Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

Tricia wondered if the cigarette butt would still be on Bob’s porch. She could call Darcy to see what brand Jake smoked—or look behind Booked for Lunch. No doubt Jake tossed his butts into the alley. It was dark now, but she could check out Bob’s porch first thing in the morning, and if she found the butt, compare it with what she found behind Angelica’s café.

With her mind whirling about the possibilities of Jake as bad guy, Tricia found she was too wound up to read a current or classic mystery, and instead spent the rest of the evening in the living room with Miss Marple on her lap as she reread Angelica’s cookbook. Tricia had proofread the manuscript for Easy-Does-It Cooking , which had seemed rather dull at the time. This time, though, she found the pictures of home-cooked meals and the lovely photo styling had a calming effect on her. And she was surprised at how much of Angelica had been infused into the writing, which she also found oddly comforting.

All too soon it was bedtime. Tricia slunk into the bedroom without turning on a light, closed the blinds, and peeked out. No sign of Russ. But then, the west side of Main Street was bathed in shadows. He could be hiding in one of the shop doorways, watching for her lights to go on. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She undressed for bed in the bathroom, and climbed into bed—a bed she had, on occasion, shared with Russ. Now the thought of his touch left her shaken.

After her trouble at the market, Tricia was surprised she’d fallen asleep so easily. But twenty minutes later, the ringing phone demanded her attention. Was it Russ? Was he calling to badger her? This phone didn’t have caller ID. Tricia picked it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” she said cautiously, expecting dead air.

“I’m downstairs. Can I come up?” Angelica asked, her voice sounding shaky.

“Oh, sure. What’s wrong?” Tricia answered, still sleepy.

“I’ll explain when I get up there,” Angelica said, and hung up.

Miss Marple was quite indignant when Tricia hauled herself out of bed, reached for her robe, and staggered toward the kitchen. By the time she got there, Angelica was already opening the door. With one look at Angelica’s ashen face, Tricia flew across the room to embrace her. The hug was intense. Funny, two years ago they might have exchanged air kisses that meant nothing. Now, they clung to one another, and the sentiment was real—and treasured.

“Are you okay?” Tricia asked. “What happened?”

“I had a scare on the road,” Angelica answered. “Boy, I could sure use a nice cup of tea.”

“Tea, I’ve got. Come, sit down,” Tricia said, and ushered her sister to one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something stronger?”

Angelica thought about it and nodded. “Stronger is probably better. Have you got any gin?”

Tricia nodded and reached for the cabinet door, removing a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. She found a bottle of tonic water in her pantry, and reached for a tall glass.

“Make it a short one—and not too much ice,” Angelica said.

Miss Marple arrived, looking sleepy-eyed and annoyed, walked up to the island, stretched and yawned, and then jumped onto Angelica’s lap. Angelica petted the cat’s head. A year ago she probably would have tossed her aside, but now she seemed content to encourage Miss Marple’s purrs. Maybe one day soon Angelica would be ready to accept another pet. Cat . . . dog . . . it didn’t matter. Angelica had so much love to give, and not enough places to give it.

Tricia put ice in the glass, poured two fingers of gin, topped the glass with tonic, found a spoon, and stirred the drink. “Sorry, I don’t have any limes.” She handed the drink to Angelica, who took a deep gulp.

“I’ll have a cup of tea with you as soon as this stuff takes effect,” Angelica said.

Tricia moved to the counter and filled the electric kettle with water. “What do you want? Earl Grey? Orange pekoe? Herb tea?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Orange pekoe it is,” Tricia said.

Miss Marple rubbed her head against Angelica’s shoulder, leaving stray gray hairs, but instead of scolding her, Angelica bent down to kiss the cat’s head. Miss Marple’s back end flew into the air and she purred even louder, nuzzling Angelica’s chin.

“Are you up to telling me what happened?” Tricia asked as she opened her cupboard, grabbed her shamrock-decorated teapot, and placed it on the counter.

Angelica heaved a loud, dramatic sigh. “I checked out of the B and B and started for home. It was an uneventful drive until I was halfway between Nashua and Milford, when these bright lights came up behind me at an appalling speed. I figured I’d better get out of the way, and swerved to the right. The car zoomed right past me, bashed into the guardrail, straightened out, and kept going.”

“They didn’t even stop to assess the damage?”

“No. I was going to call the Sheriff’s Department, but I figured what could they do? I didn’t get the make of the car or see the license plate, and I was so tired, I didn’t want the hassle of waiting.”

“The Nashua or Milford cops would’ve been there in a flash.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I’m used to dealing with the county Mounties—and I just couldn’t be bothered.”

Another reason for Stoneham to reestablish its own police force.

“Angelica, this is the second incident you’ve had since you’ve been on the road. You said you had your tires slashed.”

“That was the second,” she admitted sheepishly, “if you count nearly getting creamed in front of the hospital last Wednesday night. Tonight’s was the fifth incident.”

“Good grief, Ange, what else haven’t you told me?” Tricia demanded.

“Someone keyed the words fat bitch along the side of my car. I wonder how much that will cost to get rid of,” she said, wearily.

“And what was number four?”

“Two broken headlights.”

“Oh, Ange,” Tricia admonished.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I’ve now gone past worry all the way to terrified.”

“Until tonight, I figured these were just isolated incidents,” Angelica explained. “Or at least I wanted to believe that.”

“It sounds to me like someone’s after you,” Tricia said.

“It could just be a string of bad luck. Either that, or a literary critic would rather take it out on me personally. I’ll be glad when I’m done with my book tour and can sleep in my own bed every night. In fact, I think I’m going to try to come home more often.”

“But it sounds like these incidents were meant to keep you off the road. Maybe you should cancel—or at least postpone—the rest of your tour.”

“And piss off every independent bookseller in New England who put time, effort, and money into promoting my signings? I know how I’d feel if an author canceled on me at the last minute.” Angelica gulped the rest of her drink, getting cat hair on the glass, which was wet with condensation. “Now, please, can we change the subject?”

“For the moment,” Tricia said, exasperated. She struggled to remember what had originally brought Angelica home. “When we last talked, you said you were going to find Bob a lawyer,” Tricia said.

“Your Mr. Livingston was very helpful. He dispatched a criminal lawyer to St. Joseph’s and apparently has sprung Bob from the place. At this point, I’m merely paying his bill, and unless Bob starts talking, I’m not privy to attorney-client confidentiality.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, it’s the law,” Angelica said, resigned. She bent down and pressed another kiss on Miss Marple’s head. The cat basked in the attention. Tricia tried, but didn’t succeed, in suppressing a smile.