Murder on the Half Shelf (21 page)

“I’m fine,” he said in between short gasping breaths.

“I don’t think you are. I’m going to call 911.”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Please don’t. I’ll feel better in a few moments. I just needed to sit down for a few minutes.”

If he was having a heart attack, they couldn’t afford to wait a few minutes.

“I’m sorry, but this is one time I’ll have to overrule your wishes,” she said, and hurried to the old Art Deco phone on the cash desk. Dialing the nine and waiting for it to cycle back
seemed to take forever, and Tricia cursed herself for having such an ancient phone. But it looked pretty, and since she sold vintage books, she felt it added to the ambience of her store—but now it was just a relic that was holding up help for her dear friend. Finally a dispatcher came on the line.

“The EMTs will be there in no time. Do you want to hang on until they come?”

“No. I’d better call his wife,” Tricia said, and ended the call. She didn’t want to wait for the incredibly slow phone to make the connection, so she took her cell phone from her coat pocket and punched in the number.

“Everett Charity Foundation. This is Pixie. How can I help you?”

“Hi. This is Tricia Miles—” But before she could say anymore, Tricia heard a click in her ear and then nothing. “Hello? Hello?”

She dialed again. “Everett Charity Foundation.”

“Pixie, this is Tricia Miles. I must speak to Grace immediately, it’s an em—”

“Sorry, bitch. You got around me this morning, but you’re not getting through to the boss now. I don’t care what your excuse is. You crossed me. I got in trouble. Now you’re dead to me. Good-bye.”

Again the line went dead.

Tricia dialed again, but this time Pixie didn’t pick up. She probably had caller ID.

The sound of sirens broke the relative quiet of Main Street and a fire rescue truck pulled up across the street. Tricia hurried to the door to open it for them just as an ambulance pulled up in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. The EMTs tumbled out of the van and collected their gear. Tricia held the door open for them to enter, and Linda waved them to the reader’s nook.

Tricia stood back as the EMTs asked Mr. Everett a series of questions, which he answered. He was starting to look scared—as scared as Tricia felt.

He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay
, she kept repeating to herself.

“Were you able to get hold of his wife?” Linda whispered.

Tricia shook her head. “She’s right across the street. I should go over there right now and holler through the door.” At Linda’s puzzled look, she explained about Pixie.

One of the EMTs joined them. “We’re going to transport him to St. Joseph Hospital in Milford—just to be on the safe side.”

“I’ll try to find his wife and follow in my own car.”

The EMT nodded and headed out the door.

“I’m going across the street to get Grace. I’ll be right back,” Tricia told Linda, and headed out the door. The EMT was removing a gurney from the back of the ambulance as Tricia left the store. She looked up and saw Pixie looking down at the street, probably alerted by the flashing lights. When she saw Tricia looking at her, she turned away.

Tricia frowned and hurried across the street. She entered the building and practically ran up the stairs to the second-floor office, but when she reached for the door, she found it locked.

“Pixie, open up! I must speak to Grace.”

Suddenly she heard a blast of music shake the walls and door.

“Open up!” she demanded, but the decibels only cranked higher.

Giving the door one good kick, she turned and hurried back down the stairs. She made it to the street just as they were loading Mr. Everett into the back of the ambulance. She hurried to catch up and the EMTs paused to let her speak to him.

“I haven’t found Grace yet, but I’ll keep trying.”

“Will you come with me?” he asked, sounding frightened. He reached for her hand, and she captured it. “Yes. I’ll grab my purse and I’ll follow the ambulance. I’ll see you there.”

The EMTs gently removed his hand from hers, loaded him in, and closed the doors.

Tricia hurried back to Haven’t Got a Clue.

“I’ve got to go with him,” she told Linda.

“What do we do about the store?”

“Can you lock up at closing?”

“Yes, of course. You can count on me.”

Tricia went behind the register and grabbed her purse. Tucked in the inside pocket was the key she had once given to Ginny. She handed it to Linda. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Could you give Miss Marple some cat snacks before you leave? There’s a bag under the counter at the beverage station.”

“Of course. Now go. Mr. Everett needs you,” she said, giving Tricia a hopeful smile.

And out the door Tricia flew, just as the ambulance took off. She looked up at the windows of the Everett Charitable Foundation, but this time she did not see Pixie. And though she couldn’t hear the booming music, she could almost swear she heard the sound of mocking laughter.

EIGHTEEN

It was
long past dark by the time Tricia let herself into Haven’t Got a Clue and instantly heard a plaintive
brrrpt!
Miss Marple loped across the darkened store to meet her. The cat twined between Tricia’s legs, scolding her for nondelivery of her dinner. According to the clock on the wall, Miss Marple should have been fed two hours before.

“I’m sorry, my pet, but you wouldn’t have wanted me to leave Mr. Everett alone at the hospital until I was sure he’d be okay, would you?”

Miss Marple gave an understanding “
Yow
.”

Tricia picked up the cat and started toward the stairs to her loft apartment. She could always use the lint brush to remove any lingering cat hairs. But she stopped when she heard the sound of angry pounding on the store’s front door. She turned. “What the heck?”

Miss Marple reminded her that she was very, very hungry
with a strident “
Yow
,” but Tricia put the cat down and warily approached the door—after all, there was a murderer on the loose in Stoneham. But as she peeked through the slats in the blind, she saw that it was Grace Harris-Everett who stood behind the door.

Tricia quickly unlocked the door and opened it. “Grace, what on earth are you doing he—”

“Where is William?” she demanded and pushed her way into the store.

“I tried to call you numerous times. I left instructions with my new assistant manager, Linda, to try to get in touch with you, too.”

“About what?” Grace snapped.

“Grace, Mr. Everett is at St. Joseph Hospital in Milford. He was pale and sweaty and couldn’t catch his breath. I thought he might be having a heart attack, so I called 911. I tried to call you even before the ambulance arrived—”

“Ambulance!” Grace cried, terrified.

“But Pixie hung up on me. I called back and she told me off—called me a bitch who’d crossed her because I’d gotten in to see you today.”

“I don’t care about any of that—please!—tell me what’s happened to my husband.”

“He’s okay—stable. The doctors don’t think he suffered a heart attack—”

“Good Lord,” Grace cried, and for a moment Tricia thought she might faint. She grabbed the woman’s arm to steady her and led her to a chair in the readers’ nook.

Grace fell into her seat, hunched over, and began to sob, while Tricia stood over her fighting her own tears. “He’ll be okay, Grace. But he’d really like to have you by his side. He thinks—” She paused, unsure how to continue. “He’s feeling a little unloved right now. He feels you’ve become obsessed with the charity to the extent that you’ve forgotten about your life together.”

If anything, Grace just cried harder.

“I know you want to give Pixie a chance, but she’s so protective of you she kept both Linda and me from communicating with you when you were needed most.”

Grace struggled to compose herself. “She needed a second chance.”

“And she probably deserves it. But her gifts might not include dealing with the public. I know there are people out there who will try to abuse you and the charity, but being civil has to be a prerequisite and I’m afraid right now Pixie doesn’t seem capable.”

“I’ll fire her tomorrow,” Grace said with yet another sob.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. Why not train her to learn the difference between scammers and those who are sincere in their need—as well as those who can benefit the charity? You’ve got a big heart, Grace. Use this experience as a teaching moment for Pixie. Maybe this is something the charity can do for others, too. Not just job training, but life training for people who never had the opportunity to learn those skills.”

Grace nodded. “You’re right, Tricia. I truly wanted to help Pixie make a better life for herself. But it frightens me that she took it upon herself to insulate me when William needed me most.”

“Mr. Everett was asleep when I left, but I know he’d feel so much better if he awoke to find you holding his hand. I’d be glad to drive you to the hospital.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Grace said and stood. “Can you ever forgive me for being such an old fool?”

“Grace, your generosity is legendary. I think you just lost sight of who you love the most and how the opportunity to indulge that generosity came to you.”

Grace shook her head sadly. “William is more important to me than anything else on this earth. And you’re right. I did lose sight of that. It will never happen again.” She let out a long sigh, and her eyes again were heavy with tears. “Please—
please take me to the hospital. I don’t think I could safely drive there by myself.”

“Of course,” Tricia said, and gratefully accepted the hug Grace offered.

“
Yow!
” Miss Marple interrupted and Grace pulled back from the embrace to laugh. Although weak, Tricia could tell it was heartfelt.

“Just give me a couple of minutes to feed my cat, and then we’ll be on our way. I’m afraid she’s quite overdue.”

“Of course,” Grace said.

Tricia headed to the back of the shop and the stairs to her loft with Miss Marple galloping behind her. True to her word, Tricia returned to the store a few minutes later and found a much more graceful Grace waiting for her. “Let’s go,” she said, and started for the door. But then she paused. “Oh dear. If I drive you to the hospital, you’ll be stranded.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Grace agreed.

“Hold on,” Tricia said, and retrieved the cell phone from her pocket. She punched in the code for Angelica’s loft landline.

“What’s up, Trish?” Angelica answered.

“I need a favor…”

Half an
hour later, Tricia stood behind the hospital’s double doors, staring through the glass to the driveway. Angelica’s car pulled up and Tricia exited the building and hopped into the passenger seat.

“Grace told me to thank you and give you a give hug,” Tricia said.

Angelica didn’t answer but took her foot off the brake and let the car roll forward, heading toward the exit. She sniffed a few times, and Sarge, who was in the backseat on one of his travel beds, whimpered.

“What’s wrong?” Tricia asked, concerned. “When I spoke to you last, you sounded so chipper.”

“Oh, Trish—the absolute worst thing in the world has happened,” Angelica said, and Tricia could hear the tears in her voice.

“Worse than burning down a TV station?”

“Yes! Somebody uploaded a video of my cooking demonstration to the Internet. The whole fiasco is on YouTube! I’m publicly humiliated. There’s already been more than five thousand views since it went up at lunchtime.” She looked both ways, then pulled into traffic.

“Five thousand,” Tricia echoed.

“And the comments…they’re just terrible. They make fun of me. What I’m wearing. My cooking technique.”

“Are all the comments bad?”

“Well…not all of them. But enough to make sure no other bookstore, radio, or TV station will ever again host me.”

“I think you’re being far too hard on yourself,” Tricia said, not sure if that was the truth. After all, what did she know about these things?

“Oh, and look who’s talking. Your world fell apart and you were humiliated when Christopher left you, and from what appears to be no fault of your own.”

Appears to be?
Tricia fumed, astounded by Angelica’s assessment. “What has all this got to do with that video?”

“It’s just that…my life was finally straightening out. I was a successful businesswoman. I was going to be the next Paula Deen, and now…now my writing career is over. People will be afraid to eat at Booked for Lunch for fear the place will erupt in flames. And—”

“Calm down. This is not the end of your world.”

“So you say.”

It was definitely time for a change of subject. “Did Bob ever track you down this afternoon?”

“What? No. But he left me plenty of voice mails. He’s absolutely livid that I bought into the Sheer Comfort Inn.”

“Is that why you sounded so chipper when I called earlier?”

That brought half a smile to Angelica’s face. “Maybe. But honestly, between Bob and that video, tomorrow I’m calling my providers to have all my phone numbers changed.”

“Has anyone called to talk about the video?”

“Not yet, but it’s inevitable. I checked my e-mail just before I left, and I’d reached the maximum my inbox could hold. They’ve all got subject lines that say
Fire
or something similar.”