Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

Birthdays were probably overrated, anyway. A baby emerged from the womb, and it was the mother who had suffered through pregnancy (an extremely difficult one, Tricia had always been told). Shouldn’t it be the mother who was honored with cake, flowers, and gifts? Of course, the year Tricia had done just that, it hadn’t been well received. For some reason, the unexpected child had never been able to please her parents the way that Angelica had charmed them.

Tricia let go of the chain, and the urge to discard the gift again surfaced—and yet she didn’t rip it from around her neck. Something had spurred Christopher to send it. Maybe it was only guilt, but it had been the first contact he’d initiated since their split. She would not disregard that, but neither could she give it too much credence. It was what it was—only a locket and chain—but at least Christopher had thought fondly of her, and she could accept that at face value.

Tricia shook herself. She was getting maudlin in her old—or should she accept it as just middle?—age.

Never mind. She had two errands to run that morning—with both venues opening at nine o’clock. That gave her only an hour before Haven’t Got a Clue opened at ten. She’d have to hurry. And she’d have to find time during the next day or so to canvass the Chamber of Commerce members to collect money in Jim’s honor for his mother. Yet another chore: Tricia needed to get a card for them to sign, too. One more stop to put on her places-to-go list.

Tricia and Miss Marple descended the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple deigned to check out the large square table in the reader’s nook while Tricia opened the blinds that covered the large display window overlooking Main Street. She noted that a Sheriff’s Department cruiser sat outside History Repeats Itself, with a deputy inside—probably guarding the site to keep rubberneckers away. Crime scene tape fluttered in the slight morning breeze. It surrounded not only what was left of Jim Roth’s store, but was still tied to the buildings on either side of it. Booked for Lunch hadn’t been affected, thank goodness. Angelica didn’t need that headache on top of all her other worries.

The bank was Tricia’s first stop that morning, where she deposited cash and checks for Haven’t Got a Clue and Booked for Lunch. She’d have to make another run tomorrow for the Cookery. Or maybe she’d wait until Monday, to save wear and tear on the soles of her shoes. Next up was a stop at the Stoneham Library.

Tricia parked her car and retrieved a box of books from her trunk. Was it her imagination, or had they gained ten pounds since she’d put them in there the week before? Somehow she managed to close the trunk lid, and staggered up to the library entrance. Jabbing the Handicapped door opener, she swung around and entered the library.

Head librarian Lois Kerr caught sight of her and met her halfway to the checkout desk. “My goodness, Tricia, is that another batch of books you’re donating for our quarterly sale?”

“Yes. They came in a box lot from an auction I attended last week. Nothing very valuable, I’m afraid, but there are at least a dozen mainstreams by bestselling authors, as well as some big-name romances, so you should be able to sell them with no problem.”

Lois smiled and shook her head. “If all the booksellers were as generous as you, we wouldn’t have to worry about donations for these book sales, which wouldn’t even be necessary if the Board of Selectmen would stop slashing our budget. Here, let me help you carry them to the conference room.” She grabbed one side of the box, and the women did an awkward sideways shuffle to the book sale dumping ground.

They set the box on the floor next to several other cartons. The library had a long way to go until there were enough books to hold a sale. Tricia decided she’d ask Angelica if she could spare anything, and maybe she’d hit up Deborah Black at the Happy Domestic as well. And what was going to happen to the stock salvaged from Jim Roth’s store?

“It’s a shame what happened to Jim Roth,” Lois said, as though reading Tricia’s mind.

“Yes. I shudder every time I look out my store window. That big gap in the street reminds me of a front tooth missing from a beautiful smile.”

“I’m sad to say I met Mr. Roth only a couple of times,” Lois went on, “although his mother comes in quite frequently. I’ve spoken to her on a number of occasions, and helped her find new authors. Like you, she likes to read mysteries. Although. . . .” Lois frowned. “Several months ago, she asked me about poisons.”

“Poisons?” Tricia repeated, taken aback.

“She said she’d seen something on television about cats and dogs dying because they found antifreeze and lapped it up. I helped her look up information on ethylene glycol.”

Tricia had seen the same report. The chemical had a sweet taste, which attracted animals and small children—and the results were almost always fatal. An uncomfortable wariness swept through her as she thought about the bright yellow color of the lemon bar cookies Mrs. Roth had served her the day before. Mrs. Roth had mentioned that they were Jim’s favorite treat.

Sanity prevailed, and Tricia again dismissed the notion. Jim had died from an explosion, not from ethylene glycol poisoning. But then . . . Mrs. Roth had said a few things that didn’t quite feel right. She’d have to think about all this.

“I heard once the Sheriff’s Department is finished investigating on site, they’ll have to knock down whatever is left of the store,” Lois went on.

“It’s a shame,” Tricia agreed. “It had one of the prettiest facades on Main Street. But it is dangerous to leave it as is. I heard several crashes during the night. I figured they were falling bricks or rafters or something.”

Lois shook her head in sympathy.

Tricia glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, Lois, but I’d best be on my way. I have just enough time to get a condolence card at the convenience store. I’m collecting money for Jim Roth’s mother.”

Lois beamed. “You are a dear. Will you let me contribute?”

“That would be very nice, thank you.”

Lois stepped into her office, and came back a few moments later with a ten-dollar bill. “Will you sign my name on the card?”

“I’d be happy to,” Tricia said, and tucked the money into the side pocket on her purse.

Lois walked her to the exit. “Thank you again for your generosity.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Tricia gave a farewell wave as she headed for her car. She did have time to get that condolence card. But where would she find the time to contact all the Chamber of Commerce members?

One thing at a time , she told herself . . . one thing at a time .

After a stop at the convenience store to pick up a condolence card, Tricia made it back to the municipal parking lot with a full ten minutes before she needed to open her store. While she’d been gone, the Sheriff’s Department cruiser had departed, and a large Dumpster had appeared outside of History Repeats Itself, taking up almost three parking spaces, while the neck of a tall wrecking crane towered over the back of the building. Construction workers in hard hats tossed bricks and other rubble into the Dumpster, making a terrible clatter. She sighed. The sound of demolition was sure to put off more than just her customers, and she wondered how soon the wreckers could complete their task.

The lights were on in the Cookery, and the photographic version of Angelica was once again outside the shop door. This time, however, it was wearing a sombrero and a colorful serape. The note telling customers they could find Angelica’s book inside was now pinned to the fabric.