Untitled (29 page)

   Still, the twenty-four-plus hours until her own private D-Day seemed like a lifetime.

   Tricia let out a sigh and hoped she could orchestrate her plan. If the whole thing soured, Zoë Carter might not be the only fatality.

The elevator
doors
whoosh
ed open. Tricia stepped into the quiet hospital corridor, with Russ right on her heels. He hadn't ridden shotgun after all, leaving that spot for her, and their trip to Nashua in his beat-up old pickup truck had been uneventful. The journey, that is. The conversation had been lively.

   "Are you nuts?" Russ had asked when Tricia told him her plans for the next day. His next question had been "Can I be there?"

   The answer to that was a flat "No! If you want to watch the store—either from across the street or behind in the alley, I could use someone out in the field on guard, just in case something goes wrong."

   "Okay, but only because I'm getting that exclusive."

   They turned the corner, passing the nurses' station and heading down the hall. The door to Kimberly's room was open, with no deputy on duty outside it. They peeked inside. The TV was switched on, with some decorating program from HGTV playing for background noise. Kimberly sat propped up in bed, her face still alarmingly swollen and bruised, a trail of bloody drool leaking from the corner of her mouth. Artemus Hamilton held a small plastic cup of dark liquid in one hand, and a spoon in the other. A bloodstained cloth lay on the bedside table. On the floor, parked against the wall, was Hamilton's opened briefcase with manuscript pages poking out of it. Angelica's manuscript?

   It was Hamilton who first noticed their arrival. "Oh, look, Kimberly, Tricia and Mr. Smith have come to visit."

   Kimberly blinked and slowly turned her face toward the doorway. What seemed like eons later, her eyes brightened and her lips parted into a toothless smile. "Tre-ah," she managed in greeting.

   Tricia swallowed the urgent impulse to cry. She gave into emotion and surged forward to capture the frail Kimberly in a gentle hug, grimacing as she took in the fetid odor that seemed to surround her. A long moment later she felt a soft pressure on her back and realized Kimberly's free hand was patting her.

   She pulled away. "Are you okay, Kimberly?"

   A very dumb question.

   Kimberly fell back against her pillows and a mix of grunt and laugh escaped her lips.

   "She's much better today," Artemus said, his voice faltering, his eyes bright with unshed tears as he gently wiped away the bloody spittle that leaked from Kimberly's slack mouth.

   Tricia braved a smile. "Yes, I can see that."

   "I goh no teef," Kimberly mouthed, pointing at the stubs of knotted black suture that stuck out at angles from her scarlet gums.

   "The dental surgeon came by today," Hamilton said. "He looked at the X-rays, and tomorrow he'll tell us what we can expect for treatment."

   What
we
can expect?

   "Kimberly could be eating steak again in just a few months," Artemus continued, his voice breaking.

   Kimberly clapped her hands together like a small child, the gesture bringing Tricia close to tears once again. She cleared her throat, swallowing the onslaught of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.

   "Where's the deputy?" Russ asked.

   Hamilton glowered. "The sheriff has decided that whatever danger Kimberly was in has passed, and she pulled the guard earlier this afternoon."

   "Is that wise?" Tricia asked.

   "I don't think so, but she wasn't interested in my opinion," Hamilton said. "That's why I've decided to spend the night. Someone needs to look out for Kimberly's interests."

   Kimberly blinked, her brow furrowing as she tried to follow the conversation.

   Tricia waggled a finger at Hamilton, who got up from the bedside chair to follow her.

   Russ reached over to take the cup of cola and spoon from Hamilton's hands. "Hey, Kimberly, did you ever play dinnertime airplane when you were a kid?"

   She looked at him quizzically. He dipped the spoon into the flat soda and waved it back and forth in front of Kimberly's face, her gaze joyfully following.

   "Ye
e-ow, yee-ow,
" he intoned, mimicking a small aircraft, and gently landed the spoon onto her tongue.

   She swallowed and laughed. "A-gah!" she said.

   Russ obliged.

   Hamilton followed Tricia into the corridor, his hands

plunged deep into his pants pockets, his shoulders slumped. "She's pretty high on painkillers," he said, glancing back into the room. "They're planning to wean her off them in the next couple of days."

   Tricia nodded. "I'm so glad she's making progress, but it was really you I came to see."

   "Me?"

   "I found the woman who wrote the Jess and Addie books."

   He frowned. "Why am I not surprised?"

   "It really wasn't that hard. But I will admit I had some help."

   "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

   "Help me expose Zoë's killer."

   "You know who killed her?"

   "I'm pretty sure I do. And I'm pretty sure I know why, too."

   "He wants a cut of the money."

   "She."

   He turned, looked back into the hospital room. "And you think this person is the one who attacked Kimberly, too?"

   "I do," Tricia said, and nodded.

   "Then, yeah, I'll help you. I'll do anything to put that bitch behind bars."

Angelica was
already ensconced in Tricia's loft apartment by the time she and Russ returned to Stoneham. They knew this even before they opened the door because the heavenly aroma of something delicious met them on the stairs.

   Miss Marple greeted Tricia at the door, looked up at Russ, and turned away in disgust. Luckily, he was used to her reaction and took no offense.

   "Finally!" Angelica called from her position at the stove. Decked out in peach sweats and fluffy pink slippers, there was no doubt she felt totally at home in Tricia's digs. "How was Kimberly?"

   "Awful. I mean, she'll recover, but I hope she's got good insurance. She'll be seeing a lot of her dentist in the next few months. You should've seen Russ with her. Her mouth smelled awful, but he spoon-fed her warm cola."

   "E
www.
She's a stranger. How could you do that?" Angelica asked.

   Russ shrugged. "I used to help my mom by feeding my grandmother after she had a stroke. It never bothered me."

   "You're a very nice man," Angelica said, and pointedly stared at Tricia, mentally transmitting the words
Who you
don't appreciate enough
.

   Maybe she was right.

   "Ange, you didn't have to cook for us," Tricia said. "We were going to call for a pizza."

   "You two live on pizza. You need
real f
ood."

   "I agree," Russ said. "What smells so great?"

   "Chicken cordon bleu."

   "Homemade?" he asked hopefully.

   "Sort of not. But this shortcut version is really tasty. Now that you're here, I can pop them back in the oven," she said, and removed a plate from the fridge, transferring the contents to a baking sheet and into the oven.

   "What are we having with it?" he asked.

   "Caramelized carrots and stuffed baked potatoes. Is that okay?"

   Russ nodded. "I'll say."

   "I appreciate the effort, but aren't you tired after working alone all day?" Tricia said, already feeling guilty.

   "I wasn't alone," Angelica said, and stirred the carrots on the stove. "At least not the whole day. You want a beer or something, Russ?"

   "You bet," he said.

   Angelica turned toward the fridge.

   "You've hired someone?" Tricia took off her coat and handed it to Russ, who hung it, plus his own, on the oak hat tree in the corner.

   Angelica handed Russ his beer and a pilsner glass from the cupboard. "I contacted another employment agency. They sent over a woman who'd never worked retail a day in her life," she said, and turned up the heat under the carrots.

   "And she's already quit?"

   "No, but I wouldn't be surprised if I have to call them to

send me someone else before the end of the week. I just can't get competent help."

   Tricia ground her teeth together to keep from speaking.

   "Then again, I wonder if there's any way I could wrestle Frannie away from the Chamber of Commerce."

   "Wouldn't that just upset Bob?" Tricia asked.

   Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. "Oh, he'd get over it . . . eventually. It's just that he can offer her benefits like health care and the like." She sighed dramatically, truly the epitome of the put-upon small business owner.

   "It might be a stretch, but you could offer benefits," Russ pointed out. "Of course you'd have to pay for it. I do it for my two employees through a group plan."

   "Oh?" Angelica said, actually sounding interested. "Doesn't the Chamber offer insurance? I know some do in New York."

   Russ shook his head. "It's not legal here in New Hampshire. But I'm pretty sure the Chamber stocks a few brochures on local group plans for their members. Ask Frannie for one. She doesn't have to know why you want it."

   Angelica raised an eyebrow. "I might have to offer benefits just to keep an employee for more than a few weeks." She shook her head. "People these days have such an entitlement complex. They think everything should be done for them. Tricia—set the table," she ordered, her tone full of entitlement.

   Tricia did as she was told. Chicken cordon bleu made a far better dinner than pizza. It made one more affable to commands from someone else in one's own kitchen. She only half listened as Russ and Angelica discussed the pros and cons of group health insurance plans. She needed to keep Angelica away from Haven't Got a Clue tomorrow night. Perhaps she could enlist Bob's help—get him to take Angelica out of the picture and keep her safe from any potential harm.

   Or was she just getting paranoid? Was it likely Nikki would pull out a gun and shoot whoever was in the store at the time?
Don't be silly
, she chided herself, yet worry continued to worm through her. Her grand plan was hit-andmiss at best. She was counting on the element of surprise.

   Nikki was the unknown, possibly explosive, factor. If she was capable of murder—and attempted murder—what else was she capable of?

   "Would you like a glass of wine, Trish?" Angelica asked.

   Tricia looked up, took in her sister's face. Angelica was here, in her kitchen, cooking a meal for her, because she didn't want Tricia to be alone—to possibly face a murderer with no backup. That was a form of love she'd never expected to receive from Angelica.

   Tricia gave her sister a sincere smile. "Yes, Ange, I would."

The phone
rang the whole next day, and tour buses disgorged hundreds of tourists looking for bargains, rare books, and the volumes missing from their personal libraries. Haven't Got a Clue hadn't been this busy since the week before Christmas. Even the weather had seemed to break, bringing warmer temperatures and a flood of customers.

   Besides being kept busy by the minutiae of running her own business, when others weren't on the phone to Tricia, she was on the phone contacting the players for the little drama she expected to produce that night. Only Sheriff Adams balked at the idea. It was time to implement Plan B.

   Back in her loft apartment, Tricia dialed Grace Harris's number, crossing her fingers that she'd find Mr. Everett's companion at home.

   "Hello?" Grace answered.

   "It's Tricia Miles. I've got two reasons for calling. First, I've had to cancel tonight's meeting."

"Oh, and I was so looking forward to it."

   "I'm a little pressed for time, so I'll let Mr. Everett explain everything."

   "Secrets?" Grace said thoughtfully.

   "For the time being."

   "Just like a good mystery. I shall look forward to seeing William tonight. But what's your other reason for calling?"

   "As I think you're aware, Sheriff Adams and I aren't the best of friends."

   Grace laughed. "I think the entire village knows that."

   "You, on the other hand have a lot of clout in this town. I need to get the sheriff to come to my store at six p.m."

   "Does this have anything to do with Zoë Carter's death?"

   "Yes, it does."

   "Will the sheriff be making an arrest?"

   "If someone can persuade her to come. The problem is, she's already rebuffed my invitation to join us. She wasn't happy last fall when I tried to point her in the direction of Doris Gleason's killer, and she isn't open to my suggestions now, either."

   "I'll do my best to persuade her, and get back to you after I speak with her."

   "Thank you, Grace. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

   "Dear, it doesn't begin to repay you for what you did for me last fall. I'll call you as soon as I speak to her."

   "Thank you, Grace. Good-bye."

Tricia was
getting more antsy by the minute. At almost three o'clock, when she could stand the inactivity no longer, she grabbed her coat and escaped the shop, heading for the Chamber of Commerce. This mission was too important to accomplish via telephone.

As usual, Frannie was on the phone when she arrived.

She waved a less-than-cheerful hello and continued talking, her voice lower, less boisterous than usual. In fact, she almost sounded depressed—something Tricia hadn't thought Frannie was capable of.

   Knowing this might take time, Tricia wandered into the cabin's main room, bypassing the free coffee and heading for the brochure rack. As Russ had mentioned, in addition to tourist material covering the bulk of southern New Hampshire, Tricia found a folder for the local group health insurance plans. She glanced through it before pocketing it for Angelica. On impulse, she grabbed one for herself, too.