Текст книги "A Fatal Chapter"

Автор книги: Lorna Barrett

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“I’ll say good night, ladies.”

“Good night,” the sisters chorused. They watched him leave. Other people seemed to have the same idea, and he was followed by several other couples.

Angelica turned to Grace. “You two are such a cute couple.”

The elderly woman smiled. “We are rather cute.”

“Mr. Everett is a dear. I know Frannie will be heartbroken when he goes back to work for Tricia.”

“In the meantime, he looks forward to your coffee dates,” Grace told Tricia.

“As do I.” Tricia remembered Mr. Everett’s assessment of Earl Winkler during their last conversation. If she asked, would Grace say what her husband wouldn’t? “Mr. Everett and I talked about Pete the other day, and I mentioned Pete’s little altercation with Selectman Winkler.”

“William is no fan of Earl, and who can blame him?” Grace said.

“Oh?” Tricia said innocently.

“That man played a despicable trick on William back when he owned his grocery store.”

“What did he do?” Angelica asked.

“As you know, Earl is an exterminator. His company handles all kinds of infestations, but he’s been known around here as the rat killer.”

“Rats?” Angelica asked, appalled.

“Are there really rats here in Stoneham?” Tricia asked.

“Not that I’ve ever seen, but I’m sure there are. Wherever there is garbage, there are rats,” Grace said knowledgeably. “Anyway, one day some twenty or so years ago, Earl came into William’s grocery store, and William actually saw him remove two brown mice from his coat and place them in the produce department.”

“You’re kidding,” Angelica said, her mouth hanging open in disgust.

Grace shook her head.

“Really? Did Mr. Everett confront him?” Tricia asked.

“Yes, but Earl swore William was lying, and you know that just isn’t possible. William is incapable of even stretching the truth, let alone lying. But Earl swore his innocence and stormed out of the store. Needless to say, William set a couple of traps straight out of his hardware department, and in hours the mice were history.”

“Did he call the police to report Earl?” Tricia asked.

“That’s not William’s way.”

“Did he ever get his revenge?” Angelica asked.

Grace’s lips quirked into a smile. “In a way. In those days William was a member of the Stoneham Businessman’s Association, the forerunner of the Chamber of Commerce. Earl tried to join, but he was repeatedly blackballed.”

“Mr. Everett blackballed him?” Tricia asked, surprised.

“That I don’t know. I only know that Earl was not welcomed into the association.”

“I know Earl’s rebuffed every invitation we’ve made to invite him to be a member of the Chamber,” Angelica said.

“He knows that some people in the village have long memories,” Grace said. “I don’t think he wants to take the chance of someone bringing up his past indiscretions.”

“You mean he pulled that stunt on more than just poor Mr. Everett?” Angelica asked, concerned.

Grace nodded.

“I will definitely take him off our to-be-contacted list.”

They heard a horn outside go toot-toot! “That will be William. I don’t want to keep him waiting,” Grace said, and gathered her purse and sweater. Angelica got up and let her leave the booth, and Tricia rose, too.

“I’m sorry we had to see each other on such a sad occasion, but it’s always nice to spend time with both of you.”

Tricia leaned forward and gave Grace a quick peck on the cheek. “See you soon.”

She and Angelica watched their friend leave before taking their seats again.

“Mr. Everett said you were speaking with Christopher earlier,” Angelica said.

Tricia pursed her lips and nodded.

“What’s he want now?” Angelica asked.

“To talk. I told him I’d do that as soon as Grace and Mr. Everett left.”

“Then I guess I’d better go.”

“I don’t mean to chase you away.”

“I have a million e-mails I can attend to before you and I go on flower patrol once again. And it’ll give me time to change, too.”

Tricia looked at her watch. It was barely nine o’clock. “All right. I’ll see you about eleven.”

“Eleven it is,” Angelica said, and stood. She hesitated. “Here he comes. You’ll have to tell all later, and I want to know more about Toni Bennett, too.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in on all the details.”

“See you later,” Angelica said, and stepped over to the bar to speak to Michele. Christopher wasted no time slipping into the other side of the booth.

“Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”

Tricia looked at her empty glass, but decided not to encourage him. “No, thank you. So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Our relationship.”

“We don’t have one,” she reminded him.

“But we could again.”

Tricia frowned. “Funny, when I made the same request six years ago, you didn’t want to see a counselor, and discussion was definitely off the table.”

“I was in a bad place back then.”

“And I acknowledged that—time and again. But still, you didn’t give much consideration for my feelings. What I wanted or felt meant nothing to you.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t see beyond my own pain.”

His pain? He’d never uttered such descriptive verbiage in the past. Had he been talking to a shrink?

“You hurt me,” Tricia said. She needed to be blunt if she was finally going to get her point across. “And saying you’re now sorry doesn’t do anything to change the past. Fool me once, shame on you. I’m not about to give you—or anyone else,” she said, thinking of Chief Baker, “the opportunity to fool me again.”

Christopher’s frown deepened, and he shook his head in disapproval. “My, but you’ve become cynical.”

Oh, how she wanted to unleash her ire at him, but she’d been brought up to keep those kinds of feelings suppressed. The Miles family had been so good at keeping secrets and feelings from interfering with life. And honestly, if Christopher didn’t now understand how much he’d hurt her with his past actions, he never would.

Tricia wished she’d taken him up on his offer of a drink, for she felt like she needed something to fortify herself. Still, she charged ahead. “You divorced me.”

“And you didn’t contest it,” Christopher accused.

“Because you were adamant about not going to counseling. You had your mind set to shed me from your life. Well, you don’t get to have that life back just because you now find it inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes. If I didn’t do the work myself, I had to hire someone who would. We both had careers, but mine took a backseat, and I had to make sure that our house was clean, our laundry was done, our bills were paid, and everything else that goes with running a home.”

“You never cooked,” he accused.

“And you preferred to go out to eat fat-laden steaks and drink too much.”

“You always paint me as the bad guy.”

“You left me,” Tricia repeated succinctly.

“But not for another woman.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes!”

Tricia looked away and sighed. “Which proves my point. You have no clue who I am or what I need. And why in God’s name would you think I’d take you back?”

“Because you love me.”

Those four words hit like a blow below the belt. “Sorry, pal, but that’s no longer enough.”

“What do I have to do to regain your trust?”

Tricia looked into her ex-husband’s beautiful green eyes, and a pang of regret shadowed her heart. “Erase the past. But you can’t do that. Nobody can.”

“If I could erase the past, I would. All I can do now is apologize for my arrogance.”

“And I accept that apology. But that doesn’t mean I can forget.”

“You make me sound like a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, but you’re no saint, either. Believe it or not, I’ve made a life without you. It was difficult at first, and for a time it was lonely, but all in all, it’s been satisfying.”

“Are you content to be just satisfied when there’s so much more to life?”

She answered honestly. “For now, yes.”

Christopher looked down at his hands, folded on the table before him. “I’m sorry you feel that way. You’ll never know just how sorry. Can we at least be friends?”

“We are,” Tricia said truthfully. Just not destined to ever be close friends, and especially not friends with benefits.

“Are you and Angelica going to be replacing the flowers once again tonight?” Christopher asked

“Yes. We’re meeting at eleven.”

“What are you going to do until then?”

“Go home, change my clothes, spend some time with my cat.”

“Our cat.”

“She doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

“Miss Marple doesn’t know that.”

“Well, I do.”

Tricia scooted across the booth and got up. “Well, it has not been fun, but good night.”

“Wait. Can I walk you home?”

For a moment, Tricia remembered the feeling of being watched the night before but decided she must have been mistaken, since the figure in black had shown up after she’d gone inside the Chamber building. “No, thank you. It’s only two blocks. I’ll be fine.”

He grinned. “Yes, you are fine.”

Tricia did not smile. “Good night, Christopher.”

And without a backward glance, she left the bar.

EIGHTEEN

Lights blazed inside the Cookery. Angelica stood behind the door waiting when Tricia arrived at precisely eleven o’clock. She unlocked the door. “So, spill,” Angelica said eagerly.

“Spill what?”

“Your conversation with Christopher,” Angelica said, and turned back to the counter to grab her hoodie.

“Basically the same thing he’s been on about ever since he moved to New Hampshire. Can we get back together again.”

“And you said . . . ?”

“No.”

“Are you sure there isn’t just a little spark of interest left?”

“Has Christopher tried to enlist you to his cause?” Tricia accused.

“Well, yes,” Angelica admitted. “But I told him I would not interfere. See, I will be a good mother-in-law to Ginny!”

Tricia ignored the last part of that statement and addressed the first. “Thank you.”

Angelica jerked her thumb toward the street beyond. “Let’s not waste any time. We’ll pick up the flowers from my car and then do the hanging planters in the middle of the village.”

“It’s a plan.”

Angelica flicked off the lights and locked the door. They headed out of the Cookery with Tricia again carrying the ladder and ready to tackle the job once more.

Angelica headed north up the sidewalk at a brisk pace, and again Tricia found it hard to keep up. The door to the Dog-Eared Page opened and a laughing couple emerged. They turned south, away from Tricia and Angelica, who headed for the municipal parking lot and Angelica’s car.

“It’s going to take a good two hours, if not longer, for us to replace those flowers,” Angelica said with a weary sigh.

“Then the sooner we get started, the sooner we can go to bed.”

“Isn’t it tragic that we’ll both be going to bed alone?” Angelica said wistfully.

“I wouldn’t say tragic,” Tricia said, hoping the subject of Christopher wasn’t going to come up again.

Angelica shrugged. “I’ve loved and lost, and I miss the companionship, but right now my life is too hectic for a relationship,” she said reasonably.

“And mine will soon be hectic when I can finally get started on rebuilding my store—and my life.”

They left the ladder on the sidewalk and entered the nearly empty municipal parking lot to retrieve the bags of flowers from Angelica’s trunk. Back on the sidewalk, Tricia unfolded the ladder, and this time Angelica didn’t even blink at the thought of climbing it. Since she’d already sorted the flowers, Tricia hoped the job would go a lot faster.

“So, what precipitated that tearful speech from Toni Bennett?” Angelica asked as Tricia handed her a fistful of silk flowers.

“Toni and Pete may have been more than just friends, at least according to Mariana,” Tricia said.

“Oh, yeah?” Angelica said, shoving a reasonable facsimile of a carnation into the basket’s dirt.

“Did you know she was married to Jim Stark?” Tricia asked.

“No. So, she kept her maiden name? Good for her.”

“Jim called me to ask if my insurance had come through, and I mentioned I was sorry Pete had died, suggesting he might have been a friend. He let me know in no uncertain terms that they weren’t.” She handed Angelica another handful of silk fakery.

“Do you really want to annoy the man who holds a big piece of your future in his hands on an unsubstantiated suspicion?” Angelica asked, placing a faux white lilac bloom next to a bogus pink peony.

“Don’t think I haven’t considered that. The minute I get the okay to start repairing my home and shop, I want to get moving.”

“And yet, after all the time and money you put in, Bob will still own the property,” Angelica pointed out.

“I told you how much he wants for the building. Karen Johnson advised me he was asking too much. I trust her. I’ve never trusted Bob. You’re in the same boat. And you’re still attached to a building Bob owns, too.”

“Yes. NRA Associates has contacted Bob about selling the building, and his prices are off the charts.”

“What will you do?” Tricia asked as Angelica descended the ladder.

“Punt.”

“What does that mean?” Tricia asked while Angelica folded the ladder.

“It means when my lease is up I’m moving the Cookery and my home to the lot the Chamber office now occupies.”

“It’s a shame you’re going to raze that lovely little house.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Angelica said as they moved across the street to start on the empty baskets there. “I’ve already bought a lot on the outskirts of town. I’ll move it there and sell it.”

“Won’t that be frightfully expensive?” Tricia asked.

“Not really. The money we found in all those boxes of junk that were left behind when we took over the property was almost equal to a third of the selling price,” Angelica said as she set up the ladder once more. “It would have been an expensive lot, otherwise. I can at least break even on moving the house. I hate waste. I’ve listened to Ginny’s lectures on the subjects of reuse and recycling. Why destroy a charming little home when some family might love it once again?”

Tricia smiled as she watched her sister climb the ladder once more. “I’m glad you think so. And Ginny will be happy to hear that, too.”

“We should talk about your options for your store before you put too much into the reno,” Angelica said, taking another bunch of flowers that Tricia handed her.

“My lease demands that I make the repairs.”

“Yes, but if you don’t want to overpay for the building or the next ridiculous rent increase that Kelly Realty demands”—once again, she didn’t pin the blame on Bob himself—“then we need to find a property for you to develop.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Tricia said as she watched Angelica place the flowers in a harmonious arrangement.

“Good.”

“But I’m not sure I’m up for all that work.”

Angelica grinned. “It can be a lot of fun!” she said in a sing-song cadence.

“Oh, sure, when you’ve got a big, strapping son waiting in the wings to do your bidding. I’m all alone.”

Angelica looked down at her sister. “Oh, no, you’re not. Not as long as there’s breath in my body.” She turned to her handiwork. “How does that look?”

“Perfect.”

Angelica climbed down the ladder once again. As they collected their stuff, a couple of the pub’s patrons passed them heading for the municipal parking lot. They said hello but acted as if placing fake flowers in baskets at such a late hour was a normal occurrence. If the couple thought it odd, the sisters were past caring.

They moved down the street.

“See the camera?” Angelica asked. She pointed to a spot over the Coffee Bean’s transom. The device was trained on the hanging basket in front of the store.

“Boy, that’s small,” Tricia said, squinting.

“It is, but you’d be surprised how good the images are. And if our flower thief shows up, it’ll nail him.”

“What if it’s a her?”

“I can’t imagine a woman destroying flowers.”

“Not all the people who complain about the village improvements are men.”

Angelica nodded. “I guess you’re right. But I know there are more tall men than women in this village, and it had to be someone tall to snip all those blossoms. Except for us, can you see any other woman hauling a ladder around at this ungodly hour to destroy the plants?”

Tricia shook her head.

They finished the basket and moved on to the next.

“Back at Pete’s wake, when I got up to get Grace’s cake, I met a woman who dated Pete for a while,” Tricia said.

“The way he spoke, Pete seemed to think he was the reincarnation of Casanova,” Angelica said, pushing a pseudo nasturtium into a pot.

“It turns out he was all bark and no bite,” Tricia said.

Angelica’s eyes widened in understanding. “Really? Nothing a little blue pill couldn’t have cured.”

“If he’d sought one out. He didn’t.”

Angelica shook her head. “The poor woman.”

“She found someone else who could satisfy her.”

“Then at least it worked out for her,” Angelica said.

“But how sad for Pete,” Tricia lamented. “That also means he and Toni probably weren’t an item, either.”

“Platonic friends?” Angelica asked. “I suppose it happens. Back in the day my best friend was a gay man. Drew was so jealous, but honestly, he was more like a best girlfriend.”

“Are you still friends?”

Angelica shook her head sadly. “He died from AIDS.”

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy. I wish you could have known him. He was a lot like you. He loved nothing better than to read a good mystery—and hang out in gay bars.” Angelica finished decorating the basket and climbed down from the ladder. “Not many more to go.”

The next flowerless basket was in front of the Dog-Eared Page, and Angelica was just putting the finishing touches on it when Tricia pulled the last of the silk flowers out of the bag. “Finally.”

The lights in the pub winked out and Michele emerged, locking the door. She turned and nearly jumped. “Oh! You startled me.”

“We’re sorry,” Tricia said.

“What on earth are you doing on the street so late—and with a ladder?” Michele asked looking up at Angelica.

Tricia proffered a silk fuchsia. “Trying to bring a little beauty back to the village.”

“I did wonder what happened to all those glorious blossoms—and in such a short space of time.”

“Someone has made it their life’s work not only to cut off all the real flowers, but to remove the silk ones we’ve put up.”

“I imagine it would be frightfully expensive to replace all the baskets.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late in the season to do so,” Angelica explained. “This will have to do. And we don’t even have enough flowers to do all them all.”

“Oh, dear.”

“We’ve got just enough for this one basket, and then we’re calling it a night,” Tricia said.

“Well, it’s late. I won’t keep you ladies any longer. You must be just as tired as me. I’ve got a date with my soaker tub and a glass of wine, and then I’m off to dreamland.”

“Sweet dreams,” Angelica said.

“Good night,” Tricia called as Michele gave a wave and started down the street for the municipal parking lot.

Angelica climbed down the ladder and folded it while Tricia balled up the shopping bags and deposited them in one of the municipal trash bins. “And now, we wait,” Angelica said.

“I’m hoping they’re still in the baskets tomorrow morning.”

“And if they aren’t, I’m hoping that camera will capture whoever is ruining our baskets so I can call Chief Baker to make an arrest.”

“What if it’s just a kid’s prank?” Tricia asked as they started back up the street.

“Then their parents should take responsibility and make restitution. I like the idea of community service, though. Make the kids pick up litter or dig a ditch or something so that they will learn to respect someone else’s labor.”

They crossed the street, heading for the Cookery. “Speaking of community service, did you see Bob at Pete’s wake?” Tricia asked.

“No.”

“It looked like he was trying to keep a low profile. Bob bragged to me that he and Pete were great pals and that he was the one who forged the alliance between the Historical Society and the Chamber of Commerce.”

“I don’t think so. As far as I know, the Chamber and the Historical Society didn’t have a relationship until I came onboard. They were members in name only. Oddly enough, it was Pete who sought out the Chamber after learning of Michele’s interest in someone starting the ghost walks.”

A scream pierced the night.

The sisters looked up the street. “You don’t think . . . ?” Tricia asked, panicked.

Angelica dropped the ladder, and the sisters started running toward the municipal parking lot. Tricia pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket as they ran and lagged a little behind, trying to stab 911 onto the small screen as Angelica charged ahead.

“Michele! Michele!” Angelica cried.

With very few cars in the lot, it wasn’t hard to spot Michele’s Mini Cooper.

“Help!” Tricia cried into the phone.

“Michele!” Angelica hollered.

A figure dressed in black with a ski mask to hide his face ran from the lot, jumping over the low metal barrier that rimmed the east side of lot, and bolted north up the alley.

Michele was huddled against the driver’s-side door, clutching her throat and gasping for air. “He tried to strangle me,” she managed between choked breaths.

Angelica crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she managed, but her words came out in a sob.

“Yes, there’s been an attack in the Stoneham municipal lot. Can you send someone?” Tricia demanded.

The 911 dispatcher asked what seemed like far too many questions, but in no time Tricia saw the flashing blue lights of one of the three Stoneham Police Department patrol cars as it approached. She stabbed the off icon as Angelica helped Michele to stand. Tears had muddied her mascara, giving her raccoon eyes where she’d rubbed them.

The cruiser pulled up alongside the women, and Officer Dave Hanson practically jumped from the car. “What happened?” he asked without preamble.

“A man tried to strangle her,” Tricia said. “We saw him run off down the alley.”

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” he asked, concerned.

Michele shook her head. “More frightened.”

“I’ll call for backup,” Hanson said, turned away, and spoke into the small microphone attached to the shoulder of his uniform blouse.

“Did he try to take your purse?” Tricia asked.

Michele shook her head again. “I would have gladly given it up. I was about to unlock my car when he came up from behind me with some kind of a cord.”

Tricia looked around but didn’t see any cord. The man must have taken it with him when he’d fled.

“Would you like to sit down, ma’am?” the cop asked.

“I want to go home,” Michele cried.

“You’ll do no such thing. The best room at the Sheer Comfort Inn is empty tonight. You can go there. It has a wonderful soaker tub, and I’m sure we can wrestle up a nice bottle of wine,” Angelica said, wrapping an arm around Michele’s shoulder.

“Oh, please. I just want to go home.”

“Before that happens, I need to ask you some questions,” Hanson said.

“Can she do that in my store?” Angelica asked. “It’s just a couple of doors down, and it’s warm and much more comfortable than standing around this chilly parking lot.”

“I’ll walk you down there,” Hanson said, and the four of them started off with Angelica and Michele in the lead, and Tricia keeping pace with the officer. “We heard her scream and came running. I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t scared the man away.”

“You’re sure it was a man?”

“Yes.”

“Was it anyone you’d recognize?”

Tricia shook her head.

They arrived at the Cookery. Angelica already had her keys out and unlocked the door. Tricia paused to pick up the ladder when she heard footsteps running across the road. “Tricia? What happened?”

It was Christopher, of course, only this time he wasn’t clad in pajamas.

“Someone attacked Michele in the municipal parking lot.”

“And you were telling me earlier how you didn’t need an escort,” he said angrily.

“Angelica and I found her,” Tricia said. “It’s lucky we’d just finished the last of the baskets and were around to hear her scream.” She turned away. “I can’t talk to you now. I’m a witness, and I need to speak to the officer.”

“All right. But I don’t want you walking back to the Chamber office by yourself. I’m going to wait right here until you’re ready to go home. No arguments.”

“Only if you promise no funny stuff.”

“I find nothing humorous about the situation,” he said.

She believed him.

“It’s cold and damp out. You may as well come inside and wait with us,” she said.

He nodded and took the ladder from her.

As they entered the Cookery, Tricia had no doubt it would be hours before she saw her bed.

She was right. The police investigation took several hours—far longer than the actual attack. Angelica was not able to convince Michele to stay at the inn. Instead, the officer drove her back to her apartment in Milford, with Tricia promising to have Pixie drive Michele back to the village the next morning. She knew she could count on Pixie to give a helping hand in a crisis.

Christopher was as good as his word. He stayed out of the way during the police investigation, and afterward they walked back to the Chamber office in silence. Upon arriving at the house, he insisted on coming inside, making sure everything was safe, and then he said good night. No funny business, no begging for a kiss. Tricia wasn’t about to admit it, but Michele’s attack had rattled her. She’d felt safer with Christopher walking beside her.

After he left, Tricia poured herself a glass of wine from the small fridge in her sitting room and tried to read but was too distracted for even that. She settled on her comfy chair and was glad when Miss Marple joined her. It was only the sound of the cat’s rumbling purr that seemed to soothe her jagged nerves.

Eventually Tricia felt settled enough to try to go to sleep. She changed into her nightgown, slipped between the cool sheets, and turned off the light, but thoughts of the evening’s events kept circling through her mind.

Michele had anticipated some kind of attack, and it had come.

What did the man in black have against the Historical Society? And more frightening, how long after he was caught would it be before Tricia began to feel safe again?