Chapter & Hearse (7 page)

“That’s right,” Ginny said. “But the taxpayers won’t pass the measure, anyway. I mean, they’ve turned it down the last four years. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Tricia said. But then another thought crossed her mind. If Stoneham had its own force, was she likely to see Captain Baker again?

It was a disconcerting thought. They weren’t an item, and probably never would be. But she liked him. She enjoyed seeing him on an irregular basis.

With their conversation at an end, Ginny returned to the coffee station to tidy up.

Tricia fingered the chain around her neck. So she might never see Grant Baker again. All things came to an end—just like her relationship with Christopher.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

SEVEN

The day
wore on. Customers came—and customers went. Finally, the hands on the clock crept toward closing time. Although sunset was still almost two hours away, the east side of Main Street had retreated into the shadow of its western neighbor. Tricia tidied the already orderly sales desk for the fourth time, and Miss Marple stirred from her nap, unhappy that the solar heat she’d enjoyed most of the afternoon had disappeared.

The shop door opened, but it wasn’t a customer. Instead, Grace Harris-Everett, Mr. Everett’s bride, entered Haven’t Got a Clue. “Hello, Tricia!”

“Grace, what brings you here this evening?”

“William’s car is in the shop. I’m here to give him a ride—and perhaps convince him to take me to dinner in Nashua.”

“Sounds like a date to me.”

Grace actually giggled. “Marrying William has given me such joy. I do wish we’d done it sooner. You should try it.”

“I still might—but right now there are no likely candidates.”

Grace’s smile faded. “I was so sorry when you and Russ Smith broke up. Do you think there’s a chance you might get back together? I know he hasn’t given up hope.”

Had Russ been confiding in Grace? “I’m afraid not.” Not when she still thought about Grant Baker on a regular basis. Not that she was pining for Baker, either.

It was time to change the subject. “Grace, do you know Jim Roth’s mother?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t. She and Jim only moved to Stoneham about five years ago, when he opened the store.”

Tricia frowned. For some reason, she had the impression—especially after seeing the inside of the Roth home and the wonderful garden—that they had been citizens of Stoneham for a lot longer.

“Mrs. Roth told me she couldn’t afford a funeral for Jim. Frannie’s planning a memorial service. Apparently Mrs. Roth depended on Jim’s income. I wonder if the other booksellers would contribute to a fund for her.”

“I didn’t know Jim well, but I’d be willing to contribute.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Grace opened her purse and took out her checkbook. Using the display case as a desk, she wrote out a check and handed it to Tricia. “I’ve left the pay-to portion blank in case you want to cash it and give Mrs. Roth the donations in a lump sum.”

Tricia looked at the check, and her mouth dropped. One thousand dollars. “Oh, Grace, that’s extremely generous of you.”

Grace shrugged. “My first husband left me well off. I have no one to leave it to. If it can help Jim’s mother, I’m happy to give it.”

On impulse, Tricia gathered Grace into a careful hug. “I’m so glad you’re my friend.”

Grace patted Tricia’s back and chuckled. After a few moments, Grace pulled back, craned her neck, and looked for her beloved. “Where is William?”

“He went up to the storeroom to look for a copy of
The Zero Clue
by Rex Stout.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites.”

“We got a request for it on our Website. He should be down any moment.”

As if on cue, the door to the stairway at the back of the store, marked PRIVATE, opened and both Mr. Everett and Ginny appeared. “Grace, my dear. Is it time to go already?”

“I’m a few minutes early,” Grace admitted, standing on tiptoe to give Mr. Everett a demure peck on the cheek. He blushed as he handed Tricia the book.

“Why don’t you two run along?” Tricia said. “Ginny and I can close up.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to either of you,” Mr. Everett said.

“It’s not like we’ve got anyone waiting for us at home,” Ginny said, rubbing salt into Tricia’s figurative wound.

Grace smiled, and tweaked her husband’s collar. “I hope you realize how lucky you are, William, to work with two such lovely women.”

“Indeed I do,” he said solemnly.

Tricia felt a burst of affection for the old man. She’d never known either of her grandfathers, but she hoped they’d been as sweet as her elderly employee.

“Mr. Everett, I hate to ask, but for the next couple of weeks I’m really going to depend on you and Ginny while Angelica’s away on her book tour. I might be called upon to take care of the café. Luckily, Frannie seems able to manage alone at the Cookery.”

“We have no plans for the next month or so. I’d be glad to fill in as needed,” the old man said.

“Thank you.”

“William, what do you think about a nice steak at Eddie’s Chop House?” Grace asked hopefully.

Mr. Everett’s mouth pursed in disapproval. “Now, dear, you know it’s not in our budget.”

“It’s in
my
budget,” she said, her voice tinged with strain. Grace clasped her husband’s hand, brandishing a forced smile. “Why don’t we talk about it in the car?” She led him to the exit. “See you soon,” she called. A dour Mr. Everett waved good-bye and closed the door behind them.

“Hmm—think there’s an argument brewing?” Ginny asked.

“It’s none of our business,” Tricia said. She wasn’t about to gossip about her favorite married couple—especially when Mr. Everett had confided his feelings about money to her. She tucked the check Grace had given her into the bottom of the register’s cash drawer. It looked like she was now officially the one to collect money in Jim’s name. Another thing to add to her to-do list.

“You may as well take off, too,” Tricia told Ginny as she gazed around the empty store. “You’ve got things to do as well.”

Ginny’s expression soured. “Packing isn’t my favorite thing. I’ve got an appointment to see another apartment tonight. Who knows—this might be the one.” She grabbed her purse from under the counter, and called a good-bye.

“Wait,” Tricia called, and Ginny turned. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Ginny paused, her expression changing from cheerful to wary in a heartbeat. “What is it?”

Tricia laughed. “Don’t look so worried. This is good news, not bad.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I wondered if you’d like to hear a business proposition I’ve been thinking about.”

“Business?” Ginny repeated. That perked her up.

“Yes. I’ve been mulling over your situation, and I really don’t want to see you lose your little cottage in the woods. What would you think about me holding the mortgage?”

Ginny blinked. “Come again?”

“I could pay off your mortgage, and then we could come to an agreement about repayment. This way you wouldn’t lose your house to foreclosure.”

Ginny was still blinking. “You’d do that for me?”

“I would. I will.”

Ginny’s gaze dipped, and she let out a breath, looking shell-shocked. “Wow. I can’t believe it. I might actually get to
keep
my little house.” She looked up. “Oh, Tricia, I don’t know how to thank you.” Ginny rushed forward and gave Tricia an enthusiastic hug. Then she pulled back, and actually jumped up and down couple of times. “Oh, wow!”

Tricia laughed. “I was hoping you’d like the idea.”

“I get to keep my house, I get to keep my house!” Ginny sang. Then, just as suddenly, she stood stock still and covered her mouth, as her eyes welled with tears. “Nobody’s ever done anything this nice for me in my whole life. Thank you, Tricia. Thank you so much.”

“I’ll have to speak to Roger Livingston—my lawyer—but according to Billie Hanson at the bank, we could iron out the details in no time.”

“You’ve already been to the bank?”

Tricia nodded.

“Oh, wow,” Ginny said again, and wiped at her eyes.

“Why don’t you go home—and start unpacking?” Tricia suggested.

“You don’t know how huge a weight has been lifted off me. Thank you, Tricia. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: You’re the best boss in the world.”

“Go home,” Tricia said and pushed Ginny toward the door.

Again Ginny smiled and sang, “I get to keep my house, I get to keep my house,” as she went through the door.

Miss Marple jumped down from her perch behind the cash desk, and daintily walked across the glass top of the showcase, unmoved by Ginny’s euphoria. She had more important matters to consider, and looked hopefully at Tricia. Tricia looked at the clock and sighed. “Yes, it
is
almost your dinnertime.” Miss Marple allowed Tricia to smooth her fur, and began to purr. “Well, at least I’ve been able to make two people happy today.”

The little bell above the door rang and Tricia straightened, eager to welcome a last-minute customer, but it was only Russ Smith. Her shoulders slumped, her good mood gone. “Oh, it’s you.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

She sighed. “Nothing. What can I do for you, Russ?”

He sauntered up to the cash desk and petted Miss Marple, who eyed him warily. “I wondered if you were free for dinner tonight.”

“In case it’s escaped your attention, we are no longer an item.”

“It has not escaped my attention. But you’re alone—I’m alone. We’re not lovers, but I hope we’re still friends. And why can’t friends share a table at the Bookshelf Diner once in a while? We can even share the check.” Tricia was about to refuse when he spoke again. “Tonight’s special is chicken and biscuits,” he called in a singsong cadence.

“Which, if you’d paid attention in the past, you’d know would never entice me.”

“Okay, then, we can talk about the explosion at History Repeats Itself. I’ll tell you what I know, and you can share what you know.”

“What makes you think I know anything?”

Russ laughed. “Because I know you. You can’t help yourself when it comes to sleuthing. You’re like a heroin addict or something. All those mysteries you read have you thinking you’re Stoneham’s own Miss Marple.”

At the sound of her name, Tricia’s cat gave a spirited “
Yow!”

“I am
not
that old.”

“But you
are
that smart.”

Tricia shrugged. She wasn’t about to argue with the truth. She eyed him warily. With Angelica gone, she was feeling a tad lonely, and, as her grumbling stomach reminded her, she was hungry, too.

“All right. But don’t think we’re going to make a habit of this. And I can’t leave right now. The shop is officially open for another ten minutes. And I have to feed Miss Marple before I can go anywhere.”

“Feed her now. I’ll mind the store.”

Again she shrugged. He’d done it before.

Ten minutes later, Tricia locked the door to Haven’t Got a Clue, and she and Russ crossed the street, heading for the diner. They didn’t speak again until they’d been seated. Except for curt exchanges, Eugenia Hirt, the night waitress, hadn’t spoken with Tricia since the unpleasant situation the previous fall, nor would she make eye contact. At first it had bothered Tricia, but now she just ignored the silly girl.

“Bring us a couple of glasses of house red, and give us a few minutes, will you, Eugenia?” Russ asked.

She nodded, and pivoted to make a fast escape.

Tricia perused the menu. Same old, same old.

Russ rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Now, what has Bob Kelly told Angelica about the night of the explosion?”

Tricia didn’t look up, and considered the Cobb salad. “Nothing.”

“Oh come on, it’s me, Russ. You can tell me.”

“I can’t tell you, because Bob isn’t talking—to Angelica, to me, and, as far as I know, he’s not talking to anyone else, like Captain Baker, either.”

Russ frowned. “I’ve received the same cold shoulder.”

Speaking of which, Eugenia returned with their drinks, plunking them on the table and nearly spilling them. “Ready to order?” she asked.

She’d gone back to wearing the studs in her nose and eyebrow.
It must drive her mother crazy,
Tricia thought. “I’ll have the Cobb salad, with poppy seed dressing on the side.”

“Chicken and biscuits for me,” Russ said.

Eugenia nodded and again escaped.

Tricia picked up her glass and took a sip. “So, who dishes first—you or me?”

“Ladies first,” Russ said, and picked up his glass.

“Jim Roth’s mother didn’t see the point of holding a funeral service, since there’s no body to bury. So Frannie Armstrong is planning a memorial service for him on Sunday at the Brookside Inn.”

“Why Frannie?”

“Apparently they were friends.” That wasn’t a lie—it just wasn’t the whole truth. Besides, it was bound to come out eventually, anyway. Russ was a reporter. If he wanted more information on the subject, he would have to dig for it himself.

Tricia sipped her wine. “Have you started Jim’s obituary?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got an appointment to talk to his mother. She said she might be able to dig up some photographs. To tell you the truth, she didn’t sound all that interested in talking about her son. She didn’t even sound all that sad.”

“People express their grief in different ways,” Tricia offered, even though she’d wondered about Mrs. Roth’s true feelings toward her son. Should she bring the subject of radiator fluid into the conversation? Probably not. After all, she couldn’t even say she had suspicions . . . just . . . a funny feeling.

“I might get a few of the other booksellers to say something. Jim was well liked, but it doesn’t look like he was particularly close to anyone in town.”

Tricia thought about Frannie and bit her tongue. Mrs. Roth had mentioned that Jim was involved in other activities. What could she have meant?