Lorna Barrett - Sentenced to Death

“I’m happy for Ginny, but . . .” She paused, studying Tricia’s face. “You don’t look happy.”

“I’m happy for Ginny, too, but I’m not happy to be losing such a wonderful assistant.”

“She knows her stuff,” Frannie admitted. “I’m sure she’ll do a terrific job for the new owner.”

“Nigela Racita Associates bought the store.”

“Who else?” Frannie said with chagrin. “Whoever owns that company has deep pockets. Mark my words, it’s out to buy the whole village.”

“I’ve had that same thought,” Tricia admitted.

“You’re not the only one,” Frannie said. “Too bad I don’t go to the Chamber of Commerce meetings anymore. I’ll bet more than a couple of the members will be getting nervous.”

“Or looking for a bailout?” Tricia suggested.

“That, too.” Frannie frowned. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

“Ask. I’d like to hire someone here in Stoneham to take Ginny’s place rather than go to an employment agency. Do you know of anyone looking for a job?”

“Only Cheryl Griffin, but I know Deborah wasn’t very happy having her as an employee. You wouldn’t like her, either.” Frannie leaned forward, lowered her voice, and spoke conspiratorially. “She’s a nut case.” That was easy to believe after the conversation Tricia had had with Cheryl earlier in the day. Frannie straightened. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else.”

“Thanks.” Tricia sighed. How was she going to bring up Deborah’s name again?

Frannie reached a hand out and touched Tricia’s arm. “We’re all sorry about poor Deborah.” She shook her head and frowned. “That husband of hers.”

The perfect opening.

“I heard they used to fight a lot.”

Frannie leaned forward. “Almost every night lately and always over her store or his supposed work.”

“Deborah said he worked two jobs.”

Frannie scowled. “If you could call what he did work.”

“I thought he was a welder,” Tricia said.

“Yes, but that second job of his doesn’t really bring in any income. He does bad iron sculptures of birds with their wings extended and other weird-looking things. Their backyard is full of them—all rusty and ugly. If I’d been Deborah, I’d have been afraid to let little Davey out in the yard for fear he’d fall over one, cut himself, and get tetanus.”

Deborah had never mentioned that David saw himself as some kind of artist. Just that his second job didn’t pay well. Had she been ashamed of his art? Had she seen it the same way Frannie did?

“These arguments—do you think Deborah and David were close to divorce?”

Frannie shrugged. “I can’t say. But more than once he stormed out of the house and didn’t return home until the wee hours. A couple of times, he never came home at all.”

Tricia’s heart sank, and she wasn’t sure if it was because Deborah’s marriage had been foundering, or because Deborah hadn’t confided in her more. How well had she really known Deborah?

The door at the back of the store opened, and Angelica emerged from the stairwell that led to her loft apartment. “Aha!” she called. “Didn’t I predict you’d be here to see Frannie this very day?”

Tricia sighed. “I came to ask Frannie if she knew of anyone who needed a job. Ginny’s turned in her resignation.”

“Oh dear,” Angelica said, suddenly full of concern.

A customer entered the store, and Frannie straightened, ready to spring into action. “May I help you?”

Angelica didn’t wait to hear the customer’s reply but grasped Tricia’s arm, steering her toward the door to the stairwell. “Why don’t we go talk about it upstairs. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea. Or something stronger, if you prefer.”

Tricia found herself shuffling up the stairs behind her sister, feeling totally downcast. She followed Angelica inside the apartment and down the hall to the kitchen. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows and felt warm on her back as she took a seat at the large table.

“It’s a bit warm for hot tea,” Angelica said, and instead opened the refrigerator and took out a glass jug filled with homemade ice tea. She snagged a couple of tumblers from the cupboard, filled them with ice from the freezer, and poured the tea. She set a glass on the table in front of Tricia. “Why are you moping around? I thought you were behind the idea of Ginny furthering her career.”

“I am. I just hate to lose someone I trust so much.”

“Wasn’t it just this morning Ginny was complaining that you didn’t trust her enough to let her open and close your store? That you didn’t let her go to the bank for you. That—”

“Okay, maybe I should have given her a little more authority. I’m not standing in her way. I just wish, well, that she could’ve stayed forever. She’s not only a good assistant, she’s a good friend.”

“And good friends don’t stand in the way of one of them getting ahead. Look at you. You’ve already achieved your life’s dream.”

“You make it sound like I should just give up and quit—or die.”

“I’m not saying that at all. I’m just wondering, will you always be happy selling books? Isn’t there anything else you aspire to?”

Tricia hadn’t given that much thought in the past few years. Her goal had always been to open Haven’t Got a Clue–or something very like it. She was happy here in Stoneham. She couldn’t imagine going back to her old life in Manhattan. And yet . . . could she imagine climbing all those steps to her loft apartment some twenty years in the future? Paper books might be a thing of the past the way e-books were proliferating. Was her chosen way of life doomed? She’d already had to stock items besides books to keep the customers satisfied. Edgar Allan Poe and other famous author coffee mugs, bookmarks, blank journals, key chains, and the like.

“Hello!” Angelica called.

Tricia looked up. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

“Are you burned out?” Angelica asked, yet it sounded more like an accusation.

Tricia shook her head sadly.

“Maybe you need to be more like me,” Angelica said with the hint of a devious smile touching her lips. “Diversify a little bit.”

“How?”

Angelica shrugged. “I don’t know. Make a few investments. I’ve already got the Cookery, the café, and a writing career. Maybe you could start a day spa. We could sure use one around here.”

“Why would I want to run a day spa?”

“For fun! That’s why I opened Booked for Lunch.”

“Are you crazy? You’ve had nothing but problems since you opened the café. From thieving employees to a dead body in your garbage.”

Angelica waved an impatient hand in the air. “Just a few speed bumps on my way to success. Look at me—less than two years after coming to Stoneham and already I’m a successful businesswoman and a bestselling cookbook author. And look at you.”

“I am not a failure. I’ve just chosen different goals than yours.”

“The bar doesn’t get much lower.”

“Hey! I’m a successful businesswoman, too. I don’t choose to live a life as manic as yours.”

“No, you get your ya-yas finding bodies every couple of months. Maybe there’s a reason they call you the village jinx.”

Not that again. And it hurt that Angelica would be the one to bring it up. Talk about bullying!

Suddenly Tricia was once again the unwanted second child. No matter what she’d accomplished, there was always something in the back of her mind that reminded her that she’d been an inconvenience to her parents—and Angelica—and how they’d probably wished they’d used more effective forms of birth control. How it still haunted her that during some stupid argument about a boy, her mother had blurted out, “We never expected to have another child.” From that day forward, Tricia had viewed all slights and reprimands with a different perspective. Was it a surprise she’d clung to her loving, all-forgiving grandmother rather than her parents?