Not the Killing Type Read online

  “Oh?” Tricia asked, right on cue.

  Frannie nodded. “It seems Mr. Berry had a relationship with none other than Ginny’s wedding planner.”

  “Joelle Morrison?” Tricia asked aghast. For some reason, she found it hard to believe that any man would want to be tied up with Joelle. And it looked like she’d been right.

  Frannie nodded again, her eyes narrowing. She looked around, then straightened and leaned in closer, dropping her voice to almost a whisper. “It seems they were quite the item until just recently. Stan was forever plying her with Godiva chocolate and those gorgeous cupcakes that Nikki Brimfield makes and sells over at the Patisserie.”

  “Is that so?” Tricia asked. “You said until just recently.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m not sure why, but it seems the breakup was rather abrupt. One argument and they were kaput.”

  “How long ago was the split?”

  “Sometime in the last two weeks.” The way she kept nodding, Frannie seemed to be imitating a bobblehead. “Oh, yeah, she was a frequent visitor at Stan’s house, not that she stayed the night, but it sure was late when she’d leave.” Frannie lived on the same street as Stan and kept track of all her neighbors’ comings and goings. “I’m pretty sure on those occasions when time got past her that Joelle would go to her sister’s house and stay rather than drive all the way back to Nashua.”

  “How did they meet?” Tricia asked and hoped to God she would never be on the receiving end of Frannie’s gossip mill.

  “Her sister Betsy over at the Chamber of Commerce recommended him as a source when Joelle wanted a sign made for her business. You’ve seen that giant advertising magnet she hangs on the door of her car, right? She ordered it from Stan.”

  “I didn’t realize he made such things.”

  “He orders them from one of the companies he deals with. I heard he gave her quite a discount if she promised to go out with him. That was the beginning.”

  “How long were they together?” Tricia asked, wondering if Baker knew about this liaison.

  “Must have been close to a year.”

  “How come I never heard about any of this?”

  Frannie laughed. “’Cuz you lead such a sheltered life. You’ve always got your nose in a book.”

  “Not always,” Tricia said.

  Frannie’s smile faded. “I guess you’re right. You do seem to spend an awful lot of time tripping over dead bodies.”

  “Stan was sitting on the toilet,” Tricia reminded her.

  “What a way to go,” Frannie said and shook her head, trying to keep a smirk off her face.

  Tricia didn’t think it was funny. “I’d better get going,” she said and turned for the door.

  “Thanks again for helping me,” Frannie called after her.

  Tricia waved and left the store, immediately wishing she’d taken the time to button her coat. She huddled inside it, head down as the wind blew her hair in her face. She’d almost reached Haven’t Got a Clue when—pow!—she crashed into someone. She looked up.

  “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Her coat flew open, and she struggled to get the hair out of her eyes.

  “Going inside?” the man asked.

  “Yes.”

  He opened the door and let her go ahead of him. Once inside, Tricia raked her fingers through her hair in a fruitless attempt to tame it. “Again, let me apologize.”

  The young man shook his head. He must have been in his mid-twenties and he looked awfully familiar. “Excuse me, but I was told I might find Angelica Miles here.”

  Tricia shook her head. “Not here, although she is my sister. She owns the Cookery next door, and the little café across the street, Booked for Lunch.”

  “That’s where I just came from.” He shoved his hand toward her. “Hi, I’m Stan Berry.”

  EIGHT

  “Stan Berry,” Tricia repeated, dumbfounded.

  “My name is actually Stanley William Berry Junior. My friends call me Will.”

  “Do you always go around trying to shock people?”

  He ducked his head and shrugged like a little boy. Tricia supposed he was trying to be cute, but she was not amused.

  “Hi, Will,” Tricia said and shook his hand. Though his touch was light, he held on just a little too long. Tricia pulled her hand away. “How can I help you?”

  “I understand your sister was one of the last people to see my dad alive,” he continued.

  “Angelica and about twenty-five other people last saw your dad alive, including me.”

  “Then you must be Tricia Miles, the person who found my dad.” He said the words casually and didn’t seem all that broken up about the death.

  Tricia nodded. “Yes, I did. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Berry shrugged. “Not much of a loss, as far as I can see.” At her confusion, he elaborated. “My dad left my mom and me when I was about three. I’ve heard from him now and then over the years, but I only came to Stoneham because a lawyer called me last night and said he’d made me the executor of his will.”

  “I take it that was a surprise.”

  He nodded. “To be perfectly honest, I’m shocked. It turns out he left me everything. He was never very good about paying child support. My mom didn’t go after him, either. We might have had a better quality of life if she had. I guess he figured this might make up for it.”

  This attractive, well-dressed—and well-spoken—young man didn’t look the worse for wear for being brought up by a single mother. And he didn’t sound all that bitter about his experience, either.

  “Why did you want to talk to my sister?” Tricia asked.

  “I understand she might have had a motive for my dad’s murder.”

  Tricia started. “I beg your pardon?”

  “According to the Stoneham chief of police, she was running against him for president of the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “My sister is not a murderer,” Tricia said rather louder than she’d meant.

  “I figure it had to be either her or the other guy in the running.” He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and looked at it. “A Robert Kelly.”

  “He’s known around here as Bob Kelly,” Tricia corrected. “And I seriously doubt he would kill your father, either.”

  “Who else would have wanted him dead?” Will asked. He was being awfully matter-of-fact about his father’s murder.

  Tricia didn’t even have to think about it. “To be perfectly honest—you.”

  “Me?” he asked, and for the first time since he’d entered the store there was actually some inflection in his tone.

  “You just admitted he abandoned you and your mother. That he didn’t pay child support. That could be interpreted as a reason for murder.”

  “Revenge?” he asked, incredulous.

  “People have been killed for a lot less.” How many times had she uttered that phrase in the past couple of years?

  Berry shook his head. “I’ve got too much at stake to lower myself to petty revenge.”

  “Such as?” Tricia asked.

  “I’ve been interning for a pretty prestigious law firm in Boston. Weinberg, Metcalf, Henley, and Durgin.”

  “Ah, another lawyer,” she said, knowingly.

  “Well, maybe some day. And why do you say it like it’s a dirty word?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing of the kind. But it’s true that lawyers are some of the worst offenders when it comes to upholding the letter of the law.”

  “Maybe in politics,” he agreed, “but that’s not what I aspire to.”

  “And what do you ultimately want to do with your life?” Tricia asked. Good grief. She’d only just met the man—did she really care what he aspired to, and why was she interrogating him anyway?

  “Until last night, I intended to be a corporate lawyer. That’s where the real money is.”

  It wasn’t surprising he wanted to catch the attorney brass ring, if he’d been brought up in a home that ha
d struggled to stay above the poverty line. “And what made you change your mind?”

  “I told my boss I needed time off to take care of my dad’s affairs. He told me it wasn’t a convenient time. We were working on a big lawsuit,” he added for clarification. “I told him murder was never convenient and that I needed to take time off.”

  “And he said … ?” Tricia asked.

  “‘Don’t bother to come back.’”

  Tricia stared at the young man in disbelief. “Isn’t that grounds for a lawsuit?”

  “It sure is. But I’d have to have some pretty deep pockets to defend myself against them.”

  Tricia had heard of that particular law firm. They were notorious for winning cases, even when the odds were stacked against them. “What are your plans?” she asked.

  Again Will shrugged. “I thought I might hang around Stoneham for a while and decide my next move. I’d like to meet my dad’s friends, try to figure out who he became.”

  “Did you know your father had ended a relationship a couple of weeks before his death?”

  “We haven’t talked in almost a year, but nothing my dad did surprised me. To tell you the truth, knowing his history, I’m astounded that he had a relationship that lasted more than a couple of weeks. According to my mother, he wasn’t known to be monogamous for any length of time.”

  Was he expecting some kind of reaction to that news? It really wasn’t any of Tricia’s business. And bad-mouthing a dead man—and one’s father—seemed to be the height of tastelessness. It was time to end this conversation.

  “Is there anything else I can do to help you today?” Tricia asked.

  Berry nodded. “Tell me where I can find Mr. Kelly.”

  “He owns Kelly Real Estate, a block north on the left. If he’s not out showing a property to a client, you’ll find him in his office or next door at the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “And what about your sister?”

  Tricia happened to have a small stack of Angelica’s business cards under the counter. She grabbed one and handed it to Berry. “You can call either number during business hours.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a nod and pocketed the card. He started for the door but paused, turning back to face her once again. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  Tricia blinked, startled. This young man was at least eighteen years younger than her. And though flattered, she also wondered what his real motivation might be for issuing such an invitation. “I’m seeing someone,” she answered succinctly, although that wasn’t exactly true, especially under the current circumstances.

  Will shrugged. “My loss, his gain. Still, I’m not leaving town for at least the next few days. I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Until then.” He nodded at her and left the store.

  Tricia’s gaze remained fixed on the door for long seconds after he’d departed.

  Pixie wandered up to stand before her. Tricia hadn’t noticed her presence during her entire conversation with Berry. “What was that all about?”

  Tricia faced her employee. “I have no idea.”

  “He’s pretty cute. You should’ve gone out with him.”

  Tricia frowned. “You know Chief Baker and I are”—she hesitated—“in a relationship.”

  “Who says you have to bed the guy? But a free meal is a free meal.” Pixie shrugged. “Then again, who says you can trust that the guy’s on the up and up? Everything he told you might be big fat lies.”

  That was true. Tricia did tend to take people at face value … until they gave her reason to do otherwise. And what if Pixie was right? She had nothing to lose by talking with Berry, and he might tell her something about his father that could be useful—something he wasn’t likely to tell Baker. Maybe she had been too hasty in declining his invitation. But then … he more or less said he’d be back.

  That thought gave her reason to smile.

  NINE

  “Oh, damn,” Pixie swore from the vicinity of the coffee station and held a jar upside down, tapping the bottom. “We’re out of creamer—and almost out of sugar, too.”

  Damn indeed. Tricia had been meaning to replace those staples the last time she’d gone shopping and had forgotten—again.

  “If I’d known, I could’ve gotten them when I went out earlier,” Pixie groused. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you think we’ll get many more customers before the end of the day?”

  “That’s debatable,” Tricia said.

  “We don’t have to serve them coffee,” Pixie offered.

  “No, but coffee and cookies often help make people feel comfortable. And a comfortable customer will feel like indulging him or herself. Why don’t I just whip up to the convenience store and grab some replacements? It should only take me ten minutes.”

  Pixie shrugged. “Fine with me,” she said and tossed the empty jar into the wastebasket, and wiped the counter while Tricia went to the back to grab her jacket.

  In less than five minutes, Tricia pulled her Lexus into the convenience store’s parking lot, and scowled. Was she going to run into Pete Marcella, the owner’s rather unpleasant son? She’d met him two years before. The young man had big plans for his future, hoping to open a recycling business. He had convinced his father to support his ambitions by putting multiple recycling containers outside their store, and they didn’t give plastic bags to customers who only purchased one or two items. It probably saved them money, as well as helping to keep the local environment tidy. There was nothing wrong with that, but Pete had been so insufferably smug about it all.

  Tricia’s cell phone trilled and she retrieved it from her purse, instantly recognizing the number. “Hello, Christopher.”

  “I wanted to let you know I’m in town. Are you free for dinner tonight?”

  Oh, dear. He’d been serious when they’d spoken the day before.

  “Not really,” she lied.

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “My former assistant is getting married. The rehearsal and dinner are tomorrow night.”

  “How about lunch?” he asked in what sounded like desperation.

  Tricia mulled it over. She’d just as soon have a tooth drilled as have lunch with him, but finally acquiesced. “Okay. Where and when?”

  “I’m staying at the Brookview Inn. One o’clock?”

  “All right. See you there,” she said and rang off.

  Tricia replaced her phone and got out of her car, berating herself for again forgetting her hat. The wind was brisk and relentless. She hurried into the store, grateful to shut the door behind her and let the warmth envelop her. The first thing she noticed was that the store was meticulously clean. The floors looked freshly mopped, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on any of the shelves or other displays. She found the items she needed with no trouble, plucking them from the shelves. She looked up and spotted a security camera trained in her direction.

  There was no monitor near the young man who stood behind the counter, selling lottery tickets to a customer. She was grateful it wasn’t Pete. Since she wasn’t a regular customer at the store, only using it when she was too lazy to drive the extra five minutes to the large grocery store in Milford, Tricia was unsure if the senior Marcella had an office on site. Juggling her purse, the creamer, and the sugar, she wandered the aisles, noting the location of several more strategically placed cameras. Surely Marcella would be monitoring them, watching out for shoplifters from his office as he worked on paperwork and made calls to his suppliers. As she passed a wall of refrigerator cases, she came upon a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Should she go inside or ask the counter clerk if the boss was in? Instead, she decided to test the door handle. It turned, and she quickly ducked inside, emerging into a short hall that separated a storeroom and another smaller room, its door ajar. A sign said MANAGER.

  Tricia knocked on the door and pushed it open. “Mr. Marcella?”

  John Marcella sat behind a cluttered desk, peering at a computer screen. He looked up and over
the reading glasses perched on the bottom of his nose. “Ms. Miles,” he said flatly, obviously not overjoyed to see her.

  “Can we talk?” she asked.

  Marcella waved a hand to indicate she take the folding metal chair that sat before his desk. She sat down, the cold metal sending a chill through her. “What exactly do you want?” he asked.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me about your friendship with Stan Berry.”

  Marcella suddenly looked weary, and his voice reflected his state of mind. “We weren’t friends. I met him through the Chamber and we talked a few times at Chamber breakfasts. We had similar ideas about what the Chamber ought to be doing for its members. He approached me about a week ago with the idea of opposing Bob Kelly and asked me if I’d second his nomination. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Did he actually think he could win?” Tricia asked.

  “I doubt it. Bob Kelly might be a miserly landlord, but he has done a lot for the village. He might have favored the booksellers, but the rest of us wouldn’t still be in business if his efforts hadn’t revived the entire village. I think there’s enough of us who are grateful for that. He’ll probably get elected again. And quite honestly, who really wants to take on that kind of effort?”

  “My sister,” Tricia reminded him.

  He shrugged. “Everyone knows she’s just opposing him out of spite because Bob dumped her.”

  Everyone knew?

  “Excuse me, but Bob did not dump Angelica—she ended the relationship and had every right to after he—” But she didn’t finish the sentence, deciding instead not to air Angelica’s dirty laundry.

  Marcella waved her aborted explanation aside. “Whatever.”

  “I honestly think she’s got the village’s interests at heart,” Tricia added.

  “Of course you would. And I don’t doubt that she could do a good job. She has a reputation for getting things done, and obviously she’s a successful businesswoman. But still, how long would she hang in there and work for the Chamber? A year—maybe two—before she moves on to something else?”

  True enough. But she could get things moving again, and that had value as well.