Sentenced to Death Page 7

  “I’ve had that same thought,” Tricia admitted.

  “You’re not the only one,” Frannie said. “Too bad I don’t go to the Chamber of Commerce meetings anymore. I’ll bet more than a couple of the members will be getting nervous.”

  “Or looking for a bailout?” Tricia suggested.

  “That, too.” Frannie frowned. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

  “Ask. I’d like to hire someone here in Stoneham to take Ginny’s place rather than go to an employment agency. Do you know of anyone looking for a job?”

  “Only Cheryl Griffin, but I know Deborah wasn’t very happy having her as an employee. You wouldn’t like her, either.” Frannie leaned forward, lowered her voice, and spoke conspiratorially. “She’s a nut case.” That was easy to believe after the conversation Tricia had had with Cheryl earlier in the day. Frannie straightened. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else.”

  “Thanks.” Tricia sighed. How was she going to bring up Deborah’s name again?

  Frannie reached a hand out and touched Tricia’s arm. “We’re all sorry about poor Deborah.” She shook her head and frowned. “That husband of hers.”

  The perfect opening.

  “I heard they used to fight a lot.”

  Frannie leaned forward. “Almost every night lately and always over her store or his supposed work.”

  “Deborah said he worked two jobs.”

  Frannie scowled. “If you could call what he did work.”

  “I thought he was a welder,” Tricia said.

  “Yes, but that second job of his doesn’t really bring in any income. He does bad iron sculptures of birds with their wings extended and other weird-looking things. Their backyard is full of them—all rusty and ugly. If I’d been Deborah, I’d have been afraid to let little Davey out in the yard for fear he’d fall over one, cut himself, and get tetanus.”

  Deborah had never mentioned that David saw himself as some kind of artist. Just that his second job didn’t pay well. Had she been ashamed of his art? Had she seen it the same way Frannie did?

  “These arguments—do you think Deborah and David were close to divorce?”

  Frannie shrugged. “I can’t say. But more than once he stormed out of the house and didn’t return home until the wee hours. A couple of times, he never came home at all.”

  Tricia’s heart sank, and she wasn’t sure if it was because Deborah’s marriage had been foundering, or because Deborah hadn’t confided in her more. How well had she really known Deborah?

  The door at the back of the store opened, and Angelica emerged from the stairwell that led to her loft apartment. “Aha!” she called. “Didn’t I predict you’d be here to see Frannie this very day?”

  Tricia sighed. “I came to ask Frannie if she knew of anyone who needed a job. Ginny’s turned in her resignation.”

  “Oh dear,” Angelica said, suddenly full of concern.

  A customer entered the store, and Frannie straightened, ready to spring into action. “May I help you?”

  Angelica didn’t wait to hear the customer’s reply but grasped Tricia’s arm, steering her toward the door to the stairwell. “Why don’t we go talk about it upstairs. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea. Or something stronger, if you prefer.”

  Tricia found herself shuffling up the stairs behind her sister, feeling totally downcast. She followed Angelica inside the apartment and down the hall to the kitchen. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows and felt warm on her back as she took a seat at the large table.

  “It’s a bit warm for hot tea,” Angelica said, and instead opened the refrigerator and took out a glass jug filled with homemade ice tea. She snagged a couple of tumblers from the cupboard, filled them with ice from the freezer, and poured the tea. She set a glass on the table in front of Tricia. “Why are you moping around? I thought you were behind the idea of Ginny furthering her career.”

  “I am. I just hate to lose someone I trust so much.”

  “Wasn’t it just this morning Ginny was complaining that you didn’t trust her enough to let her open and close your store? That you didn’t let her go to the bank for you. That—”

  “Okay, maybe I should have given her a little more authority. I’m not standing in her way. I just wish, well, that she could’ve stayed forever. She’s not only a good assistant, she’s a good friend.”

  “And good friends don’t stand in the way of one of them getting ahead. Look at you. You’ve already achieved your life’s dream.”

  “You make it sound like I should just give up and quit—or die.”

  “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just wondering, will you always be happy selling books? Isn’t there anything else you aspire to?”

  Tricia hadn’t given that much thought in the past few years. Her goal had always been to open Haven’t Got a Clue–or something very like it. She was happy here in Stoneham. She couldn’t imagine going back to her old life in Manhattan. And yet … could she imagine climbing all those steps to her loft apartment some twenty years in the future? Paper books might be a thing of the past the way e-books were proliferating. Was her chosen way of life doomed? She’d already had to stock items besides books to keep the customers satisfied. Edgar Allan Poe and other famous author coffee mugs, bookmarks, blank journals, key chains, and the like.

  “Hello!” Angelica called.

  Tricia looked up. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

  “Are you burned out?” Angelica asked, yet it sounded more like an accusation.

  Tricia shook her head sadly.

  “Maybe you need to be more like me,” Angelica said with the hint of a devious smile touching her lips. “Diversify a little bit.”

  “How?”

  Angelica shrugged. “I don’t know. Make a few investments. I’ve already got the Cookery, the café, and a writing career. Maybe you could start a day spa. We could sure use one around here.”

  “Why would I want to run a day spa?”

  “For fun! That’s why I opened Booked for Lunch.”

  “Are you crazy? You’ve had nothing but problems since you opened the café. From thieving employees to a dead body in your garbage.”

  Angelica waved an impatient hand in the air. “Just a few speed bumps on my way to success. Look at me—less than two years after coming to Stoneham and already I’m a successful businesswoman and a bestselling cookbook author. And look at you.”

  “I am not a failure. I’ve just chosen different goals than yours.”

  “The bar doesn’t get much lower.”

  “Hey! I’m a successful businesswoman, too. I don’t choose to live a life as manic as yours.”

  “No, you get your ya-yas finding bodies every couple of months. Maybe there’s a reason they call you the village jinx.”

  Not that again. And it hurt that Angelica would be the one to bring it up. Talk about bullying!

  Suddenly Tricia was once again the unwanted second child. No matter what she’d accomplished, there was always something in the back of her mind that reminded her that she’d been an inconvenience to her parents—and Angelica—and how they’d probably wished they’d used more effective forms of birth control. How it still haunted her that during some stupid argument about a boy, her mother had blurted out, “We never expected to have another child.” From that day forward, Tricia had viewed all slights and reprimands with a different perspective. Was it a surprise she’d clung to her loving, all-forgiving grandmother rather than her parents?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Angelica said.

  “I don’t think you find them worth it,” Tricia muttered, and got up from the stool. “I need to get back to my store. I have a ton of work to do before my date tonight.”

  “Oooh! Who’s the lucky man?”

  “Captain Baker is taking me to dinner.”

  “It’s about time,” Angelica said.

  “He said he has something to tell me.”

  Angelica frowned. “Good
or bad?”

  Tricia shrugged. “He asked me to wear my peach dress.”

  “That sounds promising. Of course, this is you we’re talking about. Call me if the whole thing’s a fiasco and we’ll commiserate.”

  Not on your life, Tricia refrained from saying aloud.

  “But don’t stay out too late, either,” Angelica warned as Tricia headed for the door to the stairs. “We’ve got Deborah’s funeral in the morning. Do you want to drive, or shall I?”

  “I’ll do it. Elizabeth said to be at the funeral home by nine. Why don’t you meet me at my shop at eight forty-five and we’ll go on from there.”

  “Got it,” Angelica said.

  As Tricia reached for the door handle, Angelica touched her shoulder. Tricia hesitated.

  “I know you’re unhappy to lose Ginny, but you did a wonderful job training her, and now she’ll go on to have a successful career. You would’ve made a great teacher, Trish. You’re so patient and kind and giving. I really think you missed your calling. And I wouldn’t be where I am today, as a businesswoman, if I hadn’t learned from your example. I know it didn’t sound like it earlier, but I’m so proud of you, little sister.” She threw her arms around Tricia, who didn’t know what to say. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Angelica and allowed herself a smile.

  SEVEN

  It had been several weeks since Tricia had even driven by the Brookview Inn, and the changes since Nigela Racita Associates had taken over were readily apparent—and decidedly for the better. Captain Baker parked his car in the nearly full lot out back, then got out to open the door for Tricia. It had been a long time since a man had done that for her. Christopher, her ex-husband, as a matter of fact. She couldn’t remember Russ ever opening the door of his pickup for her.

  They walked around the inn to the front entrance. Back in June, there’d been no flowers bordering the walkway. The building had also needed a fresh coat of paint, which it had received in the not-too-distant past. Now several shades of pink begonias flanked the concrete. Colorful geraniums in shades of pink filled the window boxes on the front porch, and the dozen or so quant rockers also sported fresh paint. Baker held the door for her, and they entered the inn’s lobby. New carpeting had replaced the shabby rug that had been there back in June, and the walls sparkled with more fresh paint and bright sconces.

  “Wow,” Baker said, taking in all the changes.

  “Wow is right,” Tricia agreed.

  A muffled ring tone sounded, and Baker reached for the leather holder attached to his belt. He retrieved his cell phone, glanced at the number, and frowned. “I’m sorry, Tricia, but I’d better take this. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here,” she said, resigned to a long wait, and watched him retreat to the porch. Then she turned back to the lobby and studied it more closely. Even the artwork had been spruced up. Had the original oil paintings been cleaned? That took money. Nigela Racita Associates had done a wonderful job of restoring and refurbishing, without putting too bold a stamp on the place. It pleased her, and that was about as effusive as she was likely to get about the company that seemed poised to take over Stoneham.

  Eleanor, the inn’s receptionist, waved at Tricia, motioning her to join her at the main desk. “Well,” she asked, her voice filled with pride, “what do you think?”

  “The whole place looks lovely. Has business picked up yet?”

  “For the weekend trade. Until they finish building the dialysis center across the street, I’m afraid our weekday trade will suffer. But it’s only supposed to be another couple of weeks until they begin finishing the inside of the building. It’ll be a lot quieter when they do. But we’re already booked solid for the Milford Pumpkin Festival in October.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I’m so grateful to the new management,” Eleanor said. “Without them, we might have had to close our doors before the end of the summer.”

  “Have you met the top dog yet?”

  “Ms. Racita? No, she’s never been to the inn. But Mr. Barbero has been wonderful to work with.” She pointed to the office door to the right of the reception desk. On it hung a polished wooden sign with gold leaf lettering:

  MANAGER

  ANTONIO BARBERO

  NIGELLA RACITA ASSOCIATES, INC.

  “He’s on site every day, even weekends,” Eleanor gushed. “The staff all love him. He’s so easy to work with. And even though he’s just a young man, somehow he always has the answer to every problem.”

  Ginny could have done worse picking a mentor—and boyfriend.

  “What brings you to the inn?” Eleanor asked.

  “I’m having dinner with a friend.”

  “I hope you made a reservation. Since Mr. Barbero hired the new chef, we’ve had to turn people away—even on weeknights.”

  “I don’t know if he made reservations,” Tricia said thoughtfully. Did this mean yet another meal at the Bookshelf Diner? She’d resigned herself to just that when Baker reentered the lobby and made his way across to her.

  “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I asked the office not to call me again unless it’s a real emergency.”

  Tricia gave him a weak smile.

  Baker nodded his head toward the dining room. “Shall we?”

  “See you later, Tricia,” Eleanor said, her eyes twinkling. Tricia gave her a quick wave and let Baker steer her toward the restaurant. The hostess checked the reservations log and quickly showed them to their table. Baker pulled out Tricia’s chair, and she sat down.

  “Can I take your drink order?” the hostess asked, and passed them each a leather-clad menu.

  “I’ll have a Geary’s,” Baker said.

  “Chardonnay,” Tricia said, and opened her menu. It had undergone quite a transformation since the last time she’d dined at the inn. Before she could peruse it much further, she looked up and saw Antonio Barbero seated at a table across the room from them. With him were David Black and a woman she didn’t know. David was dressed as she’d never seen him before, in a suit and tie. The woman looked older than him but was still a striking beauty. The sleeveless mauve linen dress clung to her lithe figure, and her prematurely white hair was pinned with an exquisite gem-encrusted butterfly hair clip that dripped diamonds. Beside Antonio was a champagne bucket. He held the bottle and poured the wine into flutes his guests held.

  “My God,” Tricia breathed, feeling the blood drain from her face.

  Baker leaned forward and touched her hand. “Are you okay, Tricia? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “I wish I had.” She shook herself. “Grant, that’s David Black and some strange woman sitting over there drinking champagne with the inn’s manager.”

  “Black? Husband of the woman who was killed yesterday?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Baker half turned, looking in the same direction as Tricia. He faced her again. “What do you think that’s about?”

  “Deborah’s mother said David was selling her shop to the development company that bought the empty lot where History Repeats Itself used to be. They’ve also invested heavily in this inn.”

  Baker shrugged. “It’s crass but not illegal to be out in public a day after your wife’s death.”

  “Deborah hasn’t even been buried yet. And toasting the sale of her business. It stinks! The whole village will be talking about it tomorrow.”

  “That’s his lookout, not yours,” Baker said quietly.

  Tricia pursed her lips and trained her gaze on her menu, although she couldn’t focus on the words in front of her, and she’d suddenly lost whatever appetite she’d had.

  “The sea bass looks good,” Baker said, perusing his own menu.

  Tricia set hers aside.

  Baker looked up. “You’re not going to let seeing Black ruin your evening, are you?”

  At least he didn’t say my evening.

  “Deborah was my friend. I know she and David were having marital problems, but to be seen in
public so soon after her death …”

  “There’s nothing you can do about it,” Baker insisted.

  She sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just … upset.” She remembered he had something to tell her. Would she be further upset?

  “I was going to wait until later to mention this to you,” Baker said, leaving the sentence hanging.

  Here it comes, the old dumperoo. And yet that was hardly applicable to their situation. They were friends. Not even good friends. Still, Tricia steeled herself to hear the worst.

  Baker sighed. “My divorce will be final in two weeks.”

  Tricia blinked. That wasn’t what she’d thought he’d say. “Oh? I take it Mandy went into remission.”

  “Yes. And she’s planning to move to North Carolina to be closer to her sister.”

  Tricia’s spirits rose a little. Did that mean … ?

  “How does that make you feel?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager.

  Baker sighed. “Relieved. We’d planned to divorce before she became ill. And then, I just couldn’t leave her to fight the cancer alone. If nothing else, at least we remained friends.”

  Tricia was well aware of that fact. She nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about my future,” Baker continued.

  Tricia leaned closer, but just as Baker was about to say more, the hostess appeared with a tray and their drinks. She set down embossed cocktail napkins, then a glass and a bottle of beer for Baker and Tricia’s wine. “I’ll send your waitress right over to take your order.”

  “Thank you,” Baker said, and gave her a small smile. He turned his attention back to Tricia. “I told you a few months ago that I was going to be retirement eligible in January.”

  Here it came. The other shoe.

  “And what have you decided?” Tricia asked.

  “I’m going to take it.”

  Tricia eyed him. He looked devastatingly handsome in his navy blazer with a pale blue opened-necked dress shirt beneath it. The gray at his temples made him look distinguished, and somehow, despite the years of police work, his face was remarkably unlined. Did that mean he hadn’t had much to smile about in all that time?