“Of course not. But I do think she regretted her actions the minute she walked out of your store. She really doesn’t want to go back to jail. And, of course, Grace and Linda would have to be brought on board.”

  “What brought on all this altruism?” Tricia asked.

  “I want to see people fulfilled in their working life-like you and me.”

  Tricia gave Angelica an assessing stare. Her sister had changed during the past couple of years. She wasn’t as self-centered. And while she still drove Tricia crazy on a regular basis, Angelica’s personality had definitely softened since she’d come to live in Stoneham, as evidenced by this situation and her compassion for Chauncey Porter.

  “You know,” Angelica continued, “I’d be willing to play mediator for you. And if Linda does leave to work for Grace and it doesn’t work out with Pixie, I’ll help you find a perfect assistant manager. I promise.” She held her fingers up in a Girl Scout salute.

  “I don’t know.” Tricia mulled it over, sure she’d end up on the losing end of the deal, but she liked Linda. And it was true she would be better suited working with Grace to guide the Everett Charitable Foundation. With her experience, she could help Grace avoid all kinds of pitfalls and perhaps take over a lot of the work, leaving Grace free to spend more time with her husband. Neither of them was getting any younger-Linda could be the answer to all their problems if Tricia was willing to accept Angelica’s proposed compromise.

  Yet the very thought of working with Pixie was totally repugnant. If she hadn’t been willing to apologize to Tricia to save her job at the foundation, she wasn’t likely to do so for a job that probably paid less and with less desirable hours, too.

  If she had to let Linda leave, then she darn well would make Angelica live up to her promise to help her find an acceptable replacement.

  It wasn’t quite a win-win situation, but it might work in the long run. And if Tricia could appease Angelica with this, it might be time to ask for a few concessions for herself.

  “Okay,” she said at last. “But Pixie would have to apologize not only to me, but to Grace and Mr. Everett.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Angelica cautioned. “First let me talk to all parties. If everyone agrees, we’ll meet and talk-maybe even tomorrow. What do you say?”

  “I guess.”

  Angelica smiled and nodded, looking self-satisfied. “Leave everything to me.”

  “Good. Now can we talk about something else?”

  “Pick a subject,” Angelica offered, and turned her attention to the baguette that sat on her counter.

  “I could use your help on something else. You see, I followed your advice”-Angelica practically beamed at that admission-“and I paid a visit to Clayton Ellington this afternoon.”

  “And?” Angelica said, her eyes widening and her voice rising, eager to hear all the dirt.

  “He hinted that I should talk to Bob, and that I shouldn’t expect him to talk to the police about his part in the rigged raffle drawing. I’m still trying to decide if I should call Grant. I don’t have any proof, except for your word.”

  “I should think that would be enough. I’m a very honest person,” Angelica said, sounding hurt.

  “Yes, you are. But how much can we trust Ellington or Bob to tell the truth?”

  Angelica shrugged. The smile had definitely dimmed. She withdrew a bread knife from the block on the counter and began slicing the baguette.

  “Which reminds me, did anything else out of the ordinary happen at that Chamber meeting?” Tricia asked.

  Angelica looked thoughtful. “Bob was so eager to talk to me about my winning the raffle that he practically chased me out of the function room. He caught the sleeve of his jacket on one of the French door handles and tore it as we were leaving. You know, that’s one thing we desperately need and don’t have here in Stoneham-a tailor.”

  “He must’ve gotten the jacket fixed by now. I mean, it is the only jacket he owns.”

  “Don’t be silly. He’s got half a dozen of them. He keeps them in his office in case he spills something on the lapel. I don’t suppose he’s had time to find someone to repair it. It’s not like he needs it done fast.”

  Was it possible Bob had stuffed the real winning business cards in the pocket of his torn jacket and that it still hung in his office? If Tricia could prove that Bob had rigged the draw, it might lead the Stoneham police to Pippa Comfort’s murderer.

  Or could it be just a wild-goose chase? She’d never know if she didn’t pursue it. She studied her sister as she piled the bread on a plate. Angelica continued to smile. A smile that could light a room better than a hundred-watt bulb. A smile that mirrored her contentment and her success, and, for just a few hours, could banish all the heartache she’d ever endured.

  And Tricia knew she’d have to burst that bubble of contentment if she was to find out what she needed to know.

  “As I was saying before we went off on a tangent,” Tricia began.

  “You said you needed my help,” Angelica repeated, sounding smug-as though she had all the answers. She grabbed a couple of pot holders, opened the oven, and took out a small ceramic pot.

  “I need to put Pippa’s death behind me so that Grant and I can get back to…whatever it is we have going.”

  Angelica lifted the lid, revealing the roasted garlic. “You know I’ll do my best,” she promised.

  “I want you to lure Bob out of his office so I can check his sport coat pockets.”

  “Except that,” Angelica declared, all the sweetness and light now absent from her tone.

  “Oh come on, I’m giving you what you want with the Pixie situation. Why can’t you help me with this?”

  “I’m just trying to help the poor, bedraggled woman. It’s really for your benefit-not mine.”

  “If you’re going to play Mother Teresa helping the downtrodden, you have to expect to get your hands dirty.”

  Angelica ignored the remark and called to Sarge, who’d been resting in his small bed. “Come here, boy. I’ll give you a treat.”

  Tricia moved to stand by the kitchen window that overlooked Main Street, most of which was bathed in darkness. The lights were on in Amy Schram’s apartment, and at the Dog-Eared Page once again. Was Michele Fowler entertaining another of the booksellers? Once the bar was opened it was hoped the tourists might actually stay in the village past the dinner hour, making the last couple of hours the booksellers were open more profitable. Of course, it was also hoped the bar would build a small local clientele as well. It might be fun to have somewhere to go in the evenings and relax with a glass of wine while a spirited game of darts was played, or hear a musician or singer perform on the tiny stage.

  She glanced up the street and saw a solitary figure walking along the sidewalk. She thought she recognized the man as he walked past Booked for Lunch but then halted at the door that led to the Everett Foundation. He disappeared behind it.

  Tricia frowned and turned away from the window.

  “So, are you going to help me with Bob?”

  “Help you how?” Angelica asked, and turned up the heat on a big pot of water.

  Good, the fact that she even asked meant Tricia might be able to wear her down.

  “You’ve got to lure Bob away from his office so I can check his sport coat pockets.”

  “But I don’t want to even look at him, let alone talk to him,” Angelica said, and shuddered, as though Bob might have cooties.

  “Please. Pretty please,” Tricia pleaded.

  Angelica sighed. “You’re almost as bad as Bob when you prey on my better nature.”

  Tricia tried to emulate Sarge’s sad puppy-dog eyes.

  Angelica sighed once again. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just lure him out of his office so I can get in there and check his jacket pockets for those business cards from the raffle.”

  “First of all, he’s got a part-time secretary. You can’t snoop around his office if Bonnie is sitting at her desk typing up sales copy. Second, if she isn’t on duty, Bob’s paranoid-he keeps that place locked up tighter than Fort Knox even if he’s just ducking next door to the Chamber headquarters.”

  “Can’t you tell him you’ll only talk to him out on the sidewalk? If you can get him outside and keep his back turned to his office for just five minutes-probably less-it would give me plenty of time to go through all his pockets.”

  Angelica looked unconvinced. “Five minutes is a heck of a long time. If the conversation goes bad and he stomps back to his office while you’re still in there, you’d better have a pretty good excuse ready for him. But you know, no matter what you tell him, he’s going to see right through you. Bob may be a jerk, but he’s not a fool.”

  “You still care about him, don’t you?” Tricia as much as accused.

  “Well, of course I do. Sort of. Despite what you think, Bob’s a complicated person. He overcame adversity-a terrible early childhood-and then put himself through college, not to mention almost single-handedly saving the entire village of Stoneham.”

  Angelica sounded like a one-woman Bob Kelly fan club.

  “And he cheated on you with a low-class bimbo.” As soon as she said the words, Tricia regretted it. Angelica didn’t need to be reminded of Bob’s betrayal. Still, Tricia had never warmed to the idea of the two of them as a couple and was not unhappy when Angelica’s feelings toward Bob had cooled to almost arctic temperatures.

  Angelica removed a large grocery bag from the fridge and set it on the counter. It moved. “Am I supposed to call him? I really don’t want to do that.”

  “Then the next time the phone rings…answer it.”

  “And say what?”

  “I don’t know…that you’re willing to listen to him?”

  As if on cue, the phone rang. Angelica glanced at the caller ID. “It’s almost as if you’d arranged this.”

  It rang again.

  “So answer it.”

  Angelica jerked the receiver from the wall. “Hello. Oh. Hello, Bob.”

  Tricia gave her sister some privacy and wandered over to the window to look across the street. The lights were now off in Amy Schram’s apartment. She had a good idea why…and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Angelica hung up the phone. “There, happy?” she said, sounding anything but.

  “Yes, thank you,” Tricia replied. “What did you tell him?”

  Angelica checked on the pot of water, which had come to a rolling boil. “That I would speak to him outside his office tomorrow at eleven o’clock. That means you’ve got to get into position hiding on the north side of his realty office so that when he comes out the door, you can scoot right in.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Once he’s outside, I’ll start wandering south down the sidewalk toward the Chamber headquarters. You’ll have five minutes-no more-to do your dirty work.”

  “Dirty work? Bob’s the guilty party here.”

  “He’s already angry with me-he’ll be even more upset when he finds out I tricked him into leaving his office so you could go in to snoop.” Angelica took a lobster out of the bag and held it head down over the pot. Tricia turned away.

  “You’re a good sister. And a good cook.” Or at least a brave one. Tricia didn’t think she could kill a living thing and then eat it. “When will it be ready to eat?”

  Angelica glowered at her. Like Bob, she was no fool, either. “You just want to change the subject.”

  “You are so right,” Tricia agreed. “Let’s break open the bubbly and celebrate your good fortune. I’m ready to make a toast.” She stepped over to the champagne bucket and withdrew the chilled wine. Angelica had already removed the foil, and Tricia unwound the wire cap while Angelica gathered up the flutes. The cork popped with a hiss and spray of tiny bubbles and Tricia poured. She took a glass and held it up in salute. “To Easy-Does-It Cooking. May YouTube have pushed it right onto the New York Times best sellers list.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Angelica said. They clinked glasses and drank.

  Now all Tricia had to do was play sleuth and not get caught, because if Bob did catch her he could have her arrested for trespassing, malicious mischief, and goodness only knows what else. And what would Grant Baker have to say about that?

  Sleep did not want to come that night. Though Miss Marple never even stirred through the entire night, Tricia tossed and turned, worrying about her plan to invade Bob Kelly’s office the next day. She turned on the light, read her book, turned off the light. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Tricia finally drifted off near dawn and then slept right through her alarm.

  Feeling exhausted, she couldn’t even manage a brisk walk on her treadmill before dragging herself to the shower. Next she fed the cat, grabbed a tub of low-fat yogurt, and descended the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Coffee wasn’t going to perk her up. She needed high-test caffeine and headed across the street to the Coffee Bean.

  Mary Fairchild was standing in line behind two or three other customers when Tricia entered the store. She loved the mingled aromas of fresh ground coffee, chocolate, and cookies and pastries fresh from the Patisserie. If Nikki refused to sell to her she could always make a deal with the Coffee Bean’s owner, Alexa Kozlov, and pay her a surcharge to get them.

  Dressed in her By Hook or By Book apron and a heavy cardigan, Mary stood there, slouching, her gaze unfocused, staring at nothing.

  “Hey there, are you okay?” Tricia asked.

  Mary seemed to snap to attention. “Oh, Tricia. Yes. I’m fine. I didn’t have a good night. I came in here for an espresso to get me going.”

  “Bad nights must be contagious. I’m here for the same thing.”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Mary admitted, “and…I’ve decided to leave the Tuesday Night Book Club.”

  “Oh, no. Why?” Tricia asked.

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t think I can read and enjoy a mystery story ever again. Not now that I’ve actually known a murder victim.”

  The man in front of Mary, who’d obviously been eavesdropping, turned to give her a curious look, but she seemed oblivious to him.

  “I’m so sorry you feel that way. The books we read are fiction.”

  “Yes, but-” She shuddered. “I only knew Pippa Comfort for an hour or so; she seemed like a nice person. For someone to treat her so brutally and leave her lying on the cold damp ground…” She closed her eyes and shuddered again.

  Tricia rested a comforting hand on Mary’s arm. “I understand. We’ve enjoyed having you as a member.”

  That meant the group had lost two members in less than a week. If any more jumped ship, it wouldn’t be worth holding the meetings. Then again, that would give Tricia more free time to either maintain her website or return to her long-neglected hobby of book repair. Or-and most appealing-give her more time to read! She almost smiled.

  “If you have a change of heart, just let me know,” Tricia said.

  “I’ll do that.”

  It was Mary’s turn to step up to the counter and give her order. Tricia waited patiently for her turn when she felt a pair of eyes upon her. She turned to find Harry Tyler standing behind her. “Good morning. We seem to keep bumping into each other a lot lately.”

  “Yes. You’re out bright and early.”

  “Actually, I should be back at the inn packing. I’m out of a home and need to find a place to live.”

  “The owners have told you to leave?” Tricia asked, disbelieving.

  “Pippa had the hotel management experience. I was the groundskeeper and maintenance man. Without her…” He let the sentence trail off.

  Forcing him out less than a week after his wife’s death was extremely coldhearted of Nigela Ricita Associates. Did Angelica know about that? She’d have to ask. And yet she wasn’t quite willing to give him her full sympathy.

  “I thought you’d already found a place to stay-at least you did last night.”

  His expression hardened. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I saw you go into Amy Schram’s building last night. Then, darned if all the lights didn’t go out soon after. Was her electricity cut?”

  “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

  “Do the police know you’ve been having an affair with Amy?” she whispered.

  “Can I help you, Tricia?” Alexa asked from behind the counter.

  Tricia turned and stepped up to the counter, giving her order-and asking for a half dozen of Nikki’s thumbprint cookies before remembering that Mr. Everett would be working for Ginny that day at the Happy Domestic. Mr. Everett’s loss, her customers’ gain.

  She paid for her order and waited until Harry had given his. They didn’t speak again until they’d both left the shop. It was Harry who initiated the conversation.

  “What I do or don’t do isn’t really any of your business, Tricia.”

  “Of course not. But if you were with Amy the night of the murder, you’ve got an ironclad alibi. And if you weren’t…you’re still in the running for chief murder suspect. And now so is Amy.”

  “She had nothing to do with Pippa’s death-and neither did I.”

  “Does Chief Baker know about this?”

  “As a matter of fact…yes. I didn’t kill my wife and I’m damned if I’ll get tossed into jail for it.”

  “How does Amy feel about the situation?”

  “She isn’t happy. And her parents aren’t thrilled with her seeing someone who’s almost thirty years older than she is.”

  “I don’t imagine they would be. So, what are you going to do next? Move in with Amy for the duration? Try to find some work locally?”

  “Actually I’m heading for New York on Sunday. I’ve got an appointment on Monday morning with a literary agent, Artemus Hamilton.”

  “Yes, I know him. He’s my sister’s agent.”

  Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do I have you to thank for this meeting?”

  She shook her head. “Neither of us mentioned you to him. He asked for your number.”

  “He wants to talk about a book deal.”

  “For your fiction?”

 

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