Lorna Barrett: Chapter & Hearse

“Tricia, it’s Darcy from Booked for Lunch. The poultry guy is here, but Angelica didn’t leave any money to pay him.”

Tricia glanced out the window. She hadn’t noticed the Jefferson Poultry truck that was parked in front of Angelica’s café. “Is this your regular delivery?” she asked. Angelica was usually on top of these things. Then again, she’d been distracted by all the prep for her launch party and book tour.

“I guess,” Darcy said, not sounding at all certain. “I’m not usually here when deliveries are made. Angelica asked me to put in more time while she’s away—to kind of look after things.”

Yes. She had.

“All right. I’ll be right over with a check.”

“Thanks.”

Tricia hung up the phone and pulled the store’s checkbook from under the counter. “I’ve got to solve a problem over at the café,” she told Ginny.

Ginny nodded, and went back to helping the customer.

Tricia crossed the street and entered Booked for Lunch. Although the café wasn’t yet open, the truck driver sat at the counter, nursing a cup of what was no doubt free coffee, with a fat slice of Angelica’s coconut cake in front of him. Tricia knew that Angelica had reprimanded Darcy at least once for giving away the store.

Darcy Gebhard stood behind the counter, looking subdued. Something about her bugged Tricia. Dumpy was the word that best seemed to describe her. Maybe it was the ill-fitting clothes she wore, or the color of her dyed hair—red, bordering on magenta. Angelica had mentioned that she was the same age as Tricia, but for some reason she looked older—harder. But then if Tricia had worked only at minimum-wage jobs most of her adult life, she might make the same clothing and grooming choices. Only the woman’s perfectly manicured nails and the silver rings gracing each finger seemed to hint that she might aspire to more in life than waiting tables.

Tricia faced the deliveryman, noticing his grubby pants and shirt, the dirt under his fingernails, and made a note to herself never again to order the grilled chicken sandwich. “Hello, I’m Tricia. I understand you’ve just made a delivery.”

“Yeah. It’s already in the freezer. That’s not part of my job, you know. I just did it because I’m a nice guy.”

Hence, the free coffee and cake.

“Thank you. May I see the invoice?” He reached for a piece of paper on the counter and handed it to her. She inspected the items and the total at the bottom of the page. Everything looked in order. She noticed that Jake, the cook, along with his perpetual sneer, had appeared behind the half doors that separated the dining room from the kitchen. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence, and she ignored him as well. For some reason, Angelica thought the world of her short-order cook. Tricia didn’t share the sentiment.

She set the invoice and her checkbook on the counter, wrote out the check, tore it out, and handed it to the deliveryman. “Thank you for your patience.”

He pocketed the check. “Not a problem.”

Tricia’s teeth involuntarily clenched. She hated that phrase. Why couldn’t people just say, “You’re welcome”? She forced a smile and said it for him. Miss Manners wouldn’t approve—she chastised her readers who brought bad behavior to light, but so be it.

“May I have a receipt?”

The deliveryman looked to Darcy. “Just mark the invoice Paid in Full,” she suggested, scooped it up, and handed it to him. He complied, and handed it back to Tricia.

The deliveryman made no move to leave, and Jake and Darcy continued to stare at Tricia, making her feel uncomfortable. She forced another smile. “I’ll just be on my way—and I’ll see you later, Darcy.” She turned, and headed for the door.

“Thanks,” Darcy halfheartedly called after her.

Tricia took her time crossing the street to return to her own store. Something definitely hadn’t been right about her visit to Booked for Lunch. She’d have to talk to Angelica about it.

The bell over the door tinkled cheerfully as Tricia entered Haven’t Got a Clue, making her feel a little better. That is, until Ginny said, “Bob Kelly called while you were gone. He’s ready to come home from the hospital—and he needs some clothes.” She giggled. “I keep imagining him sitting in his hospital room, buck naked.”

Tricia wasn’t amused. “I can see I’m not going to get much done today.” She grabbed the overnight bag Angelica had left for Bob, gathered up her purse, found her keys, and headed for the door. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Don’t worry—we’re open until seven,” Ginny called brightly, and waved a cheerful good-bye.

Bob wasn’t naked when Tricia arrived at his hospital room, but he was waiting impatiently. She handed him the overnight bag. “Angelica packed a sweat suit. She thought you’d be more comfortable in it.”

“I’ll be more comfortable when I get out of here. I need to stop at a pharmacy and get a prescription for pain pills filled. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Should I call for a nurse and a wheelchair?”

Bob shook his head. “I’m walking out of here on my own power.” He got up from the room’s only chair, held the back of his hospital gown to cover his rear end, and hobbled across the floor to the bathroom. It took him some time to get dressed, but he didn’t ask for help, and Tricia wasn’t sure she’d have felt comfortable helping him. When he emerged some ten minutes later, she noticed his pallor, and felt ashamed for worrying about her own convenience.

“Let’s go,” she said cheerfully, and carried his overnight bag.

Bob waited on a bench outside the hospital while Tricia brought the car around. She parked it, and got out to help him into the passenger seat. His face looked ashen in the bright sunlight. Was he really in any shape to be left alone?

Tricia put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Bob stared out the passenger window—not the best company. Tricia struggled to make small talk. “What about those Red Sox?”

“I hate baseball,” Bob muttered.

Okay.

Tricia pressed the brake for a red light. “Are you going to be able to change your dressings by yourself?”

“Yes.”

Usually you couldn’t shut Bob up, but suddenly he had nothing to say. She tried again. “Have you spoken to Captain Baker yet?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she prompted.

“I told him I didn’t have anything to say without an attorney present.”

Startled, Tricia tore her eyes from the road. “Bob! Why in the world would you need an attorney present? Do you have something to hide?”

“No.”

Tricia was getting tired of his blunt, single-syllable answers. “Then why—?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Tricia.”

Tricia clenched the steering wheel, squelching the urge to wrap her fingers around Bob’s throat. “Have you got an attorney?” she tried again.

“No.”

He really didn’t want to talk about it.

They drove in silence for several miles down Route 101. Tricia’s gaze was riveted on the road; Bob’s gaze was fixed out the passenger-side window. When Bob finally spoke, it was to direct Tricia to stop at the grocery store’s pharmacy in Milford. It took twenty minutes for Bob’s prescription to be filled. Bob waited in the car; Tricia waited in the store. After all, she’d promised to help Bob, not babysit or keep him company.

It was lunchtime when Tricia pulled into Bob’s drive-way. Parked at the curb was a Draper Security Systems truck. Tricia raised an eyebrow. “Having some work done, Bob?”

“Yes.” Yet another succinct answer. Tricia wasn’t sure if she was irritated by this new behavior or if she should celebrate it.