A Fatal Chapter (8 page)

Would anyone mention to Chief Baker that Stark might have had a motive for murdering Pete? If no one volunteered that information, should she? And how would Stark react to her betrayal? There were other contractors in the area, but everyone agreed Stark was the best. He came highly recommended, he came up with cost-saving solutions when the reno ran into problems, and he and his men did good work
on schedule. Tricia wanted to go home as soon as possible. Stark had promised that, when the insurance company finally came through with a check, he would make her renovation a top priority. Would he even deal with her if she dared mention his name in connection with Pete’s death?

How badly did she want to return to her home and workplace?

Pretty damn bad.

Tricia set her fork down and closed the carton on the salad. She’d had enough.

Feeling terribly depressed, she placed the foam container in the fridge and headed back to the office without making a decision on what she should do with what she now knew.

Once again,
the Chamber did not get a full day’s worth of work from Tricia. Why was she obsessing over a rumor—and that’s all it was—that her contractor may have been jealous of the attention another man paid his wife? Much as she tried to distract herself with Chamber work, she could not concentrate.

What she wanted to do was haul out her book and read. When life got tough, she could always count on getting lost in a mystery novel, but since Pixie was getting paid by the hour, Tricia couldn’t very well rub her nose in the fact that an unpaid volunteer had leeway to goof off on a whim. That Tricia had allowed Pixie to read on the job at Haven’t Got a Clue had been a perk her assistant had practically wallowed in. And yet, Pixie wasn’t afraid of work. She seemed to look at every task as a chance to excel—and she did.

At 5:57, Pixie began to gather her purse, shoes, and waitress uniform in preparation for leaving.

“What have you got on tap tonight?” Tricia asked.

“Fred’s coming over to my place to barbeque some steaks. His boss gives him the stuff that’s just about to turn.”

“Oh, how awful,” Tricia said, appalled.

“No, it’s not. Fred’s dad was a butcher. He said you have to hang meat for it to get full-flavored. They don’t do that nowadays and the meat tastes like sh—” She paused and seemed to think better of her descriptor. “Crap. I asked Mr. E, and he agreed. He used to be a butcher, you know.”

Yes, she did know.

“What are you having?” Pixie asked.

“I’m going to Angelica’s. She said something about shrimp pastasalad.”

“That sounds like lunch.”

“I prefer to think of it as
light
,” Tricia said.
If carb heavy
. “It doesn’t matter what she makes; it’s always good.”

“No doubt about it. She’s good in the kitchen. She’s shown me a few tricks over at Booked for Lunch. She said your grandma taught her.”

“That she did.”

Pixie frowned. “My granny ran a brothel. Is it any wonder I ended up the way I did?”

Tricia wasn’t sure how to reply to that piece of news. Luckily, Pixie continued.

“We’re having a salad and baked potatoes. Making them is gonna be my job, so I’m off to Shaw’s in Milford to get the stuff.”

“Have a good evening,” Tricia called as Pixie headed out the door. Once she was gone, Tricia locked the office and immediately headed to the Cookery for dinner with Angelica. She had a lot to tell her—and really felt the need to unload. She just hoped Angelica would be in a receptive mood.

As usual, Sarge was ecstatic to see Tricia. It had been almost twenty-four hours, and he let her know that her absence had been keenly felt. She rewarded him with two biscuits that she slipped him, which did not go unseen by his mistress.

“He’ll get fat if you keep indulging him,” Angelica scolded her.

“They’re small biscuits,” Tricia said in her own defense.

Angelica scowled and turned back to her cutting board, which was covered in good-sized cooked, peeled shrimp she’d been in the process of cutting into bite-size pieces.

“What else is on tap tonight?” Tricia asked, swiping one of the tails before Angelica had a chance to stop her.

“Besides the shrimp pasta salad? I’m almost finished making it. I snagged a few of Nikki’s snowflake rolls from the Patisserie. I just have to mix the shrimp with the pasta, mayo, and veggies, then let it cool for a while. Meanwhile, the martinis are already chilled.”

“Why don’t we drink wine anymore?’ Tricia asked.

“Don’t you like martinis?” Angelica asked, sounding surprised.

“Not particularly.”

“Not even
mine
?”

“No.”

“Oh. Does that mean I have to drink the entire pitcher myself?”

“I didn’t say that,” Tricia said, and retrieved the crystal pitcher, chilled glasses, and olives from the fridge. She poured and gave Angelica a glass before reaching for another tail. This time Angelica was ready for her and slapped her hand. Tricia backed off, retreating to the kitchen island with her drink. She commandeered a stool.

“So, how was your day?” Angelica asked conversationally, putting the now-finished salad in the fridge.

“Awful.”

“What happened?” Angelica asked, concerned.

“Where do you want me to start?” Tricia asked, and took a sip of her martini. It wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible, either. She must be getting used to them.

“Chamber business, if that’s what’s got you so down.”

Tricia sighed. “Who takes care of the hanging baskets around the village?”

“The Milford Nursery, why?”

“Because just about all of them are devoid of flowers.”

“What?” Angelica cried, horrified.

“You heard me.”

Angelica dropped her knife and rushed to the bank of windows that overlooked Main Street. “They can’t all have died.”

“The greenery looks very healthy, but where are the flowers? Surely they couldn’t all have fallen off at one time, either.”

“Vandals!” Angelica cried, and turned back to face Tricia. “Oh my God! I hope the committee for prettiest village in New Hampshire has already been through to check us out. Otherwise, we’re out of the running for yet another year.”

“I thought they came through last month.”

“I’m not sure of the timing. If all they saw was green, we’re toast!”

She turned back to look at the vast sea of greenery where days before there had been a riot of color. “Perhaps now that we have a police force, we can catch whoever is doing this. Not like when someone was smashing all those pumpkins a few years back, although that seemed to stop after a while.”

“There’s a reason it stopped. I caught the culprit.”

Angelica turned back to face her sister. “You did? You never said anything.”

“At the time, I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

“Know what? Who was behind it? Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

“Because it was Bob.”

Angelica turned back to face her sister. “No! I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. He was jealous that Milford’s Pumpkin Festival was so successful and drawing the tourists away from Stoneham, and he took out his anger on the free pumpkins he was giving away to those who listed with Kelly Realty.”

Angelica looked thoughtful. “At the time I did think he must have had a rush of clients, as the pumpkin pile did go down rather quickly.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Do you suspect Bob of denuding the hanging baskets?”

“Could be. He’s got a lot on his mind right now and none of it appears to be pleasant. But I would hope he’d think twice about doing something else that could get him in trouble with the law.”

“I’ll call the nursery first thing in the morning to find out what it will cost to replace the flowers. Maybe they can give the village a deal as it’s getting late in the season.”

“What if it happens again?”

Angelica frowned. “After we eat, we can go look at one of the baskets. I want to make sure it
is
vandalism and not just some horticultural blight. Are you game?”

“Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

Angelica returned to the island and picked up her drink. “Have you heard anything else about Pete’s death?”

Tricia shook her head, deciding not to yet share what Mariana had told her about Jim Stark. “Grant came to the Chamber office to ask me about finding Pete. He said he couldn’t really start an investigation until he knew what the actual cause of death was. But he was also
going to have a lab team search the gazebo and the area around it for clues.”

“Clues to what?”

Tricia shrugged. “To see if there was anything suspicious.”

“You said there was a needle mark and a suspicious bruise on Pete’s body, which would mean somebody injected him with something. What’s obtainable that could stop someone’s heart—and do it pretty quickly? Or what about an air bubble in the blood?”

“I’ve seen that threatened on TV and in movies, but I don’t know if you could actually kill someone that way.”

“You could look it up online,” Angelica said, and looked toward her computer.

“I’m about to eat dinner, and that kind of information could have a negative effect on my digestive system,” Tricia said.

“I’ve seen you eat while reading a book featuring a graphic autopsy,” Angelica said sourly.

“Well, I don’t want to look it up right now.”

“What else could kill someone so quickly?” Angelica pressed.

“Poison, I suppose.”

“How about arsenic?”

“It isn’t a fast acting poison. Generally the victim is fed the substance over a long period of time.”

“You mean like feeding them a steady diet of apple seeds? Are there any orchards around here?”

“It wouldn’t have to be an exotic poison. Maybe something as simple as a vial of super-strength vinegar.”

“Ya think?” Angelica said.

“I’m guessing.” It was time to change the subject. “I also spoke to Antonio today.”

Angelica lifted an eyebrow. “Did you?”

Tricia nodded. “I told him I’m very glad he’s a part of our family.”

Angelica’s smile was tentative. “Thank you. What did he say?”

“Not much. But he made sure I understood that he respected your wish to keep your secret quiet.”

“I’m thankful for that.”

“It’s time to tell Ginny—and before the baby arrives, especially if you want to be its grandma.”

Angelica let out a long breath. “I suppose I’ll have to. And as she’s Antonio’s wife, it really should come from me.”

“Agreed. And she will not be pleased.”

“Neither were you, but you seem to have gotten over it much quicker than I would have guessed.”

“What choice do I have?”

“And what choice does Ginny have, too?”

“Very little.”

“Antonio suggested we all have dinner soon at the Brookview Inn’s private dining room.”

“That would be lovely. I’ll set up a menu tomorrow and call him.”

“Why don’t you let him decide on the menu. I’m sure he’ll pick something Ginny is particularly fond of—you know, to get her in a receptive mood.”

“Great idea.”

Tricia eyed her sister critically. “You know, it almost seems like you have some kind of master plan in mind for all of us. Would you care to share it?”

“You make me sound like some kind of dictator or puppeteer,” Angelica said.

“I’m afraid that’s how some of the villagers view Nigela Ricita.”

“I haven’t done anything that didn’t benefit Stoneham in one way or another, and I wish you’d stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

“I’m sorry, Ange. I guess I still feel hurt that you kept it from me for so long.”

“I admit, it was a mistake, and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past. Can’t we just move forward and accept the present?”

“We will. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” Angelica asked, her expression blank.

“Do you have some kind of master plan for all of us?”

“Well, of course I do,” Angelica answered matter-of-factly.

Tricia started.

“Oh, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of megalomaniac. I want us all to be healthy and happy and successful. Period.”

“And who does this theoretical
us
entail?”

“You, me, Antonio, Ginny. Grace, Mr. Everett, Frannie, Pixie, Mariana, Bev, Tommy—everybody.”

“And how do you propose to deliver that magic pill?”

“No pill. People who are happy in their work are happy in life. It’s as simple as that. And I want the people who arrive in this beautiful little town in New England stressed and careworn to leave happy and uplifted.”

“You hope.”

“So far, so good.”

Tricia couldn’t argue with that.

“What are you plotting for the future?”

“Not plotting, considering. Now that you know, you could be a wonderful sounding board. In fact, it would be oodles of fun if you and Antonio and Ginny and I all sat down and made a wish list for the
village: things we’d like to see happen. Stores and services we’d love to see arrive. Needs that aren’t yet being met.”

“Like a shoe store?” Tricia suggested.

Angelica shook her head. “That’s been on my wish list for years. We’re much too small for a chain store, and a boutique would be too expensive for the residents.” She shook her head. “It’s a pipe dream.”

“A tea shop?” Tricia suggested.

Again Angelica shook her head. “Not enough trade to keep one in business through the lean times. But I have thought about offering afternoon tea at the Brookview Inn during the summer months. Maybe just on weekends to start. We also need more daycare. Ginny wants to go back to work after the baby arrives, and my grandchild must have the very best.”

“You wouldn’t hire a nanny?” Tricia asked.

“Children need to interact with other children. It’s good for them.”

“What makes you the expert when it comes to child care?”

“Google is my best friend,” Angelica said wryly.

“What about the ghost walks?”

“They could be great fun—and quite lucrative, not only for the cemetery, but for the Dog-Eared Page and the Bookshelf Diner. Before Pete died, he sent a report to NRA looking for backing.”

“Did you give him any money for them?”