Murder on the Half Shelf (29 page)

“She was a little upset,” Angelica said.

Tricia scowled. “Why have you taken on this woman’s cause?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’d just hate for her to have to go back to jail. I mean, how much work is there for an overage hooker here in Stoneham?”

“None at all, I should hope.”

“And let’s face it, Linda is way overqualified to be selling books. Didn’t you say she worked at a nonprofit agency? Grace is running a nonprofit. Don’t you think it would be a much better fit for her, too? You wanted Ginny to get ahead in her business career. Why not Linda?”

“Why do you care about
any
of this?”

“Who says I care? I’m just making conversation.”

Tricia thought about it. Logistically, what Angelica proposed made a lot of sense. But emotionally she didn’t think either she or Pixie could overcome the bad blood between them.

“There’s no way Pixie could ever take orders from me. And I would never put up with the kind of behavior she displayed while working for Grace. Besides, with her negative attitude
she’d drive my customers away.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t even consider her. Besides, I’m looking for someone who could assume the duties of an assistant manager. Someone I could trust to make decisions when I’m out of the store. I wouldn’t trust Pixie to clean the washroom, let alone handle the money in the till.”

Angelica shrugged. “You’re probably right. I just thought that Linda’s talents are probably being wasted while Pixie’s aren’t being utilized.” She shook her right index finger in front of Tricia’s nose. “But mark my words, as soon as Linda can find a job more commensurate with her talents, she’ll be jumping ship and you’ll be back to looking for a replacement in no time flat.”

Again Tricia scowled. She’d known that from the instant she’d hired Linda. “Did you mention your great idea to Pixie?” she asked.

“Of course not. But I do think she regretted her actions the minute she walked out of your store. She really doesn’t want to go back to jail. And, of course, Grace and Linda would have to be brought on board.”

“What brought on all this altruism?” Tricia asked.

“I want to see people fulfilled in their working life—like you and me.”

Tricia gave Angelica an assessing stare. Her sister had changed during the past couple of years. She wasn’t as self-centered. And while she still drove Tricia crazy on a regular basis, Angelica’s personality had definitely softened since she’d come to live in Stoneham, as evidenced by this situation and her compassion for Chauncey Porter.

“You know,” Angelica continued, “I’d be willing to play mediator for you. And if Linda does leave to work for Grace and it doesn’t work out with Pixie, I’ll help you find a perfect assistant manager. I promise.” She held her fingers up in a Girl Scout salute.

“I don’t know.” Tricia mulled it over, sure she’d end up on the losing end of the deal, but she liked Linda. And it was true
she would be better suited working with Grace to guide the Everett Charitable Foundation. With her experience, she could help Grace avoid all kinds of pitfalls and perhaps take over a lot of the work, leaving Grace free to spend more time with her husband. Neither of them was getting any younger—Linda
could
be the answer to all their problems if Tricia was willing to accept Angelica’s proposed compromise.

Yet the very thought of working with Pixie was totally repugnant. If she hadn’t been willing to apologize to Tricia to save her job at the foundation, she wasn’t likely to do so for a job that probably paid less and with less desirable hours, too.

If she had to let Linda leave, then she darn well would make Angelica live up to her promise to help her find an acceptable replacement.

It wasn’t quite a win-win situation, but it might work in the long run. And if Tricia could appease Angelica with this, it might be time to ask for a few concessions for herself.

“Okay,” she said at last. “But Pixie would have to apologize not only to me, but to Grace
and
Mr. Everett.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Angelica cautioned. “First let me talk to all parties. If everyone agrees, we’ll meet and talk—maybe even tomorrow. What do you say?”

“I guess.”

Angelica smiled and nodded, looking self-satisfied. “Leave everything to me.”

“Good. Now can we talk about something else?”

“Pick a subject,” Angelica offered, and turned her attention to the baguette that sat on her counter.

“I could use your help on something else. You see, I followed your advice”—Angelica practically beamed at that admission—“and I paid a visit to Clayton Ellington this afternoon.”

“And?” Angelica said, her eyes widening and her voice rising, eager to hear all the dirt.

“He hinted that I should talk to Bob, and that I shouldn’t
expect him to talk to the police about his part in the rigged raffle drawing. I’m still trying to decide if I should call Grant. I don’t have any proof, except for your word.”

“I should think that would be enough. I’m a very honest person,” Angelica said, sounding hurt.

“Yes, you are. But how much can we trust Ellington or Bob to tell the truth?”

Angelica shrugged. The smile had definitely dimmed. She withdrew a bread knife from the block on the counter and began slicing the baguette.

“Which reminds me, did anything else out of the ordinary happen at that Chamber meeting?” Tricia asked.

Angelica looked thoughtful. “Bob was so eager to talk to me about my winning the raffle that he practically chased me out of the function room. He caught the sleeve of his jacket on one of the French door handles and tore it as we were leaving. You know, that’s one thing we desperately need and don’t have here in Stoneham—a tailor.”

“He must’ve gotten the jacket fixed by now. I mean, it
is
the only jacket he owns.”

“Don’t be silly. He’s got half a dozen of them. He keeps them in his office in case he spills something on the lapel. I don’t suppose he’s had time to find someone to repair it. It’s not like he needs it done fast.”

Was it possible Bob had stuffed the real winning business cards in the pocket of his torn jacket and that it still hung in his office? If Tricia could prove that Bob had rigged the draw, it might lead the Stoneham police to Pippa Comfort’s murderer.

Or could it be just a wild-goose chase? She’d never know if she didn’t pursue it. She studied her sister as she piled the bread on a plate. Angelica continued to smile. A smile that could light a room better than a hundred-watt bulb. A smile that mirrored her contentment and her success, and, for just a few hours, could banish all the heartache she’d ever endured.

And Tricia knew she’d have to burst that bubble of contentment if she was to find out what she needed to know.

“As I was saying before we went off on a tangent,” Tricia began.

“You said you needed my help,” Angelica repeated, sounding smug—as though she had all the answers. She grabbed a couple of pot holders, opened the oven, and took out a small ceramic pot.

“I need to put Pippa’s death behind me so that Grant and I can get back to…whatever it is we have going.”

Angelica lifted the lid, revealing the roasted garlic. “You know I’ll do my best,” she promised.

“I want you to lure Bob out of his office so I can check his sport coat pockets.”

“Except that,” Angelica declared, all the sweetness and light now absent from her tone.

“Oh come on, I’m giving you what you want with the Pixie situation. Why can’t you help me with this?”

“I’m just trying to help the poor, bedraggled woman. It’s really for your benefit—not mine.”

“If you’re going to play Mother Teresa helping the downtrodden, you have to expect to get your hands dirty.”

Angelica ignored the remark and called to Sarge, who’d been resting in his small bed. “Come here, boy. I’ll give you a treat.”

Tricia moved to stand by the kitchen window that overlooked Main Street, most of which was bathed in darkness. The lights were on in Amy Schram’s apartment, and at the Dog-Eared Page once again. Was Michele Fowler entertaining another of the booksellers? Once the bar was opened it was hoped the tourists might actually stay in the village past the dinner hour, making the last couple of hours the booksellers were open more profitable. Of course, it was also hoped the bar would build a small local clientele as well. It might be fun to have somewhere to go in the evenings and relax with a glass
of wine while a spirited game of darts was played, or hear a musician or singer perform on the tiny stage.

She glanced up the street and saw a solitary figure walking along the sidewalk. She thought she recognized the man as he walked past Booked for Lunch but then halted at the door that led to the Everett Foundation. He disappeared behind it.

Tricia frowned and turned away from the window.

“So, are you going to help me with Bob?”

“Help you how?” Angelica asked, and turned up the heat on a big pot of water.

Good, the fact that she even asked meant Tricia might be able to wear her down.

“You’ve got to lure Bob away from his office so I can check his sport coat pockets.”

“But I don’t want to even look at him, let alone talk to him,” Angelica said, and shuddered, as though Bob might have cooties.

“Please.
Pretty please
,” Tricia pleaded.

Angelica sighed. “You’re almost as bad as Bob when you prey on my better nature.”

Tricia tried to emulate Sarge’s sad puppy-dog eyes.

Angelica sighed once again. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just lure him out of his office so I can get in there and check his jacket pockets for those business cards from the raffle.”

“First of all, he’s got a part-time secretary. You can’t snoop around his office if Bonnie is sitting at her desk typing up sales copy. Second, if she isn’t on duty, Bob’s paranoid—he keeps that place locked up tighter than Fort Knox even if he’s just ducking next door to the Chamber headquarters.”

“Can’t you tell him you’ll only talk to him out on the sidewalk? If you can get him outside and keep his back turned to his office for just five minutes—probably less—it would give me plenty of time to go through all his pockets.”

Angelica looked unconvinced. “Five minutes is a heck of a
long time. If the conversation goes bad and he stomps back to his office while you’re still in there, you’d better have a pretty good excuse ready for him. But you know, no matter what you tell him, he’s going to see right through you. Bob may be a jerk, but he’s not a fool.”

“You still care about him, don’t you?” Tricia as much as accused.

“Well, of course I do. Sort of. Despite what you think, Bob’s a complicated person. He overcame adversity—a terrible early childhood—and then put himself through college, not to mention almost single-handedly saving the entire village of Stoneham.”

Angelica sounded like a one-woman Bob Kelly fan club.

“And he cheated on you with a low-class bimbo.” As soon as she said the words, Tricia regretted it. Angelica didn’t need to be reminded of Bob’s betrayal. Still, Tricia had never warmed to the idea of the two of them as a couple and was not unhappy when Angelica’s feelings toward Bob had cooled to almost arctic temperatures.

Angelica removed a large grocery bag from the fridge and set it on the counter. It moved. “Am I supposed to call him? I really don’t want to do that.”

“Then the next time the phone rings…answer it.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know…that you’re willing to listen to him?”

As if on cue, the phone rang. Angelica glanced at the caller ID. “It’s almost as if you’d arranged this.”

It rang again.

“So answer it.”

Angelica jerked the receiver from the wall. “Hello. Oh. Hello, Bob.”

Tricia gave her sister some privacy and wandered over to the window to look across the street. The lights were now off in Amy Schram’s apartment. She had a good idea why…and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

TWENTY-FOUR

Angelica hung
up the phone. “There, happy?” she said, sounding anything but.

“Yes, thank you,” Tricia replied. “What did you tell him?”

Angelica checked on the pot of water, which had come to a rolling boil. “That I would speak to him outside his office tomorrow at eleven o’clock. That means you’ve got to get into position hiding on the north side of his realty office so that when he comes out the door, you can scoot right in.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Once he’s outside, I’ll start wandering south down the sidewalk toward the Chamber headquarters. You’ll have five minutes—no more—to do your dirty work.”

“Dirty work? Bob’s the guilty party here.”

“He’s already angry with me—he’ll be even more upset when he finds out I tricked him into leaving his office so you
could go in to snoop.” Angelica took a lobster out of the bag and held it head down over the pot. Tricia turned away.

“You’re a good sister. And a good cook.” Or at least a brave one. Tricia didn’t think she could kill a living thing and then eat it. “When will it be ready to eat?”

Angelica glowered at her. Like Bob, she was no fool, either. “You just want to change the subject.”