A Fatal Chapter Page 8

“I have things to do in back,” Michele said, and left the area, giving them some privacy.

  Tricia picked up her foam take-out box and glass of ginger ale and led the way to a booth at the side of the pub, slipping into it with Antonio following.

  They looked at each other for a long moment before Tricia said, “I know.”

  Antonio stared at her, looking confused.

  “I’m a bit disappointed that you never told me,” Tricia said.

  “Told you?” he hedged.

  “That Angelica is Nigela Ricita and your stepmother.”

  Antonio’s eyes widened and he swallowed, yet he didn’t confirm or deny what she’d said. Perhaps he thought she was baiting him.

  “This isn’t a trick. I figured it out and confronted her about it last night. I take it she hasn’t spoken to you since.”

  Antonio wouldn’t look her in the eye. “No.”

  That seemed odd. She’d have to ask Angelica about it later.

  Finally, he looked up at her, looking sheepish. “I wanted to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell Ginny, but Angelica has been very specific about her wishes.”

  “I can understand that. The more people who know, the more likely it is that everyone in the village will find out—and for some reason she doesn’t want that to happen.”

  “For myself, I don’t see the problem, but I must respect her wishes. She has been very good to me over the years. Not just these past few years—since I was a child. When my mother was sick and dying, Angelica paid for the hospital and the doctors. She did not have to do that, but it is her nature to help where she can.”

  “It’s a bitter truth, but until recently, I didn’t know that.” More poignant, Tricia might not have even believed it.

  “Are you angry with her?” Antonio asked.

  “I should be, but I suppose I understand. And I am very happy about one thing.”

  “And that is?” he asked.

  “Well, we’re kind of like family now. Angelica and you and Ginny and . . . now me. And the baby, of course.”

  Antonio beamed. “Our bambino could not have a finer aunt in you. But for now, it must be our secret, no?”

  Tricia nodded and sighed. “Yes.”

  “Now that you know, I hope that Angelica will finally let my wife in on the secret.”

  “It’s got to come from her, don’t you think?”

  He nodded. “And if Angelica warns me in advance, I will remove all breakables from the room. My sweet wife will not be pleased.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she will. I wonder if I should be present, too. Maybe I can help soften the blow.”

  “I agree. Now to decide on the timing. I would like it to happen before the bambino arrives.”

  “I’m having dinner with Angelica tonight. I’ll push her to do it soon—perhaps tomorrow.”

  Antonio nodded. “Perhaps we can all have dinner at the inn. It’s a neutral location, no? We can use the private dining room.”

  Tricia blinked. “There’s a private dining room?”

  “Of course. It can be very romantic—but I will have a table for four put in there before we meet.”

  “Good idea.” She smiled and realized that her former admiration for Antonio now caused her to feel something entirely new: affection. “Angelica loves you as if you were her own son.”

  “I love her, too. My mother is gone. I am a lucky man to have had two mothers.”

  Tricia felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. Neither she nor Angelica would have biological children, but Angelica had the next best thing, and what a rarity it seemed to be to have a stepchild who actually loved his stepmother.

  “Well, either Angelica or I will be in touch about dinner. I just hope that things will work out.”

  “Oh, gee, I hope so,” Antonio said, although he didn’t sound all that optimistic.

  Tricia stood and moved into the aisle. Antonio did likewise. Tricia leaned forward and gave him a hug and was happy that he reciprocated in kind. “I never had a nephew before. It feels rather nice.”

  “I never had an aunt before, either.”

  Tricia’s grin widened. “I’d better let you get back to work. Angelica—I mean, Nigela Ricita—is a hard taskmaster.”

  “She is, but she’s also fair and well compensates her employees,” he reminded her.

  “So I’ve heard,” Tricia said. She picked up the foam container, headed for the door, and gave a wave.

  Outside, Tricia looked both left and right, glad to see so many tourists crowding the sidewalk. But then she caught sight of one of the hanging baskets of flowers and stopped dead. Like those in the park, the one before her was devoid of blossoms. She looked ahead, and every basket on the block was a mass of green—but no colorful flowers.

  “Good grief,” she muttered. “They’ve all been stripped!”

  • • •

  Mariana and Pixie were hard at work collating the inserts for the upcoming newsletter when Tricia arrived back at the Chamber office. “Did you notice anything unusual about Main Street when you went out to lunch?” she asked Mariana.

  She looked thoughtful. “Now that you mention it, yes. There was a big black limo double-parked outside the Patisserie. I wondered if a rock star or maybe Nigela Ricita herself was in town today.”

  Knowing Angelica didn’t travel around in a limo, Tricia muttered, “Probably a rock star. No, I meant the hanging flower baskets. I just walked past twelve of them on my way back from Booked for Lunch and not one of them had a flower in it.”

  “None?” Mariana asked.

  “Where’d they go?” Pixie asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Tricia looked at her boxed lunch. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Miss Marple jumped from Sarge’s basket. Tricia figured she liked to leave her scent there to drive the poor dog crazy. Miss Marple followed Tricia into the kitchen, waiting patiently for a few cat treats, which Tricia had promised herself she wasn’t going to give the cat on demand but always seemed to do so anyway. She poured herself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the bistro table with little appetite. She retrieved her cell phone and called Angelica, but got only her voice mail. She decided not to leave a message. The missing flowers were too big an announcement for that.

  Picking up the plastic fork that came with her salad, Tricia picked at a piece of iceberg lettuce. She used to get annoyed when Angelica didn’t immediately answer her calls. Now she realized that her sister must have to juggle a lot of responsibilities controlling not only her three in-village business plus all her Nigela Ricita obligations. Antonio was the public face of Nigela Ricita Associates, but Angelica was the mastermind. She’d even put her publishing aspirations on hold when she’d taken up the Chamber presidency. She didn’t stop from the minute she got up until the minute she closed her eyes at night, and she was happier than Tricia had ever seen her. Somehow, working so hard seemed to be her preferred method of relaxation.

  Tricia stabbed a hunk of tuna, shoving it into her mouth. She felt so ineffectual—as she had for a good portion of her life. Of course, Angelica wasn’t doing it all alone. Her solution had been to hire really good people and pay them accordingly. Meanwhile, Tricia had one store with two employees and sometimes felt overwhelmed. Of course, if she was honest with herself, those times usually came after a sudden, violent death.

  Of course, she knew why she felt so powerless. It was the seemingly endless wait for the insurance company to make a settlement on the fire damage to her store. She had no doubt that the minute the check came through she’d be feeling on top of the world. In the meantime, she, at least, had her volunteer duties for the Chamber.

  But what Mariana had told her earlier came back to haunt her. She’d enjoyed working with her contractor, Jim Stark, during the initial renovation at H
aven’t Got a Clue and had thought him easygoing. Now to find out he was a jealous kind of guy—who collected a variety of firearms—and that he may have believed his wife had had an affair with a man who had just been murdered . . . Well, it was a bit too much to take in all at once. Preposterous as it would have seemed scant hours before, Tricia now wondered how her future would be affected if Jim actually had done the deed.

  Would anyone mention to Chief Baker that Stark might have had a motive for murdering Pete? If no one volunteered that information, should she? And how would Stark react to her betrayal? There were other contractors in the area, but everyone agreed Stark was the best. He came highly recommended, he came up with cost-saving solutions when the reno ran into problems, and he and his men did good work on schedule. Tricia wanted to go home as soon as possible. Stark had promised that, when the insurance company finally came through with a check, he would make her renovation a top priority. Would he even deal with her if she dared mention his name in connection with Pete’s death?

  How badly did she want to return to her home and workplace?

  Pretty damn bad.

  Tricia set her fork down and closed the carton on the salad. She’d had enough.

  Feeling terribly depressed, she placed the foam container in the fridge and headed back to the office without making a decision on what she should do with what she now knew.

  EIGHT

  Once again, the Chamber did not get a full day’s worth of work from Tricia. Why was she obsessing over a rumor—and that’s all it was—that her contractor may have been jealous of the attention another man paid his wife? Much as she tried to distract herself with Chamber work, she could not concentrate.

  What she wanted to do was haul out her book and read. When life got tough, she could always count on getting lost in a mystery novel, but since Pixie was getting paid by the hour, Tricia couldn’t very well rub her nose in the fact that an unpaid volunteer had leeway to goof off on a whim. That Tricia had allowed Pixie to read on the job at Haven’t Got a Clue had been a perk her assistant had practically wallowed in. And yet, Pixie wasn’t afraid of work. She seemed to look at every task as a chance to excel—and she did.

  At 5:57, Pixie began to gather her purse, shoes, and waitress uniform in preparation for leaving.

  “What have you got on tap tonight?” Tricia asked.

  “Fred’s coming over to my place to barbeque some steaks. His boss gives him the stuff that’s just about to turn.”

  “Oh, how awful,” Tricia said, appalled.

  “No, it’s not. Fred’s dad was a butcher. He said you have to hang meat for it to get full-flavored. They don’t do that nowadays and the meat tastes like sh—” She paused and seemed to think better of her descriptor. “Crap. I asked Mr. E, and he agreed. He used to be a butcher, you know.”

  Yes, she did know.

  “What are you having?” Pixie asked.

  “I’m going to Angelica’s. She said something about shrimp pastasalad.”

  “That sounds like lunch.”

  “I prefer to think of it as light,” Tricia said. If carb heavy. “It doesn’t matter what she makes; it’s always good.”

  “No doubt about it. She’s good in the kitchen. She’s shown me a few tricks over at Booked for Lunch. She said your grandma taught her.”

  “That she did.”

  Pixie frowned. “My granny ran a brothel. Is it any wonder I ended up the way I did?”

  Tricia wasn’t sure how to reply to that piece of news. Luckily, Pixie continued.

  “We’re having a salad and baked potatoes. Making them is gonna be my job, so I’m off to Shaw’s in Milford to get the stuff.”

  “Have a good evening,” Tricia called as Pixie headed out the door. Once she was gone, Tricia locked the office and immediately headed to the Cookery for dinner with Angelica. She had a lot to tell her—and really felt the need to unload. She just hoped Angelica would be in a receptive mood.

  As usual, Sarge was ecstatic to see Tricia. It had been almost twenty-four hours, and he let her know that her absence had been keenly felt. She rewarded him with two biscuits that she slipped him, which did not go unseen by his mistress.

  “He’ll get fat if you keep indulging him,” Angelica scolded her.

  “They’re small biscuits,” Tricia said in her own defense.

  Angelica scowled and turned back to her cutting board, which was covered in good-sized cooked, peeled shrimp she’d been in the process of cutting into bite-size pieces.

  “What else is on tap tonight?” Tricia asked, swiping one of the tails before Angelica had a chance to stop her.

  “Besides the shrimp pasta salad? I’m almost finished making it. I snagged a few of Nikki’s snowflake rolls from the Patisserie. I just have to mix the shrimp with the pasta, mayo, and veggies, then let it cool for a while. Meanwhile, the martinis are already chilled.”

  “Why don’t we drink wine anymore?’ Tricia asked.

  “Don’t you like martinis?” Angelica asked, sounding surprised.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Not even mine?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Does that mean I have to drink the entire pitcher myself?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Tricia said, and retrieved the crystal pitcher, chilled glasses, and olives from the fridge. She poured and gave Angelica a glass before reaching for another tail. This time Angelica was ready for her and slapped her hand. Tricia backed off, retreating to the kitchen island with her drink. She commandeered a stool.

  “So, how was your day?” Angelica asked conversationally, putting the now-finished salad in the fridge.

  “Awful.”

  “What happened?” Angelica asked, concerned.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Tricia asked, and took a sip of her martini. It wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t horrible, either. She must be getting used to them.

  “Chamber business, if that’s what’s got you so down.”

  Tricia sighed. “Who takes care of the hanging baskets around the village?”

  “The Milford Nursery, why?”

  “Because just about all of them are devoid of flowers.”

  “What?” Angelica cried, horrified.

  “You heard me.”

  Angelica dropped her knife and rushed to the bank of windows that overlooked Main Street. “They can’t all have died.”

  “The greenery looks very healthy, but where are the flowers? Surely they couldn’t all have fallen off at one time, either.”

  “Vandals!” Angelica cried, and turned back to face Tricia. “Oh my God! I hope the committee for prettiest village in New Hampshire has already been through to check us out. Otherwise, we’re out of the running for yet another year.”

  “I thought they came through last month.”

  “I’m not sure of the timing. If all they saw was green, we’re toast!”

  She turned back to look at the vast sea of greenery where days before there had been a riot of color. “Perhaps now that we have a police force, we can catch whoever is doing this. Not like when someone was smashing all those pumpkins a few years back, although that seemed to stop after a while.”

  “There’s a reason it stopped. I caught the culprit.”

  Angelica turned back to face her sister. “You did? You never said anything.”

  “At the time, I didn’t think you’d want to know.”

  “Know what? Who was behind it? Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

  “Because it was Bob.”

  Angelica turned back to face her sister. “No! I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. He was jealous that Milford’s Pumpkin Festival was so successful and drawing the tourists away from Stoneham, and he took out his anger on the free pumpkins he was giving away to those who listed with Kelly Realty
.”

  Angelica looked thoughtful. “At the time I did think he must have had a rush of clients, as the pumpkin pile did go down rather quickly.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Do you suspect Bob of denuding the hanging baskets?”

  “Could be. He’s got a lot on his mind right now and none of it appears to be pleasant. But I would hope he’d think twice about doing something else that could get him in trouble with the law.”

  “I’ll call the nursery first thing in the morning to find out what it will cost to replace the flowers. Maybe they can give the village a deal as it’s getting late in the season.”

  “What if it happens again?”

  Angelica frowned. “After we eat, we can go look at one of the baskets. I want to make sure it is vandalism and not just some horticultural blight. Are you game?”

  “Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  Angelica returned to the island and picked up her drink. “Have you heard anything else about Pete’s death?”

  Tricia shook her head, deciding not to yet share what Mariana had told her about Jim Stark. “Grant came to the Chamber office to ask me about finding Pete. He said he couldn’t really start an investigation until he knew what the actual cause of death was. But he was also going to have a lab team search the gazebo and the area around it for clues.”

  “Clues to what?”

  Tricia shrugged. “To see if there was anything suspicious.”

  “You said there was a needle mark and a suspicious bruise on Pete’s body, which would mean somebody injected him with something. What’s obtainable that could stop someone’s heart—and do it pretty quickly? Or what about an air bubble in the blood?”

  “I’ve seen that threatened on TV and in movies, but I don’t know if you could actually kill someone that way.”

  “You could look it up online,” Angelica said, and looked toward her computer.

  “I’m about to eat dinner, and that kind of information could have a negative effect on my digestive system,” Tricia said.

  “I’ve seen you eat while reading a book featuring a graphic autopsy,” Angelica said sourly.

  “Well, I don’t want to look it up right now.”