"Good night, Mr. Everett," Tricia said, shut the door, turned the sign on it to CLOSED , and was about to shut and lock it when she saw the familiar rental car pull up in front of the shop.
Ginny was still tidying up, but she, too, saw the car, turned off the vacuum, and began to wind up the cord. "You don't mind if I leave, do you?" she said, already shoving the cleaner toward the utility closet. "Sorry to say, but your sister really hates me for all the times I screened your calls."
"I know, and I'm sorry. I never thought you two would ever face each other." Tricia crossed to the register, opened it, lifted the money tray, and withdrew an envelope-Ginny's paycheck. "I didn't get a chance to tell you before, but I've given you a raise. Sorry it couldn't be more."
Already shrugging into her jacket, Ginny paused, her surprise evident. "But you gave me a raise only last month."
"Well, you've been so supportive these past few days I figured you'd earned another."
Ginny accepted the envelope. "Thank you, Tricia. I've worked for three booksellers here in the village in the past four years, but you are by far the best." She gave Tricia a quick hug.
"Can somebody help me?" came a muffled, annoyed voice from behind the shop's locked door.
Tricia crossed the store to open the door, letting in Angelica, who scowled as Ginny went out, calling cheerfully behind her, "See you tomorrow."
Once again Angelica was weighed down with a grocery bag full of ingredients. "That girl," she muttered and dumped the sack on the nook's coffee table.
"Ange, I hope you don't think you have to come here every evening and cook for me," Tricia said, although the thought of the leftovers now residing in her freezer was a comfort.
"You work so hard, and it's the only part of the day you have time for me." She patted one of Tricia's cheeks and simpered, "I do so miss my baby sister. We've still got years and years to catch up on."
Tricia didn't reply. It was the memory of Deirdre Gleason's sorrow at the loss of her sister that made her keep quiet. She would try to be a better sister to Angelica. She would.
She turned for the door.
"I've got it," Angelica said, triumphantly.
"Got what?"
She pulled a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and waved it in the air. "Doris's beneficiary."
With everything else going on, Tricia had completely forgotten her quest from earlier in the day. "Don't tell me. Susan Gleason, but in some kind of trust with Deirdre Gleason in control."
Angelica's face fell. "Who told you?"
"I met Deirdre a couple of hours ago. She came into the shop, wanted to know why the Cookery was empty."
Surprise turned to pique. Angelica exhaled sharply. "If you only knew how much trouble I went through to get this."
"Sorry, Ange. I figured you'd come up against the same brick walls I did." Avoiding her sister's gaze, Tricia reached for the door.
"Don't lock it-I've asked Bob Kelly to join us for dinner," Angelica called, rummaging through the grocery bag. "Oh dear. I hope you've got an onion. I don't think I picked one up at the store."
"I wish you'd asked me first."
"Doesn't everyone keep onions?" Angelica asked, looking up from her supplies.
"I mean about inviting Bob. I told you he isn't my favorite person."
"Like you, that poor man is a virtual workaholic. Why I'll bet he hasn't had a home-cooked meal in ages."
"What are you making?"
"Stroganoff."
Like Pavlov's dog, already Tricia anticipated the aroma of one of her most favorite entrées. "Well, next time please let me know when you're going to invite guests to my home."
"That's why I invited him. If I'm going to be staying in Stoneham for the winter, I'll need a place to live. I considered staying in one of the inn's bungalows, but I really want more space and I've heard Bob is the best person to talk to about the local real estate market." And with that, Angelica picked up the sack and headed for the door to the upstairs apartment, where she paused. "Why don't you like Bob, anyway? What's he ever done to you?"
"Have you taken a close look at his face?"
"Yes, and he's a very good-looking man."
Tricia crossed her arms over her chest. "Exactly. And who does he remind you of?"
Angelica thought about it for a moment. "Christopher?"
"Duh! My ex-husband."
"Well, that's certainly not Bob's fault," Angelica said with a shrug and turned. "I'll go get dinner started. Don't let me keep you from whatever you have to finish up."
From her perch on the shelf above the register, Miss Marple looked from Tricia to Angelica. The squeak of the door's hinges promised food, and the little gray cat jumped down to follow.
"Traitor," Tricia hissed, but Miss Marple took no heed and scampered up the steps.
It was another ten minutes before Tricia finished her evening chores, all the while stewing about Angelica's threats to make Stoneham her new hometown. She'd emptied the wastebaskets, cleaned the coffee station, straightened books on the shelves, and aligned the mystery review magazines on the nook's big, square coffee table, and still there was no sign of Bob. They'd never hear the bell from the third-floor apartment, so she was forced to wait until he showed up.
Her irritation escalated to smoldering anger with every passing minute. She peered out the shop windows. Nothing. She wondered if she should give him a call, but then remembered Ginny had given her only copy of his business card to Deirdre. She went in search of the phone book and remembered she'd let the answering machine take at least one call this morning. She'd been too upset to answer it after reading the Stoneham Weekly News.
Tricia played the message.
"Tricia? Hi, it's Mike Harris. In case you haven't already seen it, the Stoneham Weekly News has a scathing report about the murder at the Cookery. I wanted to let you know that Russ Smith is a jerk, and the whole village knows it. He'll sensationalize anything to sell copies of that rag. Don't take it seriously. My day is pretty full, but I'll try to get over to see you later this afternoon or early tomorrow. We're still on for Sunday morning, right? Talk to you later."
Tricia's finger hovered over the delete button. Well, at least one citizen in the village thought she was innocent.
A knock on the door caused her to look up. It came again and Tricia went to the door. Shoulders hunched inside his jacket, Bob Kelly looked as peeved as Tricia felt.
"Hello, Bob," she greeted without enthusiasm.
"Tricia," he grunted and stepped inside the shop.
"Angelica's upstairs."
He grunted again, waited as she locked the door, then followed her across the shop. "This way," she said and started up the stairs at a brisk pace.
As she hit the top-floor landing, Miss Marple was there to admonish her. "Did you give the cat anything to eat?" Tricia asked.
Angelica looked up from a pan on the stove. "I don't know what to feed a cat."
Miss Marple rubbed against Tricia's ankles, looked up at her with hope in her green eyes.
"Where's Bob?" Angelica asked.
Tricia looked down the staircase. Bob was nowhere in sight. "I thought he was right behind me." Annoyed, she started back down the stairs, with Miss Marple right at her heels. Bob rounded the second-floor landing.
"Sorry. Had to tie my shoe," he said. "What smells so delicious?"
Tricia waited for him to catch up, then turned back for her apartment, with Miss Marple sticking to her like glue. Bob was breathing hard by the time they reached the apartment.
"There you are," Angelica called from her station at the counter. Already a heavenly aroma teased the senses. "Trish, take Bob's coat," she scolded.
Tricia did as she was told, stowing Bob's jacket on the coat tree.
He took in the changes she'd made to the third-floor loft-he hadn't been there since she'd signed the lease. "It's beautiful, Trish. You've done a wonderful job converting the space into a home."
She had. But everything was modular-from the pickled maple cabinets to the granite-covered island that doubled as a breakfast bar. Should she ever decide to relocate she could remove everything, leaving the space as she'd found it-an empty shell.
"Have a glass of wine and relax, Bob," Angelica suggested. "Or would you like something a little stronger?"
"Wine is fine," he said, settling on a stool at the breakfast bar.
Again Angelica proved she knew her way around Tricia's kitchen. She took another couple of glasses from the cabinet and poured, setting the merlot before Tricia and Bob. Then she grabbed a pot holder, took a tray out of the oven, and settled the contents onto a waiting platter.
"The seafood around here is pretty good. I hope you like crab puffs." She offered the plate to Bob, who took one of the golden savory pastries. He popped it into his mouth and chewed.
"These are delicious. Where did you buy them?" he asked, eyes wide with pleasure.
Angelica laughed. "I made them, silly."
Tricia selected one as well. "From scratch?"
"Of course. Have another, Bob," Angelica said, taking one for herself.
"You're going to spoil me," he said, but he took another puff anyway.
Angelica set the platter down within reach of all them, pushed the napkin holder toward her guest, and leaned her elbows against the granite, resting her head on her balled fists. "You look tired, Bob. Tough day?"
Bob snagged a napkin, wiped his fingers. "I've got problems. Who knew Doris Gleason would have a sister bent on keeping the Cookery open?"
Angelica shook her head. "I heard all about it."
From where? Tricia wondered, annoyed. She turned to Bob. "I believe I suggested you wait to take action on the property. It fell on deaf ears."
Bob didn't answer, only glowered at her.
"Tricia, behave," Angelica admonished. "Bob is our guest."
No, he was her guest in Tricia's home.
"The worst thing is, this woman-this sister-is making out like I might have had something to do with Doris's death, just because I exercised my rights as the building's owner to do some cleanup and maintenance. She as good as accused me of killing Doris so I could lease the Cookery to someone willing to pay a lot more in rent."
Good. At least one other person in Stoneham considered Bob a viable suspect.
"Oh I'm sure she doesn't believe that," Angelica said. "It's just grief. If I lost my only sister"-she looked fondly at Tricia-"I'm sure I'd be just as devastated."
Bob wasn't listening. "She's already called in an attorney. Apparently Doris had sent her sister copies of the current and proposed leases. The sister threatened a lawsuit over my emptying the store. It may be easier for me to cut my losses and extend the current lease-as is-for another year and renegotiate at a later date. That way she would be up and running again in a couple of weeks. No matter what, it's going to cost me." He shook his head. "The damage that woman's death has done to Stoneham's economy will end up being in the millions."
"Don't be ridiculous," Tricia said.
"I'm not. The PR value of being the safest town in all New Hampshire was priceless. Losing it could affect future development here for decades."
Angelica clucked sympathetically, but it took all Tricia's self-control to keep quiet on that account. Instead, she decided to move things along. "How's that Stroganoff coming, Ange? It sure smells good."
Angelica was not about to be hurried and topped both her own and Bob's wineglasses.
Resigned, Tricia tried another topic. "What's this about a big box store coming to Stoneham?"
Bob choked on his wine. Angelica scurried around the island, thumped him on the back. "Are you okay?"
"Who told you that?" Bob asked, anger causing his eyes to narrow.
"I heard it. Around," Tricia offered lamely.
"I did, too, Bob," Angelica said. "Is it true?"
Bob cleared his throat, pounding on his chest before answering. "No. Maybe. I hope not."
"That's not much of an answer," Tricia said.
"All I can tell you is that a nationally known company has put out feelers. That doesn't mean they're actually looking to establish a presence in Stoneham."
"But you are talking to their representatives," Tricia pushed.
"I've been approached, and so has the Board of Selectmen, on a number of proposed projects. That's all I can say."
"Would candidates for selectman know about this interest, too?" Tricia asked. Maybe she could pump Mike Harris for information.
"No," Bob said emphatically and gulped the rest of his wine. Angelica filled his glass again.
So much for that idea.
"Any news on Winnie Wentworth's death?"
"How would I know?" Bob looked up, aggravated.
Tricia shrugged. "You seem to have your finger on the pulse of Stoneham. I wondered if they'd made a determination."
"I have no interest in vehicular accidents unless they pose a threat to commerce."
Talk about cold-hearted.
"Winnie was a citizen of Stoneham. Surely, she-"
"She didn't own property. She didn't pay taxes. She was little more than a pest to most of the shop owners, always trying to flog her junk. I had more than a few complaints about her over the years. Everything from vagrancy to harassment."
"Yes, but-" Tricia tried to protest, but Bob cut her off again.
"She was an embarrassment to the village. It's hard to promote tourism when you've got her sort wandering about. She was a nuisance in life and a liability in death. No one's claimed her body. It'll probably be up to the taxpayers to bury her," he finished bitterly and took another gulp of wine. He turned his attention to Angelica. "Now, what kind of house were you thinking about buying or were you just interested in renting?" And Bob launched into his pitch for possible residential rentals and sales.
Taking the hint, Tricia busied herself by feeding Miss Marple and setting the table. Although Bob was her first official dinner guest since moving in, she decided not to use her grandmother's best china and tableware. For someone like Mike, however, she might be persuaded to pull out all the stops.
She would've liked to have returned Mike's call, thanking him for his support. Hadn't he said his mother's book collection included cookbooks? Deirdre Gleason would need additional titles to restock the Cookery. Perhaps Tricia could broker a deal for the books, which would at least keep the lines of communication open with her nearest neighbor.
When the crab puffs were finally gone Angelica declared the entrée ready to serve. She'd whipped up a romaine salad and homemade poppy-seed dressing as well. The three of them took seats at the table.
Bob dug in, chewed, and swallowed. "Unusual flavor. What is it?"
Tricia took a bite and could tell the meat wasn't beef. "Yes, it's different, but it's delicious," she said and took another bite.
"Venison," Angelica said, smug. "Most people won't eat it, but I know how to take out the gamey flavor."
"And how do you do that?" Bob asked, shoveling up another mouthful.
"It's a secret." She sipped her wine. "I'm sorry I had to use store-bought noodles, but there just wasn't time to make them from scratch," she lamented and sighed.
Tricia watched as Bob stabbed another forkful, then savored the taste. "This is absolutely delicious. Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant, Angelica?"
Angelica brightened. "Well, actually, I have."
Bob leaned in closer, his voice growing husky. "I've got a couple of beautiful properties that could be converted into the most exquisite little bistros."
Tricia cringed. Honestly, he sounded like the worst kind of used car salesman.
Angelica didn't seem to notice and fluttered her eyelashes. "Do tell."
Tricia cleared her throat, afraid they'd forgotten she was still there. She'd never seen Angelica turn on the charm for a man before-and she was sure she didn't want to see a repeat performance.
"Gee, it's too bad Drew isn't here. As I recall, Stroganoff was his favorite. And he has such a vast knowledge of architecture and renovation-which would sure be a big help if you're serious about opening a restaurant."
"Drew?" Bob asked.
Angelica straightened in her chair, her expression souring. "My soon-to-be ex-husband."
"I'm still hoping for a reconciliation," Tricia said, trying to look encouraging.
Angelica put down her fork. "Well, I'm not. More Stroganoff, Bob?"
Tricia studied her sister's face. There was hurt behind her strained smile. Tricia still didn't know why her sister's marriage was about to end, and teasing her now, in front of Bob, really wasn't fair. Although, the last thing she wanted was for the two of them to start a relationship.
Tricia sipped her wine. Then again, why should she stand in the way of her sister's happiness even if she'd find it with someone like Bob Kelly? Wasn't she looking forward to seeing Mike Harris again? The pain of her own divorce was still fresh, and somewhere in the back of her mind she heard her mother scolding,"If something happens to Dad and me, you're all you've got." Those words held new meaning for her after finding Doris Gleason's body, and suddenly Tricia found herself looking at her sister with kinder eyes.
"Tell me more about those hot properties, Bob," Angelica cooed, lashes fluttering again.
Tricia's grasp on her fork tightened. If she didn't end up killing Angelica first.