Bookmarked For Death

Twenty-Three

Angelica was already ensconced in Tricia’s loft apartment by the time she and Russ returned to Stoneham. They knew this even before they opened the door because the heavenly aroma of something delicious met them on the stairs.

Miss Marple greeted Tricia at the door, looked up at Russ, and turned away in disgust. Luckily, he was used to her reaction and took no offense.

“Finally!” Angelica called from her position at the stove. Decked out in peach sweats and fluffy pink slippers, there was no doubt she felt totally at home in Tricia’s digs.

“How was Kimberly?”

“Awful. I mean, she’ll recover, but I hope she’s got good insurance. She’ll be seeing a lot of her dentist in the next few months. You should’ve seen Russ with her. Her mouth smelled awful, but he spoon-fed her warm cola.”

“Ewww. She’s a stranger. How could you do that?” Angelica asked.

Russ shrugged. “I used to help my mom by feeding my

grandmother after she had a stroke. It never bothered me.”

“You’re a very nice man,” Angelica said, and pointedly stared at Tricia, mentally transmitting the words Who you don’t appreciate enough.

Maybe she was right.

“Ange, you didn’t have to cook for us,” Tricia said. “We were going to call for a pizza.”

“You two live on pizza. You need real food.”

“I agree,” Russ said. “What smells so great?”

“Chicken cordon bleu.”

“Homemade?” he asked hopefully.

“Sort of not. But this shortcut version is really tasty. Now that you’re here, I can pop them back in the oven,” she said, and removed a plate from the fridge, transferring the contents to a baking sheet and into the oven.

“What are we having with it?” he asked.

“Caramelized carrots and stuffed baked potatoes. Is that okay?”

Russ nodded. “I’ll say.”

“I appreciate the effort, but aren’t you tired after working alone all day?” Tricia said, already feeling guilty.

“I wasn’t alone,” Angelica said, and stirred the carrots on the stove. “At least not the whole day. You want a beer or something, Russ?”

“You bet,” he said.

Angelica turned toward the fridge.

“You’ve hired someone?” Tricia took off her coat and handed it to Russ, who hung it, plus his own, on the oak hat tree in the corner.

Angelica handed Russ his beer and a pilsner glass from the cupboard. “I contacted another employment agency. They sent over a woman who’d never worked retail a day in her life,” she said, and turned up the heat under the carrots.

“And she’s already quit?”

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I have to call them to send me someone else before the end of the week. I just can’t get competent help.”

Tricia ground her teeth together to keep from speaking.

“Then again, I wonder if there’s any way I could wrestle Frannie away from the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Wouldn’t that just upset Bob?” Tricia asked.

Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, he’d get over it . . . eventually. It’s just that he can offer her benefits like health care and the like.” She sighed dramatically, truly the epitome of the put-upon small business owner.

“It might be a stretch, but you could offer benefits,” Russ pointed out. “Of course you’d have to pay for it. I do it for my two employees through a group plan.”

“Oh?” Angelica said, actually sounding interested. “Doesn’t the Chamber offer insurance? I know some do in New York.”

Russ shook his head. “It’s not legal here in New Hampshire. But I’m pretty sure the Chamber stocks a few brochures on local group plans for their members. Ask Frannie for one. She doesn’t have to know why you want it.”

Angelica raised an eyebrow. “I might have to offer benefits just to keep an employee for more than a few weeks.”

She shook her head. “People these days have such an entitlement complex. They think everything should be done for them. Tricia—set the table,” she ordered, her tone full of entitlement.

Tricia did as she was told. Chicken cordon bleu made a far better dinner than pizza. It made one more affable to commands from someone else in one’s own kitchen. She only half listened as Russ and Angelica discussed the pros and cons of group health insurance plans. She needed to keep Angelica away from Haven’t Got a Clue tomorrow night. Perhaps she could enlist Bob’s help—get him to take Angelica out of the picture and keep her safe from any potential harm.

Or was she just getting paranoid? Was it likely Nikki would pull out a gun and shoot whoever was in the store at the time? Don’t be silly, she chided herself, yet worry continued to worm through her. Her grand plan was hit-and-miss at best. She was counting on the element of surprise.

Nikki was the unknown, possibly explosive, factor. If she was capable of murder—and attempted murder—what else was she capable of?

“Would you like a glass of wine, Trish?” Angelica asked.

Tricia looked up, took in her sister’s face. Angelica was here, in her kitchen, cooking a meal for her, because she didn’t want Tricia to be alone—to possibly face a murderer with no backup. That was a form of love she’d never expected to receive from Angelica.

Tricia gave her sister a sincere smile. “Yes, Ange, I would.”

The phone rang the whole next day, and tour buses disgorged hundreds of tourists looking for bargains, rare books, and the volumes missing from their personal libraries. Haven’t Got a Clue hadn’t been this busy since the week before Christmas. Even the weather had seemed to break, bringing warmer temperatures and a flood of customers.

Besides being kept busy by the minutiae of running her own business, when others weren’t on the phone to Tricia, she was on the phone contacting the players for the little drama she expected to produce that night. Only Sheriff Adams balked at the idea. It was time to implement Plan B.

Back in her loft apartment, Tricia dialed Grace Harris’s number, crossing her fingers that she’d find Mr. Everett’s companion at home.

“Hello?” Grace answered.

“It’s Tricia Miles. I’ve got two reasons for calling. First, I’ve had to cancel tonight’s meeting.”

“Oh, and I was so looking forward to it.”

“I’m a little pressed for time, so I’ll let Mr. Everett explain everything.”

“Secrets?” Grace said thoughtfully.

“For the time being.”

“Just like a good mystery. I shall look forward to seeing William tonight. But what’s your other reason for calling?”

“As I think you’re aware, Sheriff Adams and I aren’t the best of friends.”

Grace laughed. “I think the entire village knows that.”

“You, on the other hand have a lot of clout in this town. I need to get the sheriff to come to my store at six p.m.”

“Does this have anything to do with Zoe Carter’s death?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Will the sheriff be making an arrest?”

“If someone can persuade her to come. The problem is, she’s already rebuffed my invitation to join us. She wasn’t happy last fall when I tried to point her in the direction of Doris Gleason’s killer, and she isn’t open to my suggestions now, either.”

“I’ll do my best to persuade her, and get back to you after I speak with her.”

“Thank you, Grace. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“Dear, it doesn’t begin to repay you for what you did for me last fall. I’ll call you as soon as I speak to her.”

“Thank you, Grace. Good-bye.”

Tricia was getting more antsy by the minute. At almost three o’clock, when she could stand the inactivity no longer, she grabbed her coat and escaped the shop, heading for the Chamber of Commerce. This mission was too important to accomplish via telephone.

As usual, Frannie was on the phone when she arrived. She waved a less-than-cheerful hello and continued talking, her voice lower, less boisterous than usual. In fact, she almost sounded depressed—something Tricia hadn’t thought Frannie was capable of.

Knowing this might take time, Tricia wandered into the cabin’s main room, bypassing the free coffee and heading for the brochure rack. As Russ had mentioned, in addition to tourist material covering the bulk of southern New Hampshire, Tricia found a folder for the local group health insurance plans. She glanced through it before pocketing it for Angelica. On impulse, she grabbed one for herself, too.

At last, Frannie hung up the phone. “What brings you out to visit during work hours?”

“I had an errand to run,” Tricia lied, “and thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. You’re the last one on my list.”

“List?”

“Of members. I wanted to personally let you know that I had to cancel the book club meeting for tonight.”

“Oh, and I was so looking forward to it. I thought it might be good for all of us to get together to, you know, kind of heal after what happened last week. But maybe it’s better for us to just take a break. Has something come up?”

“Yes. I’ve already spoken to everyone else to let them know.”

“And?”

“And?” Tricia echoed.

“What came up?”

“Oh. Well . . .” Her mind scrambled. “It’s . . . it’s Angelica. She’s had such a hard time keeping workers that she’s fallen terribly far behind in her paperwork. I felt so bad for her I volunteered to help her out this evening—what with it being early closing and everything.”

“That is so sweet of you.”

Tricia nodded. “Well, that’s what being a sister is all about.”

Frannie sighed. “I just had the best time helping Angelica out on Sunday. I wish I could do it again.”

“Oh? I thought she said you’d be coming back next weekend.”

“I’d love to, but Bob won’t let me.”

“He won’t let—why?”

“He doesn’t think it looks good for the Chamber’s only paid employee to be moonlighting at a second job.”

“But helping Ange isn’t like a real job. It’s helping out. Okay, so maybe she paid you—she did pay you, didn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. And very well, too.”

“But that isn’t a regular job.”

“According to Bob it is.”

“But he knows how swamped she is. How could he begrudge you helping out his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I’ve known Bob for over a decade, and I’ve never seen him so angry.” Her lip trembled. “It really hurt my feelings.”

“I don’t blame you for being so upset,” Tricia said. “Does Angelica know about this?”

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything. But I do need to let her know I can’t help her out this weekend. And I was so looking forward to it.”

“Do you mind if I speak to Bob?”

“That’s up to you. But don’t be surprised if he reams your ears out good, too.”

He’d better not, Tricia thought.

Frannie let out a breath and straightened. “I’d best get back to work. I don’t want Bob angry with me if I don’t get the monthly flyers folded, stuffed, stamped, and to the post office before the end of the day.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Frannie sniffed, and for a moment Tricia thought she might cry. She reached out and gave her friend a hug. “It’ll work out,” she said.

“I hope so,” Frannie said, and pulled back from the embrace. “Until yesterday, I loved my job. I hope I can feel good about it again in a week or so.” She turned back to her desk.

Tricia left the Chamber office and marched next door to the Kelly Real Estate office. By the time she yanked open the door, steam threatened to escape from her ears.

Bob sat at his cluttered desk. He looked up at her entry and smiled. “Hey, Tricia, I was just about to call you on—”

“What have you done to poor Frannie?” she demanded, cutting him off.

“Done?” he asked, and stood, his plastered-on grin faltering.

“Yes, I just spoke to her, and she said she’d gotten in trouble for working at the Cookery on Sunday.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks bad for the Chamber.”

“How?”

“Frannie is the public face of the Chamber. She gets paid a decent salary to work for us.”

“Minimum wage?”

“No. We pay her better than that. A bit better.”

“A bit better? What does that mean?”

“Two dollars an hour over minimum wage.”

“And you expect her to live on that? I’m surprised she hasn’t had to find a second job before now. Oh, wait, you’d probably fire her if she did.”

“Now, Tricia, she gets health care benefits, too.”

“And how much does she have to pay toward that?”

“Fifty percent.”

“Fifty percent?” she repeated, hardly believing what she’d just heard. “On two dollars an hour over minimum wage?”

“There aren’t that many clerical jobs in Stoneham. Frannie’s lucky to be with us. She’s only got a high school diploma, you know.”

“Doesn’t ten years of experience with the Chamber count for anything?”

Bob shook his head, his expression insufferably patient, as if he was about to speak to someone with a low IQ.

“We’re paying a wage commensurate with her education and comparable jobs within the community.”

“Then obviously the community isn’t paying its female workers a living wage.”

Bob shook his head again and looked at his watch, as though she was taking up too much of his time.

“Who’s going to tell Angelica about this?” Tricia demanded.

“Angelica?” he repeated, a note of alarm entering his voice.

“Yes. She’s expecting Frannie to show up to help her out on Saturday. I don’t think it ought to be Frannie who tells Angelica why she can’t be there. And I don’t think it should be me who tells her, either. That leaves only one person.”

“Me?” he asked, appalled.

“Yes, Bob, you. And the sooner, the better. In fact, this evening would be perfect. It’s early closing night. You could take her to dinner and break the news to her. Take her someplace nice, too, won’t you?”

“I’d planned to take her to this little seafood place I know in Portsmouth.”

“That’s wonderful. And I’ll make it my business to talk to her tomorrow morning to make sure this little situation has been resolved.”

“You’d check up on me?”

“Yes. And if she doesn’t know the reason why Frannie can’t work for her on Saturday, I will tell her myself, and you can bet I won’t put the same spin on it you would.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“You bet it is,” Tricia said. She turned, grabbed the handle, and made sure she slammed the door on her way out.

Tricia worked off most of her anger on the chilly walk back to her store. She stopped off at the Cookery to find a harassed Angelica overwhelmed with customers. Whipping off her coat, she held down the register for fifteen minutes while her sister helped patrons. Thankfully, the bus that awaited most of the customers had a tight schedule, and the store soon emptied out.

“Thanks for showing up when you did. It’s been like this all day,” Angelica said, breathless.

“What happened to your new employee?”

“She didn’t show up.” Angelica studied Tricia’s face. “Why are you here?”

Tricia wriggled back into her coat sleeves. “I brought you this,” she said, taking the health care brochure out of her pocket. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it, but you might want to study it carefully. Hiring Frannie away from the Chamber might not be as difficult as you thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s for you to find out. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Intriguing,” Angelica said with a smile. She looked down at the brochure in her hand. “I will study it. Thank you.”

The phone rang, and Angelica practically jumped on it.

“The Cookery, how can I help you?” She paused. “Oh, Bob, it’s you! Sure, I’m free tonight.”

Tricia forced a smile and waved as she let herself out. At least one part of her plan had been set into motion. She continued down the walk to Haven’t Got a Clue. It was full of customers who were in need of assistance.

As the rest of the afternoon wore on, and still no word from Grace, Tricia’s anxiety multiplied. As she checked her watch for the hundredth time, she hoped Nikki had been kept as busy over at the Stoneham Patisserie. At the same time, if she was run ragged, Tricia worried Nikki might opt out of attending the weekly book club meeting—which would spoil everything.

At T minus one hour, she dialed the number.

“Stoneham Patisserie, this is Nikki. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Nikki. It’s Tricia over at Haven’t Got a Clue. I just wanted to make sure you’ll be attending the book club meeting tonight. I managed to line up a special guest—someone in publishing who was here for Zoe’s memorial service. He stayed in town an extra couple of days just so he could talk to the group. I’d like to have as many warm bodies as possible in the store to make him feel welcome.”

Nikki sighed, and Tricia flinched, afraid her plans might already be on the verge of unraveling. “I guess I can make it, but I can’t pull off a cake on this short notice. Can I bring something else? Cookies?”

It was Tricia’s turn to sigh—with relief. “You don’t have to bring anything,” she said. “I’ve got everything covered.”

“Oh. Well, okay. I’ll be there around six.”

“See you then,” Tricia said brightly and hung up the phone. No sooner had she set the receiver down than it rang again. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia.”

“Tricia, it’s Grace.”

“Thank goodness. I was getting worried. Do you have good news for me?”

“It took some persuasion, but I’ve convinced the sheriff to arrive at precisely six o’clock.”

“What excuse did you give her?”

“None at all. I just reminded her of her duty, that she’s a public servant, and that it would be in her best interest to be there on time.”

“And she bought it?”

“I believe she respects my reputation and the authority I used to wield. I wonder if I could use that same tactic to get the Board of Selectmen to step up their efforts and find a humane solution to the geese problem.”

“Grace, I’m sure you could.”

“Thank you for your faith in me. Ah, I think I hear William at the door. I’m looking forward to hearing all about the intrigue that’s going on at your shop.”

“And I’ll be glad to update you later myself.”

“Thank you, dear. Good-night.”

Tricia hung up the phone.

“Aha! The stage is set,” Ginny said, as she wrestled into her jacket a full half hour earlier than usual. Mr. Everett had been dismissed early after flawlessly performing his part of Tricia’s scheme.

“Stage?” Tricia asked, pretending she hadn’t thought of what lay ahead in the same terms.

“Didn’t Shakespeare say that in one of his plays?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Now scoot, will you?”

Ginny hesitated halfway to the door, her expression growing serious. “I don’t like this, Tricia. I think you should cancel the whole thing.”

“It’s too late now. And anyway, I’m not a bit worried,” she lied.

“Well, I am.”

No way did Tricia want Ginny hanging around and possibly spoiling everything. She came around the cash desk and put an arm around Ginny’s shoulder, guiding her toward the door. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call you at home later tonight, okay?”

“Well, okay.”

“Now go home. Relax.”

“I’ll go back to our house, but it’s not yet a home.”

“It will be one day.” Tricia opened the shop door, gently pushed Ginny through. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Say hi to Brian for me.”

“Good night,” Ginny called, and shuffled down the sidewalk toward the municipal parking lot.

Tricia shut the shop door, turning the cardboard sign around to CLOSED, but she didn’t lock the door. Nor did she shut the blinds along the big display window. If something unforeseen was destined to happen, she wanted Haven’t Got a Clue to stand out like a lighted stage with the curtains drawn for the whole world to see.

She looked out over the street. Several of the other bookstores were already darkened. Tuesday was early closing night for most of the booksellers and other merchants. It was no joke that they rolled up the sidewalks of Stoneham a little after six p.m. If something unusual did happen, would there be anyone around to notice?

That’s when she saw Russ across the street, standing in the doorway of History Repeats Itself, trying to blend in with the shadows. She raised a hand to wave, but he ducked out of sight. He’d promised he’d be there, cell phone in hand, to call nine-one-one in case of an emergency.

There will be no emergency, Tricia told herself. And if she was lucky, this whole fiasco with Zoe’s murder and Kimberly’s attempted murder would be over and done with within the hour. Tricia glanced at her watch. She was still two players short for her little production: Artemus Hamilton and Wendy Adams.

A silhouetted form paused in front of the shop. The door opened and Hamilton stepped inside. “Am I too late?”

“No,” Tricia said, relief flooding through her. “Let me take your coat.”

He stuffed his leather gloves in his pockets, unbuttoned his coat, and shrugged out of it. Tricia took it to the back of the shop to hang with the others.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, when she returned.

“Why don’t you stand over by those shelves? I’ll make all the introductions once the sheriff gets here.”

Hamilton looked around the shop, his gaze resting on the nook for a moment. “Whatever,” he said.

The door opened, the bell above it jangling. Angelica stepped inside, dressed to the nines in her pink-dyed rabbit fur coat, another enormous purse, and matching magenta stilettos. “Why is your closed sign up?” she said, noting the two people in the store and turning it around to say open again. “It isn’t six o’clock yet.”

“And why aren’t you in your own store?” Tricia said, charging forward.

“I closed early and didn’t want customers pounding on my door. I’m meeting Bob here. He’s taking me to Portsmouth for dinner overlooking the harbor.”

“That’s all very nice,” Tricia said, pushing her sister back toward the door, “but I think you should just go back to the Cookery and wait for him.”

“What’s the big deal?” Angelica protested, digging her heels into the carpet. She caught sight of Artemus Hamilton lurking further back in the store. “Oh, Mr. Hamilton!” she called brightly and waved.

“Ange, you’ve got to go. Now!”

Before Tricia could maneuver here sister to the exit, the door opened again, but instead of Wendy Adams, it was a coatless Nikki who stood in the open entrance, still dressed in the white waitress garb and thick-soled shoes she wore at the patisserie—a full twenty minutes early. “What’s going on, Tricia? Frannie just stopped by the shop and told me the meeting had been canceled. But you called me not half an hour ago to say there was a special guest coming in. What gives?”

Rats! Her worst fear had come to pass.

“We do have a guest. In fact, we have two.”

“Then what—”

The woman who’d been quietly sitting in the nook, her back to the door, finally stood. Slight, with shoulder-length graying blond hair, she turned, face taut, arms rigid, and fists clenched at her sides.

“Nikki, this is Fiona Sample. She writes the Bonnie Chesterton librarian mystery series,” Tricia said.

Nikki gave the woman a quick once-over. “Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you.” She turned back to Tricia. “What’s going on? What gave Frannie the idea the meeting had been canceled?” She looked around the room, her gaze settling on the only other person in the shop. Nikki took him in, and Tricia wondered if she’d remember Hamilton standing next to Kimberly at the statue dedication.

“I could’ve brought some cookies or cupcakes if I’d known,” she said, distracted. “I should go home—change. Where is everyone else? Will they be here at six?”

“This is a private signing,” Tricia said, and turned to her guest. “Fiona, I’d like you to meet Nikki Brimfield.”

Fiona held out her hand. Nikki took it, shook it impatiently. “Nice to meet you,” she said again.

“But we’ve met before,” Fiona said, her voice shaking.

“Before?” Nikki echoed, puzzled.

“Yes. I’m your mother.”