Book Clubbed (19 page)

“I'd advise you to look at every single file on the Chamber hard drive. Betsy hid what could be important information mixed in with things like recipes.”

“Do you have an example?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“Then how do you—?” He stopped, turning his piercing gaze on her. “Please tell me you haven't been poking around in other places you shouldn't.”

“I don't know what you're referring to,” she bluffed.

“I think you do.”

Tricia didn't look away. Should she admit Angelica had copied files from Betsy's home computer and given them to her? The computer had no doubt been destroyed in the fire; only she and Angelica had an inkling of what information it contained.

“I'm just giving you a friendly piece of advice,” she told him.

Baker studied her face. “There's more you're not telling me.”

“I don't know what that could be,” she fibbed. Should she mention the cartons in the rental house? She didn't see how that could be relevant. The money they'd found the previous evening could have been collected from people Betsy had been blackmailing, or it could have been earned honestly from items she'd sold on eBay or found in people's trash. The latter were unlikely, but possibilities nonetheless.

“Is there anything else you want to ask me?” Tricia said.

Baker frowned. “I have thousands of questions for you, but nothing at this moment that pertains to the case. I presume you'll be available if and when I do have further questions?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then you may as well go back to your store. I'll call you if I need you.”

“Yes, sir,” Tricia said and saluted.

Baker didn't seem to appreciate her levity. “I'm only going to say this once: I want you and Angelica to stop playing sister sleuths. I don't want you poking your noses into stuff that doesn't concern you. I want to keep you both safe. Do I make myself clear?”

Again Tricia saluted. Baker turned back to his computer monitor.

Tricia stood, picked up her purse, and waited for Baker to say something else, but he didn't. “I'll talk to you later,” she said, turned, and opened his office door, waiting for a reply.

Baker didn't look up. So, he was going to punish her with silence. Well, two could play at that game.

She walked out of the dreary little office and she didn't say good-bye.

Tricia returned
to Haven't Got a Clue and found Pixie behind the cash desk waving a Post-it note in the air. “Your sister called. She said she'll meet you here at five to walk over to the new Chamber office. She said to wear your old clothes. Does that mean you're going to help her clean?”

“Something like that,” Tricia said and unfastened the buttons on her coat. Why had Angelica even bothered to call when she knew Tricia would be seeing her at lunchtime? She hung up her coat and settled on the stool behind the cash desk that Pixie had so recently abandoned, hoping for, but not expecting, many well-heeled customers with long lists of vintage mysteries they were eager to buy.

Pixie sidled up to the cash desk, looking expectant. “Did you notice Sarah Jane has another new outfit?”

Tricia turned her gaze to the vintage doll carriage that sat along the side wall, partially blocking books by authors whose last names began with the letters
T
through
Z
. Maybe it was Sarah Jane's forever frozen startled expression that creeped Tricia out. At least this latest ensemble included a matching frilly bonnet to cover the doll's hairless vinyl head. The dress, hat, and patent leather shoes had probably cost some proud grandmother a small fortune, but when the lucky owner had outgrown the outfit—or more likely had never had the opportunity to wear it, except perhaps inside a photo studio—it had found its way to Pixie's favorite thrift shop, where it had probably been purchased for a song.

“It's very nice,” Tricia had to agree.

“She's wearing real vintage Curity diapers, rubber panties, and a taffeta slip under the dress. I thought since we sell authentic vintage mysteries, Sarah Jane should be wearing authentic vintage undies.”

Tricia wasn't sure what to make of that leap of logic and instead found herself simply nodding in agreement.

“Hey, I had the tube on before I came into work this morning,” Pixie said, changing the subject. “I saw some fire footage on the news. They said it was the dead dame's house. Did you hear?”

“Yes, I did,” Tricia said.

“They said it could be arson,” Pixie continued, her voice rising as though to elicit a greater response.

“Did they really?” Tricia asked.

Pixie nodded. “The broad lived less than a mile from me, but I never heard any sirens. The truth is, I sleep like the dead. You could play reveille full blast on a bugle right next to my ear but until I've had my full eight hours of shut-eye, nothing wakes me up.”

“How interesting,” Tricia said, and repositioned the stapler that sat on the cash desk. “Did you have a chance to make the coffee?” she asked Pixie. “I'm afraid I don't sleep quite as well as you. I was awake half of last night and got a late start this morning.” She didn't explain why.

“Can't you smell it?” Pixie asked. “That Colombian blend you've been buying lately smells like heaven to me. You wouldn't believe the swill that passes for coffee I had to drink when I was in stir. Would you like me to get you a cup?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” She got up from her perch and joined Pixie at the beverage station. Pixie poured the brew into Tricia's usual ceramic cup, doctoring it just the way she liked it. Watching her go through the motions with such an obvious desire to please made Tricia feel terribly guilty. Pixie might have a few rough edges—eavesdropping being her worst habit—but all in all she'd become an exceptional employee, which Tricia had been happy to report to her parole officer the times he'd checked up on her.

Pixie handed her the cup and a paper napkin. “Careful, it's hot.”

Tricia inhaled the aroma and took a tentative sip. “Thank you, Pixie. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Pixie's cheeks blushed under her pancake makeup and she positively beamed with delight. “Since Mr. E won't be here until later, would it be okay if I went upstairs and unpacked and sorted that big box of books you bought off eBay? Did I mention it arrived while you were out yesterday?”

“No, but it would be very helpful if you'd take care of it. Thank you, Pixie.”

“Just doing my job,” she said with pride, pivoted, and headed for the back of the store and the door marked PRIVATE. Miss Marple jumped down from her perch and scampered off to follow her.

Tricia sighed, held the cup in both hands, and let its warmth seep into her. It was barely ten thirty and already she felt like she'd put in a full day's work. She hoped the coffee helped her get her second wind, and if not . . . considered heading for the Coffee Bean and a cup of espresso. There was more than one way to stay awake on the job.

*   *   *

Though he
wasn't scheduled to begin work until two o'clock, Mr. Everett showed up at precisely one to join Pixie for lunch. It pleased Tricia that two people with such diverse backgrounds had become fast friends thanks to Haven't Got a Clue.

She had already collected her coat and was ready to leave for her own lunch when they returned from the Bookshelf Diner at 1:59. But when Tricia visited Booked for Lunch, she found an anxious Tommy—the short-order cook, ready to leave for the day—with a message that Angelica had already taken off to run an errand. Tricia's usual tuna plate had been transferred to a foam take-out box. Tricia hadn't called Angelica to talk about the fire, figuring she'd probably already heard about it, but she'd been eager to discuss it with her sister nonetheless.

After returning to her store, Tricia climbed the steps to her loft apartment and ate her lunch at her kitchen island, picking up where she'd left off in
The Daughter of Time
with only Miss Marple for company. Much as she loved her cat, Tricia found she much preferred eating her midday meal at the counter in Angelica's homey little café with her sister for company. They'd come a long way in just over four years.

The rest of the day dragged. Mr. Everett and Pixie retreated to the storeroom above, with Pixie acting as instructor, teaching him how to fill the Internet orders. It was slow going, but Mr. Everett seemed to be picking up the whole book-fulfillment process, and Pixie predicted that they'd be caught up on all orders before the weekend. While they'd worked upstairs, Tricia and Miss Marple held the fort in the shop—a shop with absolutely no customers. Sometimes Tricia wondered if it was worth even opening the store during the winter. She glanced at the calendar and crossed her fingers, hoping Punxsutawney Phil's prediction for an early spring would come to pass. Thank goodness the promise of warmer weather grew with every passing day and the sky remained lighter just a little longer each evening. Winter's back might be broken, but they had five more weeks of winter to endure until the spring equinox.

As promised, Angelica strode into Haven't Got a Clue at precisely 4:59. Her idea of old clothes didn't match Tricia's, for she was dressed in what looked like a brand-new pair of freshly ironed jeans, with a crease so sharp it could have drawn blood, and under her short ski jacket she had on a pretty lilac-colored sweatshirt that also looked like it had only just had the sales tag snipped. She also held her big pink purse, which could only mean that she had brought Sarge along for the evening's entertainment.

“Why did you bring Sarge?” Tricia asked.

“You couldn't say, ‘Hello, darling sister, I'm so happy to see you'?”

“Hello, darling sister, I'm so happy to see you. Why did you bring Sarge?”

At hearing his name, the little white dog's head popped over the top of the purse and he yipped cheerfully, which caused Miss Marple to spring to her feet, jump to the top of the sales counter, and hiss.

“Miss Marple,” Tricia admonished.

“Sarge doesn't like to be alone for so much of the day and then the evening, too. He won't be any trouble,” Angelica promised. Sarge yipped again as though in agreement.

“Well, I hate to break up this happy reunion, but it's time for Mr. E and me to head out for the night,” Pixie said. “See you in the morning, Tricia. Bye, Angelica. And bye to you, too, Sarge.”

“Good night,” Mr. Everett called as he followed Pixie out the door.

Once her employees had left for the day, Tricia heaved a sigh. “Good, now we can talk. Where were you this afternoon? I had to eat lunch all by myself.”

“Aw, you missed me,” Angelica said with a grin. “If you must know, I went out to buy Mr. Everett a birthday card. I must say, the pickings over at the Happy Domestic are awfully slim—at least if you're trying to buy a card for a man. I was going to give Ginny a few suggestions on her card selection, but only her little assistant was there. I must remember to bring it up tonight when we see her. Anyway, I ended up at the convenience store. After that, I had a meeting with Marina over at the Sheer Comfort Inn.” She babbled on—much more information than Tricia really wanted to hear—but before she could get a word in edgewise, Angelica continued, “I do love to be the point person for that little venture, although I wish I could be more hands-on at the inn. Don't you think it would be fun to entertain people on a daily basis?”

“No,” Tricia said. She let out an exasperated breath. “By now I'm sure you've already heard all about the fire.”

Angelica looked at her blankly. “What fire?”

“Betsy Dittmeyer's home was a target of arson.”

“Arson?” Angelica repeated in disbelief.

Tricia nodded. “Good grief. It was filled with all that paper and trash—it looked like a gigantic bonfire.”

“Bonfire? It sounds like you witnessed it.”

“I did.” She filled Angelica in on her adventures with Russ Smith during the wee hours of the night.

“Was anything salvageable?” Angelica asked.

“You mean the computer?” Tricia asked.

“Yes.”

“I don't know. I spoke to Grant earlier today and hinted about what we found in Betsy's files, but I didn't dare implicate myself.”

“Arson,” Angelica repeated and shook her head, preoccupied. “Why would someone set the place on fire? Do you think it could have been the same person who killed her?”

Tricia nodded. “And probably kicked the door in, too.”

The fine lines on Angelica's face suddenly seemed deeper. “What if the killer was trying to get rid of something he or she didn't want anyone else to find?”

“That was my thought, too.”

“Then we'd better finish cleaning out the Chamber's new home before it gets out that the junk inside belonged to Betsy, otherwise whoever torched her place might set fire to it, too.” Angelica turned and peered out the shop's big display window. “Antonio's car just passed by. We can finish this conversation on the way over to the rental house, or have you learned something else about this mess you wouldn't want to say in front of Antonio or Ginny?”

“No. Let me get my coat and I'll be right with you.”

A minute later Tricia locked the door to Haven't Got a Clue and the sisters started off down the sidewalk heading north. Angelica spoke first. “This morning I interviewed four candidates for the Chamber receptionist job and I think I may have found the right person,” Angelica said.

“Anyone local?”

“Yes, one of the villagers. She's an empty nester and looking for a part-time job to fill part of her day.”

“So you've made up your mind that Betsy's job should go part-time?” Tricia asked.

“Actually, the more I think about it, the more I may actually want to hire more people. As it is, our Chamber does very little for its members. I've been networking with other Chamber presidents and it seems like Bob never did much except toot his own horn.”

“What kinds of perks were you thinking of?” Tricia asked.

“Special deals with big-box office supply stores, for one. Our members would get a discount with every purchase. We could get deals on checks, credit card processing, and for the larger businesses, like the dialysis center, payroll discounts.”

“That all sounds nice,” Tricia admitted. “What else?”

“We could hold classes on leadership, small business counseling, and how to prepare better promotional mailers. We could do a lot more networking events. Do you realize we only have fifty-six members in our Chamber, but there are over one hundred businesses in and around Stoneham that would qualify for membership?”

“That many?” Tricia asked, surprised.

Angelica nodded. “Of course, if so many of our members weren't found dead on a regular basis, it might help recruitment.”

Tricia frowned. Since she seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding the dead; she was usually initially (and unfairly) blamed for their demise. She decided to change the subject. “As I mentioned, I spoke to Grant today. Needless to say he was upset—very upset—that we hadn't brought Betsy's dubious Chamber files to his attention before now.”

“He's had them since Saturday. That means he never even bothered to look at them.”