A Fatal Chapter (4 page)

Tricia was going to need a hardy swig of that alcoholic rocket fuel to get through the upcoming conversation. She opened the fridge and found everything sitting on a tray. Even the skewered olives sat in the glasses. While Angelica filled the pot with water and put it on the stove, Tricia moved the tray to the counter and poured. She handed one of the glasses to Angelica, who barely looked up as she lit the burner.

“What shall we drink to?” Angelica asked, grabbing a spoon and giving the sauce another stir.

Ah, the perfect opening. “Why don’t we drink to Nigela Ricita?” Tricia suggested.

“Why would we want to do that?” Angelica asked diffidently.

“She’s changed the lives of everyone in Stoneham, wouldn’t you agree?”

Angelica shrugged, her back still to Tricia. “I guess.”

“In fact, she’s got to be the best thing that ever happened to Stoneham.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Angelica said, and took a sip of her drink.

“You can’t deny she’s brought a lot of changes to the village.”

“So have you.”

“Me?” Tricia asked, stunned.

“So has everyone who opened a store and managed to keep it afloat. The dialysis center has brought in a lot of new blood, too. Oh, my, that was a good pun, wasn’t it?” Angelica said, and laughed.

Tricia didn’t join her.

“Let’s talk about something different. For instance, me,” Angelica suggested.

“If we’re talking about Nigela Ricita, we
are
talking about you,” Tricia said, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

Angelica’s back stiffened, but she didn’t face her sister. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. I finally figured it out, and I feel really stupid that it took me all this time to do it.”

Angelica finally turned to face her. “And just what exactly did you figure out?”

“That Nigela Ricita is an anagram for Angelica and Tricia.”

Angelica frowned. “Aren’t you a couple of letters short?”

“So you fudged it. I want to know why.”

Tricia studied her sister’s face, and for a few seconds she thought Angelica might burst into tears, but then her eyes narrowed and she smiled before tipping her glass back and taking another sip. “Damn, I make a fine martini.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What do you want me to say?” Angelica repeated.

“Admit it! Admit that you’ve been living a lie.”

“What lie?”

“A lie of omission—for keeping the truth about your secret identity to yourself.”

“You make me sound like Clark Kent, although I think I’d prefer to be Diana Prince.”

“Who?”

Angelica let out an exasperated breath. “Wonder Woman!”

“Oh, please,” Tricia groused, and took a slug of her drink. Her mind was awhirl with chaotic thoughts that bordered mostly on anger.

Angelica turned back to the stove.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Tricia demanded.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Sorry would be a good start.”

“But I’m not sorry.”

“Can’t you at least be sorry for not telling me?”

Angelica stirred the pot. “Not really.”

Again Tricia’s mouth dropped open, but she was absolutely speechless.

Angelica tested the sauce. “Another triumph,” she declared, and took another sip of her drink.

“I can’t believe you,” Tricia started, but Angelica turned and held up a hand to stop her.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Who else knows?” Tricia demanded.

“Less than you’d think,” Angelica said under her breath.

“Who?” Tricia roared.

“Antonio. My lawyers. And Christopher.”

“Christopher?” Tricia cried, anguished. “You told my ex-husband but you didn’t tell me?”

Angelica took another long pull on her martini and then set down the glass. “I went to see him the summer before I moved here to Stoneham.”

Tricia looked at her sister, remembering that Angelica had gone to a fat farm in Aspen not long after she’d broken up with her fourth husband. Aspen wasn’t all that far from where Christopher had gone to live after their divorce. “So, he gave you financial advice?”

“Yes. He advised me to set up my corporation in New Jersey, and helped me pull together some financing for a loft conversion I was about to undertake.”

“You told my ex-husband, but you didn’t tell
me
,” Tricia angrily accused.

“It was just a lark. The whole thing was just supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yes. Serious fun.”

“And what about Antonio?” Tricia asked.

Angelica’s eyes lit up and a smile erupted across her lips. “He’s the light of my life. The best thing that came from my marriage to Rod—come to think of it, the best thing that came from
any
of my marriages.”

“You have what amounts to a son and you never told anyone about him?”

“Of course I told people. You just don’t travel in the same circles.”

“Do Mother and Daddy know?”

“Yes,” Angelica grudgingly admitted.

“And you never told
me
?” she cried again, devastated.

“Well,” Angelica hedged, “we weren’t exactly close for a long time.”

And I’m so angry with you right now, we may never be close again
, Tricia thought. “And this whole Nigela Ricita thing came about because . . . ?” she demanded.

“I wanted to give Antonio a job so he’d live nearby and I could see him every day if I wanted. I don’t care who his biological parents were; he is
my
son and I love him as much as I love you.”

“How can you say you love me when you’ve kept so much of your life a secret from me?”

“How did I know I was going to be so fantastically successful?”

“Yes, how did you manage that?”

Angelica shrugged, noted that the water was boiling, and took out a box of penne from one of the cupboards. “After my divorce from Gary, I bought some property.”

“That was husband number three, right?”

Angelica nodded. “I held on to the building for a couple of years
without knowing what I wanted to do with it. Then when Antonio said he wanted to return to the states, I offered to hire him as a general contractor. He learned a lot and we had a great time working together. We sold it, split the profit, and kept working together.”

“And did you have some kind of master plan in mind when you came to Stoneham?”

“Yes, to be closer to you.” Angelica dumped some of the pasta into the water. “You
are
my family.”

“But you lived here for almost three years before Antonio came to Stoneham.”

“We had a big, complicated project that took far longer to complete than we thought. But we made a modest profit and he learned a lot, so it worked out in the end.”

“And now he manages Nigela Ricita Associates for you?”

“More or less. He’s very good at his job, too. I’m so proud I could burst. And now I’m going to be a grandma. Don’t I look in great shape for such a monumental milestone?” she said, and laughed, but Tricia didn’t find the statement funny.

“Who besides me will know?” Tricia demanded.

Angelica frowned. “Well, I suppose we should finally let Ginny in our little secret.”

“Little secret?” Tricia repeated. “Ginny’s going to be just as angry as me.”

“Maybe for a day or two,” Angelica conceded, “but she’ll get over it—just like you will.”

“And what about the rest of the village?”

“Why do they have to know?” Angelica asked, and checked the pasta water, which had come back to a boil. She adjusted the flame.

Tricia had no answer for that. “It just seems wrong.”

“Why? It didn’t take long for me to discover that I can do far more
for Stoneham and its citizens as Nigela than I can as me. And there’s nothing illegal about what I’ve done.”

“But don’t you want the credit?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Under a pseudonym,” Tricia pointed out.

“So what?”

Tricia stared at her sister, openmouthed. “I don’t get it. I don’t get
you
.”

“I like things the way they are. I get far more
cooperation
the way things are now. Do I have your word that you won’t tell a soul?”

Tricia felt like slapping her sister, but instead she balled her fists. “You do, but grudgingly.”

“Why? Don’t you see how much easier it is for me this way?”

“Not really.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Diva.”

Angelica smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

That wasn’t how the jibe was meant to be received.

“Now, shall I tell you how my meeting went with the Chamber presidents this afternoon, or do you want to tell me what I missed this afternoon at the office?”

It took Tricia a few moments to remember what had happened just hours before. “Well, there was some excitement, but it wasn’t at the Chamber. Sarge and I had an unfortunate encounter during our walk in the park.”

Angelica looked down at her dog, who was resting with his head on the knotted sock. “Not with a skunk. I would have smelled that.”

“No, but, Sarge found—”

“Not another dead body,” Angelica practically wailed.

“Of course not. At least, he wasn’t dead when we found him.”

“Who?”

“Pete Renquist.”

“Oh, no! Is he okay?”

“He was in cardiac arrest when the paramedics loaded him into an ambulance and whisked him off to the hospital.”

“Oh, my! And he seemed perfectly fine this morning. Are you sure he had a heart attack?”

“I’m not sure of anything, but I didn’t see any sign of trauma. The poor man. I’m afraid I didn’t give the Chamber its money’s worth this afternoon while I sat around thinking about him.”

“Since we pay you nothing, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Angelica said kindly, draining her glass and turning to the fridge to pour herself another martini. She offered to top up Tricia’s glass, but she hadn’t yet finished the one she had. Angelica held her glass aloft. “To Pete. May he make a speedy recovery.”

“To Pete,” Tricia agreed, and took a sip of her drink.

She’d barely swallowed when Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” broke the quiet, and Tricia grabbed her cell phone from her pocket. She recognized the number: Russ Smith.

“Hello?”

“Trish? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—”

“It’s about Pete?” she asked anxiously.

“Yeah. Sorry, but I just got word that he died.”

Dead?
Angelica mouthed.

Tricia nodded.

“I’m so . . . bummed,” Tricia told Russ.

“Yeah, me, too.”

“And here’s something that will bum you even more. It may not have been of natural causes.”

“What are you saying?”

“There was a suspicious bruise and a puncture mark on Pete’s right arm.”

“I don’t like the way this conversation has turned,” Tricia said.

“That yet another murder has taken place in Stoneham? No, I guess you wouldn’t. And of course,
you
found him.”

“I’ll remind you he was
alive
when I found him.”

“Tell that to your buddy, Chief Baker.”

Tricia let out an exasperated breath.

“I gotta go. I’m still at the office and have to keep the line free in case Nikki calls.”

“Thank you for calling. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Right.”

Tricia stabbed her phone’s off icon.

“I change my toast,” Angelica said, raising her glass once again. “Rest in peace, Pete.” She took a healthy slug. “But there’s more, isn’t there?”

Tricia nodded. “Pete may not have died of natural causes.”

Angelica raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Tricia took a sip of her martini. She wasn’t sure she would ever really like them.

She hadn’t told Angelica what Pete had muttered before losing consciousness, but she’d have to tell Grant Baker when he came to talk to her—and he would. Not that what Pete had said made sense. He’d died with his secret, and now no one would ever know what it meant.

Angelica sampled a piece of pasta, declared it al dente, and enlisted Tricia to set the table. She did so on autopilot, but she had no appetite. She’d been wounded to learn Angelica’s secret and now shocked to hear of Pete’s death.

She wasn’t sure she could take any more shocks that day.

Despite Angelica’s
marvelous dinner, Tricia ate very little. Angelica had insisted she take home leftovers in case she was hit with a case of the munchies during the night, and Tricia carried the containers back to the Chamber in a plastic grocery bag.

She unlocked the door to the office and let herself in. Miss Marple sat in a patch of early-evening sunshine in the kitchen and greeted her with a scolding
“Yow!”

“I apologize. But I did leave you kitty treats before I left. It’s not my fault you were nowhere in sight before I had to go,” she explained.

Miss Marple just glared at her.

No sooner had she put the cat’s now-full dish on the floor when she heard a knock at the back door. She ignored it. Several times Chamber members had appeared on her doorstep after hours with some request or other—knowing the business was officially closed, but also knowing
that she would be there and expecting her to be willing to honor their requests. She worked enough hours for the Chamber—and gratis, too—that she was determined not to let whomever it was infringe on her personal time—especially when she was feeling so unsettled.

The knock came again, but Tricia stood by the sink, waiting for whomever it was to go away. A minute had passed, and she was just about ready to mount the stairs for her temporary living space when a knock came at the kitchen window, startling her. She turned and saw the face of her ex-husband, Christopher, peering in at her.

“Open the door!” he called.

Tricia frowned. “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

She sighed. She knew he wouldn’t go away until she let him in, so she stalked over to the back door and opened it.

“Why didn’t you answer?” Christopher demanded.

“I thought it was a Chamber member.”

He smiled. “Well, I
am
a Chamber member. Why wouldn’t you want to talk to me?”

“The office is closed, so if you’ve come about a Chamber matter . . .” she said, grabbing his elbow and attempting to push him back out the door, but his feet stayed planted.

“I heard about what happened.”

“Yes, it’s very sad that Pete died,” she said, but she doubted he’d already heard that it was a suspicious death.

“I’m sorry you found him,” Christopher said gently.

For a moment Tricia wasn’t sure what he meant, but then . . . “Thank you.” Then again, she wasn’t about to cut him any slack. He owed her an explanation, and now was as good a time as any to demand it. She
crossed her arms and glared at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that Angelica is Nigela Ricita?”

He shrugged, his expression bland. “She asked me not to.”

Tricia waited for more of an explanation but was disappointed. “That’s it?”

Christopher nodded. “I’m a man of my word.”

Except when it came to a marriage vow.

“Do we have to stand here in the doorway to talk? Can’t we sit down? I’ve never seen your living quarters,” he said.

And you aren’t about to, either
, she thought.

He pushed past her and walked into the kitchen. Miss Marple looked up from her bowl and almost seemed to smile.
“Yow!”
She trotted over to meet Christopher, winding around his legs and looking up at him with adoring eyes.

Traitor!

“You played dumb with me when you said you’d gone to Portsmouth for the job interview to work for her company.”

“No, I didn’t. I really did go to Portsmouth, where I was interviewed for the job working for NRA.”

“Did Angelica interview you?”

“No, Antonio did. She let him make the decision.” Christopher pulled one of the bistro chairs away from the table and sat.

“And he made it knowing you were my ex-husband?”

“I don’t think we discussed it. He asked for my credentials, did some checking, and voila—I was hired. Your sister is a very generous employer. I’d like to say it’s a family trait, but your spirit of generosity seems to have evaporated these past few years.”

And he knew damn well why, too.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”

She considered Miss Marple’s water bowl on the floor. “This is a shared refrigerator. I don’t keep wine or have any liquor down here.”

“How about upstairs?” Christopher asked. Tricia’s glare intensified. “How about iced tea?”

Tricia shook her head.

“Coffee?”

“I’m not sure you’ll be staying that long.”

“Tricia, why can’t we be friends? I thought we were getting along a lot better lately.”

“That was before I found out you knew Angelica’s secret.”

“For what it’s worth, among the advice I’ve given her was that she should level with you. I knew you’d be upset. Hell, she knew it, too, but she felt the timing wasn’t right.”

“And when was the timing going to be right?”

“Looks like it was today.”

“It wasn’t. I figured it out for myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

Damn him for actually sounding that way. She moved over to the counter, picked up the coffee pot and filled it with water. As she measured the coffee into the filter basket, she glanced askance to see him smiling. Damn him!

She hit the switch and grabbed two clean coffee cups from the drain board. Pixie kept on top of everything during her hours at the Chamber. Tricia set them on the table and brought out and then filled a small pitcher with milk and set it and the sugar bowl and a spoon in front of Christopher.

“What will Pete’s death mean for the Chamber?”

Tricia shrugged. “He worked closely with Angelica on the historical-
plaque campaign. It’s a shame he won’t get to see any more of them go up around the village.”

“What else did they have in mind?”

“The cemetery ghost walks were supposed to start in the fall. I suppose someone else from the Historical Society will work with Angelica or Mariana on that. It’s a shame, because Pete was a walking encyclopedia when it came to Stoneham’s founding fathers—and mothers.”

Christopher looked past her toward the refrigerator. “I don’t suppose you have any cookies or a stale doughnut hanging around. I haven’t had dinner yet,” he explained.

“The Bookshelf Diner is only a couple of doors down.”

“Come on, Trish,” he chided her.

She frowned. She was going to have deep-set lines in her face if this continued. “Angelica sent me home with a load of leftovers. I suppose I could toss them on a plate and heat them in the microwave for you.”

“That would be heavenly. Thank you.”

Tricia turned to the fridge and doled out the pasta and a bowl of salad. This was like old times, only their dining room in their Manhattan apartment had been far more elegant than the humble kitchen where they now sat. Still, the take-out containers hadn’t looked too much different. The coffee was ready before the microwave went
ding
. Tricia poured, and then set the salad dressing, silverware, and a paper napkin in front of Christopher. Turning back to the microwave, she retrieved his makeshift meal.

He inhaled deeply. “This smells great. It’s too bad you didn’t inherit the same cooking genes as Angelica.”

No, and she hadn’t inherited the secret-keeping genes, either.

Christopher dug in, obviously enjoying his meal.

Now what could they talk about?

He swallowed. “Have you heard from the insurance company yet?”

Tricia shook her head. “Sometimes I think I never will.”

“Made any headway with buying the building?”

Again she shook her head. “I’m sure Bob will be by to bug me about it any day now. Why is he so keen to dump it? Is he having financial problems?”

“He’s not my client, so I can talk freely about him, and yes, that’s the rumor that’s going around.” Despite what he’d just said, he didn’t elaborate.

“It’s no surprise that NRA Realty has encroached on his territory. Karen Johnson actually believes in customer service.”

“She’s sharp,” Christopher agreed.

“I suppose even
she
knows Angelica’s secret,” Tricia groused.

Christopher shoveled another forkful of salad into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He shook his head. “Not as far as I know.” He sipped his coffee.

“So, what’s the scoop with Bob?” Tricia asked.

“Legal trouble,” Christopher said succinctly.

Tricia knew all about that. Bob’s fingerprints had been matched to those found in Stan Berry’s ransacked house after his murder. And it came to light that Bob had been arrested for a foolish prank as a teen. He’d skipped town and never completed his community service sentence. Now he was up to his chin in hot water.

Neither of them spoke again until Christopher had finished his meal and set his fork down. “Boy, that was good. You ought to let Angelica give you a few cooking lessons. She’s terrific—at just about everything she does.”

Tricia pushed back her chair and stood. “I’m sorry you have to leave so soon.”

“Who says I do?”

“Me. It’s been a traumatic day. All I want to do is settle back in my easy chair with a good book and forget about real life for a few hours.”

“It might do you good to experience more of real life—at least the good part of it.”

“I have plenty of good things in my life.”

As though on cue, Miss Marple said,
“Yow!”

They both laughed.

Christopher pushed back his chair and stood. “Can I at least kiss you good-bye?”

“No.”

He leaned forward and brushed a light kiss against her cheek anyway.

“Hey!”

“So sue me.” Watching where he stepped, as Miss Marple seemed about to trip him, Christopher headed for the door. “Thanks for the dinner and the conversation. Can I come by tomorrow night?”

“No.”

“Okay, see you then,” he said, and let himself out, closing the door.

“That man,” Tricia grated.

“
Yow!
” Miss Marple
agreed.