Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

Tricia crossed her arms over her chest. “Darcy tells me you were convicted of a felony.”

“That’s none of her damn business,” Jake grated.

“Angelica gave you this job. She deserves to know,” Tricia said.

“We’ve talked about it. And she doesn’t have a problem with my past.”

“What were you arrested for?” Tricia pressed.

“Jaywalking.”

“That’s not a felony.”

“And neither is keeping my business to myself. Look, you’d be better off talking to Angelica about the café—not Darcy. Maybe Angelica will be glad to answer any of your questions—because I sure as hell won’t. Now, you’re keeping me from that soup you’re so worried about. If you’ll excuse me.” He pushed past her and entered Booked for Lunch. Tricia watched as he confronted Darcy, who immediately went into defensive mode. They both turned to the window, Jake gesticulating wildly. Since discretion was the better part of valor, Tricia hightailed it out of there before Jake threw another hissy fit and stormed out of the café for a second day in a row—and maybe forever.

Tricia couldn’t remember such a slow Saturday in Stoneham. Okay, it wasn’t yet high tourist season, but surely there had to be people out there needing to find something new—or old—to read. The day continued to drag on. While Mr. Everett dusted the shelves, and Ginny was dispatched to the storeroom to update the inventory, Tricia called Billie Hanson at the bank and persuaded her to stay after hours to see her and Ginny about the mortgage. Why not move forward on the project now that Ginny had accepted her offer of financial assistance?

A stack of books awaited reshelving, but Tricia felt too lazy for real work. And besides, Jim Roth’s memorial service was the next day, and Frannie was expecting her to bake something to bring to it. Obviously, for this next attempt, she’d need the right ingredients and the proper tools. And she knew just where to get the latter.

After telling Mr. Everett she had to run an errand, Tricia grabbed her purse, left Haven’t Got a Clue, and walked over to the Cookery. The cutout of Angelica was once again outside the entrance. This time, someone had attached a pair of novelty Groucho Marx glasses, complete with funny nose and mustache, and between the splayed fingers was a cat’s cradle of string. Someone’s idea of a joke? Angelica certainly would not be pleased.

Tricia entered the store. Unlike Haven’t Got a Clue, the Cookery at least had one shopper. Frannie, who was helping the customer, waved and called out “Howdy,” letting Tricia know they’d talk when convenient. And since the manager-customer ratio could change in a heartbeat should a bus full of tourists arrive, Tricia figured she might as well look around and try to find what she needed to make a decent muffin recipe. First up, a cookbook dedicated to baking. Next, she selected what looked like a rubber muffin pan, new measuring spoons, a can of Maine blueberries, and a tin of baking power. She figured she could find the rest of the ingredients at the grocery store in Milford.

Once Frannie’s customer left the store, Tricia stepped up to the sales counter, her arms filled with books and other products.

“My, my—are you actually going to bake?” Frannie asked, inspecting the items Tricia placed on the counter.

“Yes. And why is everyone so amazed? Lots of people bake.”

“Not you.”

“Well, I do now. Or I will, as soon as I install this muffin pan in my kitchen. Do these rubber ones actually work? I mean—it won’t melt in my oven, will it?”

“Of course not. And it’s not rubber. This flexible silicone cookware is great. Easy cleanup, and it can withstand high oven temps—even up to five hundred degrees. All the chefs on the Food Network use them.”

“If you say so.”

Frannie totaled up the items. “It’s rumored that Livvie Roth has been seen in Milford—with a man.”

“Oh?”

Frannie nodded. “Imagine that, cavorting around at her age.”

Cavorting? Mrs. Roth? Then again, she did say she had dinner plans with a friend. “Where was she seen?”

“At the Milford Travel Agency, for one. Word is she’s booked a cruise— for two .”

“To where?”

“The Caribbean. She got one of those sell-out deals.” Frannie’s voice dripped with disapproval.

No surprise there. Chauncey Porter had said Mrs. Roth bought a book on cruises. “And did your spy tell you when she’s to depart?” Tricia asked.

“In two weeks. I hope they stick her below the waterline on a very rough sea.”

“Frannie,” Tricia scolded.

“I’m sorry, Tricia. I can’t help but feel a bit catty. That woman kept her son and me apart.”

“Are you absolutely sure it was Mrs. Roth, not Jim, who did that?”

Frannie gaped. “Are you suggesting that Jim would lie to me?”

“He wouldn’t be the first man to look for any excuse to avoid commitment.”

Frannie stared at the baking book in her hands, her mouth trembling. “Jim wasn’t like that. He—he wanted to be with me. He said so many times.”

“But?” Tricia prompted.

Frannie swallowed. She continued processing Tricia’s order, and didn’t answer. “That’ll be thirty-seven seventy-eight, please.”

Tricia sighed, and handed Frannie her credit card. She processed the rest of the sale without comment. Tricia changed the subject. “How are the plans for the memorial service coming along?”

“Pretty good,” Frannie said, weariness now coloring her tone. “I ordered a poster-sized print of a picture I took of Jim last fall—from the same place Angelica got her cutout. I’ll pick that up this evening. The Chamber of Commerce has an easel I can borrow—that is, if Bob doesn’t find out. I used Angelica’s name to get it. That Betsy Dittmeyer is a real stickler for rules. She shows about as much compassion as a worm would.”

“I’m sure Angelica won’t mind,” Tricia said, ignoring the slur—however truthful—on Betsy’s character. “Now, about that cutout—”

Frannie looked out the large display window, saw the most recent alteration to the cutout, and cringed. “Not again.”

“I don’t think Angelica would approve of her likeness being mocked.”

“I’ll take care of it as soon as you leave. I promise.”

“Maybe you should just put it in the back of the store, out of sight.”

“No can do. Angelica specifically told me to place it where the customers could see it.”

Tricia shrugged. “Okay.”

“Getting back to Jim,” Frannie continued, as though grateful to leave the subject of Angelica’s cutout. “I think he should have a good turnout. He was loved by just about everyone in town.”

And especially you , Tricia thought.

The credit card machine spit out a piece of paper. Tricia signed it, and handed it back to Frannie. With their transaction completed, Frannie handed Tricia her shopping bag and receipt.

“Will I be seeing you later this afternoon?” Tricia asked.

Frannie frowned. “What for?”

“The day’s receipts,” Tricia reminded her.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Frannie gave a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t have forgotten today. See?” She pointed to a pink Post-It attached to the register. “I made myself a reminder.”

The tense moment seemed to have passed, for which Tricia was grateful. The door opened, and several giggling women shoppers bustled inside. Hopefully, they had friends who’d just entered Haven’t Got a Clue.

“Okay, I’ll see you later this afternoon,” Tricia said, picked up her bag, gave a wave, and headed for the door.

The morning sun had defied the weatherman’s prediction of rain. Of course, everyone said they needed rain, and it was true that in retail, inclement weather encouraged the bored to go forth and shop, but too many rainy days weren’t good for the soul.