Lorna Barrett - Sentenced to Death

“How’s that? By bullying more or less?” Tricia asked.

“Go to the bank!” Angelica ordered, and pushed Tricia toward the door once again.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And don’t call me ma’am!”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“That’s better.”

Angelica closed and locked the café’s door.

The Bank of Stoneham was filled with customers, people eager to deposit their paychecks and obtain cash for the weekend, when Tricia entered. Elizabeth waited for her, sitting in a chair reserved for those in line to speak to a customer service rep. All of them were busy, so it was Billie Hanson, the bank’s stocky manager, who called them to her office and personally took care of them.

“That does it for the paperwork,” Billie said at last, and held up a finger, indicating they should wait a moment before leaving. “Let me get you a folder to put your deposit slips and other papers in. I’ll be right back.” She rose from her chair and left Tricia and Elizabeth sitting in the two visitor chairs in front of her desk.

Elizabeth turned to Tricia and wiped a few tears from her eyes. “I can’t thank you enough, for everything you’ve done for us. Mr. Everett has already been such a help—and now this for Davey.” She pulled a wadded tissue from her purse and pressed it against her nose. “I can’t believe everything that’s happened since yesterday. And to make matters worse, David’s already accepted an offer on Deborah’s store.”

“Oh, Elizabeth. I’m so sorry.”

“My daughter has only been dead twenty-six hours and already that man has sold off her most valuable asset.”

“How could anyone be so cold?” Tricia asked, and yet she had to voice the question that was burning on her tongue. “Was it to—?”

“Nigela Racita Associates,” Elizabeth finished with a nod and a scowl.

“Shouldn’t you have done an inventory first? Shouldn’t there have been—”

“David asked me last night for a ball-park estimate on what the store was worth. Apparently, they offered fifty thousand more than my figure.”

“That is generous.” Especially since Deborah’s store hadn’t been all that profitable. If nothing else, no one could say Nigela Racita Associates wasn’t at least giving fairmarket value for the assets it obtained. Picking up the Happy Domestic meant that in the space of two months, the development company now owned three local enterprises. Perhaps it was time to find out a little more about the firm. Tricia made a mental date for later that evening with her computer and Google.

Tricia glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back to my store. I’ve been missing half the day. Ginny’s probably . . .” She hesitated. Happy about it , she thought, but aloud she finished, “Wondering if I fell off the planet.” She stood.

“Thank you again, Tricia.”

Tricia bent down and gave Elizabeth a hug before leaving the cubicle.

Billie met her halfway to the door, and paused to speak to her. “It’s a good thing you’re doing, Tricia, setting up that trust fund for Davey Black. The whole village will be behind you.”

“The whole village?” Tricia asked.

Billie shrugged. “I know some of the villagers don’t like the booksellers, but nobody likes to think of a baby losing his mother. I think you’ll find the people of Stoneham have large hearts.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’d better get back to Elizabeth,” Billie said, and sketched a wave good-bye before heading back to her cube.

Tricia watched her, then started when someone touched her on the shoulder. She whirled. A woman who looked about thirty, with short-cropped dark hair, stood in front of her. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing you talking about a bank account for Davey Black.”

“Yes. After what happened to his mother, her friends and colleagues want to establish an education fund for her son.”

“I didn’t know Mrs. Black well. Davey was with us for only six weeks.”

Tricia looked at the woman, puzzled. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The woman gave a tired smile. “I’m Brandy Arkin. My sister and I run Tiny Tots Day Care over on Fifth Street.”

“Oh.” Tricia had heard of their business. Deborah had placed Davey in their care—and that’s where he’d broken his arm, falling from a piece of outdoor play equipment. Deborah felt the owners had been negligent, and while she decided not to sue, she had filed a complaint with the county.

“We’d like to make a contribution to the fund. Can I write you a check?” Brandy asked.

“Um, sure.” Tricia said.

Brandy stepped over to the customer counter, set her purse down, rummaged through it, and pulled out a checkbook. She scribbled for a few moments before handing Tricia a check. Ten dollars. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something—especially as Deborah and Tiny Tots Day Care hadn’t parted on happy terms. “Thank you. I’m sure Deborah would’ve been pleased.”

“I wish it could be more, but under the circumstances . . .”

The economy had picked up some, but Tricia knew a lot of small businesses were still suffering. And laid-off workers didn’t send their children to day care.

“It was very nice meeting you, Ms.—”

“Arkin,” the woman supplied. She smiled. “See you around the village.”

Tricia watched as the woman headed for the door. She turned back for the counter and picked up a deposit slip. She may as well add the check to the new account.

Five minutes later, she exited the building and headed back to Haven’t Got a Clue, dreading that she’d have to walk past the park yet another time.

Steve Marsden was still on site, only now he sat on one of the park benches that had been pushed to the side, balancing a laptop on his knees. In front of him stood Captain Baker. He saw Tricia, turned back to Marsden, and mouthed a few words before hurrying to intercept her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“How are you doing?” he asked, concern coloring his voice.

She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” Her gaze drifted to the uneven ground and dry dirt where only yesterday had been healthy lawn.

“I was wondering, do you have anything planned for this evening?” Captain Baker asked. She shook her head. “I was thinking . . . maybe you’d like to go out to dinner?”

Tricia sighed. Baker was just as bad as Russ when it came to issuing last-minute invitations.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” Baker continued, “and I’d rather do it in person than over the phone. Now isn’t a good time.” He looked back at Marsden for a few seconds.

What could he possibly have to tell Tricia? That his estranged wife’s condition had worsened and he needed a shoulder to cry on. Or maybe he was retiring from the Sheriff’s Department and taking a job in Florida or Timbuktu.

Or maybe he was just lonely and wanted a sympathetic ear.

She could be that person. Heck, she’d been doing that for almost a year now.

“Sure, I had nothing planned for this evening.” The whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Fine. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty. Why don’t you wear that peachy-colored dress.”

It was the nicest dress Tricia owned. So, this dinner engagement—she couldn’t really call it a date; they hadn’t had one of those in a long, long time—was to feature more than just diner fare. “I’ll see you then,” Tricia said, and smiled as Baker tipped his hat before turning back to Marsden.

Tricia started down the street again but decided that instead of crossing, she’d stop at the Coffee Bean. Haven’t Got a Clue’s coffee supply was getting low.

She entered the Coffee Bean and inhaled deeply. She never tired of the rich, mingled aromas of coffee on offer. She’d picked a good time to stop in—the store was empty, which meant its owners would have time to talk.