A Killer Edition Read online

  “I beg your pardon,” Tricia said, none too pleased. “I may have only met Vera Olson once, but it was obvious to me that she had a disagreeable personality. I’m sure the officer who just spoke to you told you many of her neighbors felt the same way as me.”

  “He did,” Baker grudgingly agreed.

  “Then I hope you’ll cut Joyce some slack. Plenty of people knew the reason for the discord between them. Someone who did could have used that to try to pin the blame on Joyce.”

  “And Ms. Widman will have plenty of time to defend herself.” What he didn’t say was whether it would be in court.

  Tricia sighed. Cops always believed the worst of everyone. Of course, she supposed they had to. It was their job. But it became very tiresome. She spoke to Joyce. “Do you have a lawyer? Is there someone I can call for you?”

  “Just the guy who prepared the paperwork for the closing on my house, but he isn’t the kind that’s going to be able to help me if I’m in trouble—which I shouldn’t be because I did not kill Vera Olson,” she said emphatically.

  “I know of someone.”

  “She doesn’t need a lawyer if she’s prepared to tell the truth,” Baker said flatly.

  “I intend to, but I also watch a lot of TV shows and read a lot of romantic suspense novels. The cops can’t wait to pin a crime on an innocent person—just so the district attorney can get a conviction,” Joyce said.

  “Ms. Widman,” Officer Pearson warned.

  “I’ll handle this,” Baker told his subordinate.

  Pearson looked away, dutifully admonished.

  “What about my house?”

  “You can grab your purse and lock it up; then you will accompany Officer Pearson to the station and wait for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Pearson stated.

  “I’ll call my friend to see if he can meet you there as soon as possible,” Tricia promised. She had attorney Roger Livingston’s contact information stored on her cell phone.

  “Very well,” Joyce said, but Tricia could tell by her tone that she was anything but pleased.

  “I’ll make sure the chief knows to close and lock the gates before he and his team leave,” Tricia promised.

  Joyce nodded and she headed for the house, with Officer Pearson bringing up the rear.

  Tricia didn’t envy Joyce. The next few hours would be extremely stressful for her.

  Unfortunately, much as Tricia wanted to believe her business neighbor was innocent of Vera Olson’s death, it didn’t look like Joyce had much in the way of an alibi.

  THREE

  Tricia trudged up the steps to her sister Angelica’s apartment. Thankfully she only had to make it to the second floor, since during the past few months Angelica had reconfigured her living space to mirror what Tricia had done with her own home. The second floor was now Angelica’s entertainment area, with a brand-new state-of-the-art kitchen with all the bells and whistles that a professional chef would require, and the third floor had been reconfigured as well.

  Of course, Angelica was not a professional chef—even if she thought she was as talented.

  As she topped the landing, Tricia was greeted by the sound of enthusiastic barking from Angelica’s Bichon Frise, Sarge. That happy little pup was always glad to see Tricia because he knew she was a soft touch and would toss him at least one if not four dog biscuits during any given visit.

  “Come on in, the door’s open,” Angelica called.

  Tricia entered the apartment but had to fuss over Sarge before she could make her way to the newly expanded kitchen. In comparison, Tricia’s kitchen seemed almost makeshift. Angelica had had to reinforce the flooring to accommodate the large stainless steel behemoth of a stove she’d had installed. With its six burners and a pot-filling faucet over it, she could produce restaurant-quality fare for the family she loved.

  “Good grief, you are a noisy boy tonight,” Angelica scolded Sarge. She grabbed a couple of biscuits from the crystal jar on the counter and tossed them to him. He caught one in his mouth and snatched the other before running to his bed to devour his snack.

  The chilled martini glasses sat on a tray on the counter. Angelica turned to the fridge and took out the glass pitcher of martinis she’d already prepared. Setting it on the counter, she picked up a long glass spoon and stirred the contents. “My goodness, you’re late tonight, Tricia. How many veggies did you pick at Joyce’s house?” Then she looked at her sister and seemed to realize Tricia had arrived empty-handed. “Where are the veggies?”

  “Unpicked,” Tricia said succinctly.

  “What?” Angelica said as she poured the first martini.

  Tricia sighed. “Bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, no,” Angelica wailed. “Don’t tell me you found another body.”

  Tricia frowned. “Now, why would you automatically think that of all things?”

  “Because I know you. And when you have bad news to report, you’ve usually found a corpse.”

  Tricia’s frown deepened. “As it happens,” she said. “I sort of did.”

  “Not Joyce, I hope,” Angelica cried, appalled.

  “No, but she was there at the time. It was her neighbor. Or should I say, it was Frannie’s neighbor. Frannie’s friend. Apparently, this woman, Vera Olson, never took to Joyce and resented the fact that she now lives in Frannie’s house.”

  “And just where did you find this woman? Inside Joyce’s house?”

  “No, behind her vegetable garden. Someone had run her through with a pitchfork.”

  Angelica shuddered. “Ouch. That’s not the way I want to go.” She handed Tricia one of the glasses. “So who killed her? Certainly not Joyce.”

  “I don’t think so. I happened to be at Joyce’s store this morning when Vera showed up berating Joyce for having a limb removed from a tree that hung over her yard. It could have gotten ugly, but the village’s new policewoman, Officer Pearson, was also in the store at the time and defused the situation.”

  “I haven’t met her yet. Is she nice?”

  Tricia shrugged. “She seems to be. She showed up at Joyce’s house, too, as part of the police show of force after I called nine one one.”

  “Yes, the whole department seems to show up whenever there’s a problem.”

  “I’d say murder was a major problem,” Tricia agreed.

  “I assume Joyce is the prime suspect,” Angelica said.

  “They did haul her off to the police station for questioning, but it seems Vera was not a favorite among the neighbors. Frannie may have been her only friend.”

  “And now Frannie’s in the pokey—and probably will be for life,” Angelica said, and took a sip of her drink. It wouldn’t have seemed proper to have toasted after Tricia’s announcement of yet another death within the village limits.

  Tricia sipped her drink, too. “I called Roger Livingston. He agreed to go to the station to advise Joyce, who practically accused Grant of trying to railroad her.”

  “Not the best approach so early in the investigation,” Angelica observed.

  “No, but the poor woman was badly frightened, and with cause. I mean, who wants to find a dead body in their backyard? And it does look suspicious.”

  “All deaths with pitchforks are terribly suspicious.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Tricia said. “I can’t put my finger on exactly what—but something wasn’t right about the murder scene.”

  Angelica looked thoughtful. “Leave it to Grant. It’s his job to discover the truth, although you’re probably right that it was almost certainly a disgruntled neighbor. But who else was in Joyce’s store at the time of their disagreement?”

  “I thought of that, too, but I didn’t recognize anyone. But then why should I? Our bookstores attract a different clientele. I didn’t even see Joyce’s assistant, Lauren. It was too early for her lunch
break, but she might have been running an errand or getting stock from the storeroom. Joyce’s customers are voracious readers and her shelves empty incredibly fast.”

  “Would that that would happen to us,” Angelica lamented.

  “A bus came through this morning and Pixie said we did well.” Tricia frowned and took a bigger slug of her drink. She used to keep a mental tally of the day’s sales, which wasn’t as easy to do now that Pixie often closed the shop.

  Angelica set down her drink, picked up the large, shiny pot on the counter, and filled it with water. “What are we going to do now that we don’t have a salad?”

  “Pasta is enough for me. Do you have any Italian bread?”

  “Of course. I got it fresh from the—”

  There was only one place to get fresh-baked bread in the village: the Patisserie. Nikki didn’t seem to hold a grudge against Angelica, who still regularly patronized the bakery. That was all right. There were several wonderful bakeries in Milford, just a few miles up the road, and they were only too happy to sell their wares to Tricia.

  “The loaf isn’t tainted,” Angelica assured her sister.

  Tricia wasn’t going to be a pill about eating it, either. But she didn’t have to enjoy it.

  “I guess what I should have said is, are you okay? I mean, it is upsetting to find a body.”

  “I’m okay,” Tricia assured her sister, although it was partly the nearly finished martini that was doing the talking for her. “Let’s change the subject, okay?”

  “Name it,” Angelica said.

  Tricia thought about the flyer that was still in her pocket. “I’m considering entering the Great Booktown Bake-Off,” she said offhandedly.

  “Really?” Angelica said, her tone tinged with incredulity.

  “You know I’ve practiced my baking skills throughout the winter. My customers certainly haven’t been complaining about the quality of the cookies and cupcakes I’ve provided in the store these past few months.”

  “Yes, Grace mentioned that she’s gained at least five pounds because Mr. E keeps bringing home your goodies.”

  “Perfect proof. If they’re eating my efforts, then they can’t be horrible.”

  “No,” Angelica agreed. “And I’ve eaten your muffins, cakes, and cookies, too. You’re much improved.”

  Tricia knew that was as close to a compliment as she was likely to get from her sister.

  “Um, just what recipe were you thinking of making?” Angelica asked, her tone light.

  Tricia looked at her sister shrewdly. “Oh, no. You just want to know so that you can one-up me.”

  Angelica batted her lashes innocently. “Moi?”

  “Oui, vous.”

  Angelica shook her head. “I think we both know who’s going to win the contest.”

  “You?”

  “Of course—in the amateur division. I’ve been baking since I was seven. You’ve been baking less than a year.”

  “I can follow a recipe,” Tricia assured her.

  “Yes, darling, but I create them. I know the chemistry of baking. I could bore you to tears on the subject of leavening agents alone,” she said, and checked to see if the pasta water was boiling.

  That was probably true, but Tricia wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, least of all Angelica.

  “You’d better get the paperwork in first thing in the morning, then,” Angelica said. “The contest registration closes at eleven.”

  “I’ll get it done,” Tricia said.

  “Then it seems we’re competitors.”

  “It isn’t the first time,” Tricia said, remembering Angelica’s power serves from when they had taken tennis lessons together as children. Being five years older, Angelica had never taken their age difference into consideration when she’d obliterated her sister during practice.

  “What charity are you representing?” Tricia asked.

  “It was a tough choice, but I decided to go with the White Mountain Farm Sanctuary.”

  “Why?”

  Angelica shrugged. “I figured that horses, goats, and chickens could use as much love as cats and dogs, and not many people think about supporting them. Cats and dogs come first in most people’s hearts.”

  “Says the dog owner.” Sarge seemed to know he was being mentioned, for he hopped out of his bed and trotted over to sit in front of Tricia, looking hopeful.

  “You’ve had enough treats,” Angelica admonished him.

  Sarge’s tail stopped wagging.

  Tricia continued. “You’re right. I thought I’d go with Pets-A-Plenty. Maybe I should rethink that choice.”

  “It won’t matter because you’re not going to win.”

  “I might.”

  “Pullleeese,” Angelica said with disdain. But then her demeanor immediately changed.

  Tricia didn’t take her sister’s insult personally. “I guess that depends on how many people I can get to sponsor me.”

  “You’ve left it late, dear. The rest of us have been signing up sponsors for weeks.”

  Tricia hadn’t thought about that when she’d delayed entering the Bake-Off. Depending on where one landed in the competition, the sponsor would pay a dollar. Tricia had no idea how many contestants had entered.

  “Did you know that Chef Larry Andrews from the Good Food Channel is one of the judges?” Angelica asked.

  “I saw that on the flyer.”

  Angelica seemed to be waiting for a better response.

  “So?” Tricia obliged.

  “I met Larry on the Authors at Sea cruise on the Celtic Lady.”

  “And?”

  “Well, of course he’s going to remember me.”

  “And is that supposed to give you an edge over the rest of us?”

  Angelica shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

  Considering how many people on the cruise had fawned over the celebrity chef, it was doubtful he’d remember one of the cruisers, but Tricia decided not to mention that to her delusional sister. Instead, she said, “You haven’t mentioned setting up a signing for the great chef. I suppose he does have a couple of cookbooks out.”

  Angelica’s mouth dropped in horror. “Good grief! I’ve been so busy with getting ready to open the day spa, I forgot all about it!”

  “There really isn’t time to set one up at this late date.”

  “Says you! First thing tomorrow, I’ll have June see what she can do to make it happen.”

  “Has she ever set up a signing before?”

  “No, but this will be a good chance for her to learn.” Angelica shook her head. “I could kick myself for not thinking about this sooner.”

  “Do you really have time to devote to the Bake-Off when you’re about to open a new business?”

  “I admit, the timing is tight, and since I’m opening my day spa under my own name, instead of Nigela Ricita Associates, it’s proven more difficult than I expected. I don’t have the same human resources at my command. But I perform well under pressure. I do wish you’d show more interest in the enterprise.”

  “I want to see it when it’s finished. I mean, transforming that ugly cement-block building into a glamorous spa is truly a feat. I know how nice the outside of the building looks—I want to be surprised by the inside’s transformation, too.”

  The truth was, Tricia hadn’t wanted to enter the building formerly owned by the man who’d killed her ex-husband. She had too many memories of her encounters with Bob Kelly in that building. She knew once Angelica was finished with the renovations it would bear absolutely no resemblance to the former Kelly Realty. With the old sign gone, there were fewer and fewer triggers to remind her of that part of her past.

  “You still haven’t told me the name of your salon.”

  “Day spa,” Angelica insisted. “It’s going to be much more than a hair
and nail salon. And the name is a surprise.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s more fun!” She flashed her perfectly manicured nails, which were a dark plum in color. “I interviewed a manicurist today. Tomorrow, I’ve got another—who does pedicures, too. The two pedi chairs were delivered this afternoon.”

  “Did you test them out?”

  “Of course!” Angelica practically squealed. “It’s like a Jacuzzi for your tootsies.”

  Tricia had soaked in such a chair but didn’t feel the need to remind her sister of it. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “What kind of pasta are we having?”

  “Farfalle with pesto sauce.”

  “Is the basil from your balcony pots?”

  Angelica practically had an herb farm on her new balcony. She’d built one more than twice the size of Tricia’s so that she could entertain their little makeshift family during their summer Sunday dinners.

  “Yes.”

  “We should go out there and sit with our drinks some evening.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Tricia turned her gaze to the sliding glass doors of Angelica’s balcony. “Joyce suggested I hang window boxes on my balcony rail so that I can grow herbs.”

  “It’s not too late in the season. You could also get a few tomato plants in pots. Cherry, grape, or Juliet tomatoes are small and tasty.”

  “I’ll have to look into it,” Tricia said, and looked down at her empty glass. “Another?”

  “Of course,” Angelica said, and poured.

  This time, they did raise their glasses but said nothing in the way of a toast. Tricia gave a little shudder as she remembered the sight of Vera Olson lying dead with that pitchfork through her middle. Whoever had killed her must have been very, very angry.

  * * *

  * * *

  Twilight was falling and the Dog-Eared Page was crowded when Tricia entered through its front door. She looked around and saw Marshall standing at the bar. He raised a hand to wave to her, giving her one of his widest smiles, and something inside her tingled. If they were only friends with benefits, why did she often feel a thrill of excitement when she saw him? That the thrill didn’t last for more than an hour or two said something, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real.