Book Clubbed (14 page)

Was she really back to square one?

*   *   *

Since she
was already halfway to Milford, Tricia decided to pay another visit to Betsy's house, just to see how it looked in broad daylight. This time she didn't bother with subterfuge and parked her car right in Betsy's driveway. She switched off the engine and sat for a moment, listening to the creaks and crackles of her engine as it cooled off, staring at the forlorn little house, which didn't look any better in daylight than it had the night before.

Should she canvass the area asking the other homeowners about their murdered neighbor? What if they were gainfully employed and weren't available during the day? Should she come back later? Which neighbor's fence had infringed on Betsy's property? Both lots on either side of hers had fenced-in yards. It was too hard to tell which fence was newer. And what if the fence dispute had happened a decade before and not in the recent past? How long could a neighbor hold a grudge?

Deciding that even being there was yet another harebrained idea, Tricia was about to start the car again when the front door of the house on the left opened. An older woman with short-cropped gray hair stepped onto her front step and waved. Tricia rolled down her window.

“Can I help you?” the woman called. She wore a heavy sweater over dark slacks, and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold.

Tricia wasn't exactly sure what to say. Before she could open her mouth, the woman called out again, “Mrs. Dittmeyer died late last week, you know.”

Tricia closed her window, grabbed her keys, and got out of the car. “So I heard.” She walked a few steps up the drive until she was facing the woman.

“Are you a friend?”

“I thought so. Now . . . I'm not so sure,” Tricia said.

“It's freezing out here. Would you like to come in and talk?”

“Yes,” Tricia said, a bit startled by the invitation. She quickly walked down Betsy's drive and hurried up the neighbor's front walk. She was ushered inside the neat home's small foyer, and the woman closed the door.

“I'm Margaret Westbrook. I was Mrs. Dittmeyer's neighbor for over twelve years.”

“I'm Tricia Miles. I own the mystery bookstore in Stoneham. Betsy worked as the receptionist for the Chamber of Commerce there. My sister is the president.”

Margaret nodded. “Her death shocked the whole neighborhood. Although I must say she wasn't the most friendly person to live next to. To tell you the truth, I didn't think the old—” She caught herself, and Tricia wondered what uncomplimentary descriptor Margaret had been about to utter. She cleared her throat. “I didn't think Mrs. Dittmeyer had
any
friends,” Margaret finished.

“Perhaps
acquaintance
would be a better descriptor,” Tricia agreed.

“I heard she worked in one of the outlying towns. I must admit we were hoping she'd move there.”

“Oh?”

“Since her husband moved out, Mrs. Dittmeyer hasn't been diligent about trash removal. We've all had a devil of a time with mice. The exterminators come at least once a month to keep our traps filled with bait, otherwise we'd be overrun with them.” Tricia remembered the dead mouse she'd seen while in Betsy's house, and shuddered. “I hope whoever takes care of her estate will get the place cleaned out before summer and we're beset by flies again, too.”

“She really wasn't a good neighbor,” Tricia said and, as expected, Margaret nodded.

“She made Pete and Donna Anderson tear down their fence three years ago because it was inches over her property line. She could have just signed a paper saying she knew it was on her property and didn't dispute it, but instead she threatened them with a lawsuit and made them tear it down. It cost them a couple of thousand dollars to make things right.”

“I take it you weren't on friendly enough terms to call each other by first names.”

“It wasn't my choice,” Margaret said ruefully. “Her husband, Jerry, would at least acknowledge us if we were out in the yard, but Mrs. Dittmeyer would pretend she hadn't seen us when she'd get out of her car or come out to get her mail.”

So far, Tricia had learned nothing more about Betsy than she knew when she'd first driven up. Did Margaret really know anything about the woman, or was she just a lonely person who wanted someone to talk to, and should Tricia say anything that would give her more fodder for gossip?

“I haven't heard anything about a funeral service being planned,” Tricia tried instead.

“I don't suppose there will even be one. I think Mrs. Dittmeyer alienated just about everyone she knew.”

“I understand she has a sister,” Tricia said.

Margaret nodded. “She was over to the house just a couple of hours ago. She's been coming and going for the past couple of days. She introduced herself to me the day after Mrs. Dittmeyer died.”

Had she? “Is she emptying the house?”

“Oh, no. At least I don't think so. I haven't seen her carrying anything to her car.” She hesitated. “Although . . . she always seems to have a different purse when she leaves.”

Betsy probably had a bunch of them. You could stuff a lot of small collectibles into a big purse. Then again, Christopher said Betsy had a lot of money. Was there a chance she'd been liquidating her assets and hiding the money in her house? But why?

Margaret shook her head. “I never did understand that woman, and now I guess I never will. At least I have hope that the next person who moves in will keep up the property and get rid of all the trash. And maybe he or she will be a lot friendlier, too.”

Tricia nodded. There didn't seem to be much else to add. “Thank you for speaking with me, Margaret. I think I'll try to get hold of Betsy's sister to ask about the funeral arrangements.”

“Would you like me to tell her you dropped by the next time I see her?”

That wouldn't be a good idea at all. It would tip Joelle off that Tricia was still snooping around. She wished she hadn't given her name, although even if she hadn't Tricia was sure Margaret would have given Joelle a thorough description and might even have taken down her license plate number. “That won't be necessary. We're acquainted,” she said simply and left it at that. “I'd better go now. Thank you so much for speaking with me.”

“Come back anytime,” Margaret said and followed Tricia out onto her stoop.

Tricia went straight back to her car. Since Margaret hadn't known much about Betsy, it was likely none of the other neighbors would, either. And she knew Margaret would report back to Joelle if she did any further snooping around Betsy's property. And what else was she looking for that she hadn't already seen when she'd been inside the house?

Margaret waved as Tricia pulled out of the driveway. As she drove down the street she looked up at her rearview mirror and saw that she was still being watched. Rats. She was sure to hear from Joelle before the day was through.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Tricia's stomach. Did Joelle, who'd been disinherited, have a compelling motive for murder? And if she had killed her sister . . . was there a possibility she might kill again?

Tricia parked
her car in its usual spot in the Stoneham municipal parking lot. The wind was still wicked as she cut across the lot to reach the sidewalk. She paused for a moment, looking over at the
Stoneham Weekly News
. She hadn't spoken to Russ Smith in several weeks. Perhaps she ought to visit and offer her congratulations on the new arrival and maybe bend his ear about Betsy Dittmeyer's death. Russ often had information that Tricia wasn't privy to, although six months before he'd told her that after sharing an important piece of information that she owed him a big favor, and that one day he would collect. It had sounded ominous. She hoped today wouldn't be the day.

She crossed the street and entered the newspaper's office. Patty Perkins sat behind a counter staring intently at her computer screen. She looked up and smiled brightly. “Hey, Tricia. I haven't seen you around here in quite a while.”

“'Tis the season. I feel like I've been hibernating in my store. There sure haven't been many customers since the Christmas rush ended.”

Patty nodded. “Yeah, our display ad revenues are way behind last year at this time. I'm going to have to start calling our regulars and see what we can do about that. But that's not why you're here today. Did you want to talk to Russ?”

Tricia looked toward Russ's closed office door. “If he's available.”

She grimaced. “He's going over the accounts. I'm sure he'd welcome any interruption about now. Go right on in.”

“Thanks.”

Tricia stepped around the counter and rapped her knuckles against the hollow-core door. She opened the door a crack and stuck her head inside. “Hi, Russ. Are you terribly busy?”

Russ looked up from his computer screen. “Yeah. But these spreadsheets are depressing the hell out of me. Come on in and sit down—and try to cheer me up, will you?”

Tricia stepped inside the office and closed the door. She tugged off her coat, hanging it on the back of Russ's guest chair, and took the empty seat in the shabby little office she had come to know so well. She and Russ had once been lovers but that had ended when he'd dumped her, thinking he was going to find a job with a large-circulation paper in bigger city. That hadn't worked out and he'd tried to get back together with her. When that hadn't worked, he'd stalked her. That ended when he'd gone for counseling and started dating Nikki. Until she'd spoken to Nikki a few days before, Tricia had assumed they were quite happy.

“Nikki shared your big announcement with me. Congratulations, Daddy,” she said with a smile.

Russ shrugged and his expression was anything but happy. “If you say so.”

“Oh, come on, Russ. This is wonderful news.”

The man looked positively depressed. “It would have been . . . if we had
your
money.”

“Hey, the two of you have two successful businesses. Okay, this is the leanest part of the retail year, but things will pick up—and soon. I'm sure of it.”

“From your lips to our cash registers.” He shook his head and looked sadder yet. “The truth is, ever since I had the misfortune of buying this rag I haven't had a pot to piss in. Nikki owes so much on the Patisserie that we're really struggling—and I don't see things getting better anytime soon.”

“Surely you can hang on until the tourists return in a couple of months,” Tricia said.

“Barely. That won't help my bottom line—or hers.”

“You can't take it out on the poor baby,” Tricia chided.

“Tricia, I'm forty-five. When my kid graduates from high school I'll almost be eligible for Social Security. And besides that, will I still be able to throw the kid a baseball?”

“You might have a little ballerina on your hands,” she said.

“Whatever it is, it's going to need clothes, shoes, and a college education. We can't afford a kid, and Nikki's got her heart set on staying home with it. That just isn't going to happen. We've been arguing about it for days.”

“Stop being so negative,” she chided, frowning, and thought of her mother and how her negativity had shaped Tricia's life. “I can tell you from experience that what you say and do in front of your child will have a lasting effect that will stay with him or her for their entire life.”

“What kind of experience? Are you talking about your mother?” Russ pushed.

She nodded. When they'd been dating, she'd told him all about her stormy relationship with her mother. “Angelica finally spilled the beans on why I've been persona non grata my entire life.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to share it with me?”

Tricia thought about it for a moment. Russ's opinion of her mother wasn't likely to be improved, but then he wasn't ever likely to meet her, either.

“It turns out I had a twin brother who died at two months. It seems my mother has held it against me my entire life.” There. She'd said it aloud. She'd said it without rancor. She was getting used to the whole idea and while it didn't feel good, she thought she was near acceptance.

“And you never knew?” Russ asked, surprised.

She shook her head.

“Are you going to bring it up the next time you talk to her?”

Tricia shook her head once again. “What's the point? Nothing I say will change her mind. She'll always blame me for what happened.”

“But you were a baby.”

She managed an ironic laugh. “Yeah, go figure.”

Russ's expression darkened. “I'm sorry you had to go through that, Trish.”

“Me, too. That's why I want you to promise me that you'll give yourself a chance to fall head-over-heels in love with your child. I have a feeling you're going to think that having this baby was the best thing that ever happened to you and Nikki.”

“I sure hope so.” He sat back in his chair, signaling it was time to move on from that subject. “What else is on your mind? Or should I even bother asking. Betsy Dittmeyer's death, right?”

Tricia nodded, and unhappily so.

“If I know you, you've been poking your nose into things. What have you found out?”

“The face Betsy showed the world was far different than the way she lived in secret.”

He smiled and his eyes opened wide as he leaned forward, eager for her to spill what she knew. “For instance?”

“She was a hoarder.”

Russ winced. “I've seen a couple of TV shows on the subject. It's pretty nasty business.”

“It sure is.”

“Can I assume that you—and probably Angelica—visited Betsy's home to learn that piece of news in person?”

“I'm not admitting to anything,” Tricia said. “I can tell you that from what I've discovered, Betsy wasn't a very nice woman, and she had a lot of money—from multiple sources, not all of them aboveboard.”

“Did you come here thinking I might have some inside information on her?”

“You do seem to be able to dig up dirt the rest of us would never have access to.”

Russ shrugged. “I admit, I have spoken to a few people about her.”

“Are you willing to share?” Tricia asked.

He shrugged. “Since I'm only going to be doing an obit, I might as well. Although I'll probably skew it to the sunnier side of her life.”

“You're not going to run a straightforward news story?” Tricia asked, surprised.

“Whatever I've got will be old news by the time the next issue comes out.”

“Not necessarily. Will the Nashua and Manchester papers even care about her death two weeks down the line?”

Again he shrugged. “You've got a point. Okay, I'll share. Betsy was an alcoholic.”

“I knew that.”

“She had a bitter divorce.”

“Knew that, too.”

“She had a daughter who died young. I guess it crushed her spirit.”

“I heard that, too.”

Russ scowled. “Then why don't you tell me something about her that
I
haven't heard.”

Tricia wrestled with her conscience. “All right, I'll share the biggie. Betsy was embezzling money from the Chamber of Commerce.”

Russ's eyes widened in surprised. “That's a biggie, all right. What do Bob and Angelica think about that?”

“I'm pretty sure Bob doesn't know. Angelica was appalled and she's arranging to have the books audited. She'll probably have to sue Betsy's estate to get the funds back. Betsy's Chamber files also contained a dossier of members that was highly uncomplimentary.”

“Am I on the list?” he asked warily.

“
Everybody
is on the list, and none of it is complimentary. I wondered if she might be using it for blackmail purposes, but I haven't found any evidence to support it—yet.”

“Who's going to admit it and paint themselves as a suspect? That said, it could explain where she got some of her money.”

Tricia thought about the file she'd opened the night before. “I wonder if she kept lists like that on her previous employers and fellow employees. Over the years she might have collected a lot of cash. I know she had a lot of investments.”

“How much is a lot?” he asked.

“Millions.”

“That's a lot,” Russ agreed.

“And she recently disinherited her younger sister. Joelle Morrison said it was because she nagged Betsy to get counseling, but I'm not sure I swallow that excuse.”

“Have you narrowed down the list of suspects?” Russ asked.

Tricia shook her head. “I'm stumped. There are plenty of people with an ax to grind, but their motives just aren't strong enough to warrant a murder charge and a long jail sentence.”

“People do stupid things in the heat of passion, and from what I learned from your police chief friend, someone strangled the old witch before pulling a bookshelf onto her.”

Tricia nodded. She and Russ stared at each other for a long minute, and for the first time in a long time she realized she once again saw him as a friend. The anger at his rejection of her and then from stalking her was suddenly gone. He'd changed since meeting Nikki—and for the better. She'd brought out his more noble qualities and Tricia hoped they could reach a compromise about their new arrival. “I don't have much else to go on. When will you write Betsy's obituary?”

“The paper goes to bed on Friday afternoon. Do you think you'll find out anything else before then?”

Tricia shrugged. “I don't know. This one's a puzzler. If the people on Betsy's unflattering list knew about the information she'd collected on them they'd be angry—but I don't think there's anything on the list worth killing for.”

“Good. Then count me out,” Russ said with a laugh.

Tricia stood, grabbed her coat, and put it on. “I've got to get back to my store.”

“And I've got to get back to my spreadsheets. Promise you'll share whatever else you find out?”

“Only if you do, too.”

He gave her a wink. “You got it.”

“And think about what I said about your new arrival. I have faith that you and Nikki are going to be wonderful parents, and when that baby arrives, you'll wonder how you ever lived without him or her.”

He still looked skeptical. “I sure hope you're right.”

“Have you ever known me to be wrong?”

Russ shook his head and smiled. “Never.”

Tricia returned his smile, glad she and Russ no longer had to be at odds. “I'll see you later.”

*   *   *

Tricia was
chagrined to find just how late it was when she finally returned to Haven't Got a Clue. She found Pixie sitting in the empty store's readers' nook with stacks of catalogs piled on the large square coffee table before her, her reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose and a big yellow highlighter in hand. Miss Marple was curled up on the chair across from her, while a Sinatra CD played quietly on the store's stereo. “Oh, you're back,” Pixie called in greeting, and even Miss Marple opened a sleepy eye to acknowledge Tricia's presence.

“Angelica called wondering where you were for lunch.”

“I was so busy I never got around to it. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you and Mr. Everett to go out together,” she said, and shrugged out of her coat.

“That's okay, he went to the diner and got us sandwiches to go.”

“Have we had many customers since I've been gone?” Tricia asked, folding the coat over her left arm.

Pixie shook her head sadly. “Not a one. But Miss Marple and I have been studying catalogs, and I fielded a number of calls. We got another invitation to look over a book collection—leftovers from an estate sale. I told them you'd call back.”

“Thank you.”

“How did your errands go? Did you learn anything new?” Pixie asked rather hungrily. And why not? Except for Mr. Everett, the poor woman had been cut off from human contact for a good chunk of the day.