Lorna Barrett - Sentenced to Death

Tricia shook her head. “Poor Cheryl just hasn’t got a clue.”

“Great name for a mystery bookstore,” Angelica quipped.

“Very funny.”

“It looks like this puts your little investigation right back at square one,” Angelica said, and started walking again.

“I wasn’t investigating anything. I’m just curious about the goings-on here in Stoneham.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Angelica reminded her. “Come on back to my place and I’ll fix you something to eat. Preferably made of leftover turkey.”

That wasn’t exactly what Tricia was in the mood for, but the pickings were even slimmer in her own refrigerator.

She followed Angelica to her loft apartment and settled down at the big kitchen table. She wondered if Miss Marple was sleeping or missing her. If the latter, she knew she would get a stern scolding when she returned home. Angelica’s home seemed so . . . empty without a cat. But it was useless to even bring up the subject of adding a feline friend to the mix. And honestly, Angelica was far too busy to take care of a pet.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Angelica said, taking two wineglasses from the kitchen cupboard.

Penny. That was the name of Frannie’s cat.

“You wouldn’t want to know,” Tricia said as Angelica poured. “It’s too bad I know next to nothing about eBay.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because, I want to find out who’s selling those Dolly Dolittle figurines that were stolen from the Happy Domestic. I’m almost sure they’ve shown up on eBay.” She explained about her research and that she expected to receive one of the figurines in the mail.

“Frannie knows everything about anything,” Angelica said. “Why don’t you give her a call?”

“Do you have her home number?”

“On speed-dial,” Angelica said, and handed Tricia the phone. Angelica turned back to the fridge to rummage, and Frannie answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Frannie. It’s Tricia. I’m sorry to call so late, but do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Penny and I were just watching an old movie, anyway. What do you need?”

“If I wanted to sell something on eBay, and I didn’t have a computer, where could I go to do that?”

“But you do have a computer. I’ve seen you use it.”

“I’m speaking hypothetically,” Tricia said, hoping she’d kept her impatience from her voice.

“There’s a place in Milford that does it. They even pack and ship the items—for a fee, of course. But if you wanted to stay local, I’d send you to Brandy Arkin.”

“Brandy?” Tricia repeated, surprised. An eavesdropping Angelica raised an eyebrow as well.

“She’s a power seller. And since the day care center closed, she’s stepped up her online business. She’s got to keep a roof over her head, you know.”

“I take it you don’t have to upload pictures of the items you’re selling,” Tricia said.

“There’s a cost for everything. But who wants to buy something if you can’t see a picture of it?”

Who, indeed. Cheryl wasn’t the sharpest pencil in the box, and she was broke. What if she’d asked Brandy to list the Dolly Dolittle figurines but tried to save money by not posting pictures? It would be just like her.

But even if Brandy did post the items for sale, that didn’t mean she knew they were stolen. And even if she suspected it, she probably wouldn’t admit it.

And what good did any of this do, except to help prove Cheryl was guilty of breaking and entering the Happy Domestic and selling stolen items. It sure would help the prosecutor convict Cheryl, which was exactly what she wanted. She’d made a sloppy entry into a life of crime—just as she’d intended. Maybe she wasn’t quite as vapid as everyone gave her credit for.

“You still there?” Frannie asked.

“Oh, sorry. I was thinking. I’ll let you get back to your movie.”

“Nice talking to you,” Frannie said, and hung up.

Tricia handed the phone back to Angelica. “Frannie says Brandy Arkin is an eBay power seller.”

“So what’s that got to do with anything?” Angelica asked. She held a carving knife in her hand, and what was left of the turkey carcass sat on the counter.

“Nothing, I suppose.” Tricia thought back on her day. “Bob still hasn’t returned any of my calls. Why don’t you call him, and then you can pass the phone to me and I’ll talk to him.”

“I am not calling Bob for you.” She hacked off what was left of the turkey’s thigh.

“I know you’re angry with him, but if you want to annoy him, this is the perfect opportunity,” Tricia said.

“If you must know, he’s being punished.” Angelica peeled off a bit of skin, and attacked what was left of the breast.

“By you?”

“Of course by me. I’m waiting for him to call me . Groveling wouldn’t be a bad move on his part, either.” Did she seem just a tad annoyed at what was apparently now her erstwhile boyfriend? Angelica hadn’t turned back, so Tricia couldn’t see her face to judge just how upset she was about her relationship with Bob.

“I thought you guys were finished.”

“Not entirely,” Angelica admitted.

“Maybe you left him hanging for just a little too long,” Tricia suggested.

“I really don’t want to talk about Bob. Now, what do you want to eat? A turkey club or a turkey salad sandwich? Or I could smother it in gravy with some leftover garlic mashed potatoes on the side.”

“Turkey salad is fine. But only if you’re making it with whole wheat bread and light mayonnaise.”

“I do not have light anything in my kitchen, and I only have a baguette from Nikki’s Patisserie in the freezer, but it’ll be better than any sandwich you’ve ever eaten at home.”

Tricia sipped her wine. “Whatever,” she said, and cringed at herself for using that hated expression.

Angelica took celery from the fridge’s crisper drawer and began to chop up a rib.

“How long is this likely to take?” Tricia asked. “I’m going to go over to Bob’s house after I leave here.”

Angelica sighed. “You’re like a terrier, you know that? You just don’t let go of things.”

“You could come with me, you know. Maybe it would help you and Bob smooth things over.”

“More likely, he’d get angry with me. He doesn’t like to be pushed. And you’re a pusher!”

“I don’t deal drugs,” Tricia said wryly.

“And I don’t go crawling back to people who’ve done me wrong,” Angelica said bitterly.

“You could stay in the car.”

“And do what? Listen to the radio? Watch out for aliens?”

“The Dexter sisters still think we’re ripe for an invasion,” Tricia reminded her.

“Ha!”

“Well, are you game?”

Angelica sniffed and gave the last piece of celery a vicious chop. “I suppose I could go along . . . just to keep you company.’

“Fine,” Tricia said and nodded. More likely Angelica wanted to make sure Bob wasn’t canoodling with someone else on the sly. “How’s that sandwich coming?”

“Get the baguette out of the freezer and nuke it for about thirty seconds. I’ll have this turkey salad finished by the time you do that and get some plates out.”

Tricia glanced at the clock. It was already well past nine o’clock. Would Bob still be up by the time they ate their makeshift dinner and drove to his house?

She sure hoped so, because at this point, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t pound on his front door and wake him up if he had gone to bed.

This time, she would get some answers.

Angelica hadn’t finished her sandwich and had barely touched her wine before Tricia led her to the municipal parking lot to pick up her car. Was Angelica that worried Bob might be shacked up with someone else?