Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

Tricia hesitated. She wasn’t a big sweets fan, and the bright yellow color was a bit off-putting. It reminded her of the radiator fluid that had leaked from her last car. She remembered something Frannie had said about Jim becoming ill just before their dates. If Mrs. Roth hadn’t approved of Jim dating, might a few drops of coolant put him out of commission for a few hours? She hesitated, told herself she was being foolish, and reached for one of the cookies, took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Mmm, it’s delicious.”

Mrs. Roth’s eyes narrowed, her mouth quirking into a crooked smile. A shiver ran through Tricia. She wasn’t at all sure she liked Mrs. Roth.

It was nearly three o’clock when Ginny said, “Mail call!” and dumped a pile of envelopes and packages on Haven’t Got a Clue’s glass display case, startling Tricia. Awash in order forms to restock the coffee station, she hadn’t heard the door open and the mailman come in.

“Bills, bills, bills,” Ginny said with a laugh. “Makes me feel like I’m at home.”

The door opened again, and a customer walked in. “Can I help you?” Ginny asked, and left Tricia to deal with the mail. She sorted through the envelopes, separating them into piles.

Among the bills and circulars was a squat package. Tricia scrutinized the return address. There was only one person she knew in Colorado—her ex-husband, Christopher. They hadn’t spoken in at least eighteen months, not since she’d called him, needing to hear a friendly voice after Doris Gleason’s murder. Since they’d parted, she hadn’t received so much as a Christmas card from him, and now this—whatever it was. A birthday gift, perhaps? If so, jewelry, most likely. He’d bought her rings, earrings, necklaces, and bracelets for birthdays and Christmases, and after he’d left her, she’d found it unbearable to wear any of his presents. They now resided in her jewelry box, stuffed in the back of her closet. She’d gone to a discount store and chosen an inexpensive—but dependable—Timex watch as her only piece of adornment—that and a few pairs of post earrings.

Tricia turned the box over and shook it, but nothing rattled inside. Christopher hadn’t insured it, so whatever was inside probably wasn’t valuable. And if it was meant as a birthday gift, was she supposed to wait until next Wednesday to open it?

The heck with that! She fumbled for the box cutter she kept under the counter and slit the tape that sealed the box. Inside the cardboard, nestled between two layers of foam peanuts and wrapped in a protective sheet of bubble wrap, was a red-velvet-covered box. Yup. Jewelry. At least Christopher always had good taste. She extracted the box and opened it. Inside was a lovely oval locket engraved with calla lilies—her favorite flower. Christopher hadn’t forgotten. She opened the locket and found he’d inserted a picture of Miss Marple. She frowned. She’d half expected he’d put a picture of himself inside. That maybe he was thinking of her. That maybe he’d gotten over his midlife crisis and was thinking of returning to her.

She searched the box. Sure enough, on the bottom was a small white envelope. The flap had been tucked inside. She removed the card, which had a watercolor of calla lilies on the front, and opened it. It was Christopher’s familiar handwriting, all right. She read the lines:

To remind you of the one you love the most.

Love,

Christopher

Tricia frowned at the words, puzzled and hurt. Yes, she loved Miss Marple, but did he think she was incapable of loving a person as much? She had loved him with her heart and soul, and he had left her for a life of solitude in the Colorado mountains.

She was fighting back tears when an out-of-breath Darcy Gebhard pushed through Haven’t Got a Clue’s front door. “Tricia!”

Tricia wiped her tearing eyes, stuffed the box under the counter, and tried to keep her voice level. “What can I do for you, Darcy?”

Darcy brandished a blue banking pouch. “I’ve brought over the day’s receipts.”

Tricia cringed. Ginny and her customer both looked up. Did Darcy have to announce it to the world at large?

She handed over the pouch, and Tricia quickly stowed it under the counter. She lowered her voice. “Perhaps tomorrow you could bring it over in a plain paper bag so as not to draw it to my customers’ attention.”

“Oh, sure.” Darcy laughed. “Oh, I get it. You don’t want me to make myself a mugging target. Good thinking.”

Was the woman completely clueless? Tricia consulted the clock once again. It usually took Angelica more than an hour to wind things down at the café; she was a stickler for cleanliness. However, Jake was probably long gone, and Tricia wondered if Darcy had been as thorough in her end-of-day tasks. “You seem like you’re in a hurry.”

Darcy raked a hand through her too-long bangs. “Yeah, I gotta get moving. I’m helping a friend get her garden in shape. Don’t want to be late.” With her brightly lacquered nails and fingers full of silver rings, she hardly seemed the gardening type.

“Gotta run,” she said, making an abrupt about-face. “See you tomorrow.” And out the door she went.

Ginny and her customer approached the cash desk. “I’ll just ring that up for you,” Ginny said.

Tricia stepped aside and bagged the order, tossing in a copy of store’s latest newsletter as well as a couple of bookmarks she’d received from current mystery authors, and handed the bag to the customer before she glanced out the front display window. Darcy was heading in the direction of the municipal parking lot. Who wanted to garden at the hottest part of the day? Tricia shook her head.

“What’s up?” Ginny asked, once the customer had departed.

“Darcy. She’s an odd duck.”

“Yeah. She’s either overly friendly or just plain ignores you.”

“I didn’t think you’d eaten at Booked for Lunch all that often.”

“I haven’t. But I’ve run into her a few times around town. She’s almost as obnoxious as Angelica’s cook. The few times I’ve run into him and said hello, he’s sneered and ignored me.”

“Good.” At Ginny’s startled expression, Tricia explained. “I mean I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way about him. Angelica thinks the world of him.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Ginny commented. “I’m going to straighten the shelves in back. Call me if you need me.”

Tricia nodded. Once Ginny was out of sight, she brought out Christopher’s gift. Miss Marple jumped down to the counter from her perch on the wall behind Tricia. Brrrrrp!

“Christopher thinks I love you best.”

Miss Marple rubbed her head against Tricia’s arm, as though to say, “Well, of course you do!”

Tricia held the locket in her fist, wondering what she should do with it. Should she throw it away or . . . wear it?

Throw it away , the hurt, angry part of her said.

Keep it , the part of her that still ached for Christopher begged.

Tricia grasped the chain and opened the clasp, fumbling to fasten it around her neck. But instead of wearing it outside her sweater, she tucked it inside. She didn’t want to talk about it or show it to Ginny. This would be her secret. And if she never wore it after today, that was okay, too.

Tossing the box and packaging in the wastebasket, she sorted through the rest of the mail. Nothing too pressing; nothing very interesting. Miss Marple soon became bored and returned to her perch above and behind the sales counter.

The bell over the door rang, and two elderly women entered Haven’t Got a Clue. That alone wouldn’t have startled Tricia, but the fact that the ladies were dressed alike, in matching tennis shoes, dark slacks, and floral tops, and wore the same hairstyle, made them look like they’d been stamped out with a cookie cutter. How old could they be? In their seventies? Perhaps eighties?