Текст книги "Book Clubbed"

Автор книги: Lorna Barrett

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

SEVEN

Mr. Everett arrived for work at precisely two o’clock, just as Tricia grabbed her coat and headed across the street for Booked for Lunch. The place was deserted, and Bev, the waitress, had already gone home. That left just Angelica and her short-order cook to clean up the café and make it ready for the next day’s customers.

“Bev left early?” Tricia asked, taking off her coat and setting it on one of the booth seats.

Angelica nodded. “She wasn’t feeling well. If she has the beginnings of the flu, I don’t want her spreading it to me or Tommy—and especially not to my customers.” She picked up a couple of mustard-stained plates and a glass. “Don’t mind me. I’ll take these dishes in to Tommy and be right with you.” And with that, Angelica backed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Tricia hung up her coat and moved behind the counter, crouching before the small fridge. But when she opened the door, the tuna plate that was usually waiting for her was nowhere to be seen. She stood.

Angelica reappeared. “What a rotten day. It was dead slow, and then we had a bit of a rush at the end, but not enough to make a difference for this month’s bottom line.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and one for Tricia, too. “So, what’s the latest gossip around town?”

“Um, Ange, there’s no tuna plate for me.”

“Of course not. We’re having tea with Karen Johnson in less than an hour over at Haven’t Got a Clue.”

“At my store? Why?” she asked, irritated.

“Business has been at a standstill, and you’ve got that lovely readers’ nook just sitting there doing nothing.”

“What if I have customers?”

“I’m sure Pixie or Mr. Everett can wait on them while we talk to Karen.”

Tricia’s stomach grumbled in annoyance. “If this shindig is less than an hour away, shouldn’t you be getting ready for it?”

“I need to sit down for five minutes and rest,” Angelica said and slid onto one of the counter stools.

“Why can’t you meet with your Realtor here?”

“Much as I love this place, it isn’t the ambience I want to project when I speak to Karen.”

“Then why don’t you entertain her in your apartment?”

“This is a business meeting. And besides, my place is a mess. There was so much of that messy fingerprint powder all over my bedroom that I ended up sleeping in the living room. That stuff got everywhere. My dry cleaning bill is going to be three or four pages long. Thank goodness Antonio asked one of the ladies on his housekeeping staff if she’d like to earn a few extra bucks. It should be clean before the Cookery closes today.”

It was no good arguing with Angelica. She usually got her way no matter what. Tricia decided not to press it.

“So, have you heard anything new about Betsy’s murder?”

“You didn’t want to talk about it last night, but I had news yesterday. Did you know Christopher was Betsy Dittmeyer’s financial advisor?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. He’s the only one in town,” Angelica said and slipped off one of her three-inch heels, rubbing her foot.

“Yes, but he works for Nigela Ricita Associates.”

“So?”

“So, wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest to take on other clients?”

“I don’t see how,” Angelica said reasonably.

Tricia shrugged and her stomach growled. She wondered if there were any stray potato chips or dill slices hanging around the place, but everything looked tidy. And as usual, Angelica was probably right about her ex. “Christopher told me Betsy was a multimillionaire.”

“Honestly?” Angelica asked, wide-eyed.

Tricia nodded.

“I’m sure he shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“That’s what I thought. But like Grant Baker, he’s trying to get back in my good graces.”

“I imagine it would take a lot more than that, although I suppose it’s a good start,” Angelica said.

“He said he thought I could keep a secret.”

“Then I guess you just proved him wrong,” Angelica said and sipped her coffee.

“He knew I’d only tell you, and that you wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

“I certainly won’t. But how is this news relevant?”

“Betsy recently changed her beneficiary from her sister to a bunch of charities.”

“So, you think Joelle’s a suspect?”

“Maybe. But she’s not a very big person—at least not since she lost all that weight. Could she have pushed that bookshelf over? And if Betsy had let her in the back door, wouldn’t we have seen her in the shop just before the murder occurred?”

“We were a bit distracted,” Angelica reminded her.

Tricia frowned once again, wondering if she should mention to Angelica that she’d found herself flirting with Christopher. No, she decided, that would only encourage Angelica to try to get them back together and, despite her conflicted feelings toward the man, Tricia didn’t want that. Perhaps she’d flirted just to see if she still appealed to him. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, so she changed the subject.

“Did you know Betsy had a daughter with some kind of congenital health problem, and that she’d died at a young age?”

“No, I didn’t. She wasn’t one to blab about herself. Perhaps I would have had a bit more patience with her if I’d known.”

Tricia wondered if she should bring up the sore subject of her relationship with their mother, but feared Angelica might have to admit divided loyalties and she didn’t want to argue about it. She’d have to find some way to come to peace with the situation without Angelica’s input.

“Have you called an employment agency to find a replacement for Betsy?” Tricia asked at last.

Angelica eased her foot back into her shoe. “It’s Sunday,” she reminded Tricia. “Besides, out of respect for Betsy, I decided to wait until after the funeral.”

“When is that?”

“I have no idea. I’d better give Baker Funeral Home a call.”

“Betsy’s sister, Joelle, came to visit me yesterday.”

“What for?”

“She wanted to see where Betsy had died, but you’d already closed the Cookery.”

Angelica frowned. “I am not holding tours for people to see the death site—and especially not for Betsy’s relatives.”

“She told me she needed to make funeral arrangements. She doesn’t live in Stoneham, so maybe she’ll move the burial to Milford or Nashua.”

“Either way, I suppose I’d have to go—at least to the funeral parlor,” Angelica said without enthusiasm. “I mean, she did work for the Chamber and I am its president.”

“I keep thinking about Betsy having deep pockets. Why do you think she continued to work after coming into all that money?”

“Maybe she didn’t have anything else to do with her time. I never heard her talk about having any hobbies. She never brought a book to read during her lunch break. And she did not want the Chamber receptionist job to be reduced to a part-time position.”

“Maybe working was the only time she had contact with people,” Tricia suggested, and picked up her cup.

“Betsy never mentioned having any friends. I don’t think she had a pet, either.”

“What a terribly lonely life,” Tricia said.

“You know, I’m very sorry the woman is dead, but it gives me a chance to start fresh with the Chamber. I never did feel that Betsy had any loyalty to me. And I’d better spend some serious time trying to figure out what needs to be done to keep the Chamber going for the next week or so until I can hire someone else.”

“At least you have Frannie as a sounding board. She had the job for over a decade.”

“I hate to do that, but I don’t know where the Chamber stands on something as simple as the reservations for the next breakfast meeting. And there’s the monthly newsletter. Betsy took care of that, too. If nothing else, she was extremely efficient.”

“What an epitaph. Surely she had more going for herself than that.”

“If she did, she kept it to herself,” Angelica admitted.

Tricia pushed her cup away. She didn’t want any more coffee and she didn’t want to talk about Betsy’s death anymore, either. “Did Patty come in for lunch today?”

“Patty?” Angelica asked. “Patty who?”

“You know, Patty Perkins—from Russ Smith’s office.”

“Oh, that Patty. Yes.”

“So what does Russ think about being a daddy?” Tricia asked, eager to know the answer.

“Apparently it was quite a shock. Patty said he’s been walking around like a zombie. Before the wedding, he and Nikki never talked about starting a family. He told Patty he thought they were both past it. Now he’s worried about money. If Nikki sells the Patisserie, she won’t make much on the deal. She owes too much and has almost nothing in equity. And ad revenue is down at the Stoneham Weekly News, too.”

“Oh, dear,” Tricia said. “It seems like the two of them never get a break.”

“I wonder if I should talk to Nikki,” Angelica mused.

“And say what? That you think she should keep her business?”

“She doesn’t have to be on the premises twelve hours a day to keep it and make a profit. My success with the Cookery is proof of that.”

“She wants to be a stay-at-home mom.”

“Right now she does, but how will she feel when the little tyke is ready for school?” Angelica asked.

“Maybe she’ll have a couple more kids by then,” Tricia said.

“Or maybe in the future Russ will take a more active role with birth control.”

“Now that’s a subject I don’t want to get into,” Tricia said, remembering her earlier conversation with Pixie. She looked at her watch. “I’d better get back to my store. Do you want me to take anything over to Haven’t Got a Clue for your afternoon tea?” she asked as she got up from her seat at the counter, shrugged into her jacket, and donned her hat.

“Thanks, but Tommy and I can handle it,” Angelica said and rose from her seat. “I’m going to change and I’ll be at your place in about half an hour.”

Tricia nodded, waved, and exited the café. She had to wait for a lone car to pass, and then crossed the street. Before she opened the door to Haven’t Got a Clue, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle and turned to look up at Christopher’s third-floor office window. Sure enough, he stood there, as if waiting for her. He waved and, although disconcerted, she found herself waving back before she hurried into her store. She didn’t like living in a fishbowl.

*   *   *

Angelica was as good as her word. Within half an hour, she and her short-order cook had assembled several plastic-wrapped trays on the beverage counter at Haven’t Got a Clue. “Want me to help set things up?” Tommy asked.

“Yes, please,” Angelica said and then dispatched Tricia to make a pot of tea. By the time Tricia arrived back at the shop, the readers’ nook had undergone a complete transformation. The dog-eared issues of Mystery Scene magazine had disappeared, and the big square table sported a linen tablecloth with three settings of a beautiful pink rose-patterned china upon it and a matching three-tiered plate filled with delectable goodies: finger sandwiches, scones, and what looked like handmade dainty chocolate cups filled with mousse and crowned with fresh raspberries—at this time of year?

Tricia set the teapot down on the table and looked at her watch. “If your Realtor doesn’t arrive soon, the tea will be stewed.”

As if on cue, the shop door opened, the little bell above it tinkling merrily, and all eyes turned to see who’d entered. The tall, handsome black woman with a blue wool coat and matching fur-trimmed hat spoke. “Ms. Miles?”

Tricia and Angelica both piped up, “Yes?”

Angelica turned her head to glare at Tricia, and then back to the visitor. “I’m Angelica Miles. You must be Karen Johnson. Please come in.”

Pixie and Mr. Everett, who’d been hanging around and watching the food setup with hungry eyes, turned away, heading in different directions, trying to look busy.

“May I take your coat?” Tricia asked.

“Thank you,” Karen said and began to unbutton it. Under it she wore a pink wool suit and black knee-high leather boots. She took off her hat, revealing close-cropped natural hair, and handed it, too, to Tricia.

“Won’t you sit down?” Angelica asked, offering Karen the seat of her choice. She took the one that faced west, overlooking Main Street.

Tricia headed for the back of the store to hang up the coat, noting the hat’s fur trim was real—mink, by the feel of it. By the time she returned, Angelica was also seated, and pouring the tea. “Karen, this is my sister, Tricia. She owns Haven’t Got a Clue.”

“It’s a charming store,” Karen said with admiration. “I love what you’ve done with its restoration.”

Tricia felt a blush warm her cheeks. She never tired of hearing praise for her store. “Thank you.”

“I must admit, the first time I set eyes on Stoneham, several years ago, I wasn’t the least bit impressed, but it sure has changed—and for the better,” Karen continued.

“Thank you,” Angelica said, accepting the credit and causing Tricia to frown. “In summer, there are pots of flowers in front of all the stores. It’s really very lovely. Last year we were a runner-up as one of the prettiest villages in New Hampshire.”

“I’ve seen the pictures on the village website,” Karen said, picking up the sugar tongs and adding two cubes to her cup. Angelica (or had it been Tommy?) had piped dainty pastel flowers on each of them. Karen picked up her spoon and gently stirred the tea. “Everything looks lovely. You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Angelica said. “I’m so pleased to welcome NRA Realty to the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce. Have you decided where to set up your offices?”

“For the moment, I’ll be operating out of one of the bungalows at the Brookview Inn, but I hope it’s only temporary. Ideally, Ms. Ricita would like the business to own its own building, but that’s problematical at this point.”

“Bob Kelly doesn’t want to rent space to the Chamber. I’m almost positive he won’t want to rent to his direct competition,” Angelica said.

“I’ve called and left messages, but it’s been difficult pinning the man down,” Karen admitted.

“What are your plans for the agency?” Tricia asked.

Karen turned her attention to Tricia. “My team and I will visit everyone in the village who has a Kelly Realty sign on their lawn or window and ask them if their business needs are being met.”

“You have a team?” Tricia asked.

“Right now, just a receptionist. But Ms. Ricita intends to branch out into neighboring towns. She feels there’s a real need in the area that isn’t being properly addressed.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” Angelica piped up, and passed the plate of finger sandwiches to Karen, who took one of the salmon sandwiches. Angelica selected an egg salad sandwich, a scone, and one of the chocolate goodies. When the plate made its way to Tricia she selected tuna, happy to finally get her lunch.

Angelica picked up her cup and took a sip. “I want the Chamber of Commerce to sign on as your very first client. We’ve had a devil of a time finding office space.”

Karen sobered. “Yes, I heard what happened yesterday. Very unsettling.”

“It happens all the time around here,” Pixie said from her post at the cash desk.

As one, Tricia and Angelica turned to glare at her. Pixie found somewhere else to look. Tricia turned back to Karen. “That’s my assistant, Pixie Poe.”

“Oh? Related to the mystery master Edgar Allan Poe?”

“So she says,” Angelica said sweetly, and promptly changed the subject. “How long do you think it will take for you to wrestle up some clients willing to sell or lease?”

Karen looked thoughtful. “That depends on how long they’ve signed with Kelly Realty and if they’re happy. Although from the grumblings I’ve already heard around the village, people aren’t at all happy with Mr. Kelly—especially his tenants here on Main Street.”

“You’ve already spoken with them?” Tricia asked and selected a raisin scone. Angelica had thoughtfully provided sweet butter, clotted cream, and raspberry jam to go with them.

Karen smiled. “Last evening I visited that cute little tavern across the street. The manager treated me to a drink on the house and we had a very nice chat. Some of her customers eavesdropped and offered their own opinions.”

Tricia chewed a bit of her scone and looked up, noticing Pixie still had one ear cocked in their direction. She swallowed, and picked up her teacup. “It seems to be a village habit.”

“All good-natured,” Karen assured her.

“Try one of these chocolate mousse treats. I made them myself,” Angelica said, offering the plate back to Karen.

She selected one and took a small bite, savored it for a moment, and swallowed. “Mmm. Delicious.”

“Have you officially put out your realty shingle?” Tricia asked.

“Yes.” Karen reached down for the purse at her feet, opened it, and withdrew several business cards. She handed one each to Tricia and Angelica.

“If you’d like to officially sign up for Chamber membership, I have the paperwork right here,” Angelica said, reaching for her own briefcase.

“I would, thank you.”

Angelica handed her a clipboard with the registration forms, as well as a ballpoint pen. She smiled. “It’s so nice to see a new business opening here in Stoneham. And nice that someone is giving Bob Kelly some real competition.”

“We wouldn’t be opening the agency if we didn’t feel there was a need in the community,” Karen said with conviction.

Angelica’s smile broadened. Tricia knew that smile—and didn’t for a minute trust it. Was it possible Angelica had suggested to Antonio—or even Nigela Ricita herself—that the development company should invest more of its time and assets in Stoneham . . . just to bug Bob?

Knowing Angelica, anything was possible.

EIGHT

Angelica was just as efficient at collecting her tea party paraphernalia as she’d been at disseminating it across Haven’t Got a Clue. Tricia and Pixie helped her take the boxes back to the Cookery, where she assured them that, thanks to her dumbwaiter, she could handle things from there on her own. She’d left all the leftovers for Pixie and Mr. Everett, who spent a pleasant half hour sharing their hopes that Angelica might stage more tea parties in the shop and on a regular basis. Tricia’s fridge was full with the rest of the leftovers that her employees planned to take home, as well.

The clouds seemed to press down harder on Stoneham as the day wound down. Tricia stood behind the cash desk, reading Ngaio Marsh’s Death in a White Tie, while Mr. Everett dozed in the readers’ nook and Pixie fussed with Sarah Jane in her carriage, strategically placing yet another Nancy Drew mystery in her tiny plastic hands.

All was peaceful. So when the phone rang, shattering the silence, all three of them started. Tricia grabbed the phone before it would shriek again. “Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia. How may I help you?”

“By not mentioning me by name,” said Grace Harris-Everett, Mr. Everett’s bride of two years. “I don’t want William to know I’m calling.”

“Very well. What can I do for you?” Tricia said, playing along.

“Did you know that William has never had a birthday party?” Grace said, sounding appalled.

“No, I didn’t.”

“His birthday is on Valentine’s Day and I would dearly love to give him one, but I need help.”

“I’d be glad to offer my assistance,” Tricia said, hoping her words made it sound like this was an actual business call.

“Oh, good. Could you come over to my office to talk about it?”

Tricia turned her back on her employees and lowered her voice. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, he might see me enter your building.”

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Perhaps we could meet on neutral ground,” Tricia suggested. “How about at the pub?”

“Oh, that sounds positively decadent. Yes, let’s meet there. How about in five minutes? Would that be convenient?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“I’d best get there first, in case William looks out the window and sees me. Can you keep him occupied for the next few minutes?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll see you there. Good-bye.”

“Thank you for calling,” Tricia said and hung up the phone as Pixie wandered up to the sales counter.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

Tricia decided not to admonish her for eavesdropping—not this time, at least. “Nothing much.”

Pixie gave her a suspicious look. Since Mr. Everett had his back turned to them, Tricia held a finger to her lips to indicate Pixie shouldn’t speak. Then she grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper and wrote: Don’t let on. Working on a surprise for Mr. Everett. Will tell you all about it later.

Pixie nodded and twisted an imaginary key to lock her lips.

Tricia smiled and nodded. “I need to run an errand. Do you think you can hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

“Sure thing,” Pixie said. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been inundated with customers all day.”

Tricia looked out the window and saw Grace exit the building that not only housed the offices of the Everett Foundation, which Grace had established to distribute the money Mr. Everett had won from a Powerball lottery drawing, but was also where Angelica’s café, Booked for Lunch, resided.

“I’ll just get my coat and be on my way,” Tricia said.

“How long will you be gone?” Pixie asked.

“Not long. I’ll be back before we close for the day.”

“Okay.”

As Tricia left the store, she paused at the edge of the sidewalk and looked up. Sure enough, once again Christopher was standing in front of his office window. He waved, but this time Tricia didn’t wave back. He was spying on her.

She looked both ways before crossing the empty street. The wind was bitter cold, blowing tiny icy snowflakes into Tricia’s eyes. She squinted as she made her way to the Dog-Eared Page. When she opened its door, she was instantly enveloped in its cozy atmosphere. She hung up her coat and rubbed some warmth into her hands as she searched for Grace, who sat at a booth in the back.

Happy hour wasn’t set to begin for at least another hour, but already there were four people sitting at the old oak bar conversing with the pub’s manager, Michele Fowler. Michele waved a quick hello before she turned her attention back to her patrons.

Tricia hurried down the length of the pub and sidled into the booth, across from Grace.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said. “I took the liberty of ordering cream sherry for the both of us. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. But I was surprised to see you’re working on a Sunday.”

“Just catching up on paperwork while William is at work for you.”

Tricia nodded. “Now tell me, what are you planning for Mr. Everett’s party?”

“That’s just it—I haven’t had a chance to do anything as of yet. I only found out this morning that William has never had a birthday party, and that’s a crime for anyone nearing his seventy-eighth year on this earth.”

“How have you celebrated in the past?”

“For the past two years we’ve gone out for a quiet dinner. Ideally, I’d love to throw him the biggest, most lavish party Stoneham has ever seen, but I know he’d be embarrassed by the fuss and attention.”

“Last year Ginny bought cupcakes and we sang ‘Happy Birthday’ during a lag in business, which isn’t hard to do at this time of the year,” Tricia said, picked up her drink, and took a sip. The sherry was sweet and its warmth seemed to immediately spread through her. “How about dinner at the Brookview with just a few close friends?”

“That’s what I thought, too. Who do you think I should invite?”

“Ginny and Antonio, Pixie and me. It’s not a lot of people, but we’re all his friends. It would be a low-key celebration, but nice.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I wish my secretary hadn’t had her appendix out yesterday, otherwise she could have helped with the arrangements.”

“Poor Linda. I hadn’t heard.”

“She’ll be off work for a week. I have a temp coming in tomorrow, but it’ll be all she can do just to keep us from going under.”

“I’d be glad to help any way I can. What would you like me to do?”

“William sticks to me like glue when we aren’t both working. If I order a special cake from the Patisserie, perhaps you could pick it up and deliver it to the restaurant on Friday.”

“Of course. Is there anything Pixie and I can give Mr. Everett as a gift?”

“No gifts,” Grace insisted. “We’re at the point in our lives when we’re shedding material things, not acquiring new ones. A birthday card and a warm hug should suffice.” Grace took another sip of sherry and sobered. “I hate to bring up an unpleasant subject, but is there any news about Betsy Dittmeyer’s death?”

“Not that I heard.”

“I can’t say I’ll miss her. She was quite abrupt with me the last few times we spoke.”

“When did you last talk to her?”

“A few days ago. She contacted me, asking how she could go about setting up a charitable foundation.”

“Oh?” Tricia prompted. She wasn’t about to tell Grace about Betsy’s financial situation, but this sounded interesting. “Did she explain why?”

Grace shook her head and took another sip of sherry. “I started to tell her how I’d gone about setting up the Everett Foundation, but she kept interrupting me with questions, and then she wouldn’t let me answer them. She was really quite rude.”

“Did she tell you what kind of charity she wanted to start?”

Again Grace shook her head. “We never got into the details. I got the feeling she might want to protect her assets, perhaps through a trust. I tried to explain the difference to her, but she cut me off, quickly said good-bye, and hung up.”

“How odd.” Tricia drained her glass.

“Would you care for another?” Grace offered.

Tricia shook her head. “Thank you, but I’d better get back to the store. We’ll be closing soon.”

“And I’d better suck on a breath mint. I wouldn’t want William to think I’ve taken to drinking during the day, although I must admit I could get used to slipping in here every afternoon as a treat.”

“Why don’t the two of you try it now and then?”

“Oh, William never drinks and drives.”

“They also serve soft drinks,” Tricia reminded her.

“So they do,” Grace said with a smile. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

Tricia stood. “I’ll talk to you soon and we’ll firm up the arrangements.”

“Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“You, too.”

Tricia retrieved her coat and hat from a peg by the front door and left the pub. Once she’d crossed the street, she turned to look up at Christopher’s office window. No light illuminated the gloom, and there was no sign of him lurking about, either. Good.

Tricia had been stalked once before and wasn’t keen on a repeat performance. What was it Christopher had said the day before? “No matter how much you deny it, it’s not over between us, Tricia. One day we will get back together.”

A shiver ran down Tricia’s back and it had nothing to do with the temperature.