TWENTY
“She wants to poach Pixie from Haven’t Got a Clue?” David asked, sipping his beer.
Tricia nodded sadly. “But only if she can wrangle leasing the building should Dan Reed run his diner into the ground.”
“He’s sure done that,” David said. “The last time I was in there, I ordered a BLT and one side of each of the slices of bread was burned to a crisp. The server had him make another one, but I couldn’t get that burned taste out of my mouth.” He shuddered at the thought.
Tricia had set out a bowl of pretzel twists, picked one up, and dipped it into honey mustard. She wasn’t hungry, realized it, and set the pretzel down on the napkin before her on the kitchen island.
“I don’t think you have to worry,” David consoled her. “Pixie loves you and Mr. Everett. She’s always singing your praises. And she loves talking vintage mysteries to your customers. My guess is she’d turn down that kind of promotion. But…” He paused, sipped his beer, and took one of the pretzels, chomping on it. “You could offer her more money as kind of a pre-incentive to stay.”
Bribery was such an unpleasant suggestion.
“We’ll see,” Tricia said, and ate the pretzel she’d previously abandoned. “At least you and Angelica had a good time shopping. Well, she apparently did. How did it go for you?”
“Great. Your sister talks a lot but she also knows when to listen.”
“I neglected to ask her if she would accompany you and Pixie on your sales tomorrow.”
David shook his head. “Not her thing. She’s looking for high-end furnishings and accessories. Pixie and I look for affordable items.”
Tricia nodded. She dipped another pretzel into the mustard. “What did you think of Lauren Barker’s service this morning?”
David’s expression soured. “Depressing. Becca Chandler’s tirade seemed pretty self-centered. Dan Reed was just a jerk.”
“And Mr. Everett?” Tricia asked.
“Perfunctory.”
That was a pretty odd description. Then again, had everyone caught that though Mr. Everett had spoken well of Lauren, there hadn’t been any kind of emotional connection? Of course, it wasn’t a secret that Mr. Everett kept his feelings to himself, so perhaps because Tricia, and maybe even David, knew him better than most, they paid more attention to what the older gentleman hadn’t said.
David polished off the last of his beer, and Tricia noticed that the bowl of pretzels had mysteriously emptied—as had the pot of mustard.
“What do you want to do this evening?” Tricia asked.
David smiled. “We could just…” He looked toward the stairs that led to her bedroom suite.
“There is that.”
“But before that…what do you say we listen to some music and…read.”
“You want to read?” she asked, surprised.
“Well, I have this test coming up…and you always have something you want to read. It’s not exactly romantic—”
“Oh, I don’t know about that…”
“—but it would be enjoyable.”
Tricia smiled. “That might be the sexiest thing a man has ever said to me.”
“I doubt it,” David said.
“Maybe, but I like the way you think.”
“I like everything about you,” David said.
Tricia batted her eyelashes, her mouth quirking into the barest hint of a grin. “You’re just saying that because it’s true.”
He nodded. “Now, what have you got in the way of music?”
Tricia thought about the CDs Pixie had brought in that sat near the stereo system in her store.
“How about a little Sinatra?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
After breakfast the next morning, David headed home to get ready for his thrifting outing with Pixie. Tricia walked him to the municipal parking lot, kissed him good-bye, and watched as he drove north on Main Street, heading for his apartment in Milford. On that morning, she decided to start off in the same direction.
When Tricia approached Barney’s Book Barn, she saw Betty Barnes gazing out the window, as though she’d been waiting for her to pass. Betty disappeared from view only to suddenly burst from the shop’s door. “Tricia! Do you have a moment?”
Tricia paused on the sidewalk, dreading the conversation to come. Still, she squared her shoulders and put on a manufactured smile. “Sure. What’s up?”
“Uh…I was just wondering, does the Chamber of Commerce ever provide low-interest loans to their members?”
Tricia took a step back. “Uh, no. It’s not one of our services.”
“Oh, darn,” Betty said grimly.
It was an awkward moment. Tricia was dying to ask why Betty needed a loan—guessing the answer but being too polite to actually inquire.
“I find myself in a bit of a financial bind,” Betty volunteered. “You know, now that the tourist season is waning. This gray, gloomy weather hasn’t helped, either.”
“Things will pick up after Thanksgiving,” Tricia reminded her. “May I suggest you speak with Billie Hanson, the manager at the Bank of Stoneham? I’m sure she could help you out.”
Betty chewed her bottom lip, looking anxious. “Maybe.”
Another uncomfortable silence ensued.
Tricia cleared her throat. “It was a lovely gathering you hosted for Lauren yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Betty muttered, “lovely. Unfortunately, I expected book sales to cover the cost of the event. Do you know not one person bought any of Lauren’s books? They came to honor her, and yet no one had the courtesy to—”
“Pay up?” Tricia suggested.
“No!” Betty cried, taking umbrage. She glared at Tricia for long seconds, but then her gaze shifted. “She was the best-known author I ever hosted at a signing, but apparently I made a grave mistake when it came to Lauren Barker’s popularity.”
“Betty, the library hosted Lauren. You just supplied the books.” And if Betty hadn’t alienated Lauren by having her sign so many books, Lauren likely would have read for the children in the audience, entertaining them with the antics of her Cuddly Chameleon creation—exactly what she’d been asked to do.
“I’m the only children’s bookstore in Stoneham. Lauren had to come to me to acquire the books,” Betty asserted. Not so. David had asked Betty to supply the books, but any bookstore owner could have ordered them from their distributors. It was a courtesy that he’d contacted her. Lauren probably had no clue who Betty was nor had heard of her store before arriving the day of the signing.
“Why did you order so many books?” Tricia asked.
“As I said, I miscalculated the woman’s popularity,” Betty uttered bitterly.
“And now you need to unload them quickly?”
“I refuse to lose money on the deal,” Betty said through gritted teeth.
Tricia felt she had to reply to that statement. “Well, I’m sure if you’re patient, the books will eventually sell.”
“I’m running out of time and patience.”
So was Tricia. It was time to cut this conversation short. “You’ll let me know if the Chamber can be of any further help, won’t you?”
“Why would I when you’ve been absolutely useless so far,” Betty said, pivoted, and stalked back into her store.
Tricia continued on her way, with plenty to think about during the next half hour or so.
Out of curiosity, upon returning to her store, Tricia checked eBay for autographed copies of Lauren Barker’s books. Sure enough, Betty Barnes had relisted the different editions of the Cuddly Chameleon series with starting bids of five hundred dollars each. Whether she would get that kind of money for an autographed book was doubtful. Betty had only to bide her time to sell the rest of her hoard. Then again, the longer Lauren was dead, perhaps the more valuable her books would become. That was a pretty big perhaps. Tricia sat back and contemplated the other suspects. The mystery man was at the top of her list. Now, who could he possibly be? A lover? A relative? Then, on a whim, Tricia decided to look up the name of the person who’d illustrated all but the first Cuddly Chameleon book, which had been sold to a small press—and who apparently still owned the rights, for it hadn’t been republished by Lauren’s much more prominent, New York–based publishing house.
Tricia Googled the name B. R. Woodward and was rewarded with a URL for a website. Upon clicking it, she saw examples of the artist’s work; chief among them was the cover of the latest Cuddly Chameleon book. Upon clicking the bio link, Tricia was rewarded with a picture of a dark-haired, lean man with classic good looks. She’d seen an older version of the man just an hour or so before Lauren had been found dead in the Stoneham Library’s parking lot and on the street two days before.
Now…how was she going to track him down?