Текст книги "A Fatal Chapter"

Автор книги: Lorna Barrett

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Janet looked surprised by the question. “No.” Then she seemed to think better of it. “Well, he was a terrible flirt, which annoyed many a husband, but the rich older ladies always enjoyed the attention. And, of course, Pete and Earl Winkler weren’t exactly friends, but I wouldn’t call them enemies.”

“Does Earl Winkler have any friends?” Tricia asked.

Janet almost managed a smile. “It would be hard to believe. I’m still in shock he ever got elected to the Board of Selectmen.”

“So am I.”

Janet’s gaze wandered to the wall where a group shot of people, including Pete and herself, hung. She sighed. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Did you know I was the one who found him in the park?”

Janet looked up. “No, I didn’t.”

“Did he often leave the office and go for walks during the middle of the day?”

“Sometimes. He said it helped him clear his mind. Nobody minded. He put in many more than the forty hours a week he got paid for. He loved this house. He loved the gardens. He was very enthusiastic about the upcoming ghost walks at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery and at St. Rita’s church. He’d been researching the people buried there, interviewing people, reading old books, and writing up various scripts.”

“He really enjoyed the work,” Tricia stated.

“You bet.” Janet shook her head, sadness etched across her features. “We’ll figure out a way to carry on. I know the ghost walks will be a success.”

“Had you or Pete ever spoken to Michele Fowler about volunteering? It was she who first suggested the ghost walks.”

“I’ve only met her once, at one of our fundraising cocktail parties. Do you think she’d be interested?”

“I know she works a lot of nights at the Dog-Eared Page, but I’ll bet she’d be game. And you know, that English accent of hers would be a hit with anyone who came on the walks.”

“I noticed people do tend to pay attention when she speaks. Would you be willing to put a bug in her ear?”

“I’d love to.”

“Thanks.” Janet rummaged in the desk and came up with a business card. It was Pete’s. She crossed off his name, writing in her own. “I’ll have to get new ones made, but the phone number is good.”

Tricia pocketed the card and drained her cup. “I’m keeping you from your work.”

“And I’m keeping you from yours,” Janet said with what almost passed as a smile. She stood.

Tricia stood, too, and on impulse walked around the desk to give Janet a hug. “I’m so sorry you lost your friend.”

“Me, too,” Janet said, her voice breaking. “Me, too.”

FIVE

Angelica arrived at the Chamber office at precisely nine forty-five, dressed to the nines—business style—and looking ready to take on the world. For a moment, Tricia felt a kind of flash of déjà vu—seeing her sister à la Auntie Mame, with a zest for life and a take-charge attitude that could move mountains and shift whole continents. And not for the first time, she felt a stab of jealousy.

After greeting Mariana and Tricia, Angelica grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen before joining them in the office, where she sat down at her desk. Angelica could have used the downstairs bedroom as a private office but had chosen instead to have a desk right in the living room with the rest of her staff. She definitely hadn’t played the diva card since assuming the Chamber presidency, insisting that, since she didn’t spend the majority of her day at the Chamber office, there was no need for her to take up so much real estate. Instead, the bedroom had become a small conference room. “What have we got on tap today?” she asked.

“The grand opening of the Antiques Emporium.”

Angelica nodded. “I love these ribbon-cutting events. Do you realize this is the sixth new business to open since I took over as Chamber president?”

“Did you have anything to do with bringing them here?” Tricia asked.

“Not me, personally, but Karen Johnson from NRA Realty worked tirelessly to court them. They’ve already got twenty vendors and have space for another ten. Karen’s pretty sure they’ll rent the space within a week or two.”

“Lucky them,” Tricia said.

Angelica turned a jaundiced eye on her sister. “Don’t you want to see Stoneham thrive?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t like attending ribbon-cutting ceremonies.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one who has to tote the fake oversized scissors and the big roll of red ribbon to these affairs. It makes me feel like a dork.”

“It’s not like they’re heavy,” Angelica said.

“Then I stand around while you get to pose and look important.”

“Darling, I am important!” Angelica sighed. “If you’d prefer to stay back here at the office, I’m sure Mariana will accompany me. But I’d much rather you come.”

“Why?” So she could show off in front of Tricia?

“Because it gives us more time to spend together.”

“We already spend two or three hours a day together,” Tricia said.

“Oh.” Angelica said the word oddly, as though she was surprised and yet hurt.

“I’m sorry, Ange. I do like to spend time with you, but I’m worried that people will think you’re using all these photo-ops to grab attention and that it’ll reflect badly on you.”

Angelica looked thoughtful. “That’s a good point. Okay, how about I carry the scissors and ribbon and you be my stand-in for the photo?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“But you’re right. I want the villagers to see the Chamber as an organization that can promote the area—and its members, of which you are one. It’s vitally important that the Chamber grow, but I don’t want to overshadow the organization like—like my predecessor did.” Angelica seemed to go out of her way not to criticize her ex-lover, Bob Kelly, which was commendable. But the truth was, she’d done more in her brief tenure than Bob had done in the previous five years.

“Okay,” Tricia said. “Perhaps we can get Russ to take the picture with me in it and have the caption say I’m representing the Chamber. But won’t the business owner want to be photographed with the head of the Chamber and not just a volunteer?”

“We can do both. I’m sure if I buy a little extra advertising, Russ will do anything I request. Nikki won’t get jealous if he takes your picture, though, will she?”

“I don’t think so.” Russ and Tricia had been an item for a while—but that was before he and Nikki had gotten together. At first she’d been jealous whenever Tricia’s name came up, but she seemed to have gotten over it.

Tricia studied her sister and shook her head.

“What?” Angelica asked, looking down at herself. “Did I spill coffee on my blouse?”

“No. I just can’t get over how you’ve changed.”

“Sorry, Trish, but it’s not me who’s changed. It’s your perception of me that’s changed.”

“I guess you’re right,” Tricia said, and swallowed down the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “Okay.” She looked down at herself. “Do I have time to change clothes?”

Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “You always look beautiful. Now, let’s grab our stuff and get over there. We don’t want our newest member to feel we’ve neglected them.”

Tricia watched as Angelica strode over to the storage cabinet and grabbed the prop scissors and big roll of red ribbon. Angelica had been right. She was still the oversized personality that had always seemed to dwarf Tricia all those years ago, but somehow the traits that used to bug her so much almost seemed endearing now. Almost.

Less than a minute later, the sisters left the Chamber office and headed up the street on foot.

The Antiques Emporium was housed in what had previously been Everett’s Grocery. The long-empty cinderblock building had been spruced up on the outside with paint and some landscaping, and its inside had been divided into stalls. Those closest to the large bank of windows up front had been stuffed to the gills with the flotsam and jetsam of years past. Not everything was a certifiable antique, for the booths held Fiesta china, old Bakelite radios, vintage clothing, and anything one could imagine—from salt shakers to bone china, and doilies to damask. Pixie would probably go nuts shopping there.

Russ Smith had dutifully shown up with his Nikon and snapped photos of Angelica with the owner and several of the vendors, as well as Tricia and the same group of people. They’d sort out the details of the photos and captions later.

After the preliminaries were observed, Angelica, Tricia, and even Russ were invited inside to partake of refreshments that were laid out on one of the sales counters. Lemonade, punch, and more than a dozen different cookies had been made by the Emporium vendors. Tricia accepted a paper cup of lemonade and grabbed a snickerdoodle. Her grandmother had made the same crisp, cinnamon-laced cookies, and one bite brought back a host of wonderful memories.

“Thank you for coming,” said the Emporium’s owner, whose name Tricia had somehow missed.

“I’m glad I could be here,” Tricia said.

“Toni,” the woman said, offering her hand. “Toni Bennett.”

Tricia struggled to keep from giggling. “Really?”

The woman laughed. “Really. My folks were big fans of the singer Tony Bennett and, well, here I am. And the worst thing is, I can’t sing a note.”

“It’s a wonderful name. I’ll bet most people don’t forget it.”

“It does come in handy,” Toni admitted. She looked around at the customers who’d already entered. “What a beautiful day for our grand opening. I’m only sorry my favorite vendor couldn’t be here today.”

“Oh?” Tricia said.

“Pete Renquist.” Toni shook her head sadly. “I was crushed to hear he’d died. It was Pete who encouraged me to open the Emporium. He was the first to sign up for a booth. He and I brainstormed on numerous occasions on a variety of subjects. He had so many wonderful ideas, so much knowledge, and such a zest for life.” Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears that she quickly tried to wipe away. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I feel the same way,” Tricia admitted. Did Toni know she’d been the one to find him? Tricia wasn’t going to mention it. “Did you know him a long time?”

Toni cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Yeah. I’ve been a volunteer at the Historical Society for about ten years, but I’m not sure anyone ever really knew Pete. He was warm and genuine, but there was a big part of himself that he kept private. I don’t know of any other way to explain it.”

Tricia nodded. “What kind of articles did he have for sale?”

“I’ll show you. Follow me,” Toni said, and led the way to what was probably the booth with the best location. It was large and situated near the front of the store and had good light. Unlike most of the other booths, Pete’s actually contained antiques—primitives: old milking stools, rough-hewn tables and chairs, and antique pottery, mingled with what looked like tin dishes, Sandwich glass, and butter churns. Antique oil portraits and landscapes hung on the wall, which was some six feet shorter than the height of the ceiling and divided his space from another vendor’s.

Tricia eyed the price tag on one of the paintings and winced. “Pete’s wares are a little more . . .” She wasn’t sure how to express it.

“Higher-end than most of the other vendors’ merchandise,” Toni finished for her. “Yes. And I told him he could do much better in Nashua or Manchester, but he told me he’d bought most of them for a song and wasn’t worried about making a profit because he never intended for them to sell. He priced them at what he thought they were actually worth. I think Pete just wanted to help me out until all the booths were spoken for, and then he would have quickly bowed out. Judging by his outrageous prices, I don’t think he expected to sell one item. He was a collector, and this was a way to have his collection admired. Now I’m not sure what will become of it all. I don’t know if he even had a will or an attorney. I can keep the stuff here and, if there are sales, give the money to his estate—but if things work out, there’s going to come a time when I have to pack up everything and rent the space to someone who can actually pay.”

“I’m sure Pete would approve of any decision you make. He seemed like a reasonable guy.”

“That he was,” Toni agreed. “That’s why I was surprised the other day when he told me someone had threatened him.”

Tricia blinked. “Threatened? How?”

“He wasn’t really clear about that. He said he’d found out something while going through some of the Historical Society’s old records, and when he asked someone—and he didn’t say who—about it, was told to mind his own business. Or else!”

“And he didn’t give you a clue who it was he’d confronted?”

Toni shook her head. “But it seemed like he was disappointed in the whole situation. That maybe he’d once considered the person who’d threatened him to be a friend.”

And who was that friend? So far, no one Tricia had spoken to had admitted to being close to Pete. He had been a terrible flirt, yet it seemed he’d only felt comfortable being an acquaintance, not a true friend, to most of the people with whom he’d interacted.

Perhaps the person who’d threatened him had carried out a death sentence. If so, it had to be someone right here in Stoneham. Someone everyone knew. But that was the thing; most of the villagers did know just about everyone else in Stoneham.

“Toni,” a voice called.

She looked toward the store’s office. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

“Thanks for showing me around.”

Toni gave Tricia a quick wave and then hurried off.

Tricia stood in front of Pete’s booth, staring at his wide range of merchandise. How sad that all he had collected—loved—would be sold off, and for probably far less than its worth by whoever benefitted from his estate.

Tricia reached for her cell phone and called Chief Baker. Voice mail picked up. She left a message relaying what Toni had told her, suggesting he give the Emporium’s manager a call. Ringing off, she looked up to see Angelica approach. “There you are.”

“Toni was just showing me Pete Renquist’s booth.”

“Oh.” Angelica pointed to the booth before them. “This one?”

Tricia nodded. “Really old stuff. A lot different from the rest of the kitsch in here.”

“I like kitsch in my café but don’t want it in my home. I suppose it’s fun to collect, and I want the Emporium to do well, so who cares about my opinion? Come on. We’d better get back to the office. I’ve got a lot to do today and no doubt so do you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tricia said, and saluted.

They collected the scissors and ribbon and, on their way out, thanked everyone in sight. Tricia made sure to give Toni a wave, wishing she’d had more time to pump her for information.

Pete had been a part of the Historical Society for a long time. And he’d been a longtime resident of Stoneham. Surely there were other people who’d known him well. And, as she and Angelica headed back to the Chamber, it occurred to Tricia that she knew a local close at hand who might have that kind of information.

SIX

Angelica’s spirits always soared after a successful Chamber event, and she chattered on about the various conversations she’d had after the ceremony, but Tricia only half listened, pondering what Toni had told her about Pete. She’d tell Angelica about it—when her sister finally wound down.

They arrived back at the Chamber office to find Earl Winkler impatiently waiting for them. “What took you so long?” he barked.

“I’m sorry,” Angelica said. She spoke in that sickly sweet tone of voice again. “Did we have an appointment?”

“No,” Earl admitted, “but your receptionist thought you should have been back long before this.”

Angelica glanced at Mariana, who vehemently shook her head.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Angelica said politely. “Now, what was it you wanted, Earl?”

“Selectman Winkler, if you please,” he insisted.

Tricia had to cover her mouth and clear her throat in an effort to keep from laughing, but Angelica merely smiled. “Selectman.”

“I want it made clear, and in front of witnesses,” he added, eyeing Tricia and Mariana, “that I had nothing to do with Pete Renquist’s death.”

“Does anyone suspect you of it?” Angelica asked.

“Well, no. But we had words the morning of his death—you were a witness to it—and I don’t want the situation misconstrued.”

“By whom?” Angelica pressed.

“The police, for one.”

“Did they contact you about it?” she asked.

“Well, no. But it’s well known that you—and your sister”—he looked accusingly at Tricia—“are always getting mixed up with the police when there’s been a serious crime here in Stoneham.”

“What does that have to do with Pete’s death?” Tricia asked.

“Nothing. But I don’t want the two of you suggesting that I might make a good suspect.”

“Do you make a good suspect?” It was Tricia’s turn to be annoyed at the jerk.

“Of course not. I serve the citizens of Stoneham, not kill them.”

“Are you accusing anyone in this office of killing him?” Angelica asked pointedly.

“Well, no,” Earl said yet again.

“Then I suggest you take your umbrage and return to your regular job.”

“I’m semiretired.”

“Then go home,” Angelica said firmly.

Earl glared at her, pivoted, and then stormed from the office, slamming the door behind him.

Mariana looked scared. “Honest, Angelica, I never told him when you’d be coming back. He must have just assumed—”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I believe you. People like Earl are too busy being important to actually listen to what’s being said to them, so they make things up as they go along.”

Mariana offered a weak smile, obviously glad to be exonerated. She rose from her chair. “I think I need a fortifying cup of coffee. Can I get you anything?”

Both Tricia and Angelica shook their heads and watched as Mariana headed for the kitchen. Angelica was the first to speak. “So, what was that all about?”

“Obviously Earl thinks we think he’d make a fine suspect in Pete’s death.”

“They did clash on more than one occasion, but half the village has clashed with Earl at one time or another.”

“They haven’t turned up dead, either,” Tricia pointed out.

“What does he want us to do? Tell Grant he’s innocent, or point the finger at him?”

“Why would he want that?”

“To make us look bad. It seems to be what he tries to do most.”

Tricia thought about it for a moment, but Angelica had turned back to the mail littering her desk. Why had Earl shown up when he had? Why had he insisted on speaking to them in front of Mariana?

“I didn’t tell you what else Toni said,” Tricia began.

Angelica snatched her letter opener and looked up. “About what?”

“Pete. She said someone had threatened him.”

“But not Earl?”

“Pete didn’t tell her who—or exactly why. Just that he’d found something suspicious in some old records and he’d confronted someone about it.”

“You should tell Grant.”

“I already left him a message.”

“Good. Then let him handle it,” Angelica advised, and slit the envelope in her left hand.

“I am. But I wonder what kind of records Pete was going through and who he might have contacted about it.”

“Not your business,” Angelica sang, and pulled a letter from the envelope.

“What kind of records does the Historical Society keep, anyway?” Tricia asked.

“Anything old, I suppose.”

“Deeds? Marriage certificates? Death certificates?”

“I would assume most of what they’ve got has been donated.”

“Diaries? Maps?”

“Stop speculating and get back to work,” Angelica said mildly.

“Aren’t you even curious?”

“I would be, but I have too much to do and only so many hours in the day to accomplish it.”

“Speaking of the Historical Society, I visited Janet Koch this morning. She’s taking over for Pete until the board meets,” Tricia said.

“That’s nice,” Angelica muttered, distracted, her gaze still on the paperwork before her.

“She said the moon was made of green cheese.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that she has swamp land for sale in Florida.”

“How about that?” Angelica muttered.

“Janet also told me that Nigela Ricita made a generous donation to the society.”

That got Angelica’s attention; she looked up sharply.

“Half a million bucks,” Tricia said.

“It was supposed to be anonymous,” Angelica grated.

“For the most part, it is.”

They heard a noise from the kitchen, where Mariana seemed to be making a fresh pot of coffee.

“We won’t speak of this—or Ms. Ricita—here at the Chamber office.”

“When will we speak about it?” Tricia pushed.

“If I have my way, never,” Angelica said, and turned back to her work.

Tricia sat down at her desk. She’d much rather be reading a mystery. She opened her desk drawer, where she’d squirreled away Death in the Air. Her personal library may or may not have been ruined by the smoke damage after the fire in Haven’t Got a Clue. She’d walked through the apartment twice since the fire. Despite the soot, it didn’t look too bad, but the smoky odor had been nauseating. She had studied how to clean smoke-damaged books but wondered how many she could salvage. Most of them weren’t worth the cost of restoration, and thanks to eBay, she’d done a good job replacing scores of her favorite comfort reads. Just about everything in the store had been ruined by flames, water, or smoke. Still, she’d lined up her original contractor, Jim Stark, to come in and repair the damage, and he’d been amassing supplies, like replacements for the tin ceiling and the classic molding. Tricia had found duplicate copies of most of the author portraits that had adorned the walls, too. They and the books she’d bought as replacement stock sat in a climate-controlled storage unit until the day they could replace their damaged counterparts.

On impulse, Tricia picked up her desk phone and called the number she’d memorized months before. “New Hampshire Mutual. John Martin speaking.”

“John, it’s Tricia Miles.”

“Hi, Tricia. No news yet,” he said, sounding quite cheerful. Sure, he didn’t have his life on hold.

“I guess I don’t have to remind you how exasperating it is to have to wait so long for a settlement.”

“You and everyone else. But we’re not dragging our feet. Just trying to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.”

And strain my patience to the breaking point, Tricia thought. She sighed. “So you’ve said. Can you give me any hope that a decision will be made soon?”

“As soon as I hear anything, I’ll call. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said, feeling anything but thankful.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” John said, and ended the call.

“Not soon enough,” Tricia grumbled.

“Darling, Trish,” Angelica said with sympathy, “you must distract yourself. Have you had a chance to finish the Chamber newsletter? I sent my column like you asked.”

“I saw it. I did a little judicious editing, but I think it’s fine. Do you want to read it now or wait until the layout is finished?”

“I trust that you only want me to shine for the Chamber, so I’m sure it’s fine, and I’ll look at it when I do the final read-through.”

“I’ll finish it by day’s end and e-mail you a copy at home.”

“Thanks.” Angelica scooped up the papers on her desk and deposited them in a drawer. “There’s nothing that’s screaming for my attention, so I think I’ll head on back to the Cookery. I have a ton of e-mail that needs attending to.”

Of course. Not only did she have to run her own little empire, but Nigela Ricita’s as well.

“Will I see you for dinner tonight, Trish? I’m making shrimp pasta salad.”

“I’d love it.”

“See you at the usual time, with martini glasses chilled,” Angelica called, and headed out the door.

I’d prefer a glass of Chardonnay, Tricia thought, then remembered what Pixie had said the evening before. “Wait a minute!”

Angelica paused at the entrance to the hall.

“Did you know that Pixie had a boyfriend?”

“Oh, sure. Fred Pillins, the guy who delivers meat to the café. Nice guy, but not what you’d call handsome,” she said, and winced.

“What does that mean?”

“He’s got a little scar on his face. But what does that matter? Pixie is smitten. It’s so funny to see them together. They get all shy and giggly.”

Giggly?

“How long have you known about them?”

She shrugged. “Since the day they met. Gotta go. Tootles!”

Tootles. It seemed to be Angelica’s new favorite word.

Tricia tapped the escape key on her computer and it came back to life. She pulled up the file for the newsletter and stared at the screen, thinking about all that had already transpired that day—and it was only 11:14. No wonder she felt exhausted.

Mariana came back into the office and settled on the chair in front of her desk, putting her cup down on the mouse pad.

Tricia stood and wandered over to join her. “I meant to ask you before this, did you know Peter Renquist?”

Mariana shook her head. “Not well. I talked to him on the phone when he’d call for Angelica. I’d see him in the grocery store. That kind of thing.”

“Did he have a girlfriend?”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” she said coyly.

“What do you mean?”

“He flirted with everyone—well, women,” she clarified. “Most of us kind of blew it off, but . . . not everybody.”

“Oh?”

She shrugged. “For a while, a lot of people thought he and Toni Bennett might be having an affair.”

Was that the reason Toni had shed tears when they’d talked about Pete?

“But?” Tricia pressed.

Again Mariana shrugged. “It wouldn’t have been a good idea. Toni’s husband is a big supporter of the second amendment. I’ve heard he’s got an arsenal. If he’d thought Pete was messing around with Toni, he’d have shot him for sure.”

“Toni said her parents had named her after the singer. I take it she didn’t take her husband’s name when they married.”

“That’s right. Not so many women do that anymore. It’s a shame. Still, she belongs to him, and he doesn’t let people forget it.”

So, there was a jealous husband hanging around. But Pete hadn’t been shot, he’d been shot up—quite a difference.

“What’s her husband’s name?”

“Jim Stark.”

Tricia blinked.

Her contractor.