Chapter & Hearse

Twenty-Five

After the paramedics had inspected Tricia’s arm, applied antiseptic and a bandage, and left the scene, there wasn’t much to do except wait for the emergency enclosure people to come and fix the Cookery’s door. Darcy had already been dragged off to the county lockup, and several deputies had taken statements. Still, it was after midnight by the time Tricia made it back to Haven’t Got a Clue and found that a sleepy Miss Marple had waited up for her.

Mr. Everett hadn’t made it to work on Tuesday—he’d been too busy trying to duck the press and hordes of people who’d heard about his windfall and were looking for a handout. He and Grace had already had their phone number changed, and were giving it out only to trusted friends. But he assured Tricia he would make it to work on Wednesday.

Angelica had hit the road for yet another round of book signings, vowing to return on Friday. Tricia’s belated birthday dinner was on hold because Angelica said she and Bob needed to hash out what—if any—of their relationship was still viable. Tricia didn’t mind. Having dinner with Bob wasn’t big on her list of things to do, anyway.

The Tuesday Night Book Club met as usual, but instead of talking about their featured read, the group was more interested in seeing Tricia’s bullet wound and hearing the tale of how she was instrumental in the capture of Darcy Gebhard. Frannie was notably absent from the meeting.

By the time Wednesday morning rolled around, Tricia found herself feeling mildly depressed. After all, she was now officially one year older. She and Miss Marple came down to work early, and Tricia was just setting up for coffee when she heard a knock at the door. It was only nine fifteen—a whole forty-five minutes before the store was due to open. She peeked through the blinds and saw Ginny standing there. She unlocked the door and let Ginny inside.

“Happy birthday!” she cried, and gave Tricia an enthusiastic hug.

“I didn’t know you knew,” Tricia said.

Ginny’s smile was genuine. “Angelica was afraid you’d be lonely on your birthday, so she made a point of telling both me and Mr. Everett.”

“That was sweet of her. I wish she could be here today, but when you get to my age—”

“Like you’re some old fogey?” Ginny asked, laughing.

“—you don’t want to celebrate the same way you did when you were younger.”

“So you’ve got no big plans for the day?”

“I’ll probably just have a glass of wine later today. Although I had thought of splitting a precooked lobster with Miss Marple.”

“Don’t skimp on the melted butter,” Ginny advised.

The door rattled, and Mr. Everett and Grace entered Haven’t Got a Clue. “Good morning, and happy birthday, Ms. Miles,” Mr. Everett said.

“Happy birthday, Tricia,” Grace echoed.

“Thank you, and welcome back, Mr. Everett—or should I say Mr. Millionaire?” Tricia said, laughing.

Mr. Everett winced. “I’m certainly glad I can come back to work today, to get back to my real life. I wasn’t made for celebrity,” he said with disgust.

“I’m so pleased you decided to stay with us here at Haven’t Got a Clue,” Tricia said. “We need you, Mr. Everett.”

“And I need the three of you,” he admitted.

“Three?” Ginny asked.

“Don’t forget Miss Marple,” Mr. Everett said. “I’m sad to say that winning the lottery was the worst thing that could have happened to us.”

“Why?” Ginny asked. “Are the people asking for hand-outs already out of control?”

“Yes,” Grace admitted. “I didn’t know there was such misery and misfortune in the world until we won that money. Yesterday we received over one hundred begging letters in the mail. That was less than twenty-four hours after it was announced we’d won.”

“Speaking of letters,” Ginny said, and pulled a much-folded envelope from the pocket of her slacks. “Tricia, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t be paying off my mortgage,” she said, sounding hurt.

Tricia frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I got a notice in the mail saying my mortgage had been paid in full.”

Tricia held out her hands in mock surrender. “Believe me, I’d like to take credit, but—”

“I’m afraid that was me, Ginny,” Mr. Everett said, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

“But why?” Ginny asked, her eyes wide.

“I have no children. I have no one to leave all that lottery money to. You and Ms. Miles, Miss Marple, and Grace are all I have. I wanted to repay you in some way for all the kindnesses you’ve shown me over the past year or so.”

“Oh, Mr. Everett,” Ginny said, her voice cracking, her eyes swimming with tears. She stepped up to him, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ seems so inadequate.”

He patted her back paternally. “I’ve also arranged to have the roof fixed and all new appliances delivered. Of course, I’ll leave it up to you to decide what you want in your kitchen and laundry room.”

Ginny pulled back. “Mr. Everett, that is way too kind of you. I can’t accept—”

“Yes, you can,” he said softly.

“But I—”

Tricia placed a hand on Ginny’s arm, knowing how important it would be for her to accept Mr. Everett’s generous gift. “Yes, you can.”

“I haven’t forgotten you or Miss Marple,” Mr. Everett said, addressing Tricia.

Tricia shook her head. “We don’t need anything, Mr. Everett, but it’s so kind of you to think of us.”

“I bought a case of Miss Marple’s favorite kitty snacks. They’re in the trunk of my car. I was hoping I could borrow the shop’s dolly to bring them in.”

Tricia laughed. “Of course you can.” Then she addressed her cat. “Say ‘thank you,’ Miss Marple.”

Miss Marple said, “Yow!”

Grace and Ginny laughed, but Mr. Everett turned a somber face to Tricia. “As for you, Ms. Miles, I owe you the most.”

“Me? I don’t understand.”

“During the first six months you were in business, you never chased me out of your store, even though I sat in your readers’ nook for hours and read your books, drank your coffee, and brought you no income. Then, you gave me work, when everyone else had written me off as just an old man. You brought value back to my life, and you saved my darling Grace from a terrible existence, when everyone thought she suffered from dementia. I can never, ever repay you for all your kindnesses.”

Tricia swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, so she simply said, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, but I could think of nothing to get you,” the old man apologized.

“Mr. Everett, your friendship is worth more than millions to me.” She stepped forward and kissed his cheek.

Mr. Everett and Grace beamed.

“What will you do with the rest of the money?” Ginny asked.

“Grace would like us to make a sizable donation to the Stoneham Food Shelf, which we will do. Grace has taken it upon herself to investigate each request we receive, and if it has merit, we will grant it. Of course, our priority will be the people of southern New Hampshire, but I believe there will be plenty of money to go to other worthy causes, as well.”

“It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, Mr. Everett,” Tricia said. “I commend you.”

A Milford Florist Shop truck pulled up outside of Haven’t Got a Clue, capturing their attention. The driver got out, opened the back of his van, and pulled out a box, checking a clipboard before he shut the door and advanced toward the shop. “Delivery,” he called, “for Ms. Tricia Miles.”

“That’s me,” Tricia said, delighted, and took the box.

“Ooh, open it,” Ginny said eagerly.

“Give me a chance,” Tricia placated, and slid the pink ribbon from the box, removed the lid, and peeled back the green tissue. Nestled inside were six perfect calla lilies.

“Read the card,” Ginny urged. “Who are they from?”

Tricia removed the envelope, withdrew a card, and frowned. Happy birthday, darling. It was signed “Russ.”

“Russ?” Ginny repeated, appalled. “But—”

At that moment, the shop door opened once again, and a smiling Angelica glided in. “Happy birthday, darling sister,” she called.

Tricia dropped the card into the box as Angelica advanced, embraced her, and planted a big wet kiss on Tricia’s cheek.

“Ange, what are you doing here?” Tricia asked, pulling back.

“You didn’t really think I’d leave you alone on your birthday, did you?”

“But your itinerary said—”

“I lied!” Angelica said, and everyone laughed.

The deliveryman was back with another white box. “Will you sign for this one, too?”

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Tricia took his pen and added her signature to another sheet. The deliveryman went back outside as Tricia slid the peach-colored ribbon from the box and placed them both on the counter. Again she peeled back the florist’s tissue. This time, there were a dozen perfect calla lilies inside. “What does the card say?” Grace asked.

“To darling Tricia. From your big sister.” She turned to Angelica. “Oh, Ange, thank you, they’re beautiful.”

Angelica noticed the already-open box on the coffee station’s counter, and frowned. “Apparently I’m not the only one who remembered your favorite flower.”

“No,” Ginny said, her voice flat. “I’d better see if I can scout up a vase—or two.” She headed for the back of the store just as the door opened once more. This time it was Bob Kelly, who held a white envelope in his hand.

“Hello, Tricia. Happy birthday.” He handed her the card.

“Thank you, Bob.”

Angelica bristled. “Hello, Bob. What brings you here?”

“Tricia’s birthday, of course. You did tell me you’d planned on surprising her today.”

“Did I? Why did you pay attention to that and nothing else I’ve said for the past month or so?”

“I had a lot on my mind,” he admitted.

“How about your other body parts?” Angelica asked coldly.

Bob’s cheeks flushed a dark red. Mr. Everett and Grace looked nearly as embarrassed.

Bob cleared his throat. “I know I’ve abused your trust, Angelica. I’ll do anything I can to regain it.”

Angelica looked away. “How’s that vase coming, Ginny?” she called.

“Angelica, please don’t treat me with such indifference,” Bob pleaded.

“Oh, you mean I shouldn’t emulate your behavior of the last two months? Remind me why.”

Bob lowered his voice. “Angelica, you know how much you mean to me.”

“Oh? And what did Darcy mean to you?”

Bob glowered. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“That’s not what Darcy told Captain Baker.”

“You’d believe her over me?” Bob asked, sounding hurt.

“Let me think about it for all of two seconds.” She looked at the ceiling and nodded her head twice. “Yes!”

Bob chewed at his bottom lip, looking uncomfortable. Much as she didn’t like him, Tricia actually felt a little sorry for him. Okay, on a scale of one to ten, she gave him a one point five worth of pity. Then she recalled he’d saved her life two days before and upped it to two.

The little bell over the door captured their attention as the floral deliveryman once again entered, this time carrying a long white box with a royal blue ribbon. Again he handed the box to Tricia and offered her the clipboard.

“Goodness, another one?”

He nodded, she signed, and off he went again.

Everyone leaned in to watch as Tricia opened the box. She pulled back the tissue, and inside was—no surprise!—six more magnificent calla lilies. She opened the small white envelope and read the card. “Thank you for welcoming me to your village and your country. Happy birthday. Antonio Barbero, Nigela Racita Associates.”

“Didn’t you just meet that guy?” Angelica asked.

“Yes. Ginny must’ve told him it was my birthday today. We were going to have dinner Monday night, but—oh, well, it’s a long story. I’m more interested in hearing what else Bob has to say about Darcy.”

“What about her?” he asked warily.

“I’m assuming Darcy was an old flame. How did you two get reacquainted?” Tricia asked.

“At a meeting of Chamber of Commerce presidents. It was held in Nashua back in February. Darcy was the hostess at the restaurant. We had a few drinks after the meeting, and I . . . kind of drove her home.”

“How does one kind of drive someone home?” Angelica asked pointedly.

“And then what happened?” Tricia asked.

“We had a few more drinks and talked and . . . then I woke up in her bed the next morning,” Bob admitted sheepishly.

“Fancy that,” Angelica said.

“I was so hungover, I don’t even know if we . . . you know.”

“Had sex?” Angelica supplied.

Bob wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“How did Darcy come to work for Angelica?” Tricia asked.

“I must have told her Booked for Lunch was looking for a waitress.”

“Did you tell her about us at the same time?” Angelica asked.

“I . . . don’t know.”

“Surely there were plenty of waitressing jobs in Nashua at the time,” Grace suggested.

“Darcy told me she had another job working evenings,” Tricia said, “but she needed the money. To pay off gambling debts, perhaps?”

Bob shrugged. “I guess.”

“Did she hit you up for money?” Angelica asked.

Bob squirmed. “Not exactly—at least not at first. She said she was more interested in reestablishing a relationship. I told her I wasn’t interested. I told her that you and I were a couple, but she hounded me anyway.”

“And, of course, you succumbed to her charms; after all, you’re just a weak man,” Angelica said with scorn.

“I did not sleep with that woman!” Bob declared.

“Haven’t we heard that before? And just what did you do instead of sleeping with her?” Angelica wanted to know.

“I kept a low profile,” Bob explained. “She was forty-one and she wanted to get married to somebody—anybody! When I made it clear I wasn’t interested in her, she set her sights on Jim Roth.”

“Jake said she knew Jim after taking smoke breaks at the same time he did,” Tricia said.

“She started showing up at his Gamblers Anonymous meetings, too,” Bob said. “That was after she saw his house and his business. She figured he was a successful businessman.”

“And when she found out the truth?” Tricia asked.

“Let’s just say she didn’t take the news well. She was angry with me for rebuffing her advances, and she was angry with Jim when she found out he was seeing someone else.”

“But Jim broke up with Frannie,” Grace said.

“Yes, but he wouldn’t leave his mother,” Bob explained. “Darcy was furious—and for some reason, she blamed me! When she saw the two of us together at History Repeats Itself, she decided to get rid of both of us—just out of spite.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Tricia said, changing the subject. “When Russ and I got to your house the night you said someone tried to break in, you said you were pretty sure it was a man. Why didn’t you level with us that it was Darcy?”

“And admit I was afraid of a woman? Get real, Tricia.”

“You could have saved yourself—and the Sheriff’s Department—a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t lecture me,” Bob snapped.

“Don’t you speak to my sister like that,” Angelica admonished. “Especially on her birthday!”

Bob hung his head. “I’m sorry, Tricia.”

“I don’t know if I ever can forgive you, Bob,” Angelica said. “You know how I feel about cheaters. I’ve been married to four of them.”

“I’m sorry, Angelica. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Bob said, embarrassed.

“I’ve heard that four times too many,” Angelica said and sniffed loudly.

Bob eyed Tricia and the others. “Angelica, don’t you think we should be discussing this in private?”

Angelica crossed her arms over her chest. “Why? Do you have anything else to hide?”

Tricia wished she could just fade into the woodwork, glad it was Bob and not she who was pinned by Angelica’s baleful stare. Still, why did they have to have this conversation in Haven’t Got a Clue? The saving grace was that the store hadn’t yet opened for the day.

Tricia took a step back and signaled to Mr. Everett and Grace. “We’ll just leave you two alone—”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Angelica said, turning her laserlike glare on Tricia. Angelica meant business. She turned back to Bob. “You’re going to have to work very hard to get back into my good graces.”

“Anything you want, Cupcake.”

“Cupcake?” Tricia repeated.

Angelica swung her angry gaze back to Tricia. Oops! Apparently there were some things that transcended even Angelica’s birthday goodwill.

Ginny returned with two clear glass vases filled with water. “Would you like me to arrange the flowers?” she asked Tricia.

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Ginny.”

Before Ginny could get started, the florist’s deliveryman was back again, with yet another long white box. The ribbon on this one was pale yellow. He handed it to Tricia.

“Not another one?”

“Apparently you’re very popular, ma’am.”

Once again, Tricia slid the ribbon from the box and opened it. Inside were another dozen perfect calla lilies.

“Who are they from?” Angelica asked.

Tricia read the card. “Sorry we couldn’t be there on your special day. Love, Mother and Daddy.” Oh, well, at least they’d made an effort.

“Goodness, I’m going to have to go home and rustle up another couple of vases,” Angelica said, but before she could do so, the door opened again, and Russ stepped inside, his camera dangling around his neck.

“Happy birthday, Tricia!”

“Hello, Russ,” Tricia said, unable to muster any enthusiasm.

“I saw the florist’s truck and—” He frowned at the sight of the four florist’s boxes on the coffee station’s counter. “Oh. Gee . . . I guess my gift wasn’t as original as I thought.”

“Thank you for thinking of me, Russ,” Tricia said coolly. No way was he getting a hug and a kiss for remembering her birthday—not after the way he’d been acting of late.

The door rattled, and it was the deliveryman with still another long white florist’s box. “Please sign here,” he said and handed Tricia his clipboard for a fifth time.

“Aren’t you getting writer’s cramp by now?” Angelica asked. “I didn’t sign my name that much at some of my book events.”

Tricia ignored her sarcasm. This time the ribbon was mauve, which went perfectly with her sweater set. She opened the box and found another six magnificent calla lilies.

“And this time they’re from—?” Ginny prompted eagerly, while trying to force one more lily into the first vase.

Tricia read the card. “Happy birthday. Grant.”

“Baker!” Russ cried, clearly annoyed.

Tricia wasted less than two seconds of her day to glare at him before she removed one of the lovely flowers from the box. How had Captain Baker known calla lilies were her favorite, let alone her birth date? Tricia glanced at Angelica, who seemed to find the tin ceiling of infinite interest.

The door opened again—the deliveryman, back for a sixth time.

“No more,” Tricia cried.

“’Fraid so,” the man said and laughed, once again proffering the pen and invoice for Tricia to sign. The ribbon was deep purple. Tricia tugged it from the box and opened it. Six more calla lilies. She read the card. “Happy birthday. Love, Ginny and Mr. E.” Tricia turned to her employees. “Oh, thank you so much. You two are the greatest.” She leapt forward to capture them both in a hug.

“About time that guy brought our flowers in,” Ginny said, just a little exasperated.

Russ looked hurt. “I gave you the same gift, but I didn’t get a hug.”

Tricia looked down her nose at him. “I said ‘thank you.’ ”

The door opened once more. The deliveryman. Again. With yet a seventh box of flowers. This time the ribbon was scarlet. He offered Tricia the pen and clipboard one more time, and Tricia signed.

“Why didn’t you just deliver them all at once?” Ginny asked.

The man smiled and winked. “Don’t you think it was more fun this way?”

“I do,” Tricia said and accepted the latest box. “Is this the last one?”

“I sure hope so,” Angelica said. “This place is beginning to look like a funeral parlor.”

“I’m afraid so,” the deliveryman confirmed. “I think your friends and family have wiped out the entire East Coast’s stock of lilies.”

Tricia accepted the box and set it on the counter. “Let me give you something for your trouble,” she said, and headed for the cash register.

The deliveryman backed toward the door and tipped his cap. “It’s not necessary, ma’am. Hope your day is happy!”

“Thank you.”

Tricia heard the door close, but she was too absorbed in removing the satin ribbon from the box. Again, she pulled back the tissue and again found a dozen perfect calla lilies.

“Ahhh,” Ginny cooed.

Tricia read the card, which wasn’t signed. Don’t forget what my last note said. Tricia frowned. For a moment, the message didn’t register. And then she reached up to finger the chain around her neck, and thought about the calla lily locket Christopher had sent, and the note that went with it: To remind you of the one you love the most. She frowned. Why would he send flowers from Miss Marple?

“Who’s it from?” Angelica asked.

“I’m not sure,” Tricia lied.

Grace appeared with a tray filled with Haven’t Got a Clue cardboard coffee cups, passing them to those assembled. “It’s time for a birthday toast,” she said.

“It would be better with champagne,” Russ commented, but accepted a cup anyway. He raised his cup and was about to speak when Angelica silenced him with one of her icy glares. Russ lowered his cup.

Angelica raised hers. “To my dear sister, Tricia. Many happy returns of the day!”

“Hear, hear!” the others cried in agreement, and raised their cups, too. Miss Marple rubbed against Tricia’s ankles.

For the first time in a long, long time, Tricia felt truly loved—and it felt pretty darned good.