Not the Killing Type Page 7

  Pixie returned, carrying a smaller box that was still large enough for a dorm refrigerator. However, this time she didn’t bother taking off her coat. Maybe she figured she’d be quickly dispatched to her car once again.

  She opened the flaps on the box. Everything within it had been carefully wrapped in dry, yellowing newspaper. There must have been fifty or sixty of the little bundles. “See if you like any of these.”

  Tricia grabbed one of the bundles off the top of the pile and unwrapped it. To her delight, it was a small ceramic angel all in white, playing the violin. It was old—well, relatively speaking. It looked like the kitsch she’d seen in a home style magazine, and was probably fifty or sixty years old. The entire body was glazed white, but the eyes had been hand painted, as had the lips. The instrument was outlined in black and gold. “She’s adorable.”

  “Do you really like her?” Pixie asked, sounding incredulous.

  “I love her.”

  “There’s lots more,” Pixie said, her eyes going wide, and picked up another one. She unwrapped it. This was a solemn boy soprano dressed in a black choir robe. His mouth was a painted circle, and he held an open book in his tiny hands.

  The women took turns opening each wrapped figurine. Each and every one of them was a joy to behold. Angels with puppies, angels with Christmas trees. Little figures that were Christmas trees, the top branches acting as hats, with a little gold star on top. Skaters. Santas. Mrs. Santa. Reindeer. Christmas planters. Elves. Girls in red and green who stood atop small music boxes. Angel candleholders and candle walkers. It didn’t stop!

  Finally Pixie shrugged out of her coat, letting it slip to the floor, and the two of them finished unwrapping every one of the figurines. By the time they were through they had amassed an unsightly pile of crumpled old newspapers on the floor but had revealed an angel orchestra, an impressive choir, and enough other figurines to populate an entire Christmas village.

  “I know they don’t have anything to do with mystery books, but you have to admit they’re pretty damn cute,” Pixie said.

  “That they are,” Tricia agreed.

  “And they are vintage—like the mysteries we sell. Can we show them off somewhere?” she asked, desperation straining her voice. “Maybe on one of the back shelves?”

  “Back shelves, nothing. They’re going in the front display window,” Tricia said with a smile.

  Pixie’s eyes lit up, but then her face fell. “What about Miss Marple? She’s liable to knock them over. You know how she likes to sleep there when the sun is shining.”

  Tricia thought about it for a moment. “Have you ever heard of earthquake putty?”

  Pixie shook her head.

  “It’s kind of like clay. We could put down a sheet of Plexiglas, and then add a wad of the putty on the bottom of each figurine and make it look like they were holding up some of the books. I know we’ve got a stack of holiday paperbacks and anthologies stashed in the storeroom. We would nestle some angel hair around them; it would look like snowdrifts.”

  “That would look pretty keen,” Pixie agreed.

  “And maybe we could leave a spot free for Miss Marple to sleep, too. Otherwise, we’ll just have to encourage her to nap somewhere else, and I’m not sure she’d like that.”

  “One of the other boxes has vintage cardboard buildings. They’re covered in glitter and they are to die for,” Pixie gushed.

  “If they’re as cute as these little guys—why not?” Tricia said.

  “If it’s a slow sales day, we could put the whole thing together this afternoon. I could go out on my lunch break and buy the other stuff we need,” Pixie offered. “They’ve got everything at the big craft store up on Route 101. It’s just a ten– or fifteen-minute drive.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to use your lunch break to do it,” Tricia said.

  “I could grab a burger while I’m out. I’d really like to do this, Tricia.”

  There was no way Tricia could squelch that kind of enthusiasm. “Okay.” There were still no customers in the store. “Why don’t you go get the box with the little buildings and we can start planning our layout.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Pixie snatched her coat from the floor, thrust her arms in the sleeves, and whooshed out the door.

  Tricia picked up one of the figurines and smiled. Cute. Not at all stuffy.

  SEVEN

  Like children at play, Tricia and Pixie had a wonderful time planning their Christmas window display on paper. Eager to complete the project, they decided not to wait until the noon hour for Pixie to leave for her errands. When she arrived back at the store, Tricia was waiting with sandwiches to go from Booked for Lunch and the two worked around the customers who came and went. Several of the tourists took pictures of the display in progress and suggested that Tricia put photos of the completed village on the Haven’t Got a Clue website.

  Pixie was conversing with a couple of customers in the back of the store, waxing poetically about John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee novels, when Angelica came breezing through Haven’t Got a Clue’s entrance clutching a catalog in one hand, and a Booked for Lunch coffee to go in the other.

  “Greetings and felicitations!” she called merrily and approached the sales desk, where Tricia was checking eBay listings for mystery box lots on her laptop computer.

  “My, but you’re in a good mood,” Tricia said, smiling.

  Angelica’s answering grin was positively wicked. “That’s because my heart is pure.”

  “Not with that smile.”

  Angelica laughed, set her purse down, and unzipped her jacket. “I’ve come for your opinion on a number of subjects. The first of which is the dessert for Ginny and Antonio’s wedding rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. Should I bake a cake or make crème brûlée?”

  Tricia thought it over. “Well, there’ll be wedding cake at the reception. I vote for crème brûlée.”

  “Oh, good. That was my first choice, too. I just wanted a corroborating opinion. Do you think the bride and groom will approve?”

  “I’m sure whatever you put on the menu will please them.”

  “How did you know I was going to print out tiny, absolutely adorable menus and put them on each place setting? Have you gained psychic powers?”

  “I wish,” Tricia said, but then thought better of it. Maybe she didn’t want to know what everyone around her was thinking all the time. “Speaking of the bride, Ginny’s all bent out of shape because Nigela Ricita isn’t going to be at the wedding. It turns out she’s Antonio’s stepmother.”

  “Really?” Angelica asked, surprised. She shook her head with a sour quirk of her mouth. “You can tell that girl has never been married before. She should be thanking her lucky stars the woman’s staying away.”

  “Did you have mother-in-law problems?” Tricia asked. She didn’t think Angelica ever put up with someone else’s bad behavior.

  Angelica nodded. “With three of my four exes. Drew’s mother had passed away years before we got hitched—thank goodness—or I’m sure she’d have been just as interfering.”

  “Christopher’s mother was always nice to me. His dad was a treasure.”

  “Lucky you. But you’re just as divorced as me, anyway.”

  “I only went to bat once,” Tricia reminded her.

  Angelica shrugged. “Your good luck.” She turned her gaze to her right and squinted down at the display in Tricia’s front window. “What’s with Angelville?”

  “Isn’t it cute?” Tricia gushed. “It was Pixie’s idea. We sell vintage mysteries, why not have vintage Christmas decorations?”

  “They’re not really in keeping with the décor in your store.”

  “I’ll grant you that,” Tricia said. “But Pixie’s heart was in the right place, and I hated to disappoint her.”

  Angelica shrugged. “At least they’re cute, not stuffy.”

  There was that word again. “Ange, do you really think my store comes across as stuffy?” Tricia asked. />
  “Well, it’s tastefully stuffy. Dark walls, dark paint, tin ceiling. Pictures of long-dead authors lining the walls … kind of like a stodgy gentleman’s-only club from another age. You have to admit, cheerful this place ain’t.”

  Angelica was starting to sound just like Ginny and Pixie. “Well, they’ll only be in the front display through the holidays. Any ideas on what I should do next?”

  “Maybe you could hire a professional window dresser.”

  “Are my displays really that bad?”

  Angelica shrugged. “They’re … boring. A book here, a book there. Just the dust jackets seem to change. And you can’t keep them there long because they’d fade in the sunlight,” she said reasonably.

  “That is a big problem,” Tricia admitted. She crossed her arms. “What would you do differently?”

  Angelica frowned. “Let me think about it for a couple of days. And if I can’t come up with something, I’ll find someone to come in and give you some ideas.”

  “Not if you have to import them from Boston or New York.”

  “Would I do that and stick you with the bill?” Angelica cried, offended.

  “Of course not.”

  Angelica looked thoughtful. “Maybe that should be one of my campaign promises—to get help for Chamber members to upgrade their displays or store decoration. After all, if we want to win the Prettiest Village in New England contest, we will have to work at it.”

  “Do you really think there’s much value in that?”

  “You better believe it. And I can’t say I’m sorry that I won’t be running against Stan Berry with his horrible ideas to slash budgets and services to our members.”

  “Don’t go around advertising that sentiment,” Tricia warned. “Grant might think you had it in for Stan.”

  “I do wish the inn had surveillance cameras,” Angelica said wistfully. “That would’ve solved the whole problem.”

  “I don’t think Antonio or the owners could ever have envisioned a murder taking place just off the main lobby.”

  “No, but it would have proved everyone was where they said they were—and maybe given the killer something to think about. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll talk to Antonio about adding cameras, at least to the lobby and the parking area. After all, aside from winning the Prettiest Village in New England, I’d like Stoneham to reclaim the title of safest village, too.”

  It had lost that distinction when Tricia found Doris Gleason dead in her shop some three years before. Tricia didn’t like to revisit that memory.

  “Oh, I almost forgot why I came in to visit,” Angelica said and handed Tricia the catalog of tchotchkes she’d been holding.

  “What is this for?”

  “Possible campaign giveaways.”

  Tricia flipped through the catalog. “This looks like the kind of stuff authors use for promotion.”

  “Well, where do you think I got it? I am an author, and I do buy stuff from that catalog to promote myself and my books.”

  “I thought you just did bookmarks and postcards.”

  “I’ve given away pens, measuring spoons, spatulas. You can personalize just about anything. I was thinking of giving away rulers.”

  “Why? Because you want to rule the Chamber?”

  Angelica nodded enthusiastically. “Great pun, huh?”

  Tricia shook her head, resisting a smile.

  “If I put in my order before three o’clock, I can have them delivered on Monday morning.”

  “You’re going to pay for almost next-day delivery?” Tricia asked. This was Saturday, after all.

  “You bet. I need to hand out as many as I can before the election on Wednesday morning.”

  “What are you going to have printed, Vote for Angelica?”

  “Oh, nothing that blatant. I thought maybe Angelica Miles. Entrepreneur. Author. Leader. How’s that sound?” she asked eagerly.

  “Not as bigheaded as I thought it would be,” Tricia admitted, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

  “Bigheaded? Me?” Angelica asked, aghast.

  “I’m only kidding. I can truthfully say that you would be a welcome breath of fresh air for the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m going to depend on you to help me get the word out.”

  Get the word out? Just about every member of the Chamber had heard Angelica’s pitch just the day before. Tricia sighed but managed a halfhearted smile. “Of course I’ll help you. What do you need?”

  “Just talk me up to our fellow Chamber members. But then, I would expect that even if I wasn’t the best thing to happen to Stoneham since Hiram Stone opened his quarry back in 1822.”

  Oh, brother!

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to replace Bob,” Tricia said. “Just answer me one question: Are you really—really—sure this is what you want to do?”

  “As God is my witness,” Angelica said and crossed her heart with her right index finger.

  Tricia’s smile widened. “Then let’s make this happen.”

  Angelica waggled her eyebrows a la Groucho Marx. “All right.” Then she sighed and sobered. “There’s just one awful aspect to this whole campaign.”

  “Stan Berry’s death,” Tricia said.

  Angelica nodded sadly. “Do you know if Bob left the dining room when he adjourned for the meeting for our bathroom breaks?”

  Tricia shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe you could worm that information out of Chief Baker. If not, then the Chamber members might actually think I was trying to eliminate my competition.”

  Now was not a good time to ask for favors. At any minute Tricia expected the phone to ring or the door to burst open for Baker to make his announcement that they couldn’t see each other as long as the case was unsolved. The following discussion wasn’t likely to be pretty.

  “Where were you when the meeting recessed?” Tricia asked.

  “Like everybody else, I was on my way to the bathroom.”

  Tricia did not remember seeing Angelica standing in the restroom line when she’d spoken to Eleanor. She’d probably already been inside the ladies’ room at the time. There was no way she could even consider Angelica a suspect. And if Grant Baker did, she would somehow have to dissuade him of that notion.

  The idea that she should have to do so disturbed her. And then there was the whole subject of their relationship—or lack thereof. She didn’t want to think about that until she absolutely had to.

  Tricia and Pixie had come to an understanding on the Christmas decorations, and Tricia and Angelica were on solid ground as well. It felt good. And she looked forward to witnessing Ginny’s wedding to Antonio. Those two were soul mates, of that she was sure. And the wedding was guaranteed to be a wonderful time, whether Nigela Ricita attended or not.

  Pixie staggered up to the cash desk, her arms full of books, with the customers in tow. As much as Tricia had loved having Ginny as an assistant, she’d sold almost 20 percent more books since Pixie had come on board.

  “I’d better get going,” Angelica said and grabbed her catalog and coffee. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder as she left the store.

  Tricia began to ring up the sale.

  “Oops, looks like Angelica left her purse,” Pixie said, picking up Angelica’s enormous purse, which she’d left sitting on the floor in front of the cash desk. “Do you want me to run it over to the Cookery?”

  Tricia shook her head and rang up the next item. “If she doesn’t notice it’s missing, I’ll take it over there in a little while.”

  Pixie handed her the purse, which she set down on the floor behind the counter. As she finished ringing up the sale, Tricia remembered something about her conversation with Angelica. She’d asked if Tricia had seen Bob after he’d recessed the meeting for their break. That meant Angelica hadn’t seen him, either. Did she suspect Bob of murder? She’d always defended him in the past, saying he was incapable of such a crime.

&nb
sp; Had she now changed her mind?

  *

  When thirty minutes had passed and Angelica hadn’t returned to Haven’t Got a Clue to retrieve her purse, Tricia decided she had better return it herself. As she approached the Cookery, Tricia could see a Granite State Tour bus parked in the road near the municipal lot, revving its engine. Stepping inside the store, she found it full of customers and a somewhat frazzled Frannie trying to take care of all of them at once.

  “Is Angelica around?” Tricia called over the heads of the people at the register.

  “She hasn’t come back from Booked for Lunch,” Frannie called back and returned her attention to her customer. “That’ll be twenty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents.”

  Tricia threaded her way through the crowd, yanking off her own jacket as she went, and moved behind the register to help. She stuffed Angelica’s purse and her jacket under the cash desk and started putting books into bags, while Frannie rang up the sales.

  Five minutes later, the last of the customers practically ran out the door—but made it to the bus before it took off, heading for the highway.

  “Whew! That was an unexpected rush,” Frannie said and slumped against the wall, effectively trapping Tricia. She gave Tricia a critical look. “I don’t know what possessed you to come into the store when you did, but I’m grateful.”

  Tricia pulled Angelica’s purse out from under the counter. “Ange left this in my store a little while ago. I thought she would’ve come straight here, but apparently she had another errand.”

  Frannie looked at her watch. “That little dog of hers is going to need to be walked pretty soon. I’m sure she won’t be long.”

  “Maybe I’ll wait a few minutes. If she doesn’t show up, I can always take Sarge out for his constitutional.”

  “You are such a good person, Tricia.”

  “Or a sucker,” she said with a laugh. She grabbed her coat and nudged her way past Frannie, circling around to the front of the cash desk. “So, what’s the grapevine saying about Stan Berry’s death today?”

  Frannie’s eyes widened, her mouth quirking into a sly grin. “Perhaps Chief Baker ought to consider everyone in Mr. Berry’s life as a potential suspect. Especially his recently dumped lady friend.”