FOUR
The rest of the day passed quickly. After putting away her groceries, Tricia rejoined Mr. Everett, and they enjoyed an afternoon of brisk sales. Thanks to the bright fall foliage and customers visiting the Bashful Moose’s tasting room, sales were at least 10 percent higher than they’d been the year before. Sadly, Tricia was becoming increasingly dependent on selling reprints of classic mysteries as vintage editions were getting harder and harder to find. But the store’s accounts were in the black, which was the most important factor.
Closing time rolled around, and Mr. Everett hung up his hunter green apron and returned to the front of the shop. “The weatherman says rain tomorrow.”
That probably meant they’d have fewer customers, but then they could catch up on paperwork and assess inventory. And Tricia hoped Pixie would have good luck at the estate sales she attended. Tricia always felt more than a little guilty about acquiring books that way. Someone had to die to keep her shelves filled with product. But then, as Pixie assured her, buying those tomes kept them from landfills and entertained even more readers. Pixie was wise that way.
“The end of another fine workday,” Mr. Everett intoned as he zipped his jacket.
“Any plans for the evening?” Tricia inquired.
“Just to sit before the fire with Grace and the kitties and chill.”
“Chill?” Tricia asked, amused.
“It’s my night to make dinner. I may play some classic rock tunes as I chop the veggies for the salad.”
“Classic rock? You?” Tricia asked, surprised.
“Of course. What kind of music did you think I listened to?”
Tricia shrugged. “I don’t know. Frank Sinatra?”
Mr. Everett frowned. “Is that because I’m old?” he challenged.
“No!” Tricia insisted, not quite truthfully.
“My parents listened to Sinatra,” Mr. Everett said with emphasis. “I was—and still am—into progressive rock. The Who, Yes, Rush, to name a few.”
Tricia knew at least one song by each of those groups. She just hadn’t pictured staid, quiet Mr. Everett as a fan of such loud, often raucous music. He must be bored silly by the music he was forced to listen to while working at Haven’t Got a Clue—music she preferred. Sometimes, Tricia let Pixie choose the music. Pixie, younger than Mr. Everett by at least two decades, was enthralled with the likes of Sinatra and the big bands from the 1930s and ’40s.
“When Grace was sentenced to that nursing home before you worked so hard to free her,” Mr. Everett continued, “she said the music sing-alongs were painful to endure. They kept pushing songs from her childhood when what she wanted to hear was ABBA, Madonna, Billy Joel, and Fleetwood Mac.”
“Really?” Tricia asked.
“No lie.” Mr. Everett’s expression softened into a wistful smile. “I wish you could see my beautiful Grace dance in the kitchen as she cooks our breakfasts and dinners. My Alice did the same. There’s something magical about the power of music.”
Tricia sighed. “Yes, there is.”
Mr. Everett seemed to shake himself. “Well, I’m off. And to quote Yes, ‘I’ll be the roundabout.’ ”
Tricia wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but called, “Good night,” as Mr. Everett passed through the shop’s door with a wave over his shoulder.
It took only a few minutes for Tricia to close shop for the day before she was off to Angelica’s for happy hour and dinner, glad it hadn’t been her turn to make a meal for the two of them. She tended to make the same meals over and over again, mostly due to time constraints, but if Angelica didn’t have time, she’d have Tommy at Booked for Lunch pull something together and, on rarer occasions, had the Brookview Inn or the Dog-Eared Page deliver something. Angelica owned Booked for Lunch outright. The other two establishments were—again—part of the Nigela Ricita brand, although not many realized the extent of Angelica’s holdings—especially in her Nigela persona.
Sarge met Tricia at the door, greeting her as though it had been years instead of a day since he’d last seen her. “Oh, hush!” Angelica ordered not unkindly, and the dog instantly silenced, or at least stopped barking. His little squeals of joy continued until Tricia gave him a couple of biscuits so he could calm down and enjoy his treats in his little bed.
As usual, the sweating glass pitcher of martinis sat on the counter, along with the chilled glasses, and Angelica poured as Tricia set her jacket on the back of one of the kitchen stools.
“Brrr! The Cookery is only a few steps from my store, but there’s a decided chill in the air.”
“October happens that way every year,” Angelica said blithely.
Tricia noticed the plate of what looked like cheese squares wrapped in prosciutto on the counter. “Shall I carry these into the living room?”
“Yes, please,” Angelica said as she piled the glasses with their garnishes and the pitcher of stirred martinis onto a polished silver tray.
Tricia led the way, taking her usual chair, with Angelica taking her accustomed seat on the big sectional. Angelica poured the drinks and handed Tricia one of the stemmed glasses before raising her own. “Here’s to Lauren Barker. May she rest in peace.”
They clinked glasses, and Tricia picked up one of the cheese squares before settling back in her chair. She sipped her drink and then took a bite. Extra sharp cheddar! “Mmm. These are good.”
“Of course,” Angelica said, taking one for herself. She’d no doubt tasted them before filling the plate. “So, how was your day?” she asked. By her tone, she seemed to expect the worst.
“Not bad. Sales were good at the store.”
“I meant in the aftermath of Lauren Barker’s death. The Internet has been very active with tributes and diatribes.”
“Really? I haven’t been online since early this morning. What’s the scuttlebutt?”
“Just what you’d expect. The trolls are out there spouting conspiracy theories—no doubt egged on by the likes of Dan Reed. But it seems children—and adults—are heartbroken as there’ll be no more Cuddly Chameleon books.”
“Is Sofia among them?”
“You don’t think Ginny would tell her about Lauren’s death, do you?” Angelica asked, aghast.
“You’re right,” Tricia said contritely. “I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
“Yes, well, Sofia is too young to ask if there’ll be more books in the series. She loves having all of them read to her over and over again. She’s already memorized some parts of the books. That girl will be a genius—just like her nonna.”
Angelica, a genius? Well, when it came to having business savvy, she was the smartest woman Tricia had ever known, but she wasn’t going to give her sister the satisfaction of agreeing with her.
“I did run into Stella Kraft at the grocery store in Milford,” Tricia said as a distraction.
Angelica looked down her nose at her sister. “And?”
“Apparently, Patti Perkins turned over the cell phone video she took last night of the spat between Stella and Lauren to Chief McDonald.”
“Without selling it to one of the major networks first? Hmm. Antonio might just have to have a word with her. We might have gotten some national attention from it.” The Stoneham Weekly News was also a part of the Nigela Ricita brand. Tricia frowned. Was her sister looking to profit off Lauren’s death? She asked.
Angelica sighed. “You’re right. But you know the old saying, ‘There’s no such thing as bad publicity.’ And Patti should probably get a bonus for helping law enforcement with their investigation. I’ll speak to Antonio about it.” She shook her head. “Poor Stella. I assume she’s now scared spitless.”
“I honestly don’t think she has anything to worry about. But, yes, until the real killer is revealed, Stella looks like the most likely suspect.”
“And you don’t think so?”
“No.” And Tricia told her sister the same theory she’d shared with Stella earlier that day.
Angelica nodded. “You’ve got a point. So, who do you think did kill the woman?”
Tricia stared into the contents of her glass. “I have no idea.”
Angelica looked thoughtful. “How about Dan Reed? I could see his sticky fingers all over a situation like this. And after the stink he caused last night…”
“Maybe,” Tricia remarked, but she couldn’t really see him as a likely suspect. At least not yet. He’d voiced his objections about Lauren’s chosen subject matter, but that hardly seemed worth killing someone over. And she didn’t think Dan was quite that crazy.
“What I didn’t have a chance to tell you was that I saw Lauren speaking to a strange man after the signing while everyone else was pigging out on cookies and punch.”
“I was not pigging out,” Angelica declared.
“Okay, while some were pigging out.”
“And what was so peculiar about the man?”
“Perhaps ‘stranger’ is a better term. I certainly didn’t recognize him, but obviously Lauren did.”
“Did she seem upset?”
Tricia thought about it. “No.” And she wondered why McDonald hadn’t asked her the same question. Maybe he would when she came into the station to give her official statement. Then again, she wondered why his office hadn’t already badgered her to do so. Maybe she’d drop by his office in the morning. Despite it being a Sunday, she knew the village’s top cop didn’t have much of a social life and could often be found behind his desk on his days off. Then again, his apartment was so small that maybe he just felt claustrophobic when there during his off-hours. Tricia had been instrumental in helping him find the furnished place and making it his own. Again, she thought about what her life might have been like if she and McDonald had connected. But then she thought about David and how happy he made her.
Angelica leaned forward. “What are you smiling for?”
Tricia shook her head. “Oh, just thinking about…” But then she didn’t finish the sentence.
“David?”
Tricia’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why you resent my being with him.”
“He’s too young for you,” Angelica snapped.
“And you’re jealous.”
Angelica’s eyes widened. “I am not.”
Oh, yes, she was.
“May I bring him to dinner tomorrow night?”
“I’ve already ordered everything from the Brookview Inn. It would be a real inconvenience for the kitchen to amend the menu this late.”
“There’re always leftovers. No one would starve with an extra person at the table. And I can always bring an extra side or two to pad things out.”
“When would you have time to make them?”
“I could make time. Mr. Everett says it’s going to rain. Rain means we’ll have fewer customers.”
Angelica looked chagrined. “I suppose you can bring him. If you feel you must.”
“I’ll invite him. It’ll be up to him to accept.”
“And why wouldn’t he?” Angelica asked, taking umbrage.
“Well, you haven’t exactly thrown out the welcome mat for him.”
“Lies—all lies,” Angelica said, and sniffed.
“And what have you ordered for tomorrow?”
“It’s a surprise,” Angelica said firmly.
Tricia didn’t believe her. She’d bet Angelica hadn’t yet ordered their meal for the following day.
“What if he decides not to come?” Angelica badgered.
“Then we have leftovers. Ginny has never turned down any leftovers if it means less cooking for her after a hard day at work.”
“You make it sound like I’ve sentenced her to a chain gang in her position as NR Associates’ marketing manager.”
Tricia sighed. “I just meant that as a working mom, she juggles a lot of balls.”
“Are you saying I don’t help my son and daughter-in-law enough?” Angelica asked sharply.
“Not at all.” Tricia let out a breath. “Why are you so crabby tonight, anyway?”
“I’m not crabby. I’m never crabby,” Angelica griped.
It was Tricia’s turn to look down her nose at her sister. After long seconds of silence, she decided to change the subject. “Before he left this evening, I discussed music with Mr. Everett.”
“And?”
“I always thought of him as…” Tricia hated to say it, “well, old.”
“He’s been around the block a few times,” Angelica agreed.
“Yes, but his favorite music is progressive rock. It’s just such a weird thing to contemplate. He loves wild, loud, raucous music, and David, who’s at least a half-century younger, identifies more with the big band music Pixie enjoys. And even she’s twenty years younger than Mr. Everett.”
Angelica’s eyes widened, and she looked just a little startled. “Yes, I’d say that’s weird.”
“So, do you think I should play some of Mr. Everett’s music in the shop? I mean, many of my customers are—” She didn’t want to say elderly. “In Mr. Everett’s age group.”
“And a lot aren’t,” Angelica pointed out with a slight edge to her voice.
“Anyway,” Tricia continued, “I’ve heard songs from some of the groups he mentioned. I suppose I could download a few greatest hits albums from that era to play in the shop. I mean, if other older people love those tunes, perhaps they might be encouraged to buy more books.”
“Anything’s possible,” Angelica remarked. “Why not ask him for a recommendation?”
“Good idea. I’ll do that tomorrow. Thanks.” Tricia sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything in the oven. What are we having tonight?”
“I thought we could do something simple. We’re splitting a sub sandwich. I can open a can of tomato soup if you want.”
Tricia had hoped for something a little more interesting, but she didn’t mind, either. Soup and a sandwich went down fast, and she was eager to return home and spend time with David. She’d been aching all day to spend quality time with him. She drained her glass. “Are we having chips with that?”
“We can,” Angelica said, and rose from her chair. “Shall we have our second drink while we eat?”
“Sounds good to me,” Tricia said, and got up to gather the rest of the appetizers and her glass, and followed her sister to the kitchen, taking a seat at the kitchen island.
The rest of their conversation was mundane. Angelica thought she might like to change the Brookview Inn’s holiday decorations—something she should have started planning months before. But Tricia thought there was something else going on that Angelica wasn’t yet ready to share. And as Tricia gazed at Angelica’s kitchen clock, she didn’t want to probe for the answer just yet. She didn’t want to spoil the rest of the evening with David.
Again, she found herself grinning. Angelica looked up from placing sub halves on plates and noticed. Tricia wiped the smile from her lips, but that didn’t quell the anticipation growing within her.
Angelica didn’t have that much power over her.
Tricia returned to her apartment mere minutes before David texted her and asked if the coast was clear. The idea that he had to ask gave her pause. Angelica had never been as possessive when Tricia had dated others. There had to be some way Tricia could convince her sister that what she had with David was a good thing, even knowing it might be fleeting. That thought alone caused her to doubt the future. But then she shook herself. Life was fleeting, and she was determined to live it fully.
She unlocked the door to Haven’t Got a Clue and David followed her up to her apartment, carrying a reusable shopping bag. Tricia could tell by the worry lines on his young face that something was terribly wrong.
After Miss Marple had been properly greeted by their guest, and the breakfast food David brought had been put away, Tricia offered her new love a glass of wine, and they settled on her couch, sitting close enough that their elbows touched.
“Something’s wrong,” Tricia stated.
David sighed. “Oh, yeah.”
“Bad day at the library?”
He nodded. “That and being summoned by Chief McDonald to make an official statement. I had to take time off from work to see him, which didn’t sit well with Amelia. She said she was going to dock me for the hours I spent at the police station.”
“That’s not fair. Lauren Barker died on library property. It’s your duty as a good citizen—and a witness—to be available to help law enforcement solve the crime. Especially as it happened on library property.”
“You’d think,” David said, staring into his balloon glass of Cabernet.
Poor David. Until the evening before, he’d loved his job, and now…
“I sure wish Lois hadn’t retired,” he said, sipping his wine, staring into the distance. Lois Kerr had hired David as one of her last acts before leaving the job she’d held for decades.
As though sensing David’s melancholy, Miss Marple jumped onto the couch, settling herself against David’s thigh. He reached out a hand and absently petted the cat, who began to purr just loud enough for Tricia to hear.
Tricia studied her lover’s face. “What is it you’re not saying?”
David’s head dipped lower. “I don’t want to sound crass, but…did you have a relationship with Chief McDonald before I came onto the scene?”
Tricia shook her head. “Okay, I once thought there might be chemistry between us, but we never seemed to gel.” Once again, she told David about how she and McDonald met on the Celtic Lady cruise ship and McDonald’s subsequent move to Stoneham. “I like to think we’re friends. And if he’s being hard on you because nothing ever developed between us, well, that’s just wrong. Would you like me to speak to him?”
David looked up, alarmed. “Absolutely not! I can handle the situation. I just wanted to know where I stood.”
Tricia reached out to touch his arm. “Pretty high, in my estimation. But I feel bad that this experience might sour you on our village and the job you love doing.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t help that the woman who hired me retired, and the woman who took her place doesn’t feel my position is necessary.”
Would he like to hear Tricia’s opinion on the subject? She took a chance. “Then you’ll just have to prove to Amelia that Lois was right. That you are the right person for the job. That you can change the lives of children in Stoneham by bringing them the very best books and experiences so that they develop a lifelong love of reading. You have to push boundaries; you have to prove her wrong.”
David didn’t look up to face her, but she could see the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly. “I like to hear you say that.” Then he did look up. Did look her in the eyes. Did lean closer to kiss her, his lips warm on hers.
When she pulled back, she looked him in the eyes. “This will all work out.”
“You promise?” he asked, sounding unsure.
“Yes.”
He leaned forward, brushing another quick kiss against her lips. “Then I believe you.”
Tricia smiled. But inside, her gut squirmed.
What if she couldn’t fulfill that promise?
What if petty resentments ruled the day? It was something she knew might keep her awake at night.
She reached out and clasped David’s hand and gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
Unfortunately, she didn’t feel at all sure she was right.