Sentenced to Death Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ANGELICA’S RECIPES

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for Lorna Barrett’s Booktown Mysteries

  CHAPTER & HEARSE

  “Filled with action … Lorna Barnett has written a delightful amateur sleuth filled with red herrings and false leads that keep reader interest from the explosion till the explosive climax.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “There’s misdirection, miscommunication, red herrings, and plot twists galore … Tightly plotted and paced to keep you turning the pages, this series is indeed getting better with each book.”

  —Gumshoe Review

  “Well-plotted and there are a few good suspects … Best of all, there is plenty of book talk sprinkled throughout and even a few of Angelica’s recipes.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  BOOKPLATE SPECIAL

  “The third top-notch Booktown Mystery is a cleverly plotted cozy with everything a reader could want: mystery books, delicious food, and bad guys. With its bookstore setting and small-town charm, this series is bound to be a favorite for cozy readers.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Get ready to pop a lot of popcorn, cuddle up under a blanket, and spend a little time with Tricia Miles and crew. Ms. Barrett, queen of the cozies, has a winner here!”

  —Feathered Quill Book Reviews

  “Once again, Barrett has written an interesting, plausible murder mystery with an amateur sleuth that not only entertains but educates … Another excellent installment in this series.”

  —Gumshoe Review

  “Barrett is skilled at making her characters flawed and fully believable. This book-based book is a perfect autumn read—right down to those smashed pumpkins—for mystery aficionados.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH

  “Interesting characters, growing interrelationships … It’s like visiting friends and having an adventure rolled into one book after another.”

  —Gumshoe Review

  “A series that will quickly gain a dedicated readership. If anyone has the formula for a frolicking fun mystery down pat, it’s Lorna Barrett. The read is light and sheer entertainment. A good rollicking read.”

  —Roundtable Reviews

  “A good cozy. The characters are likable and the puzzle is intriguing.”

  —Mystery News

  “Clever twists … take readers on a journey through the intricate layers of book publishing … A mystery to be cherished.”

  —Merrimon Book Reviews

  “Fans of Carolyn Hart and Denise Swanson rejoice! The latest [Booktown] gem … sparkles. This first-rate cozy artfully blends crime, cuisine, and even bookselling in a cheerful, witty, well-plotted puzzler.”

  —Julia Spencer-Fleming, Edgar® finalist and author of One Was a Soldier

  MURDER IS BINDING

  “[A] smart, fast-paced novel with likeable characters and enough plot twists and turns to keep things interesting.”

  —Suite101.com

  “Charming … The mix of books, cooking, and an engaging whodunit will leave cozy fans eager for the new installment.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Move over, Cabot Cove. Lorna Barrett’s new cozy creation, Murder Is Binding, has it all: wonderful old books, quirky characters, a clever mystery, and a cat named Miss Marple!”

  —Roberta Isleib, author of Asking for Murder

  “Everything a cozy lover could want and more. Bravo!”

  —Leann Sweeney, author of The Cat, the Lady, and the Liar

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lorna Barrett

  MURDER IS BINDING

  BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH

  BOOKPLATE SPECIAL

  CHAPTER & HEARSE

  SENTENCED TO DEATH

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  SENTENCED TO DEATH

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Excerpt from The Walled Flower by Lorraine Bartlett copyright © by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-52899-0

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Jeannie Rigod,

  who refused to accept a death sentence.

  Long may she live!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Every book is an adventure—for the author and he
r readers. I couldn’t have survived this adventure without a little help from my friends. My thanks go to Krista Davis, Sandra Parshall, Kelly Raftery, Tyra Blackshear-Dedam, and Pat Remick for assistance with legal, language, police procedures, and local color issues, not to forget my eBay buddy, Nancy Ziefel, and Doranna Durgin, who was very helpful with doggy info.

  Michelle Sampson, director of the Wadleigh Memorial Library in Milford, New Hampshire, continues to provide a wealth of useful information and local color.

  Leann Sweeney served as my manuscript buddy. Both on tight deadlines, we encouraged each other (and compared notes on a daily basis to see who would finish her manuscript first). Colleen Kuehne kept me on my toes as my first reader.

  My pals on the Cozy Chicks blog, www.CozyChicksBlog.com, and all the Berkley and Signet Girls at Cozy Promo have been there cheering me on, too.

  My thanks go to my editor, Tom Colgan, his terrific assistant, Niti Bagchi, and the whole group at Berkley Prime Crime. My wonderful agent, Jessica Faust, gives me great advice and keeps me on track.

  I hope you’ll visit my Website, www.LornaBarrett.com, and sign up for my periodic newsletter.

  ONE

  Founders’ Day weekend. What else could Bob Kelly, the head of the Chamber of Commerce, come up with to try to draw a crowd to the little village of Stoneham, New Hampshire? Tricia Miles shook her head at the notion and resettled the weight of the warm, sleepy—and sweaty—toddler against her shoulder. “Booktown, NH,” as Stoneham was often referred to, had risen from the ashes of near extinction thanks to Bob’s efforts when he’d enticed some ten or so booksellers to locate to the village. It had put Stoneham back on the map and had made Bob quite a handsome profit, too. Tricia hadn’t done too badly either, with her own mystery bookstore, Haven’t Got a Clue.

  A small single-engine aircraft buzzed the town with a long banner trailing behind it announcing STONEHAM FOUNDERS’ DAY—WWW.STONEHAMNH.COM behind it. Trust Bob to think of that, too. However, Tricia wished it wouldn’t buzz quite so close, as it made conversation nearly impossible, and in only minutes her friend, Deborah Black, the architect of the celebration, would be on deck to give her welcoming speech and to open the festivities.

  It was Deborah’s child that Tricia held, since Deborah was otherwise occupied. Little Davey wasn’t impressed by all the hoopla, and the warm August morning had sent him straight to dreamland, which was okay with Tricia. A fall had given the toddler a broken right arm, now encased in a purple cast that he sometimes not so playfully used as a club.

  Tricia looked around the crowd, hoping Deborah’s mother would soon make an appearance so she could give up the boy, who hadn’t wanted to sit in his stroller—voicing that opinion with tears and screams. He’d found her to be a much more comfortable place to nap.

  Tricia stood across the street from Stoneham’s square, home to a Victorian-era stone gazebo with a lovely copper roof that had aged beautifully. The small park was crammed with carnival rides and colorfully tacky trailers with vendors ready to sell greasy, fattening foods. Loitering among them were the local merchants, townspeople, and tourists—exactly the crowd Bob had hoped to attract. Tricia could just picture Bob standing along the sidelines, rubbing his hands together in miserly fashion. That he’d suckered Deborah to do most of the work was yet another accomplishment. He’d share some of the glory with her but would no doubt take the bulk of the credit for coming up with the idea in the first place.

  “Quite the turnout,” Russ Smith said, almost in Tricia’s left ear. Where had he appeared from? She stepped to her right and frowned at him. She and the editor of the Stoneham Weekly News had once been lovers, but that had been more than a year ago. Despite the fact he’d originally dumped her, he now wanted what he couldn’t have.

  Too bad.

  “Shouldn’t you be stationed closer to the action?” Tricia asked. After all, he did have his Nikon camera hanging from his neck. He’d need pictures of Deborah giving her speech for the next issue of the paper. Russ had contemplated selling the Stoneham Weekly News when he thought he could get back into reporting for a big metropolitan newspaper, but that hadn’t happened, either. Still, Tricia found it hard to feel sorry for him—not after he’d stalked her for a time. Thankfully he’d gotten the message, and although he hadn’t completely accepted the fact, his advances had backed off. He was trying for friendship; at least, that’s what he’d said.

  “Tricia!”

  Tricia turned to see Deborah’s mother, Elizabeth Crane, hurrying toward her. At last, she could surrender little Davey to another shoulder. He was getting heavy.

  “Did that boy sucker you into holding him?” Elizabeth said, and held out her arms for the boy.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “He’s an operator,” Elizabeth said, and shouldered the child, patting him on the back. Davey didn’t even stir. “Deborah has spoiled this kid. But then, she works so hard, when she’s not at the shop, she likes to spend every minute she can with him.”

  Deborah and her husband both worked hard. David Black had two jobs and not quite so jokingly claimed he held the second one to keep his wife’s shop afloat. That wasn’t exactly true. Sales at Deborah’s business, the Happy Domestic, had picked up since she’d added a line of greeting cards and stationery to the retail mix. She was in the black—not very far, mind you—but any shade of that color was better than seeing red on a balance sheet. Deborah did, however, admit that David got a bit irritated at having to watch the baby on weekends, but they’d both agreed upon it when they decided to start a family. That said, he was nowhere to be found this day.

  “Hello, Russ,” Elizabeth said. “Are you going to take pictures of Deborah giving her speech?”

  “I sure am.”

  “Get her from the right, it’s her best side,” Elizabeth said, and laughed.

  The aircraft did another low circuit around Main Street. Russ grabbed his camera and snapped off a couple of shots. It was impossible to hear anything else until it had moved out of earshot.

  “Nice banner,” Russ commented. “I hope I got a good enough shot of it to print in the paper.”

  “If you didn’t, it’ll be around again in another couple of minutes,” Tricia said, and pulled at the shoulder of her blouse where little Davey had drooled in his sleep.

  Russ glanced at his watch. “The show’s going to start in a few minutes. I’d better go up by the podium. See you later, Tricia?”

  The man just didn’t give up. “Good-bye, Russ.”

  Elizabeth turned her attention back to the gazebo. “I’m so glad Deborah was able to hire Cheryl Griffin part-time in the shop. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.”

  “I admire Deb’s stamina. She’s really worked hard on the whole Founders’ Day event.” Of course, Bob had tried to foist the job off on Tricia—and several other members of the Chamber of Commerce—first, but she’d been more adept at dodging his constant nagging. After much badgering, Deborah had given in just to shut him up.

  The aroma of freshly made popcorn wafted on the slight breeze. Tricia noticed Ray Dempsey standing beside his lunch truck, all decorated in red, white, and blue bunting. Despite protests by the owners of Stoneham’s two lunchtime eateries, the Board of Selectmen had approved Dempsey’s permit request to set up shop with what he called his mobile kitchen. That Tricia’s sister, Angelica, was the owner of one of those establishments—Booked for Lunch—brought the dispute a little closer to home.

  As if she could smell the popcorn from afar, Angelica, dressed in her white waitress togs, crossed the street and approached Tricia and Elizabeth. Despite being a nationally bestselling cookbook author, Angelica still enjoyed waiting on customers at her café a couple of times a week. And it was even more imperative that she do so of late, since she’d recently lost her short-order cook to the Brookview Inn’s reopened kitchen and needed to supervise her new hires.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Angelica said, but her attention was focused on Dempsey. “So, he
’s added popcorn to the mix. What’s next? Cotton candy and funnel cakes?”

  “Someone’s already selling those in the park. I love funnel cakes,” Elizabeth said wistfully, but her sappy expression soon turned to chagrin at Angelica’s baleful glare. “How’s business at your café?” she offered as a form of appeasement.

  “Not as good as it used to be,” Angelica said, and turned her attention back to Dempsey’s truck. “There’s a reason they called those things roach coaches.”

  “Angelica!” Tricia admonished, although she had to admit the only food she’d ever partaken of from a street vendor was roasted chestnuts at Christmastime in Manhattan. Nothing else compared.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your lunch crowd?” Tricia asked.

  “Bev can handle today’s setup,” Angelica said, volunteering her new waitress. “I thought I should come out to support Deborah.” And keep an eye on Dempsey, Tricia thought.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She’d started swaying back and forth, rocking little Davey. “I’m so proud of Deborah. I always wanted to do something with my life, like she has, but I never had the opportunity. I got married right out of high school and had three kids,” she said with a sigh. “We never had any money—Deborah put herself through college. She’s my pride and joy.” Deborah was the youngest of Elizabeth’s children and, from what Tricia had deduced, Elizabeth’s favorite.

  A smiling Deborah stepped up to the podium, tapped on the microphone to make sure it was live, and leaned down to speak. “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Stoneham’s first annual Founders’ Day celebration.”

  The crowd broke into applause, accompanied by whistles and cheers.

  Again, the plane buzzed overhead, and Deborah had to wait until it was out of range to speak again. “It was back in 1822 that Hiram Stone first opened one of New Hampshire’s biggest granite quarries and established the village where we are gathered today. It’s with great pride that we—”

  The plane buzzed even lower this time, and Tricia, Angelica, and Elizabeth involuntarily ducked as it drowned out Deborah before it zoomed into a steep climb.

  “What kind of an idiot did Bob hire?” Tricia demanded of Angelica, who could only shrug in answer. Angelica and Bob had been seeing each other for almost two years, although of late their relationship had cooled somewhat.