Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“I wasn’t happy with the way things ended between us,” Baker said, his voice softening.

“I wasn’t all that happy about it, myself.” Good grief, if she looked in a mirror right now, she’d probably see Margaret Hamilton’s green witch face from The Wizard of Oz .

“There’s no chance Mandy and I will ever be together again, but until she fully recovers, I need to be there for her.”

Tricia felt her fists clench and her jaw tighten. “That’s very commendable of you.”

Baker’s eyes wandered, and he noticed Ginny was eavesdropping. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Look, can we go somewhere and have coffee or something? I’d like to talk to you”—he shot a glance in Ginny’s direction—“without an audience.”

Tricia shrugged. “I suppose. The café across the street isn’t open yet. How about the diner?”

“I was thinking of something a little more private. How about we get something from the Coffee Bean and take it to the park? It’s a beautiful day—what do you say?”

Again, Tricia shrugged. She turned. “Ginny, I’m going out for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” she said brightly, and waggled her eyebrows. No doubt she’d pump Tricia for information the minute she returned.

Tricia felt the blush creep over her cheeks, and turned away before Captain Baker could notice.

They exited the store, crossed the street, and entered the Coffee Bean. The aroma of freshly ground—and brewed—coffee was heavenly. Captain Baker ordered for them, remembering exactly how Tricia liked hers, and paid for it. Then they left, heading for the park on the edge of town. On the way, their conversation was polite but halfhearted. As they passed the Stoneham Weekly News , Tricia surreptitiously glanced into the big display window. Russ was at his desk, on the phone. He looked up and caught her eye; she quickly looked away.

Captain Baker led her toward the grand gazebo, a large, freestanding edifice of white-painted wood on a granite base. Its copper roof had gone a mellow green with age. Nearby was an empty forest green bench, where they sat.

“How’s your investigation going?” Tricia asked.

“Not as well as I’d hoped, which is one reason I wanted to talk to you. I can’t convince Bob Kelly to talk candidly. You know him well, and I hoped you could help me out.”

She didn’t know him all that well, but she wasn’t up to denying it. “What’s he not saying?”

“When I’ve tried to pin him down about the night of the explosion, he’s been evasive. I want to know exactly what happened in the minutes before all hell broke loose.”

“He hasn’t exactly been candid with me or my sister, either. Frankly, she’s worried. I know Jim was behind in his rent. Bob isn’t the most forgiving landlord—not that I can speak from actual experience. I’ve always paid my rent on time.”

“Do you know of anyone who held a grudge against Jim Roth?”

Tricia shook her head. “Why do you ask?”

“The gas meter behind the building may have been tampered with. I’m waiting to receive a detailed report from PSNH.”

Tricia shook her head. The idea that Jim’s death could have been premeditated was . . . well, rather shocking.

“What do you know about explosions?” Baker asked.

Tricia shrugged. “ Boom! Destruction. That’s about it.”

Baker frowned. “There are several zones associated with an explosion. First is the pink zone. That’s where Mr. Roth was virtually vaporized: the flash point. No one in the pink zone survives.”

That wasn’t news to Tricia. “Go on,” she urged.

“Next is the yellow zone. Oddly enough, one can be killed in this zone but the body may not have a mark on it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the shock wave from the explosion that kills them. Next up, the white zone, which contains a strong obstacle—in this case, a brick wall. The area behind it may or may not be safe, depending on how much falling debris there is. With multiple obstacles, you get multiple shock waves, going in all directions. But in this instance, the shock wave moved down the building, straight as a strike from a bowling ball.”

“And that’s why the building had to be taken down? This shock wave took out the load-bearing walls and the second and third floors?” Tricia asked.

Baker nodded. “After that is the blue zone. Bob Kelly was standing at the front of the store, at the far end of this zone, which is what saved him.”

“Lucky Bob.”

“Did Roth have an enemy—someone who might have been angry with him for any reason?” Baker asked.

“Well, sort of,” Tricia hedged; she thought it over, and shook her head again.

“What? Tell me.”

Tricia sighed, feeling like a rat for what she was about to say. “It seems Jim had a . . . girlfriend. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Baker asked.

“Frannie Armstrong. She manages the Cookery for my sister. But she loved Jim—I’m sure of it. It was his mother she held a grudge against.”

“Why?”

“Because Jim wouldn’t leave his mother to be with her.”

“That could be a motive for murder,” Baker agreed.

“Only if Frannie was that kind of person—which she isn’t. And if she was, wouldn’t she be more likely to go after his mother—not Jim?”

“People make stupid, impulsive mistakes—especially when there’s passion involved.”

Passion? Frannie and Jim? Somehow, Tricia couldn’t imagine that. “Yes, but Frannie was at the Cookery, with three witnesses, at the time of the explosion.”

“There was a buildup of gas before the explosion. Was Ms. Armstrong at the bookstore all day?”

Tricia opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped. “I couldn’t say. When Angelica’s not in the store, Frannie holds the fort. She’s usually there from opening until closing. I sometimes wonder if she even takes bathroom breaks.”

“Was your sister in the store on Wednesday?”

Tricia shrugged. “I know she was working on the food for her launch party, probably in her loft apartment. I don’t know if she spent much time in the store that day.”

Baker nodded. “Looks like I need to talk to your sister—and Ms. Armstrong.”

“Please don’t tell Frannie I told you about her relationship with Jim. Though she didn’t actually tell me not to say anything, I don’t think she expected me to sic the law on her.”

Baker sipped his coffee. “It would’ve probably come up during the course of the investigation, anyway. Secrets rarely stay secret for long.”

A young mother pushed a stroller down the sidewalk while her toddler waved and called “Bye-bye.” Tricia waved back. Baker looked uncomfortable.

“Have you met Jim’s mother? She seems like a charming lady—” Except for that rather nasty smile she’d flashed when she’d offered Tricia a lemon bar. Still, Tricia tried to be charitable. “And she’s all alone in the world right now.”

“I spoke to her, too. She was very cooperative, but she didn’t mention her son had a lady friend.”

“She may not have known,” Tricia said, then remembered Frannie’s comment on Jim becoming ill when they were supposed to have a date.

“I take it you weren’t well acquainted with Jim Roth.”

“No. I saw him at Chamber meetings, but I don’t go all that often, and whenever we spoke, it was mostly small talk.”

“Can you tell me anything about him?”

Tricia thought about it, then sighed. “He used to run parlays.”

“Give me a for instance.”

“When Deborah Black had her baby, Jim ran a parlay. You know those grid things—choose a date and put down a dollar. My sister had been in town only a week, and she won. I think he did them for sports events, too. You know—the Super Bowl, the Final Four. I never paid much attention because I don’t like to gamble—even when it’s only a couple of dollars. It seems like such a waste—unless you win, of course.”