SIX

Mr. Everett arrived two minutes before opening, which was fine as Tricia didn’t anticipate a crowd to immediately descend upon Haven’t Got a Clue.

“And how are you this cloudy day?” Mr. Everett asked as he donned his apron with the shop’s name embroidered along the top in gold and his name beneath.

The sky had clouded over since Tricia’s return from the Coffee Bean, but the beverage station had been set up and she and her employee/friend had doctored their mugs of coffee and taken two each of the butter cookies placed on napkins before retreating to the reader’s nook.

“Things are okay,” Tricia lied.

Mr. Everett raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t easily taken in.

“Well, things could be better,” Tricia admitted.

“Young David and what happened Friday night?” he asked.

Tricia nodded.

Mr. Everett let out a breath, looking troubled. “I’m not one to convey gossip,” he began, “but Grace, as you know, is on the Stoneham Library’s board of directors. She says David’s job could be in jeopardy.”

Tricia closed her eyes and bit her lip so as not to comment, upset to hear her fears were justified.

“As she feels she has somewhat of a personal interest—because of you—Grace has been following David’s work at the library, which she feels is exemplary. She’s quite upset at the mere notion he could be blamed for what happened to Ms. Barker, as am I.”

Tricia’s gaze dipped to the cookie-laden napkin that rested on her thigh. The idea of food and drink had suddenly become repugnant. Still, she said nothing.

“Would you like Grace to speak to you about it at our family dinner this evening?”

“Maybe not,” Tricia said. “You see, David will be joining us.”

“Oh,” Mr. Everett said flatly.

“Perhaps Grace could mention her support for David before dinner is served.”

Mr. Everett’s expression darkened. “I’m not sure that would be appropriate.”

He was probably right. Still, knowing Grace was in David’s corner was of some—albeit small—comfort. Tricia dipped one of her butter cookies into her coffee, saturating it, and shoved it into her mouth where it promptly disintegrated. She swallowed and did the same with the other cookie. After that, she chugged a few swallows of coffee before she stood. “Well, I’ve got things to do in the office. Can you handle things up here for a while?”

Mr. Everett looked confused, but chirped, “Of course.”

“Great,” Tricia said brightly. “See you in a little bit.”

Tricia took her mug of cooling coffee with her to the store’s basement office, but when she got there, she simply sat down in front of her computer. She had no work to catch up on, as Mr. Everett well knew. She needed some time to think. Easier said than done. David’s predicament could very well have a negative impact on not only his life but hers, too.

Tricia sipped her coffee, which had by now gone cold, and frowned. She set the cup down on the desk and grimaced. Why—why—whenever it looked like she might grasp the brass ring of happiness it was always snatched out from under her fingers?

Tricia let out a breath and fought the urge to cry. Well, as she’d heard before, “fate is a fickle bitch who dotes on irony.” Irony seemed to hang around her like a black cloud. Would she ever catch a break?

---

* * *

Mr. Everett’s rain held off for most of the day, appearing as Pixie arrived at Haven’t Got a Clue just before closing, with David in tow. “And what have you brought me today?” Tricia asked in anticipation.

“Don’t get excited,” Pixie warned as she opened the trunk of her car. “The pickings were slim.”

“Not for me,” David said with enthusiasm.

“Why? What did you get?”

“Some incredible prints to hang in my living room. Landscapes, mostly, but I only spent about twenty bucks and got six pieces.”

“Congratulations. And for me?” Tricia asked hopefully.

“Some not-so-crummy paperback reprints. Mostly Travis McGee and Agatha Raisin novels, with a few other titles thrown in for good measure. If nothing else, they’ll help fill the shelves,” Pixie said, and was about to haul out a carton when David swooped in to take it from her.

“I got it,” he said.

Pixie closed the car’s hatchback and turned to face Tricia. “We can settle up tomorrow. Have a good one,” she said with a wave as she eased back behind the wheel of her car.

Tricia waved but saw that David’s arms were straining under the weight of the paperbacks.

“I’ll get the door,” she said, and held it while he entered and deposited the box on the top of the glass display case.

He glanced at the old analog clock on the wall. “Looks like it’s suppertime.”

Mr. Everett emerged from the back of the shop. He’d retired his apron and once again donned his jacket.

“Hello, David.”

“Hey, Mr. E.”

“Whose car are we going in?” Mr. Everett asked.

“Mine!” Tricia and David said at once. They laughed.

“How about we take your car and I’ll drive,” David volunteered.

“Or we could go in separate cars—in case you want to make a quick escape.”

David shook his head. “Nope. Good, bad, or indifferent, I’m in for the long haul, or at least until the dinner plates are scraped.” He looked thoughtful. “What’s on the menu?”

“No idea,” Tricia remarked.

He nodded. Angelica wouldn’t punish the rest of the crowd with something just to annoy David’s palate. After all, he actually enjoyed liver and onions.

Tricia broke out the umbrellas—a big golf one for David and her and a smaller one for Mr. Everett—and they walked through the rain to the municipal parking lot.

It was a good thing they were taking Tricia’s car, as it was more comfortable than David’s Jeep. Tricia handed over the keys, letting David take the wheel, with Mr. Everett riding shotgun.

The Barberos’ home was only a three-minute drive from the village center and David pulled the Lexus next to Grace’s little white Kia. Despite his claim to the contrary, if they had to make a quick escape, they could.

As they exited the car, David paused. “Should we have brought something? Like dessert or a bottle of wine?”

Oops. Tricia had forgotten to ask. “Uh, I’m sure everything will be taken care of,” she said, wondering if she’d get a tongue-lashing from Angelica. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it was unexpected.

The trio walked up the drive to the home’s front door, with Tricia leading the way. She opened the door and the men followed. “We’re here!” she called.

Sofia was the first to greet them. “Papa! Twisha!” she cried happily until she saw David and stopped in her tracks. It had been several weeks since she first met Tricia’s friend, as he’d been introduced to her.

Mr. Everett bent down and scooped up his little munchkin, as he called her. Sofia giggled, already forgetting about the stranger in the doorway.

“Hey, glad to see you, David,” Ginny called from the living room. “Hang up your coats and then come sit down,” Ginny encouraged. They did so, soon entering the living room.

“What can I get you guys to drink?” Ginny asked.

“I can take care of that,” Antonio said, rounding the corner from the kitchen. Angelica was nowhere in sight. She was probably in the kitchen grousing.

“Can I help?” Tricia asked.

“Not at all. Sit down. Relax. Be our guest.” And then Antonio broke into song, which delighted Sofia, who demanded that Mr. Everett set her down on the floor so that she could twirl in circles to the familiar tune. Grace, Mr. Everett, and even David broke into smiles at the sight, but Tricia’s gaze traveled in the direction of the kitchen, where Angelica was either busy preparing or reheating their meal, or had hidden herself so she wouldn’t have to interact with David.

Or maybe Tricia was just being paranoid.

After telling Antonio their drink preferences, Tricia, David, and Mr. Everett settled down on the living room’s comfortable seating. For some reason, David chose to sit as far away from Tricia as possible, probably to placate Angelica. It burned Tricia.

Sofia sucked up all the oxygen in the room by entertaining the quartet of guests with songs and interpretative dances, which were funny and sweet but couldn’t dispel the underlying tension that was still quite palpable.

Ginny arrived with baby Will, handing him over to Mr. Everett, which was a good distraction, and returned to the kitchen. She was soon back, holding a tray of puffy orange appetizers, offering them to Grace, who took one.

“Ooh, what are these?” Grace asked.

“Pumpkin cheese puffs. Certainly seasonal,” Ginny said, and laughed. “David?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, selecting a puff and popping it into his mouth and chewing, giving Ginny a thumbs-up before she moved on to offer the tray to Mr. Everett.

“David,” Grace said with cheer coloring her tone. “I’m so happy you could make it today. I’ve missed speaking to you.”

“Thanks,” David said self-consciously.

“So, how’s the new job going?” Grace asked.

David’s gaze dropped to the carpeted floor. “Before Friday night, I would have said fantastic.”

“Yes,” Grace acknowledged. “But I want you to know that while Amelia Doyle is the library director, she does not have the final word on what affects the library and its personnel. When push comes to shove, the board makes the final decision on what happens.”

Tricia was pleased to hear Grace’s proclamation but had to remind herself that the board consisted of eight individuals and Grace was only one person. Tricia had no idea how the other seven individuals might feel.

“Thanks, Mrs. Harris-Everett,” David said.

Grace positively tittered. “Oh, please call me Grace—I insist.”

“Thanks, Grace,” David said, and smiled. Then he turned his gaze toward Tricia, his expression seeming to implore her to please change the subject. But Tricia didn’t have the opportunity to do so before Antonio arrived with their drinks and Ginny brought out a second tray of appetizers, this time cream-cheese-and-pepper-stuffed tortilla pinwheels.

“What’s on the menu tonight? Tricia asked as she selected one of the delectable bites.

“Shrimp scampi on linguine. It smells heavenly.”

Tricia shot a look in David’s direction. His gaze merely returned to the carpet. Angelica knew full well that David had a shrimp intolerance. Tricia had mentioned it to Angelica more than once—and yet Angelica had decided to prepare a dish knowing at least one of her guests could not ingest the meal without unfortunate consequences.

Tricia opened her mouth to say something, but a look at her “friend” made her pause. David shook his head. Tricia knew there’d be salad and bread that David could fill up on, but that wasn’t the point. She pursed her lips. She’d have it out with her sister, but not at the family event. And in her mind’s eye, Tricia was already preparing a menu that she and David might share on the following Sunday. Alone. Without the family. Sometimes, when family ignores the choices one makes, it shouldn’t be a surprise for one to distance themselves from said family. But that wasn’t fair to the others. Antonio and Ginny, and Grace and Mr. Everett, had always been welcoming toward David. Only Angelica insisted on being a pill.

“We’ve hardly seen Angelica,” Grace observed. “Will she be joining us for our pre-dinner chat?”

“She is like a madwoman in the kitchen—or perhaps more like a circus performer juggling many balls. She does not have to cook for us all, but she insists. She has a glass of wine and is happy in her work,” Antonio said.

“Does she need help in the kitchen?” Tricia asked, hoping no one would discern her rapidly deteriorating mood.

“No, she insists she’s fine and reminds me she has been in charge of Booked for Lunch when Tommy has gone on vacation or called in sick.”

Excuses, excuses, Tricia thought, and downed the rest of her wine in one great gulp.

Grace changed the subject and turned her attention toward Ginny. “Has your team moved into the Morrison Mansion offices?”

Ginny’s smile immediately soured. “Apparently, that isn’t going to happen.”

Tricia looked up sharply. “What?”

Ginny glared in her husband’s direction.

“Uh…Nigela Ricita has decided that the mansion should not be used as office space,” Antonio explained.

“Why the change?” Tricia asked, once again furious at her sister—this time for keeping such information from her.

“The fire,” Antonio said matter-of-factly. “After the blaze this summer—and the stolen architectural details—Ms. Ricita has decided the mansion should be used for other purposes.”

“Such as?” Tricia pushed.

“Er…another business purpose. Perhaps a high-end bed-and-breakfast.”

It was true the village could use more of that kind of accommodation, but why hadn’t Angelica discussed the plans with her own sister? The siblings might just be destined for a knock-down, drag-out fight, albeit with words instead of fists.

“When was this decision made?” Grace asked.

“Last month,” Ginny said through gritted teeth. She shot another glare at her husband, the face of NR Associates. “I was only told this past week!”

“Yes,” Antonio said in a placating tone. “Our marketing team will be moving to a suite of offices in a professional building in Milford until we can find permanent accommodations.”

“How do you feel about that, Ginny?” David asked.

Ginny frowned. “I have to admit, the new offices are in a nice building within walking distance of a couple of restaurants. My team is actually excited to relocate during the first week in November. Some of them weren’t exactly excited to be moving into a historic building.”

“And how about you?” Tricia asked.

“I just want to feel settled. The idea that we might have to relocate in another year or so means more upheaval. I just want some peace.”

Tricia could relate to that.

“Antonio! Ginny,” came Angelica’s voice from the kitchen. “Could you help me dish up?”

“Excuse us,” Antonio said, and offered his hand to escort Ginny to the kitchen.

“Perhaps the rest of us should move to the dining room,” Grace suggested, and rose from her seat. Mr. Everett followed, offering his hand to Sofia, who happily took it.

“I’m sorry,” Tricia whispered to David once the Everetts were out of earshot.

David merely shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Tricia wasn’t fond of that phrase, which seemed like surrendering to bad behavior. Still, she rose and offered her hand, which David took, and they headed for the dining room. Silver champagne buckets held more pedestrian wines and the table had been graced with name cards in front of each seat, which was not in keeping with past dinners. Had Angelica plotted this, too? It turned out that David was set to sit beside Angelica. Was that so she could berate or mock him?

Tricia’s fury rose once again.

“Would you mind if we changed the seating?” Tricia asked Mr. Everett.

“Why—”

“No,” David said firmly. “Our hosts thought this was the most congenial seating arrangement, we should probably just go with it.”

“Are you sure?” Tricia asked.

David nodded and took his seat.

Seconds later, Antonio entered the room with a large salad bowl. The table was already laden with glass cruets containing various dressings, each bearing a label describing the contents: Italian, blue cheese, and ranch. Then Ginny appeared with a large tray that contained sliced Italian bread stacked on platters, two butter dishes, and another two small bowls of olive oil studded with minced garlic.

Finally, Angelica appeared with a gigantic ceramic bowl that presumably held the scampi. She set it on the table and said, “Mangia, mangia!”

Before anyone could say a word, she pivoted and headed back to the kitchen as Antonio uncorked the vino and began to pour.

David took a slice of bread and reached for the butter, his expression bland.

Antonio began serving the guests and at last, Angelica swooped in with another bowl in hand.

“Dear David,” she began, “I know you’re unable to eat shrimp, so I made you a special chicken and sun-dried tomato sauce to put over the linguine. I hope you like it,” she said, plopped the bowl in front of him, and sat down, reaching for the new glass of wine that awaited her.

“Thank you, Angelica,” David said quietly as Antonio heaped a pile of pasta onto his plate. David served himself from the bowl prepared especially for him. Upon taking a bite, he smiled, something different from what Tricia had seen during the few short months they’d been together. “Wow. This is…amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

Angelica blushed. “Just something I concocted. I wonder if it is something we ought to offer at Booked for Lunch. I should talk to Tommy about it.”

“Would it be impertinent of me to ask for a bite?” Mr. Everett asked.

“Not at all,” David said, and pushed the bowl across the table.

Tricia locked eyes with her sister. Angelica shrugged and took a sip of her wine.

Thank you, Tricia silently mouthed.

Angelica didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

Soon, everyone was digging into their meals, while little Will sat strapped in his high chair with a rattle in hand to gnaw upon.

Tricia suppressed the urge to cry with happiness. Perhaps Angelica hadn’t completely accepted David’s presence in her life, but it felt like a start. A good start.

Only time would tell.