Not the Killing Type Page 9

  “Do you know why anyone would want to kill Stan?” Tricia asked.

  Marcella shook his head. “I barely knew the guy.”

  Tricia remembered the colorful signs in the convenience store’s window.

  “It’s obvious that Stan did work for you.”

  “You mean signs?”

  Tricia nodded.

  “Yeah. But we didn’t talk about it. I would e-mail him when I wanted something done, and he’d drop off whatever I asked for, leaving it at the cash desk up front. He’d send an invoice via PayPal and I’d authorize payment. It couldn’t have been easier.” Or more impersonal, Tricia silently agreed. “Now I’ve got to find someone else to handle my signage needs,” Marcella conceded sourly.

  “So you never had any personal conversations with Stan?” Tricia asked.

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Did he ever mention his son?”

  Marcella shook his head and again said, “Not that I remember.”

  That wasn’t really all that surprising. Stan hadn’t been close to his son, although he’d left him all his worldly goods. Had Stan been close to anyone besides Joelle?

  “Did Stan ever mention a girlfriend?” Tricia said.

  Marcella took off his glasses and shook his head. “Look, I told you we didn’t talk much. Now, I’ve got a lot of work to do. Are we through?”

  Tricia rose. She would have liked to interrogate the man a little further, but she could see he was fed up. She stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Marcella. Will I see you at the Chamber meeting on Wednesday morning?”

  “I’ll be there,” he said with resignation. “But just long enough to vote. Black Friday might be the best day of the year for your sales, but on the day before the year’s biggest feast, I’ll be selling boxes of stuffing and cans of cranberry sauce like crazy.”

  Tricia didn’t doubt it. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Marcella put his glasses back on and hunkered down to study his computer screen again.

  Tricia sidled past the office door and stepped back into the convenience store. The conversation hadn’t netted her anything useful. Should she tell Angelica that some Chamber members believed her odds of winning to be nil? No, Tricia decided she’d remain cheerful and positive on that subject, and honestly, she only had to do it for another four days. But she crossed her fingers after she paid for her purchases and walked back to her car. Whether most Chamber members realized it, the future of Stoneham was at stake, and it was Tricia’s steadfast belief that Angelica really was the best (wo)man for the job.

  *

  The sun had dipped toward the horizon long before Tricia and Pixie finished their decorating. She’d had to restrain Pixie from putting up too many garlands and other decorations from the third and last box of thrift-shop items Pixie had purchased. After all, they were selling books, not ornaments. Still, she was grateful that Pixie cared enough about Haven’t Got a Clue’s bottom line to invest her own money to insure their seasonal success.

  “It’s been a long day. Thanks so much for helping me with the decorations.”

  Pixie positively beamed, her gold canine tooth sparkling as she looked around the store with admiration. “It does look pretty good.”

  “You must let me pay for all the things you’ve brought in. It really is my responsibility.”

  Pixie shook her head. “I’m not sure I want to part with our little angel village on a permanent basis. You have to admit, it’s awfully damn cute,” she said with pride.

  “That it is,” Tricia agreed.

  “If it’s a success, and our customers like it, I could loan it to the store next year.”

  Tricia smiled. “That seems reasonable.”

  Pixie stared at the figurines and cardboard houses and churches in admiration. Then she shook herself and looked at the clock. “Time for me to split. I’ve got a bunch of DVDs from the library that I need to watch before they have to be returned on Monday.”

  “What are you watching?” Tricia asked.

  “Midsomer Murders. I hate cops, but I could make an exception for Chief Inspector Barnaby.”

  Tricia laughed. “I’m sure his wife, Joyce, would have a few choice words about that.”

  “Wouldn’t she just?” Pixie said and untied her Haven’t Got a Clue apron. She headed for the back of the store, hung it up, and retrieved her coat. “What have you got on tap for tonight?”

  Tricia thought about it. She still hadn’t heard from Baker, which left her disappointed. “Nothing special.”

  “You gonna call your guy?” Pixie asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “I don’t think it would be in my best interest.”

  Pixie frowned. “Ya know that song by Simply Red, ‘If You Don’t Know Me By Now’? Well, it seems to me that your cop friend ought to know you by now and stop stringing you along every time a body shows up in this burg. I mean, isn’t that what a relationship is supposed to be about—not that I’ve ever run into anyone who was any better,” she amended sadly.

  Tricia wasn’t sure how to answer, but she sure felt the same way. If Baker hadn’t learned to trust her—to know she wasn’t capable of hurting another living thing—then he really wasn’t worthy of her trust or affection.

  And hadn’t Angelica hinted at the same thing the evening before?

  Miss Marple, who’d been listening to the conversation from her perch behind the register, jumped to the cash desk and down to the floor, intercepting Pixie and rubbing her head against Pixie’s ankles. “Good night, Miss Marple. See you in the morning,” she said, petted the cat on the head, and then headed for the door. “Night,” she called and left the store.

  With Pixie gone, Haven’t Got a Clue seemed unbearably quiet. As though sensing this, Miss Marple jumped back up on the cash desk and rubbed her little gray head against Tricia’s arm.

  “I love you, too, my dear Miss Marple, but right now I have a powerful need to get out of here.”

  And where would that be? She could cross the street and immerse herself in the camaraderie at the Dog-Eared Page, or she could go next door and inflict herself on Angelica. Or maybe she just needed to clear her head. A walk in the brisk night air might just do it. She really should do some of her nightly tasks—like vacuum, tidy the cash desk and the beverage station. Instead, she turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED, pulled down the blinds, and retrieved her jacket and hat. Miss Marple protested, and Tricia shook out a few cat cookies into a bowl and left it on the floor. Then she turned off the lights and locked the door behind her.

  Night had fallen more than an hour before, and the cold, dark sky was studded with twinkling points of light. She headed north, crossed the street at the corner, and proceeded down Locust Street, remembering what Frannie had said about Joelle and Stan Berry. When she reached Oak Street, she hung a left.

  Already some of the residents had decked out their homes with colored lights for the holidays. A large inflatable snowman bobbed in the wind, its mittened hand waving cheerfully as she walked by. Several houses already had decorated Christmas trees on display in front of picture windows that faced the street.

  Tricia shivered in the cold wind, huddling deeper into her coat as she approached Stan Berry’s house, noticing that all the lights were lit. Will must have made himself at home. In fact … she lowered her head and looked into the lighted garage. Sure enough, she could see Will standing over a large worktable that was covered with papers, studying them. Tricia debated with herself for only a couple of seconds before she strode up the driveway and knocked on the door. Will looked up, squinted until he recognized her, and then motioned for her to enter the shop.

  Tricia hurried inside and, thanks to the wind, closed the door behind her with a bang. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not a bit.” Will waved a hand to take in the shop. “I thought I’d do a little cleaning up before I went out for the evening.”

  “The Dog-Eared Page?” she guessed.

  He nodded and gave her
a weak smile. “Looks like it’s the only game in town.”

  “You should have seen Stoneham a few years ago when I first arrived. We didn’t even have the pub. There was only one place you could go for lunch, and you couldn’t get your blood washed, either.”

  Will’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.

  “The dialysis center across from the Brookview Inn,” Tricia clarified.

  “Oh. Yeah.” He shook his head. “What brings you out on such a cold night?”

  “Restless. I’m around people all day. Sometimes I just like to take a walk so I can think with no distractions.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it seemed an appropriate explanation for the occasion.

  Will laughed. “I’ve done the same thing myself a time or two. But why visit me if you’re sick of dealing with people?”

  “I don’t know. I saw the light on and I guess I was curious about the sign shop and what’ll happen to it now that your father is gone.”

  Will indicated the papers before him. “It was doing surprisingly well, if I can believe his bank statements. I’m even beginning to wonder if I should give up my plans to become a lawyer and take over the business. As it is, it’ll take years for me to pay off my student loans.”

  Tricia looked around the shop. It looked like Will had been doing quite a bit of cleaning, too. A large plastic garbage can was filled to the top with papers and old magazines. Aside from the usual office computer, all-in-one printer, and file cabinets, several unidentifiable machines lined the walls, as well as rolls and spools of colored vinyl on a floor-to-ceiling rack. Long rolls of heavy-gauge white paper hung on the wall, looking like oversized butcher paper. The signs at the convenience store must have been made with it. “You’d really do that?” she asked.

  He laughed. “No. But it might pay me to find someone to run it for a while. If I let them live in the house rent-free, I’d get to keep the bulk of the profits. It could go a long way toward paying off my student loans.”

  “Wouldn’t you be able to pay them off faster if you sold the house and the business separately?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I wouldn’t mind talking to a financial advisor to find out, though.”

  Tricia immediately thought of Christopher. Would he want to take on another client? As he said, he could conduct most of his business on the phone and via the Internet. Maybe she’d ask the next time she spoke to him. Not that she was looking for an excuse to contact him or anything. She frowned. Why was she even thinking about the man who had dumped her?

  Because you still love him.

  Yeah, and she loved pizza, too, but that didn’t hold any deep significance, either. She loved Christopher for the man he used to be—not the man he was today. And enough of that! She forced herself to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

  “I must admit, I hadn’t thought of ever buying a temporary sign for my shop, but something like that might be good for the holiday season.”

  “Too bad I don’t know how to do the work. I’d be glad to give you a freebie so you could tell all the merchants over on Main Street to give them a try.”

  “How would you find someone to take over the business?”

  “First I’d put an ad on Craigslist. They’re free, and with so many people out of work, I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to find someone who was eager to work for themselves. In fact, I think I’ll do that tonight.”

  “But what if you decide to sell outright?”

  He shrugged. “Putting feelers out can’t hurt.”

  Tricia nodded. It made sense.

  Will looked around the large room and let out a sigh. It had been finished off and was well insulated. Baseboard heating lined the walls and seemed to be doing an excellent job of keeping the place warm.

  Despite Will’s efforts, there were still plenty of signs of its past owner everywhere. Stan senior’s Chamber of Commerce placard hung on the wall near a number of framed photos, mostly chronicling the work he’d done. But there was one notable exception. A faded color photograph of a small boy.

  “Yup, that’s me,” Will verified. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d hang it out in the workshop. Shouldn’t something like that have been kept in the house?”

  “Maybe he spent most of his time out here. Or maybe he was thinking that he was working to give you some kind of financial security.”

  Will looked skeptical. “I’ll bet you believe in fairy tales, too.”

  “Oh, come on. You did tell me he’d left you everything. Why do that if he didn’t care … or at least feel a bit guilty about the past?”

  “Guilt I can believe.”

  Tricia didn’t comment.

  “Damn, I’m a terrible host. I didn’t even ask if you’d like a cup of coffee or anything.”

  “No, thanks. If I have coffee now, I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”

  “How about something without caffeine? Say, a glass of wine?”

  Tricia smiled and shook her head. “Didn’t I already tell you I was seeing someone?”

  “Yes. But I’m not asking you out on a date. I’m just offering you a little refreshment.”

  And people who drank a little too much wine after a long day sometimes made decisions that weren’t good for them. “Thanks, but no.”

  He nodded. “Suit yourself.”

  The silence between them lengthened.

  “I really should be going,” Tricia said and turned for the door.

  “Feel free to drop by anytime,” Will said.

  Tricia smiled.

  “Wait. I was going to the pub anyway. Why don’t I walk with you?”

  “Why not?” Tricia said.

  “And maybe by the time we get close to the bar, you’ll find yourself suddenly parched.”

  Tricia laughed. The boy didn’t give up easily.

  “Let me grab my coat and turn off some of the lights inside, and then we can head on out,” Will said and bounded into the house. Tricia looked around the shop, her gaze coming to rest on the garbage can and its contents. She cocked her head, looking at the cover of one of dozens of magazines stuffed into the receptacle, and was about to investigate when Will returned. He turned off the shop lights, locked up, and they set off down the driveway. “Which way?”

  Tricia pointed south, and they started off. Would Frannie be looking out her window? If so, what would she think of the two of them walking together? Would she dial 911 and report it to Chief Baker?

  Tricia didn’t care. “Tell me more about your plans,” she said, truly interested—and not just because she thought she might wheedle a clue from him. “If you’re successful either selling or finding someone to run the business, what will you do with any money you get?”

  Will hunkered deeper into his jacket. “What money? A few grand? I suppose I could put it toward my student loans, or maybe toward the principal on my father’s mortgage and rent the place out. That, at least, would give me some additional income until I find another job. And while I’m here, maybe I can reestablish ties with my aunt.”

  “I didn’t realize Stan had any other relatives in Stoneham. I thought he came from out of town,” Tricia said.

  “He didn’t have relatives here, but I do. She’s my great-aunt on my mother’s side. I haven’t seen her for years, but my mom thought a lot of her—maybe I will, too.” He shrugged.

  Tricia slowed her pace, while Will charged on ahead. If Will’s great-aunt lived here in the village, was it possible she could have had a reason to want Stan dead? The woman would have to be elderly. Could an old woman in her seventies or eighties have had the strength to drive a knife into a man’s heart?

  But who said a great-aunt had to be elderly, either? Plenty of people had much younger siblings, and that was true a generation or so ago, as well. And some elderly people were pretty healthy, thanks to keeping active. Many elderly people actually lifted weights to keep up their muscle tone. What if Stan’s great-aunt was one such person?

  Will finally seemed to notice his walking partner
was no longer with him. He stopped at the corner and waited for Tricia to catch up. “Everything all right?”

  Tricia nodded. “What’s your aunt’s name? Maybe I know her.” Then again, Tricia didn’t know a lot of the locals, just those who’d made it their business to patronize the booksellers and other merchants on Main Street—and those that worked there, too, of course.

  “Don’t laugh, but I called her Auntie Yum-Yum.”

  Tricia couldn’t help herself and giggled. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Will shook his head. “Hey, I was only four or five at the time. She used to bake the best bread, cakes, cookies, and pies anyone ever ate. When she came to visit, she never came empty-handed. She was a godsend to my mom and me.”

  “Did she help you out financially, too?”

  “That whole side of the family did. I lost track of her years ago when she moved up here for a job. She was divorced, so I never did know her real name. And now that my mom and other relatives are gone, I’ll probably never know.”

  “That’s a shame.” If she’d been on better terms with Russ Smith, Tricia might have suggested he write a story about Will looking for his aunt. Russ liked to run human-interest stuff. He said it sold papers—or in his case, advertising, since the Stoneham Weekly News was a free rag. She didn’t want to talk to Russ—but there was an alternative: Will could ask for himself.

  “As you’ve no doubt noticed, Stoneham is a pretty small village. Talk to the editor at the Stoneham Weekly News. If he’s intrigued …” She gave Will Russ’s name and when they reached Main Street, told him where to find the office. “They’ll be open at eight o’clock on Monday morning,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Will said gratefully.

  They’d arrived at the Dog-Eared Page, which was even more crowded and boisterous than it had been the evening before. “Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?” Will asked.

  Tricia shook her head. “Maybe some other time. Good night.”

  Will nodded. “Good night, Tricia.” As he opened the door to the pub, the noise, the light, and the music spilled out onto the sidewalk. For a moment, Tricia regretted turning down his invitation. Then again, she had a hungry cat to attend to, and she still needed to finish her end-of-day tasks in the shop. The door closed and she realized she’d lost another opportunity to spend time with a handsome man.