A Deadly Deletion Page 15

  “No. They’re still investigating. It could take months until they figure out what happened. All we know is that someone deliberately destroyed our home—our lives.”

  “But you’re safe and you can rebuild.”

  “Yes. We are safe.” She didn’t seem all that thrilled about the rebuilding aspect. “What can I do for you?” Ginny offered.

  “Well, actually, I was wondering how you felt about tennis.”

  “Tennis?”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to bring it up yesterday, but it seems Marshall was well acquainted with Becca Dickson-Chandler.”

  “Oh my God—are you kidding me?” Ginny asked, suddenly sounding like her old enthusiastic self.

  “No. In fact, she’s here in Stoneham to tie up his affairs and she asked if I would be willing to help her find a place to practice.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s going to meet me at the Stoneham High tennis courts at five.”

  “Can I come? Can I meet her?” Ginny asked excitedly.

  “Well, actually, I was hoping you’d be willing to do just a little bit more.”

  “Like what, like what?”

  “Would you be willing to hit some tennis balls in her direction? Of course, she’d love someone to play against, but there’s nobody around here in her league. I was going to do it myself until Angelica questioned whether that would be a good idea—”

  “Not after breaking your arm back in June,” Ginny agreed. “I’d be absolutely thrilled to help her out.”

  “You’d have to leave work a little early.”

  “I’ll be out of here in a flash for an opportunity to meet one of the country’s greatest tennis players.”

  Tricia smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  * * *

  * * *

  As the afternoon progressed, Tricia had a change of heart. Was she willing to risk Ginny’s health and that of her unborn baby to placate Marshall’s ex-wife? And all because she selfishly wanted to wheedle more information from the woman about the man she thought she’d known? And to what end? Nothing she learned about Marshall would bring him back. And perhaps those answers would only confuse and upset her more.

  Angelica’s Serena Williams defense didn’t cut it for Tricia. Serena was a trained athlete. For the most part, Ginny led a sedentary life, spending her weekdays behind a desk. She did chase a toddler on weekends, but then again all Ginny had to do was toss tennis balls in the air and give them a whack.

  Paranoia doesn’t suit you, Tricia told herself. Still . . .

  Although Stoneham High was only a few blocks from Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia drove herself and Angelica, parking in the rear of the building closest to the tennis courts. They’d brought along what Angelica called “necessary supplies” of bottled water in a small cooler, a couple of hand towels, and Angelica’s old tennis racket—just in case—and a folding chair.

  A few students jogged the dirt track around the athletic field, but as Mr. Everett had mentioned, there were no gawkers hanging out at the courts.

  “I can’t help but worry,” Tricia muttered as she handed her sister her crutches.

  “Maybe you should just go home and I’ll catch a ride back with Ginny.”

  “I can hardly do that when I’m the one who set this up for Becca.”

  By the time Tricia had removed the chair from the trunk of her car and set it up for Angelica on the side of the court, Ginny had arrived. She was dressed in work clothes consisting of a pink blouse, black slacks, and a matching sweater, plus a pair of brand-new, white track shoes that looked like they’d just escaped from the box.

  “Wow—I’m surprised I got here before Ms. Dickson-Chandler.”

  “Oh, call her Becca,” Angelica advised.

  “Excuse me, but you haven’t even been introduced to her yet,” Tricia chided her sister, who merely rolled her eyes.

  No sooner had she finished her admonishment than a charcoal gray Dodge Caravan pulled into the lot. Becca got out of the car. She wore a blue tracksuit and a ball cap emblazoned with the United States Tennis Association logo. She reached in and brought out a duffel bag. “Tennis anyone?” she called, and laughed. She walked over to where the others were stationed at the side of the court, setting her stuff down on the ground.

  “Wow, a minivan?” Tricia asked, surprised by Becca’s choice. She’d been expecting something more in the way of a Porsche or Lamborghini. She laughed. “You look just like a soccer mom.”

  “And I suppose you drive a Rolls Phantom?” Becca barked.

  “Hardly. Becca, this is my sister, Angelica.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Becca said, and shook Angelica’s hand.

  “And this is my niece, Ginny. She’s going to be the one helping out today.”

  Becca looked at Tricia quizzically.

  “As my sister reminded me earlier, I broke my arm earlier this summer and I really don’t want to put a strain on it.”

  “Totally understandable.” Becca turned to Ginny. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve been a fan of yours since I was a kid,” Ginny said excitedly as she shook Becca’s hand. “I even had a poster of you up on my bedroom wall.”

  Don’t gush, don’t gush, Tricia silently implored.

  “Played tennis, did you?” Becca asked with just a hint of derision in her voice.

  “A little bit,” Ginny said modestly.

  “Well, let’s see what you can do.” Becca emptied the duffel, which contained several cans of tennis balls that turned out to be Day-Glo pink, as well as her racket. She removed her sweat jacket and tied it around her waist. “Would you get the balls ready, Tricia?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Tricia opened the cans while Ginny hefted Angelica’s racket, checking to see that it wasn’t warped. “It’s in good shape.”

  “I had it restrung just last year.”

  “Planning on playing again?” Ginny asked.

  “One never knows,” Angelica said, and sighed.

  Ginny handed her sweater to Angelica while Tricia set the balls in the middle of the court. Ginny moved to stand by her. “All you have to do is just hit the balls in Becca’s direction,” Tricia told her.

  Ginny nodded.

  “Anytime you’re ready,” Becca called from center court.

  Tricia retreated to the sidelines.

  Ginny picked up one of the pink balls and bounced it for a few seconds before she tossed it into the air and slammed it with amazing power. Becca returned the shot with equal force, sending it sailing to the far side of the court.

  Ginny picked up the next ball, bounced it, whacked it, and Becca hit it hard, sending it to the opposite side of the court. On the next volley, Ginny dived to return it, Becca hit it back—not once, not twice, but three times before the tennis pro passed her.

  Little Ginny, the eighteen-year-old who had not won a tennis scholarship because “she wasn’t good enough” could hold her own against a world champion. Okay, Becca was past her prime, but Ginny could still hit a tennis ball.

  Ginny, who had only a high school education, had risen from retail clerk to marketing executive in only four years. And why? Because she’d been given a chance. Angelica had seen a kernel of greatness in Ginny—had given her the opportunity to manage the Happy Domestic. And after Ginny’s marriage to Antonio, Angelica had elevated her to manage the NR Associates Marketing Department. It wasn’t just nepotism, Ginny had the smarts, the vision, and the skill to pull that off. And now she was giving a tennis world champion a run for her money.

  “Woo-hoo!” Tricia called as Ginny dived to return yet another savage backhand shot.

  “Who is this ringer?” Becca yelled in Tricia’s direction.

  “My niece!” Tricia called with enthusiasm.

  Ginny and Becca ended up batt
ing balls back and forth for almost an hour while Angelica’s phone captured some of the action. This was something Ginny could not only tell her children about in the future, but she’d be able to show them, too.

  Becca did not jump over the net, but she looked satisfied as she approached her opponent.

  “You gave me a great workout, Ginny. You’re a very talented amateur,” Becca said. It was supposed to be a compliment, but it didn’t come out sounding that way.

  “Thanks,” a smiling Ginny said, still breathing hard, her face beaded with sweat, apparently missing Becca’s derisive tone. “And to think, I haven’t played for at least five years—well, a real game, anyway. I work out several times a week with Wii tennis, and I knock balls off the brick wall in my backyard.”

  Becca scowled, looking just the teeniest bit angry.

  “It’s like riding a bike,” Angelica quipped, and handed Ginny a towel.

  “Would you be willing to do it again tomorrow?” Becca asked.

  Ginny wiped her brow and gave Tricia a sly grin before turning to Becca. “Sure. As long as the weather holds I could probably carve an hour out of my day.”

  “Great. We’ll meet here again tomorrow evening—same time?”

  “Can do,” Ginny agreed.

  “Thanks for arranging this, Tricia,” Becca said. “I’ll be in touch.” She picked up the balls, stuffing them into her storage bag, and headed for her car.

  Angelica handed Ginny a bottle of water. “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned.

  “Okay? I’m fantastic. You have no idea what a gift Tricia has given me at a time when I’ve lost so much.”

  “I’m betting you’re going to be sore tomorrow,” Tricia said.

  “And I’ve got that lovely soaker tub waiting for me at the suite at the Sheer Comfort Inn. I intend to luxuriate in it once Sofia nods off.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” Angelica said, and drew Ginny into a hug.

  “Me, too,” Tricia said, but her smile was short-lived.

  Her motivation for agreeing to set up this tennis date had been to find out more about the investigation into Marshall’s death and the life he’d left behind. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the opportunity to ask Becca one question.

  NINETEEN

  Angelica was in high spirits as they drove back to the municipal parking lot. So much so that one might have thought she was the one who’d played triumphantly on the tennis court. Tricia listened, but she didn’t take it all in. She had other things on her mind.

  Angelica unlocked the door to the Cookery and the sisters trundled up the stairs to her apartment. After a warm welcome from Sarge, they took off their coats and headed for the kitchen, where Angelica already had a pitcher of happy hour cocktails waiting.

  “We’re not too much later than usual,” she said as she pulled a tray of something wrapped in plastic from the fridge and turned on the oven.

  “Are we in a hurry?” Tricia asked.

  “Not a bit.”

  “What have you got there?”

  Angelica set the tray on the island. “Mushrooms wrapped in bacon and covered in barbecue sauce. It’s something Tommy threw together for us. They only take ten or fifteen minutes to bake. It should taste fabulous.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Oh, did you have a chance to call Louise Jameson to set up our family portrait?”

  Tricia winced. “Rats! With everything that went on today, I completely forgot.”

  Angelica did not look pleased, but she didn’t berate her sister, either. “Perhaps you’ll remember tomorrow,” she said pointedly.

  “I will definitely call her tomorrow.”

  “What were you doing that took up all your time?”

  “You mean besides running my store and arranging things for Becca?”

  Angelica nodded and put the tray of appetizers in the oven.

  “I called the last of the people on my Chamber list to try to talk them into rejoining.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Nobody returned my calls—so far,” she amended. As if on cue, Tricia’s phone rang. She glanced at the number and, recognizing the name, answered. “Hey, Billie, thanks for returning my call.”

  Billie Hanson was the manager of the Bank of Stoneham. Tricia had dealt with her for business transactions on a number of occasions since she’d arrived in town nearly seven years before. It was said that Billie was named after Billie Burke, the actress who played Glinda the Good Witch of the North in The Wizard of Oz. Not that she looked like that icon of the silver screen. She didn’t have long, frizzy red hair, nor was she tall. In fact, Billie, short and squat, reminded Tricia of a fireplug. As she always wore slacks, Tricia couldn’t imagine her ever dressing in a glittering pink gown, but then these days Tricia rarely wore a dress of any kind, either.

  “So the Chamber is going to regroup now that Russ Smith is in jail,” Billie said.

  “That’s the plan,” Tricia replied as Angelica started gathering plates and glasses and setting them on the island. Tricia wandered into the living room to pitch her speech, but she could tell by the chilly silence at the other end of the line that Billie wasn’t impressed.

  “Why don’t they just ask you to step in to run the organization? The members, myself included, should have rioted months ago to toss Russ out on his keister and let you run the show.”

  “So many members fled, there was no one who felt able to confront him. But now that Russ is out of the picture, it’s been decided that a new face should breathe life into the Chamber.”

  “It’s too bad Angelica couldn’t come back. She left pretty big shoes to fill.”

  But in the future, they wouldn’t be stilettos.

  “Once Russ cut out the networking opportunities, there was no reason to rejoin. Making connections was the whole point of joining in the first place,” Billie lamented.

  “I completely agree,” Tricia said.

  “Who else is on the recruitment committee?” Billie asked.

  Tricia reeled off the members’ names.

  “And you say Dr. Jameson is the head of the committee?” Billie repeated. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the time.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I heard he’s set to open another office in Merrimack to test the waters to see if he’d do better there than his practice here in Stoneham is doing. He lives here in the village, and it’s said he’s thinking about running for a seat on the Board of Selectmen next year. And that’s not all.”

  “Oh?” Tricia asked, welcoming more information.

  “Yeah. He’s never banked with us so I feel as though I can talk about it,” Billie said, which wasn’t like her. She really must dislike the man to go on so. “Rumor has it he’s also putting up the money for his wife’s wedding destination partnership.”

  So, despite her appearance of self-sufficiency, Louise’s photography business wasn’t strong enough to carry her new venture.

  Interesting.

  “So, will you give the Chamber another try?” Tricia asked.

  Billie didn’t speak for long seconds. “You’re asking the bank to cough up another year’s membership fee on just the chance the organization can be saved.”

  “I’m taking that leap of faith and so are other former members. The situation can’t improve unless we work together and give it a chance.”

  “Well, if you put it that way, I guess I could, too. I mean, it is a deduction.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Tricia encouraged her.

  “Shall I write you a check and put it in the mail tomorrow?”

  “We’re going to have an audit done. Depending on what we find, we may even open a new account. Either I or someone else on the committee will be in contact with you about our plans.”

  “I’d prefer to deal with either you or Mary.
I don’t trust Dr. Jameson. In fact, if he was running for the group’s presidency, there’s no way I’d rejoin.”

  Tricia frowned. How many others would feel the same way?

  “Thanks, Billie. The revamped Chamber will be in touch.” Tricia said good-bye and ended the call. She returned to the kitchen and set her phone on the island.

  “Will Billie return to the Chamber?” Angelica asked from her perch on one of the stools.

  “Yes, although with trepidation. She wishes you’d return to lead the organization.”

  “Well, I did do an excellent job. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to set the tone for how to keep it afloat. Of course, if not for Russ throwing his hat into the ring, you would have won the election and the Chamber would still be thriving.”

  That was about as good a compliment as Tricia was likely to receive.

  “It turns out people don’t like Dr. Mark Jameson,” Tricia offered.

  “Am I supposed to be surprised by that statement?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “But when you hear the same story from more than one source, it gets to be more than a mere rumor. And Billie spilled some gossip concerning Dr. Jameson and his wife.”

  “Really? I’ve never known Billie to gossip.”

  “Me, either, which is telling.” Tricia related what the bank manager told her.

  “If I were to be a negative person,” Angelica began, “I might see why Louise and Marshall parted ways.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If—and we still don’t know if she and Marshall had a thing going—but if she wanted her husband to underwrite her wedding venue, she might have dumped Marshall to see the project come to fruition.”

  “We still have nothing but supposition to tie her to Marshall.”

  “Yet,” Angelica said.

  The scenario Angelica kept pushing meant one quite disturbing reality: that Marshall had been bedding two women. He’d asked Tricia to marry him. Did that mean he’d asked Louise first and she’d declined so he’d asked Tricia while intending to keep Louise in his life?