Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“I’ll be off now,” Mr. Everett said. “I shall see you on Tuesday.”

“Have a nice evening and have a good day off,” Tricia said, and closed the door behind him. She didn’t bother to lock it, since Ginny would be arriving in minutes with the Cookery’s daily receipts.

Tricia looked out the window and saw a well-dressed man standing with his back toward the street, looking over the lot where History Repeats Itself had once stood. He held a clipboard and seemed to be making notes. She grabbed her keys, locked the door, and headed across the road. The man looked up as Tricia approached.

“Hello, my name is Tricia Miles.” She held out her hand. “I own Haven’t Got a Clue, the mystery bookstore across the street.”

“How do you do?” said the young man, with the hint of an Italian accent. “I am Antonio Barbero. Very nice to meet you.” And he kissed the back of Tricia’s hand.

She stifled the urge to giggle. Antonio had to be at least ten years younger than her.

“Are you here representing the new owner?” Tricia asked.

“ Sì. Nigela Ricita Associates.” He offered no other information.

“I was surprised this lot was bought so quickly,” Tricia said, hoping to draw the man out.

“Our company is interested in expanding our operations in New England. We were fortunate to find this property.”

Not so fortunate for the man who’d died only five days before, but Tricia decided not to voice that opinion.

“As your new neighbor, I’d like to invite you to my store for a cup of coffee. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

The man consulted his watch and then looked up, giving Tricia a dazzling smile. “ Sì. Grazie. ” She led him across the street, unlocked the door, and ushered him into Haven’t Got a Clue. He looked the place over and seemed to like what he saw. “Is very nice.”

“Thank you. The coffee is over here,” she said, gesturing to the coffee station.

Ginny entered Haven’t Got a Clue, clutching the blue bank bag. “The Cookery’s all buttoned up for the night,” she called, and stopped dead as her gaze zeroed in on Tricia’s guest. Her eyes widened until Tricia thought Ginny’s pupils might burst, and Tricia wondered if she was witnessing love at first sight.

“Antonio Barbero, this is my assistant, Ginny Wilson. Ginny, meet Antonio.”

Ginny staggered forward as Antonio made a small bow. He took Ginny’s hand, and when he kissed it, his gaze was riveted on hers. “ Buona sera, signorina .”

Ginny giggled. “Nice to meet you, uh, Antonio.” And she giggled again.

“Antonio represents the company that’s buying the lot across the street.”

Ginny giggled yet again. Really, it was embarrassing to witness her downward spiral into utter girlishness. “Why don’t you take a seat in the readers’ nook, and I’ll pour you that cup of coffee, Antonio,” Tricia said.

The man finally relinquished Ginny’s hand and seemed to shake himself back to sense. “ Sì, grazie. ”

“ Siete benvenuto, ” Tricia said and waved a hand in the direction of the comfy chairs.

Antonio started off in that direction, and Ginny grabbed Tricia’s arm, whispering, “I didn’t know you could speak Italian.”

“Just enough to get by,” Tricia said, manufacturing a smile, and stepped behind the counter, grabbing the coffeepot. “I’m afraid it’s not espresso, but we’ve never had any complaints about our coffee.”

“I’m sure it will be beautiful—like the ladies in this shop,” Antonio said, and Ginny nearly swooned.

Oh, she was so, so young, Tricia lamented, and poured coffee into one of the Haven’t Got a Clue tall cardboard coffee cups. “Do you take cream and sugar?” she asked, but he shook his head. She crossed the room to join him, handed him the cup, and took the adjacent seat.

“Tell us about your employer,” Tricia said, dying to hear the dirt but trying to sound nonchalant.

Antonio crossed his legs, showing off the sharp creases in his black trousers. “We are new in this country,” he said, “looking for opportunities for investment. We think New Hampshire and New England in general have great potential for tourist development. I hope you won’t think badly of us for that.”

“No,” Tricia agreed, “the more the merrier. Will your employer be coming to Stoneham to see the property?”

Antonio shook his head. “Is not necessary. I take care of things for the signora. ”

Ah, a married woman , Tricia thought, or at least an older woman. Then again, how many young women had the money for this type of investment? And it didn’t sound as though Ms. Ricita had to worry about her financial standings—or was she just as enamored of Antonio as Ginny was?

“What other opportunities are you pursuing?” Tricia asked.

Antonio took a sip of coffee before answering. “Hotels and restaurants. My employer wishes to branch out.”

“The Brookside Inn on the other side of the village may be looking for an investor,” Tricia suggested.

“Is a nice place?” Antonio asked.

“The best in town. Head south out of town and you can’t miss it. I’d be happy to make some calls for you.”

“That would be very generous of you. Grazie. ”

“What will you do with the property across the street?’ Ginny asked.

“It will be used for retail, although my employer has not yet decided what to open. Perhaps antiques. Perhaps another bookstore. We must study the situation.”

“Will you be staying in the area?” Ginny asked hopefully.

“I am currently based in Manhattan, but it may become necessary for me to relocate as my employer develops properties in New England. I am told is very beautiful here in autumn.”

“It’s the prettiest place on Earth,” Ginny agreed. “Maybe I could show you around sometime.”

Antonio smiled. “Perhaps.” He lifted his cup to Tricia. “I’m afraid I must be on my way. I have appointments in Nashua later this evening.”

“Your boss must be a slave driver, making you work on Sunday,” Ginny said.

“Not at all. I enjoy my work, as I’m sure you must.”

Again, Ginny giggled, her cheeks going pink once more.

“If you’ll give me your card, I’ll make those calls and get back to you,” Tricia said.

“ Grazie .” Antonio took a gold business card holder from the inside pocket of his sports coat and extracted two cards. One he gave to Tricia, and the other to Ginny, who looked like she was about to bust.

Once again, Antonio kissed their hands, and with a wave he said, “ Ciao, ” and was gone.

Ginny let out a loud breath. “I think I’m in love. That is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met.”

“Retract your tongue, girl, you’re positively drooling.”

Ginny laughed, and again her cheeks flushed. She remembered the bank bag, and handed it to Tricia.

“How did things go at the Cookery?” Tricia asked.

“Not a bad day,” Ginny said, and dug into her purse for the keys to the Cookery. “But the cutout dresser struck again. I must’ve been helping a customer, and when I looked out about an hour ago, someone had put a black beret on the cutout’s head, and a pair of pink woolly gloves on its hands.”

Tricia sighed. “And you didn’t see who did it?”

Ginny shook her head. “I brought it in at closing. It took me nearly ten minutes to get those gloves off, and then I thought—why did I try to save them? I should have just cut them off.”

Tricia sighed and closed the blinds on the shop’s door. “If nothing else, we at least know a little about the firm that’s bought the lot across the street. I think I’ll do a Google search when I get upstairs.”