Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“And there’s already someone here in Stoneham who is a convicted felon—convicted of attempted murder. Suppose this person was paid to get rid of Jim.”

“Would you be talking about the short-order cook in your sister’s restaurant? The one you asked me to check up on?”

“I would.”

“And what makes you think Jake Masters killed Jim Roth?”

“I’ve collected some evidence.”

“What evidence?” Baker asked sharply. “Please don’t tell me you moved this evidence from where you found it. That you touched it. That—”

“Of course I didn’t touch it with my hands. I used tweezers.”

“But you did move it.”

“Well, yes—”

“Which would taint it.”

“Oh, dear,” Tricia said, realizing he was right. And why hadn’t she thought of that before she’d donned her trench coat and played Columbo?

“Tricia, why didn’t you call me before you decided to play detective?”

“I figured you might not be interested in what I had to say. After all, your boss—”

“Is not me—and when are you going to get that through your head?”

Silence seemed to be the best reply to that question.

“What was this possible evidence that is now unusable?”

“Cigarette butts. I remembered seeing one on Bob Kelly’s porch on Sunday morning, after Jim Roth’s memorial gathering. Bob doesn’t smoke, which means someone who does smoke was at his house. Possibly someone who didn’t belong there. Like the person who tried to break into Bob’s house on Friday and whoever tried to kill him on Sunday. I got to thinking about Jake and all the smoke breaks he takes at Booked for Lunch, and wondered if there’d be a match.”

“So you picked up that butt and then compared it to the butts behind your sister’s café?”

“They’re the same.”

“Just because Kelly had a visitor who smoked, and Jake Masters smokes, in no way ties him to the murder of Jim Roth. Something you haven’t considered is motive.”

“I have. Jake is extremely loyal to Angelica. Bob has not been treating her very well of late, and—”

“Isn’t it more likely that your sister would try to kill Kelly?”

“Of course not! Angelica was at the Cookery at the time of the explosion. She was out of town when someone tried to break into Bob’s house and when someone tried to kill him by tampering with his gas meter.”

“And why wouldn’t your sister hire this guy to do these things?”

“My sister is not a murderer—she wouldn’t hire someone to commit a murder; she’s—”

“Just as viable a suspect as Kelly, Anderson, and old lady Roth.”

Good grief. Not only had Tricia created reasonable doubt, but reasonable suspicion—against her own sister!

Another long silence followed. Tricia’s fingers clenched the heavy receiver in a death grip as she fought back six kinds of panic. What had she done? Was there a way to fix it?

Finally, Baker spoke. “As it turns out, I checked up on this guy Masters.”

“And?”

“Yes, he is a convicted felon. However, he was a model prisoner. He learned food service when he was in prison. He works two jobs, reports to his parole officer, and has not gotten so much as a parking ticket since he was released from jail two years ago.”

“Oh.” It was all Tricia could think to say.

“Look, why don’t we pretend you never made this call?” Baker said.

“That might be a very good idea,” Tricia agreed, feeling incredibly stupid.

“Tricia,” Baker said, his tone sympathetic, “I don’t want you to feel you can’t come to me with these kinds of theories.”

Very charitable of him. “But?”

“Please, please, in future, leave the evidence collection to professionals. Say those cigarette butts could’ve been linked to the person behind all these crimes; your interfering would make them inadmissible in court.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, and now I feel stupid. I’ve read enough police procedurals and legal thrillers to know better. I guess I got carried away.”

“I understand,” Baker said. And he really seemed to.

“You won’t mention this to Sheriff Adams, will you?” Tricia asked, trying to blot out the memories of how that insufferable woman had embarrassed her in the past.

“I won’t,” Baker promised. “Now, why don’t you go back to bookselling, and I’ll go back to—”

“Eating doughnuts and drinking coffee?” Tricia asked.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Baker said, and Tricia could hear the amusement in his voice. “And I’ll keep you posted on how the investigation is going if you promise not to—”

“Interfere?” Tricia supplied.

“I was going to say put yourself in harm’s way. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes,” she said contritely.

“Okay. Have a good day.”

“You, too,” Tricia said, and hung up.

Miss Marple regarded her from her perch behind the register.

“Okay, so I blew it. Don’t rub it in,” Tricia said.

Miss Marple merely gave a bored “Yow.”

Mondays were Mr. Everett’s day off, and Ginny arrived a full twenty minutes ahead of opening, a few minutes after Tricia had ended her call with Captain Baker.

By the time Ginny had made a fresh batch of coffee, Tricia had set up the cash register, and joined Ginny at the coffee station for a fortifying cup. Ginny looked suspiciously at the coffee cake that sat on the station’s counter. “Did you bake it?”

Tricia shook her head. “Angelica did—last night.”

“I thought I saw her car in the municipal lot. This must have been another unexpected visit. Wasn’t she supposed to be out on the road for at least another week?”

“Until Friday,” Tricia confirmed.

Ginny picked up a square of coffee cake, sniffed it, apparently decided it smelled okay, and took a bite, leaving a trail of brown sugar crumbs tumbling down on the carpet. “Mmm. No doubt about it—your sister can bake.” She brushed more sugar from the top of her apron. “What’s on tap for today?” Ginny asked, and bent to gather up the crumbs on the floor.

“I need to be out of the store for a while today. Errands to run,” Tricia said with an unconvincing laugh. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

“I may not be able to fit in our visit to Billie Hanson at the bank.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You do what you have to do. There’s always tomorrow,” Ginny said with a nervous laugh.

Tricia could no longer hide her disappointment. “Ginny, what aren’t you telling me about this mortgage deal?”

Ginny looked away, and Tricia couldn’t help but notice her lower lip was trembling. “Tricia, I’ve had several days to think about it, and I’ve decided. . . .” Ginny sighed, tears filling her blue eyes. “As much as I love and want to keep my house, I can’t let you pay it off for me.”

“Why not?” Tricia asked, hurt and a little confused.

“I thought about what I want out of life, and more than anything—more than keeping my house—I want to start my own business. Much as I love it, the house is a burden on me right now. I can’t keep it and move forward with my life. And moving forward means starting my own business—being my own boss.”

“You’ve seen what Deborah Black has been going through. Are you sure you want to put yourself in that position?”

“I feel bad for Deborah. She wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed if her husband wasn’t so selfish and would help her a little. I’m not interested in another relationship where I have to do all the work. If I can’t find a man who wants to be my partner in all aspects of my life—including my work—then I’ll just have to be alone.”