Bookplate Special: A Booktown Mystery Part 16

"Did you find out what you needed to know?" Brian asked.

"Joe told me that Pammy started coming to these little jaunts at Pete's invitation. Of course he told me this after Pete and Lisa left."

"Was it Pete?" Brian asked. "I thought it was Joe." He shrugged. "Guess I'm wrong."

A number of cars whizzed by in the opposite direction.

Tricia frowned. "Is there some way I can get hold of Pete? I'd like to talk to him--without Lisa being around. I think she took a dislike to me."

"She'd dislike anybody who was Pammy's friend," Ginny said.

"Why?"

"That woman was a terrible flirt. Just like Eugenia," Ginny grated.

Pammy had never given Tricia that impression. Or maybe it was just perceived that a woman alone was man-hungry.

"Do you have a number where I could reach Pete?"

"Sure," Brian said. "But you can look it up yourself. He works at the convenience store in Stoneham."

No wonder Pete had looked familiar--he'd probably waited on Tricia more than once. Had he found Pammy digging in that store's Dumpster? "I a.s.sume he works the day s.h.i.+ft?"

"He works whenever he feels like it. His father owns the store."

Tricia felt the SUV accelerate.

"Why are you going so fast?" Ginny asked.

"There's a car speeding up behind me."

"So, let him go past," Ginny said.

Tricia looked behind her.

Brian pulled the car closer to the side of the road, but the car didn't go around them. Instead, it rode mere feet from the back b.u.mper.

"What's this guy playing at?" Brian asked nervously.

"We've got an SUV--outrun him!" Ginny cried.

Brian steered back onto the road and gunned the engine. The SUV took off like a Formula One car, leaving the smaller car to eat its dust, until it was a couple of pinp.r.i.c.ks of light on the darkened road.

"Yee-ha!" Brian called.

Suddenly another set of lights pulled onto the highway. Not just headlights, but blue flas.h.i.+ng lights.

"Oh, no," Brian groaned as he braked the SUV. "Here comes a ticket. And a couple of points on my license."

He pulled over to the side of the road and hit the b.u.t.ton on his armrest. The driver's-side window slid down, and he dug for his wallet so he could fish out his license. The Sheriff's Department cruiser pulled up behind them, its lights eerily piercing the surrounding landscape.

Another car whooshed past them, and Tricia could've sworn she heard someone yell from its window, "Suckers!"

TWELVE.

Tricia let herself into the Cookery, then trailed through the darkened interior to the back of the store and the stairway that led to Angelica's loft apartment. Then she thought better of just appearing on her sister's doorstep--or threshold, or whatever you wanted to call it.

She reached into her pocket and withdrew her cell phone. She pushed the b.u.t.ton that autodialed Angelica's number. It was answered on the first ring.

"Trish? Where are you?"

"Inside the Cookery. I wanted to let you know I'm on my way up. That is, if it's convenient." She hadn't seen Bob's car parked outside, but she didn't want to interrupt a romantic interlude--should one be going on.

"Sure, come on up," Angelica said cheerfully. "Are you hungry? I was just going to make some cocoa and cinnamon toast."

"Cinnamon toast?" Tricia repeated, brightening. "I haven't had that since I was a kid."

"Then you're in for a treat. I'll put another two slices of bread in the toaster. Hurry on up."

Angelica had unlocked the door, which was open for Tricia. She could already smell the heavenly aroma of the ultimate comfort food as she entered the hallway and followed it to Angelica's kitchen.

"Sit down," Angelica encouraged. She was clad in a pink robe and matching bunny slippers, with her hair hanging in damp ringlets around her shoulders. She'd been letting it grow out. Tricia wasn't sure that was a good idea, since Angelica looked great in short hair, but it did suit her when she wore it up, dressed in her vintage togs while working at the cafe.

Tricia peeled off her jacket and settled at the dining room table just as Angelica thrust a mug of cocoa at her. She could smell the nutmeg Angelica had no doubt just grated on the top. She took a sip, savoring the taste. Before she could swallow, Angelica settled a plate of cinnamon toast in front of her.

"Hey, you made this for yourself. I can wait for the new toast to pop up."

"Don't be silly. Eat. You're too skinny."

"Hey, I work at it."

"You may as well enjoy yourself. Life is too short to deny yourself anything. Particularly diamonds."

"Diamonds. Where did that come from?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about Mr. Everett and Grace. I think I'm going through marriage withdrawal," she said, and glanced at the ringless fourth finger on her left hand. "I have to figure out what to give them for a wedding gift. What are you giving them?"

"I haven't decided yet, either."

Angelica leaned aginst the island counter and took a sip of her cocoa. "What do you give the elderly bride and groom? A members.h.i.+p in AARP?"

"I'm sure one or both of them already has that."

"Do you think Grace is registered anywhere?"

"No. I'm sure they don't want or need anything."

"Maybe I could make some of the food. I've never made a wedding cake before."

"And when would you have time to do that?"

Angelica shook her head. "I'd make the time. Now, weren't you going out with those freegan heathens or something tonight? Tell me all about it."

"Yup," Tricia said, and took a sip of her cocoa. This was no ordinary hot chocolate. Besides the nutmeg, something else had to have been added. It tasted too rich, too thick, and . . . extremely fattening. And for once, she wasn't going to worry about it.

"I did go along with Ginny and her friends. So far, they haven't convinced me to bypa.s.s the grocery store checkout. I prefer to buy the food I eat, thank you. But I was surprised that some of the stuff they found didn't look all that bad."

Angelica wrinkled her nose. "Did they smell?"

"The Dumpsters? Not too bad. The chilly temperatures keep the odor down, but I wouldn't want to do this on a hot summer night. And I didn't see any rats, which was really good, because I'm sure I would've freaked out." She gazed at the little bubbles on the sides of her mug. "I feel so bad that Ginny and Brian feel they have to do this to keep their expenses down. That house they bought really turned into a money pit."

"I am so thankful I didn't end up with it. I think I've made the right decisions since I came to Stoneham, what with renting the storefront and then living above it. My accountant is pleased, at any rate."

"It's certainly been a financial drain for them. And added to that, Brian got a speeding ticket on the way home."

"What was he speeding for?"

"Somebody was fooling with us. Brian speeded up, and the next thing you know--"

"Been there, done that!" Angelica said.

"Sometimes I do feel like the village jinx." Tricia sighed. "I told Brian I'd pay for the ticket, but that won't help him if his car insurance goes up. I wish I could help them more."

Angelica frowned. "Tricia, will you stop feeling guilty? You've already done too much for Ginny. You pay her well above minimum wage; you pay for her health insurance; and you give her bonuses at the drop of a hat. What next? Are you going to adopt her?"

"Don't be absurd."

"Well, really," Angelica said, scowling. "Tricia, you are just too nice for your own good."

"Ginny has been an exceptional employee. She didn't know the mystery genre when I hired her, but she's done enough reading and research to--"

"Fake it!"

Tricia exhaled a long breath. "Possibly. But the fact remains, she's an a.s.set to me. When you were having employee problems at the Cookery, you wanted to steal her from me."

"Where did you get that idea?" Angelica asked, offended.

"Ginny told me."

Angelica let out several short breaths, as though she didn't know what to say. "She must have misinterpreted our conversation."

"What part of 'I'll give you a dollar more an hour than Tricia is paying you' did she misunderstand?"

Angelica opened her mouth to answer--apparently thought better of it--and shut it again. Her scowl deepened. "She wasn't supposed to tell you."

"Sorry, but she felt no loyalty to you."

"And I paid her for a week's work," Angelica groused.

"Which she more than earned. You know your profits rose that week."

"Maybe," Angelica grudgingly agreed. "Nevertheless, your profits would be higher if you didn't share the wealth so generously with your employees. You're not running a charity, you know."

Tricia's accountant had voiced the same opinion on more than one occasion. "You're one to talk. You pay Frannie well, too."

"Well, she deserves it."

"Let's get back to the main subject."

"Which I've forgotten at this point," Angelica said. "Oh, yes, what did you learn on your little field trip?"

"Not as much as I'd hoped. Pammy was considered a flirt. Eugenia Hirt didn't like her, which makes me think Pammy might have batted her eyes at the girl's father. Ginny thinks Eugenia is a flirt because she kissed Brian on the lips. And that Lisa I met was so crabby she might turn red and walk sideways."

"Eugenia's last name is Hirt? Like Libby Hirt?" Angelica asked.

Tricia swallowed a bite of toast, and nodded. "Libby's her mom. Her dad works at a PR firm in Nashua. Sounded deadly dull. I wonder why he got into Dumpster diving. I should've asked him that. Wouldn't you know, I talked to everyone but the person who invited Pammy to come along on these scavenging trips. His name is Pete Marbello, and he works at the convenience store on the highway. I'm going to give him a call tomorrow." She glanced at the kitchen clock. "And if I want to be half awake tomorrow, I'd better get home now."

She grabbed her cup, gulped the last of her cocoa, and rose from her seat.

"I'll walk you to the door," Angelica said, and popped the last bite of her toast into her mouth.

Angelica followed Tricia down the stairs and through the darkened shop. "Come by the cafe for lunch tomorrow. Jake's making potato-leek soup--from my recipe, of course."

"Okay. See you then."

Before Tricia could exit, Angelica pulled her into a hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Be good--and if you can't be good, be careful," she said, and closed the door behind Tricia.

She walked the ten or so feet to her own store and let herself in, threading through the shop and up the stairs to her own loft apartment.

Miss Marple was behind the door, and scolded Tricia for leaving her alone for so long.

"Well, I'm home now, and it's time for bed," she told the cat.

As though agreeing with that statement, Miss Marple turned and led the way through the apartment to the bedroom that overlooked Main Street.

As Tricia reached for the light switch, she noticed the light blinking on her phone--indicating she had missed several calls. No doubt her crank caller. She didn't feel up to listening to the messages and flipped off that light, then headed for the living room to do the same.

She'd just bent to turn off the last light when she heard what sounded like a thwok in the room ahead of her. She extinguished the lamp. The apartment was silent. But she had heard something. Fumbling in the dark, she stayed out of the line of the row of windows that faced the street. Sure enough, several small holes dotted one of her windows in a characteristic pattern she recognized: a small entrance hole with a much bigger exit hole--cla.s.sic BB shots. Not exactly a lethal weapon, but maybe the shooter had wanted to scare rather than hurt her. After all, she hadn't even been in the room when the shots had been fired. If someone had wanted to hurt or kill her, they could've done it as she walked from the Cookery to her own store.

Tricia kept to the far side of the line of windows and stared into the darkness. Lights blazed in the windows of the top floors of the buildings across the street. Like her, some of the shopkeepers lived above their stores; the rest of the s.p.a.ce was rented out as apartments or offices. She didn't for a minute believe one of her neighbors would pull such a stupid stunt, and there were no preteen boys or even teenagers living on Main Street--just the demographic that would own such a firearm. All those buildings sported metal fire escapes, as her own did. Someone could have climbed a fire escape, broken into an office and gotten onto the roof, taken a few potshots--and was probably already long gone.

She hoped.