Not the Killing Type Page 12

  “Tricia?”

  “Yes, that’s my name,” Tricia said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh …” Bob’s jaw dropped. “Nothing. I was …”

  Tricia could envision his mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation. “Doing what?” she pressed.

  “Uh … wondering if I should petition the Board of Selectmen to put a new coat of blacktop on the municipal lot. It’s kind of patchy in spots.”

  A blatant lie—the lot had been upgraded earlier that spring. Tricia decided not to press the point, even though it was far too late in the season to do that kind of upkeep, and decided to deal with Bob using a completely different approach. “Are you okay, Bob?”

  “Okay?” he repeated, confused.

  “Yes. I know Stan Berry’s death has Angelica completely devastated.” Okay, that was a total and complete lie, but Bob didn’t need to know that.

  “Really?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

  “Yes, and I’m sure you must feel the exact same way.”

  “Oh …” Bob seemed to shake himself. “Yes. Yes, Stan was a good pal—a worthy opponent. I-I, too, am devastated by his loss.”

  Devastated? Hardly, but Tricia didn’t press the point. “Do you have any theories about what happened?” she asked.

  Once again, Bob looked momentarily blank, and then his capacity for bullshit took over. He really was a master. “Someone had to have had a grudge against the poor man. It certainly wasn’t me. I welcome anyone to challenge me as Chamber president. After all, my first concern is and always has been for the welfare of every business owner here in Stoneham.”

  Oh, yeah—sure. Not!

  “May I ask why you’re standing next to Angelica’s car?” Tricia asked.

  “Was I?” Bob said and laughed.

  “You weren’t thinking of sabotaging it, were you?”

  “Tricia! I’m hurt by your accusation.”

  “And I’m worried about the car’s paint, gas tank, and tires.”

  “How could you think I’d even contemplate damaging another person’s car? I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “Yes, you do. And getting arrested for petty vandalism sure wouldn’t help you win reelection, especially if you damage your surviving opponent’s property.”

  Bob bristled. “I wasn’t going to touch Angelica’s car, and I resent the accusation.”

  “No accusation—just a warning.”

  “You think because you have Chief Baker in your pocket that you’re immune from suspicion, but that’s not reality. I find it just a little funny that you keep stumbling over bodies.”

  “It’s just my bad luck,” Tricia said.

  “And that of the victims,” he countered and shook loose the ring in his hand and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

  “What kind of a man stands over his ex-lover’s car with a menacing look on his face?” Tricia challenged.

  Bob blinked, the epitome of innocence. “Menacing? Me? You’ve got me all wrong, Tricia. I’ve always had Angelica’s best interests at heart.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Why, of course. Just because she turned on me like a snake has no bearing on the affection I still feel for her.”

  “Give me a break. You’re as angry as hell at her for challenging you for the Chamber presidency.”

  Bob shook his head, his expression bland. “I have nothing but love in my heart for Angelica … and I will take her back in a second—as soon as she comes to her senses and gives up her delusions of grandeur, that is.”

  Well, if that wasn’t a classic case of projection … Tricia shook herself, lowering her voice. “I’ve never had a very high opinion of you, Bob, but now you’ve sunk to a new low.”

  “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn what you think,” he said smugly. “I intend to win the election and grind Angelica into the dust—or at least the snow. Get it? It’s winter.”

  “I get it, Bob, but I don’t get you and I hope I never do.”

  “You’re just a spoilsport—you and your sister.”

  Tricia frowned. Bob sounded just like a schoolyard bully, and she would not dignify the slur with a reply.

  “And don’t go on about what a saint Angelica is. As far as I’m concerned, she’s stacked the deck in her own favor,” Bob continued.

  “And how’s that?”

  “She owns a stake in the Sheer Comfort Inn. I’m sure that’s an automatic vote for her.”

  “The manager of the inn can vote any way she pleases,” Tricia pointed out.

  Bob rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  Tricia didn’t reply. Instead, she made a point of walking around Angelica’s car, noting any imperfections in the paint before she turned back to face Bob. “Should this car suffer any unfortunate calamities—such as scratches or gouges, I’d have to inform Chief Baker that I found you standing over it ready to key it.”

  “I think you’re mistaken,” Bob said calmly.

  “And I think you’re a fool to stand here in broad daylight contemplating vandalism in front of goodness knows how many potential witnesses.”

  “Vandalism? Me? You’ve got that all wrong, Tricia. I just happened to note a small stain on the tarmac. I was worried Angelica’s car might be leaking oil or transmission or radiator fluid. It might be best if you inform her that her car needs servicing. I’m sure she’s probably just as suspicious as you and wouldn’t see my actions as that of just good citizenship.”

  Tricia realized she was wasting her breath talking to this idiot. “Good-bye, Bob,” Tricia said and stalked away.

  “Aren’t you going to say may the best man win?” Bob hollered.

  Tricia didn’t bother to look back as she called, “Sometimes the best man for the job is a woman.”

  TWELVE

  “You’re back early. How did lunch go?” Pixie called brightly as Tricia entered Haven’t Got a Clue.

  Tricia glowered at her and headed for the back of the shop where she hung up her coat. Contrary to what she’d told Christopher, she was hungry, and opened the door to the stairs marked PRIVATE and headed up to her loft apartment. Unfortunately, the cupboards—and fridge—were bare, so back down the stairs she went, grabbed her coat once more, and went across the street to Booked for Lunch.

  The joint was jammed, with Angelica dressed in her waitress uniform, helping her tiny staff serve customers. Tricia hung her coat on a peg and took the only empty seat at the counter, wedged between a bald, aging biker in black leathers and a teenager with pink hair furiously texting.

  Angelica swung around to the back of the counter and slid the decaf coffeepot back into its home base warmer, and bent down to access the small fridge under the counter. She fished out a plate wrapped in plastic and sat it before Tricia. “I take it your lunch with Christopher didn’t go well.”

  “Looks like you anticipated it,” Tricia said and removed the wrap from her tuna plate.

  “I thought we should be prepared—just in case.”

  “Wait a minute. How did you know I was having lunch with Christopher? I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Everybody in the village knows about it.”

  “Eleanor?” Tricia guessed.

  Angelica nodded and glanced at the biker. “Can I warm up that coffee for you?”

  His mouth was full, so the guy simply nodded, and Angelica refilled his cup and produced a couple of containers of half-and-half from her apron pocket. She turned back to Tricia. “So what did he say that sent you running?”

  By the time Tricia had finished her story—in between stops and starts while Angelica refilled another six or seven cups of coffee and cashed out customers—the café was beginning to empty out.

  “I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve felt so unhappy and unsettled. And I know I’m being a total bitch, but I don’t know what to say—how else to feel.” She fought the urge to cry once more; that another meltdown might be only moments away.

  Angelica eyed those rema
ining in the café and leaned in closer. “Honey, don’t be so damned hard on yourself. You have this mistaken impression that you have to be perfect—and let me tell you, only God has that distinction.” She patted Tricia’s hand. “Christopher was a rat to send you those trinkets from the past. But you know what? He’s just a dumb man. Very smart when it comes to financial affairs, but kind of clueless when it comes to the personal kind.”

  “You can say that again,” Tricia said and took a sip of her coffee.

  “If nothing else, cut the guy some slack for finally realizing how incredibly stupid he was to cut a stand-up chick like you out of his life.”

  The ghost of a smile touched Tricia’s lips. “A stand-up chick?” she asked, amused.

  “Hell, yes!” Angelica’s smile was mischievous. “You could have wallowed in self-pity when Christopher left you, but instead you looked at it as an opportunity to do what you always wanted. And the lovely settlement you got made that entirely possible.”

  “You’re being very kind,” Tricia said, unable—or maybe unwilling—to give herself the same consideration.

  “Not at all. You know, it seems like we all go through some kind of midlife crisis. This is yours.”

  Tricia sighed. Maybe she’d been too hard on Christopher. If what she felt was the same as what he’d been through, it was hell. But despite her mixed feelings, reconciling was completely out of the question.

  “It’s been a terrible day all around,” Tricia said finally. “And that’s not all. I think I saved your car from being keyed by none other than your opponent.”

  “Bob? You can’t be serious,” Angelica said, perturbed.

  Tricia swallowed her last bite and nodded. “Deadly serious.”

  “Why, that jealous rat. Speaking of the election, have you been talking me up to the other Chamber members?”

  “Only John Marcella.”

  Angelica frowned. “He isn’t likely to vote for me.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  Tricia sipped her coffee, only then remembering her conversation with Chief Baker. “With everything else that’s gone on today I forgot to mention that it’s now officially over between Grant and me.”

  “Well, that was a given,” Angelica said. “So, who’ll be your date at Ginny’s wedding?”

  “Good grief. I forgot all about that. I guess I’ll have to go stag.”

  “You’d better let Ginny know, in case she needs to have Joelle amend the reception seating chart. Although since the Brookview is doing the catering, and Antonio is the manager, they won’t get socked for the cost of a no-show like at most receptions.”

  “That’s true.” Tricia thought about the situation. Now that she was an unattached woman, she wondered if Will Berry would still be in town the following Saturday. He’d asked her out twice and she’d had to turn him down. Now … why not at least entertain the thought?

  “That’s an awful wistful smile for a woman who’s had two men disappoint her in the past five or six hours. What—or who—are you thinking about?”

  Tricia hadn’t even realized she’d been smiling, and she schooled her features. “Nothing—and no one—in particular,” she lied. She looked up at the clock. Pixie and Mr. Everett had been manning the store without her for hours. If the business at Booked for Lunch was any indication, they were probably just as busy.

  “I’ve got to go,” Tricia said and slipped off the stool. “Thanks for lunch—and the chat.”

  “You’re welcome. And don’t forget the rehearsal dinner is at my place,” Angelica said.

  “I won’t.” How could she? Everyone she’d be with would be heading there, too.

  “And feel free to bring a date,” Angelica called after her.

  “Yeah, right,” Tricia said but once again thought of Will Berry.

  And smiled.

  *

  Business had been booming when Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue, but it wasn’t anything that Pixie and Mr. Everett couldn’t handle, leaving Tricia free to catch up on her paperwork.

  Things had calmed considerably by late afternoon when it was time for Tricia and Mr. Everett to leave for the wedding rehearsal. Rather than take two cars, Tricia had invited Mr. Everett to ride along with her. Pixie waved good-bye as they left the shop.

  If Tricia thought the Brookview Inn’s decorations looked pretty during daylight hours, she was even more delighted to see them in twilight’s glow, lit up, and twinkling.

  “I don’t think the inn has ever looked lovelier,” Mr. Everett said in admiration as they strode up the front walk. He was just as impressed with the decorations inside, as well.

  Joelle Morrison was on hand, checking her watch and tapping her foot at their being all of two minutes late. “Hurry along—hurry along,” she cajoled, ushering Tricia and Mr. Everett into the dining room. “The waitstaff will soon need to get the room ready for the dinner service.”

  Antonio stood to one side of the room, with his arms crossed over his chest. “We cannot proceed without the bride, who called to say she won’t be here for at least another ten minutes,” he said, but Joelle didn’t seem to be listening.

  Mr. Everett made a beeline for his wife, while Tricia set her purse down on the table nearest Antonio and shrugged out of her coat, setting it on the back of one of the chairs. “What’s with Ginny?” she asked.

  Antonio shrugged. “She said they were very busy at the store. It seems people are already madly shopping for Christmas. But that will give us time to talk,” he said and pulled out a chair, offering her a seat.

  She took it and he sat down beside her, but instead of initiating conversation, they watched Joelle flutter about the room, with a clipboard in hand and a terse expression. Antonio shook his head. “I fear that woman will have a stroke before the ceremony on Saturday. She worries far too much and always over the most insignificant things.”

  “I guess that’s what you’re—or rather your stepmother—is paying her for. Speaking of worry, has the investigation into Stan Berry’s death adversely disrupted the inn’s routine?”

  “Not as much as I’d feared, although my staff has been questioned again and again—especially poor Eleanor.”

  Tricia nodded. “It was just her bad luck to have owned the murder weapon. I didn’t see her at the reception desk when we came in. Is she okay?”

  “Just—how do you say?” He thought about it for a moment. “Rattled. I let her go home early—with pay. Do not inform Nigela,” he cautioned with a smile.

  “Speaking of Eleanor, what do you think of her as an employee?”

  “The inn is lucky to have her. She misses nothing. She is the eyes and ears of the place. She’s been here so long, knows all the workings, and can anticipate trouble before it happens.”

  That didn’t jibe with what Eleanor had told Tricia earlier that day. She’d said she was so used to people coming and going that it was all a blur to her. Of course, maybe she was so upset the day of Stan Berry’s death that she misspoke. That her personal property had been responsible for a death had to be more than a little jarring.

  Tricia frowned, upset with herself for doubting her friend; she seemed to be upset far too often these days. And yet could Eleanor really be considered a friend? Except for the time she’d stayed at the inn, they’d only ever chitchatted when Tricia came to dine or had time to kill before a meeting. And yet, Eleanor seemed more than just an acquaintance. She’d gushed that she’d entered the pie contest at the Milford Pumpkin Festival the year before—and she’d proudly framed her blue ribbon and hung it in her office, along with her bowling trophies and other certificates. Was it possible Eleanor was Will Berry’s aunt?

  No. Will had said that his great-aunt had been a fine baker, but he’d stressed that the woman was elderly. Eleanor was in her sixties, but pretty active—not at all what Tricia would consider elderly. And what possible motive could Eleanor have had to kill Stan, anyway? And surely if she’d had a familial connection, she’d have told Baker about
it. Then again … Baker had refused to tell her anything about the case.

  Tricia frowned. She liked Eleanor, who had always been friendly and helpful to her, and felt ashamed for even considering her a suspect.

  “I got to talk to Henry earlier this afternoon,” Tricia started.

  Antonio nodded. “Another of my valued employees.”

  “He sang the praises of the inn’s new management. You’ve got a loyal crew.”

  “Something Nigela has always told me: treat your employees well and they will perform well for you.”

  Tricia noted motion to her left and saw that not only had her former employee just arrived, but she’d entered the dining room with Judge Hamilton in tow. “Let’s get this show on the road,” Ginny called, taking off her scarf and jacket and looking as radiant as only a bride-to-be can be. “I’m eager to see what delicacies Angelica has prepared for our celebration dinner.”

  Since Ginny’s parents wouldn’t be arriving in town until Friday morning, Joelle snagged Henry to play the dual role of her father and best man. With everyone now in attendance, Joelle got down to doing what she did best—bossing everyone around. She made everyone go through their paces, individually and in group mode. Over and over and over again until they’d performed up to her expectations, which seemed to make Darlene and Henry very nervous—as they were charged with setting up the tables for the dinner crowd.

  Finally Antonio announced that he’d had enough, or rather that he was more interested in saying “I do” than worrying whether the bridal party would be standing in perfect formation during the actual ceremony. Joelle pursed her lips but said nothing.

  Grace and Mr. Everett were the first to leave. Judge Hamilton was invited to attend the dinner, but had other plans for the evening. Tricia grabbed her coat to leave, with only Ginny and Antonio going over a few last details with Joelle before they, too, would be allowed to depart.

  Henry called to her before she could leave. “Ms. Miles, please give your sister my regrets. I’m afraid something’s come up and I won’t be able to attend the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Tricia said sincerely. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”