Chapter & Hearse

Twenty-Two

Before Tricia could get her deposit slips filled out, a Granite State tourist bus drove down Main Street and let off forty or more potential customers, the bulk of whom seemed to land on Haven’t Got a Clue’s doorstep. Without Mr. Everett, there was no way Ginny could keep up with the onslaught on her own, and Tricia resigned herself to staying put for the time being.

By the time the crowd had thinned and the sun had come out, Tricia seized the opportunity to try to track down Bob. There was no answer at his house, his business, or his cell phone. And Betsy Dittmeyer at the Chamber of Commerce told Tricia she hadn’t seen or heard from Bob. Could he have skipped town? Not likely—not when all his assets were tied up in Stoneham. She’d have to try again later. In the meantime, she needed to get some money into Haven’t Got a Clue’s checking account so she could pay bills.

“I’ve got to go to the bank,” Tricia told Ginny, and dumped her own and Angelica’s blue bank pouches into a sturdy Haven’t Got a Clue shopping bag. She grabbed her purse and flew out the door. She hadn’t gone two feet when she saw Russ Smith standing outside of the Cookery, his Nikon camera slung around his neck, snapping pictures of Angelica’s life-sized cutout. This time, it was decked out in a colorful paper Hawaiian lei and a grass hula skirt. There could be only one citizen in all of Stoneham who owned such attire.

Tricia marched up to Russ, startling him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking pictures. What else?”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because it’s funny. I’ve got pictures of all the goofy getups this thing has worn.”

“And what do you intend to do with them? Put them in your cheap little rag?”

“Hey, that’s my paper—my pride and joy—you’re talking about.”

“I don’t care what you call it—especially when you’re trying to make a laughingstock of my sister.”

Russ jabbed his index finger at the cutout. “This is news.”

“No, wars are news. This is—”

“Advertising,” Russ finished for her. “When I print the pictures, they’ll be worth thousands in free PR for Angelica.”

“I forbid you to use those pictures.”

Russ shook his head. “The First Amendment is on my side, sweetheart. But”—he softened his voice—“I might reconsider my full-page treatment if a certain author’s sister were to grant me certain favors. . . .”

Tricia’s anger smoldered. “You are despicable. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

Russ raised an eyebrow and stared at her for a moment, then he took more photos of the cutout.

Tricia turned, yanked open the door to the Cookery, and stomped inside.

Frannie was at the cash desk with a customer, preventing Tricia from exploding on the spot. Frannie acknowledged her presence with a nervous smile, but continued to chatter with the woman.

Tricia waited impatiently as Frannie and the woman talked, Talked, TALKED for at least another minute. At last the woman seemed to realize Tricia was there. “Oh, I’ve monopolized your time something terrible,” she told Frannie. “I’ll let you help this other person now.”

“Oh, no,” Frannie called as the woman turned to leave, “Tricia isn’t a customer. She’s just Tricia.”

“Thanks a lot,” Tricia said.

But the woman waved good-bye and headed out the door.

Once she was gone, Frannie gave another nervous laugh. “What was it you wanted?”

“To know why you lied to me.”

“Lie? Me?” Frannie said innocently.

“Yes, about the sombrero, the goofy glasses, and the cat’s cradle.”

“I didn’t lie to you. At the time I didn’t know who decorated Angelica’s cutout.”

“And now you do?” Tricia demanded.

“It turns out some of the other merchants were playing a game decorating the cutout. The first time, it was Deborah Black. She had parts of her husband’s Halloween costume in the back of her store and on a whim decided to decorate the cutout. The next day, it was Joyce Widman over at Have a Heart. And then Nikki took a stab at it.”

“And today it was you.”

Frannie’s nervous laugh was beginning to bug Tricia. “Yeah. But it’s all for a good cause. Russ Smith has taken pictures of all of them. He said he’ll give the Cookery and Angelica’s book a full-page spread in the next issue of the Stoneham Weekly News.”

“That’s what he said, but he’s angry at me and now he’s going to take it out on Angelica—to make her a laughingstock in front of the whole village.”

Frannie waved her hands frantically. “No, no—it’s not like that. I called Angelica and let her know about it. She’s fine with it. She said there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

Tricia could do nothing but stand there and seethe. Frannie continued, “It’s brilliant. Since the cutout went outside, it’s attracted a lot of attention. We’ve almost sold out the first two cases of Easy-Does-It Cooking, and I’ve had to reorder the book. Angelica will get writer’s cramp from signing all those copies.”

“What do you have planned for the cutout’s next costume?” Tricia asked, still finding it hard to keep the anger out of her voice.

“That’ll be up to Alexa over at the Coffee Bean. All the booksellers are going to take a turn. Russ is hoping he can interest another paper in the story and pictures. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it to you.”

“We’re no longer friends,” Tricia said through gritted teeth.

“Tricia, life is too short to carry grudges. I’m alone now, and I hate it. You’ve still got a chance to reconcile with Russ—”

Tricia’s anger boiled over, but somehow she managed not to explode. “I’m going to the bank,” she said in a strangled voice, turned on her heel, and left the Cookery. Thank goodness Russ had already disappeared, for Tricia was almost certain she would have cheerfully strangled him on the spot.

It had taken several hours for Tricia’s temper to cool completely. It helped to look out Haven’t Got a Clue’s big display window and see the lovely hanging baskets on the lampposts. She had no green thumb but wondered if she should pay a visit to The Milford Nursery to find something low-maintenance and pretty for the shop—maybe an orchid or two, in homage to Nero Wolfe.

Tricia was lost in thought when Jake walked in the door at two forty-five with the blue bank bag in one hand, and an attitude that spelled trouble. Thankfully, there were no customers near the cash desk when he tossed the bag on the counter.

Tricia’s ire flared again. “Do you have to be so rude?”

“When it comes to dealing with you, I have to work at it,” Jake said.

“Look, just because I worry about my sister hiring an ex-con doesn’t make me public enemy number one. I think you had that title wrapped up when you went to jail for attempted murder.”

“I admit trying to kill the scumbag who raped my nine-year-old niece wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I—”

“Nine years old?” Tricia repeated, incredulous.

“Yeah. Things like that tend to rile me. Otherwise, I’m usually a pretty easygoing guy. Pity you’re too biased to give someone like me a second chance. Thank goodness there are people like your sister around. You could take a lesson from her.”

But I’m the GOOD sister, Tricia wanted to shout, and immediately felt like a heel. She took a breath to calm herself. “What did you do to the guy who hurt your niece?”

“I beat him to a pulp. He got three years in jail for raping Emily. I got nine. What kind of justice is that, oh Lady of Mystery?”

Tricia wasn’t sure how to answer that question. She swallowed. “You have to understand, Angelica is my sister. I care about her.”

“Like I cared about my niece?”

How far would I go to protect someone I loved? Tricia asked herself. She wasn’t sure how to answer that question, either.

“Look, I know you don’t approve of what I did thirteen years ago,” Jake began. “In retrospect, I don’t approve of it, either. But I’m not the same person I was then—and I suspect you could probably say that about yourself, too.”

Yes. She could.

“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” he apologized. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your sister, her business, or the entire village of Stoneham. It doesn’t matter whether you believe me, I just needed to tell you that. Now, I’ll get out of your hair,” he said, and turned for the door.

“Wait,” Tricia called after him. Jaw set, Jake turned back to face her. She felt a flush rising from her neck to her cheeks. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

For a long—very long—moment, Jake just stood there. Then he said, quietly, “I accept your apology.”

Tricia’s flush deepened. She swallowed. “Maybe we should start all over again.” She took a deep, calming breath and thrust her hand in Jake’s direction. “Hello, I’m Tricia. Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue.”

Jake looked at her offered hand for what seemed like eons, then he stepped forward and clasped it—not too hard—and they shook on it. “I’m Jake Masters. Nice to meet you.”

The door to Haven’t Got a Clue opened, making the bell overhead tinkle, and Darcy Gebhard entered. “What’s taking you so long?” she asked Jake, irritated.

Jake withdrew his hand from Tricia’s, looking embarrassed.

“Hi, Darcy,” Tricia said.

“Oh, hi. Everything work out okay for you at the grocery store the other night?”

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“Good. We’d better get going, Jake,” Darcy said.

Tricia looked at the two of them quizzically.

“Her car’s in the shop. I’m giving her a lift,” Jake said.

“Yeah, he’s a regular taxi driver,” Darcy said. She didn’t sound all that appreciative, considering Jake was doing her a favor. Tricia frowned. How ironic that five minutes ago she wouldn’t have cared, but now that she knew a bit more about Jake, Darcy’s attitude annoyed her.

“Let’s go,” Darcy said, and opened the door.

“See you,” Jake said, and followed her.

Ginny wandered up to the cash desk. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.” It was all too complicated to explain.

It was after five by the time Tricia had a chance to dial Bob’s various telephone numbers. Not surprisingly, only recorded messages greeted her. She left messages on all three, but doubted she’d hear from Bob anytime soon. He could be stubborn when he wanted—which was most of the time.

The rest of the afternoon dragged. Ginny disappeared to the stock room to work on the inventory, and Tricia and Miss Marple were left alone to handle the last few stragglers who came in looking for something to read—and not finding it.

Ginny reappeared just a few minutes before the store’s official closing, looking triumphant. “I’ve got all the boxes unpacked and the books shelved, so we’re just about caught up on the inventory.”

“Sounds like a cause for celebration. How about I treat you to dinner at the Bookshelf Diner?” Tricia said.

“The winner of the New Hampshire Powerball lottery is going to be announced this evening at the convenience store. I’d really like to find out who it is. Could we go there first and then have dinner? It’ll only be half an hour delay,” Ginny said.

“Why not?” Tricia agreed. “It’s not like I have a date or anything else to keep me home.”

Ginny ran the vacuum over the carpet while Tricia tallied up the day’s receipts and locked them in the safe. A contrite Frannie showed up just after seven with the Cookery’s receipts. Tricia made no mention of their previous discussion, and could hardly object when Ginny invited Frannie to accompany them to the convenience store. Ginny made a show of jingling her keys and offered to do the driving honors.

The convenience store’s parking lot was maxed out, and Ginny parked her car on the side of the road, behind a long line of others. “We’ll have to hoof it,” she said, and opened the driver’s-side door. Tricia and Frannie followed her down the road and into the store, which was packed with people. Tricia recognized many Chamber of Commerce members, and of course the Dexter twins with their ever-present petition. Tricia had lived in Stoneham for two years, and had never met them until a few days before—now they seemed to be everywhere.

The elusive Bob was also in attendance, looking uncomfortable in one of his green Kelly Real Estate jackets. Tricia’d have to corner him after the announcement. She was surprised to see a keyed-up Grace and the ever-placid Mr. Everett standing on the sidelines. Grace gave Tricia a quick wave. Russ stood among the throng of TV reporters and cameramen, his Nikon dangling from his neck once again, and clutching a steno pad. (Did he buy them by the case?) He gave Tricia a tentative smile, but she turned away without acknowledging him.

“This has to be the biggest day in Stoneham history,” Frannie said, and dug into her purse. “I’m glad I always carry my camera with me.” She took it out and turned it on, ready to take a shot. She looked up, and waved to someone in the crowd. “Look—there’s Julia Overline,” a member of Haven’t Got a Clue’s readers’ group. “I need to talk to her about tomorrow’s meeting. I’ll be back,” Frannie said, and threaded her way through the crowd.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen Frannie smile since Jim Roth’s death,” Tricia told Ginny, who nodded in agreement.

The air practically crackled with the crowd’s pent-up excitement.

“Boy, looks like half the town is out tonight to meet the Powerball winner,” Ginny said. “Who do you think it is?” she asked Tricia.

“Probably someone we don’t even know.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird if it’s the person responsible for Jim Roth’s death? They say the ticket was bought last Wednesday—the day he died,” Ginny said.

Weird indeed.

Two twenty-something young women, dressed in matching tight blue, star-spangled dresses, simpered for the cameras. They held a big cardboard check made out for twenty million dollars. The Pay To line was hidden by a large piece of paper.

A forty-something man in a suit stepped up to a microphone, and the TV cameras swung in his direction to capture the big announcement. He tapped on the microphone. “Testing, one, two, three.” Then he cleared his throat. “Uh, ladies and gents, I’m Gordon Swingle from the New Hampshire Lottery Commission, and I’m pleased to be here tonight to announce the latest winner of the New Hampshire Powerball. The winning ticket contained the following numbers: four, six, nine, eight, eleven, twenty-eight, and thirty-one.”

“Hey,” Ginny said with delight, “two of those numbers are my birthday.”

“Mine, too,” Tricia said. “Talk about a coincidence.”

“It’s my pleasure to introduce the Powerball winners. Let’s give a big hand to William and Grace Everett, from right here in Stoneham. Come on, folks, step right up.” He waved at the lucky couple.

The crowd erupted in cheers. “Holy cow!” Ginny screamed, grabbed Tricia’s arm, and jumped up and down.

Mr. Everett—a millionaire!

Grace’s smile was radiant, but Mr. Everett looked uncomfortable with all the fuss. A jubilant Grace clutched his hand and pulled him toward the makeshift podium.

“Twenty million dollars! Twenty million dollars!” Ginny chanted over and over.

Twenty million dollars. Tricia couldn’t seem to get a handle on the amount and the identity of the lucky winners.

“Why is it always old people who win these things?” a male voice behind Tricia groused. “They’ll never be able to spend it all before they die.”

Tricia resisted the temptation to glare at the idiot behind her.

“Was there any significance to the numbers you played?” Gordon Swingle asked Mr. Everett, shoving a microphone in his face.

“Yes. They are the birthdays of my wife, my employer, and my coworker.”

“See,” Ginny whispered to Tricia, “I told you so!”

“And how often do you play the New Hampshire Powerball?”

“This was my first time,” Mr. Everett admitted.

Swingle waggled his eyebrows for the press. “See, folks, it can be done. First-time players can win big!” He turned back to Mr. Everett. “And do you intend to keep playing?”

“Certainly not,” Mr. Everett said with some force. “I don’t approve of gambling.”

“Then why did you decide to play Powerball?” Swingle asked, looking annoyed.

Mr. Everett looked down at his shoes. “Very odd circumstances.” He said no more on the subject, but Tricia had a feeling Grace’s paying off his debts had been at the heart of it. And playing the lottery had to be the desperate measure he’d spoken of the previous week.

“What are you going to do with this windfall?” Swingle asked. Mr. Everett looked downright annoyed at this invasion of his privacy, but Grace jumped right in to answer for him. “We’re going on a cruise! And we’re going to buy all our friends lovely gifts, and give a sizable amount to charity.”

“Will you move to a mansion?” one of the reporters asked.

“Heavens, no,” Grace answered. “We’re staying right here in Stoneham. And my husband is going to continue working at Haven’t Got a Clue, Stoneham’s mystery bookshop.”

“Free publicity for the store,” Ginny whispered, still excited.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to find another employee,” Tricia said. “Nobody could replace you or Mr. Everett.”

A reporter shoved a microphone in front of Bob. “What do you think of Stoneham’s biggest lottery winners?”

“William and Grace are a wonderful asset to our community. I couldn’t be happier.”

“And what about that explosion on Stoneham’s Main Street last Wednesday? I understand you own the property—that you were in the store at the time of the blast.”

Bob glowered and growled, “No comment.” He pushed away, heading for the exit. Tricia struggled to get through the crowd to follow. “Bob! Wait!” she called, but he paid no attention and kept going.

Once outside, Tricia looked from left to right and finally saw Bob across the busy road, hurrying for his car. She waited for traffic to allow, and crossed the road to follow. “Bob! Wait!”

Finally, Bob stopped and turned. “Will you stop hounding me.”

Tricia was taken aback by his tone.

“Angelica has been worried sick about you. Have you at least had the courtesy to talk to her?”

“We spoke.”

“This morning?”

Bob nodded.

“And?”

“What we said is none of your business. And if Angelica hasn’t already told you, she probably won’t.”

That was true. Years ago, Tricia and Angelica might have kept secrets from each other, but no more. And Angelica had a schedule to adhere to—no time to make a phone call, although she might spill all at the end of the day. Tricia would just have to wait.

“Is there anything else?” Bob asked, anger coloring his voice.

“Yes. Frannie Armstrong said you might know the name of the woman Jim Roth was seeing.”

“Why would I know that?”

“Frannie couldn’t say. Just that Jim had mentioned you and this woman were acquainted.”

Bob’s face went slack, the pallor behind his burns more distinct. “What did you say?”

“If you know who Jim was seeing, it could be the missing piece of the puzzle—you might know who killed him.”

“Good Lord,” Bob breathed, and stumbled toward his car.

“Bob—if you know something, you’ve got to call the Sheriff’s Department. Please, call Captain Baker.”

“I can handle this,” he said.

“Is that the person who’s been harassing you, Bob? Did this woman try to kill you, too?”

Bob turned, his face screwed into a mask of fury. “For once in your life, will you just try and stay out of things?” He turned, unlocked his car, and jumped in. Tricia ran to the car and beat her fists against the driver’s-side window.

“Bob, wait!”

But he started the car, revved it, and peeled out, scraping the bumper of the car in front.

“Bob!” Tricia hollered, but he paid no mind and zoomed down the road.

Was he about to confront Jim’s killer, or would he be the next victim?