Текст книги "Book Clubbed"

Автор книги: Lorna Barrett

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

NINETEEN

As usual, Tricia crossed the street to join Angelica at Booked for Lunch just after the café officially closed for the day. But when she opened the door she didn’t see her sister. Was she destined to eat another lonely lunch from a foam box? “Ange?”

“In the kitchen. Be right there.”

Relieved, Tricia slipped out of her coat and set it on one of the booth seats, then walked around the counter to find her tuna plate in the little fridge under the counter. She’d just sat down when Angelica burst out of the kitchen with a large salad plate. “What a day. I feel like I’ve been on the go since the minute I got up.” She set the plate down on the counter and turned for the coffee urn, pouring a couple of cups before she plunked down on the stool next to Tricia.

“And have you been on the go since dawn?”

“Yes. The new Chamber secretary started today. I talked it over with her and let her know that she may not be my starting quarterback when we move into the new office space, that I would probably need someone full-time to take that position. Thank goodness she seemed fine with it.” Angelica stabbed a piece of lettuce, dipping it into the small container of dressing that sat on the side of her plate.

“Have you had a chance to talk to Chief Baker yet?”

Angelica winced. “No. He never got back to me after I left a message last night, and I’m not going to call him again, either. What’s the big deal, anyway? You’ve already spoken to him.”

“I have. But I don’t want him to think you’ve been keeping information from him that could prove vital to his investigation.”

“I don’t see how he could think that. He didn’t return my call and he has the same computer files I’ve got. It’s up to him to ferret out what’s important and what isn’t.”

“Yes, but you have the perspective to judge that. He doesn’t.”

“I suppose. Look, if you’re so interested, why don’t you go over all the files with him?”

“I’ve done my part: I brought it to his attention. But we agreed that as Chamber president the bulk of it should come from you.”

“Well, I really don’t want to be involved.”

“But you already are.”

Angelica sighed. “You like all this intrigue. I don’t. If you want to compare notes with the man, go ahead and do it.” Angelica dipped a piece of lettuce into her salad dressing. “While we’re on the subject, have you heard anything new on Betsy’s murder?”

“Not exactly. Although I wonder if I’ve been thinking about her death in the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there are all kinds of reasons why people would want her out of the way. But the suspects keep petering out. I really don’t think her husband had anything to do with it. Her sister might have been angry that she’d been cut out of Betsy’s will, but I can’t picture her killing Betsy over it. They didn’t seem close and she apparently has no idea of the estate’s worth, so why would it come as a shock that she’d been disinherited? And since Betsy wasn’t in ill health, there was no reason to suspect she’d die of natural—or unnatural—causes anytime soon.”

“That’s true,” Angelica grudgingly agreed.

“And even if Bob Kelly is a bit of a rat, I can’t see him killing her. By the way, I spoke with him this morning.”

“Oh?” Angelica asked warily.

“I told him Betsy had been skimming Chamber funds and he seemed genuinely angry. But that’s hardly a motive for murder, since he’s no longer the Chamber president.”

Angelica was quiet for a long moment. “Just where did you find Bob? Not that I have any real interest.”

Oh, yeah?

“He was skulking between the Have a Heart bookstore and the Patisserie. He looked half frozen. He was angry to hear that Betsy was skimming funds, but even more angry with you.”

“With me?” Angelica repeated, puzzled.

“He says you’ve ruined his life.”

“Well, somebody had to do it,” Angelica said in jest, and cut a cherry tomato in half.

“I asked him about the Chamber member list Betsy kept. He knew about it, but he swears Betsy collected the information and that he told her to delete it.”

“Which makes me think it was something Betsy wanted for her own amusement. Granted, she collected a lot of nasty gossip, but I don’t remember seeing anything salacious enough to warrant someone paying to have it suppressed.”

“You’re right,” Tricia admitted and poked at her own salad.

“By the way, just what were you doing gallivanting around the village when you should have been minding the business at your store?” Angelica asked.

“I got a call from Billie Burke. She said she couldn’t find you.”

Angelica looked up sharply. “Why would she need to?”

“Because Dumpster divers, looking for treasure, had descended on the rental house.”

“So what? We’d already been through everything. There was nothing left of value.”

“Au contraire. One of them found a solitaire diamond ring.”

“Don’t tease me, Trish,” Angelica said tartly.

“I’m not. When I found them there, I immediately called Grant, who came right down from the police station and told them they had to leave. I looked in their bags of loot and saw the ring. It’s got to be worth at least a grand. Do you think it could have been Betsy’s engagement ring?”

“Maybe. She never wore any rings during the time I’d known her. Do you still have it?”

Tricia shook her head. “Antonio showed up with his contractor just then and I gave it to him.” She left out the part about Baker’s engagement joke. She wasn’t in the mood to be teased by Angelica.

“What’s got me puzzled is how those guys knew to come to the rental house and sift through the trash. I didn’t tell anyone. Antonio swears that he and Ginny didn’t talk about it. That only leaves—”

“Me?” Angelica asked, sounding defensive.

“It’s well-known you’ve got the village’s biggest gossip in your employ. Did you mention it to Frannie?”

“No,” Angelica answered automatically, but then frowned. “At least, not directly. I did speak to Antonio this morning and the subject did come up.”

“Were you in the Cookery at the time?”

Angelica nodded grimly. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Trish. I should know better than to talk about sensitive subjects when Frannie’s around.”

“It’s over and done with. I’m just worried the word will reach Joelle. Frannie’s the one who called her to say Betsy had been killed.”

“Really? I had no idea. But Joelle hasn’t got a leg to stand on. Antonio has already spoken with a lawyer. The trash in that house belonged to NRA, no ifs, ands, or buts. Antonio is using the cash we found to pay for the repairs to the building. Apparently they haven’t figured out what kind of a structure they want to put in place of the house.”

“I thought they had it all figured out.”

“According to Antonio, they haven’t even spoken to their architect. I guess they’re not in a terrible hurry to knock it down, which is good for the Chamber—at least in the short run.”

“Antonio invited me to hang around while he talked to the contractor. Are you interested in what they decided?”

Angelica’s eyes lit up. “Definitely.”

Tricia spent the next twenty minutes updating Angelica on plans for the new office space, including upgrades to the electrical and the kitchen. “They found hardwood floors under that dirty rug in the living room. They’re going to sand and refinish them.”

“What about the timeline?” Angelica asked, getting up and pouring another coffee for both of them.

“As it’s winter, Jim Stark isn’t exactly rolling in work. They’re going to start tomorrow.”

“That soon? Oh, good. I’m so eager to get all the Chamber’s baggage out of my storeroom. I feel like I should fumigate the place to eliminate the stench of death, too.”

“Does it really smell?”

“Only in my mind,” Angelica admitted. “I’ll be glad to put all of this behind me and get back to work for the Chamber. I have so many wonderful ideas that will take the organization to a whole new level and I feel like I can’t get started until we’re in the new office.”

“It’s only a matter of days now,” Tricia reminded her.

“I’m going to need some volunteers to champion certain new committees. Can I count on you?”

Tricia shrugged. “I guess so. I’ve got nothing else to do in the evenings.”

“Good. I’ll keep you posted.”

Tricia looked at her half-eaten lunch and then her watch. “It’s time for me to get back to work.”

“You mean sleuthing?” Angelica teased.

“Hardly. Then again, with so few customers, there’s not much work to be done, either.”

“Are you sure you really need two employees—especially during the slowest time of the retail year?”

“Probably not. But I couldn’t bear to lose either of them. And as long as I’m in the black, I’m not going to let either of them go.”

“Good for you,” Angelica said. “It’s too bad other businesses don’t feel the same. People need jobs. Jobs feed the economy. Everyone benefits.”

“Speaking of my employees, I’d better get back to my shop.” Tricia got up from her stool and grabbed her coat. “Thanks for lunch. I’ll talk to you later.”

Pixie and Mr. Everett were standing at the cash desk conversing when Tricia got back to Haven’t Got a Clue. “Looks like a welcoming committee,” she commented and took off her coat.

“Sort of,” Pixie admitted. “Mr. E and I thought we might want to see if we can simplify the inventory system. Since it’s been more quiet than the morgue around here, we wondered if it was okay to play with it for the rest of the day. What do you think?”

“Of course. Miss Marple and I can hold down the fort while you work up in the storeroom.”

“Great. Come on, Mr. E, we could get a lot done before the end of the day.”

“Would you mind hanging up my coat?” Tricia asked.

“Sure thing,” Pixie said, taking it from her, and then she and Mr. Everett headed for the back of the store, where Pixie hung up the coat, and then she and Mr. Everett headed up the stairs to the storeroom above.

With nothing better to do, Tricia bent down to retrieve Betsy’s heavy Bible from under the cash desk, where she’d stashed it hours before. It made a distinct thump as it hit the top of the glass display case. Tricia turned the leather-clad cover so that the title page was visible. It was a King James Version that had seen a lot of hard use over the years. Tricia flipped through the pages to the center of the book. Based on the family tree, it was well over a hundred years old. For its age, it wasn’t in such terrible condition, but it wouldn’t be worth much. Too bad Betsy’s relatives weren’t famous—or infamous—which would have considerably increased its value.

Someone dressed in a camouflage jacket passed by the big display window, walking at a fast clip. It could only be Bob. For someone who claimed he didn’t want to be caught, what was he doing walking down Stoneham’s main drag in broad daylight? Or, after their conversation earlier that day, had he changed his mind and now wanted to be caught?

Tricia looked back down at the Bible. Pack rat that she was, Betsy had stuffed an inordinate amount of papers, news clippings, and recipes into the book. As she flipped more of the pages, Tricia set the loose pieces of paper aside. The Bible did have nice illustrations, but the binding was in poor condition. She could repair it, but it would take quite a bit of effort and she felt no particular urge to do so, especially since Betsy had probably broken quite a few of the commandments listed within it. That, of course, wasn’t the Bible’s fault.

The camo-clad figure passed by, going in the opposite direction, walking at a fast clip.

Tricia assembled the papers into a neat pile, set them on the top page, and closed the book, putting it out of harm’s way on the shelf below the sales counter. She walked over to the door, taking a look outside. Sure enough, Bob walked by once again, and she stuck her head out to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Are you alone?” he asked, furtively glancing around.

“Yes. You look frozen stiff. For heaven’s sake come inside and have a cup of coffee and warm up.”

Bob wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing vigorously. “Thanks, Tricia. I was hoping you’d say that.”

Tricia ushered Bob in and closed the door behind him. He pulled off his gloves, rubbing his hands together for warmth, and stamped his feet on the bristle welcome mat. Tricia wrinkled her nose as she passed him. How long had it been since he’d had a shower?

By the time she’d poured a cup of coffee, Bob joined her at the beverage station. She set the cup down before him and pushed the tray with creamer and sugar forward. Bob doctored his coffee and Tricia set a plate of cookies in front of him.

“When was the last time you had a decent meal?” she asked.

“About a week ago. Nikki Brimfield tosses out a lot of good stuff every night, but after a while even cookies and cake get boring. I’ve been dreaming about a burger and fries.”

“You can’t go on like this, Bob. You need to face up to whatever it is you’re running from.”

“I will, I will. I’ve done a lot of thinking since we talked earlier. I just need to figure out what I’m going to say to Chief Baker.”

“Come on, Bob, level with me. What did you do in your past life that is so god-awful that you’d risk your health, and your business, to hide?”

Bob looked away and took a deep gulp of coffee, as though it might give him the strength to keep talking. “It was a stupid high school prank. When you’re a kid, you do stupid things. You don’t think about the consequences or realize that one idiotic move could follow you the rest of your life. I didn’t have a father figure to warn me about such things. I thought I knew better than anybody else. I thought I knew it all.”

It seemed to Tricia that he hadn’t changed much in that regard. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll go to Stella Craft.” Stella was one of Stoneham High School’s retired English teachers who, until her retirement some ten or twelve years before, at one time or another seemed to have taught just about every student who walked through that school’s hallowed doors. “She’s got a mind like a steel trap. And if she’s reminded of whatever it was you’ve done—after years of not thinking about it—it’s sure to get out.”

Bob seemed to squirm. “Okay, but please don’t tell anyone else about it. You have to swear.”

Tricia sighed, bored. But she dutifully raised her hand and said, “I swear.”

Bob seemed to wrestle with his conscience. He looked like he was going to speak, then frowned, fidgeted a bit, then opened his mouth to speak again—and didn’t. The man was positively maddening.

“Come on, Bob, I haven’t got all day,” Tricia chided.

“Oh, all right. I had a nickname back in high school.”

“What’s so shameful about a nickname?” she asked.

“The shame is how I acquired it. They called me”—his face grew beet red—“the mooner.”

Tricia blinked, and tried to stifle a smile. “The mooner?”

“Yeah. I was in my senior year and a bunch of buddies and I would ride around Stoneham and Milford in George Stewart’s Chevy Caprice and moon people.”

Tricia struggled to keep a straight face. “And I take it you got caught?”

“Yeah, I got caught,” he emphasized. “We all did it, but I was the only one who was actually apprehended with my pants down around my ankles. I was arrested for lewd behavior. Got hauled up in front of a judge and everything. My mother wanted to disown me. I’ve never been so ashamed in all my life.”

“What was your sentence?”

“A hundred hours of community service.”

“And did you complete your punishment?” Tricia asked.

“No. After graduation, I skipped town. I didn’t come back for almost twenty years. By then everybody seemed to have forgotten about it. But I knew if I was ever arrested that the truth would come out and I might get tossed in jail—and have my reputation ruined.”

“How much of your sentence did you complete?”

“About ten hours. I was supposed to pick up trash, dig holes, and other kinds of manual labor. It was hard work. Really hard work.”

“That’s why they call it punishment,” Tricia said, but Bob had no comment. “Where have you been hiding for the past week?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m not telling you so that you can get me and another person in trouble.”

“I’ve already promised I wouldn’t talk about your problem to anyone. I assume you’ve been hiding at one of your properties.”

“Yeah, and after a week my welcome has worn pretty thin.”

“Look, Bob, why don’t you just turn yourself in? You might have to complete your community service, but I doubt they’re going to toss you in jail for this or for vandalizing Stan Berry’s house.”

“Fat lot you know,” he said, sounding forlorn.

“Have you consulted a lawyer?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then you have no clue what is liable to happen to you.”

“With my string of bad luck, they’ll likely toss me straight in jail and throw away the key.”

“I think you’re overreacting. But would doing a few days’ jail time be preferable to losing your business? I’ll bet your clients are getting pretty annoyed at not being able to reach you. You’re playing right into NRA Realty’s hands. If you don’t show your clients some tender loving care, NRA will swoop down and sign them up.”

Bob’s entire body seemed to sag. “I guess you’re right.” He looked up, turning his sad green eyes on her. “Would you broker a deal for me with Chief Baker?”

Tricia always was a sucker for green eyes. “I’d be happy to.”

“Thank you. And please don’t tell Angelica about this. I’ve had about all the gloating from her I can stand.”

“I promise not to tell Angelica,” Tricia said, which was too bad, because about now Angelica would probably love to have a good laugh at Bob’s expense. “Have you got your cell phone?”

Bob nodded. “Yeah, but I left the charger at home. The battery’s dead.”

“Then how can I contact you?”

“How about I contact you tomorrow morning? Nine o’clock at the back of your store?”

“What’s wrong with me calling the chief right now?”

“I have a couple of things to take care of before I’ll be ready to face a jail cell, although I guess I could come back in an hour or so.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do,” Tricia promised. “Will you be all right out there on the mean streets of Stoneham?” Bob didn’t pick up on her sarcasm. Instead he polished off the last of his coffee and stuffed a few of the cookies into his jacket pocket. “I’ll be back in an hour. Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bob turned for the exit. “Could you take a look—to make sure there aren’t any cops out on the street?”

“Sure,” Tricia said and led the way to the door. She stuck her head outside and looked from right to left. Not a soul in sight. “All clear.”

Bob pulled his knit cap down low over his brow. “Thanks again,” he said and slipped out the door, quickly heading south down the sidewalk. Tricia shut the door and shook her head. She glanced over to the shelf above the register where Miss Marple sat with all four of her legs tucked under her. “What do you make of that?”

Miss Marple gave a bored “Yow,” and shut her eyes.

“I agree,” Tricia said. She moved to stand in front of the sales desk, and picked up the art deco phone, dialing Chief Baker’s personal number. It rang twice before he picked up.

“Grant, it’s Tricia.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you reconsidered my Friday-night dinner invitation thanks to me chasing away your Dumpster divers?” he asked eagerly.

“Sorry, no. I told you, I already have plans. But I do have something else to offer you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Bob Kelly.”

“Kelly? Have you been harboring him?” Baker asked sternly.

“Of course not. But I have seen him around the village and I did manage to speak with him. He’s tired of hiding. He wants to turn himself in. But he’s also worried about a transgression from his past.”

“I know all about the mooning,” Baker said, without humor, “and that he never completed his community service.”

“Is he liable to get jail time for a youthful indiscretion?” Tricia asked.

“That’ll be up to a judge. Kelly has done a lot for this town over the years. I can’t see him going to jail at this point—over that or the new charges that are likely to be filed against him, but he might have his original sentence doubled, tripled, or even quadrupled.”

“I think he’s already come to that same conclusion,” Tricia said.

“When will you talk to him next?”

“He said he’d return to my store in an hour. What’s the best way to handle this? Should I call you to pick him up or take him directly to the police station?”

“I’d prefer not to lose him again. I’ll set up a stakeout to catch him.”

“Do you really need to do that? I mean, the man is already deeply ashamed of what happened in the past. Couldn’t you just pick him up here?”

“Well, okay,” Baker grudgingly replied. “I’ll show up in an hour. And thanks for taking this on.”

“I hate to think of Bob standing out in the cold for yet another day, and goodness knows where he’s been going at night to stay warm.”

“He’s been extremely foolish, that’s for sure.”

There was no arguing that. “Okay. I’ll see you soon. And thank you—for Bob . . . and from me.”

“Right.” The connection was broken and Tricia hung up the receiver. If Bob had been a woman, Tricia would have called him a diva. Why couldn’t he have just faced up to his past like a man instead of hiding in the shadows for the past week?

In an hour’s time it would no longer be her concern.

One down, one to go.

How much longer would it take to wrap up Betsy Dittmeyer’s murder?