NINETEEN

Along with yet more gray skies, Lauren Barker’s remembrance service had cast a pall over the day. Tricia didn’t hear from Angelica or David, and as the hours crept closer to the end of the workday, Tricia found herself feeling antsy. She texted David to confirm their getting together later that evening at her place, but received only a terse reply that said, See you there.

So, with trepidation, Tricia climbed the steps to Angelica’s apartment after the close of business. Both Sarge and Angelica were in high spirits, which seemed like a good sign. Angelica stirred the martinis while Tricia carried the tray of glasses, garnishes, and a plate of cheddar cheese wrapped with prosciutto and skewered with toothpicks to the living room’s coffee table.

“You’re in a good mood,” Tricia said as Angelica took time to pour the cocktails. “Did you and David have a good time shopping?” Tricia asked, trying to sound like it hadn’t been on her mind since Angelica had driven away that morning.

“Did we!” Angelica handed her sister a glass. “I bought that set of china David spoke of. It’s beautiful, and because it doesn’t have gold rims, it can go in the dishwasher. Have you seen the pattern?”

“No.”

Angelica whipped out her phone, scrolled through her gallery of pictures, and handed it to Tricia. “Yes, that’s a pretty design.”

“Twenty place settings,” Angelica gushed, as though she’d just lost twenty pounds and wanted to crow about it.

“What else did you get?”

“Well, it’s not so much what I got as what I learned. I had no idea David was so knowledgeable when it came to nineteenth-century architecture and furnishings. We talked about rugs, art, and even the appropriate potted plants for the time period. How does one so young accumulate that level of expertise?”

Tricia didn’t take offense at the term young—this time. “By being exposed to such things. His grandmother—”

“Oh, yes, he spoke very highly of her. Such a nice young man.”

Tricia let out a mental sigh of relief. That said, she didn’t want to push her luck and decided she’d better change the subject.

“Between wondering how you two got along—”

“Famously,” Angelica interjected.

“—and Lauren’s remembrance service, I had a lot to think about during the day.”

“Sales weren’t great, were they?” Angelica said, her mood seeming to deflate.

“No. We need a few sunny days to get the tourists back.”

Angelica nodded and sipped her martini. “Speaking of Lauren’s service, Dan Reed sure made a fool of himself this morning.”

“That he did,” Tricia agreed.

“I’m not sure if I should be angry with him or feel sorry.”

“He’s got my pity—not because he’s a nice guy—but because he’s not,” Tricia asserted.

Angelica nodded, and her expression changed to quizzical as she toyed with the blue frill pick in her glass. Had she chosen the color to go with her silk blouse? “Uh, what have you heard about the Bookshelf Diner?” Angelica asked, her voice just a little bit higher.

Tricia frowned. “Not a thing. And why would I? I rarely darken its doors.”

“Yes, and apparently, you’re not the only one,” Angelica said coyly.

The Bookshelf Diner had originally been called Dan’s Place before Bob Kelly, who’d bought up most of Stoneham’s Main Street when the village more resembled a ghost town almost two decades before. Those already in business adapted to the Booktown theme.

When Bob had gone to prison for murder, with a twenty-five-years-to-life sentence, most of the properties he’d owned had gone up for sale—some of them for auction to the highest bidders, who’d lowballed their offers. Dan Reed had been such a recipient, acquiring the building that housed his diner for a song. Oddly enough, if he were to declare bankruptcy, he might suffer the same fate as Bob when it came to liquidating his assets.

“Go on,” Tricia encouraged.

“Antonio forwarded me an anonymous e-mail begging NR Associates to please buy the diner before Dan Reed runs it into the ground.”

“Did they say what was wrong?”

Angelica nodded. “After his wife went to jail, Dan decided to take over as the short-order cook, and not only can’t he stand the heat in the kitchen, he can’t cook, either. Burned pancakes and burgers, tasteless salads, moldy bread, sour milk. It seems he just doesn’t have the chops for the job.”

Chops—as in pork or lamb? Tricia mused. She said, “And?”

“Apparently, the locals have abandoned the place, which explains why business at Booked for Lunch and the Dog-Eared Page have been up more than twenty percent this past quarter.”

“Are you thinking of buying the business?” Tricia asked.

“Not a chance,” Angelica quipped, reaching for a piece of the cheese. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to buying the building and moving my café to the larger space.”

“When does the lease for Booked for Lunch run out?”

Angelica chewed and swallowed before answering. “Unfortunately, it was just renewed for another two years. But there’s nothing stopping me from subletting the space should I move my café to a new location.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything figured out,” Tricia said, and took a sip of her martini.

Angelica frowned. “You don’t sound pleased.”

Tricia shrugged. “I’m not a fan of Dan Reed…but I guess I do feel a little sorry for him.”

“Whatever for? He’s an obnoxious man who mistreated his wife, drove her to crime, and has harangued his customers with his outlandish conspiracy theories!”

“You’re right,” Tricia remarked.

The sisters sipped their martinis in silence for a long minute or so.

“Well?” Angelica finally demanded.

“Well, what? Is there a chance Dan will sell the building?”

“I might have to wait until he’s filed for bankruptcy.”

“Isn’t that taking advantage of someone when he’s down and out?”

Angelica shrugged. “What do you suggest?”

“Well, you could throw the man a lifeline.”

“In what way?”

“Offer him a fair market price for the building—and offer to sublet the space Booked for Lunch now occupies should he want to continue in business. I don’t think he has any other marketable skills.”

“That’s a fine idea in theory, but Dan hates me for opening my café and competing against him.”

“Couldn’t NR Associates buy the space and lease it to you?”

“Probably, but if it did, I’d never be able to spend a shift waiting tables, baking desserts, or manning the kitchen ever again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right now, Booked for Lunch is a two-to-three-person operation. I estimate I’d need ten to twelve people to man two to three shifts seven days a week at a bigger location. It would be a much larger operation.”

“Is hands-on experience all that important to you?”

“I don’t do it every day, but I do occasionally enjoy it.” Which meant once or twice a week—more during peak summer hours or during the holidays.

“You’re a control freak,” Tricia accused her sister.

Instead of taking offense, Angelica nodded. “Sometimes. But are you any different?”

“Of course.”

Angelica scoffed. “Then how come Pixie is your assistant manager? The woman may only have a GED but is smart as a whip. She knows your stock—hell, she finds most of it these days. She’s great with customers and is as loyal as the day is long. So why haven’t you given her a bigger role in the store?”

Everything Angelica said was true. Still…

“Because I’m the manager. It’s my store.” And then a thought occurred to Tricia. Her gaze narrowed. “Are you thinking of poaching her?”

“I would never do that,” Angelica protested.

“The heck you wouldn’t! You poached Ginny to manage the Happy Domestic.”

“And didn’t she not only excel, but prove she had more to offer?”

It was true. Ginny hadn’t gone to college, either, but she was as business savvy as anyone with a degree in marketing. She’d taken it upon herself to learn what she needed to succeed.

“What kind of position would you offer Pixie?”

“Perhaps head of the house at a revamped Booked for Lunch.” Angelica looked thoughtful. “If the business is going to be open from dawn ’til dusk or after, I’d definitely have to change the name.”

“You’ve obviously thought about this in great detail,” Tricia accused.

“Just as a possibility,” Angelica remarked.

Tricia let out a weary sigh. “What would you offer Pixie?”

Angelica offered a similar sigh. “It would be a lot more responsibility than she has now. Of course, that would warrant a substantial raise, along with guidance to learn the ropes. I would not want her to fail.”

The thought of not interacting with Pixie every day made Tricia feel a terrible ache of sadness. Still, what Angelica had to offer—and the faith she had that Pixie could—no, would—succeed was an opportunity Tricia wouldn’t try to interfere with. Then again, Angelica had previously offered Pixie a full-time position at Booked for Beauty, Angelica’s day spa, and Pixie had turned it down. Would she do the same for this kind of break?

“Okay,” Tricia said reluctantly. “If she’d accept the opportunity, I wouldn’t stand in her way.”

“It would be her decision, but you can’t let her loyalty to you stop her from learning and growing.”

Tricia stared into her nearly empty glass. “I suppose if it came to it, I could fire her. And I don’t think you’ll get her to break her thrifting addiction.”

“Why would I want to when it benefits the Cookery and the Happy Domestic?”

“Not to mention Haven’t Got a Clue and several other businesses along Main Street.” Tricia heaved another heavy sigh, feeling like she was about to lose a good friend. “When would you approach her with an offer?”

“Not anytime soon. Not until I could acquire the building. It’s not a given.”

Then why had she brought up the whole subject?

“If nothing else, you could have Antonio put out some feelers,” Tricia offered.

“That’s a good idea. Thanks.”

“Not at all.”

They sipped their drinks, took pieces of the cheese, and looked at each other.

Sometimes, Tricia wished her sister wasn’t such a phenomenal business success.

“Hey, you were going to tell me about Lauren’s true-crime manuscript,” Angelica reminded Tricia.

“What a bust. Not at all worth the intrigue for obtaining it.” She explained the lack of factual information that would clue someone in on the murder or where it had happened.

“So, it doesn’t sound like the crime garnered national attention?”

“If the crime was even real.”

“How can true crime not be real?”

“When it’s fiction.”

Angelica looked puzzled. “Tell me more.”

“First, it’s not especially well written. To the contrary. I couldn’t find any corroborating information on the presented facts. Lauren may have wanted to keep key elements of the story hidden, like the victim’s real name and the crime’s location. But other people mentioned were given generic identification such as Witness 1, 2, 3 or Officers A, B, or C. Not at all helpful.”

“I see.”

Tricia toyed with the frill pick in her glass. “And why would Lauren want to jump from writing children’s books to true crime, anyway? It’s so far from her successful genre.”

“Unless she had it published under a pseudonym,” Angelica pointed out. “Then again, is it good enough to be traditionally published?”

Tricia shrugged. “It would have taken a lot of work, but maybe Lauren was up for it. Who knows.”

“So, it’s a dead end?”

Tricia looked thoughtful. “Possibly. I wonder if any of Lauren’s friends or colleagues knew she was working on the book. Surely, her agent had to be aware of it.”

“Maybe. But, like you said, hopping genres is difficult. One usually doesn’t take one’s readers along with them.”

“Perhaps she was thinking of turning the manuscript into a podcast. Plenty of celebrities have podcasts that have nothing to do with their professional careers.”

“I guess it’s a possibility,” Angelica said, although she didn’t sound convinced.

“I guess it really doesn’t matter. Lauren won’t have the opportunity to finish the book. I wonder if there’s another Cuddly Chameleon book in the pipeline.”

“Surely the publisher would have announced it when news of her death broke—if only to gin up interest.”

“You’re probably right.”

Angelica looked at the clock on the wall. “I’d better pop our supper into the oven, or we’ll be eating at midnight.”

Tricia watched as her sister headed for the kitchen, feeling just a little depressed. Still, after she left Angelica’s place, she’d be meeting up with David, and the thought immediately lifted her spirits.

Just a couple more hours.

She could wait.