Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“That’s very sweet of you,” Tricia said, and instantly felt guilty. For a moment she’d almost forgotten she was spearheading the campaign. And worried what Frannie would say when she found out. “I canvassed the other shopkeepers, but you looked inundated when I was making my rounds.”

“I had a great morning. Wish they were all like that. So tell me, how did you get roped into becoming a collections officer?”

“I feel so sorry for the old lady—all alone in the world.”

“Have you met her?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, yesterday, in fact,” Tricia said, without elaborating. She was still a bit unnerved by the visit.

“I heard she didn’t have enough money for a funeral, the poor dear. Maybe this will help.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very grateful.” Time to change the subject. “What are you doing out of harness?”

“Sometimes I think I’ll go crazy if I have to spend another whole day at the store. Luckily, my mother helps out now and then. Today’s one of those days. Except she has to bring Davey”—Deborah’s toddler son—“with her. He’s napping right now, or else I’d be trapped. Would you believe David”—Deborah’s husband—“wants to talk about having more kids? Not with me!” Deborah had been more than a little stressed since Davey’s birth, as evidenced by the perpetual dark circles under her eyes. When the economy took a downturn, she’d had to let go her part-time employee, which made her a virtual slave to her store. Tricia didn’t envy her.

“Would you like a cup of coffee? Maybe that’ll perk you up,” Tricia suggested.

Deborah laughed. “It’s only caffeine that keeps me going.” Her smile wavered, and then her face crumpled and she began to sob.

Tricia hurried around the counter and gave her friend a hug. “What’s wrong? Can I help?” Deborah cried even louder.

Tricia pulled back and guided Deborah to the readers’ nook, where they sat.

Ginny appeared. “Can I help?’ she asked, concerned.

“Please get Deborah some coffee,” Tricia whispered. “And a tissue.”

Ginny nodded, and took off.

Deborah’s sniffling had begun to slow, and she wiped a hand at her eyes. “I’m sorry to dump on you like this, Tricia. I didn’t mean to.” Deborah looked around the store, and seemed relieved her meltdown hadn’t been witnessed by a crowd of customers.

“Don’t worry about it. Now, tell me all about it.”

“I don’t think I can handle it much longer. David won’t help at the store. My mother sees more of my child than I do. I’m a complete and utter failure,” she managed before the tears began again.

“That isn’t true,” Tricia said. “Is your store in the red?”

Deborah shook her head. “No. But—”

“You’re going through a rough time right now. We all are—”

“ You managed to hold on to your employees,” Deborah accused.

Tricia leaned in and lowered her voice. “I’ve had to dip into my savings.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but Deborah didn’t need to know the details of Tricia’s financial situation.

Ginny reappeared with a large Haven’t Got a Clue cardboard coffee cup, a couple of cookies, and a wad of napkins. “Here, Deborah. You need to eat something, then you’ll feel better. They’re Nikki’s famous raspberry thumbprints.”

“Thank you, Ginny.” Deborah blew her nose on one of the napkins, took a sip of coffee, and nibbled on a cookie.

“Maybe this is a problem we should bring up at the next Chamber meeting,” Tricia suggested. “You’re not the only shopkeeper in Stoneham who’s had to let an employee go.”

“That’s right,” Ginny piped up. “I feel lucky to still have a job, and I know Mr. Everett feels the same.”

Now there was an idea. Mr. Everett was looking for more hours, and Deborah needed help but had no money. Maybe Tricia could do a labor loan—pay Mr. Everett to give Deborah a few hours of help a week. That sounded good, but Tricia also knew Deborah was proud—and stubborn, like Mr. Everett—and might not accept what she considered to be charity. Tricia would have to figure out a way to make it happen. In the meantime, all she could do was listen as Deborah vented her frustration with her husband, the paperwork running a business entailed, and the fear she was missing the best years of motherhood.

By the time Deborah left Haven’t Got a Clue, she’d calmed down, and promised not to have another sobfest the next time she and Tricia met.

“Gosh, maybe it’s lucky I haven’t had the time or money to open my own store,” Ginny said, her voice hushed. “I didn’t realize it could be so overwhelming.” She faced Tricia. “You and Angelica always manage to meet all your obligations, whether it’s family or business. With everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months, you two don’t let things get you down.”

Tricia managed a weak laugh. She wasn’t about to discuss the pitiable state of her love life with Ginny. “I don’t know about Angelica, but I’m a good actress.”

Ginny chewed at her lip, looking pensive.

“It’s a balancing act, Ginny. Some days are easier—less hectic—than others.” This was not one of those easy days. To prove that, an Apollo tour bus drove down Main Street. “Why don’t you check the coffeepot. Look’s like we’re about to get hit with another crowd of customers.”

The rest of the day alternated between customer overload and nothing to do. But Tricia knew that when it came time to tally the day’s receipts, she’d be one very happy shopkeeper.

“See you tomorrow,” Ginny said, and headed out the door. As she left, Frannie entered, carrying a small Cookery shopping bag with handles. “Here’re the receipts for yesterday and today, along with the register tapes.”

“Thanks, Frannie,” Tricia said, and took the bag. Thankfully, Frannie seemed to have gotten over her snit about Tricia’s conversation with Captain Baker.

“I heard you’re collecting money for Jim’s mother,” Frannie said, her voice tinged with scorn.

Then again . . . .

Tricia let out a guilty laugh. “It was a kind of spur-of-the-moment thing. I mentioned to Grace Everett how Mrs. Roth told me she needed Jim’s income to survive, and Grace kind of set the ball rolling.”

“Grace is a nice person, but she has no clue about the real Olivia Roth.” Frannie leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing. “It turns out Mrs. Roth had a very big insurance policy on Jim.”

“How did you find that out?”

“I’m not at liberty to tell. Suffice to say someone overheard her conversation with Billie Hanson over at the Bank of Stoneham. Mrs. Roth arranged to have the money deposited directly into her account and to have Billie call her when it arrived.”

“That’s interesting.”

Frannie’s eyes narrowed. “ Very interesting. Especially since the old biddy has been going around town telling everyone how destitute she is.”

Tricia sighed. She’d never heard Frannie speak with such spite. “It can take months before the insurance company releases the death benefits. How is she supposed to live?” she asked, reasonably.

“She’s got her husband’s Social Security and some investments. If she was really hard up, she could put the house up for sale. It’s in her name.”

Tricia frowned, remembering Mrs. Roth’s living room. “I got the impression the house belonged to Jim.”

Frannie shook her head. “Poor Jim never had a pot to piss in. He was a terrible money manager, which is one of the reasons his store was in trouble. He wanted his mother to take out a home equity loan so he could pay off his creditors, but she refused. He said they’d argued about it more than once.”