Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“This has to be the biggest day in Stoneham history,” Frannie said, and dug into her purse. “I’m glad I always carry my camera with me.” She took it out and turned it on, ready to take a shot. She looked up, and waved to someone in the crowd. “Look—there’s Julia Overline,” a member of Haven’t Got a Clue’s readers’ group. “I need to talk to her about tomorrow’s meeting. I’ll be back,” Frannie said, and threaded her way through the crowd.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen Frannie smile since Jim Roth’s death,” Tricia told Ginny, who nodded in agreement.

The air practically crackled with the crowd’s pent-up excitement.

“Boy, looks like half the town is out tonight to meet the Powerball winner,” Ginny said. “Who do you think it is?” she asked Tricia.

“Probably someone we don’t even know.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird if it’s the person responsible for Jim Roth’s death? They say the ticket was bought last Wednesday—the day he died,” Ginny said.

Weird indeed.

Two twenty-something young women, dressed in matching tight blue, star-spangled dresses, simpered for the cameras. They held a big cardboard check made out for twenty million dollars. The Pay To line was hidden by a large piece of paper.

A forty-something man in a suit stepped up to a microphone, and the TV cameras swung in his direction to capture the big announcement. He tapped on the microphone. “Testing, one, two, three.” Then he cleared his throat. “Uh, ladies and gents, I’m Gordon Swingle from the New Hampshire Lottery Commission, and I’m pleased to be here tonight to announce the latest winner of the New Hampshire Powerball. The winning ticket contained the following numbers: four, six, nine, eight, eleven, twenty-eight, and thirty-one.”

“Hey,” Ginny said with delight, “two of those numbers are my birthday.”

“Mine, too,” Tricia said. “Talk about a coincidence.”

“It’s my pleasure to introduce the Powerball winners. Let’s give a big hand to William and Grace Everett, from right here in Stoneham. Come on, folks, step right up.” He waved at the lucky couple.

The crowd erupted in cheers. “Holy cow!” Ginny screamed, grabbed Tricia’s arm, and jumped up and down.

Mr. Everett—a millionaire!

Grace’s smile was radiant, but Mr. Everett looked uncomfortable with all the fuss. A jubilant Grace clutched his hand and pulled him toward the makeshift podium.

“Twenty million dollars! Twenty million dollars!” Ginny chanted over and over.

Twenty million dollars. Tricia couldn’t seem to get a handle on the amount and the identity of the lucky winners.

“Why is it always old people who win these things?” a male voice behind Tricia groused. “They’ll never be able to spend it all before they die.”

Tricia resisted the temptation to glare at the idiot behind her.

“Was there any significance to the numbers you played?” Gordon Swingle asked Mr. Everett, shoving a microphone in his face.

“Yes. They are the birthdays of my wife, my employer, and my coworker.”

“See,” Ginny whispered to Tricia, “I told you so!”

“And how often do you play the New Hampshire Powerball?”

“This was my first time,” Mr. Everett admitted.

Swingle waggled his eyebrows for the press. “See, folks, it can be done. First-time players can win big!” He turned back to Mr. Everett. “And do you intend to keep playing?”

“Certainly not,” Mr. Everett said with some force. “I don’t approve of gambling.”

“Then why did you decide to play Powerball?” Swingle asked, looking annoyed.

Mr. Everett looked down at his shoes. “Very odd circumstances.” He said no more on the subject, but Tricia had a feeling Grace’s paying off his debts had been at the heart of it. And playing the lottery had to be the desperate measure he’d spoken of the previous week.

“What are you going to do with this windfall?” Swingle asked. Mr. Everett looked downright annoyed at this invasion of his privacy, but Grace jumped right in to answer for him. “We’re going on a cruise! And we’re going to buy all our friends lovely gifts, and give a sizable amount to charity.”

“Will you move to a mansion?” one of the reporters asked.

“Heavens, no,” Grace answered. “We’re staying right here in Stoneham. And my husband is going to continue working at Haven’t Got a Clue, Stoneham’s mystery bookshop.”

“Free publicity for the store,” Ginny whispered, still excited.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to find another employee,” Tricia said. “Nobody could replace you or Mr. Everett.”

A reporter shoved a microphone in front of Bob. “What do you think of Stoneham’s biggest lottery winners?”

“William and Grace are a wonderful asset to our community. I couldn’t be happier.”

“And what about that explosion on Stoneham’s Main Street last Wednesday? I understand you own the property—that you were in the store at the time of the blast.”

Bob glowered and growled, “No comment.” He pushed away, heading for the exit. Tricia struggled to get through the crowd to follow. “Bob! Wait!” she called, but he paid no attention and kept going.

Once outside, Tricia looked from left to right and finally saw Bob across the busy road, hurrying for his car. She waited for traffic to allow, and crossed the road to follow. “Bob! Wait!”

Finally, Bob stopped and turned. “Will you stop hounding me.”

Tricia was taken aback by his tone.

“Angelica has been worried sick about you. Have you at least had the courtesy to talk to her?”

“We spoke.”

“This morning?”

Bob nodded.

“And?”

“What we said is none of your business. And if Angelica hasn’t already told you, she probably won’t.”

That was true. Years ago, Tricia and Angelica might have kept secrets from each other, but no more. And Angelica had a schedule to adhere to—no time to make a phone call, although she might spill all at the end of the day. Tricia would just have to wait.

“Is there anything else?” Bob asked, anger coloring his voice.

“Yes. Frannie Armstrong said you might know the name of the woman Jim Roth was seeing.”

“Why would I know that?”

“Frannie couldn’t say. Just that Jim had mentioned you and this woman were acquainted.”

Bob’s face went slack, the pallor behind his burns more distinct. “What did you say?”

“If you know who Jim was seeing, it could be the missing piece of the puzzle—you might know who killed him.”

“Good Lord,” Bob breathed, and stumbled toward his car.

“Bob—if you know something, you’ve got to call the Sheriff’s Department. Please, call Captain Baker.”

“I can handle this,” he said.

“Is that the person who’s been harassing you, Bob? Did this woman try to kill you, too?”

Bob turned, his face screwed into a mask of fury. “For once in your life, will you just try and stay out of things?” He turned, unlocked his car, and jumped in. Tricia ran to the car and beat her fists against the driver’s-side window.

“Bob, wait!”

But he started the car, revved it, and peeled out, scraping the bumper of the car in front.

“Bob!” Tricia hollered, but he paid no mind and zoomed down the road.

Was he about to confront Jim’s killer, or would he be the next victim?

Tricia dug through her purse to find her car keys, then remembered Ginny had driven her and Frannie to the convenience store. She snatched her cell phone and stabbed in Grant Baker’s personal number but, as expected, got only his voice mail. She left a message as she walked back to the store to get Ginny. “Grant, this is Tricia Miles. You’d better put out an APB on Bob Kelly. He’s gone after Jim Roth’s killer. It’s too complicated to explain—but he feels Jim was killed by a woman, a mutual acquaintance. Please call me back as soon as you get this message.”