Book Clubbed (18 page)

“No, why?” Ginny asked, removing the paper from her muffin.

“It seems Mr. Everett has never had a real birthday party, and she'd like to give him one on Friday night.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“I'm surprised Antonio hasn't mentioned it to you. I believe Grace spoke to him about the reservation at the Brookview.”

“He's had so much on his mind lately, I'm not surprised he forgot. Who's invited?”

“You, Antonio, Pixie, and me.”

“Gee, that's an awfully small party.”

“She thought we could all go to dinner and celebrate.”

Ginny's brow furrowed. “Isn't Friday Valentine's Day?”

“That
is
Mr. Everett's birthday.”

Ginny frowned and paused in her work. “Oh. I was kind of looking forward to a romantic evening with Antonio. After all, it might be our last. I've heard romance is a thing of the past once kids enter the picture. I sort of decided Valentine's Day might be the best time to tell him the good news.” She sounded anything but happy about the announcement.

“I hadn't thought about the romantic aspect of the day, probably because I had no plans and I doubt Pixie does, either. Would you like me to ask Grace to postpone the dinner until Saturday?”

“Oh, no. That wouldn't be fair to Mr. Everett. At his age, who knows how many more birthdays he'll have. I'll call Antonio later this morning and run it by him. I'm sure he won't mind. We can have our dinner a day later. By then a heart-shaped box of chocolates will sell for half price. Maybe he'll even buy me two of them,” she added hopefully.

Tricia smiled. Trust Ginny to look at the bright side of things.

“You didn't mention Angelica as being on Grace's guest list. Is there a reason she isn't invited to Mr. Everett's party?”

Tricia shrugged, removing the paper wrapper from her muffin. “Sorry. She wasn't on the original list, but she had me ask if she could come and, of course, Grace was happy to include her. Now that she and Bob are history, I don't think Angelica was looking forward to being alone on Valentine's Day.”

“Bob certainly left her with a mess with the Chamber of Commerce,” Ginny said and took a bite of her muffin.

“That he did. And it seems Bob's been among the missing lately. I've been trying to track him down to ask what he knows about Betsy Dittmeyer. After all, he worked with her for two years.”

“I never got the sense that she shared much with anybody. And let's face it, unless there's some kind of financial angle, Bob isn't much interested in being friendly to people in general, either. At least that's the impression I always got. To tell you the truth, I could never figure out what Angelica saw in him.”

“I hear you,” Tricia agreed.

“Although I must say Bob's been nicer to me since I started managing the Happy Domestic,” Ginny said.

“Paying your rent on time probably has a lot to do with that,” Tricia agreed. “I'm not sure Deborah always did.” She sipped her coffee. “Are you looking forward to tonight?”

Ginny shook her head and sighed. “I can't say pawing through a dead woman's junk is all that interesting.”

“But what about all that money?” Tricia asked.

“I'd probably be more interested if I got to keep it, but Antonio was absolutely thrilled. He couldn't wait to talk to his stepmother about it this morning. I guess NRA paid more than market value for the house, so finding that money takes the sting out of it.”

“I still can't understand why Betsy didn't pay the rent she owed and reclaim the boxes that held the money. How does one forget forty-four thousand dollars?” Tricia sampled her muffin.
Good!
No doubt about it, Nikki made one heck of a good product—no matter what she baked.

“And where on earth did Betsy get that kind of money? And while it looks like she had it, she sure didn't flaunt it. Not the way she dressed, or the car she drove.”

“I agree.” Betsy seemed to favor big ugly sweaters and matronly dresses. And Tricia never saw her wear anything but scuffed penny loafers.

Ginny looked pensive. “Don't you think all that cash had to be ill-gotten gain?”

“Are you thinking she sold drugs or something?” Tricia asked.

“Dealers do run a cash-only operation,” Ginny pointed out. “I wonder if Antonio should get it tested for cocaine residue.”

“You've been reading too many police procedurals,” Tricia said.

“Well, you were my bad influence in that respect.”

Tricia broke off another piece of muffin and shook her head. “I can't see Betsy involved in the drug trade. Someone would have noticed people hanging around her home. I spoke with one of her neighbors and was told she pretty much kept to herself.”

“Blackmail?” Ginny guessed.

“I wouldn't put it past her,” Tricia said, but didn't go into why.

Ginny lifted her cup, taking another sip. “But who would Betsy try to blackmail—and with what?”

Tricia shrugged, thinking about the Chamber MEMBERS file that currently sat on her computer's desktop, and remembered she hadn't called Grant Baker to discuss it. That would have to be next on her list of things to do.

Ginny polished off the last of her muffin and looked hopefully toward the shop door. “I wonder what time my first customer will arrive. Yesterday it was after one.”

“We've done better than that over at Haven't Got a Clue, but not by much,” Tricia said.

“At least it's given me a chance to plan my Saint Paddy's Day displays,” Ginny said.

“We didn't even decorate for Valentine's Day,” Tricia admitted. “Except for Pixie changing that weird doll's outfit every other day.”

“That often?” Ginny asked skeptically.

Tricia shrugged. “Maybe it just seems that way.” She drank the last of her coffee. “I should get back to my store. I have some things that need to be attended to.”

“I'm glad you stopped by,” Ginny said, getting up from her stool. “It gets pretty lonely here sometimes.”

Tricia pulled on her coat and hat. “I'll see you tonight at the rental house.”

“I'll be there,” Ginny said with resignation, and walked Tricia to the door.

“Bye.”

Since there was no traffic coming, Tricia jaywalked across the street. Pixie would be showing up soon and she wanted to make a list of items she should talk about with Chief Baker. And she wondered how annoyed he'd be to know she'd been keeping possibly pertinent information from him. She decided it might be better to visit at the police station. It felt awkward to talk to him—whether on business or personal matters—at her store with Pixie listening to every word.

There were some things Tricia didn't want to share with her employee. Talking about Betsy Dittmeyer's death was one of them. The fact that Baker always managed to steer their conversations to their personal lives made it even more uncomfortable.

Most of all, Tricia wasn't up to being scolded in front of an audience.

*   *   *

Tricia sat
in the police station's small, drafty waiting room for more than half an hour, glad she hadn't hung her coat on the rack near the door. Was Baker punishing her or was it his sharp-eyed receptionist/dispatcher? Polly Burgess was probably in her seventies, with thinning, snow-white hair worn in a bun. That day she wore a blue wool suit that had probably served her well over the years when she'd had an office job at St. Joseph Hospital in Nashua. Here in Stoneham it looked a bit prim and proper. But that was Polly, who probably wouldn't take guff from anyone—she'd sure put the fear of God in Tricia. Every so often she'd look out from her receptionist's station behind a half wall with a window, probably to make sure Tricia hadn't lifted a few of the well-thumbed ancient magazines that sat on one of the small tables between the six uncomfortable folding chairs.

Tricia sighed, exasperated for having forgotten to bring a book along, and stared at the walls, noting how in just a few short months the newly opened station already had a rather shabby feel to it. She'd visited a few times before, but felt she'd never warm to the place.

Tricia noticed Polly's gaze drift to the clock on the wall outside her cubby. Suddenly she sat up, pulled back the window, and announced, “You can go in now.”

Tricia grabbed her purse and stood. “Thank you.” She stepped across the small lobby and reached for the door handle that led to the station's inner sanctum.

Baker's door was open. He didn't seem to be expecting her, for when he saw her, his eyes lit up and he smiled. “Tricia. This is a surprise.”

“I've been sitting waiting in your reception room for the past forty-five minutes.”

“Oh? I wonder why Polly didn't say something.”

Tricia forced a smile. “Perhaps she's overworked.”

“Well, you're here now. What's new?”

Tricia closed the door and sat on yet another uncomfortable folding chair. “I'm sure you probably already know about the fire at Betsy Dittmeyer's house.”

Baker frowned, distinctly unhappy. “Did you see it on the news?”

Tricia shook her head. “I was there. Russ Smith heard it on his police scanner, called me, and the two of us went to have a look.”

“I thought you were done with him a long time ago,” Baker said, glowering, and sounding very much like a jealous ex-boyfriend.

“I was. And as you recall, he's married.”

“And as I recall his wife is jealous of you,” he said much louder than he needed to. Had his voice penetrated the thin walls? Was Polly listening? Was she as big a gossip as Frannie? If so, she must run in another circle.

“Not so much, these days,” Tricia admitted and changed the subject. “Have the Milford firemen ascertained the exact cause of the fire?”

He shook his head. “Only that it was arson. They'll have a preliminary report to me as soon as they know.”

“How soon is soon?”

“Could be a day or two. Could be a week. Could be longer.”

That certainly sounded open-ended.

“That wasn't what brought you to my office,” Baker said.

“You're right. Have you had a chance to look at the files on the Chamber's computer?”

He shook his head and she told him about what she'd found when digging through the files. As predicted, the chief was not happy. His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Why didn't you tell me all this when we talked yesterday?”

Tricia sighed and looked away, taking in Baker's immaculate office. There wasn't a paper or a book out of order, and the floor looked like it had recently been polished. His many awards hung on the cheap paneled wall behind his desk in precise rows, along with pictures of him taken with other officers and local politicians during his time with the Hillsborough Sheriff's Department. “I knew you'd be annoyed, because honestly it should have been Angelica who reported this to you.”

“
You
had the files.
You
did the snooping.
You
should have told me about this as soon as you knew. And when was that?”

“Um . . .”

“This is Wednesday,” he said, eyes blazing, as angry as she'd ever seen him.

“Well, I'm telling you now. And the thing is you've had the information since Saturday afternoon when you confiscated the Chamber's computer. It's not my fault you haven't looked at any of the files. I'm just bringing your attention to what you've already got.”

“We're a small department. I don't have the benefit of passing those kinds of responsibilities off to an investigator.
I'm
the investigator.”

Tricia handed him her flash drive. “After you copy the files, I'd like to have this returned.”

Baker turned toward the monitor on the wing of his desk, inserted the flash drive, and opened it. “It's the file called MEMBERS. And don't forget to study the spreadsheets. I showed them to Christopher, and he's on tap to find someone to go over the books for the Chamber.”

“You've talked to Christopher about this?” Baker asked angrily.

“I needed corroboration that there was something wrong with the files.”

“Why am I always the last to know?” Baker groused.

“Because your force is too small to deal with murder cases?” she suggested.

“Are you intimating that we, a force of seven officers and a receptionist, aren't capable of solving this murder, but you—a solitary civilian—are?”

“Not at all,” Tricia answered, but she had been reading murder mysteries since the tender age of ten, whereas Baker had only been an officer of the law for some twenty-odd years.

“Who else knows about these files?” Baker demanded.

“Just Angelica and Christopher.”

“Keeping it all in the family, eh?” he said with a bit of a sneer.

“Christopher isn't part of my family.”

“But he was for ten years.”

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“You called
him
, not
me
, to look at these files.”

“He's a financial expert. Betsy had been stealing from the Chamber. I wanted him to verify it before I brought it to anyone's attention.”

“Why don't you take out an ad in the
Stoneham Weekly News
and tell everyone in the village? And don't tell me, let me guess, you've also compared notes with Russ Smith on this subject, too.”

“I congratulated him on his impending fatherhood the other day. Betsy's death may have come up during the conversation.”

“You know damn well it did,” he accused.

Tricia sat back in her chair. She'd known he was going to be upset, but she had no idea
how
upset. “I could have just kept this information to myself, you know.”

“No, you couldn't.”

Was he implying
she
was a gossip? She preferred not to think about it.