Chapter & Hearse

Two

The first thing that registered was the muffled sound of sirens. Lots of them. Tricia realized she was sitting on her backside on the cooling pavement, wondering what had just shaken her world into senselessness. In addition to the glass shards that littered the sidewalk around her, scraps of singed paper—the remains of hundreds of books?—floated to the ground in a blizzard-like fashion.

A Stoneham Fire Rescue squad screeched to a halt some ten feet ahead of her. One of the firefighters jumped from the rig and raced to Tricia. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”

“What?” Tricia asked. Couldn’t this guy speak louder?

“Are you hurt?”

Tricia shook her head, then wished she hadn’t, as the world seemed to tilt crazily around her.

More firefighters spilled from the truck. The man helped Tricia to her feet and then pulled her farther down the sidewalk, away from what had once been History Repeats Itself.

Two firefighters dragged the limp form of a man away from the shop. Tricia instantly recognized the tattered kelly green jacket covered in dust. Rivulets of blood cascaded down his face. “Bob!” she called, frantically trying to escape the hold the firefighter had on her arm. Her next thought was Angelica! and how upset she’d be. How could this happen—and just a day before Angelica was to leave on her self-financed book tour of New England?

Another firefighter blocked Tricia’s way. “Ma’am, please stand back. There may still be gas leaking from somewhere in the vicinity.”

Ma’am! Tricia would never get used to being called that.

On the other side of the street, Tricia saw Angelica hurrying frantically down the sidewalk. “Tricia—are you all right?” she called, her expression filled with worry. She crossed the street, threw her arms around Tricia, and drew her into a tight hug.

“Ange, Bob’s been hurt.”

Angelica pulled back, sudden fear drawing lines on her face. “How bad?”

“There was blood on his temple, and his jacket was pretty torn.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. The firemen brought him out of the building. I think they took him over to that ambulance.” She pointed the way.

Angelica clasped Tricia’s hand, dragging her forward, and the women hustled around the firefighters as they made their way to the back of the ambulance. Bob was inside. When Angelica reached for a handhold to enter, one of the EMTs barred her. “Ma’am, are you next of kin?”

“Well, no, but Bob and I—”

“Sorry,” the beefy woman apologized, “but I’m going to have to ask you to move away. This man deserves his privacy.”

“He’s my boyfriend. He’s—”

The paramedic raised an eyebrow.

“I know that sounds stupid at our ages, but honestly, Bob really is my—”

The paramedic stood taller, suddenly looking menacing. “I’m not going to ask you again, ma’am.”

Tricia pulled her sister’s arm. “Come on, Ange. Let them take care of Bob. We’ll catch up with him at the hospital.” She turned back to the EMT. “Will you be taking him to Milford or Nashua?”

“Probably Nashua.”

“Can you at least tell me how he’s doing?” Angelica pleaded.

“Privacy laws prevent me from—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” a scowling Angelica interrupted her.

“But I don’t want to go to the hospital,” they heard Bob call out. If he had the lungs for that, he would, no doubt, soon be on the mend.

They crossed the street once more, moving to stand before Haven’t Got a Clue. With light bars blazing, another Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up to the curb. By now most of Main Street was blocked—not that there was much traffic along the village’s main thoroughfare once all the shops had closed for the day.

Captain Grant Baker got out of the cruiser, noted Tricia standing in front of her store, and nodded to her before crossing the street to converse with the fire chief.

Angelica nudged her sister. “Go on. Go see if Captain Baker shakes some information out of those paramedics and can tell you how Bob’s doing.”

“He only just got here,” Tricia protested. “Besides, why would he go out of his way to give us any peace of mind?”

“Bitter—bitter,” Angelica cautioned.

“I’m not bitter.” Ha! Of course she was bitter. She and Grant Baker had just started dating—were having fun getting to know each other—when his ex-wife popped out of the woodwork with a serious disease. Not that they’d reconciled. But Mandy Baker needed a “friend” to help her through the worst of her illness. Captain Baker had promised to call Tricia once he felt Mandy was stabilized. That was more than six months ago. A long, lonely six months. Not that Russ Smith, owner of the Stoneham Weekly News and Tricia’s ex, hadn’t tried to worm his way back into her affections. So far, she had resisted his overtures. She remembered too many evenings spent in the company of Russ and his beloved police scanner—being alone was actually preferable. And besides, it had given her a chance to catch up on some of her reading.

Angelica clutched her sister’s arm. “Trish, please—please go over and ask Captain Baker to get us some information on Bob.”

“Okay.” Tricia took a breath to steel herself before she stepped off the sidewalk. That’s when she caught sight of Russ—his camera slung around his neck—hurrying down the sidewalk. She ignored him and headed toward the captain.

Baker was in deep conversation with the fire chief. Tricia crept forward, relieved that no one had tried to make her move back to the opposite side of the street.

At last the chief nodded and stepped away. Tricia reached out and touched Baker’s arm. “Grant? Can you get us some news on Bob Kelly? My sister is—”

He faced her, and she fell under the spell of his mesmerizing green eyes. She had a thing for green eyes. Her ex-husband had had them, too.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I get any information. Why don’t you wait by your store?” Not exactly a brush-off, but not all that welcoming, either.

“Thank you.”

Baker nodded, and Tricia went back to where Angelica stood twisting her hands with worry as she spoke to Russ—or, rather, was being grilled by him. They both went silent at Tricia’s return.

“Captain Baker will be over in a few minutes,” Tricia said.

“Angelica tells me you witnessed the explosion,” Russ said.

“Yes—I guess.”

“Well?” he demanded.

“I heard a phoomph and was blown off my feet. That’s all I know.”

Russ capped his pen and scowled.

Mr. Everett and Ginny joined the growing crowd on the sidewalk, and quickly moved to stand beside the sisters. “Is anybody hurt?” Ginny asked.

“Bob,” Angelica said, her voice cracking. She turned to Tricia. “I never even thought to ask—what happened to Jim?”

Tricia realized the firemen hadn’t brought anyone else out of the shattered building. “I haven’t seen him. Do you suppose he . . . might not have made it?”

Ginny’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh, no.”

Russ uncapped his pen and scribbled on his ever-present steno pad.

“What was it? An explosion?” Mr. Everett asked.

“I think so. One of the firemen said there might still be gas leaking.”

“Do you think it was from the new gas lamps? Shouldn’t they evacuate the whole block?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know,” Tricia said, answering both questions.

Frannie closed and locked the Cookery’s door, then hurried over to join the group outside Haven’t Got a Clue. “What happened?” she cried, staring at the police and fire equipment blocking the view of the buildings across the street.

“History Repeats Itself blew up—with Jim Roth and Bob Kelly inside,” Ginny said.

“Jim!” Frannie cried. She nearly jumped off the sidewalk, but Tricia grabbed her arm to stop her.

“You can’t do anything to help. Angelica and I have already been warned off.”

“Are they okay? How badly are they hurt?”

“They’re taking care of Bob in the ambulance,” Angelica said, her voice filled with worry. “We haven’t seen Jim yet. Tricia thinks he might’ve—” She didn’t finish the sentence.

Frannie’s mouth dropped open, and then her face crumpled into a mask of grief. “No!” she wailed, wrapped her arms around herself, stumbled backward, and dropped down to sit on the curb. Tears streamed down her face as she began to rock back and forth.

Not knowing what to do, Tricia stared at the others, then reached down to put a hand on Frannie’s shoulder. “Frannie, were you and Jim . . . friends?”

Frannie nodded frantically. “I met him . . . when he became . . . a member of the . . . Chamber,” she managed between gulping breaths. Frannie had been the Chamber of Commerce’s receptionist for ten years before taking the manager’s job at the Cookery.

Tricia exchanged a glance with Angelica. For this kind of reaction, Frannie and Jim had to have been more than just friends, but now was not the time to pry.

One of the paramedics closed the door to the ambulance, ran to the front, and jumped in the passenger side, and the vehicle slowly pulled away from the curb. Captain Baker nodded to the fire chief and made his way to Haven’t Got a Clue.

Russ waved his pen in the air. “Captain Baker—can you give me a statement?”

Frannie’s wails had subsided into gulping sobs. Baker nodded toward her. “Is she okay?” he asked Tricia.

“She was a friend of Jim Roth’s. Is he—?” Tricia was afraid to voice the word.

“They found no other bodies. But Mr. Kelly told us Mr. Roth had gone out back for a cigarette. It appears his cigarette lighter ignited the fumes. There’ll be a full investigation, and they’ll do tests to identify any—” He paused, and Tricia finished the sentence for him

“Human remains?”

Baker cleared his throat. “Whatever they can scrape up,” he said quietly, sending Frannie into another fit of howling.

“How’s Bob?” Angelica asked anxiously.

“Looks like some second-degree burns. He asked me to tell you not to worry. And not to bother to come to the hospital.”

“Like I’m going to hang around my store and twiddle my thumbs,” Angelica said sarcastically. “Of course I’m going to the hospital.” Her tone changed as she looked at Tricia. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

Angelica turned back to the captain. “How could such a terrible accident have happened?”

“Accident?” he repeated. “We don’t know yet if this was an accident.”

“What do you mean? It must have been the new gas lamps,” Tricia said.

Baker frowned, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the still-lit lamps across the way. “This explosion had nothing to do with the gas lamps.”

“Then what happened?”

“I’ll need to speak to Mr. Kelly to find that out.” He glanced back at the building and shook his head. “The damage is pretty severe. They’ll probably have to knock the whole thing down in the next day or so.”

“What about the books?” Tricia asked.

Baker frowned. “What about them?”

“The building might be dicey, but there could be many salvageable books inside.”

“It’s not safe.”

“The firemen are inside,” Tricia pressed. “Can’t some of us—?”

“We can’t allow civilians inside. It’s too dangerous. But I’ll ask Chief Farrar about it. The firefighters often try to salvage property after a fire.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said.

“If you ladies will excuse me. . . .” Baker tipped his hat in their direction, turned, and stepped off the curb.

“We’ve got to save those books,” Tricia murmured.

“What for?” Angelica groused. “Jim’s dead.”

“He must have heirs.”

“Okay, but will they want to take a load of books? Who’s going to store them until an heir can be found?”

“Maybe the booksellers could pitch in,” Mr. Everett said. “Perhaps they could hire a storage unit for a few weeks—just until other arrangements could be made. I’d be glad to make some phone calls,” he volunteered.

Sudden tears filled Tricia’s eyes. “You’re a treasure, Mr. Everett.”

He blushed in embarrassment.

“Tricia, we should follow the ambulance to the hospital,” Angelica insisted.

“What about the Cookery?” Tricia lowered her voice. “Frannie’s obviously in no shape to close the store, and it might be hours before we return.”

Angelica looked torn.

“It’ll take only a few minutes,” Tricia insisted.

“If you’ll trust me with the keys, Angelica, I’ll take care of it. And I’ll make sure Frannie gets home okay,” Ginny said. She had worked at the Cookery before Angelica bought it.

“Thank you so much, Ginny. I’ll make it up to you,” Angelica promised.

“You don’t need to. Now, you grab your purses and go!” Ginny gave Tricia a gentle push.

Angelica didn’t need to be told twice.

It was after eleven when Bob was finally transferred from the emergency room to a semiprivate room in the hospital. By then Angelica had badgered at least seven nurses and three doctors for information on Bob’s condition. “No can do,” was the answer from all, and more than one quoted the HIPA Privacy Rule of 2003. Once a bandage-swathed Bob was in his own room, though, he was free to answer their questions for himself. Only he didn’t.

“I’ll be okay,” he insisted after Angelica had fussed around his bed, adjusting the covers for the fifth time.

“I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Right now I’m comfortable. Although when those pain meds wear off. . . .” He let the sentence trail off, and closed his eyes.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Tricia asked.

“Jim and I were talking. He went out back for a smoke. There was a loud whoosh, and then the next thing I knew, I was lying on the sidewalk outside his shop, surrounded by firemen and a lot of glass,” Bob said, not opening his eyes.

“What were the two of you talking about just before all that happened?” Tricia asked.

“Nothing much,” he said, without inflection. Bob didn’t seem very disturbed by the death of his friend.

“Did you smell gas before the place blew?”

Bob sniffed. “Not with my allergies. Look, I’m really tired. Why don’t you girls go on home? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“But Angelica won’t be here tomorrow,” Tricia said. “She’ll be starting the first leg of her book tour.”

“Of course I won’t,” Angelica declared, and then lowered her voice, placing her hand gently on Bob’s shoulder. “I’m staying right here with Bob until he’s fully recovered.”

He opened his eyes. “No, you’re not. You’ve worked too hard to get all the publicity this tour will give your book. You can’t afford to cancel—especially at this late hour. And I’m speaking literally and figuratively. I will manage.” His tone indicated he was finished with that subject.

“When did the doctor say you could leave, Bob?” Tricia asked.

“Probably tomorrow or the next day. I’ll have to arrange for a ride home. Perhaps a cab.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be glad to take you home whenever you’re released,” Tricia said.

“Yes, and I’ll stop by your place and pack a bag for you,” Angelica said. “You can’t go home wearing a hospital gown, and your clothes are ruined.”

“No,” Tricia agreed solemnly, “Captain Baker would probably arrest you for mooning all of Stoneham.”

Bob made no comment. He lacked a sense of humor at the best of times, and no doubt whatever painkillers they’d given him had also dulled his senses.

“I’ll just leave you two alone to say good night. Ange, I’ll get the car and meet you at the front entrance,” Tricia said, and backed out of the room. “I hope you feel better, Bob.”

He didn’t answer.

Tricia did not like hospitals, and neither did she like traversing a dark parking lot to find her car. But in minutes she’d retrieved her Lexus and pulled around to the hospital’s front entrance to await Angelica. Ten minutes later, she was still waiting. A security guard approached her car. She rolled down the window.

“Didn’t you see the sign?” He jerked a thumb toward a white sign with red lettering: NO PARKING OR STANDING.

“I have to pick up my sister,” Tricia protested.

The guard shook his head. “You can’t tie up the lane in front of the entrance. You’ll have to keep circling until she comes out.”

Tricia exhaled a loud sigh, started the car, and pulled away. She’d circled three times before she saw Angelica waiting on the sidewalk.

Another car stood at the curb. Where was that security guard now? Tricia pulled over, out of the fire lane, stopped her car, and shifted into PARK. As Angelica stepped off the sidewalk to cross the drive, Tricia heard the roar of an engine. She turned to see the high beams of a car come barreling up from behind.

Angelica froze, the car’s bright headlights illuminating her. At the last second, she seemed to come alive and jumped out of the zooming car’s path. Tricia heard the thud as her sister landed on the hood of her Lexus. In seconds, she was out of the car.

“Ange! Are you all right?”

Angelica did not move. Terrified, Tricia reached for her sister’s limp arm, checking for a pulse. It was there—racing.

Angelica groaned, braced her arms on the hood, and pushed herself up. “What was that?”

“A car!”

“I know it was a car,” Angelica growled. She looked around, dazed. “Where’s my purse?”

Her giant handbag had gone sailing into the air just before she’d hit the Lexus. Tricia glanced around, found the leather purse and its contents scattered across the asphalt. She stooped to pick up all the odds and ends. “Are you okay?”

“Bruised only,” Angelica said, gently touching the skin under her left eye.

“We should call the police.”

“What for?”

“Someone just tried to kill you!”

“Don’t be silly. It was probably just a teenager on a joy ride.”

“At a hospital?” Tricia asked, incredulous.

Angelica waved away her concerns. “And anyway, what would we tell the cops? Did you see what kind of car it was—or even the color?”

“No,” Tricia admitted, handing over Angelica’s purse. “But we should at least tell hospital security.”

Angelica reached for the passenger-side door handle. “Forget it. I’m tired. And we’ve still got to stop at Bob’s house so I can pack that bag for him.” She got in the car, buckled her seat belt, and leaned back against the headrest. Tricia got in, and with shaking hands turned the key once more and pulled away from the hospital’s now silent entrance.

Angelica made small talk all the way home, mostly on the subject of her upcoming book tour. Tricia kept glancing up at the rearview mirror, worried those bright headlights might zoom up behind her once again.