Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“I’ll be right over.” Tricia hung up the phone.

“Don’t tell me,” Ginny said, and sighed. “Another crisis. This time I’m betting you’ll head for the Cookery.”

“Right in one. Angelica picked the wrong week to reach for bestsellerdom. Sorry.”

“Hey, I’m fine. And Mr. Everett will be here by one, so we’re covered.”

“Unless we get a couple of buses of tourists,” Tricia said.

“One can only hope,” Ginny chirped.

Tricia forced a smile and sailed out the shop door. Ah, youth. Ginny was remarkably chipper for someone in her circumstances. At that moment, Tricia envied her optimism. She had a feeling that for the foreseeable future, she’d be bouncing back and forth between her sister’s businesses like a Ping-Pong ball. Maybe she’d chart the time on a spreadsheet and present Angelica with an invoice. The thought made her smile—not that she’d follow through with it.

Tricia was startled to find Angelica’s larger-than-life cutout standing outside the Cookery. Frannie had taped a note between the photographed Angelica’s hands that read Get Your Signed Copy of Easy-Does-It Cooking Inside! As she reached for the door handle, Tricia wondered if the cutout would discourage—instead of encourage—customers to enter the Cookery.

There were no browsers inside the store. Frannie stood behind the cash desk. All traces of Angelica’s aborted book launch party were gone, as evidenced by the fresh vacuum tracks on the carpet. And it looked like the Cookery was having as slow a day as Haven’t Got a Clue.

As always, Frannie was dressed in one of her cheerful aloha shirts—this one turquoise with white hibiscus flowers in full bloom. Her face, however, was anything but jovial. Bloodshot eyes looked out from under her fringe of bangs, and her nose was crimson.

“Do you need a hug?” Tricia asked.

Frannie nodded, and burst into tears. She clung to Tricia as sobs wracked her slim body. Tricia patted her back as one would a small child. “What’s wrong?”

“My heart is broken forever,” Frannie wailed.

Tricia pulled back. “Come and sit down,” she said, and led Frannie to the only upholstered chair in the store. Angelica had no reader’s nook, saying it took up valuable retail space. Idly, Tricia wondered if she should have flipped the Cookery’s OPEN sign to CLOSED.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?” she asked Frannie.

Frannie shook her head, and pulled a damp tissue from the pocket of her slacks to wipe her nose.

“Now, tell me all about it,” Tricia said.

“I’ve never told anyone before, but—” Frannie took a breath, exhaled it loudly, as though trying to steel herself. “Jim Roth and I were more than just casual friends.”

No surprise there. Tricia waited for more.

“In fact we were . . . lllllooov—” She couldn’t seem to say the word.

“Lovers?” Tricia supplied.

Frannie blushed, hung her head in shame, and nodded.

“Forgive me, Frannie, but you and Jim were two mature, single adults. What was wrong with the two of you seeing each other?”

“His mama didn’t approve.”

“But why?”

Frannie shrugged. She sniffled, and pressed another damp tissue to her nose.

“Bob still won’t say what he was doing at Jim’s store last night. Do you have any idea?” Tricia asked.

“Probably hounding him for the rent. History Repeats Itself hadn’t been doing so well, what with the economy and all, and Jim was a little bit behind.”

“How much is a little?”

Frannie winced. “Six months.”

No wonder Bob didn’t want to talk about it. He probably didn’t want it to seem like he had a motive for murder. It wasn’t like Bob to let someone slide for so long—and maybe his reticence was due to the fact he didn’t want others who owed back rent to find out.

“How long had Jim had the store?” Tricia asked.

“He was the first bookseller Bob lined up to open a shop here in Stoneham.”

“Had they been friends?”

Frannie nodded. “But Jim and I never really talked about Bob—we had so little time together, thanks to Jim’s mother,” she added bitterly.

“I suppose it was really quite sweet that he had his mother come to live with him.”

“That’s not exactly the way it was. He always lived with his mother,” Frannie reluctantly admitted.

“He’d never lived away from home?” Tricia asked, astounded. After all, Jim was in his fifties.

Frannie shook her head, clearly embarrassed for him. “I invited him to come live with me, but he said he couldn’t leave the old lady, even though he would’ve been only two blocks away. She’d come to depend on him. I mean, she is in her eighties.”

Had Jim, the man obsessed with warfare, been a spineless mama’s boy?

“I hadn’t talked to Jim in a few months. Am I remembering that he hadn’t been feeling well?”

Frannie nodded. “He had stomach problems that came and went. Never anything too alarming—just enough to make him cancel the few dates we made.”

Tricia frowned. “Did he see a doctor about it?”

“No. Like I said, it wasn’t anything he worried about. And the next day he usually felt fine. He really was strong as a horse.”

Tricia knew from experience—ten years of riding lessons—that horses were actually quite delicate creatures. “I wonder why Jim didn’t smell the gas.”

“He had terrible allergies, and with everything coming into bloom, he probably couldn’t smell a thing.” Frannie wiped at a tear.

Tricia laid a hand on Frannie’s thin shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Frannie.”

“I thought I was doing okay until I called the Baker Funeral Home to see what arrangements had been made for Jim.” She took a couple of gasping breaths.

“And?” Tricia prompted.

“Since there’s no body, Mr. Baker said Jim’s mother has decided against a wake or service.”

“Nothing?”

Frannie shook her head. No wonder she was so upset. Those rituals made acceptance of death easier on the loved ones left behind.

“I’m so sorry,” Tricia said again, knowing the words were inadequate. “But you know, there’s no reason Jim’s friends and colleagues can’t celebrate his life.”

“What do you mean?”

“We could hold a memorial service for him.”

Frannie’s eyes widened, and she sat up straighter. “Yes, we could.”

“We could invite the Chamber members and any other friends or relatives.”

“No other relatives,” Frannie said. “Jim was an only child—and so were both his parents.”

Tricia nodded.

“I think I should be the one to arrange it,” Frannie said, her voice suddenly stronger. “Jim wasn’t religious, so I don’t think it should be held in a church. I’ll call Eleanor at the Brookview Inn to see if I can book the function room for Sunday morning, when all the shops in town are closed—that way the other bookstore owners can come.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Planning the service would keep Frannie from dwelling too much on her grief—at least for a few days. Only time would dull her long-term pain.

Frannie stood, suddenly all business—there was a reason Angelica’s store had thrived under her management. “I have lots to do—and you’ve got your own store to tend to.”

Tricia gave her friend a smile. “I promised Angelica I’d be available if you or Darcy or Jake needed me, so don’t hesitate to call.”

“You have no idea how much you’ve already helped.” Frannie headed for the cash desk, found a legal pad and a pen, and quickly jotted down a few notes.

Tricia wished all life’s problems could be solved so easily.

“I’ll just let myself out,” Tricia said, and headed for the door. Then she paused, and turned to face Frannie. “Just one more question: What’s Angelica’s cutout doing outside the shop door?”