Chapter & Hearse bm-4 Page 2

  At last the chief nodded and stepped away. Tricia reached out and touched Baker’s arm. “Grant? Can you get us some news on Bob Kelly? My sister is—”

  He faced her, and she fell under the spell of his mesmerizing green eyes. She had a thing for green eyes. Her ex-husband had had them, too.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I get any information. Why don’t you wait by your store?” Not exactly a brush-off, but not all that welcoming, either.

  “Thank you.”

  Baker nodded, and Tricia went back to where Angelica stood twisting her hands with worry as she spoke to Russ—or, rather, was being grilled by him. They both went silent at Tricia’s return.

  “Captain Baker will be over in a few minutes,” Tricia said.

  “Angelica tells me you witnessed the explosion,” Russ said.

  “Yes—I guess.”

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “I heard a phoomph and was blown off my feet. That’s all I know.”

  Russ capped his pen and scowled.

  Mr. Everett and Ginny joined the growing crowd on the sidewalk, and quickly moved to stand beside the sisters. “Is anybody hurt?” Ginny asked.

  “Bob,” Angelica said, her voice cracking. She turned to Tricia. “I never even thought to ask—what happened to Jim?”

  Tricia realized the firemen hadn’t brought anyone else out of the shattered building. “I haven’t seen him. Do you suppose he . . . might not have made it?”

  Ginny’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh, no.”

  Russ uncapped his pen and scribbled on his ever-present steno pad.

  “What was it? An explosion?” Mr. Everett asked.

  “I think so. One of the firemen said there might still be gas leaking.”

  “Do you think it was from the new gas lamps? Shouldn’t they evacuate the whole block?” Ginny asked.

  “I don’t know,” Tricia said, answering both questions.

  Frannie closed and locked the Cookery’s door, then hurried over to join the group outside Haven’t Got a Clue. “What happened?” she cried, staring at the police and fire equipment blocking the view of the buildings across the street.

  “History Repeats Itself blew up—with Jim Roth and Bob Kelly inside,” Ginny said.

  “Jim!” Frannie cried. She nearly jumped off the sidewalk, but Tricia grabbed her arm to stop her.

  “You can’t do anything to help. Angelica and I have already been warned off.”

  “Are they okay? How badly are they hurt?”

  “They’re taking care of Bob in the ambulance,” Angelica said, her voice filled with worry. “We haven’t seen Jim yet. Tricia thinks he might’ve—” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  Frannie’s mouth dropped open, and then her face crumpled into a mask of grief. “No!” she wailed, wrapped her arms around herself, stumbled backward, and dropped down to sit on the curb. Tears streamed down her face as she began to rock back and forth.

  Not knowing what to do, Tricia stared at the others, then reached down to put a hand on Frannie’s shoulder. “Frannie, were you and Jim . . . friends?”

  Frannie nodded frantically. “I met him . . . when he became . . . a member of the . . . Chamber,” she managed between gulping breaths. Frannie had been the Chamber of Commerce’s receptionist for ten years before taking the manager’s job at the Cookery.

  Tricia exchanged a glance with Angelica. For this kind of reaction, Frannie and Jim had to have been more than just friends, but now was not the time to pry.

  One of the paramedics closed the door to the ambulance, ran to the front, and jumped in the passenger side, and the vehicle slowly pulled away from the curb. Captain Baker nodded to the fire chief and made his way to Haven’t Got a Clue.

  Russ waved his pen in the air. “Captain Baker—can you give me a statement?”

  Frannie’s wails had subsided into gulping sobs. Baker nodded toward her. “Is she okay?” he asked Tricia.

  “She was a friend of Jim Roth’s. Is he—?” Tricia was afraid to voice the word.

  “They found no other bodies. But Mr. Kelly told us Mr. Roth had gone out back for a cigarette. It appears his cigarette lighter ignited the fumes. There’ll be a full investigation, and they’ll do tests to identify any—” He paused, and Tricia finished the sentence for him

  “Human remains?”

  Baker cleared his throat. “Whatever they can scrape up,” he said quietly, sending Frannie into another fit of howling.

  “How’s Bob?” Angelica asked anxiously.

  “Looks like some second-degree burns. He asked me to tell you not to worry. And not to bother to come to the hospital.”

  “Like I’m going to hang around my store and twiddle my thumbs,” Angelica said sarcastically. “Of course I’m going to the hospital.” Her tone changed as she looked at Tricia. “Will you come with me?”

  “Of course.”

  Angelica turned back to the captain. “How could such a terrible accident have happened?”

  “Accident?” he repeated. “We don’t know yet if this was an accident.”

  “What do you mean? It must have been the new gas lamps,” Tricia said.

  Baker frowned, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the still-lit lamps across the way. “This explosion had nothing to do with the gas lamps.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I’ll need to speak to Mr. Kelly to find that out.” He glanced back at the building and shook his head. “The damage is pretty severe. They’ll probably have to knock the whole thing down in the next day or so.”

  “What about the books?” Tricia asked.

  Baker frowned. “What about them?”

  “The building might be dicey, but there could be many salvageable books inside.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “The firemen are inside,” Tricia pressed. “Can’t some of us—?”

  “We can’t allow civilians inside. It’s too dangerous. But I’ll ask Chief Farrar about it. The firefighters often try to salvage property after a fire.”

  “Thank you,” Tricia said.

  “If you ladies will excuse me. . . .” Baker tipped his hat in their direction, turned, and stepped off the curb.

  “We’ve got to save those books,” Tricia murmured.

  “What for?” Angelica groused. “Jim’s dead.”

  “He must have heirs.”

  “Okay, but will they want to take a load of books? Who’s going to store them until an heir can be found?”

  “Maybe the booksellers could pitch in,” Mr. Everett said. “Perhaps they could hire a storage unit for a few weeks—just until other arrangements could be made. I’d be glad to make some phone calls,” he volunteered.

  Sudden tears filled Tricia’s eyes. “You’re a treasure, Mr. Everett.”

  He blushed in embarrassment.

  “Tricia, we should follow the ambulance to the hospital,” Angelica insisted.

  “What about the Cookery?” Tricia lowered her voice. “Frannie’s obviously in no shape to close the store, and it might be hours before we return.”

  Angelica looked torn.

  “It’ll take only a few minutes,” Tricia insisted.

  “If you’ll trust me with the keys, Angelica, I’ll take care of it. And I’ll make sure Frannie gets home okay,” Ginny said. She had worked at the Cookery before Angelica bought it.

  “Thank you so much, Ginny. I’ll make it up to you,” Angelica promised.

  “You don’t need to. Now, you grab your purses and go!” Ginny gave Tricia a gentle push.

  Angelica didn’t need to be told twice.

  It was after eleven when Bob was finally transferred from the emergency room to a semiprivate room in the hospital. By then Angelica had badgered at least seven nurses and three doctors for information on Bob’s condition. “No can do,” was the answer from all, and more than one quoted the HIPA Privacy Rule of 2003. Once a bandage-swathed Bob was in his own room, though, he was free to an
swer their questions for himself. Only he didn’t.

  “I’ll be okay,” he insisted after Angelica had fussed around his bed, adjusting the covers for the fifth time.

  “I just want you to be comfortable.”

  “Right now I’m comfortable. Although when those pain meds wear off. . . .” He let the sentence trail off, and closed his eyes.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Tricia asked.

  “Jim and I were talking. He went out back for a smoke. There was a loud whoosh, and then the next thing I knew, I was lying on the sidewalk outside his shop, surrounded by firemen and a lot of glass,” Bob said, not opening his eyes.

  “What were the two of you talking about just before all that happened?” Tricia asked.

  “Nothing much,” he said, without inflection. Bob didn’t seem very disturbed by the death of his friend.

  “Did you smell gas before the place blew?”

  Bob sniffed. “Not with my allergies. Look, I’m really tired. Why don’t you girls go on home? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “But Angelica won’t be here tomorrow,” Tricia said. “She’ll be starting the first leg of her book tour.”

  “Of course I won’t,” Angelica declared, and then lowered her voice, placing her hand gently on Bob’s shoulder. “I’m staying right here with Bob until he’s fully recovered.”

  He opened his eyes. “No, you’re not. You’ve worked too hard to get all the publicity this tour will give your book. You can’t afford to cancel—especially at this late hour. And I’m speaking literally and figuratively. I will manage.” His tone indicated he was finished with that subject.

  “When did the doctor say you could leave, Bob?” Tricia asked.

  “Probably tomorrow or the next day. I’ll have to arrange for a ride home. Perhaps a cab.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’d be glad to take you home whenever you’re released,” Tricia said.

  “Yes, and I’ll stop by your place and pack a bag for you,” Angelica said. “You can’t go home wearing a hospital gown, and your clothes are ruined.”

  “No,” Tricia agreed solemnly, “Captain Baker would probably arrest you for mooning all of Stoneham.”

  Bob made no comment. He lacked a sense of humor at the best of times, and no doubt whatever painkillers they’d given him had also dulled his senses.

  “I’ll just leave you two alone to say good night. Ange, I’ll get the car and meet you at the front entrance,” Tricia said, and backed out of the room. “I hope you feel better, Bob.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Tricia did not like hospitals, and neither did she like traversing a dark parking lot to find her car. But in minutes she’d retrieved her Lexus and pulled around to the hospital’s front entrance to await Angelica. Ten minutes later, she was still waiting. A security guard approached her car. She rolled down the window.

  “Didn’t you see the sign?” He jerked a thumb toward a white sign with red lettering: NO PARKING OR STANDING.

  “I have to pick up my sister,” Tricia protested.

  The guard shook his head. “You can’t tie up the lane in front of the entrance. You’ll have to keep circling until she comes out.”

  Tricia exhaled a loud sigh, started the car, and pulled away. She’d circled three times before she saw Angelica waiting on the sidewalk.

  Another car stood at the curb. Where was that security guard now? Tricia pulled over, out of the fire lane, stopped her car, and shifted into PARK. As Angelica stepped off the sidewalk to cross the drive, Tricia heard the roar of an engine. She turned to see the high beams of a car come barreling up from behind.

  Angelica froze, the car’s bright headlights illuminating her. At the last second, she seemed to come alive and jumped out of the zooming car’s path. Tricia heard the thud as her sister landed on the hood of her Lexus. In seconds, she was out of the car.

  “Ange! Are you all right?”

  Angelica did not move. Terrified, Tricia reached for her sister’s limp arm, checking for a pulse. It was there—racing.

  Angelica groaned, braced her arms on the hood, and pushed herself up. “What was that?”

  “A car!”

  “I know it was a car,” Angelica growled. She looked around, dazed. “Where’s my purse?”

  Her giant handbag had gone sailing into the air just before she’d hit the Lexus. Tricia glanced around, found the leather purse and its contents scattered across the asphalt. She stooped to pick up all the odds and ends. “Are you okay?”

  “Bruised only,” Angelica said, gently touching the skin under her left eye.

  “We should call the police.”

  “What for?”

  “Someone just tried to kill you!”

  “Don’t be silly. It was probably just a teenager on a joy ride.”

  “At a hospital?” Tricia asked, incredulous.

  Angelica waved away her concerns. “And anyway, what would we tell the cops? Did you see what kind of car it was—or even the color?”

  “No,” Tricia admitted, handing over Angelica’s purse. “But we should at least tell hospital security.”

  Angelica reached for the passenger-side door handle. “Forget it. I’m tired. And we’ve still got to stop at Bob’s house so I can pack that bag for him.” She got in the car, buckled her seat belt, and leaned back against the headrest. Tricia got in, and with shaking hands turned the key once more and pulled away from the hospital’s now silent entrance.

  Angelica made small talk all the way home, mostly on the subject of her upcoming book tour. Tricia kept glancing up at the rearview mirror, worried those bright headlights might zoom up behind her once again.

  Three

  Angelica closed the zipper on her large, shocking pink, Pierre Cardin suitcase. A mere nine hours after her scare at the hospital, the skin under her left eye was puffy, but makeup had done a good job of covering the purple bruise.

  Tricia had shown up early on her sister’s doorstep, still worried about what had happened the night before. “I think you should reconsider going.”

  Angelica placed her hands on her hips and frowned. “Every time the subject of my book tour comes up, you give me the impression you don’t approve.”

  Tricia crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t think my opinion would be well received.”

  “By who? Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “You think I’m wasting my time?” Angelica asked, and checked the zippered pocket of her makeup case.

  Tricia didn’t answer.

  Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you’re jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of what?”

  “That I’m published and you’re not.”

  Tricia’s mouth dropped. “I’ve never aspired to be published. I’m perfectly happy selling other people’s books.”

  Angelica raised the other eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really. Really great authors.”

  “Then you must be moping about next week.”

  “Me, mope? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re upset because Mother and Daddy canceled their trip to visit in time for your birthday.”

  “I am not.” Of course she was, but she hadn’t been surprised by their announcement the previous week, either. No, they’d come back from wintering in Rio in time for Angelica’s birthday, but for more years than Tricia could count, they’d been unavailable for Tricia’s natal day. Their father had often traveled for business during Tricia’s childhood, and their mother had volunteered for a number of charities. More than once her birthday celebration had been rescheduled to suit other people’s convenience. This year was to be no different.

  “I told you,” Angelica continued, “when my book tour is over, I’ll bake you a cake, fix a nice dinner, and the three of us will celebrate your birthday.”

  “The three of us?” Tricia asked.

  “Sure, you, me, and Bob.”

  “That won’t be
necessary.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t want to celebrate my birthday with your boyfriend.”

  Angelica glared at her, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Tricia felt her cheeks grow hot. Angelica could have protested at least a little bit.

  “Getting back to the subject at hand,” Angelica said, hauling her suitcase from the bed and heading for the door and the stairs that led to the Cookery below. Tricia picked up the other two suitcases and followed. Angelica never traveled light. “Why do you think this book tour is such a bad idea?”

  “I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I just wonder if it’s a fiscally prudent idea. You’ve got your hands full with the Cookery and Booked for Lunch. The publicist you hired costs more than your advance—”

  “That may be,” Angelica interrupted, “but she also arranged all these lovely book signings. And I’m going to be on the radio and interviewed on some cable access channels, too.”

  “But will you ever see a royalty check? You sell a lot of hardcover remainders at the Cookery—which tells me there are an awful lot of cookbooks out there that the authors never see a dime from. You’re making only a couple of bucks per book. Your gas alone on this book tour will wipe out any potential profit.”

  Angelica turned and paused. “Listen, Paula Deen didn’t start out with an award-winning TV show and a monthly magazine—she started with one cookbook. I’ve got to get my name out there if I’m ever going to reach her level of success.”

  Tricia controlled the urge to scream. Nobody in the Miles family had ever had an ego as big as Angelica’s. Where had she acquired it? Maybe she was adopted and nobody had told Tricia—or the rest of the family. If she took a few hairs from Angelica’s brush, maybe she could have her DNA checked.

  “Actually, after what happened at the hospital last night—” Tricia began.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It was a stupid accident. Nothing is going to stop me from taking this trip.” And with that, Angelica took the larger of the suitcases Tricia held, stuffed it and the bigger case in the dumbwaiter, closed the door, and sent it to the Cookery below. “Now, I’ll try to call the store and the café at least a couple of times a day, but if Frannie or Jake or Darcy needs direction, I’ve told them to come to you. Okay?”