Murder on the Half Shelf (14 page)

Thankfully, Tricia
was able to keep the remainder of the meeting focused on the discussion of
The Goodbye Look
, although Donna seemed bored by the conversation and kept staring off into space. She wasn’t fond of older mysteries, which made Tricia wonder why she remained part of the group.

The meeting was winding down and Tricia was picking up empty coffee cups and crumpled napkins when Nikki pulled her aside. “Have you got a minute to talk?”

“Sure. What’s up?” Tricia said, and deposited the papers into the wastebasket.

Nikki pursed her lips and looked embarrassed. “This probably isn’t the best time to mention this, but I didn’t want you to hear it from somewhere else,” she said, and lowered her voice even more when she spoke again. “Russ and I are moving in together.”

Tricia blinked, startled. She and Russ had gone out together for about a year before he’d unceremoniously dumped her—and not even for another woman but a job opportunity that never materialized. Then he’d wanted her back—something she was not keen on. “Oh, well. Congratulations,” she offered.

“In fact.” Nikki held out her hand. “We’re engaged.”

Tricia moved from startled to shocked. “Oh.” Her mind whirled. Russ. Happy. Even more mind-boggling: Russ and the word
engaged
in the same sentence. Engaged meant commitment, something he wasn’t willing to do for Tricia. But then, he definitely wasn’t what Tricia wanted in a life partner, anyway. And since that was the case, why was she so surprised—upset?—by the news?

Nikki laughed. “Is that all you can say?”

Tricia managed to paste a smile on her lips. “Congratulations—I mean, best wishes. To say I’m surprised is…” Somehow she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“To be quite honest, I was positively shocked when Russ got down on one knee and offered me the ring—it was so romantic. I’ve been through one bad marriage. If anyone had told me two years ago I would even contemplate going through it all again, I’d have spit in his eye. But now…” She again offered up her finger so Tricia could inspect the ring. It was a small solitaire, probably three-quarters of a carat. Tricia’s engagement ring from Christopher had been two carats and in bright sunshine could blind small animals. He’d actually wanted to buy a ring with a bigger stone, but she thought they looked gaudy and unappealing.

“It’s lovely,” she said, and gave Nikki a genuine smile. “Have you set a date?”

Nikki shook her head. “It all depends on finding a place for the reception. The Brookview is all booked. We thought about the Sheer Comfort Inn, but now it looks like they won’t be opening at all.”

Tricia’s gaze dipped, and Nikki’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that. It must have been just awful for you to find Mrs. Comfort.”

More upsetting than finding Mrs. Comfort was learning about Mr. So-Called-Comfort, but Tricia didn’t voice that. “I really don’t like to talk about it, and I wish the group hadn’t pressed me for details.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a good idea, either. Shame on Frannie for being so pushy.”

After Frannie had been the object of the same treatment, she’d backed off for several months. But now she was back to her old habits.

“I think I’ll remind them not to bring it up when we start discussing
Death Beckons
.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Nikki nodded and headed back to the group gathered around the reader’s nook.

Ginny shrugged back into her jacket and joined Tricia at the cash desk. She looked around the place. “I sure miss working here sometimes. I didn’t realize how easy I had it.”

“I’m sure you’ve exceeded your new employer’s expectations with everything you’ve done at the Happy Domestic.”

Ginny giggled. “I got another raise last week. According to the books, or what there was of them, sales have tripled since I took over. Ms. Ricita is very pleased with me. At least I think so. I was hoping I’d have had a chance to meet her by now. Antonio is always making excuses for her not visiting Stoneham.”

“Will she be coming to your wedding this summer?”

“She’s on the invitation list, and Antonio promised she’d make it.” Ginny’s gaze dipped, and her expression sobered.
“I’m so sorry for all this Harrison Tyler crap. I see his picture is missing from the wall.”

“He asked me to take it down.”

“Well, I won’t ask you any of the details. But if you need to talk to someone, you know I’m discreet.”

“I appreciate it. And I would like to go to lunch with you sometime soon.”

Ginny laughed. “No time like the present to arrange it.”

They made a date to meet during the next week before Ginny waved to the group and headed out the door. Her departure was a catalyst for everyone else to round up their books, coats, and purses.

“Oh, oh!” Frannie said, waving her copy of
The Goodbye Look
in the air. “Don’t forget to watch my boss on TV tomorrow morning.
Good Morning, Portsmouth
on that new Channel Nine. She’s promised a big surprise.”

“Can’t, gotta work,” Nikki said, and Mary agreed.

“DVR it. That’s what I’m going to do,” Frannie said as they all headed toward the exit.

The others followed her out the door, with only Mary holding back. “Do you mind if I wait a few minutes? Luke said he didn’t want me to walk home alone. He picked me up after closing yesterday. He says he’ll keep doing it until they catch whoever killed Mrs. Comfort.”

“He’s a sweet husband.”

Mary laughed. “I think I’ll keep him.”

A car pulled up to the curb and honked its horn. “Oh, there he is now,” Mary said. “See you later.”

Tricia waited behind the door until Mary got in the car, and then both she and Luke waved and he gave the horn another honk in farewell before the car took off north down Main Street.

The meeting hadn’t taken as long as usual, and it was only seven thirty when Tricia went to turn the deadbolt on the door. She moved to lower the blinds on the big display window
and noticed Michele Fowler standing on the sidewalk in front of By Hook or By Book, staring at the building across the street. Was she admiring her handiwork? Angelica had said she’d been hired to manage the latest Nigela Ricita Associates investment—the Dog-Eared Page.

Maybe it was because she felt picked on by the readers’ group—or maybe it was just plain guilt—but Tricia realized that Angelica was right on yet another count. There was absolutely no reason for her to be jealous of her sister’s friendship with Michele.

On impulse, Tricia grabbed her jacket and keys and locked the shop door behind her. Huddling into her collar, she walked up to Michele. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Michele turned, her eyes lighting up and her smile widening. “Hello, Tricia.” Tricia loved to hear that English accent. Michele swept a hand in front of her to take in the front of the new building. “I felt the urge to just stand here for a few minutes and admire my new baby from afar. Isn’t it smashing?”

Tricia eyed the building’s new façade, not at all like its previous incarnation. That was because it had been built to mimic the building it replaced as it originally looked when it was first erected back in 1896. Carved into the granite lintel were the words
Stoneham Hose Co. No. 1
. The bar sign hadn’t yet been hung. What were they waiting for—the liquor license?

“I’m curious. How did you get the job?”

Michele looked confused. “Sorry?”

“To manage the Dog-Eared Page?” Tricia clarified.

“I interviewed, of course.”

“Yes, but how did you find out about the opening?”

“I didn’t. Antonio Barbero paid me a visit at the gallery last fall and asked me what my future plans were. He’d heard I was about to close it and said he wanted to talk to me about the possibility of managing the pub when it opened.”

“Did he say how he heard about you?”

“Of course. Angelica told him.”

“She did? I didn’t know she ever spoke to him.”

“Well, I believe it was actually Antonio’s girlfriend who told him about me, but she had heard about me through Angelica. Isn’t networking divine?”

“Yes, it is.”

“When did you officially start work?” Tricia asked, wondering if she’d missed her calling and should’ve been a reporter, or perhaps a prosecutor, although Michele didn’t seem to mind the mini interrogation.

“I’ve been working for the firm since November. There are a lot of decisions to make when opening an establishment such as this, and I’ve pretty much been given a free hand to do what I please.”

“A free hand?” That sounded like it could be expensive—for NR Associates.

“Mostly with the decoration of the pub,” Michele clarified. “And of course everything is approved at the corporate level.”

“Have you ever met Ms. Ricita?”

“No, but Antonio says it won’t be long. He hinted she might come to Stoneham for the pub’s opening. Wouldn’t that be brilliant?”

“Yes. Brilliant.” But Tricia was more interested in hearing about the pub, and pleased that Michele either didn’t know or didn’t care about her finding Pippa Comfort’s body. “Now that Ginny manages the Happy Domestic, I don’t get to see her, or even talk to her as often as I’d like. I see Antonio even less.”

“And the local gossip machine isn’t keeping you informed? Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” she said with a laugh. “Come on over, and I’ll pour you a drink.”

“Now?” Tricia asked.

“The bar’s fully stocked. I’d like your opinion on what we’ve accomplished so far. Angelica says you have a real eye for detail.”

Did she?
For some silly reason, that pleased Tricia.

“I’d love to,” Tricia said, and the two of them crossed the empty street. Michele withdrew a ring of keys from her jacket, picked out the appropriate one, and opened the door. She took a few steps in, threw some light switches, and the inside of the pub practically glowed.

For months Tricia had seen trucks pull up to the site and disgorge their loads, most of them giving no clue as to what they’d delivered. What lay inside the building absolutely delighted her. The tin ceiling had been painted with glossy black paint many times over, softening the tilelike design so that it looked at least a century old. The massive oak bar stood against the south wall, its brass foot rail shining brightly. A large mirror behind the back bar was bright with lighted Victorian stained-glass panels framing each side.

Five or six booths lined the north wall, while ten or more stools stood before the bar, and a smattering of small tables filled the rest of the space. Along the back wall was a small stage, indicating live music would be in the offing.

“Oh, it’s lovely. Is this what you were used to back in England?”

Michele shook her head, shrugged out of her coat, and tossed it on the bar. “Not really. But this is what Americans expect from a British pub, and I’m happy to give it to them. Sit down,” she encouraged, and Tricia obligingly settled on one of the bar stools.

“What’ll you have?”

“I don’t suppose you have any cream sherry?”

“I certainly do,” Michele said, and turned for the mass of bottles lining the back bar. She selected one, found a delicate stemmed glass, and poured.

“Will you get in trouble for inviting me in before the official opening?” Tricia asked.

“Not at all.” She handed Tricia the glass and then stooped to fill a glass with ice, poured a generous Gordon’s gin for
herself, and topped it with tonic from the well trigger. “No lime, I’m afraid. No point in cutting fruit garnishes until we’re actually open.” She held her glass up in a toast. “Here’s to the Dog-Eared Page, and long may I be employed.” She laughed and took a hearty sip.

Tricia sipped from her own glass. She hadn’t had sherry in a long time and had forgotten how much she used to enjoy it. In fact, it was Harry who’d first introduced her to the stuff. They’d had a picnic at sunset on his boat. Nestled under a blanket, watching the sky for the first star to appear, they’d shared French bread stuffed with chicken salad, a little Brie, some grapes, and tiny glasses of sherry. And after that…

“You look like you’ve just traveled a fair distance…maybe back in time?” Michele suggested.

Tricia smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

Michele shrugged. “A good barkeep can almost read minds. We listen well, too.”

“I do have a lot on my mind,” Tricia admitted. “This most recent murder, my new employee. Angelica’s TV debut tomorrow…”

“I’d say that’s a full plate,” Michele agreed, and downed another swig of gin. “Angelica tells me you’re a pretty good detective.”

Tricia frowned. She’d thought she could avoid talking about Pippa Comfort’s murder. “Not really.”

Again Michele shrugged. “You’ve sniffed out a couple of killers in the past couple of years. Who’s at the top of your list of potential murderers this time around?”

Tricia shook her head and scowled. “I know almost all of the players. I can’t imagine any of them being responsible.”

“I understand they’re all Chamber of Commerce members. I’ve yet to meet any. Angelica thought I should get my boss to pony up the funds to join. I probably will. I have lots of ideas and no one to dump them on.”

“Ideas?” Tricia asked.

“To make Stoneham more enticing to visitors.”

“I’m open to anything you have to suggest,” she said, grateful for the change of subject.

“I understand there’s been a rash of murders during the last couple of years.”

This was getting into uncomfortable territory again. Tricia moved her gaze to the bar top.

“I was thinking, if there were any unsolved murders from a century or so ago, perhaps the local historical society could have a ghost walk at Halloween. I haven’t had a chance to check them out, but it is a lovely and dear cemetery.”

Lovely and dear? Tricia had never thought of a cemetery in those terms.

“Back home, our cemeteries are centuries older, and those with tombstones that survived are difficult to read. Hell, even if we couldn’t find an unsolved murder, I’m sure there must be lots of fascinating genealogy associated with the vicinity that could be played up.”

“I never gave it much thought,” Tricia admitted.