SEVEN
The rain had stopped by the time Tricia and David returned to Stoneham’s Main Street. “I wish you could stay,” Tricia said wistfully as David walked her back to Haven’t Got a Clue after the family dinner. They progressed slowly along Main Street’s sidewalk to draw out the evening just a little bit longer.
“If I’m going to finish my degree by next May, I need to keep up my grades.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Tricia said, meaning it. She’d sacrificed her social life to finish her degree, too. But then, she wasn’t exactly the most extroverted person in her class. Not when she’d retreated to her dorm room to reward herself for studying by reading a vintage mystery—the subject of her thesis. It was her minor in business administration that had served her in her professional career—until she’d arrived in Booktown.
They ducked inside the shop for a couple of clandestine kisses before David reluctantly pulled away. “I’ll see you soon,” he said.
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll try. It depends on Amelia and…”
Tricia held out a hand to stave off a further explanation.
“I’ll text you in the morning,” David promised.
“I’ll look forward to it,” Tricia said, and gave him one last quick kiss before she shut the door after him. Her heart always ached just a little when they parted.
Upon entering her apartment, and giving Miss Marple her good-night treat, Tricia texted her sister.
Thanks for making that amazing dish for David. I really appreciate it.
Although she checked her phone several times that evening, Angelica didn’t acknowledge the message. They were on for lunch the next day. Tricia would speak to Angelica about it then.
Tricia changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed, wondering why she’d ever purchased a king-sized version—especially as she’d lived alone since her divorce. A double was far too small for two—at least in her opinion—and David’s queen-sized bed was far superior for a cuddle before drifting off to la-la land.
As promised, David texted Tricia the next morning, only to tell her he’d overslept since studying far into the night and couldn’t join her on her morning walk. Tricia frowned, disappointed, but it wasn’t the end of the world, either.
Tricia started off and made it her goal to walk past the old Morrison Mansion that Angelica was still renovating, but apparently now in an effort to restore it to its former glory, something she’d said she wasn’t yet prepared to do back in June. She’d hired a new contractor and Tricia paused to take in the building’s facade. It didn’t look much different than it had the last time she’d walked past. Nothing had been done to the landscape, and from the front of the property, one couldn’t see if the gardens of the past were in the process of being restored. Now that she knew Angelica’s plans for the building, Tricia decided it could be a subject of discussion at their usual lunch gathering. Boy, did they have a lot to discuss.
In fact, if she hurried, Tricia could probably catch Angelica at home before she started her workday. She texted her sister to ask if she could drop by, received an affirmative answer, and quickened her pace.
Tricia let herself in to the Cookery, and hurried up the steps to Angelica’s apartment. No barking greeted her, and when she arrived she found Sarge asleep on the job.
“It’s just as well. I don’t need the hysteria this early in the day,” Angelica remarked. “Coffee?”
“Sure,” Tricia said, accepting the cup her sister offered.
Angelica leaned against the counter and sighed. “There’s so much going on at the old Morrison Mansion…I don’t know how I’m going to wedge all those decisions I need to make into my busy schedule.”
“How come you didn’t tell me you were renovating it as a bed-and-breakfast?”
“Didn’t I?” Angelica asked, wide-eyed.
“You know darn well you didn’t.”
“Oh. Sorry. Yes. After the fire and the aftermath, I just couldn’t bear to defile that poor building for another second. It needs to be reverted to the stately home it once was—even if I won’t be living there.”
“So, what’s the plan? To have an innkeeper on site?”
“It’s worked well at the Sheer Comfort Inn. I don’t see why it can’t work there. And the carriage house would be perfect as the innkeeper’s cottage.”
“I guess so,” Tricia said coolly. “And the garden restoration?”
“Without the need for a large parking lot, that can happen, too.”
Though Tricia wasn’t a gardener, the news made her heart soar, sparking a new idea. “Have you thought about adding an aviary?”
“Why would I do that?”
“It would be period appropriate, and did you know Larry Harvick has beehives scattered around the village?”
“Really? What for?”
“Honey. Wax. There’s a hive on the library’s roof in exchange for a donation from the proceeds from the honey. If you’re restoring the mansion’s gardens, that might be a great place for a hive or two.”
“But wouldn’t it be dangerous for my guests?” Angelica asked.
“Not unless they upset the bees. Lois Kerr said no one at the library had been stung.”
Angelica looked intrigued. “I’ll have to think about it—and talk to Larry, of course.”
Tricia sipped her coffee before changing the subject. “Thank you for treating David so kindly last night.”
Angelica shrugged, her expression bland. “It’s my way.”
Most of the time, but not always.
“Well, I appreciate it. Does this mean you’re going to be nice to him from now on?”
Angelica leveled an icy glare in Tricia’s direction. “I am always nice.”
Tricia didn’t want to spoil Angelica’s somewhat benevolent feelings toward David by refuting that statement. Luckily, Angelica changed the subject. “Anything else going on?”
“I Googled information on Lauren Barker’s death, but there doesn’t seem to be anything new.”
“Why are you relying on the Internet?” Angelica asked, sounding perturbed.
Tricia frowned. That was a good question. Was it because her relationship with David had distracted her? It was a distinct possibility.
“What is it about her death that seems suspicious to you?” Angelica asked. “Despite the fact she was strangled, of course.”
Tricia thought back to what she’d learned three days before. “Well, it seemed odd to me that Betty Barnes had Lauren sign so many books.”
“Signed books by a dead author could be worth a whole lot more,” Angelica said.
“You can’t possibly believe Betty would kill Lauren to make a mint on signed books.”
“People have been killed for lesser things,” Angelica pointed out.
Tricia nodded. “I think I’ll pay Betty a visit this afternoon.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t done so already,” Angelica said, picked up her cup, and sipped her coffee. “Are you losing your touch?”
Was Tricia losing her investigative mojo? She didn’t answer the question.
“So, what’s your game plan?” Angelica asked, plowing on ahead.
“Sorry?”
“Besides talking to Betty Barnes. You haven’t mentioned talking to Chief McDonald. Shouldn’t you—and David—have gone to his office to make an official statement?”
That was an oversight on both Tricia’s—and Chief McDonald’s—part. Yes, she would have to talk to Ian as well. “David’s already given a statement. I’ll make sure I do the same—maybe later this morning.”
“Maybe?”
“Probably.”
Tricia’s phone pinged. She retrieved it from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and grimaced.
“Bad news?” Angelica asked.
Tricia sighed. “No. Just a text from Stella Kraft. I knew it was a mistake giving her my cell number.”
“Why’s that?”
“She made me promise to help clear her name.”
“Oh, Tricia,” Angelica admonished her.
“I know,” Tricia lamented.
“What are you going to tell her?”
“Nothing new to report—because there is nothing.”
“You have the option to block her,” Angelica pointed out.
“I can’t. At least, not until or if she becomes obnoxious.”
“And how long do you think that will take?”
Tricia’s heart sank. She had a feeling the time could come sooner rather than later.
Tricia made it back to Haven’t Got a Clue with time for a quick shower before heading down to the store and setting up the beverage station before her assistant manager, Pixie, arrived.
Pixie’s outfit that day was a long-sleeved vintage shirtwaist dress with a black background and large—and loud—yellow cabbage roses. It should have been hideous, but somehow Pixie was able to carry it off.
“So what happened over the weekend?” Pixie asked as she and Tricia took seats in the reader’s nook some twenty minutes before the store’s official opening for the day.
Besides the obvious, Tricia thought back over the events of the previous two days. “Did you know that Mr. Everett is a classic rock fan?”
“Of course! We talk about it all the time. Fred is also a huge Rush fan—we especially like their live stuff. Oh my God, until you watch their live Rush in Rio DVD you have not lived,” she gushed.
Tricia blinked. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Do you think we should play that kind of music for our patrons?”
Pixie shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind something different. Uh, you haven’t bought the shop any new music in a long time.”
Oh, dear. Was it that obvious?
“Is there anything else you might want to discuss?” Pixie asked, blinking rapidly.
Tricia wasn’t fooled by Pixie’s innocent routine. “Well, of course, you know that author Lauren Barker was killed on Friday night in the library’s parking lot.”
“That old news stinks like a dead fish,” Pixie commented, and took a sip of her coffee. “Any idea who’s responsible?”
“I haven’t got a clue,” Tricia said, mimicking the name of her store, which made Pixie laugh, although the author’s death wasn’t the least bit funny.
“Lauren Barker was all anyone could talk about at Booked for Beauty on Saturday,” Pixie said.
“And what was the consensus?” Tricia asked, knowing Pixie eagerly listened to gossip but was reluctant to spread it.
“A few of the ladies knew the victim years ago.” And that’s where Pixie drew the line when it came to repeating what she knew. “Did Sofia have a good time at the signing?” Pixie asked.
“Honestly, I don’t think anyone did, including Lauren. She wore a wrist splint, intimating that her hand was too sore to do more than sign an illegible signature on the books the guests bought. She also refused to read her work to the audience.”
Pixie nodded solemnly. “So I heard.” She was quiet for long moments, her gaze wandering to the floor. “Was it…awful?”
“You mean finding Lauren?”
Pixie nodded.
Tricia sighed. “More so for poor David.” She didn’t want to elaborate.
Again, Pixie nodded. “You never forget finding a dead person…it becomes a wound on your soul that never quite heals.”
To Tricia’s knowledge, Pixie had had only one such experience. That was the thing; to her knowledge. During Pixie’s sordid past of prostitution and drugs, she might have witnessed other such tragedies. Tragedies that had obviously scarred her.
It was time to bring up a happier topic. “Did you have a good time thrifting with David yesterday?”
Pixie instantly brightened. “Did we! That kid has a nose for picking,” Pixie said, laughing at her own joke. “He’s almost as good as me, and that’s sayin’ something.” Pixie ducked her head and gave Tricia a sly smile. “You got yourself one cool dude, lady.”
Tricia tried not to grin. “Don’t I know it.”
The day’s first customer entered the shop and it was time for the women to start work for the day. Unfortunately, the man was just browsing and soon left, and Tricia was reminded of other things.
“I have a couple of errands to run. Are you okay with that?” Tricia asked.
“Sure thing, boss,” Pixie said, smiling.
Tricia grabbed her coat. “I might be gone an hour or so. I need to check something out, and then I have to stop by the police station.”
Pixie grimaced. “I’m glad it’s not me going there.” She’d seen the inside of far too many cop shops.
“I’ll be back soon,” Tricia promised, and hurried out the door.
Pixie was quick to close it behind her.
Tricia had visited Barney’s Book Barn on several occasions when buying books for Sofia—including a number of the Cuddly Chameleon editions. But on that day, a somber mood encapsulated the store. Black crepe streamers surrounded a life-sized cutout of Lauren Barker, whose expression was unsmiling and looking somewhat sinister. Was that the look Betty Barnes really wanted to convey to her young readers?
The store had two customers milling about, neither of them under the age of fifty, and they seemed to be loitering around a large display of the dead author’s books and other promotional swag: bookmarks, pins, hats, stuffed toys, coffee mugs, T-shirts, and more, all featuring the Cuddly Chameleon or covers of the many books that chronicled its adventures.
“Tricia,” Betty called, sounding positively jovial. “What brings you to Barney’s fabulous Book Barn?” Was she about to change the name of her store?
Tricia whipped up a quick lie. “I was wondering how you were doing.”
“Me?” Betty asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes, well, I understand you spent a lot of time with Lauren Barker the afternoon before she was so cruelly taken from this earth.”
Betty’s jovial demeanor instantly plummeted, and her gaze dipped to the plank floor beneath her feet. “Yes, it was a terrible, terrible shock.”
Was it?
“I spent six or seven hours with Lauren on Friday while she signed stock for me.”
Six or seven hours? No wonder poor Lauren’s hand ached and she was in a foul mood.
“Yes, she mentioned as much,” Tricia said gravely.
Betty looked up, her gaze narrowing. “Chief McDonald has visited me twice to talk about it. I wonder who mentioned that to him,” she said, looking at Tricia with suspicion.
“You were there. You heard Lauren speak about it at her library signing. It could have been anyone,” Tricia said, not mentioning her own admission to the chief.
“Yes, well, it’s all very sad. But I’m sure Lauren would have wanted us to soldier on.”
Would she?
Tricia’s gaze strayed to the life-sized cutout once more. “Had you scheduled a signing for Lauren at your store?”
“Uh, no,” Betty answered succinctly. “Our deal was for her to just sign books.”
“And you arranged this in conjunction with the library?”
“Of course,” Betty answered, sounding just a bit annoyed.
Tricia glanced at the table heaped with books. “Why so many?”
Betty’s expression soured. “Those books are evergreen sellers. When was I going to get a Newbery-winning author to visit my store again?”
It was true. Big-name authors like Stephen King or John Grisham seldom—okay, never—visited Haven’t Got a Clue, but plenty of mid-list authors were grateful to sign books and speak to readers—staying in the village, or the cheaper motels out on the highway—on their own nickels just to connect with their readers. David had mentioned that the library had footed the bill for a two-night stay at the Sheer Comfort Inn for Lauren, who’d never made it to the inn for her second night of accommodation. Had the police searched and collected her belongings?
Hmm. If Tricia could convince Angelica to ask her current innkeeper about Lauren, perhaps Tricia could be present when it happened. It would be something she’d bring up.
Betty looked back to the customers crowding around the table examining the stock on offer. “I have a feeling this is going to be my best Christmas season ever,” Betty boasted.
“Really?”
“Oh, yes,” Betty gushed, an avaricious gleam entering her gaze. “But I’ll be holding back a bit of the stock Lauren signed to sell on Etsy or eBay. I could potentially make a mint off the books.”
It seemed unusual that a general bookstore such as Barney’s Book Barn would have so much author-specific licensed merchandise. Tricia asked about it.
“Once I learned Lauren had died, I ordered everything Cuddly Chameleon I could find and had it drop-shipped overnight. I should make out like a bandit,” she gushed.
“Betty!” Tricia scolded.
“Well, wouldn’t you do the same?”
No, Tricia would not.
Betty scowled. And she seemed relieved when a customer arrived at the cash desk, her arms loaded with Cuddly Chameleon swag, and ready to surrender her credit card for the stuff.
“Excuse me,” Betty said pointedly, leveling a hard glare in Tricia’s direction, “but I have customers to attend to.”
“We’ll talk again soon,” Tricia said.
“I hope not,” Betty muttered without moving her lips and turned all her attention to ringing up the sale.
Tricia gave the shop one last look, shook her head, and left the premises. She had other avenues of investigation to pursue, but first, she needed to stop at the police station to check in with Chief McDonald. It bugged her that he hadn’t sought her out to file a witness report when he’d been adamant that David do so, and he’d grilled Stella, as well as Betty.
Could Ian McDonald be deliberately avoiding Tricia? And if so, why?