four conversations she'd had that morning had ended on rather unhappy notes, and Tricia wondered if that was an omen of things to come.

Mr. Everett
arrived for work at precisely two o'clock, just as Tricia grabbed her coat and headed across the street for Booked for Lunch. The place was deserted, and Bev, the waitress, had already gone home. That left just Angelica and her short-order cook to clean up the café and make it ready for the next day's customers.

“Bev left early?” Tricia asked, taking off her coat and setting it on one of the booth seats.

Angelica nodded. “She wasn't feeling well. If she has the beginnings of the flu, I don't want her spreading it to me or Tommy—and especially not to my customers.” She picked up a couple of mustard-stained plates and a glass. “Don't mind me. I'll take these dishes in to Tommy and be right with you.” And with that, Angelica backed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Tricia hung up her coat and moved behind the counter, crouching before the small fridge. But when she opened the door, the tuna plate that was usually waiting for her was nowhere to be seen. She stood.

Angelica reappeared. “What a rotten day. It was dead slow, and then we had a bit of a rush at the end, but not enough to make a difference for this month's bottom line.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and one for Tricia, too. “So, what's the latest gossip around town?”

“Um, Ange, there's no tuna plate for me.”

“Of course not. We're having tea with Karen Johnson in less than an hour over at Haven't Got a Clue.”

“At my store? Why?” she asked, irritated.

“Business has been at a standstill, and you've got that lovely readers' nook just sitting there doing nothing.”

“What if I have customers?”

“I'm sure Pixie or Mr. Everett can wait on them while we talk to Karen.”

Tricia's stomach grumbled in annoyance. “If this shindig is less than an hour away, shouldn't you be getting ready for it?”

“I need to sit down for five minutes and rest,” Angelica said and slid onto one of the counter stools.

“Why can't you meet with your Realtor here?”

“Much as I love this place, it isn't the ambience I want to project when I speak to Karen.”

“Then why don't you entertain her in your apartment?”

“This is a
business
meeting. And besides, my place is a mess. There was so much of that messy fingerprint powder all over my bedroom that I ended up sleeping in the living room. That stuff got everywhere. My dry cleaning bill is going to be three or four pages long. Thank goodness Antonio asked one of the ladies on his housekeeping staff if she'd like to earn a few extra bucks. It should be clean before the Cookery closes today.”

It was no good arguing with Angelica. She usually got her way no matter what. Tricia decided not to press it.

“So, have you heard anything new about Betsy's murder?”

“You didn't want to talk about it last night, but I had news yesterday. Did you know Christopher was Betsy Dittmeyer's financial advisor?”

“No, but I'm not surprised. He's the only one in town,” Angelica said and slipped off one of her three-inch heels, rubbing her foot.

“Yes, but he works for Nigela Ricita Associates.”

“So?”

“So, wouldn't that be a conflict of interest to take on other clients?”

“I don't see how,” Angelica said reasonably.

Tricia shrugged and her stomach growled. She wondered if there were any stray potato chips or dill slices hanging around the place, but everything looked tidy. And as usual, Angelica was probably right about her ex. “Christopher told me Betsy was a multimillionaire.”

“Honestly?” Angelica asked, wide-eyed.

Tricia nodded.

“I'm sure he shouldn't have mentioned that.”

“That's what I thought. But like Grant Baker, he's trying to get back in my good graces.”

“I imagine it would take a lot more than that, although I suppose it's a good start,” Angelica said.

“He said he thought I could keep a secret.”

“Then I guess you just proved him wrong,” Angelica said and sipped her coffee.

“He knew I'd only tell you, and that you wouldn't tell anyone else.”

“I certainly won't. But how is this news relevant?”

“Betsy recently changed her beneficiary from her sister to a bunch of charities.”

“So, you think Joelle's a suspect?”

“Maybe. But she's not a very big person—at least not since she lost all that weight. Could she have pushed that bookshelf over? And if Betsy had let her in the back door, wouldn't we have seen her in the shop just before the murder occurred?”

“We were a bit distracted,” Angelica reminded her.

Tricia frowned once again, wondering if she should mention to Angelica that she'd found herself flirting with Christopher. No, she decided, that would only encourage Angelica to try to get them back together and, despite her conflicted feelings toward the man, Tricia didn't want that. Perhaps she'd flirted just to see if she still appealed to him. It wasn't something she wanted to think about, so she changed the subject.

“Did you know Betsy had a daughter with some kind of congenital health problem, and that she'd died at a young age?”

“No, I didn't. She wasn't one to blab about herself. Perhaps I would have had a bit more patience with her if I'd known.”

Tricia wondered if she should bring up the sore subject of her relationship with their mother, but feared Angelica might have to admit divided loyalties and she didn't want to argue about it. She'd have to find some way to come to peace with the situation without Angelica's input.

“Have you called an employment agency to find a replacement for Betsy?” Tricia asked at last.

Angelica eased her foot back into her shoe. “It's Sunday,” she reminded Tricia. “Besides, out of respect for Betsy, I decided to wait until after the funeral.”

“When is that?”

“I have no idea. I'd better give Baker Funeral Home a call.”

“Betsy's sister, Joelle, came to visit me yesterday.”

“What for?”

“She wanted to see where Betsy had died, but you'd already closed the Cookery.”

Angelica frowned. “I am not holding tours for people to see the death site—and especially not for Betsy's relatives.”

“She told me she needed to make funeral arrangements. She doesn't live in Stoneham, so maybe she'll move the burial to Milford or Nashua.”

“Either way, I suppose I'd have to go—at least to the funeral parlor,” Angelica said without enthusiasm. “I mean, she
did
work for the Chamber and I
am
its president.”

“I keep thinking about Betsy having deep pockets. Why do you think she continued to work after coming into all that money?”

“Maybe she didn't have anything else to do with her time. I never heard her talk about having any hobbies. She never brought a book to read during her lunch break. And she did not want the Chamber receptionist job to be reduced to a part-time position.”

“Maybe working was the only time she had contact with people,” Tricia suggested, and picked up her cup.

“Betsy never mentioned having any friends. I don't think she had a pet, either.”

“What a terribly lonely life,” Tricia said.

“You know, I'm very sorry the woman is dead, but it gives me a chance to start fresh with the Chamber. I never did feel that Betsy had any loyalty to me. And I'd better spend some serious time trying to figure out what needs to be done to keep the Chamber going for the next week or so until I can hire someone else.”

“At least you have Frannie as a sounding board. She had the job for over a decade.”

“I hate to do that, but I don't know where the Chamber stands on something as simple as the reservations for the next breakfast meeting. And there's the monthly newsletter. Betsy took care of that, too. If nothing else, she was extremely efficient.”

“What an epitaph. Surely she had more going for herself than that.”

“If she did, she kept it to herself,” Angelica admitted.

Tricia pushed her cup away. She didn't want any more coffee and she didn't want to talk about Betsy's death anymore, either. “Did Patty come in for lunch today?”

“Patty?” Angelica asked. “Patty who?”

“You know, Patty Perkins—from Russ Smith's office.”

“Oh, that Patty. Yes.”

“So what does Russ think about being a daddy?” Tricia asked, eager to know the answer.

“Apparently it was quite a shock. Patty said he's been walking around like a zombie. Before the wedding, he and Nikki never talked about starting a family. He told Patty he thought they were both past it. Now he's worried about money. If Nikki sells the Patisserie, she won't make much on the deal. She owes too much and has almost nothing in equity. And ad revenue is down at the
Stoneham Weekly News,
too.”

“Oh, dear,” Tricia said. “It seems like the two of them never get a break.”

“I wonder if I should talk to Nikki,” Angelica mused.

“And say what? That you think she should keep her business?”

“She doesn't have to be on the premises twelve hours a day to keep it and make a profit. My success with the Cookery is proof of that.”

“She wants to be a stay-at-home mom.”

“Right
now
she does, but how will she feel when the little tyke is ready for school?” Angelica asked.

“Maybe she'll have a couple more kids by then,” Tricia said.

“Or maybe in the future Russ will take a more active role with birth control.”

“Now that's a subject I don't want to get into,” Tricia said, remembering her earlier conversation with Pixie. She looked at her watch. “I'd better get back to my store. Do you want me to take anything over to Haven't Got a Clue for your afternoon tea?” she asked as she got up from her seat at the counter, shrugged into her jacket, and donned her hat.

“Thanks, but Tommy and I can handle it,” Angelica said and rose from her seat. “I'm going to change and I'll be at your place in about half an hour.”

Tricia nodded, waved, and exited the café. She had to wait for a lone car to pass, and then crossed the street. Before she opened the door to Haven't Got a Clue, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle and turned to look up at Christopher's third-floor office window. Sure enough, he stood there, as if waiting for her. He waved and, although disconcerted, she found herself waving back before she hurried into her store. She didn't like living in a fishbowl.

*   *   *

Angelica was
as good as her word. Within half an hour, she and her short-order cook had assembled several plastic-wrapped trays on the beverage counter at Haven't Got a Clue. “Want me to help set things up?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, please,” Angelica said and then dispatched Tricia to make a pot of tea. By the time Tricia arrived back at the shop, the readers' nook had undergone a complete transformation. The dog-eared issues of
Mystery Scene
magazine had disappeared, and the big square table sported a linen tablecloth with three settings of a beautiful pink rose-patterned china upon it and a matching three-tiered plate filled with delectable goodies: finger sandwiches, scones, and what looked like handmade dainty chocolate cups filled with mousse and crowned with fresh raspberries—at this time of year?

Tricia set the teapot down on the table and looked at her watch. “If your Realtor doesn't arrive soon, the tea will be stewed.”

As if on cue, the shop door opened, the little bell above it tinkling merrily, and all eyes turned to see who'd entered. The tall, handsome black woman with a blue wool coat and matching fur-trimmed hat spoke. “Ms. Miles?”

Tricia and Angelica both piped up, “Yes?”

Angelica turned her head to glare at Tricia, and then back to the visitor. “I'm Angelica Miles. You must be Karen Johnson. Please come in.”

Pixie and Mr. Everett, who'd been hanging around and watching the food setup with hungry eyes, turned away, heading in different directions, trying to look busy.

“May I take your coat?” Tricia asked.

“Thank you,” Karen said and began to unbutton it. Under it she wore a pink wool suit and black knee-high leather boots. She took off her hat, revealing close-cropped natural hair, and handed it, too, to Tricia.

“Won't you sit down?” Angelica asked, offering Karen the seat of her choice. She took the one that faced west, overlooking Main Street.

Tricia headed for the back of the store to hang up the coat, noting the hat's fur trim was real—mink, by the feel of it. By the time she returned, Angelica was also seated, and pouring the tea. “Karen, this is my sister, Tricia. She owns Haven't Got a Clue.”

“It's a charming store,” Karen said with admiration. “I love what you've done with its restoration.”

Tricia felt a blush warm her cheeks. She never tired of hearing praise for her store. “Thank you.”