A Fatal Chapter (6 page)

“Depending on what I learn when I speak to the ME, I’ll probably speak to Angelica, Mary, Russ, and Earl, too.”

“The discussion wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it wasn’t threatening in any way, either.”

Baker nodded.

“I take it Pete was unconscious when you found him.”

“I thought so, but he did briefly speak to me, and it was just gibberish.”

“What did he say?”

She frowned. “‘I never missed my little boy.’”

Baker’s eyes widened, but then he frowned. “Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”

Tricia shook her head.

“Not even Angelica or—” He seemed to have to force himself to say the name. “Christopher?”

“No. I told you, it was gibberish.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “but I don’t want you going around and repeating it—just in case. Promise me.”

Tricia sighed, feeling foolish. “I promise.” She took another sip of her coffee, found it tepid, and frowned.

“How did you come to find Renquist?” Baker asked.

“I took Sarge out for a walk, and he must have sensed something was amiss. He pulled me in the direction of the gazebo and, well, you know the rest.”

“Not entirely,” Baker said, and pulled out a small flashlight to scan the concrete deck and illuminate the dark corners. Tricia couldn’t see anything but dried leaves, a few cigarette butts, and small bits of paper that had probably been blown there months before.

Baker looked thoughtful. “I think I’ll call the Sheriff’s Department to see if they can send out a lab team.”

“Isn’t that a little premature? You don’t even know a crime has been committed.”

“That’s true, but if it has, I don’t want the scene any more contaminated than it already is.”

“You’re the chief of police,” she said, and shrugged. “Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Do you know if Pete spoke to the paramedics?”

Tricia shook her head. “He was in cardiac arrest when they hauled
him away in the ambulance. Unless he regained consciousness, I doubt it. You’d have to ask them.”

“I will.”

Baker studied the gazebo floor once more.

“What do you know about Bob Kelly’s legal troubles?” Tricia asked.

“Just that he has them,” Baker said offhandedly.

“Was a warrant ever sworn for his arrest on the old charges against him?”

Baker nodded. “He was arraigned, made bail, and now it’s up to the courts to figure out what to do with him.”

How had Bob kept that quiet? Did Russ know about it? Surely he would have reported it in the
Stoneham Weekly
News
’s police blotter, along with the missing hubcaps and homes that had been egged after the high school senior prank day back in June.

“I’d better get going,” Baker said, then turned and trotted down the granite steps. “If I need to speak to you again, I’ll call.”

Tricia walked down the steps, paused at one of the trash bins, and poured her cold coffee inside. She started across the grass, but before she made it back to the sidewalk, she decided to make a detour. The Stoneham Historical Society was located on Locust Street, two blocks west of Main Street. Though the day was pleasant, Tricia felt anything but cheerful. She didn’t know if Pete had any relatives in the area, so she intended to speak to his colleagues. Still, it was never a happy occasion to deliver condolences.

The society was housed in none other than the village founder’s home. Hiram Stone had made his fortune in quarrying granite and had built himself a house that, while not a mansion, was certainly bigger and grander than the houses of the people who’d worked for him.

The society’s hours were from ten until two, but she had a feeling
she’d find someone in and the back door unlocked. Bypassing the grand front entrance, she walked along a stone path that led to the back of the building.

The Stoneham Horticultural Society had teamed up with the Historical Society and had done a marvelous job recreating the home’s original Italianate garden. Tricia paused to take in the beauty of this outdoor extension of the home. Beds filled with summer flowers flanked a gravel path that led to the garden’s first focal point, a fountain and lily pond. At the end of the path were the remains of what had been a stone temple, which now sported a round, trellislike structure that acted as a kind of placeholder until they could rebuild the structure. It was walled-in by imposing beech hedges that she’d been told were hand-clipped. She’d visited the garden on several occasions in the past and made a vow that she would not wait so long to visit this place of tranquility again.

“Tricia, is that you?”

Tricia turned at the sound of the woman’s voice behind her. Janet Koch stood on the immense stone patio with steps that trailed from the door. The tall, dark-haired woman was dressed in black, which was unusual for a summer’s day but appropriate under the circumstances.

“You gave me a start,” Tricia admitted.

“I’m sorry. That’s the last thing I want to do today—cause someone else to have a heart attack.”

So Janet hadn’t heard that Pete had died under suspicious circumstances.

“I came to offer my condolences.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you come in and we can commiserate?” Janet said, and with a sweep of her arm, pointed the way.

A large parlor overlooked the home’s garden, but Janet led the way
to an office off to one side, where Tricia could smell coffee brewing. “Can I offer you a cup?” Janet asked.

“Thank you,” Tricia said. “As you can see. I brought my own.”

Janet poured for them both, and they each doctored their coffee the way they liked it. “Won’t you sit down?”

Janet sat behind a desk of dark wood that Tricia guessed might be mahogany. Although old, it didn’t match the décor of the rest of the house.

“I feel rather strange sitting at Pete’s desk. Until the board meets in a few days, I’ll be taking care of the day-to-day activities.” She swallowed hard and took a sip of her coffee, her eyes brimming with tears.

“I take it you and Pete were good friends.”

“You could say that. We’d worked together for the past five years, but of course Pete had been here much longer, first as a volunteer and then as one of the staff. We had many a brainstorming meeting right here in this office as we struggled to get funding—that is, until Nigela Ricita made a generous donation.”

“Did she, now?” Tricia asked, her interest piqued.

Janet nodded. “We sent a letter, just our regular yearly solicitation, and were shocked when she sent us half a million dollars.”

Tricia choked on her coffee. “She did what?”

Janet nodded. “That nice young man, Antonio Barbero, brought the check himself.”

“But I never heard a thing about it.”

“And you won’t, at least not officially.”

“Ms. Ricita also made a generous contribution to the Horticultural Society. They hope to rebuild the stone temple at the end of the garden with it.”

Angelica had her fingers in many more pies than she’d let on. But
Tricia didn’t want to discuss the further adventures of Nigela Ricita—at least not at that moment.

“I didn’t know Pete well,” she said, changing the subject, “but we’d spoken many times since I came to work at the Chamber. Did Pete have family here in Stoneham?”

Janet shook her head. “He’d been divorced for many years, and as far as I know had no contact with his ex-wife for at least a decade.”

“He mentioned he was a dad.”

“I believe he had a daughter, but they weren’t close. She lived with her mother in California.”

So Pete had a daughter. Then why had he said he’d never missed his little boy? “Just the one child?” Tricia asked.

Janet nodded and sipped her coffee.

“What will happen—I mean, as far as any arrangements?” Tricia asked.

“Pete once told me he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread in the garden out back. Of course, the board would have to approve it, but I think it would be a lovely memorial after all the time he spent here, and I know it would have pleased him.”

“When did you say the board would meet next?”

“Our next regularly scheduled meeting isn’t for three weeks, but they’ll have to convene an emergency session to figure out how we move forward.” Janet’s frown deepened. “Pete had a
joie de vivre
that attracted people. It worked well for him in this job.”

“So, he had no enemies?”

Janet looked surprised by the question. “No.” Then she seemed to think better of it. “Well, he was a terrible flirt, which annoyed many a husband, but the rich older ladies always enjoyed the attention. And,
of course, Pete and Earl Winkler weren’t exactly friends, but I wouldn’t call them enemies.”

“Does Earl Winkler have
any
friends?” Tricia asked.

Janet almost managed a smile. “It would be hard to believe. I’m still in shock he ever got elected to the Board of Selectmen.”

“So am I.”

Janet’s gaze wandered to the wall where a group shot of people, including Pete and herself, hung. She sighed. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Did you know I was the one who found him in the park?”

Janet looked up. “No, I didn’t.”

“Did he often leave the office and go for walks during the middle of the day?”

“Sometimes. He said it helped him clear his mind. Nobody minded. He put in many more than the forty hours a week he got paid for. He loved this house. He loved the gardens. He was very enthusiastic about the upcoming ghost walks at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery and at St. Rita’s church. He’d been researching the people buried there, interviewing people, reading old books, and writing up various scripts.”

“He really enjoyed the work,” Tricia stated.

“You bet.” Janet shook her head, sadness etched across her features. “We’ll figure out a way to carry on. I know the ghost walks will be a success.”

“Had you or Pete ever spoken to Michele Fowler about volunteering? It was she who first suggested the ghost walks.”

“I’ve only met her once, at one of our fundraising cocktail parties. Do you think she’d be interested?”

“I know she works a lot of nights at the Dog-Eared Page, but I’ll
bet she’d be game. And you know, that English accent of hers would be a hit with anyone who came on the walks.”

“I noticed people do tend to pay attention when she speaks. Would you be willing to put a bug in her ear?”

“I’d love to.”

“Thanks.” Janet rummaged in the desk and came up with a business card. It was Pete’s. She crossed off his name, writing in her own. “I’ll have to get new ones made, but the phone number is good.”

Tricia pocketed the card and drained her cup. “I’m keeping you from your work.”

“And I’m keeping you from yours,” Janet said with what almost passed as a smile. She stood.

Tricia stood, too, and on impulse walked around the desk to give Janet a hug. “I’m so sorry you lost your friend.”

“Me, too,” Janet said, her voice breaking. “Me, too.”

Angelica arrived
at the Chamber office at precisely nine forty-five, dressed to the nines—business style—and looking ready to take on the world. For a moment, Tricia felt a kind of flash of déjà vu—seeing her sister à la Auntie Mame, with a zest for life and a take-charge attitude that could move mountains and shift whole continents. And not for the first time, she felt a stab of jealousy.

After greeting Mariana and Tricia, Angelica grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen before joining them in the office, where she sat down at her desk. Angelica could have used the downstairs bedroom as a private office but had chosen instead to have a desk right in the living room with the rest of her staff. She definitely hadn’t played the diva card since assuming the Chamber presidency, insisting that, since she didn’t spend the majority of her day at the Chamber office, there was no need for her to take up so much real estate. Instead, the
bedroom had become a small conference room. “What have we got on tap today?” she asked.

“The grand opening of the Antiques Emporium.”

Angelica nodded. “I love these ribbon-cutting events. Do you realize this is the sixth new business to open since I took over as Chamber president?”

“Did you have anything to do with bringing them here?” Tricia asked.

“Not me, personally, but Karen Johnson from NRA Realty worked tirelessly to court them. They’ve already got twenty vendors and have space for another ten. Karen’s pretty sure they’ll rent the space within a week or two.”

“Lucky them,” Tricia said.

Angelica turned a jaundiced eye on her sister. “Don’t you want to see Stoneham thrive?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t like attending ribbon-cutting ceremonies.”

“Why not?”

“Because
I’m
the one who has to tote the fake oversized scissors and the big roll of red ribbon to these affairs. It makes me feel like a dork.”

“It’s not like they’re heavy,” Angelica said.

“Then I stand around while you get to pose and look important.”

“Darling, I
am
important!” Angelica sighed. “If you’d prefer to stay back here at the office, I’m sure Mariana will accompany me. But I’d much rather you come.”

“Why?” So she could show off in front of Tricia?

“Because it gives us more time to spend together.”

“We already spend two or three hours a day together,” Tricia said.

“Oh.” Angelica said the word oddly, as though she was surprised and yet hurt.

“I’m sorry, Ange. I do like to spend time with you, but I’m worried
that people will think you’re using all these photo-ops to grab attention and that it’ll reflect badly on you.”

Angelica looked thoughtful. “That’s a good point. Okay, how about I carry the scissors and ribbon and you be my stand-in for the photo?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“But you’re right. I want the villagers to see the Chamber as an organization that can promote the area—and its members, of which you are one. It’s vitally important that the Chamber grow, but I don’t want to overshadow the organization like—like my predecessor did.” Angelica seemed to go out of her way not to criticize her ex-lover, Bob Kelly, which was commendable. But the truth was, she’d done more in her brief tenure than Bob had done in the previous five years.

“Okay,” Tricia said. “Perhaps we can get Russ to take the picture with me in it and have the caption say I’m representing the Chamber. But won’t the business owner want to be photographed with the head of the Chamber and not just a volunteer?”

“We can do both. I’m sure if I buy a little extra advertising, Russ will do anything I request. Nikki won’t get jealous if he takes your picture, though, will she?”

“I don’t think so.” Russ and Tricia had been an item for a while—but that was before he and Nikki had gotten together. At first she’d been jealous whenever Tricia’s name came up, but she seemed to have gotten over it.

Tricia studied her sister and shook her head.

“What?” Angelica asked, looking down at herself. “Did I spill coffee on my blouse?”

“No. I just can’t get over how you’ve changed.”

“Sorry, Trish, but it’s not
me
who’s changed. It’s your
perception
of me that’s changed.”

“I guess you’re right,” Tricia said, and swallowed down the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “Okay.” She looked down at herself. “Do I have time to change clothes?”

Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “You always look beautiful. Now, let’s grab our stuff and get over there. We don’t want our newest member to feel we’ve neglected them.”

Tricia watched as Angelica strode over to the storage cabinet and grabbed the prop scissors and big roll of red ribbon. Angelica had been right. She was still the oversized personality that had always seemed to dwarf Tricia all those years ago, but somehow the traits that used to bug her so much almost seemed endearing now. Almost.

Less than a minute later, the sisters left the Chamber office and headed up the street on foot.

The Antiques Emporium was housed in what had previously been Everett’s Grocery. The long-empty cinderblock building had been spruced up on the outside with paint and some landscaping, and its inside had been divided into stalls. Those closest to the large bank of windows up front had been stuffed to the gills with the flotsam and jetsam of years past. Not everything was a certifiable antique, for the booths held Fiesta china, old Bakelite radios, vintage clothing, and anything one could imagine—from salt shakers to bone china, and doilies to damask. Pixie would probably go nuts shopping there.

Russ Smith had dutifully shown up with his Nikon and snapped photos of Angelica with the owner and several of the vendors, as well as Tricia and the same group of people. They’d sort out the details of the photos and captions later.

After the preliminaries were observed, Angelica, Tricia, and even Russ were invited inside to partake of refreshments that were laid out on one of the sales counters. Lemonade, punch, and more than a dozen
different cookies had been made by the Emporium vendors. Tricia accepted a paper cup of lemonade and grabbed a snickerdoodle. Her grandmother had made the same crisp, cinnamon-laced cookies, and one bite brought back a host of wonderful memories.

“Thank you for coming,” said the Emporium’s owner, whose name Tricia had somehow missed.

“I’m glad I could be here,” Tricia said.

“Toni,” the woman said, offering her hand. “Toni Bennett.”

Tricia struggled to keep from giggling. “Really?”

The woman laughed. “Really. My folks were big fans of the singer Tony Bennett and, well, here I am. And the worst thing is, I can’t sing a note.”

“It’s a wonderful name. I’ll bet most people don’t forget it.”

“It does come in handy,” Toni admitted. She looked around at the customers who’d already entered. “What a beautiful day for our grand opening. I’m only sorry my favorite vendor couldn’t be here today.”

“Oh?” Tricia said.

“Pete Renquist.” Toni shook her head sadly. “I was crushed to hear he’d died. It was Pete who encouraged me to open the Emporium. He was the first to sign up for a booth. He and I brainstormed on numerous occasions on a variety of subjects. He had so many wonderful ideas, so much knowledge, and such a zest for life.” Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears that she quickly tried to wipe away. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I feel the same way,” Tricia admitted. Did Toni know she’d been the one to find him? Tricia wasn’t going to mention it. “Did you know him a long time?”

Toni cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Yeah. I’ve been a volunteer at the Historical Society for about ten years, but I’m not sure
anyone ever really knew Pete. He was warm and genuine, but there was a big part of himself that he kept private. I don’t know of any other way to explain it.”

Tricia nodded. “What kind of articles did he have for sale?”

“I’ll show you. Follow me,” Toni said, and led the way to what was probably the booth with the best location. It was large and situated near the front of the store and had good light. Unlike most of the other booths, Pete’s actually contained antiques—primitives: old milking stools, rough-hewn tables and chairs, and antique pottery, mingled with what looked like tin dishes, Sandwich glass, and butter churns. Antique oil portraits and landscapes hung on the wall, which was some six feet shorter than the height of the ceiling and divided his space from another vendor’s.

Tricia eyed the price tag on one of the paintings and winced. “Pete’s wares are a little more . . .” She wasn’t sure how to express it.

“Higher-end than most of the other vendors’ merchandise,” Toni finished for her. “Yes. And I told him he could do much better in Nashua or Manchester, but he told me he’d bought most of them for a song and wasn’t worried about making a profit because he never intended for them to sell. He priced them at what he thought they were actually worth. I think Pete just wanted to help me out until all the booths were spoken for, and then he would have quickly bowed out. Judging by his outrageous prices, I don’t think he expected to sell one item. He was a collector, and this was a way to have his collection admired. Now I’m not sure what will become of it all. I don’t know if he even had a will or an attorney. I can keep the stuff here and, if there are sales, give the money to his estate—but if things work out, there’s going to come a time when I have to pack up everything and rent the space to someone who can actually pay.”

“I’m sure Pete would approve of any decision you make. He seemed like a reasonable guy.”

“That he was,” Toni agreed. “That’s why I was surprised the other day when he told me someone had threatened him.”

Tricia blinked. “Threatened? How?”

“He wasn’t really clear about that. He said he’d found out something while going through some of the Historical Society’s old records, and when he asked someone—and he didn’t say who—about it, was told to mind his own business. Or else!”

“And he didn’t give you a clue who it was he’d confronted?”

Toni shook her head. “But it seemed like he was disappointed in the whole situation. That maybe he’d once considered the person who’d threatened him to be a friend.”

And who was that friend? So far, no one Tricia had spoken to had admitted to being close to Pete. He had been a terrible flirt, yet it seemed he’d only felt comfortable being an acquaintance, not a true friend, to most of the people with whom he’d interacted.

Perhaps the person who’d threatened him had carried out a death sentence. If so, it had to be someone right here in Stoneham. Someone everyone knew. But that was the thing; most of the villagers
did
know just about everyone else in Stoneham.

“Toni,” a voice called.

She looked toward the store’s office. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

“Thanks for showing me around.”

Toni gave Tricia a quick wave and then hurried off.

Tricia stood in front of Pete’s booth, staring at his wide range of merchandise. How sad that all he had collected—loved—would be sold off, and for probably far less than its worth by whoever benefitted from his estate.

Tricia reached for her cell phone and called Chief Baker. Voice mail picked up. She left a message relaying what Toni had told her, suggesting he give the Emporium’s manager a call. Ringing off, she looked up to see Angelica approach. “There you are.”

“Toni was just showing me Pete Renquist’s booth.”

“Oh.” Angelica pointed to the booth before them. “This one?”

Tricia nodded. “Really old stuff. A lot different from the rest of the kitsch in here.”

“I like kitsch in my café but don’t want it in my home. I suppose it’s fun to collect, and I want the Emporium to do well, so who cares about my opinion? Come on. We’d better get back to the office. I’ve got a lot to do today and no doubt so do you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tricia said, and saluted.

They collected the scissors and ribbon and, on their way out, thanked everyone in sight. Tricia made sure to give Toni a wave, wishing she’d had more time to pump her for information.

Pete had been a part of the Historical Society for a long time. And he’d been a longtime resident of Stoneham. Surely there were other people who’d known him well. And, as she and Angelica headed back to the Chamber, it occurred to Tricia that she knew a local close at hand who might have that kind of information.