Lorna Barrett - Bookmarked For Death

“Oh, yes. And very well, too.”

“But that isn’t a regular job.”

“According to Bob it is.”

“But he knows how swamped she is. How could he begrudge you helping out his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I’ve known Bob for over a decade, and I’ve never seen him so angry.” Her lip trembled. “It really hurt my feelings.”

“I don’t blame you for being so upset,” Tricia said. “Does Angelica know about this?”

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything. But I do need to let her know I can’t help her out this weekend. And I was so looking forward to it.”

“Do you mind if I speak to Bob?”

“That’s up to you. But don’t be surprised if he reams your ears out good, too.”

He’d better not , Tricia thought.

Frannie let out a breath and straightened. “I’d best get back to work. I don’t want Bob angry with me if I don’t get the monthly flyers folded, stuffed, stamped, and to the post office before the end of the day.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Frannie sniffed, and for a moment Tricia thought she might cry. She reached out and gave her friend a hug. “It’ll work out,” she said.

“I hope so,” Frannie said, and pulled back from the embrace. “Until yesterday, I loved my job. I hope I can feel good about it again in a week or so.” She turned back to her desk.

Tricia left the Chamber office and marched next door to the Kelly Real Estate office. By the time she yanked open the door, steam threatened to escape from her ears.

Bob sat at his cluttered desk. He looked up at her entry and smiled. “Hey, Tricia, I was just about to call you on—”

“What have you done to poor Frannie?” she demanded, cutting him off.

“Done?” he asked, and stood, his plastered-on grin faltering.

“Yes, I just spoke to her, and she said she’d gotten in trouble for working at the Cookery on Sunday.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks bad for the Chamber.”

“How?”

“Frannie is the public face of the Chamber. She gets paid a decent salary to work for us.”

“Minimum wage?”

“No. We pay her better than that. A bit better.”

“A bit better? What does that mean?”

“Two dollars an hour over minimum wage.”

“And you expect her to live on that? I’m surprised she hasn’t had to find a second job before now. Oh, wait, you’d probably fire her if she did.”

“Now, Tricia, she gets health care benefits, too.”

“And how much does she have to pay toward that?”

“Fifty percent.”

“Fifty percent?” she repeated, hardly believing what she’d just heard. “On two dollars an hour over minimum wage?”

“There aren’t that many clerical jobs in Stoneham. Frannie’s lucky to be with us. She’s only got a high school diploma, you know.”

“Doesn’t ten years of experience with the Chamber count for anything?”

Bob shook his head, his expression insufferably patient, as if he was about to speak to someone with a low IQ.

“We’re paying a wage commensurate with her education and comparable jobs within the community.”

“Then obviously the community isn’t paying its female workers a living wage.”

Bob shook his head again and looked at his watch, as though she was taking up too much of his time.

“Who’s going to tell Angelica about this?” Tricia demanded.

“Angelica?” he repeated, a note of alarm entering his voice.

“Yes. She’s expecting Frannie to show up to help her out on Saturday. I don’t think it ought to be Frannie who tells Angelica why she can’t be there. And I don’t think it should be me who tells her, either. That leaves only one person.”

“Me?” he asked, appalled.

“Yes, Bob, you. And the sooner, the better. In fact, this evening would be perfect. It’s early closing night. You could take her to dinner and break the news to her. Take her someplace nice, too, won’t you?”

“I’d planned to take her to this little seafood place I know in Portsmouth.”

“That’s wonderful. And I’ll make it my business to talk to her tomorrow morning to make sure this little situation has been resolved.”

“You’d check up on me?”

“Yes. And if she doesn’t know the reason why Frannie can’t work for her on Saturday, I will tell her myself, and you can bet I won’t put the same spin on it you would.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“You bet it is,” Tricia said. She turned, grabbed the handle, and made sure she slammed the door on her way out.

Tricia worked off most of her anger on the chilly walk back to her store. She stopped off at the Cookery to find a harassed Angelica overwhelmed with customers. Whipping off her coat, she held down the register for fifteen minutes while her sister helped patrons. Thankfully, the bus that awaited most of the customers had a tight schedule, and the store soon emptied out.

“Thanks for showing up when you did. It’s been like this all day,” Angelica said, breathless.

“What happened to your new employee?”

“She didn’t show up.” Angelica studied Tricia’s face. “Why are you here?”

Tricia wriggled back into her coat sleeves. “I brought you this,” she said, taking the health care brochure out of her pocket. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it, but you might want to study it carefully. Hiring Frannie away from the Chamber might not be as difficult as you thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s for you to find out. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Intriguing,” Angelica said with a smile. She looked down at the brochure in her hand. “I will study it. Thank you.”

The phone rang, and Angelica practically jumped on it.

“The Cookery, how can I help you?” She paused. “Oh, Bob, it’s you! Sure, I’m free tonight.”

Tricia forced a smile and waved as she let herself out. At least one part of her plan had been set into motion. She continued down the walk to Haven’t Got a Clue. It was full of customers who were in need of assistance.

As the rest of the afternoon wore on, and still no word from Grace, Tricia’s anxiety multiplied. As she checked her watch for the hundredth time, she hoped Nikki had been kept as busy over at the Stoneham Patisserie. At the same time, if she was run ragged, Tricia worried Nikki might opt out of attending the weekly book club meeting—which would spoil everything.

At T minus one hour, she dialed the number.

“Stoneham Patisserie, this is Nikki. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Nikki. It’s Tricia over at Haven’t Got a Clue. I just wanted to make sure you’ll be attending the book club meeting tonight. I managed to line up a special guest—someone in publishing who was here for Zoe’s memorial service. He stayed in town an extra couple of days just so he could talk to the group. I’d like to have as many warm bodies as possible in the store to make him feel welcome.”

Nikki sighed, and Tricia flinched, afraid her plans might already be on the verge of unraveling. “I guess I can make it, but I can’t pull off a cake on this short notice. Can I bring something else? Cookies?”

It was Tricia’s turn to sigh—with relief. “You don’t have to bring anything,” she said. “I’ve got everything covered.”

“Oh. Well, okay. I’ll be there around six.”

“See you then,” Tricia said brightly and hung up the phone. No sooner had she set the receiver down than it rang again. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia.”

“Tricia, it’s Grace.”

“Thank goodness. I was getting worried. Do you have good news for me?”

“It took some persuasion, but I’ve convinced the sheriff to arrive at precisely six o’clock.”