Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

Tricia’s disappointment multiplied. “I see,” she said, and perhaps she did. She’d gotten over the old ‘feather the nest’ syndrome when she’d married Christopher and made their first home together. But all the while, the thought of opening her own bookstore one day stayed in the back of her mind. And it took the death of her marriage before that could happen. What could she have accomplished if she’d put her dreams of entrepreneurship first, instead of wasting ten years of marriage with someone who’d ultimately chosen to leave her?

“I hope you don’t think I’m being ungrateful,” Ginny continued. “Nobody’s ever done anything so nice for me. But I think in the long run, I’ll be happier if I work toward my life goals first—and then, when I can afford it, I’ll buy myself the nicest house around.” She managed a weak laugh. “In fact, maybe in five or ten years, I’ll buy back my little house. Stranger things have happened.”

“Yes,” Tricia agreed, “they have.” She forced a smile—and a positive attitude. “What will you do in the meantime?”

“A friend of mine in Milford has been looking for a roommate. It’s a two-bedroom apartment. She works nights, I work days. It sounds like it could be the perfect arrangement. And I can even have a pet if I want.” Miss Marple’s ears perked up at that—a coincidence?

“That sounds great,” Tricia said, still working to keep her disappointment at bay.

Ginny nodded, and the awkward moment seemed to stretch. Finally, Ginny cleared her throat. “Is there anything you want me to do while you’re running your errands?”

Tricia cast about the store, trying to come up with something. “Uh, I forgot to vacuum last night.”

“I’ll do it,” Ginny volunteered, “and I’ll put the carpet sweeper behind the coffee station. As long as we still have coffee cake available to customers, we’re going to need it.”

“Okay,” Tricia said, and gathered up her umbrella, her purse with the check made out to Livvie Roth in it, gave Ginny a wave, and headed out the door for the municipal parking lot.

In the parking lot, Tricia unlocked her car, got in, and stared through the raindrop-laden windshield. Angelica was right. It hadn’t been a good idea to offer to hold Ginny’s mortgage—and Ginny had been smart to turn it down. Things might have become awkward. Still, for some reason Tricia felt sad.

She stabbed the key into the ignition and started the car, remembering her promise to Captain Baker not to interfere, and Angelica’s admonition to find reasonable doubt against Mrs. Roth. To whom should she feel more loyal?

There was only one answer to that.

It took only a few minutes to reach the Roth home. She opened the car door, stuck the umbrella out and pushed the button that opened it, then got out of the car, feeling damp and decidedly grumpy.

Mrs. Roth opened the door. “Tricia. What a . . . nice . . . surprise.” Her tone didn’t match the sentiment. The two women stared at one another for several long, uncomfortable seconds before Mrs. Roth said, “Won’t you come in?” and beckoned Tricia inside.

The redecorating had continued since Tricia had last been in the little house. A hooked area rug, festooned with ivy leaves, covered most of the living room’s wall-to-wall carpet. Several lamps were lit, giving the room a cozy glow that made it a pleasant place to be on a rainy summer’s day, so different from what Tricia had seen less than a week before.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call first,” Tricia apologized. “I’m glad I caught you in. I brought you something.” She handed Mrs. Roth the envelope containing the check.

Livvie Roth frowned. “What’s this?”

“Something from the Stoneham booksellers and some of Jim’s other friends,” Tricia said.

Mrs. Roth hesitated before she opened the envelope, removed the check, and stared at the figure on it. “Oh, my.” She looked up at Tricia in dismay. “I couldn’t possibly accept this. Not after what I said about James at his memorial yesterday.”

Tight-lipped, Tricia said nothing.

The old lady shook her head, tears filling her eyes, and wandered farther into the living room, where she settled on the love seat. “After yesterday, you must think me a monster.” She shook her head, but when she faced Tricia once more, her gaze was filled with determination. “For the first time since I met Harold Roth, more than sixty years ago, I am finally my own person.”

“I don’t understand,” Tricia said.

Mrs. Roth stared at the check in her hand. “I was only nineteen years old, an unschooled, impetuous girl who listened to the tales of a lonely GI. When he asked me to marry him, I leapt at the opportunity to leave my little village in the heart of England to sail off to America.” She looked up at Tricia. “Sadly, this country wasn’t at all what I’d expected.”

“Why is that?” Tricia asked.

“I’d been led to believe everyone led a grand life, like in the Mickey Rooney-Judy Garland movies, but Harold wasn’t descended from aristocrats. Instead, he brought me to the heart of America’s rust belt—Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The air was bad, our home was a rental, dirty and decrepit. And when he lost his job at the steel mill, we moved from city to city. By then James had come along, and we needed a steady income. So when Harold couldn’t find a job, I had to support us. I worked as a waitress, as a department store salesclerk, and even as an usher in a movie theater.”

She laughed, but it held no mirth. “Harold never laid a hand on me, but he never gave me any affection, either. I can’t say I mourned when he died twenty years ago. Since then it was just James and me. I tried to push him out of the nest, but he wasn’t one to take chances—not when he had someone to take care of him.”

“But he opened a store here in Stoneham. I understand he was the first bookseller to open on Main Street,” Tricia said.

“That was Bob Kelly’s doing,” Mrs. Roth said bitterly. “He talked James into it—told him there was money to be made. That was all James had to hear, and the next thing I knew, he’d signed a lease. And of course he expected me to provide the funds to stock the store.”

“I assume Jim must’ve had some income before that?”

“Certainly. He always worked in retail—never a well-paying job. And he wasted what little wages he earned on gambling and loose women.”

Tricia tried not to smile at that. Frannie was hardly what Tricia thought of as “loose.”

Mrs. Roth continued. “Several years ago, I finally convinced him to join Gamblers Anonymous, and for a year or two he did well. He worked to pay off his debts, and even put a little money aside. And then, when the economy went bad, he started buying lottery tickets. Three months ago, he was at it again full tilt.”

Frannie hadn’t mentioned that Jim gambled. Did she even know?

Mrs. Roth sighed. “Look at me, I’m almost eighty years old, and for the first time in my adult life I have the opportunity to be happy. Lawrence and I may have only a few weeks, months, or maybe a year or two together, but we’re determined to have the time of our lives.”

“Is that why you’re taking a cruise?” Tricia asked.

Mrs. Roth frowned. “How do you know about that?”

Tricia swallowed but didn’t answer.

Mrs. Roth’s frown deepened. “That Armstrong woman, I’ll bet. She seems to know what’s happening with everyone in Stoneham.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “So be it. Yes, Lawrence and I are going on a cruise. And why shouldn’t we? I can afford it—and it’s the first holiday I’ve ever had. Would Frannie begrudge me even that?”

“I can’t speak for Frannie, but I can for myself. I hope you find peace and happiness, Mrs. Roth. It sounds like you deserve it.”