Текст книги "A Fatal Chapter"

Автор книги: Lorna Barrett

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

NINETEEN

The phone rang far too early the next morning, but Tricia groped to pick up the receiver without opening her eyes. “’Ello.”

“They’re gone—they’re all gone!” Angelica practically wailed.

Tricia opened her eyes and squinted to focus on the numerals on her bedside clock. “Ange, it’s not even seven o’clock,” she muttered.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to make myself a cup of tea. I looked out my kitchen window and could see that every one of the silk flowers we put in the baskets last night is gone. Only, this time, let’s hope we caught on video the vandal who’s been stealing them. I’ll have that contemptible bastard thrown in jail for the rest of his miserable life.”

“I doubt any judge is going to sentence whoever stole the flowers to life in prison,” Tricia said reasonably.

“But that’s what he deserves. As soon as I get dressed, I’m heading over to the Coffee Bean to see if their surveillance camera caught the felon.”

Petit larceny was all the perp could be charged with, but it was no use arguing with Angelica when she was in one of those moods.

Again, Tricia squinted at her clock. Miss Marple had been sleeping at the foot of the bed. She was not pleased at being awakened this early, either. Still, now that she was awake, Tricia figured she might as well get up. If necessary, she’d apply a thick coat of concealer under her eyes. “If you can wait an extra ten minutes, I’ll come over and we can go to the Coffee Bean together,” she told her sister.

“Ten minutes,” Angelica threatened. “See you then.” She hung up.

Tricia threw back the covers, got up, and took the world’s fastest shower. She made it to the Cookery just twelve minutes later.

Angelica and Sarge were waiting in the Cookery. The dog barked a cheerful greeting as Tricia entered. “Are we taking Sarge with us?”

“Oh, no. He’s just back in from his morning tinkle break. I’ll take him on a proper walk later.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Tricia said, and she went back outside with Angelica hot on her heels.

Despite it being a Saturday, business was booming at the Coffee Bean. The line was five deep with joggers and others who’d stopped for a brew. It was one of the few shops on Main Street that the locals had fully embraced. As always, the aroma of coffee and fresh baked goods was intoxicating. Alexa was taking the orders and Boris was filling them as fast as he could.

“Ange, we might have to wait until the morning coffee rush is over before we can find out if the camera caught the person responsible for lifting the flowers.”

“I’ll wait here until closing if I have to. I want that guy arrested.”

Luckily, no one else came in after them, giving them hope Boris might have time to download the images to a disk.

“What can I get you this morning?” Alexa asked cheerfully.

“The flowers are gone. I hope your camera captured the person who did it?”

Alexa shook her head. “I saw there were none when I came in this morning. I knew you would be here early to see, so I had Boris download the video,” she said.

“I have it here,” Boris said in his thick Russian accent, and reached under the counter to come up with a jewel box and the disk inside it.

“Thank you so much,” Angelica said.

“Would you like something else?” Alexa asked hopefully.

“I’ll take a large French roast, and two of those apple-oatmeal muffins to go. Tricia?”

“I’ll have the same coffee, but a croissant.”

Angelica fidgeted the whole time it took Alexa and Boris to assemble their order. When they presented the cups and bags, Angelica handed Alexa a twenty and called out, “Keep the change,” before she practically ran from the store. Tricia had to hustle to keep up.

Angelica had the door to the Cookery unlocked in a flash, and Sarge seemed to think it was some kind of race as he ran to overtake Angelica before she could get to the stairs that led to her loft apartment. He barked with joy and shot up the stairs like a rocket taking off.

Tricia locked the door and followed at a more reasonable pace. By the time she reached the apartment, she found Angelica had already popped the DVD into her player and was waiting for it to start.

Tricia walked past her and into the kitchen, where she took out a couple of plates and set out her croissant, then took the other plate into the living room and retrieved the muffins from the bag Angelica had tossed onto the coffee table. She took a seat on the couch as Angelica paced, holding her coffee in one hand and the remote in another.

Despite Angelica’s claim the previous day, the picture quality wasn’t what you’d call great. Black and white and kind of murky was the best that could be said of it. Boris must have started recording after business hours. A couple strolled past the Coffee Bean hand in hand, and then there was—nothing but the empty sidewalk for long seconds.

Angelica hit the fast-forward button. People scurried across the screen in a kind of choppy motion, sort of like Charlie Chaplin in his old silent films, and the sky began to darken. The streetlamp came on in a flash, and more people came and went.

“How long do you think this is going to take?” Tricia asked.

“I can speed it up even faster, but I’m afraid we might miss something.”

Tricia sipped her coffee and sampled her croissant. Heavenly!

For long periods of time, no one passed in front of the camera, and then they saw themselves putting the flowers back into the closest hanging basket. Angelica hit the pause button.

“Oh, my—I don’t look that fat in real life, do I?”

“No,” Tricia said emphatically. “You know the camera always adds at least ten pounds.” She wasn’t sure Angelica believed her and didn’t want to elaborate.

Angelica hit the fast-forward button again. Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

And then a figure darted into the frame and was almost instantly gone.

“Rewind, rewind!” Tricia called frantically.

Angelica hit the rewind button and then pressed play. Once again the screen was filled with the image of the empty sidewalk, then someone dressed in dark clothes with a hoodie stepped out of the shadows with a long-handled grabber, the kind used by the infirm who could no longer bend to pick up objects, and plucked the silk flowers from the basket, stuffing them into a dark plastic bag, then quickly moved on.

“So much for the guy being tall. Do you recognize him?” Angelica asked.

“Is it a man?” Tricia asked, not quite sure.

Angelica hit rewind, and they watched the video again. And again. And again.

“I didn’t say anything earlier, but the night before Michele was attacked, I felt like someone was watching as I walked back to the Chamber office. When I got inside, I hurried to look out the front window and saw someone dressed like the person in the video and carrying a big black plastic bag.”

“But you didn’t recognize him?” Angelica pressed.

Tricia shook her head.

Angelica frowned, staring at the still image on the TV screen. “I was so sure we were going to recognize who it was so we could have him arrested.”

“You can show the video to Chief Baker, but I don’t know what he’s going to be able to do.”

Angelica shook her head. “I’m sure I’ve seen that person before.”

“Ange, it could be anyone!” Tricia said, but Angelica was still shaking her head.

“I’m going to keep watching this until I figure out who it is.”

“Well, I think I know who it isn’t,” Tricia said, and took another sip of coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not the guy who attacked Michele. It seemed like that person was a lot bigger in stature. I know I only saw a glimpse of him, but the person in the video seems a lot shorter and thinner.”

“Why would anyone think the two were the same?”

Tricia shrugged. “Maybe because we seem to have a crime wave going on. I know I’d much rather have one villain than two menacing the village.”

“I’d rather have no villains menacing the village.”

Tricia drained her cup and stood. “I’ve got to get moving. I still have to do my morning walk.”

“Boring!” Angelica said. “Thanks to Sarge needing to go out every few hours, I get my exercise running up and down three flights of stairs all day. I’ve lost ten pounds since I got the little guy.”

Sarge barked. He knew a compliment when he heard it.

“Are you coming for supper tonight?” Angelica asked.

“Sure. And I’ll probably see you at Booked for Lunch, too.”

“Keep thinking about our flower filcher, will you please?”

“I will,” Tricia promised, gave her sister a brief hug, and headed for the door. Sarge accompanied her and barked when she didn’t grab his leash. “Sorry, little buddy, but you can’t come with me.”

Sarge barked again, then cocked his head and looked at her with sad eyes. He whimpered, just to make her feel even more guilty.

“Oh, all right,” Tricia grumbled. “Ange!” she called. “I’m taking Sarge.”

“Thanks!” Angelica called back.

Tricia reached for the leash and Sarge barked excitedly, running around in circles. “Calm down! You’d think you’d never been on a walk with me before.” She clipped the leash to Sarge’s collar, grabbed a plastic bag from the stash Angelica kept by the door, and picked him up, tucking him under her arm like a football. “Come on.”

Once outside the Cookery, Tricia set Sarge down, and he immediately set off, trotting off toward the park. When he came to the corner, he sat down, waiting for permission to cross.

“We’re not going north,” Tricia told him and gave the leash a slight tug. “We’re going west. This is my walk, not yours.”

Sarge looked up at her and blinked, but seemed game to try a new routine.

Vehicular traffic on Stoneham’s side streets was practically nonexistent on that Saturday morning. They crossed Main Street and started down Locust Street at a brisk pace.

Instead of thinking about the petal pincher as Angelica had suggested, Tricia tried to remember what she could about the figure she’d seen fleeing the municipal parking lot after Michele’s attack. The man—she felt sure it was a man—had been stocky but had had no trouble hurdling over the low metal barrier that surrounded the lot and then taking off at a run. Still, he hadn’t had to run far before he was swallowed by darkness. That meant the guy didn’t have to be all that athletic. They hadn’t run after him, so he could have pulled off his ski mask and just walked away without garnering any attention. The police had searched the area, but as far as Tricia knew, they hadn’t found anything of note.

Tricia turned down Pine Avenue. Mariana lived in the white house with the navy trim. Her landscaping was primarily low bushes flanking the front steps, but four baskets of purple and white petunias hung from the soffit on lengths of chain. They were pretty, with their blooms still intact, unlike the hanging baskets on Main Street. It seemed to prove the theory that the petal pincher had it in for the merchants on Main Street and not a hatred of flowers in general. Still, of the two menaces, Tricia would rather the village had to deal with petty vandalism than murder and attempted murder.

Tricia made it to the end of the block and turned right. She’d had her route figured out only days after the fire and had worn a pedometer for a few weeks until she’d figured out the mileage she wanted to walk per day. Sarge trotted along beside her as happy as only a dog could be. They turned onto Oak Street, where her friend Deborah Black had lived, and where Frannie Armstrong still lived.

They carried on to the corner and turned left up Locust once again. Tricia’s stomach tightened as she approached the next cross street, where Bob Kelly lived. She decided to skip walking down that road and walked up to the next block. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him that morning.

Bob, Bob, Bob.

Tricia had never liked the man, despite his slight resemblance to Christopher. He was shorter, heavier set, but had the same green eyes that she always found so attractive in men. Still, there was something about him that had set off—well, alarm bells was really too strong a description, but she’d disliked him at first sight. The term lounge lizard came to mind whenever she thought about him or had to deal with him. That Angelica had found him fascinating, and then had become his lover, had irritated Tricia to no end. But as Tricia now knew, Angelica had a tendency to look for the good in people, even if she made the rest of the world think her just a selfish, vain woman. The fact that her fourth marriage had ended just before she’d met Bob had made her a prime target for a rebound romance.

Bob had done some very dishonorable things during the past that Tricia had not told Angelica about, far more than just the pumpkin-smashing incident. After they’d broken up, he’d rigged a Chamber contest with the prize of a night at a romantic bed-and-breakfast, bestowing it upon Angelica in hopes of a reconciliation. That she chose Tricia to accompany her had made him angry, and he’d begged her not to tell Angelica. There were other such incidences. In fact, when she thought about it, Bob wasn’t at all honorable, and thankfully Angelica had finally acknowledged it—but only after he’d cheated on her.

How low was the man willing to stoop?

Tricia found herself walking slower.

Murder?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said aloud, and looked down at Sarge, who looked back up at her. “I was talking to myself,” she said, embarrassed. But again her stomach seemed to quiver.

It was then Tricia remembered the Chamber of Commerce membership list that Betsy Dittmeyer had put together. It wasn’t really a list, more a dossier of the Chamber’s members, and the information she’d gathered on each member didn’t chronicle their nobler aspects. The document was filled with vile assumptions and vicious gossip. Tricia had always meant to delete the file but somehow had never gotten around to doing so.

She abruptly turned, walking into the leash and nearly tripping over the dog. “Come on, Sarge. We’re cutting our walk short.” And she started down Locust Street once again at almost a jog, with the poor pup struggling to keep up with her.

Tricia only slowed when she entered the driveway of the Chamber’s office. She opened the door and unhooked Sarge from his leash. “Be a good boy and go to bed,” she told him, thankful Miss Marple was nowhere in sight. She shut the door to the stairs behind her and took them two at a time. At the landing, she turned right toward her sitting room. Miss Marple was asleep on the chair. Tricia headed straight for the small table that served as a desk and booted up her laptop, thankful she’d been good about storing her files on an off-site server. It took only a minute or two before she pulled up the document and scanned down to the listing for the Stoneham Historical Society. Sure enough, Pete Renquist was listed as their representative.

A former junkie, who did time in the Essex County, New Jersey, lockup for possession with intent to sell narcotics. Was released when the charges fell through on a technicality and kicked the habit. He was a deadbeat dad, whose ex-wife had to sue for back child support, and his wages at the Stoneham Historical Society were garnished until he paid off the backlog.

Where had Betsy gotten all that information from? Had she had access to Social Security numbers, hacked bank accounts, and other databases?

And then it suddenly occurred to Tricia who else who knew about the file: Angelica, Chief Baker, and perhaps a few of his officers, and, of course, Bob Kelly.

Tricia’s stomach tightened.

What possible reason would Bob have had to kill Pete Renquist and brutally assault Janet Koch? The attacks on them must have had something to do with the Historical Society—and possibly the ghost walks. Had Bob ever even mentioned the Historical Society to Angelica?

Angelica might not want to talk about Bob. She had been his lover for several years, but since their breakup, she’d made it clear they were no longer even friends. She had never spoken a word against the man, and it angered her when Tricia did. But surely she’d break that silence if Bob proved to be a killer.

Bob a killer? Tricia still found it hard to wrap her mind around that thought. Still, his life of crime had started early. As a teen, he’d skipped town to avoid the community service he’d been sentenced to perform after being convicted of a youthful indiscretion. And then, of course, there was the legal problem he’d been trying so hard to get out of. His fingerprints had been found at Stan Berry’s home after the place had been ransacked following his death. Bob owned the property, and she supposed his attorney might try to say he had a right to be in the home . . . but not when the victim’s son had shown an interest in renegotiating the lease. Bob had wanted him out so he could rent the place for more money to someone else. It was going to cost him a lot of money to get out of that one without serving some kind of time in addition to the reinstatement of the sentence of community service he’d skipped out on so many years before.

But Bob a killer?

No, Tricia couldn’t believe it.

Could someone else have had access to Betsy Dittmeyer’s files? Again, she’d have to ask Angelica.

Tricia bit her lip. What other possible suspects could there be? Earl Winkler? On the last morning of his life, Pete and Earl had exchanged angry words about the proposed ghost walks. Had they argued on other occasions? Earl was a grumpy old man, but that didn’t mean he was a killer.

Janet Koch might be the key to knowing who had killed Renquist; was that why Pete’s killer had tried to eliminate her, too?

The Historical Society seemed to be the common denominator. No doubt Chief Baker had already spoken with all of its staff. Tricia had told him she’d stay out of it, and she’d meant it. But she also seemed to have a knack for getting people to talk—and often about things they later regretted. And yet, she didn’t have a rapport with the rest of the Historical Society’s workforce. She’d always dealt with Pete and Janet, and she doubted Angelica knew any of its members on a personal basis, either.

Tricia thought about the cocktail party she’d attended on the Society’s grounds when the Italianate garden had been rededicated the previous summer. The Brookview Inn had catered the affair. Would Antonio or one of his staff have dealt with just Pete and Janet, or would someone else on its staff have been assigned to deal with the inn and its personnel? Tricia knew a few of the people who worked at the inn, but they blamed her—not Stan Berry’s killer—for the unfortunate events that had occurred after the murderer had been exposed. They wouldn’t willingly talk to her, and Antonio wasn’t one to gossip, and even now that they were almost related, she was sure he wouldn’t do anything to anger Angelica when it came to possibly jeopardizing Tricia’s safety. Count him out as an accessory.

Mariana hadn’t worked for the Chamber all that long, but Frannie Armstrong had worked for the organization for over ten years before coming to work for Angelica at the Cookery. She was no fan of Bob, who’d treated her poorly, but she’d known him longer than anyone else Tricia could think of. Frannie had an encyclopedic memory, and she loved to gossip—on any subject. Of course, their friendship had cooled somewhat after Tricia had pointed out that Frannie might make a plausible suspect for Betsy Dittmeyer’s death. Still, Tricia was determined to talk to her before she shared her suspicions with Angelica or Chief Baker.

Tricia closed the file and shut down her computer. She looked across the room. Miss Marple hadn’t stirred. She got up, tiptoed across the room, and went down the stairs. She found Sarge in his basket. “Walkies,” she called. The dog hadn’t been asleep, and he shot out of his bed like a cannonball.

Hooking the leash to his collar, they started for the door. Tricia only hoped Frannie would be able to tell her what she needed to know.

TWENTY

Tricia and Sarge retraced their steps to Oak Street. This time when they approached Frannie’s house, she was outside kneeling in front of the small garden, weeding. “Hi, Frannie,” Tricia called cheerfully, so as not to startle her.

Frannie looked over her shoulder. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” Sarge barked and pulled at his leash. He and Frannie were great friends, too. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have made sure I had a dog biscuit for you.”

“Both of us?” Tricia asked, and laughed.

“Sorry, I don’t eat yogurt or tuna, and that’s about all you eat,” Frannie said pointedly.

Tricia ignored the jibe. “It’s been such a long time since we talked,” Tricia said.

Frannie looked up, eying her suspiciously. “It has.”

“How have you been?”

“Fine.” Silence fell between them. Then Frannie asked, “Didn’t I see you and Sarge walking down my street only half an hour ago?”

“You did,” Tricia admitted. “We’re just retracing our steps, trying to get in another mile or two. Isn’t that right Sarge?”

Sarge barked in agreement. Tricia hadn’t known a dog could lie.

“I’m not used to having weekends off, although I’m sure enjoying my stint working at the Chamber. Do you ever miss it?”

“The Chamber? No. Why would I?” Frannie asked, sounding annoyed.

Tricia shrugged. “I don’t know. I should think it’s a lot more exciting now than when you were there. Probably more interesting, too.”

“That’s a given. From what Angelica tells me, there’s lots of fun stuff going on all the time.” She seemed to think it over for a moment. “Yeah, it sounds a whole lot better than when I worked there. Angelica is full of so many ideas, and the membership has sure changed, with lots of new people, new businesses. But I’m happy where I am now,” she asserted, and looked at her watch. “I need to finish my weeding before I have to show up at the Cookery an hour from now.”

“I don’t mean to keep you, but I know what you mean. I hope to be back to Haven’t Got a Clue soon, but in the meantime, it hasn’t been unpleasant working for the Chamber. I’ve learned a lot of new things—and a lot about Stoneham.”

“Any news from the insurance company?” Frannie asked.

Ah, the perfect opening. “No. But Bob Kelly has been pressuring me to buy the building.”

“So I heard,” Frannie said. No doubt Angelica had mentioned it.

“He doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer,” Tricia said.

“He can be a very stubborn man,” Frannie agreed.

“In what way?” Tricia asked, innocently.

“When he wants something, he gets it,” she said firmly.

“Unless he lowers the price, I’m not buying.”

“Then he’ll do what it takes to make you buy it.”

“You’re scaring me a little,” Tricia said with a mirthless laugh.

“You ought to be scared. I was lucky he didn’t retaliate against me more than he did after I took the job at the Cookery.”

“He retaliated against you? How?”

“First, he tried to sabotage my friendship with Angelica. He threatened that he would have me fired within a month of my working there, but then he’d never met anyone who could really stand up to him like she could—can,” Frannie corrected herself.

“What else did he do?”

“I could never prove it, of course,” she began, “but my credit rating took a huge hit just after I left the Chamber. Bob knows a lot more about computers than he ever lets on, and thanks to his real estate holdings, he has all kinds of ins with various financial institutions.”

“You can’t mean the Bank of Stoneham,” Tricia said, alarmed. She liked its manager, Billie Burke, and couldn’t imagine her tampering with files or doing anything illegal.

Frannie shook her head. “Bob deals with a lot of out-of-state banks. A couple of them listed liens against my house. That took a lot of juggling to straighten out. Thank goodness for Angelica. She has more friends in high places than Bob, and pulled some strings to help me set things right.”

“Did she believe Bob had anything to do with it?” Tricia asked.

“No. Usually she’s such a good judge of character. I don’t know what in God’s name she ever saw in that sorry excuse for a man.”

Neither do I, Tricia refrained from saying aloud.

“He’s not still bothering you, is he?” Tricia asked.

“Right now he’s got more on his mind than just annoying little people like me—and that’s just the way he sees me. Little. Insignificant. Unimportant. I’ll tell you the truth, I’m glad he’s forgotten about me. That man frightens me.”

Tricia had always thought Frannie was fearless; to find out she wasn’t startled her. But what had she really told Tricia but conjecture and innuendo—a gossip’s best friends. Still, Tricia believed every word Frannie had uttered.

She looked down at the marigolds and red zinnias that populated Frannie’s little garden. “They’re so pretty, unlike the hanging baskets along Main Street.”

Frannie nodded knowledgably. “Angelica has kept me informed. It’s a shame. They cost such a lot of money and brought such beauty to our little village.”

“Once again, we’re probably out of the running for prettiest village in New Hampshire.” Tricia shook her head sadly. “I might have seen who is responsible, but it was late and dark, and the person wore a hoodie and was carrying a large trash bag. I’ll just bet it was full of the silk flowers we put in those baskets.”

“Angelica doesn’t like me to gossip,” Frannie said, “but I’ll bet if you checked a certain Dumpster here in the village, you just might find those missing silk flowers.”

“You know who’s responsible?”

“As you know, I hear things,” Frannie said cryptically.

Tricia met Frannie’s penetrating gaze. “I’m listening.”

“Sometimes I take a walk in the early morning before it gets too hot. The other day I saw a man walking up Main Street with a big black trash bag in one hand and a—”

“Long-handled gripper in the other?” Tricia guessed.

“Yes.”

“I think I saw him, too. But I didn’t know who it was. I don’t suppose you saw what he did with the flowers he was plucking.”

“When he saw me, he stopped at the nearest trash barrel and shoved the bag in.”

“Do you remember exactly where?”

Frannie thought for a moment. “Must have been right in front of the Stoneham Weekly News.”

“Would you be willing to tell Chief Baker what you saw?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll have him give you a call.”

“It took me a day or two to figure out who it was,” Frannie said with certainty.

“And?” Tricia asked.

•   •   •

Tricia and Sarge hurried back to the Cookery, but when they reached Angelica’s apartment, Tricia found a note taped to the door. Off to Booked for Lunch to get the salads going. I’ll be working with Pixie today. See you at the usual time. Tootles!

So much for having a Dumpster-diving buddy.

Tricia returned Sarge to the loft apartment, unhooked his leash, gave him a couple of biscuits, and left the building. Once outside, she noticed a truck parked in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. Jim Stark stood before the derelict store, staring at it.

Tricia put on a happy face. “Hi, Jim.”

Stark turned and nodded in her direction but said nothing. He turned back to the soot-stained façade. Tricia moved to stand beside him.

“The outside fixes are mostly cosmetic,” Stark said. “We’ll scrub the stucco, repair it, and replace the glass in the window.”

“It’s the damage inside that’s heartbreaking,” Tricia said.

Stark nodded.

They stared at the large piece of plywood that covered what had been Tricia’s large display window. Could Stark have killed Pete Renquist in a jealous rage? Should she bring up the subject?

She didn’t have to.

“I need to apologize for the way I spoke to you when we last talked,” he began.

Tricia said nothing, content to let him lead the conversation.

“The truth is, Renquist and my wife were friends—perhaps too close friends for comfort. I guess I was jealous.”

“Pete was known to have a glib tongue,” Tricia said.

“Toni tells me nothing ever went on between them. I trust my wife. I didn’t know Renquist enough to trust him.”

“Were you angry at him?”

Stark turned to face her. “You mean enough to kill him?”

“Someone killed him,” Tricia said, keeping her voice neutral.

Stark nodded. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete.”

“I know for a fact that Pete was murdered.”

“Yeah, well, I have an iron-clad alibi, if you’re thinking of pinning the blame on me.”

“Why would you think I’d do that?”

He held a hand up to take in the soot-stained sign over the plywood. “Because you’re Stoneham’s Queen of Mystery.”

Well, that title was certainly better than that of village jinx.

“Every one of my crew—not to mention my client—can vouch that I was on a job site last Monday. Thanks to the port-a-john, I didn’t have to leave the site for even a bathroom break from nearly dawn until almost dusk.”

“Then you’re in the clear.”

“With you.” He kept staring at the plywood. “Not Toni.”

“Why would she think you had a motive?”

“I told you. I was jealous of their friendship.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s all it was. From what I heard, Pete wasn’t able to . . .” Tricia wasn’t sure how to delicately express what she needed to say. “He . . .” Oh, hell. “He couldn’t get it up.”

Stark turned to eye her.

“To compensate,” she continued, “he made out like he was a dedicated skirt chaser. From what I understand, it was a condition he’d suffered for quite some time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I believe men and women can be friends without sexual intimacy.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, his expression skeptical.

“Take me, for instance. I’m striving to be friends with three men right now.”

“But you did once have a deeper relationship with each of them, right?”

Did Stark know all about Tricia’s love life since moving to Stoneham? Small town talk . . .

Tricia shrugged. “Okay, bad example. But isn’t it just possible that Toni and Pete had a purely platonic relationship?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Has she ever given you reason not to trust her?”

He didn’t look at her but shook his head.

“Do you two talk much?”

He shrugged.

“Are you interested in antiques?” she tried.

“No.” He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Well, it depends on your definition. Architectural salvage? Now that’s another subject.”

“Could that be common ground for you and Toni?”

Stark shrugged. “That would be pushing it.”

“How do you know? Seems to me that in your line of work you probably come across a lot of architectural elements that could be salvaged.”