A Fatal Chapter Read online

  “What else could kill someone so quickly?” Angelica pressed.

  “Poison, I suppose.”

  “How about arsenic?”

  “It isn’t a fast acting poison. Generally the victim is fed the substance over a long period of time.”

  “You mean like feeding them a steady diet of apple seeds? Are there any orchards around here?”

  “It wouldn’t have to be an exotic poison. Maybe something as simple as a vial of super-strength vinegar.”

  “Ya think?” Angelica said.

  “I’m guessing.” It was time to change the subject. “I also spoke to Antonio today.”

  Angelica lifted an eyebrow. “Did you?”

  Tricia nodded. “I told him I’m very glad he’s a part of our family.”

  Angelica’s smile was tentative. “Thank you. What did he say?”

  “Not much. But he made sure I understood that he respected your wish to keep your secret quiet.”

  “I’m thankful for that.”

  “It’s time to tell Ginny—and before the baby arrives, especially if you want to be its grandma.”

  Angelica let out a long breath. “I suppose I’ll have to. And as she’s Antonio’s wife, it really should come from me.”

  “Agreed. And she will not be pleased.”

  “Neither were you, but you seem to have gotten over it much quicker than I would have guessed.”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “And what choice does Ginny have, too?”

  “Very little.”

  “Antonio suggested we all have dinner soon at the Brookview Inn’s private dining room.”

  “That would be lovely. I’ll set up a menu tomorrow and call him.”

  “Why don’t you let him decide on the menu. I’m sure he’ll pick something Ginny is particularly fond of—you know, to get her in a receptive mood.”

  “Great idea.”

  Tricia eyed her sister critically. “You know, it almost seems like you have some kind of master plan in mind for all of us. Would you care to share it?”

  “You make me sound like some kind of dictator or puppeteer,” Angelica said.

  “I’m afraid that’s how some of the villagers view Nigela Ricita.”

  “I haven’t done anything that didn’t benefit Stoneham in one way or another, and I wish you’d stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

  “I’m sorry, Ange. I guess I still feel hurt that you kept it from me for so long.”

  “I admit, it was a mistake, and I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past. Can’t we just move forward and accept the present?”

  “We will. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?” Angelica asked, her expression blank.

  “Do you have some kind of master plan for all of us?”

  “Well, of course I do,” Angelica answered matter-of-factly.

  Tricia started.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of megalomaniac. I want us all to be healthy and happy and successful. Period.”

  “And who does this theoretical us entail?”

  “You, me, Antonio, Ginny. Grace, Mr. Everett, Frannie, Pixie, Mariana, Bev, Tommy—everybody.”

  “And how do you propose to deliver that magic pill?”

  “No pill. People who are happy in their work are happy in life. It’s as simple as that. And I want the people who arrive in this beautiful little town in New England stressed and careworn to leave happy and uplifted.”

  “You hope.”

  “So far, so good.”

  Tricia couldn’t argue with that.

  “What are you plotting for the future?”

  “Not plotting, considering. Now that you know, you could be a wonderful sounding board. In fact, it would be oodles of fun if you and Antonio and Ginny and I all sat down and made a wish list for the village: things we’d like to see happen. Stores and services we’d love to see arrive. Needs that aren’t yet being met.”

  “Like a shoe store?” Tricia suggested.

  Angelica shook her head. “That’s been on my wish list for years. We’re much too small for a chain store, and a boutique would be too expensive for the residents.” She shook her head. “It’s a pipe dream.”

  “A tea shop?” Tricia suggested.

  Again Angelica shook her head. “Not enough trade to keep one in business through the lean times. But I have thought about offering afternoon tea at the Brookview Inn during the summer months. Maybe just on weekends to start. We also need more daycare. Ginny wants to go back to work after the baby arrives, and my grandchild must have the very best.”

  “You wouldn’t hire a nanny?” Tricia asked.

  “Children need to interact with other children. It’s good for them.”

  “What makes you the expert when it comes to child care?”

  “Google is my best friend,” Angelica said wryly.

  “What about the ghost walks?”

  “They could be great fun—and quite lucrative, not only for the cemetery, but for the Dog-Eared Page and the Bookshelf Diner. Before Pete died, he sent a report to NRA looking for backing.”

  “Did you give him any money for them?”

  “It was included with the check Antonio gave them.”

  Tricia nodded. “When I spoke to Janet Koch at the Historical Society this morning, I suggested Michele give the talks.”

  “What a great idea!”

  “Of course, her boss would have to okay it,” Tricia said.

  Angelica’s smile was more a smirk. “I’m sure I can arrange it. Anything else happen today I should know about?”

  Tricia hesitated, then shook her head.

  Angelica considered her empty glass. “We’d better not have another. Not if we’re going to check out those flower baskets.”

  Tricia downed the last of her drink, then placed the olive in her mouth, slid it off the pick, and chewed.

  “You set the table and I’ll get the food ready,” Angelica said, heading for the fridge.

  Tricia carried her glass over to the sink, then scooped flatware from a drawer and placed it on the table, her thoughts straying back to the subject of Jim Stark. The idea of her store renovation possibly being derailed had her feeling disheartened and depressed.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, she ordered herself.

  She just wished she could pay more attention to that little niggling voice inside her brain that advised her to look at worst-case scenarios.

  Sometimes she hated that stinking little voice she called her conscience.

  • • •

  It wasn’t quite dark, but unlike in years past when the streets of Stoneham had emptied at six o’clock, several cars still lined the south end of Main Street. The Dog-Eared Page was the draw, but farther down the street a few cars were also clustered near the Bookshelf Diner. “We really need more eateries here on Main Street,” Angelica said as they, along with Sarge, headed north on the sidewalk. “We need at least one fine dining restaurant here in the village.”

  “Where would it go?” Tricia asked.

  “It could go where the Chamber office is currently located, but that’s a bit close to the eyesore that is Kelly Realty.”

  “You’d think Bob would have done something to the outside of that building to spruce it up. Gray-painted cinderblock has no curb appeal and is not at all conducive to the ambiance he’s always tried to encourage from the people he rents to.”

  Angelica didn’t comment.

  They continued down the block, passing more and more denuded hanging baskets. “What we need is a ladder so we can look into the baskets to see if the blossoms have been broken off or cut.”

  “Does it matter?” Tricia asked. “None of
them have flowers.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Angelica groused.

  A few other people ambled down the sidewalk, and the sisters greeted them with smiles but didn’t bother with conversation. Tricia rather enjoyed the walk, and Sarge certainly did. However, Angelica was far too quiet.

  They walked as far as the Antiques Emporium, crossed the street, and headed back south toward the town square. Every single hanging basket had been hit. “This kind of petty vandalism makes me so angry,” Angelica muttered.

  “The police station is just ahead. Do you want to report it?”

  “Yes, I do.” Angelica sped up, and Tricia and little Sarge had a hard time keeping up with her. “Do you think Grant is working late tonight?”

  Tricia had seen his car parked in the municipal lot when they’d passed minutes earlier. “Probably. He doesn’t have much to do in the evenings, either.”

  Arriving at the station door, Angelica grabbed Sarge, tucking him under her arm, and they entered.

  Polly Burgess, the station’s elderly dispatcher and receptionist, was also working late. She eyed Sarge with disdain. “No dogs allowed. You’ll have to take it outside.”

  “He’s a he, not an it—and he’s my service dog,” Angelica said.

  “What kind of service can a dog that small perform?” Polly demanded.

  “He’s my emotional support.”

  “Where’s his service vest?”

  “In the laundry. Now, we’d like to speak to the chief, please.”

  “He’s off duty.”

  “But he is here,” Tricia said.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you please tell him we’re here?” Tricia asked.

  “We’d like to report a crime,” Angelica chimed in.

  Polly looked at them with suspicion. “What kind of crime?”

  “Vandalism.”

  Polly sighed and pushed the intercom button. “Chief. There are a couple of citizens here who’d like to report vandalism.”

  “I’ll be right there,” came Baker’s clipped voice.

  Polly glared at the sisters.

  Baker appeared from behind his office door, his eyes lighting up when he saw Tricia. “Hello. What’s this about vandalism?” he asked.

  “Can we talk in your office?” Angelica asked as Baker reached out to pet Sarge, who growled. He pulled his hand back.

  “Sure.”

  The sisters followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk. Angelica set Sarge on the floor but kept him on a short leash.

  “What’s this about vandalism?” Baker asked again.

  “Someone has clipped every flower in the hanging baskets around the village.”

  Baker frowned, as though that wasn’t his idea of a major crime. “Is that all?”

  “Those baskets cost nearly fifty bucks apiece. If we have to replace them, it will be a substantial cost,” Angelica said.

  Baker looked unimpressed. “Do you have any suspects?”

  Angelica shook her head.

  “Do you know when it happened?”

  “No. Tricia noticed all the blossoms were gone just today.”

  “Maybe someone’s got really bad allergies,” Baker suggested and laughed.

  “They’ve been hanging for over two months,” Angelica pointed out.

  Baker’s smile faded and he frowned. “The baskets are still up, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “They haven’t been smashed, right?”

  “No.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he asked.

  “I’m reporting a crime,” Angelica said. “I thought that’s what good citizens were supposed to do.”

  “We’ve got more important matters taking up the bulk of our time just now,” Baker said.

  “Have you made any headway on Pete Renquist’s death?” Tricia asked.

  The chief looked uncomfortable. “We’re pursuing all leads.”

  Which meant no!

  “Did you have a chance to speak to Toni Bennett?” she asked.

  The name caused Baker to start, as though he had to remember it was the owner of the Antiques Emporium and not the singer. “Yes.”

  “And?” Tricia pressed.

  “Hearsay.”

  “Oh, come on. Surely you’re going to try to find out who threatened Pete.”

  “Of course, but hearing he was threatened without any corroborating information isn’t much of a lead.”

  She supposed not. “Who else have you spoken with?”

  “You are not a part of the investigation,” Baker pointed out, obviously annoyed.

  Tricia shrugged. “I spoke with Janet Koch at the Historical Society this morning—to convey my condolences,” she quickly added.

  “I’ve spoken with her, too. She wasn’t much help.”

  “Have Pete’s next of kin been contacted?” Angelica asked.

  Baker nodded. “No help there, either.”

  “But you’re doing everything you can to solve Pete’s murder,” Tricia stated, though it didn’t seem to be much.

  “Of course.”

  Tricia again debated mentioning what Mariana had told her earlier in the day. If she didn’t name names, she could at least make a suggestion—just to get Baker thinking along a different line of reasoning. “It’s well known that Pete liked to flirt with women. Is it possible a jealous husband or lover could have come after him?” she asked.

  “Anything’s possible.”

  Sure. Pigs flew on scheduled routes. The moon was made of green cheese. And a bridge in Brooklyn was sold just about every day.

  Angelica picked up Sarge and stood. “I suppose we’d better let you get back to it.” She didn’t sound impressed with the chief’s progress, either.

  Tricia followed her out of the office.

  “Keep me informed about those flowers,” Baker called after them.

  “If I can be bothered,” Angelica muttered.

  “Good night,” Tricia called to Polly as she passed the receptionist’s desk. The woman ignored her.

  “Now what?” Tricia asked once the sisters were out on the sidewalk again.

  “It’s been a long day and I still have a ton of work to do. We may as well go home,” Angelica said, and they started off. They walked in silence until they came to the Chamber office, where they paused.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tricia said, and gave Angelica a hug. Sarge barked. “I’ll see you, too,” she said, and bent down to pat the dog’s head.

  “Why did you tell Grant about Pete’s flirting?” Angelica asked.

  Tricia shrugged and avoided her sister’s penetrating gaze. “I just want him to investigate all possibilities.”

  “Did you have someone in mind?”

  Tricia kept scratching Sarge’s ears. “No.”

  Angelica didn’t press the issue. “Well, good night.”

  “Night.” Tricia called, and hurried up the driveway. She had no proof against Jim Stark. A part of her wanted to pursue that line of inquiry. What was worse, a bigger part of her—the part that wanted to go back to her old life and home—didn’t.

  NINE

  Her room was still dark when Tricia awoke with a start the next morning. Her heart pounded and she was drenched with cold sweat. The crippling nightmare had returned, although it no longer haunted her sleep every night as it had during those first bleak days after the fire. Flames had poured from Haven’t Got a Clue’s shattered display window, while firefighters in assault gear directed the full force of their hoses on the fire—and the stock inside. Tricia had felt as though she were being slowly smothered as she’d watched helplessly from the street, held back by many arms that refused to let her go back to save her beloved store.

  Of course, it hadn�
��t actually happened quite that way—but it was close enough. The terror she’d felt when she thought she’d lost Miss Marple had been the worst. Then the realization struck that she might have lost everything else she valued. Still, at the time she’d felt lucky, and her friends—and most of all Angelica—had rallied to support her. She would never forget the kindness she’d been shown. Even strangers had stopped her in the street to express their regrets.

  But as the days and weeks dragged on and still there was no settlement from the insurance company—and no end in sight for her enforced exile—she found herself growing depressed. She wanted to go home. To her own home.

  Throwing back the covers, Tricia got up, disturbing Miss Marple, and quickly dressed for her morning jaunt. Could the soot-covered treadmill that still stood in her loft apartment be refurbished? She supposed she’d eventually find out. Going for a brisk walk was wonderful in good weather, but not so much fun when it rained. Thankfully the weatherman had predicted fair skies for the next few days. Tricia tied her running shoes and took off. She had a lot to think about as she followed her usual route, speed-walking along Stoneham’s residential streets.

  After she’d completed her rounds, Tricia usually ended up at the Coffee Bean for her first brew of the day. Coming back to her rooms at the Chamber office was always made a little more pleasant when she had a really good cup of coffee to kick-start the rest of her day.

  However, on this day Tricia headed over to the Cookery. Outside the door, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called Angelica.

  “Hope I didn’t wake you,” Tricia said.

  “Are you kidding? I’ve been up for hours. What’s new?”

  “I’m outside the Cookery. Can I come up?”

  “Of course.”

  “See you in a minute,” Tricia said, and stabbed the end-call icon. She unlocked the door and quickly disabled the alarm system, then headed up the stairs.

  As usual, Sarge made a wonderful welcoming committee, jumping up and down and barking enthusiastically.

  “Want some coffee?” Angelica called as Tricia started down the hall that lead to Angelica’s kitchen with Sarge scampering ahead.

  “I’ve already got some,” Tricia said.

  “How about some toast?”