Chapter & Hearse bm-4 Page 6

  Darcy brandished a blue banking pouch. “I’ve brought over the day’s receipts.”

  Tricia cringed. Ginny and her customer both looked up. Did Darcy have to announce it to the world at large?

  She handed over the pouch, and Tricia quickly stowed it under the counter. She lowered her voice. “Perhaps tomorrow you could bring it over in a plain paper bag so as not to draw it to my customers’ attention.”

  “Oh, sure.” Darcy laughed. “Oh, I get it. You don’t want me to make myself a mugging target. Good thinking.”

  Was the woman completely clueless? Tricia consulted the clock once again. It usually took Angelica more than an hour to wind things down at the café; she was a stickler for cleanliness. However, Jake was probably long gone, and Tricia wondered if Darcy had been as thorough in her end-of-day tasks. “You seem like you’re in a hurry.”

  Darcy raked a hand through her too-long bangs. “Yeah, I gotta get moving. I’m helping a friend get her garden in shape. Don’t want to be late.” With her brightly lacquered nails and fingers full of silver rings, she hardly seemed the gardening type.

  “Gotta run,” she said, making an abrupt about-face. “See you tomorrow.” And out the door she went.

  Ginny and her customer approached the cash desk. “I’ll just ring that up for you,” Ginny said.

  Tricia stepped aside and bagged the order, tossing in a copy of store’s latest newsletter as well as a couple of bookmarks she’d received from current mystery authors, and handed the bag to the customer before she glanced out the front display window. Darcy was heading in the direction of the municipal parking lot. Who wanted to garden at the hottest part of the day? Tricia shook her head.

  “What’s up?” Ginny asked, once the customer had departed.

  “Darcy. She’s an odd duck.”

  “Yeah. She’s either overly friendly or just plain ignores you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d eaten at Booked for Lunch all that often.”

  “I haven’t. But I’ve run into her a few times around town. She’s almost as obnoxious as Angelica’s cook. The few times I’ve run into him and said hello, he’s sneered and ignored me.”

  “Good.” At Ginny’s startled expression, Tricia explained. “I mean I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way about him. Angelica thinks the world of him.”

  “There’s no accounting for taste,” Ginny commented. “I’m going to straighten the shelves in back. Call me if you need me.”

  Tricia nodded. Once Ginny was out of sight, she brought out Christopher’s gift. Miss Marple jumped down to the counter from her perch on the wall behind Tricia. Brrrrrp!

  “Christopher thinks I love you best.”

  Miss Marple rubbed her head against Tricia’s arm, as though to say, “Well, of course you do!”

  Tricia held the locket in her fist, wondering what she should do with it. Should she throw it away or . . . wear it?

  Throw it away, the hurt, angry part of her said.

  Keep it, the part of her that still ached for Christopher begged.

  Tricia grasped the chain and opened the clasp, fumbling to fasten it around her neck. But instead of wearing it outside her sweater, she tucked it inside. She didn’t want to talk about it or show it to Ginny. This would be her secret. And if she never wore it after today, that was okay, too.

  Tossing the box and packaging in the wastebasket, she sorted through the rest of the mail. Nothing too pressing; nothing very interesting. Miss Marple soon became bored and returned to her perch above and behind the sales counter.

  The bell over the door rang, and two elderly women entered Haven’t Got a Clue. That alone wouldn’t have startled Tricia, but the fact that the ladies were dressed alike, in matching tennis shoes, dark slacks, and floral tops, and wore the same hairstyle, made them look like they’d been stamped out with a cookie cutter. How old could they be? In their seventies? Perhaps eighties?

  “Good morning. My name is Midge Dexter, and this is my sister Muriel,” said the first of the women.

  “We’re twins!” Muriel chimed in, and then giggled. “I’m the baby. I was born fourteen minutes after Midge.” Midge gave her sister a look that said she’d heard that line a little too often.

  Tricia fought to keep from smirking, and cleared her throat. “Very nice to meet you, ladies. What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like you to sign our petition,” Midge said, indicating the clipboard she held under one arm. “We want to reestablish a police force here in Stoneham.”

  “We’ve been without one for almost eighteen years,” Muriel piped up.

  “The Sheriff’s Department isn’t really equipped to keep the law in a village like ours. Did you know the average response time for a 9-1-1 call is almost twenty minutes? And thanks to the influx of tax revenue, we feel the time is right to resubmit our request to the Board of Selectmen.”

  “You’ve made this request before?” Tricia asked.

  Midge nodded. “For the past four years. Why is the village spending money on foolish things like gas lamps when we should be protecting our citizens from murderers?”

  “Yes,” Muriel continued for her sister, “we’ve had four murders in less than two years. It had been years—”

  “Decades,” Midge interrupted.

  “—since anyone was killed here in Stoneham, and since the booksellers moved here—” Muriel slapped a hand across her mouth to cut herself off.

  “You think the booksellers are responsible for an increase in crime?” Tricia asked.

  “No, dear,” Midge said, “just you.”

  “Me?” Tricia cried. Oh, boy, here came that same “village jinx” label she’d been stuck with since Doris Gleason had been murdered some eighteen months before.

  “Well, you do seem to be falling over corpses every few months,” Muriel said.

  “I did not fall over Jim Roth’s corpse. In fact, there was no corpse,” Tricia said, a bit more emphatically than she’d planned.

  “But you were on your way to his store when the explosion happened,” Midge said.

  “You must’ve been born under an unlucky star,” Muriel added, nodding sagely.

  Tricia wasn’t sure how to reply to that.

  “Now,” Midge said, pushing her clipboard forward, “we need at least two hundred and fifty signatures. Won’t you be the first merchant on Main Street to sign our petition?”

  “Yes, it would be symbolic,” Muriel agreed. “And I’m sure if you signed it, the rest of the booksellers would be more inclined to sign it, too.”

  “How much is this likely to cost taxpayers?” Tricia asked, playing devil’s advocate.

  “Thousands,” Muriel said.

  “Oh, no, dear, millions,” Midge corrected. “Over the long haul, that is. But I’m sure everyone in the village will sleep better at night knowing we have our own officers patrolling the streets and keeping us safe. I know I will.”

  “Me, too,” Muriel agreed.

  With no sales or income taxes, property taxes paid for all that was needed in New Hampshire—from filling the potholes to paying the state’s public servants. As far as Tricia knew, all of the booksellers leased the properties that housed their stores, but the landowners—Bob Kelly in particular—passed the property tax expense on to their leaseholders.

  “Let me guess,” Tricia said, “I’ll bet you ladies rent your home.”

  “How did you know?” Muriel asked with a smile.

  “Just a lucky guess.

  “Why couldn’t the Milford police just patrol Stoneham, too? They already take care of Amherst and other surrounding towns,” Tricia pointed out.

  “That wouldn’t do,” Midge said, “not when Stoneham is such a large tourist draw. People come to visit from all over New England and the mid-Atlantic states.”

  “Yes, but those people aren’t paying property taxes,” Tricia pointed out.

  “Well, why should they? They don’t live here.”

  “That’s exact
ly my point,” Tricia said.

  “Do you need a pen, dear?” Muriel asked. Had she even been following this last portion of the conversation?

  Tricia shook her head and grabbed a pen from the mug by the side of the register, and signed the petition. She handed the clipboard back to Midge.

  “Thank you so much,” Muriel gushed. “Come, sister, we must go next door to the Cookery. I want to buy that cookbook by that local author named Angelica Miles. They say she’s going to be the next Paula Deen.”

  “Wait, don’t you want my employees to sign your petition?” Tricia asked.

  Midge giggled. “Dear, they already have.” The sisters gave Tricia a smile and a wave, and headed out the door.

  Ginny was behind the coffee station, tidying up, and Tricia called her over. “You signed a petition to restore a Stoneham police department?”

  “Yeah, the Dexter sisters nailed me at the convenience store early this morning. They got Mr. Everett in the parking lot before he came in.”

  “Did you know they consider me the cause of most of the crime in Stoneham?”

  “Um . . . yes, they may have mentioned that. I defended you, of course.”

  “And what did they say?” Tricia asked.

  “That you’re . . . a jinx.”

  Tricia’s hands clenched and she winced. “Am I never going to live that down?”

  “Tricia, you’re in New England. People around here have long memories.”

  “But I never caused anyone’s death,” she protested.

  “I know . . . that’s why they only consider you a jinx, not a murderer. Look at it this way,” Ginny said, “if Stoneham has its own police force, you’ll never have to meet up with Sheriff Adams ever again.”

  “As it is, I’ve been lucky not to meet up with her for months.”

  “It’s a win-win situation,” Ginny said.

  “As a homeowner, how much do you think your taxes will go up?”

  It was Ginny’s turn to wince. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. But then, I’m losing my house to foreclosure. Why did you sign the petition?”

  “It was a reasonable request. I know several times I haven’t called the Sheriff’s Department to report things because I didn’t want to wait for a deputy to show up. Maybe with a police presence, crime will go down. Not that it’s really a problem. Most of our shoplifters aren’t from Stoneham—they’re visitors to the village.”

  “That’s right,” Ginny said. “But the taxpayers won’t pass the measure, anyway. I mean, they’ve turned it down the last four years. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” Tricia said. But then another thought crossed her mind. If Stoneham had its own force, was she likely to see Captain Baker again?

  It was a disconcerting thought. They weren’t an item, and probably never would be. But she liked him. She enjoyed seeing him on an irregular basis.

  With their conversation at an end, Ginny returned to the coffee station to tidy up.

  Tricia fingered the chain around her neck. So she might never see Grant Baker again. All things came to an end—just like her relationship with Christopher.

  That didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Seven

  The day wore on. Customers came—and customers went. Finally, the hands on the clock crept toward closing time. Although sunset was still almost two hours away, the east side of Main Street had retreated into the shadow of its western neighbor. Tricia tidied the already orderly sales desk for the fourth time, and Miss Marple stirred from her nap, unhappy that the solar heat she’d enjoyed most of the afternoon had disappeared.

  The shop door opened, but it wasn’t a customer. Instead, Grace Harris-Everett, Mr. Everett’s bride, entered Haven’t Got a Clue. “Hello, Tricia!”

  “Grace, what brings you here this evening?”

  “William’s car is in the shop. I’m here to give him a ride—and perhaps convince him to take me to dinner in Nashua.”

  “Sounds like a date to me.”

  Grace actually giggled. “Marrying William has given me such joy. I do wish we’d done it sooner. You should try it.”

  “I still might—but right now there are no likely candidates.”

  Grace’s smile faded. “I was so sorry when you and Russ Smith broke up. Do you think there’s a chance you might get back together? I know he hasn’t given up hope.”

  Had Russ been confiding in Grace? “I’m afraid not.” Not when she still thought about Grant Baker on a regular basis. Not that she was pining for Baker, either.

  It was time to change the subject. “Grace, do you know Jim Roth’s mother?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t. She and Jim only moved to Stoneham about five years ago, when he opened the store.”

  Tricia frowned. For some reason, she had the impression—especially after seeing the inside of the Roth home and the wonderful garden—that they had been citizens of Stoneham for a lot longer.

  “Mrs. Roth told me she couldn’t afford a funeral for Jim. Frannie’s planning a memorial service. Apparently Mrs. Roth depended on Jim’s income. I wonder if the other booksellers would contribute to a fund for her.”

  “I didn’t know Jim well, but I’d be willing to contribute.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Grace opened her purse and took out her checkbook. Using the display case as a desk, she wrote out a check and handed it to Tricia. “I’ve left the pay-to portion blank in case you want to cash it and give Mrs. Roth the donations in a lump sum.”

  Tricia looked at the check, and her mouth dropped. One thousand dollars. “Oh, Grace, that’s extremely generous of you.”

  Grace shrugged. “My first husband left me well off. I have no one to leave it to. If it can help Jim’s mother, I’m happy to give it.”

  On impulse, Tricia gathered Grace into a careful hug. “I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

  Grace patted Tricia’s back and chuckled. After a few moments, Grace pulled back, craned her neck, and looked for her beloved. “Where is William?”

  “He went up to the storeroom to look for a copy of The Zero Clue by Rex Stout.”

  “Oh, that’s one of my favorites.”

  “We got a request for it on our Website. He should be down any moment.”

  As if on cue, the door to the stairway at the back of the store, marked PRIVATE, opened and both Mr. Everett and Ginny appeared. “Grace, my dear. Is it time to go already?”

  “I’m a few minutes early,” Grace admitted, standing on tiptoe to give Mr. Everett a demure peck on the cheek. He blushed as he handed Tricia the book.

  “Why don’t you two run along?” Tricia said. “Ginny and I can close up.”

  “That wouldn’t be fair to either of you,” Mr. Everett said.

  “It’s not like we’ve got anyone waiting for us at home,” Ginny said, rubbing salt into Tricia’s figurative wound.

  Grace smiled, and tweaked her husband’s collar. “I hope you realize how lucky you are, William, to work with two such lovely women.”

  “Indeed I do,” he said solemnly.

  Tricia felt a burst of affection for the old man. She’d never known either of her grandfathers, but she hoped they’d been as sweet as her elderly employee.

  “Mr. Everett, I hate to ask, but for the next couple of weeks I’m really going to depend on you and Ginny while Angelica’s away on her book tour. I might be called upon to take care of the café. Luckily, Frannie seems able to manage alone at the Cookery.”

  “We have no plans for the next month or so. I’d be glad to fill in as needed,” the old man said.

  “Thank you.”

  “William, what do you think about a nice steak at Eddie’s Chop House?” Grace asked hopefully.

  Mr. Everett’s mouth pursed in disapproval. “Now, dear, you know it’s not in our budget.”

  “It’s in my budget,” she said, her voice tinged with strain. Grace clasped her husband’s hand, brandishing a forced sm
ile. “Why don’t we talk about it in the car?” She led him to the exit. “See you soon,” she called. A dour Mr. Everett waved good-bye and closed the door behind them.

  “Hmm—think there’s an argument brewing?” Ginny asked.

  “It’s none of our business,” Tricia said. She wasn’t about to gossip about her favorite married couple—especially when Mr. Everett had confided his feelings about money to her. She tucked the check Grace had given her into the bottom of the register’s cash drawer. It looked like she was now officially the one to collect money in Jim’s name. Another thing to add to her to-do list.

  “You may as well take off, too,” Tricia told Ginny as she gazed around the empty store. “You’ve got things to do as well.”

  Ginny’s expression soured. “Packing isn’t my favorite thing. I’ve got an appointment to see another apartment tonight. Who knows—this might be the one.” She grabbed her purse from under the counter, and called a good-bye.

  “Wait,” Tricia called, and Ginny turned. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Ginny paused, her expression changing from cheerful to wary in a heartbeat. “What is it?”

  Tricia laughed. “Don’t look so worried. This is good news, not bad.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I wondered if you’d like to hear a business proposition I’ve been thinking about.”

  “Business?” Ginny repeated. That perked her up.

  “Yes. I’ve been mulling over your situation, and I really don’t want to see you lose your little cottage in the woods. What would you think about me holding the mortgage?”

  Ginny blinked. “Come again?”

  “I could pay off your mortgage, and then we could come to an agreement about repayment. This way you wouldn’t lose your house to foreclosure.”

  Ginny was still blinking. “You’d do that for me?”

  “I would. I will.”

  Ginny’s gaze dipped, and she let out a breath, looking shell-shocked. “Wow. I can’t believe it. I might actually get to keep my little house.” She looked up. “Oh, Tricia, I don’t know how to thank you.” Ginny rushed forward and gave Tricia an enthusiastic hug. Then she pulled back, and actually jumped up and down couple of times. “Oh, wow!”