Lorna Barrett - Sentenced to Death

“Not at the ridiculous rates banks are offering these days.” Angelica stared at her sister for a long moment and then shrugged. “Whatever,” she said again. It was beginning to annoy Tricia.

“Will you donate something?” she asked.

“Sure, I can spare fifty bucks.”

Tricia gave her sister the evil eye.

“Okay, a hundred. Are you going to go door to door like you did when Jim Roth died?”

“Probably. And I’m going to hit up Antonio Barbero for a very big contribution. If Nigela Racita Associates is plotting to take over Deborah’s store, the least they can do is contribute to her son’s education.”

“Isn’t that kind of a double whammy? I mean, won’t Davey be on the receiving end of whatever his father gets for the business?” Angelica asked.

“Not necessarily. The louse could remarry or blow the money on fast cars and fancy women.”

Angelica scowled. “You really don’t like David, do you?”

“Not especially.” Tricia lifted her hand and rubbed her fingers together several times. “Come on, write out a check?”

Angelica got up and stomped around the counter once again. She pulled out her purse from underneath and reached for her checkbook, then paused. “Who am I supposed to make it out to? You? The Davey Black Education Fund?” She placed the checkbook back into her purse and stowed it under the counter again. “Maybe you need to think this through before you rush into it. It might be that you should hit the bank first and set up an account for the kid.”

“That’s a good idea. I could make Elizabeth the trustee, and then no matter what happens with David in the future, Davey will be all set.”

“Don’t you think you’d better ask her first?”

“Do you honestly think she’s going to refuse?”

“No. But it doesn’t hurt to ask. Besides, it’s just good manners.”

“I guess you’re right. I’ll give her a call and see if she can meet me at the bank sometime soon.”

“Why wait? Do it now.” Back out came the purse, and Angelica handed Tricia her cell phone.

Two minutes later, it was a done deal. With Mr. Everett willing to cover for her, Elizabeth agreed to meet Tricia at the bank in fifteen minutes.

Tricia folded Angelica’s phone and handed it back to her, then picked up her fork and continued to eat her lunch. Angelica shuffled her pages and stacked them in a neat pile. “I’m not getting any work done here. I may as well go home.”

“The book not going well?” Tricia asked.

“It would be going a lot better if I weren’t doing another Easy-Does-It cookbook. I thought I’d be getting my foot in the publishing door with the first one, and then they’d let me do something a little more creative. But no. Now they want the same thing, only different. Why did I have to be so successful my first time out?”

Tricia laughed. “I’ll bet that’s a problem a lot of authors would love to have.” She’d certainly heard it enough at the author signings she’d hosted over the past two years.

Angelica stood. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to David when he finds out you’ve made Elizabeth guardian of Davey’s scholarship money?”

“Why do I have to tell him anything?”

Angelica raised her arms as though in surrender. “It’s going to get around, and I don’t think he’s going to be pleased. Everyone knows he doesn’t like you.”

“Who’s everyone?”

Angelica sighed, but didn’t bother to reply.

“Besides, I don’t like him, either. And after Deborah’s funeral, I never have to put up with him again.”

“Stoneham is a small village,” Angelica pointed out, “and you know how things can get ugly when the townspeople stick up for one of their own and shun the newcomers.”

“David and Deborah were originally from somewhere on Long Island, not natives of Stoneham. And the villagers have hardly embraced the booksellers.”

“They’re coming around,” Angelica said. “And I’m counting on them eating here at Booked for Lunch when the winter rolls around and the tourists stay home until spring.”

Tricia ate her last bite of tuna and pushed the plate away. “You worry too much.”

“With all the bodies you’ve found in this town, I’d think you’d be a little more concerned.”

Tricia blinked, taken aback. “Do you honestly think David would threaten me over something as innocuous as setting up a scholarship fund for his son?”

“Of course not. But you’ve already interfered by loaning Mr. Everett to work in Deborah’s store—a store David wants to close as soon as possible.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Everybody’s talking about it.”

Tricia was getting tired of hearing about everybody —especially if Angelica wasn’t willing or able to identify who they were. “I’m not afraid of David Black.”

“Well, maybe you ought to be. Deborah was,” Angelica said casually. “And now she’s dead.”

Tricia stared at her sister, unable to believe what she’d just heard. “Aren’t you the one who told me the crash was an accident?”

“Of course it was,” Angelica said. “And wasn’t it handy that it came at a time when the Blacks were having marital problems?”

“They argued about the amount of time Deborah spent at the store—I’ll grant you that. But they weren’t on the verge of divorce, either.”

“That’s not what Frannie says.”

“Frannie?”

“Well, she lives on the same street as Deb and David. All the neighbors knew about their shouting matches—usually at night when people wanted to sleep.”

Tricia wasn’t sure how to react to that news. She’d thought Deborah had told her everything. She’d certainly complained about David often enough, but she hadn’t mentioned that their marriage was as strained as Angelica—more likely, Frannie—had indicated. And why hadn’t Frannie mentioned it the previous evening when members of the Tuesday Night Book Club came to Haven’t Got a Clue to commiserate?

Tricia glanced at her watch. She had to meet Elizabeth at the bank, so there was no chance she could talk to Frannie any time soon. And she couldn’t ask Elizabeth such a question in the bank for everyone to hear.

Tricia pursed her lips, angry at herself for succumbing to idle gossip. And if what Angelica said was true, she felt a little hurt, too, that Deborah hadn’t been as honest with her as she’d thought.

She got up from her stool, carried her dishes into the kitchen, and dumped them into the slop sink. By the time she came back into the dining room, Angelica had gathered her manuscript and her purse and had her key out ready to lock up.

“When shall I tell Frannie you’ll be over to talk to her?” Angelica asked, with just a touch of a sneer in her voice.

“I have no plans to talk to Frannie today.”

“I’ll tell her you’ll see her tomorrow then, shall I?”

Tricia gave her sister a sour smile. “Thank you for the lunch. I’ll see you later.”

“Today? I thought your plan was to spend the evening with your cat and a book.”

“I am a woman of mystery,” Tricia reminded her.

“Since when?” Angelica asked as she ushered Tricia toward the door.

The answer was since she’d opened a mystery bookstore. And it had been a long time since she’d felt this awkward and unsure—high school, in fact. But Angelica seemed to have the knack to take her back to those feelings with only a couple of sentences.

“Has anybody ever accused you of being a bully?” Tricia asked, stopping dead.

Angelica nearly ran into her. “Of course. And I’m working on it.”