Not the Killing Type Page 11

  Eleanor beamed. “Ms. Ricita chose everything. Not that it’s all that much different than what we’ve had in the past. She just refreshed the look in a new way.”

  “Nicely refreshed,” Tricia agreed. She studied Eleanor’s face. “How are you doing?”

  The smile quickly vanished, leaving Eleanor’s face once again drawn and worried. She obviously hadn’t fully recovered from the shock of Stan Berry’s death. Eleanor sighed. “Not well. These last few days have been very upsetting. And the fact that poor man was killed with my own letter opener.” She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “Mr. Barbero says there was nothing I could’ve done to stop it from happening, but for some reason I can’t help but feel responsible. I mean, who uses letter openers these days? I should have been using one of those cheap envelope slitters. Goodness knows, Bob Kelly has given me three or four of them over the years.” She opened her desk and pulled one out, showing it to Tricia. It was imprinted with Kelly Realty information.

  “No one blames you,” Tricia said kindly, although she had to admit if the circumstances were reversed she might very well feel that way.

  “I only stepped away from my desk for a few moments that morning. I swear.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Into Mr. Barbero’s office. That must have been when someone lifted my letter opener.”

  “What did you go into his office for?”

  “You know, at this point I’m not sure. I was either looking for the new menus for the dining room or needed to get his calendar to make an appointment. I couldn’t have been gone for more than a minute—probably even less.”

  “Do you remember who was milling around the lobby?”

  “So many people had just left the dining room, it seemed like a mad exodus. It’s all a blur to me. I mean, this happens all the time. I just don’t pay attention to the people who come and go.”

  Tricia couldn’t imagine working in a fishbowl like the inn’s reception desk had to be. Except for those renting the bungalows out back, everyone staying at the inn came in and went out through the lobby. That, in itself, had to be awfully distracting. Those looking to book a reservation in the dining room came to or called the inn’s main telephone number, which Eleanor answered during her shifts. And how many people interrupted the poor woman’s work with questions, or a request for a new toothbrush or some other forgotten personal item? She herself had relied on Eleanor a lot during the three weeks she’d lived at the inn during the worst of Haven’t Got a Clue’s renovation.

  Eleanor sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so preoccupied with my own troubles, I never bothered to ask why you’re here.”

  “I’m having lunch with a friend.”

  Eleanor looked behind Tricia. “It wouldn’t happen to be that hunky Mr. Benson standing across the lobby, would it?”

  Tricia looked over her shoulder to see Christopher standing to one side of the entrance. He was wearing a winter jacket, scarf, and hat, so he must have entered after she did. She turned back to Eleanor. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  Eleanor’s smile was crooked. “Does Chief Baker know about you and your … friend?”

  “Yes, he does,” Tricia said and yet for some reason she felt herself blush, as though meeting Christopher was some kind of betrayal. She’d known him far longer than she’d known Grant Baker, and why shouldn’t she share a meal with her ex-husband? Baker had often done that with his ex-wife—and not all that long ago, either. Tricia hadn’t kicked up a fuss, and nobody seemed to think anything of it. Was it because Mandy Baker had been ill? Everyone, including herself, had admired the way Baker had supported his ex until she’d recovered. Christopher didn’t look the least bit sick. In fact, since they’d split, he’d lost weight, had taken up exercise in the fresh air, and without the stress of his former job now looked his age, instead of ten years older. Besides, soon the entire village would know that she and Baker were no longer an item, but she wasn’t about to announce the news to Eleanor.

  “I’d better scoot,” Tricia said, while Eleanor beamed. Would the whole village soon know about her lunch date with Christopher? She could have explained her past relationship with Christopher but resented the fact that she would even consider doing so.

  Tricia hurried across the lobby.

  “Tricia, my love,” Christopher said and held out his hands to her, captured them, and then kissed her on the cheek. Tricia felt the blush return.

  “Let’s get in the dining room fast,” she said, not bothering to even say hello. As she’d hoped, Christopher was amiable and willingly followed her.

  They were met at the door by Henry, who checked them in, grabbed a couple of the leather-bound menus, and led them to a table near the kitchen. “Is there a better seat than this?” Tricia asked, noting the dining room was half empty.

  “Oh, certainly,” Henry said. He apologized and led them back to the windows that overlooked Stoneham Creek. “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Tricia said, as Christopher helped her off with her coat and then pulled out her chair before he removed his coat, hung it on the back of his chair, and then seated himself.

  “Darlene will be your server today,” Henry said with a smile and handed them the menus. “She’ll be here in a few moments to take your drink orders.”

  “Thank you,” Christopher said.

  “We haven’t had time to chat in quiet a while, Henry. How are things?” Tricia said, not entirely sure why she’d asked. Or maybe she just wasn’t eager to talk to Christopher.

  “Lately, or since Friday?” Henry asked.

  “In general,” Tricia clarified. “In fact, since the new management took over the inn. Are you okay with the changes so far?”

  Henry’s eyes brightened. “We were all pretty worried when Nigela Ricita Associates came in like gangbusters, taking over the day-to-day operations, but I have to admit they gave the place a new lease on life. Gave us all raises, too. It sure is a relief to know I’m not going to be let go just because I’m old.”

  “That would be discrimination,” Christopher pointed out.

  Henry shrugged. “It happens. Some places just change the job titles, or say you lack training without offering it to you.”

  “I guess we’ll be seeing each other later today,” Tricia said.

  For a moment Henry looked puzzled, but then he smiled. “Yes, at the wedding rehearsal. I was honored that Mr. Barbero asked me to be his best man.”

  “Surely you don’t call him that when you’re off duty.”

  “Yes, I do—out of respect. He is my boss. But I imagine I could call him Antonio when it comes time for me to give the wedding toast.” He smiled. “You folks look hungry. I’ll send Darlene right over to take care of you,” he said with a smile, and turned to head back to his station. Tricia watched him go. When she turned back she found Christopher staring at her.

  “Sweet old man,” he commented.

  “Yes, he is.”

  Christopher leaned forward. “How come the groom has an employee—one who won’t even call him by his first name—for a best man? Doesn’t he have any friends?”

  Tricia shrugged. “He works a lot of hours, not unlike what you used to do. Besides, his boss, Nigela Ricita, seems to be a bit of a slave driver. That said, she sure inspires a strong sense of loyalty among her employees.” She straightened in her chair and picked up her menu. “So, how are you today?”

  “Peachy,” Christopher said. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Me?”

  “It seemed like you were in a hurry to sit down, and then you start shooting the”—he paused—“bull with the host. What’s going on?” Christopher asked Tricia as he grabbed the linen napkin that had been artistically stuffed into his water glass, shook it out, and placed it on his lap.

  “Oh,” Tricia said dismissively. “The woman at the receptionist’s desk is a very sweet lady, but she’s also a terrible gossip. I’m sure our meeting for lunch is going to be all ove
r town within minutes.”

  “So what? It’s not like we’re meeting in my room.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the story that goes around the village.” She thought better of that statement. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to Eleanor. But she will be telling everyone she knows about us. Especially since you kissed me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s talking to Grant right now.”

  “Did you tell him we were having lunch together?”

  “I can have lunch with anyone I please.” She didn’t want or need to go into the details of what had transpired earlier in the day.

  Christopher opened the menu and shrugged, making no reply.

  Tricia set her menu aside and took in the dining room’s decorations. Like the outside of the inn, it, too, was festooned with greenery, gold bows, and ornaments. Even the table had a vase with a red carnation and a sprig of fresh pine. Everything was simple yet dignified. Why couldn’t Pixie understand that that was the atmosphere Tricia wanted to convey?

  Christopher set his menu aside and gazed at Tricia. “Well, here we are.”

  “Yes.” Why did she feel so awkward sitting across from the man she’d once vowed to love until death did them part? “I was wondering … what have you got to tell me that’s so important?”

  Christopher looked surprised. “Nothing. I just thought it would be nice to spend a little time together, maybe reminisce, and share a little holiday cheer.”

  “It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, let alone Christmas.”

  “That’s true, but I’m not likely to make it south again before the spring—so it’s now or never.”

  “You know I never could understand why you—who loved the excitement of the city—would choose to run away to the mountains and hibernate.”

  “It was the noise, too many people squeezed into too little space, and corporate edicts to lie to clients became too much to bear. I was suffocating. I needed to leave it all behind.”

  And he had, ditching Tricia along with everything else. She didn’t feel like pursuing that conversational thread any further.

  “How did the interview go?” she asked, glancing down at the list of specials on her menu.

  “Terrific. I got the job and start tomorrow.”

  “Then are you heading back north today?”

  Christopher shook his head. “Have laptop—can work. Besides, I’ll be meeting with my new management team over the next few days. Also, as long as I’m down here, I’d like to visit Miss Marple again. I think it’s great that she hasn’t forgotten me.”

  “She’s a very intelligent being,” Tricia agreed.

  Darlene appeared with a pitcher of water and filled their glasses. She set it down on another table and took out her order pad and stood before them. They waited for her to speak, but her attention seemed to be focused outside the window on the brook, which rushed madly past.

  “Miss?” Christopher prompted.

  Darlene shook herself and gave a nervous laugh. “My apologies. Our specials today are …”

  She rattled off the list of entrées, but still seemed distracted. So much so that Tricia asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Well … no. Since Friday, the police have interrogated everyone on staff about—”

  “The murder?” Tricia asked.

  Darlene nodded. “We’re not supposed to talk about it to customers.” But it was obvious she wanted to.

  “Who said you’re not to say anything?”

  “Trish, give the woman a break,” Christopher cautioned.

  She ignored him. “Is that what Chief Baker told you, or was it Antonio Barbero?”

  “Both.”

  “Surely Stan Berry wasn’t known to any of the staff,” Tricia went on.

  “Not as far as I know,” Darlene said, keeping her voice quiet, her eyes wandering the room to see if anyone was watching them and listening.

  “What kinds of questions are the staff being asked?” Tricia pressed.

  Christopher snatched his napkin from his lap and tossed it onto the table. “Tricia, stop it.”

  “Stop what?” she asked.

  “Interrogating the poor woman. You can see she’s been traumatized.”

  “That’s okay,” Darlene said kindly, “everybody in the village knows Tricia is a frustrated investigator.”

  “No, I’m not,” Tricia protested without thinking.

  “What can I get you to drink?” Darlene asked.

  “I’ll have a scotch and water and Tricia will have a glass of Chardonnay.”

  “I prefer to order my own drink,” Tricia said and turned her attention back to Darlene. “I’ll have a gin martini up, with olives.”

  “You don’t drink martinis,” Christopher accused.

  “Yes, I do.” Or at least she did since Friday night.

  Christopher frowned. “I’m beginning to think you’re not the girl I married.”

  Tricia’s expression mirrored his. “First of all, I’m a woman, not a girl. Second, you ceased being the man I married a long time ago.”

  Darlene backed up a step. “I’ll get your drinks,” she said and fled.

  “I apologize,” Christopher said. “I simply meant you’re different. More confident, and certainly more somber.”

  “Christopher, I found a man murdered on Friday morning. Things like that tend to take the joy out of one’s life.”

  “And now you’re driven to find out what happened to the guy?”

  “Something like that.”

  He nodded and reached out to rest his hand on hers, his touch electric. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. I always knew you had more potential and that your job at the nonprofit was holding you back.”

  “Then why didn’t you encourage me to go out on my own years ago—or when I lost my job?”

  He answered without hesitation. “Because I was a selfish bastard.”

  That admission gave Tricia pause.

  Christopher continued, “You weren’t on my radar. I had my career, an attractive wife, and a pretty shallow existence.”

  “And you figured all this out while living alone in the mountains?” she asked.

  “I was starting to figure it out when I left you. I’ve often wondered what my life would be like now if I’d taken time to think it all out before I took off—and where we’d both be now if I’d asked you to go with me.”

  “We’ll never know,” Tricia said and pulled back her hand. She really didn’t want to continue to talk about the past. It was over. Finished. No going back now. But there was an unfinished piece of business that needed clarification.

  “A couple of months ago, someone sent me some souvenirs of the past. A cocktail napkin from—”

  “The Elbow Room,” Christopher supplied. “I took you there the night you lost your job at the nonprofit. We drank to the future.”

  “And a scarf—”

  “It was a birthday gift from your mother. It arrived two weeks after your birthday and you were so upset you tossed it in the trash. But I insisted you wear it at least once. You humored me—”

  It all came back to Tricia. She’d found out that her mother’s housekeeper had actually bought the scarf—her mother had been too busy with charitable responsibilities to shop for her second daughter. How ironic was that? Her mother sought to help others—make them happy—but she hadn’t the time or the interest to do that for Tricia. And now that the long-submerged memory had resurfaced, when she got home the scarf would go back in the trash once again.

  Tricia found herself breathing deeper than she had before, trying to control her temper. “Why did you send it and the napkin with no explanation and no return address? Were you trying to scare me?”

  Christopher took umbrage. “Of course not. At the time I hoped it might help us rekindle what we once had.”

  “By sending me unpleasant reminders of our past together?” she asked, hurt.

  “I didn’t think—and … to be honest, I don’t have many
reminders of our past together. I can’t even find one picture of us together.”

  Of course not. He’d jettisoned all of that stuff in his haste to escape from her and the life they’d shared for over nine years.

  “Trish, I came back East because I love and miss you. I hoped that I could make it up to you somehow. That maybe we could get back to—” He stopped as, tray in hand, Darlene approached their table, first setting out napkins and then placing their drinks in front of them.

  “Ready to order?” she asked hopefully.

  Tricia studied Christopher’s face. A face she still loved but not in the same way. She loved him from a time long since past. When their future had looked so bright. At that exact moment all she felt was an intensifying anger.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve lost my appetite.” Tricia pushed her chair back, intending to stand, but Christopher caught her hand once again.

  “Please don’t go.”

  Tricia pulled her hand away from his. “You’re about four years too late with that request.”

  She grabbed her coat and purse and left the dining room. Alone once again.

  *

  Tricia drove back to the village with her hands clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. How dare Christopher hint at a reconciliation between them when he was the one who had broken them apart in the first place? And he’d admitted that he was a selfish bastard. Yes, that perfectly described him—he’d been selfish in the past, and he was being selfish now.

  Tricia pulled into the Stoneham municipal parking lot and was surprised to see Bob Kelly standing in its midst. As she pulled into her usual spot at the far end, she noted that he was standing next to Angelica’s car. What on earth was that all about? Since Tricia had read so many mysteries during the course of her life, she immediately assumed the worst. Was he about to pour—or had he already poured—sugar into Angelica’s gas tank? Was he going to let the air out of her tires? Would he key the paint or windows, gouging them with an X or worse?

  She got out of her car and marched over to join him, just itching for a fight. “Bob!” she called smartly, startling the man, who suddenly looked like a deer caught in a car’s headlights.