Book Clubbed (4 page)

“Yes, it is time for your dinner.”

The cat jumped down from her perch behind the register and watched as Tricia turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and drew the blinds. But before she could take more than a couple of steps away from the sales counter, the phone rang. She turned and answered it. “Angelica?”

“How did you know?”

“I just had a feeling. Is everything back to normal at the Cookery?”

“Well, as normal as it can get after someone is murdered on your premises; something you well know.”

Yes, Tricia did.

“The police are all gone. Come over and keep me company for a few hours, will you? I'm only making omelets for supper, but I'm making some nibbly bits as a test for my next cookbook. Are you game?”

That was certainly better than scrounging the cupboards as Tricia had been planning to do. More likely Angelica just didn't want to be alone, and Tricia couldn't blame her. “Of course. Let me feed Miss Marple and I'll be right over.”

“See you in a few,” Angelica said and hung up.

Tricia and Miss Marple headed up the stairs to Tricia's loft apartment. As she opened a fresh can of cat food and changed the water, Tricia thought back on her visit with Joelle. Something about it didn't sit right with her. Perhaps it was because in her moment of terrible grief Joelle had pitched her wedding planning services. But then who could blame the woman for her chaotic thinking. She'd just lost her only living relative. If Tricia lost Angelica she was sure she'd suffer an emotional collapse. She'd do it quietly, and alone, but the thought was too painful to contemplate. If it had happened four years before she would have been sad but soldiered on.

Stop it!
she told herself. Those types of thoughts were morbid.

She petted Miss Marple, locked her apartment, and went back down to her store.

Unless Angelica really irritated her, she would enjoy her company and try not to think about the terrible expression on Betsy Dittmeyer's face, or ponder just who wanted the woman dead.

Tricia unlocked
the door to the Cookery and let herself in. She walked a little slower as she headed up the steps and passed the second-floor landing, pausing a moment to look at the locked door that led to Angelica's storeroom, where Betsy had drawn her last breath, and then hurried up the rest of the stairs, eager to leave the place of death.

The door to Angelica's apartment was unlocked and Sarge met her, barking happily and jumping up to try to lick her face. She'd come prepared with an Angelica-approved doggy treat, and he raced back to the kitchen while she hung up her coat. She frowned as the sound of slightly off-key singing wafted through the loft apartment.
Shades of Pixie,
she thought.

As she entered the kitchen, Tricia found Angelica all dolled up—in a pretty, ruffled pink cocktail dress, makeup, with her hair curled, looking like she'd spent half the afternoon primping.

“Did you get dressed up just for me?” Tricia asked.

Angelica immediately stopped singing “That's Amore,” but continued to smile, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “I always feel better when I look my best.”

“You do remember that someone died in your building today,” Tricia said.

Angelica's smile faded. “Don't you dare go throwing a bucket of cold water on my carefully engineered good mood. Of course I feel terrible about Betsy's death. Don't forget, whoever killed her kicked in
my
door and raced through my home. I have been violated!”

Tricia hadn't even noticed that the door had been fixed. “I'm sorry. That was really thoughtless of me.”

Angelica pouted. “I forgive you. But please, could we talk about anything
but
Betsy this evening? Just for a few hours, I'd like to pretend that it never happened.”

Tricia nodded. She could share what she'd learned about Betsy from Christopher and Joelle another time. “Sure.”

Angelica managed a ghost of her former smile. “Thank you.”

“Can I ask what put you in such a happy mood?” Tricia said.

Angelica turned to face the oven, opened the door a crack, and peeked at its contents. Whatever it was smelled heavenly. “I take it you haven't heard the wonderful news!”

“What news?” Tricia asked, noting two martini glasses on the counter, along with an ice bucket, a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin, vermouth, and olives skewered by frilly toothpicks, the kind Tommy at Booked for Lunch used to skewer club sandwiches.

“There's a new real estate office opening in Stoneham. Finally someone will give Bob Kelly a run for his money. And you'll never guess who's behind it.”

“Not Nigela Ricita Associates,” Tricia said with a groan. That particular development company not only owned a share of the Brookview Inn and another in the Sheer Comfort Inn, but had bought out the local roach coach, and now owned the resident watering hole, the Dog-Eared Page,
and
the Happy Domestic.

“Yes.”

“Then why are you happy? You hate them.”

“What a terrible thing for you to say. I do not hate them,” she said, picked up the tongs, and placed some ice in the chrome cocktail shaker. “I'm in partnership with them at the Sheer Comfort Inn. And I think it's brilliant that they're opening a real estate office. I intend to be their first customer, or at least I intend for the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce to be their first customer.”

“Who told you about it?”

“I do get cc'd on some of their e-mails, you know. As soon as I got that one late this afternoon, I made an appointment to see their new sales manager.” She measured the gin and added it to the shaker. “Her name is Karen Johnson and we're going to meet for tea tomorrow afternoon. I've already got my menu planned. I'll have Tommy help me pull it together tomorrow morning before we open the café.”

“That's nice,” Tricia said and leaned against the kitchen island, watching the drink-making operation. “When did all this come about?”

“I called Antonio and he admitted that it's been in the works for some time.”

“Will they have any clients? I thought Bob had all the sale and rental properties in the area locked in.”

“Yes, but most of those contracts are usually only for three months. And let's face it, those clients can't be happy that Bob has deliberately avoided showing their properties to prospective clients—like me. I'll bet quite a few of them will be ready to jump ship when their contracts run out.”

“And who's going to tell them?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe a little bird,” she said and giggled.

“A five-foot-six-inch bird with blonde hair who sings a trifle off-key?” Tricia suggested.

“Could be,” Angelica said, added the vermouth, covered the shaker, and shook it vigorously. She poured equal amounts into the two martini glasses, added the olives, and then handed one to Tricia, taking the other. “To Betsy. And to the NRA real estate office. May they find the Chamber a home in record time.”

The sisters clinked glasses. “Amen.” They both took a sip, Angelica with relish, and Tricia with a bit of a wince. Perhaps if she drank enough of them, she'd actually come to enjoy a classic martini.

“Have you heard the latest about Nikki and Russ?” Angelica said excitedly, grabbed a pot holder, and turned for the oven door. She withdrew a baking sheet filled with little triangles—spanakopita, one of Tricia's favorite appetizers.

“Oh, I heard it all right. Nikki came straight to my store to announce her happy news.”

“Mine, too.” Angelica retrieved a couple of plates from the cupboard and transferred several of the appetizers to them while Tricia grabbed some napkins from the holder on the shelf, taking them and her drink to the kitchen island. Meanwhile, Angelica turned for the refrigerator, withdrew a mini muffin tin, and placed it straight into the oven, closing the door once again.

“It's just as well we're drinking martinis,” Tricia said when Angelica joined her. “I've got a piece of good news to share, too, but you have to promise me you won't say a word to anyone,” Tricia said.

“Do you think I'm some kind of a blabbermouth?” Angelica asked, wounded, and set her glass down on the island.

“Of course not, but . . . this was told to me in confidence—”

“Most secrets are,” Angelica muttered.

“—and, though I'm sure it'll be making its way around the village any day now, I think the happy couple ought to be the ones making that announcement to the world in general.”

“Someone's getting married?” Angelica guessed, delighted.

Tricia took another sip of her martini. “Not married, but the next best thing.”

“Another baby?” Angelica asked.

Tricia nodded and picked up one of the triangles, taking a bite. Terrific!

“But the only ones we know who are young enough to . . . Oh, my God! Ginny and Antonio are pregnant?” Angelica squealed with delight.

Sarge, who'd retreated to his bed, looked up, startled by her outburst.

“Shhh! Don't say it so loud. But, yes, they are.”

“This is wonderful! We must start making the plans for Ginny's baby shower. What's she having? A boy or a girl?”

“She doesn't even know yet. And knowing her, she won't want to know before the birth. And you can't give a baby shower when the baby isn't even due for at least another six months.”

“We have to wait that long?” Angelica asked, disappointed.

“I'm sure that's just what Ginny will be saying a few months from now.”

Angelica looked positively delighted and Tricia could almost hear her sister's thoughts buzzing with plans for a baby shower. If there was one thing Angelica did exceptionally well, it was throw a party—any kind of party.

“That's not all the news I have to share,” Tricia said.

“Twins!” Angelica guessed.

“No! Will you calm down?”

“I can't help myself. Our Ginny having a baby.”

“
Our
Ginny? You didn't even like her until last year.”

“Well, I like her lots now. What's behind us is behind us. And anyway, if you hadn't used her as a living shield from my phone calls to you, I would have liked her a whole lot better right from the start.”

“Let's not bring up the past,” Tricia implored.

“You started it,” Angelica muttered crossly, taking another sip of her drink.

“Let's just be happy for her, because she's not exactly thrilled with the news.”

“Why not?”

“Because. She's afraid Antonio and Nigela Ricita will force her to stop working.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe out of some outdated sense of morality, or family values, or something.”

“I hardly think so. I mean, Ms. Ricita is a businesswoman, and a shrewd one at that. I can't imagine anyone with her experience and foresight would force a new mother out of a job. Not in this day and age.”

“I don't think so, either, but Ginny is terrified someone else will be hired to take over the Happy Domestic.”

“We've got to talk to Antonio,” Angelica said firmly.

“No, we don't. This has nothing to do with us. It's a family matter.”

“
We're
family. Maybe not by blood, but with her mom and dad living down south, we're all she's got here in New Hampshire.”

“It's a nice thought,” Tricia conceded. “Ginny shared her concerns, and now she's got me wondering if she'll make the same mistakes Deborah did when she owned the Happy Domestic.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Deborah didn't know when she had a good thing.”

“I'm not so sure the thing she had was any good at all,” Tricia said, taking another bite of her appetizer.

“Whatever,” Angelica said dismissively. “The circumstances are totally different. As soon as she lays eyes on it, Ginny will love her baby like a mama bear loves her cub. All women feel that way.”

“Not our mother.”

Angelica sighed. “You're not going to start that again, are you?”

“Start? It'll never end, not until she tells me what it was that I've done wrong. What I am that never suited her.”

“Please, Trish, you've got to stop torturing yourself about Mother. She is who she is.”

Tricia glanced at the clock. “What's the time in Rio? I've a mind to just pick up the phone and ask her right now.”

“Please don't,” Angelica said.

Tricia looked at her sister with suspicion. “Why not? Because it would upset her? What about me? I've been upset my entire life by our relationship—or lack thereof.”

Angelica sighed and looked away. “I just have a bad feeling.”

“About what? That she might actually tell me why she treats me the way she does? That she might hurt my feelings if she did? She once told me that she never thought they'd have a second child, but that can't be it. Couples do get over that. And whatever it is she'd have to say couldn't hurt much more than years of her indifference.”

“That's what you say now,” Angelica said quietly, and picked up another appetizer.

“Then you
do
know what's at the heart of all this,” Tricia accused.

Angelica sighed. “I suppose you won't be happy until I've told you everything—and broken Mother's heart once again.”

“How can telling
me
break
her
heart?”

“Because you're going to want to talk to her about it, and I'm telling you right now—she will not talk to you about it. If you call her and bring it up, she will hang up on you. If you flew down there and asked her in person, she would just run away.”

“Good grief. What on earth could be so terrible she can't even speak about it? Please, Ange, just tell me.”

Angelica sighed and picked up her drink, taking a hearty sip. She set the glass down. “What you don't know is that after you were born, Mother had what was then called a nervous breakdown.”

“Don't you mean postpartum depression?”

Angelica shook her head. “No, it wasn't brought on by a birth; it was brought on by a death.”

“Who died?” Tricia asked. She certainly hadn't heard this story before.

Angelica sighed. “For years I've wrestled with my conscience about telling you the whole sordid tale. No good can come of your knowing, and talking about it to our parents would only reopen old wounds.”

Tricia's stomach did an immediate flip-flop. “Are you saying Daddy isn't my biological father? That Mother—?”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” Angelica chided. “Of course Daddy is your biological father. We've both got the Miles nose, after all. And anyway, if that were true, it would've been Daddy who'd taken a tailspin, not Mother.”

“Then what in God's name are you talking about?”

“Our brother!”

Tricia glared at her sister. “We never had a brother.”