Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

She paused at the convenience store’s door. Inside everyone was still celebrating. She turned her back on the merry-makers and punched in 9-1, then paused before she hit the last digit. What was she going to tell the dispatcher?

Tricia closed her phone, shoved it back in her purse, and yanked open the convenience store’s door, searching for Ginny.

A crowd of people encircled Grace and Mr. Everett. Reporters with microphones pelted them with questions, and the cameras continued to roll. Ginny stood on the edge of the crowd, teetering on tiptoe. Tricia threaded her way through the crowd and grabbed Ginny’s arm. The poor girl nearly stumbled while trying to right herself.

“What’s up?” she demanded.

Tricia started pulling Ginny toward the door. “We have to leave. Now!”

“Where are we going?” Ginny demanded

“To follow Bob.”

“Why?”

Tricia pushed through the double glass doors. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“What about Frannie?”

“She’ll have to find her own way home. Come on.”

Finally Ginny seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, and hurried down the road to retrieve her car, with Tricia dogging her footsteps. Ginny pressed the unlock button on her key fob and the women jumped into the car.

“You’ll have to turn around. Bob headed back into Stoneham,” Tricia said.

“Where do you think he’d go? His house?” Ginny asked, and started the car.

“Maybe. We should probably start there.”

“Why are we chasing Bob?”

“It’s a long story, but he may know who killed Jim Roth—and more important, why.”

“Oh, boy,” Ginny cried with glee. “I always wanted to go on one of these adventures with you. Usually Angelica gets all the fun.”

“This is not fun. Bob is—and maybe we could be, too—facing a life-and-death situation.”

“Who are we chasing?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know!”

Ginny frowned, and looked at the gas indicator on the dashboard. “We’ve been at this for almost an hour now, Tricia, riding up and down the streets of Stoneham. Bob isn’t here.”

Tricia exhaled an exasperated breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Take me back to Haven’t Got a Clue and drop me off. You may as well go home. And I’ll give you some money for gas. I appreciate you driving me around in circles.”

“Hey, you promised me dinner at the Bookshelf Diner,” Ginny reminded her, and to prove it, her stomach growled loudly.

Tricia sighed again. Yes, she had promised Ginny dinner, but after all the worry while they’d been driving around, she’d lost her appetite.

Ginny pulled into the municipal parking lot and turned off the engine. “Ooh, look at that gorgeous Jaguar,” she said, pointing toward a maroon car parked at the north end of the lot, far from other cars that might dent its doors. A sleek, chrome cat adorned the hood of the vehicle.

“Who do you suppose that belongs to?” Ginny asked as they got out of her aging Focus.

“I have no idea,” Tricia said, and couldn’t care less. “Come on, let’s go to the diner” and get this over with , she added to herself.

They crossed the street and entered the Bookshelf Diner. “At last, a customer!” called Eugenia, the evening waitress, and then she recognized Tricia and Ginny and scowled. “What do you want?”

“What do you think?” Ginny said, sarcastically. “We came here to eat. And if you have a problem with that, I suggest you ask the manager to step in.” She turned to Tricia, her tone dramatically sweeter. “Where would you like to sit, Tricia?”

The diner was completely empty. Was everyone still at the convenience store celebrating the announcement of the Powerball winners? “Anywhere,” Tricia answered. She’d forgotten Eugenia would be on duty. The bad blood that had passed between her and Ginny the previous fall was obviously still there. Tricia followed Ginny to the second booth in, and took her seat, facing into the restaurant.

“May we have menus, please?” Ginny asked, unable to keep the contempt out of her voice as she spoke to Eugenia.

Eugenia tossed a couple of menus on the table and stalked off.

“I’m sorry I suggested we come here,” Tricia apologized. “I’d forgotten about your situation with Eugenia.”

“I haven’t, and I make a point of coming in at least once a week just to annoy her.”

“Ginny!” Tricia admonished.

“Well, after what she put me—put all of us—through last fall. . . .” She let the sentence drop, and concentrated on her menu.

“Order anything you want,” Tricia said, and let her gaze fall on the salad portion of the menu.

“I’m starved. Would it be okay if I ordered a steak dinner?”

“The sky’s the limit,” Tricia assured Ginny, frowning as she read and reread the words “Cobb salad.” All of a sudden, resentment filled her. She was sick to death of salad. She’d eaten salads for years. She’d run a million miles on her treadmill in an effort to keep what Angelica teased as her girlish figure , and for what? To please some man? Christopher had dumped her for a life of solitude. Russ had turned out to be a major jerk, and Grant Baker was too preoccupied with his ex-wife’s illness to spend quality time with her.

Angelica had never been what Tricia would call svelte, and yet she’d never hurt for male companionship.

Grant had been right. Life was short. Start with dessert.

Tricia closed her menu and set it on the table.

Ginny, too, looked up, but it wasn’t Tricia she gazed at. Tricia turned and saw Antonio Barbero standing outside the window. He caught sight of them and waggled his fingers in a wave.

Ginny’s smile lit up her face, and her eyes widened. “Ohmigod,” she said through her teeth, like a ventriloquist. “Do you think he might come in?”

Tricia smiled. “Let’s ask him.” She beckoned Antonio to enter the diner.

“Here he comes!” Ginny nearly squealed, still doing her Sherri Lewis imitation.

“ Buona sera, signorina e signora .” He reached out to kiss Ginny’s hand. She giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Would you like to join us?” Tricia asked.

Antonio smiled. “It would be my pleasure.” Ginny slid over, and he sat down beside her—close beside her. Ginny’s fair skin blushed bright pink, and Tricia fought the urge to laugh.

“Why don’t we start with a glass of wine? Would you like red or white?” Tricia asked Antonio.

“Red. Like lovely Ginny’s hair.” If anything, Ginny’s blush grew even deeper.

Tricia looked up. Eugenia stood at the back of the diner, scowling. Tricia waved, and Eugenia pushed herself away from the wall, stalking toward their table. “Yes?” she asked defiantly.

“Three glasses of the house red.”

But Eugenia was too busy staring at Antonio to write down the order. “Who’re you?”

“Antonio Barbero, from Nigela Ricita Associates. Pleased to meet you”—he read her name tag—“Eugenia.”

Tricia stifled a laugh. He said the word as though it might be the name of a disease. Ginny giggled yet again.

It was Eugenia’s turn to blush. “Three glasses of red, coming up.” Somehow she managed to keep the surliness out of her tone. She turned and walked slowly back to the kitchen, her hips swaying.

“Would you like to look at my menu, Antonio?” Ginny asked, her voice almost an octave higher than usual. She cleared her throat and handed it to him.

“I love American diners. The food is so disgustingly fattening, yet so wonderfully delicious. So much so, I rarely eat in them.”

“You must be starved for real Italian cooking,” Tricia said.

He shook his head. “No, no. I cook for myself. One day I would like to cook for you two ladies, as well. You are my first friends here in Stoneham and have made me feel so welcome.”