Sentenced to Death

Nineteen

Tricia and sleepless nights were getting to be a common pair since she’d moved to Stoneham. Was it the fact that she’d experienced more death in thirty-six months than she had in more than thirty- six years, or was it just the fact no one shared her bed anymore?

There’s more to life than just sex, she reminded herself, but early that morning she couldn’t think of what it might be.

Four miles on the treadmill seemed like forty, so there was no way she’d make up for the missing miles from days before. It took two cups of coffee to perk her up before she and Miss Marple headed down the stairs to start their day at Haven’t Got a Clue. When she’d heard the car roaring down the road that had hit Elizabeth Crane, she’d bolted from the store without doing her end-of-day tasks. And when she’d returned after midnight, she’d been too tired to tackle them. She still felt tired, but forced herself to haul out the Hoover and start to vacuum the carpet.

The phone rang. Since the store wasn’t due to open for half an hour, Tricia thought about letting it go to voice mail, but on the fourth ring, she shut down the vacuum cleaner and grabbed the receiver—much to Miss Marple’s relief. “Haven’t Got a—”

“Oh, Tricia, we’ve been robbed—we’ve been robbed,” Ginny sobbed.

For a moment Tricia couldn’t understand why Ginny was so upset. A quick look around Haven’t Got a Clue told her that everything was still in place as it had been the night before. Even the till, with its meager offerings, was intact. And then she remembered that Ginny no longer worked for her and in fact now managed her own store.

“What’s missing?” Tricia asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know the stock well enough yet to tell. But there’s busted glass all over the floor. And there’s a huge mess in the back room.”

And everything had been in perfect order the night before.

“What about the alarm, did you set it last night before we left?”

“Elizabeth didn’t give us the code, and the security company hasn’t gotten back to us yet. Oh crap—I don’t even know if the insurance will cover this. Antonio is in charge of all that.”

“Did you call him?”

“His voice mail kicked in. He must be at a meeting.”

“Did you call the Sheriff’s Department?”

“I couldn’t think what else to do, so I called you.”

“Hang up. Call 9-1-1, and I’ll be right over.”

“Oh, thank you, Tricia.” The line went dead and Tricia replaced the receiver in its cradle, her hands shaking. She couldn’t remember any of the stores along Main Street being robbed—at least since the murder at the Cookery two years before. And even then, only one item had been taken—and there’d been no wholesale destruction. Poor Ginny having to face this on day two of her new job.

Grabbing her keys, Tricia locked the store and once again crossed the road for the Happy Domestic.

The shop door was ajar, and Tricia pushed it open with her elbow. She wasn’t about to put her fingerprints in the mix—she knew enough about crime scene investigations to avoid that. As Ginny had said, the carpeted floor was covered with broken glass from several smashed display cases. The remnants of porcelain figurines and delicate Waterford crystal glassware lay among the overturned card carousel. Books had been pulled from the shelves, their dustcovers ripped to shreds.

Whoever was responsible had been mighty angry.

And who had been furious the evening before?

Elizabeth Crane.

With her cell phone still in hand, Ginny came out from the back room, her face twisted into a grimace and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Tricia,” she wailed, and rushed for her, throwing her arms around her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tricia soothed, patting Ginny’s back. And it would be okay. The person who’d made the mess had taken his—or her—aggression out on inanimate objects, not the new owner—or manager—of the store.

A tinny voice came from Ginny’s cell phone. “Miss, Miss—”

Tricia pulled back. “Pull yourself together, and talk to the dispatcher,” she said firmly but with kindness. “We’ll make this right. I promise.”

Ginny nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She raised the phone back to her ear. “I’m here,” she said, her voice sounding stronger.

Tricia heard the sound of a siren, and looked out the store’s display window to see a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pull up outside. The driver’s door flew open and Deputy Placer leapt from the car. “You reported a robbery?” he asked Tricia.

“The store’s manager did,” she said, indicating Ginny with a nod of her head. “It must have happened sometime last night—after midnight.”

Placer frowned. Tricia could almost read his thoughts. No action here!

Through the window, she saw Boris and Alexa Kozlov standing on the pavement. They were soon joined with other rubberneckers who’d come to see what was happening.

“You don’t belong here,” Placer said to Tricia.

“Ginny—Miss Wilson—called me when she discovered the mess.”

“Why don’t you wait outside while I talk to her,” Placer said.

Tricia frowned. Despite their many encounters, she and the deputy had never become buddies, and apparently never would, either. “I’ll do that. Ginny, I’ll be outside.”

Ginny sniffed and nodded.

“What happened?” Alexa asked as Tricia stepped over the threshold.

“Last night, someone broke into the Happy Domestic and did a lot of damage.”

“Hmm,” Boris grumbled, and turned away, heading back for the Coffee Bean. For an instant Tricia wondered if he could’ve been responsible for the mess inside the store, but then she instantly dismissed the idea. Boris had been angry with Deborah and Elizabeth—not the new owner of the store. But then, did he know the store had already changed hands and was now owned by Nigela Racita Associates?

Tricia shook the thought away. She was letting her imagination run wild. Much as she hated to admit it, there was someone else with a much better motivation to ransack the store, and for some reason—maybe a misplaced sense of loyalty—she refused to consider it.

Whoever had vandalized the Happy Domestic had a score to settle. And, unfortunately, there was more than one possible suspect. The problem was, which one did it?

Time did not fly when there were few suspects to consider for the robbery at the Happy Domestic, and no sales at Haven’t Got a Clue, either. Tricia had sent Mr. Everett across the street to help Ginny with the cleanup and, more important, for moral support. It pleased her that the two had such a good rapport. Of course, the Sheriff’s Department investigators probably weren’t letting him do much of anything yet, but she knew Ginny would appreciate his being there.

Sheriff’s Department patrol cars lined the street, and did nothing to improve the morning’s sales. Tricia hoped they’d clear off before the expected busload of tourists arrived at one thirty.

“Yow!” Miss Marple announced, startling Tricia from her reverie.

“Yes, it sure is lonely here without Ginny and Mr. Everett. We’ll have to do something about that pretty soon. But if Elaine Capshaw turns down my job offer, I will not hire Cheryl Griffin,” she reaffirmed. “You and I will run the store alone rather than put up with her and her threats of alien invasions.”

Miss Marple almost seemed to nod before she set to licking her paw and rubbing her ear, the beginning of yet another prolonged bathing session.

Tricia sighed and closed the store’s copy of Marjorie Allingham’s Death of a Ghost. Even reading didn’t appeal to her right now—she had too much on her mind.

Her attention turned back to the window, just as a uniformed officer stepped out of the Happy Domestic and looked in Haven’t Got a Clue’s direction. Why, it was none other than Captain Baker, whom she hadn’t spoken to in five days. He looked to the right and left for traffic, and then jaywalked across the street, heading her way.

“Looks like we’re about to get some company,” Tricia told Miss Marple, who did not acknowledge the remark but began to lick her stomach.

Out on the sidewalk, Captain Baker removed his high-crowned hat before entering. Tricia wondered if he would grow his hair longer once he left the Sheriff’s Department. It would better suit him than the buzz cut he now wore, she decided.

The shop door opened and Baker entered. “Hello,” he called, looking around the store, apparently not seeing her standing behind the register.

“Over here,” she called.

His head whipped around and he blushed, and then stepped over to the cash desk. “Slow day?” he asked, and nodded toward the lack of customers in the store.

“It won’t be in another hour or so. No offense, but I hope you and your men will be long gone before the next tour bus arrives.”

“They’re finishing up now. Do you have any ideas on who might have broken into the Happy Domestic?”

“Ideas but not a shred of evidence.”

“How about the former manager?” he asked.

“Deborah’s dead. You mean her mother, Elizabeth Crane?” Baker nodded. “She was angry last night when she came to pick up her grandson at the Happy Domestic, but I can’t imagine she’d actually break in and do that kind of damage. Her daughter loved that store and everything in it.”

“And it was sold out from under Mrs. Crane by her sonin-law,” he pointed out.

“I agree David could’ve waited a decent amount of time before doing that. I guess he needed the money for something. But I suspect he’s got an alibi with at least one of the women he’s currently bedding.”

“Is that a touch of anger I hear in your voice?”

Tricia sighed. “This whole situation becomes more tangled every day.” Baker seemed to be waiting for her to say more on the subject. Instead she asked, “When will you talk to Elizabeth?”

“As soon as we track her down. She wasn’t at the number Ginny gave me. I’ll drive by her house. If she’s not there, I’ll have one of my men stake out her home and wait for her to return.”

Tricia nodded. “You did know someone tried to run her down last evening.”

“Yes, Deputy Placer informed me. Did you see what happened?”

Tricia shook her head. “I found Elizabeth lying on the sidewalk, and the car speeding away.”

He nodded.

There didn’t seem to be much more to say on the subject.

Baker cleared his throat. “Uh, have you given any thought to our discussion the other night?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” Tricia said. That was putting it mildly. It was among the many topics that had kept her awake these last few nights. “I still think it’s unfair of you. You want all the perks of a loving relationship without the commitment.”

“That’s not what I proposed,” he said, sounding hurt.

Tricia forced a laugh. “No, you made it quite clear that a proposal was never going to be part of the deal.”

Baker frowned. “What are you talking about? I thought we could be friends—hang out together. Have some fun.”

“Yeah, and then you’d leave.”

“I never said I’d definitely be leaving, just that it was a possibility.”

“Has that changed?” Tricia asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve been offered a job here in southern New Hampshire. I’ll probably relocate, but I anticipate moving closer to you—not farther away.”

Tricia blinked in surprise. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

“And what was your answer?” she asked.

Baker straightened. “I accepted the job. I’ll be sworn in on January first.”

“That’s four months away.”

“I’m committed to the Sheriff’s Department until December thirty-first, and there are other obstacles that have to be cleared before the job becomes available. Plus it gives me time to put my house up for sale and find somewhere else to live. It ends up being perfect timing for me.”

“What does this mean for us?” she asked.

“I was hoping you’d sound a little more enthusiastic about my new situation.”

Tricia sighed. “I’d be willing to work at that.”

Baker smiled. She liked the way his eyes lit up when that happened. “I should have a lot more free time in my next position.”

“Weekends off?” Tricia asked.

“That depends on how many officers they hire to keep the peace.”

“Will you have a say in that?”

Baker moved closer—much, much closer. “I sure hope so.”

Tricia smiled and Baker jerked forward, planting a tentative kiss on her lips. He pulled back, as though to gauge her reaction.

She smiled. “I’d thought about not replacing Ginny. But now . . . I might need to delegate authority here at Haven’t Got a Clue . . . if I’m going to be spending more time off, too.”

“Yow!” Miss Marple seconded, and the two of them laughed.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful plan. Would you be willing to help me find a place to live—somewhere between here and Nashua?”

“House hunting,” Tricia repeated, warming to the idea.

Baker nodded.

“Sounds like fun.”

He edged closer again. “Mandy took most of our furniture. Maybe you could help me pick out some new stuff.”

Tricia could feel the heat of his body. She leaned in closer for another kiss, and the door rattled, startling her so she jumped back. A couple of women entered the store and Baker settled his hat back on his head. He cleared his throat.

“And just remember, Ms. Miles—safety first.”

Tricia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“I’ll call you later,” Baker whispered, did a smart about-face, and headed for the door.

Tricia couldn’t help but smile, her gaze lingering on the door long after he’d left.

The much-anticipated tourist bus arrived, and all too soon departed. Tricia barely had time to wait on the ten or so customers who’d patronized her store before the bus was outside, its driver hammering on the horn to get them moving. By the time the crowd had dispersed, it was well after three o’clock.

Tricia was tidying the cash desk when Mr. Everett returned. His moustache was beginning to fill in, even though he’d only been growing it a few days. Sadly, it would never rival the magnificent Magnum moustache, but she supposed he could dream.

“Ginny has sent me over to relieve you for a lunch break.”

“Thank you, Mr. Everett. Everything cleaned up over there now?”

He nodded. “Mr. Barbero arrived and had Ginny order more display shelving. It should arrive by tomorrow morning. She’ll also be getting some new stock shipped overnight. By tomorrow, no one should be able to tell the place was ransacked.”

“I’m so glad. It was a terrible thing to happen Ginny’s second day on the job.”

“Yes, but she’s handling it well. I think she’ll be a grand success.” He beamed with grandfatherly pride. “But now, it’s time you were off for your lunch. I’ll just go get my apron,” he said, and tottered off to the back of the store.

By the time he returned, Tricia had gathered her purse and petted Miss Marple good-bye. With a wave of her hand, she was out the door. As she waited for traffic to abate, she noticed Ray’s roach coach was parked outside the village square. Something different about the truck captured her attention. The chrome doors were just as shiny as ever, but now the back of the truck bore colorful vinyl graphics proclaiming EAT LUNCH and, under that, the words A DIVISION OF NIGELA RICITA ASSOCIATES. Was there no business in the village that Antonio and his employer wouldn’t soon have their fingers in?

Tricia crossed the street in a hurry.

“Hello,” Tricia said as she approached Ray, who was polishing the chrome with a tattered bit of rag.

“Hi,” he said, barely looking up from his work.

Tricia studied the items on display. Gone was the Lucite box that held wrapped sandwiches. Instead, a small grill took its place. Alongside it were condiments, as well as containers filled with chopped onions, peppers, lettuce, tomatoes, and packages of wrapped cheese slices. The menu was now distinctly different, too. Burgers, hot dogs, Italian sausage, chips, and sodas.

“Uh . . . how much are the burgers?” Tricia asked.

Ray pointed to a sign to her left.

“I’ll have one with lettuce, tomato, and mayo.”

“Ketchup?” he offered.

“Of course.”

“Coming right up, made to order,” Ray announced, and abandoned his polishing. He donned a pair of plastic gloves and went to work on the grill, which already had a couple of burgers waiting in the wings. “Would you like a soda with that?”

“I’ll have a bottle of ice tea and one of those big chocolate chip cookies.” Tricia figured the more she bought, the more he might be willing to talk to her. Ray handed her the tea and cookie. She gave him a ten-dollar bill and waited as he made change.

“I see something new has been added to your truck,” Tricia said, indicating the new graphics.

“Yup, I’ve been bought out,” he said, but his words held pride, not shame.

“Had you been trying to sell the business?”

“Oh, no. I got a call from some Italian guy asking me if I’d be willing to talk. What he said made a lot of sense.”

“What did he say?”

“That I would do better not to compete with the diners in the village. So I upgraded. Got the grill. He was right. Burgers and dogs sell much better than sandwiches.”

“So now you work for them?”

“Yeah, and they’re paying me really well to do it, too.”

“Are you on salary?” she asked.

He nodded. “For the first time in twenty years. I’ll tell you, lady, it’s been tough these past couple of years, what with the economy and all. But now I have a five-year contract. If I decide to retire by then, well and good. Or maybe I’ll hang around for another five years. Who knows? Either way, this has been great for me.”

Yes, it certainly had.

The burger was done at last, and he wrapped it in paper and put it in a sack before handing it to her. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Nice talking to you,” Tricia said, and headed back down the street to Booked for Lunch. Angelica wasn’t likely to be happy, but the money she’d spent was well worth the information she’d received. Now, what was she going to do with it?

Tricia pushed open the door café’s door to find Angelica at the counter, her manuscript pages one again spread out before her. She looked up. “There you are. I was beginning to worry. What with Ginny being robbed and all, Stoneham is turning into crime central.”

“You got that right. But she’s okay, and Antonio authorized her to buy whatever she needs to get the store up and running again.”

“What a guy,” Angelica said, and then focused in on the bag in one of Tricia’s hands, and the bottle of ice tea in the other. “What are you doing bringing food you purchased elsewhere into my café?” she demanded. “And for a third day in a row.”

“I wanted to find out the dirt on Ray’s roach coach,” Tricia said, taking a seat at the counter.

“Dirt?” Angelica said, suddenly sounding interested.

“Ray has sold out.”

“To whom?”

“Who else? Nigela Racita Associates.”

“What?” Angelica cried.

“My sentiments exactly.” Tricia unwrapped the burger and took a bite. Not bad. She unscrewed the cap on her ice tea. “He’s got a five-year contract.”

Angelica frowned. “Okay, let’s do a recap,” she said, and counted off her points on the fingers of her left hand. “One, this Nigela Racita outfit bought the lot two doors down from me. Two, they’ve heavily invested in the Brookside Inn. Three, they’ve taken over the Happy Domestic. And now they’ve taken over Ray’s roach coach. There can’t possibly be any other businesses on the selling block . . . or can there?”

Tricia shrugged and took another bite of her burger. It was pretty tasty!

“Since we were at the Happy Domestic with Ginny, I missed the Board of Selectmen’s meeting. Apparently Nigela Racita Associates was the talk of the town,” Angelica said. “Mary Fairchild from over at By Hook or By Book ordered lunch delivered this afternoon—so naturally I took it over. She attended the meeting and was willing to tell all. She’s worried this foreign outfit is going to take over the entire village. And she’s not the only one, either.”

“I don’t blame her. It seems like the person behind that company is absolutely ruthless,” Tricia said, and wiped ketchup from the corner of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” Angelica asked.

“Swooping in to snatch up the Happy Domestic within hours of Deborah’s death. Locking out Elizabeth. Grabbing my best employee.”

Angelica nodded thoughtfully. “That does sound pretty ruthless,” she agreed. “I hope they don’t come after me and mine—and that includes you.”

“Haven’t Got a Clue is not for sale—at any price,” Tricia added, and took a sip of her ice tea.

“Likewise the Cookery and Booked for Lunch,” Angelica piped up. “Still, I hear Ginny’s boyfriend looked really sharp when he unveiled the plans for the empty lot.”

“Oh?”

Angelica nodded. “Mary said he looked up old photos of Stoneham at the library and found there used to be a fire station here on Main Street. They’re going to build the façade to look like the old station. I guess someone asked if they were going to put the fire pole in and he said yes! Doesn’t that sound cool?”

“What are they going to use the space for?”

“On the bottom floor, a bar,” Angelica said and squealed with delight.

“Here? In Stoneham?” Tricia asked, aghast.

Angelica nodded. “And what’s wrong with that? At present, you either have to drink alone or risk a DUI arrest. And it’ll be an upscale bar, maybe serve tapas. In keeping with the whole book-town theme, it’ll be called the Dogeared Page. The plan is to keep people in the village after the bookstores close for the evening.”

“I’m all for that—if it works.”

“Why shouldn’t it work?” Angelica asked.

“There’s nothing else for them to do. No theater, no movie house, and the only fine dining around here is the Brookside Inn, which isn’t exactly within walking distance. What will the other two floors be used for?”

“Office space for Nigela Racita Associates.”

“Will the big cheese herself show up, or will Antonio occupy it?”

“Mary didn’t say.”

“Did anything else happen at the meeting?” Tricia asked.

“The Board of Selectmen have retained a lawyer from Boston at three hundred and fifty dollars an hour, anticipating a wrongful death suit from Deborah’s estate.”

“That seems a reasonable precaution.”

“Bob called. He’s in an absolute tizzy. And since it might be years before the estate has to make a claim, he and the village could be living with the threat hanging over them for a long time.”

“The way David Black sold the Happy Domestic mere hours after Deborah’s death convinces me he isn’t likely to wait before he files suit.”

Angelica sighed. “What’s with that guy juggling two women with his wife barely cold in the ground?”

“Far from cold. Remember, he had her cremated.”

Angelica ignored that piece of information. “You know, I’ll bet if we tried, we could squeeze more information out of Michele Fowler. Why don’t we invite her for drinks?”

“Where?”

“Well, if the new tapas bar was open we could invite her here, but the timeline calls for it to open next summer. We’ll have to go to Portsmouth. Have you got anything planned for this evening?”

Tricia pushed the last of her burger aside. “No.” She frowned. “Something you said the other day has stuck with me.”

“Darling Trish, everything I say should stick with you, but what pearls of wisdom are you referring to?”

“When you asked if selling books was to be my only future.”

“And now it isn’t?”

“Not necessarily. But I guess when I saw myself in the future, it wasn’t alone. And yet—”

“The pickings ain’t that good here in Stoneham,” Angelica supplied.

“Exactly. Although . . . I spoke with Grant Baker this morning. He’s going to be retiring from the Sheriff’s Department at the end of December and taking a new job near here. He wants me to help him look for a house—maybe furnish it, too.”

“That sounds promising.”

“Maybe,” Tricia said, and drained the bottle of ice tea.

Angelica gathered up her pages. “You don’t have to stay in Stoneham. You could close shop here and reopen in Boston or New York.”

Tricia shook her head. “I like it here. It’s just that I would like it better if I were with someone. I mean, permanently.”

“Well, if you don’t want to wait for Captain Baker, there’s always Internet dating,” Angelica suggested.

Tricia glowered at her. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in him.”

Angelica’s grin was positively evil. “Maybe we should talk to Antonio and suggest Nigela Ricita Associates start a dating firm.” The grin faded. “Heaven knows, I might be their first customer.”

“Things still not right between you and Bob?”

“How can they be? He cheated on me,” she said, the hurt evident in her voice. “I’m afraid all we can be now is friends. And how much can I trust a friend who’s already lied to me?” She exhaled sharply. “Back to Ms. Fowler. Are you interested?”

Tricia shrugged. “Why not?”

“Right. I’ll give her a call and set it up. What time? Eight okay for you?”

“Fine.” Tricia got up and deposited her trash in the bin behind the counter.

“I have a feeling that what we learn tonight is going to radically change a certain someone’s life—and not for the better,” Angelica said, with hint of smugness.

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?” Tricia asked, giving her sister a suspicious look.

“Who, little me?” Angelica said. “You know I always share all.” Her evil grin was back again. “Well, almost all.”

Tricia grabbed her purse. “I’ll see you later.”

“Tootles!” Angelica called.

As Tricia made her way back to Haven’t Got a Clue, she thought about what Angelica had said. There was no way whatever she learned tonight would change anyone’s life. Still, a shiver ran down her neck, and she wished Angelica hadn’t decided to start making prophecies—especially negative ones.

In Tricia’s experience, they had a tendency to come true.