Lorna Barrett - Murder On The Half Shelf

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.

“It would also be great if the Chamber could entice some kind of light industry to set up shop in the area. They also need to do more to get the locals interested in patronizing the shops and businesses in the area.”

“Not only should you join the Chamber-maybe you should run for president. They’ll be holding an election later this year.”