Lorna Barrett - Sentenced to Death

The outside air was damp and brisk, with a hint of autumn yet to come. Tricia led the way to the car. “That was a waste of time.”

“Oh, I don’t know. We did find out a few things we didn’t know before.”

“The fact David wants a little wife at home and a family? I’m still angry at him for throwing it all away.”

“It sounds like Deborah cheated first.”

“And that sounds like you’re blaming the victim,” Tricia said.

“Deborah was a victim of the plane crash, not of a failed marriage. It seems as if she was just as much—if not more—to blame than David. And why are you so upset? Because Deborah wasn’t the paragon of virtue you thought she was?”

Tricia sighed. “I’m afraid you’re right, there. The woman I’ve been hearing about for the past seven days bears no resemblance to the woman I thought I knew—from stealing Dumpster space, to having a child that wasn’t her husband’s. I can’t help but feel there might be other secrets Deborah was hiding, and that we’ll never know who she really was.”

“Deborah’s gone. It’s time you let go of her.”

“To move on like she was never here?” Tricia asked.

“The real Deborah never revealed herself to you.”

“Which makes me question every friendship I’ve ever had.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But you do seem to trust people too easily.”

Tricia frowned. “So far, I haven’t done too bad.”

They reached the car, Tricia pressed the button on her key fob, and the doors unlocked. How come these conversations with Angelica always left her feeling depressed and dissatisfied with her life? It wasn’t as though Angelica had a completely blissful life, either. With four failed marriages behind her, she was no authority on happiness. And yet, despite all the grief that had come her way, Angelica seemed to rise above the discontent and sail through it, whereas Tricia seemed to dwell on the misfortunes that hit her. Angelica wanted to be more like Michele, but Tricia wished she could be more like Angelica. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . she always had.

All the way back to Stoneham, Angelica gabbed about her favorite subject: herself. This time, she went on and on about her plans for her next cookbook launch and the self-promotion book tour she would undertake. That would mean that Tricia would have to keep an eye out for the Cookery and Booked for Lunch once again—which was not something she wanted to do. She didn’t voice that opinion. Angelica wouldn’t listen to her protests, anyway.

As she approached the municipal parking lot, Tricia saw flashing lights and noticed a Sheriff’s Department patrol car parked at the north end of the alley that ran behind the Main Street stores on the west side. “Uh-oh. You don’t suppose there’s more trouble at the Happy Domestic, do you?” she asked, and pulled into the lot.

“There can’t be,” Angelica said. But the women hurriedly left the car and jogged across the street, circling behind the Stoneham Weekly News to end up in the mouth of the alley. The patrol car was empty and they bypassed it, heading down the eerily lit alley, their shadows bouncing against the brick walls, thanks to the patrol car’s flashing blue lights.

“What do you think is going on?” Angelica asked.

“Hey, you ladies shouldn’t be here,” one of the deputies said. Henderson, if Tricia remembered right. Sure enough, a hooded figure was bent over the trunk of a car that looked a lot like the one in Boris Kozlov’s surveillance video. Tricia watched as Captain Baker himself slapped handcuffs around the suspect’s right wrist and then grabbed the suspect’s left hand and cuffed it, too. He grabbed the person by the arm and hauled her (him?) forward. It was then Tricia recognized the suspect.

“Good grief, it’s Cheryl Griffin!” Tricia cried, trying to keep up as Baker hustled Cheryl down the alley. “I thought you didn’t have a car!”

“I borrowed it from my cousin,” Cheryl called over her shoulder.

“There must be some mistake,” Angelica said, following in Tricia’s wake. “Why would Cheryl want to rob the Happy Domestic?”

“We caught her red-handed,” Baker said. “And what are you doing here?”

Tricia hurried around them, causing Baker to halt. “We saw the lights on the patrol car.” Tricia turned her attention back to Cheryl. “What happened? Why on earth would you want to rob the Happy Domestic?”

“Elizabeth Crane fired me and refused to pay me my last week’s pay. I figured I’d take what she owed me in merchandise.”

“But Elizabeth doesn’t own the Happy Domestic. It’s under new management,” Tricia insisted.

“Like I care.”

“You had a clean record. Why would you ruin your reputation, risk going to jail, for such a paltry sum?” Tricia asked.

“Maybe a week’s pay means nothing to you, but I’m facing eviction. I have nowhere to go—no one to bail me out of my financial jam.”

“But, Cheryl,” Tricia protested.

“Don’t you get it? I want them to send me to jail. I hope I get two, maybe three years. Let the state take care of me. At least I’d have a roof over my head and three square meals a day. Maybe I could even learn a trade so that when I got out I could find a good job.”

And no one willing to hire you , Tricia thought. Well, perhaps Angelica. She had hired an ex-con, and that job had led to bigger and better things for Jake Masters. But it was more likely that Cheryl would get community service and an order to make restitution. That might drive her to commit even more—and more serious—crimes.

Baker shook his head and shoved Cheryl toward the waiting Sheriff’s Department cruiser and placed a hand on her head as he guided her into the backseat of the car.

“Do you think you can recover the stolen items?” Angelica asked.

“If we can get her to tell us where they are. My guess is, she’s already sold them.”

“What if she put the items on eBay?” Tricia asked.

“I can ask one of the guys to check it out.”

Tricia was about to tell him she’d bought a suspect figurine but decided not to. At this point, she had no clue who the seller was. She’d have to wait a couple of days until the figurine her friend Nancy had bought arrived in the mail. Then she’d know for sure if it was evidence the Sheriff’s Department could use. It could wait.

“How did you come to arrest Cheryl?” Angelica asked.

Baker looked at his prisoner in the car. “We got a tip that someone was trying to break into the Happy Domestic. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find that Ms. Griffin made the call herself.”

“She’s not likely to go to jail for a first offense, is she?” Tricia asked.

“It’s possible—if she has a really crummy lawyer and if she gets a vindictive judge. More likely she’ll be asked to do community service and make restitution.” Just as Tricia had thought. He opened the driver’s door. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said to Tricia, removed his hat, and climbed inside the cruiser.

Tricia bent down to speak to Cheryl through Baker’s open window. “Cheryl, Grace Harris-Everett of the Everett Charitable Foundation has been looking for you.”

“I don’t want charity!” Cheryl declared.

“She may have a job for you at the Stoneham Clothes Closet.”

Cheryl looked ready to cry. “ Now you tell me!”

“Have Mrs. Everett call the county lockup. Maybe there’s something she can do for Miss Griffin,” Baker said, and put the cruiser in gear.

Tricia stepped back, and she and Angelica watched as Baker backed the patrol car into the street.

“So much for the great Stoneham robbery,” Angelica said with a shrug.