Murder On The Half Shelf

SIXTEEN

“I don’t think I heard you right,” Tricia said, feeling a bit betrayed herself. She had thought that Angelica told her everything. “What’s going on?”

“I’m a silent partner in the Sheer Comfort Inn.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? And more importantly, why did you let me think the Comforts owned it?”

“I can’t be a silent partner if I go around blabbing about it, now can I?”

“How much of a stake do you have in the inn and who’s your partner?”

“Partners,” Angelica admitted. “It’s a very long story and I’m freezing. See if Bob has passed by and then we can get in your car and drive away.”

“You can’t avoid him forever,” Tricia said.

“All I care about is avoiding him right now.” She pushed Tricia to the edge of the building.

There was no sign of Bob. “The coast is clear. Let’s move,” Tricia said, and the two women threaded their way through the cars until they came to Tricia’s Lexus. She pushed the button on her key fob and the doors unlocked. Angelica opened the door, stuck her big purse on the floor, and jumped inside. Tricia followed suit, quickly buckling herself in.

“Let’s go!” Angelica urged, and Tricia started the car.

She pulled out of the lot and looked to the left before pulling onto Main Street. Sure enough, Bob Kelly was jogging toward them.

“Get us out of here,” Angelica shouted. Sarge barked his encouragement from the depths of her purse, and Tricia hit the gas. The car leapt out into the street with the wheels spinning.

Tricia looked into her rearview mirror to see Bob standing on the sidewalk, shaking his fist at them.

“I can’t believe what I’ve just done,” Tricia said, gripping the wheel.

“You got me out of a tight spot.”

“But you can’t avoid Bob forever.”

“I may have to enlist your on-and-off boyfriend to play interference for me.”

“Why is Bob so angry, anyway? I’m the one who should be angry. I’m really hurt you didn’t tell me about this.”

“I’m sorry. Actually, I should have asked if you’d like to invest. Don’t you think it would be fun to run an inn?”

“No, I don’t. And I thought you were a silent partner.”

Angelica sighed. “Otherwise they might be pet friendly and I wouldn’t have had to sneak Sarge in on Sunday. And it would’ve been fun if I’d been consulted about the amenities.”

“Did you look at the inn before you purchased it?”

Angelica shook her head. “No, which is why I was so interested to see how it looked on Sunday night.”

“Why is Bob angry?”

“Because he wanted in on the action and was bumped from the deal when I came on board.”

“Why would he be bumped?”

“I kind of made it part of the deal. They were looking for a bigger share of money, and…I came up with it. It’s as simple as that.”

“You still haven’t told me who your partners are.”

“I thought you might get angry.”

“Why would I be angry?”

“Because I’m in cahoots with Nigela Ricita Associates.”

Yes, that would’ve made Tricia angry.

“How did you find out about the deal?”

“Antonio Barbero.” Of course, Ginny’s fiancé. “Apparently NR Associates is stretched thin and cash starved, what with all the other investments they’ve already made in Stoneham. I guess because I already have a store and a café, they decided to ask me if I wanted a share in the business.”

“Did you hire the Comforts to run the inn?”

She shook her head. “Antonio found them networking with Clayton Ellington through the Chamber of Commerce.” Angelica’s voice dropped to a simper. “Are you mad at me?”

“Not mad, just shocked you’d join forces with a firm that you’ve spoken out against in the past. You’re the one who said they were trying to take over the village.”

Angelica shrugged. “They offered me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.”

“And that was?” Tricia prompted.

“The chance to get back at Bob.”

“Because he cheated on you?” This didn’t make sense.

“I trusted him. I trusted him and he was no better than my four scumbag ex-husbands. That bimbo he dallied with couldn’t hold a candle to me. Even you have to admit that,” she challenged.

Angelica was right on that account. “But how did Bob find out about you being co-owner?”

“Real estate transactions are public records,” Angelica explained. “The deed was only amended yesterday. Being in the real estate business, Bob’s got contacts who feed him information.”

“So you knew he’d eventually find out.” She tore her eyes from the road to risk a quick glance at her sister, who looked very smug.

“Umm…maybe.”

“Have you told Grant Baker about this?”

“Why is that relative?”

“Because someone died there on Monday night.”

“Why is that the fault of the owners?”

“Because she was your employee?”

“Oh. I guess you’re right. Okay, I’ll give him a call when I get home. Or maybe tomorrow. Oh dear. I guess we should do something like send flowers or something. When’s the funeral?”

“Harry’s having her ashes tossed on a mountain. That’ll save you on a Teleflora order. Of course, if the law decides to go after Harry, he might need money to mount his legal defense and sue you.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. That’s what lawyers do-sit around and think of ways to sue people.”

Angelica sighed and a pout crossed her lips, erasing her smug expression. “We’d better think of who else might have killed Pippa Comfort.”

“Frannie thinks it was Chauncey Porter.”

“What?”

“That was my reaction, too,” Tricia said, and braked for a red light. “Apparently Pippa was once a Playboy bunny and Chauncey’s hobby is porn.”

“Porn?” Angelica repeated, aghast. “Chauncey Porter is into porn? I would’ve never thought it-he’s always been such a gentleman.”

“You think that’s bad-Grace Harris-Everett’s new receptionist is a former prostitute.”

Angelica’s jaw dropped. “A prostitute-in Stoneham?” She shook her head. “What is this world coming to?”

“Mary Fairchild told me that Chauncey spoke to Pippa when he first arrived at the inn on Sunday night. He told her she looked different out of uniform. I’m assuming he meant her Playboy bunny outfit.”

“Why, that lecherous old fool!” Angelica cried.

“According to Mary, it really upset her. Apparently Pippa thought she’d put those days behind her a long time ago.”

“Was she afraid he’d tell other people about her past? Not that being a bunny is the same as being a stripper or a pole dancer. At least they wear a costume that covers up more than it actually shows.”

“It’s not the kind of news you want potential customers to know-not if you’re trying to convey a sense of wholesome family values.”

“Isn’t the whole idea of going to a romantic inn to have fabulous sex?” Angelica asked.

“Oh, yeah? Then why did you invite me to be your guest at the inn and not Bob?”

Angelica leveled a piercing gaze at Tricia. “You know very well that we have had our ups and downs since last year when he cheated on me. We’re in a down period right now.”

Apparently they’d been in a down period for a full nine months. Bob had to really be a glutton for punishment to hang on this long hoping for a reconciliation.

“But even if Chauncey is into porn, that doesn’t make him a murderer. What possible motive could he have for killing Pippa?” Angelica asked.

“There she was, an object of his desire-”

“Some twenty years later,” Angelica said pointedly.

“Maybe he figured if he couldn’t have her, why should anyone else?”

“That sounds more like Frannie’s reasoning than your own.”

Caught! “I’m just trying to think of all the possible suspects.”

“And the most obvious one is her husband. Or just because you had a relationship with Jon Comfort-”

“Harry Tyler,” Tricia corrected for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“-you don’t want to see him guilty. Am I right, or am I right?”

“Wrong!”

Angelica heaved a dramatic sigh. “Go on. Who else is on your suspect list?”

“What’s wrong with Clayton Ellington? He was one of Pippa’s former lovers. If he recommended her to Antonio, maybe he wanted her to be close at hand.”

“If he went to all that trouble, why would he want to kill her?”

“I haven’t figured out a motive yet.”

“And what if he has none?”

“It seems suspicious to me that he’d call up an old lover after twenty years and say, ‘Hey, I’ve got a line on a job for you. Come live in the same small town as me and my wife.’”

“All the more reason why he wouldn’t kill her. Murdering an ex-lover is not the way to keep your marriage intact.”

“Some people don’t think ahead.”

“You do if you’re a successful businessman.”

“And successful people with money often get rid of problems.”

“How was Pippa a problem?”

“I haven’t-”

“-figured that out yet,” Angelica finished for her. “I’ve already heard that explanation once in this conversation. And why are you still ignoring the fact that her husband might have done it?”

“I’m not ignoring it. I just don’t have any idea why Harry would do it. He said they weren’t close, but if he wanted to leave her, he didn’t have to accompany her here to open the inn.”

“Divorce is expensive,” Angelica pointed out. “I know. I’ve been through four of them.” She waggled her right index finger close to Tricia’s face. “You just don’t want him to be guilty of murder. You still care for him.”

“I do not!” Tricia protested.

“Oh, yes you do. Admit it, things haven’t been going well with you and Chief Baker. Before that, Russ dumped you. And before that, Christopher. But now there’s the possibility that you and Jon Comfort-”

“Harry Tyler!”

“-could get back together again.”

“You’re living in fantasyland.”

Angelica’s eyes blazed, and Tricia figured she had better put an end to the argument before they both said something they’d regret. “This is where I could use a GPS,” Tricia said. “How about telling me where to go?”

“Do you realize the opening you just gave me?” Angelica said with just a touch of malice.

Tricia frowned. “I could let you out here.”

“Turn left at the next light,” Angelica directed with lips pursed.

Except for directions, they rode the rest of the way without speaking, which was okay with Tricia. Even Sarge remained quiet at the bottom of Angelica’s big purse.

After dropping Angelica off at the parking lot, Tricia waited to make sure she and Sarge got into the car and started the engine before she took off. She felt guilty for spending so little time in the store since Linda had started, even though she knew she was in Mr. Everett’s knowledgeable hands. But there was one more stop she wanted to make before she returned to Haven’t Got a Clue.

Tricia stepped on the gas and headed for home, making a stop at a doughnut joint to buy a half a dozen greasy fried cakes. After all, in some respects, cops and journalists weren’t all that different.

Tricia had to summon up some courage to enter the Stoneham Weekly News. She and the paper’s owner, Russ Smith, had had a stormy relationship. They’d started out as adversaries, migrated into lovers, and then had an acrimonious parting. It was only when Russ had started dating Nikki Brimfield that Tricia felt she could again speak to him in a friendly manner. Thanks to past events, she didn’t think she’d ever again feel completely comfortable around him.

Patty Perkins, who seemed to do a little of everything around the paper’s office-from answering phones to writing advertising copy-sat at the reception desk behind a computer, pecking away at her keyboard. She looked up as the buzzer sounded when Tricia opened the door.

“Hey, Tricia. Long time no see.”

Tricia clutched the white bakery bag and braved a smile. “I’ve been busy. How about you?”

“Still employed,” she said, nodding toward the door to Russ’s office. “You wanna see the boss?”

“If he’s in.”

“Russ!” she called. “Tricia’s here to see you.”

Seconds later, Russ shambled into the doorway. His hair always seemed to need a trim, and his glasses were perpetually sliding down his long thin nose. A plaid shirt-in shades of red today-and wrinkled jeans seemed to be his standard uniform. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked Tricia, smiling.

“I just stopped by to say congratulations on your engagement and to bring you a little present to celebrate the event.” She held up the grease-stained bag.

Russ’s head dipped and his cheeks colored in embarrassment. He had to push his glasses back up his nose to keep them from falling off. “Nikki mentioned that she’d told you.”

“It’s wonderful news. You’ve got yourself one fine lady-and all the goodies you can eat, I’ll bet.”

“That turned out to be quite the unexpected perk,” he admitted, and his eyes slid over to the counter that stood against the wall, housing a coffeemaker and a plate of Nikki’s thumbprint jam cookies. “I’ll probably have to start going to the gym in Milford if she keeps feeding me like she has. Cakes, cookies, breads.” He patted his stomach, which was straining against his belt more than it had when the two of them had been a couple. But then Tricia had rarely-if ever-cooked for him. Still, she knew Russ’s preferences for bad fast food would not be usurped by Nikki’s decadent desserts.

“Come on in and sit down,” he said, ushering her into his office. “Can I take your jacket?” Russ glanced at the coat rack that stood in the corner and held his own bomber jacket.

“I can’t stay long,” Tricia said, then handed him the bag of fried cakes and took one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have you made any headway on a venue for the wedding reception?”

Russ took the faux leather chair behind his desk, opened the bag, and took out one of the doughnuts. “Not yet. We’re not in any great hurry.”

No, she doubted he was. Especially if Nikki was going to move in with him ahead of the ceremony. But she wasn’t going to mention that. His commitment difficulties with her were ancient news. She really did want to see the two of them happy. She got a glimpse of pure bliss when he bit into the doughnut, betting he hadn’t had anything as common as a fried cake in months.

“I get the feeling your good wishes aren’t the only reason for your visit,” he said, and brushed a stray crumb from his mouth. “Whenever a crime happens in Stoneham, you’ll always find a way to be involved.”

“Just the luck of the draw that I always seem to be present when someone is killed around here.”

“Maybe you are the village jinx,” he said, and seemed to enjoy it when she winced at the phrase. “And now you’ve come to me to see what I know about the investigation. What’s the matter, your cop boyfriend won’t talk to you about it?”

“That’s exactly it. Because I knew Pippa Comfort’s husband some twenty years ago, he seems to think that makes me a viable suspect. He thinks there might be some kind of conflict of interest if we see or talk to each other in the interim.”

He laughed. “I’ll bet that didn’t go over well with you.”

“You got that right. Still, I’m rather surprised you haven’t come to see me to pump me for information about Harry Tyler’s resurrection.”

Russ shrugged, took another bite of doughnut, chewed, and swallowed. “I edit a piddly weekly rag. It’s not a blip on anybody’s radar.”

Tricia scrutinized his smug face, and understanding dawned. “You’ve already spoken to Harry Tyler, otherwise you would’ve been over to see me pretty darn quick.”

He took another bite, swallowed, and grinned. “You got it.”

“Did he give you an exclusive?”

Russ shook his head. “Not exactly. But I brokered a deal for him for a cut of the money.”

She should’ve seen that coming. “Who did you sell the story to?”

“People magazine.”

It figured. She had nothing to trade and had wasted four dollars and change for the fried cakes. He wasn’t likely to give her any information now.

“I can read your mind,” he said in a low voice. “I always could.”

“I don’t think so.”

He gave another slight shrug. “Okay, I could read your mind maybe seventy-five percent of the time, then.”

That was a definite possibility.

“So, who are your suspects in Pippa Comfort’s death?” he asked, and wiped the sides of his mouth with his thumb and index finger.

“Harry Tyler, of course. He’s bound to get the most scrutiny, too.”

“With you coming in second?”

Tricia hated to acknowledge it, but he was probably right, too.

“Chauncey Porter and Pippa had words not long before her death,” she said, to divert him from that subject. Russ straightened ever so slightly, his eyes widening in real interest. Aha! He hadn’t heard that nugget of information. “Did you know that years ago Pippa was a Playboy bunny?”

“I did hear that in passing,” he admitted.

“Chauncey recognized her as soon as he laid eyes on her. It seems he has quite a Playboy magazine collection.” Okay, that was a guess. If he was into porn he probably started off with Playboy and worked his way to the harder stuff. “He made a flip remark about Pippa’s change of uniform and she gave him a thorough dressing-down.”

“And you witnessed it?”

Tricia shook her head. “Mary Fairchild did.” She could almost see him make a mental note to call Mary the minute Tricia left his office. And he’d probably take a walk down the street to visit Chauncey at his store, the Armchair Tourist.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

“They say Clayton Ellington suggested Pippa take the job as manager of the inn. Was he doing a favor for an old friend, or did he have other motivations?”

“More than one?” Russ asked.

It was Tricia’s turn to shrug. “And other people visited the inn the day Pippa died.”

“Besides you and Angelica?”

“Amy Schram from Milford Nursery and Flowers, for one. There may have been other deliveries that day, too.”

Russ shook his head. “I might believe that if the murder happened on Saturday. But on a Sunday? I don’t think so.”

“I’ve told you my suspects; who’s on your list?”

“What makes you think I have a list?”

“Russ, you always have a list.”

A sly smile crept onto his lips. “I do.”

“And?” she prompted.

“People deal or no, Tyler’s the most likely suspect. As far as I know, he hasn’t got a firm alibi for when his wife was murdered, and he didn’t return home for an hour or more after the cops showed up.”

“I know. I was there.” It did look bad for Harry, but somehow…Tricia couldn’t believe he’d kill his wife. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe Harry was capable of killing her-or anyone. But how trustworthy was a man who faked his death and walked away from his family and friends-and his life-because he was under stress? Were Harry and Pippa stressed simply because of the challenges inherent in opening a new business-even if it didn’t belong to them?

Russ ducked his head and waved a hand in front of Tricia. “Hey, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you plan on talking to anyone else about the murder?”

Russ shrugged. “Probably not. It’s a pretty boring case.”

“A former Playmate of the Month being bludgeoned to death is boring?” What did a victim have to do or be to warrant a little interest from the media these days?

“She wasn’t a Playmate,” Russ went on. “She was a Playboy bunny and was featured in a story about the New York club. The pictures weren’t the least bit provocative.”

“Then you’ve seen them?”

He sheepishly nodded. “They came up on a Google search.”

If the pictures weren’t memorable, why had Chauncey remembered them after so many years?

Russ reached for the bakery bag, rolled the top down, and stowed it in his desk drawer, leaving no obvious evidence of her visit.

“Harry Tyler’s new in town. How could he know to come to you with his story?” Tricia asked.

“I may have given him a call,” Russ admitted.

“And you just happen to have an in with People magazine?”

“I wasn’t always just some hack at a weekly rag, you know. I’ve got contacts-big contacts.”

“So you’ve said,” Tricia said, unimpressed.

That was the thing. Russ had always had an ego that seemed to eclipse his journalistic talent. What had she ever seen in the man? But then she had a talent for choosing the wrong guy. There were plenty of wonderful men in the world who made great lovers, great husbands, and great dads. Why did she attract men who were just the opposite?

She stood. “Thanks for your time, Russ. I wish you and Nikki all the happiness in the world.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the great fried cakes, too. And I’m sorry, old girl, you just weren’t the one.” His smile was crooked.

Old girl?

Somehow Tricia held on to her temper. “Good-bye, Russ.”

She turned and left his office-and hoped she’d never have to speak to him again.