EIGHT
These days, Polly Burgess seemed to be stationed behind her reception desk at the Stoneham police headquarters twenty-four/seven. And now that she’d adopted a saccharine-sweet demeanor, Tricia liked her even less—if that was possible.
“Tricia!” Polly greeted. “How are you, my friend?”
Friend? The woman had never and would never be Tricia’s friend.
“I’m well. And you?” Tricia asked warily.
“Fine as a fiddlehead fern. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come to make my statement concerning Lauren Barker’s death. Do I need to see Chief McDonald or can you help me with that?”
“I sure can.” Polly turned to access one of the drawers in her desk, selecting a form and clamping it onto an old wooden clipboard. She handed it and a pen to Tricia. “Take a seat and fill it out. I’ll make sure the chief adds it to his case file.”
“Thanks,” Tricia said, and took one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting area.
After composing her thoughts, Tricia began to write in her best penmanship—albeit printing in case someone to whom cursive was a foreign language might have to read it. She and Angelica—and everyone else who attended the Warrington School for Young Ladies—learned to dot their i’s and cross their t’s with a flourish that was no longer appreciated.
When she’d filled out a page and a half of prose, Tricia returned the form and clipboard to Polly. Did she dare ask why Ian seemed so distracted the last few times she’d spoken to him? She decided not to. She didn’t trust Polly, who might misinterpret why Tricia might make such an inquiry.
“Thank you,” Polly said sweetly, but the strained muscles around her lips betrayed her, or at least the animosity behind the smile. Tricia decided she’d text the chief to let him know she’d rendered her statement…just in case Polly forgot about it.
“Thanks, Polly. I appreciate your dedication.”
Polly’s expression softened. “Thank you for noticing,” she said softly, and for a moment Tricia thought the older woman might cry.
“Is everything okay?” Tricia asked.
Polly straightened in her seat, her lips pursing. “Of course it is. Why shouldn’t it be?”
Tricia shrugged. “I just thought…” But then she didn’t elaborate. Still, the next time she spoke to McDonald she decided she’d ask a few questions about the department’s white-haired receptionist. Maybe there was a story to be told about her, although Tricia had a feeling Polly might be too embarrassed—or ashamed—to disclose it. Still, the next time she spoke to McDonald she decided she’d ask a few questions about the department’s white-haired receptionist.
And when would that be?
Tricia offered a warm smile as she approached the exit. Polly reciprocated in kind…for a few seconds, before her facial features dissolved into a sour frown.
Tricia made sure to check out the Stoneham PD parking lot before driving back to the municipal parking lot. The chief’s car had been missing. His car wasn’t in the municipal lot, either, which meant he was off to who knew where, most likely job-related. Tricia decided she’d text his personal number later so as not to intrude on his workday. But then…what she needed to speak to him about was work-related. Once she returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia decided to wait to text the chief. After all, nothing she had to say or ask was related to Lauren’s murder. But then she reconsidered. Tricia thought of Ian as a friend. Okay, more like an acquaintance, but what was wrong with trying to cultivate a friendship? She guessed that depended on one’s motive. Hers were pure…at least, that’s what she told herself.
“Oh, good. You’re back,” Pixie said in greeting as Tricia reentered Haven’t Got a Clue.
“Anything happen while I was gone?”
“Only that Angelica came by looking for you.”
Tricia retrieved her phone and found no text message or missed call. “What did she want?”
“To see if you wanted to go with her to the Sheer Comfort Inn. She didn’t say why.”
Tricia knew full well why. “I’ll give her a call.” She retreated to the back of the shop for some privacy before tapping the call icon. “You rang?”
“No, I didn’t,” Angelica said sharply. “I stopped by your store.”
“So Pixie said. I was going to call and ask you about it. When do you want to hit the inn?”
“I’ve been ready for at least half an hour.”
“You did encourage me to visit Betty Barnes,” Tricia said in self-defense.
“Yes, well, Marina”—the inn’s manager—“wants to discuss what to do with Lauren Barker’s belongings.”
“I’d love to eavesdrop…and maybe a little more.”
“I figured as much. If you’re available now—let’s go.”
“Meet me on the sidewalk outside the Cookery in a minute.”
“Will do,” Angelica said, and the connection was broken.
Tricia returned to the front of her shop. “I’ve got to pop out for another errand.”
“Don’t worry. We’re not so busy I can’t handle things here while you’re gone,” Pixie said.
Tricia forced a smile. “Thanks.”
“Good luck,” Pixie called.
Luck for what? To find a clue in Lauren’s belongings that the police had missed? She doubted that. Ian McDonald was sharp, as were his investigative skills. Still, Tricia also had a keen eye—and mind—and she’d bet the force’s only woman officer hadn’t been invited to go through Lauren’s belongings. The force definitely needed to employ a woman’s perspective when it came to digging for answers. Tricia was sure even Polly could be helpful in that regard. And if Tricia found anything of note the police had missed, she’d press upon Ian to think about asking for such a view when it came to future investigations. The man wasn’t a misogynist jerk…although he might be a little obtuse.
Tricia left her shop and waited just half a minute before Angelica exited the Cookery.
“Shall we walk to the inn?” Tricia asked hopefully. It was only about eight blocks away.
“Not on your life,” Angelica answered.
It bothered Tricia that Angelica seemed averse to exercise but she said nothing and the sisters started toward the municipal parking lot, a block away, where they got into Angelica’s car and drove to the big Victorian home just off Main Street’s beaten path, parking in front of the inn. The engine died and Angelica yanked the key from the ignition, looking up at the looming building before them. She shook her head as though in wonderment. “I love this place, and I know I’ll love the old Morrison Mansion just as much when I return it to its former glory.”
“I want to know all your plans. Everything. Don’t skip a thing.”
“Yes, well, that’ll happen but not right now. Let’s see what Lauren left behind and what we’re going to do to return it to her heirs.”
The sisters exited the vehicle and walked up the concrete path and onto the big veranda. Angelica didn’t bother to knock and stepped right inside.
The entryway was just as Tricia remembered on the day of Pixie’s bridal shower. On that day, the front parlor had been transformed in homage to the 1950s—Pixie’s favorite decade, not that she’d been alive during that time. It had been a fun afternoon. The task before them now wasn’t joyful but possibly grim.
“Marina!” Angelica called. The sisters waited less than a minute before Marina Costas descended the lovely oak staircase. Marina was an olive-skinned beauty, a proudly first-generation American of Greek extraction. Dressed in jeans, a Cookery sweatshirt, and sensible shoes, her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders. “Angelica,” she said in greeting. “Hey, Tricia.”
“Hi.”
“So, where are the goods?” Angelica asked without preamble.
“I had to move them to the storeroom. The room is booked every night for the next week.” It was peak leaf peeping season in New Hampshire, and the Milford pumpkin festival would be held on the upcoming weekend.
“That’s perfectly fine,” Angelica said.
“Did you see anything of note?” Tricia asked.
“Although Ms. Barker had already been with us for a night, she hadn’t really unpacked. I just gathered up her toiletries from the bathroom and stuck them in her suitcase. Come on,” Marina encouraged.
Tricia followed her sister and the innkeeper to the small storeroom that had once been the home’s butler’s pantry, but now also housed the inn’s washer and dryer as well as shelves for food staples.
A black, hard-body suitcase lay on its side on a fold-down table on hinges. Marina gestured toward it.
“I assume the police have already gone through it,” Tricia said.
Marina nodded. “Chief McDonald had a look through it on Saturday. I left a message with the receptionist asking for information on next of kin, but at the time she said they hadn’t yet located anyone.”
Was that correct or had Polly been derelict in her duty once more? In the past, she’d failed to pass on Tricia’s messages. Was Tricia looking to disparage the woman or had Ian so far failed to find a next of kin? Tricia would find out.
“Did anything out of the ordinary occur?”
“Well, there was one odd thing.”
“Oh?” Tricia asked.
“Yes. A take-out order was delivered just before Ms. Barker arrived.”
Uh-oh.
“What was it?” Angelica asked.
“A peanut butter sandwich. No jelly.”
Tricia’s heart froze.
“How do you know that?”
“A plain brown bag was delivered by the Eat Lunch food truck. I put it in Ms. Barker’s room. I assumed she’d ordered it.”
“Did you tell Chief McDonald about it?” Tricia asked.
Marina shook her head. “No. It didn’t seem important.”
Tricia and Angelica exchanged glances. Someone was going to have to tell him.
“What happened to the sandwich?” Tricia asked.
“I assume Ms. Barker took it with her to the library. It wasn’t in the room when Chief McDonald searched it.”
Angelica nodded toward the suitcase. “Would you like the honors?”
Tricia caught sight of the innkeeper’s panicked expression. “Uh, if you don’t mind, I need to finish cleaning the bathroom up in the top-floor suite. Text or call me if you need anything.”
“Sure thing,” Angelica said. “We’ll only be a few minutes and then we’ll be on our way.” Marina nodded and quickly escaped. Was she afraid she might get in trouble for sharing the contents of Lauren’s belongings? Angelica was (technically) half owner of the inn, in partnership with Nigela Ricita Associates, which she also owned. And unless asked to testify, who was going to ask if Lauren’s personal items had been examined by a third party?
The case was unlocked, and Tricia flipped the catches and raised the lid. The case’s contents looked like they’d been stirred with a big wooden spoon. After the cops had gone through Lauren’s belongings, they’d apparently been tossed in with no regard for order. Only the toiletries Marina had gathered were safely secured in a gallon-sized plastic bag. Conditioning shampoo, deodorant, toothbrush and paste, a bottle of pills—Tricia wasn’t familiar with the drug name—hairbrush, foundation, lipstick, and mascara.
Tricia hefted the little prescription bottle filled with oblong tablets. “I wonder what these are?”
“Thyroid pills. Drew”—Angelica’s fourth ex-husband—“took them. They’re pretty common. In fact, it seems like half the world is on these pills. Makes you wonder what’s missing from our food chain, doesn’t it?”
Tricia had never considered the idea. Setting the plastic bag aside, Tricia began unloading the clothes from the case, neatly folding them and setting them on the table. There weren’t many—just enough for a couple of days’ travel. “I haven’t done much research on Lauren. Any idea where she lived?”
Angelica scowled. “You really are out of touch on this one. I Googled her Wikipedia page. She’s originally from Ohio, grew up here in Stoneham, but had been living in our home state for the past decade.”
Connecticut. It was relatively close to the publishing capital of the world—Manhattan—and, depending on where one claimed a stake, a pretty nice place to live.
At the bottom of the case was an e-reader along with a charging cord. Tricia pressed the on switch and the device flashed to life. The list of the latest downloaded books appeared. The titles meant nothing to Tricia, most of them appearing to be true crime or memoirs, which seemed strange reading for a children’s book author. Then again, she’d met several current mystery authors who preferred not to read books in their own genre lest they be “tainted” by absorbing the plotlines of their peers. She had to admit that those authors often had the most unique perspectives when it came to the modern mystery.
Tricia withdrew her phone from her slacks pocket and took a picture of the ten titles on the reader’s first screen. Perhaps one of them might give her a clue as to why Lauren was killed—if not…well, maybe she’d gain some insight into the author’s state of mind before her death by her choice of reading material. It was a long shot. And perhaps she’d just be entertained by what another person chose as reading material.
“Do you really think that’s important?” Angelica said.
Tricia shrugged. “One never knows.”
Angelica looked doubtful. “I wonder why she had an e-reader? Don’t most people read on their phones these days?”
“Only if they have good vision. I prefer the printed word, but I also have an e-reader that I keep charged—just in case.”
“You dog, you,” Angelica quipped. But then she sobered. “So, there’s nothing of real interest here? Nothing to lead you to whoever killed Lauren?”
Tricia shook her head and began to repack the case. “I don’t think so.” She paused. “It’s sad, really. The person who killed Lauren was probably at the signing on Friday night. And though Lauren wasn’t as nice as she could have been, perhaps she was just having a bad day.”
“I’m glad you’re considering that possibility.”
“There’s always the unknown man who spoke to her near the circulation desk the night she was killed.”
“And what was his demeanor, since apparently you were the only one who witnessed the encounter?” Angelica asked.
Tricia thought back. “I didn’t get a sense that there was conflict between them.” She thought about what she’d seen. “In fact, Lauren’s expression was pretty neutral. And she nodded as she listened to whatever the man was telling her.”
Again Angelica shrugged. “If only we knew what she was saying to him.”
Tricia frowned. “I wonder…” she said, and pursed her lips as she thought about it.
“Yes?” Angelica prodded.
“I wonder if someone adept at lipreading should look at the library’s tape.”
“Surely these things are no longer on tape.”
“Tape—digital—who cares. Someone with such a skill should view that video if only to see if Lauren said anything that could lead to the identity of her killer.”
“So, bring it up to Chief McDonald just in case he hasn’t thought of it himself.”
Tricia nodded. “I think I will.”
“I know you will,” Angelica said. She heaved a sigh. “Let’s go. We’ll learn nothing more about Lauren Barker here.”
“You’re probably right. But perhaps you should flex your authority to find out who to return Lauren’s personal effects to, if for no other reason than to get them out of the inn and off Marina’s shoulders. And, of course, find out who ordered the peanut butter sandwich to be delivered to Lauren, and then report it to the chief.”
“Anything else?” Angelica grated.
“That’ll do.”
Angelica shook her head. “I’ll do it as soon as I get back to my home base.” Angelica pulled out her phone to text Marina to let her know they were leaving and that she’d be in touch, then the sisters left the inn.
“What’s next on your agenda?” Angelica asked as she steered them back toward the municipal parking lot.
“I’m not sure,” Tricia said. Should she confide her fears that David might lose his job and leave her bereft? Angelica had gone out of her way to make David welcome the evening before. Even so, Tricia didn’t want to push her luck. She didn’t want to admit to her unlucky-in-love sister just how incredibly happy she felt in David’s presence. How she hadn’t felt that way with most of her former partners. David took such delight in just about everything. He hadn’t (yet) been beaten down by his job and life in general. They laughed together. They cooked together. That he was a pet person who cared about Miss Marple’s happiness over his own made Tricia’s heart swell with affection. She’d really lucked out…so far.
Angelica pulled the car into a parking space and killed the engine. “Back to work.” She pulled out her phone and glanced at the time. “Hmm. I’ve lost too much of the morning. I’ll grab some takeout from Booked for Lunch at my place.”
“Sure…unless you have things you need to get done.”
“I can get some work done before lunch rolls around,” she said.
The sisters exited the car and hit the sidewalk, which was more crowded than when they’d left half an hour before. They walked south toward their places of business.
“See you later,” Angelica called as she thumbed the Cookery’s door latch and entered.
“Back at you,” Tricia said, and continued to Haven’t Got a Clue. Despite what the sisters had learned at the Sheer Comfort Inn, Tricia had to admit that when it came to figuring out who’d killed Lauren Barker…she didn’t have a clue.