Chapter & Hearse

Nineteen

“Why did you have to call right now?” Angelica complained. “I’ve just run a bath. This lovely little bed-and-breakfast has one of those deep, old-fashioned claw-footed tubs. It must hold a million gallons. I intend to soak for at least an hour.”

“You’ll probably pull the plug and let it run out when I tell you the latest,” Tricia said, and wished she’d used her cell phone so she could settle down in Haven’t Got a Clue’s readers’ nook. This call could become yet another marathon event. “I did as you asked, and went over to Bob’s house.”

“So you mentioned in your message. I hope he wasn’t as obstinate as he’s been lately.”

“Actually, he was unconscious when I got there,” Tricia said, keeping her voice neutral.

“Good grief. I hope you’re joking,” Angelica said, her distress evident over the miles.

“Someone tampered with his gas meter.”

“Just like Jim’s! Oh, Tricia, is he okay?”

“They took him to St. Joseph’s in Milford. He’s going to be okay. But they kept him overnight for observation. He’s on suicide watch.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. If Bob was going to kill himself, he would’ve done it when the market crashed in two thousand and eight.”

“I know. But what’s worse, Captain Baker thinks Bob might’ve killed Jim Roth.”

“Oh sure—and blew up his own building? Give me a break.”

“Which is exactly what I told the captain.” Tricia considered asking Angelica about her vouching for Frannie on Wednesday afternoon, but figured she’d already dumped enough trouble in her sister’s lap. And she wasn’t about to mention the cutout being decked out in fun wear.

Angelica sighed. “I guess I’d better let the water out of the tub, check out, and head home.”

“What about your book tour?”

“Bob needs me,” she said, sounding resigned.

“Right now, he needs a good lawyer more than he needs you. Maybe I should call my lawyer, Roger Livingston.”

“He doesn’t deal with criminal cases. You’d better let me handle this. I’ll call him for a referral. Do you think they’re letting Bob take calls at the hospital?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

“Pull out the phone book, will you? I’ll go scout up a pen and some paper.”

By the time Tricia found the number, Angelica was ready to take down the information.

“Are you really coming home?” Tricia asked.

“That depends on what I hear from the hospital, Bob, and the attorney.”

“I’m sorry, Angelica. I know you’ve worked hard for this tour—”

“Yes, and I hate to disappoint all those people who’ll be showing up at the bookstores, just dying for me to autograph their copies of my book.” She sighed dramatically.

“Well, I have one piece of good news for you—something I forgot to tell you this morning. Someone in Stoneham bought the winning Powerball lottery ticket. The prize is twenty million dollars.”

“And how does that affect me?” Angelica asked.

“I just thought you might like to know.”

“Only if they spend a good portion of it at the Cookery and Booked for Lunch.” Angelica sighed once more. “I’ll call you later. Thanks for everything you’ve done over the last few days, Trish. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you.”

Tricia’s mouth dropped. She’d never heard Angelica actually say those three words before. She swallowed. “I love you, too. Call me.”

“I will. ’Bye.”

“ ’ Bye.”

Tricia replaced the receiver, feeling empty inside. Miss Marple jumped down from the shelf behind the counter, rubbed her head against Tricia’s arm, and gave a sympathetic “Yow.”

Tricia gazed around Haven’t Got a Clue. Usually, she felt more at home in the store than she did in her loft. But now she felt restless.

“Yow!” Miss Marple insisted, purring hopefully and head butting Tricia’s arm, which was now covered in long, gray cat hair.

“It’s not time for your dinner yet.” Then, as she thought about it, Tricia realized the only things she had in her fridge were blueberry muffins and leftover pizza, neither of which sounded appealing. “I think I’ll drive to Milford to get supplies.”

“Yow!”

“You know you don’t like riding in the car. Besides, they have a no-animals policy,” Tricia said. She grabbed the lint roller she kept under the counter.

“Yow!” Miss Marple said more emphatically.

“Yes, I will buy you more kitty cookies. And afterward, I’ll sit on the couch and read, and you can sit on my lap and get cat hair all over my slacks. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yow!” Miss Marple agreed.

Tricia replaced the roller and snagged her purse from under the cash desk. “You’re in charge while I’m gone,” she said, and locked the door behind her.

As Tricia headed up the sidewalk toward the municipal parking lot to retrieve her car, she felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She looked to her left and saw Russ standing in the window of his office, watching her. Was he really planning on stalking her? She quickened her pace, and when she got in her car, she locked the door, feeling shaken.

“I am not afraid of him—I am not afraid of him,” she said, but her hand was shaking as she tried to put the key into the ignition.

By the time she’d arrived at the grocery store, less than ten minutes later, Tricia was berating herself for allowing Russ to upset her. She had too many other things on her mind to let him have that kind of power over her.

Tricia left her car in the parking lot, making sure she locked it, and entered the store. Grocery shopping had to be one of the most boring aspects of life, at least for her, but at that moment she was grateful for the distraction. Usually she kept to the outside aisles of the store, where the healthier products were located, but today she felt like wandering the aisles. Who knew there were so many variations on the basic baked bean? Pit barbeque, bourbon and brown sugar, Southern style . . . .

Tricia shook her head and rounded the corner into the baking aisle. Her second muffin experience had been much more satisfying than the first, bolstering her confidence. As she studied the wall of boxed cake, cookie, and brownie mixes, she wondered if maybe she’d been too ambitious by starting to bake from scratch. Maybe she should stick to prepackaged mixes, for which all you needed was water, oil, or an egg.

She was standing there, considering a carrot cake mix when Bang! Her cart slammed into her stomach. She glanced up, irritated to see Darcy Gebhard standing before her.

“Oops!” Darcy said, and giggled.

Tricia exhaled a breath, counted to ten, and then forced a smile. “Darcy. What are you doing here?”

“Shopping. Everybody’s got to do it sometime.”

Yes, and wasn’t it Tricia’s good fortune that Darcy ran into her? No! She glanced down at her empty cart, wishing she had a list to consult—anything to occupy her attention. Then maybe Darcy might take the hint and move on. No such luck.

“I found out why Jake went to jail,” Darcy said. “Want to know?”

Okay, that got Tricia’s attention. She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t want to appear too eager.

“Attempted murder,” Darcy said, a gleam in her eye.

Tricia swallowed, but when she spoke, she kept her voice steady. “It turns out Angelica knows all about Jake’s past.”

“I wish I had. I probably never would have taken the job. Who wants to work with a murderer?”

“You said it was attempted murder.”

“Just because the guy didn’t die doesn’t mean Jake didn’t do his best to try to kill him.”

“What were the circumstances?” Tricia asked.

“I thought you said Angelica knows all about it.” Darcy said.

“She does. I don’t.”

Darcy shrugged. “Oh. Well, it seems he went berserk and almost beat a guy to death. Too bad he recovered, else Jake would still be in jail.”

Tricia couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Okay, it wasn’t right for someone to nearly kill someone, no matter what the circumstances, but to wish the victim had died was appalling.

“Maybe when Angelica has finished with her book tour, you might want to think about finding another job somewhere else,” Tricia suggested.

“I’ve been trying to get more hours at my other job—I waitress at a much fancier joint at night—but things have been slow, which is why I took the job at Booked for Lunch. I like the hours, and the tips aren’t bad, either. But I’ll probably only stay through the summer. I don’t want to be on the road all that much come winter. I’m thinking of heading south again.”

“Is that where you’re originally from?” Tricia asked, then wanted to smack herself in the head. If she wanted to end this conversation, she’d have to stop asking questions.

Darcy shook her head. “Massachusetts. I came to New Hampshire because a boyfriend of mine lived here. Boy, that was a mistake.”

“Yes, well—I don’t want to hold you up,” Tricia said, hoping she could put an end to their unwanted chat.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of time. No one’s going to be waiting up for me,” Darcy said, and laughed.

Tricia could see why. “Well, I really must get going. It was great to see you.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Darcy said, and finally pushed her cart forward. “See you.”

Tricia exhaled a breath, grateful to be rid of Darcy, and turned her attention back to the mixes on the shelf in front of her. Maybe she’d try one for lemon squares. She had to admit, despite the garish color, Mrs. Roth’s lemon bars had tasted pretty good. If she made them from a mix, and they turned out well, she could put them out for the customers—which is what she should have done with the muffins she and Angelica had baked the night before.

She tossed the box into her cart and headed down the aisle. When she got to the end, she could see the parking lot through the big windows at the front of the store. And out in the parking lot, standing by his junky pickup truck, was Russ Smith.