Bookplate Special (23 page)

Should she offer the truth?

Why not?

“I’m here to see Stuart Paige.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m afraid he’s tied up right now.”

Frannie was right. Eleanor was good at protecting her guests from unwanted visitors.

“He’s in the dining room, giving a speech to the Chamber of Commerce.”

“What? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They always meet here on the second Friday of the month. The breakfast portion of the meeting is already over. Since you’re a member, I don’t see why you can’t go in there. Perhaps you can introduce yourself to him when he’s finished speaking.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. I think I will.” And Tricia marched across the lobby. The French doors to the restaurant were open, and Tricia slipped into one of the empty chairs at the closest table. Paige stood at a lectern. His amplified voice sounded rather husky as it resonated through the restaurant’s sound system. Tricia recognized a number of her fellow bookstore owners, as well as members of the Board of Selectmen. Sitting at the table closest to the lectern was Russ, jotting down notes on his ever-present steno pad.

Paige’s tone changed ever so slightly, and Tricia realized she’d entered just as he was about to wrap up his speech.

“In conclusion, building the Robert Paige Memorial Dialysis Center here in Stoneham will bring new life to the village. New construction, new jobs, new residents, and an influx of tax revenue for Stoneham. It’s a win-win situation, and I hope you’ll all elect to be a part of it.” He collected his notes. “Thank you for inviting me to speak here today—it’s been a pleasure.”

The room erupted into applause, and Bob Kelly, clad in his green Kelly Realty sports jacket, rose to lead the ovation. So that was why Paige was still in town—to drum up support for another of his pet projects.

Paige’s handlers crowded around him, ushering him away from the front of the room, with Bob following in his wake. Bob would no doubt stick to Paige like glue—unless, of course, Paige’s entourage interfered. They’d done so after the opening of the Food Shelf. She stood, moving to the side of the room to intercept the man. She might have to ask her questions on the fly.

The applause died down, and already other business owners were up and out of their seats, headed for the exit.

One of Paige’s handlers sidled close to his boss, and whispered something in his ear. Paige listened, nodded, and then spoke to Bob, who looked disappointed.

The handler snagged Paige’s jacket sleeve, and steered him toward the exit.

Adrenaline coursed through her, making Tricia feel jumpy as she waited the interminable seconds it took for Paige to navigate through the crowd.

“Mr. Paige—Mr. Paige!” she called through the din of overlapping voices. She waved, trying to draw his attention, but Paige’s handler looked right through her, still guiding his employer through the thinning ranks of Chamber members.

“Mr. Paige,” Tricia called again, falling into step behind her quarry. “What was in the envelope Pammy Fredericks sent you last week?”

Paige abruptly halted, his head jerking around to take her in. “What did you say?”

Tricia caught up. “The Sheriff’s Department is investigating Pammy Fredericks’s murder. I think they’d be very interested to know what was in the envelope she sent you.”

“Envelope? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Paige,” the handler insisted, grabbing his employer by the elbow once more. “We’re going to be late for your ten thirty meeting.”

“She made copies of pages from a woman’s diary. A woman who wrote about her pregnancy and intended to strong-arm the father of her baby into marrying her—that is, until the child was born with birth defects. Pammy mailed those pages to you several days before her death.”

Another gray-suited flunky stepped behind Tricia, grabbed her by the elbow, and propelled her forward. “Not the time and place for this, honey,” he growled. “You’re outta here.”

“Let me go!” The hand on her elbow tightened. At least she was going in the same direction as Paige, heading for the Brookview’s front entrance.

“Mr. Paige! Mr. Paige!” she cried.

Paige was on the top step, and turned back to look at her. Shots rang out, splintering wood and shattering glass.

The flunky let go of Tricia’s arm, pushing her aside. He made a flying leap at his employer, knocking him forward, and the two of them tumbled down the inn’s wooden steps.

“He’s hit!” came a voice.

A stream of suited businessmen and businesswomen emerged from the inn’s open doorway, led by Bob Kelly, whose green jacket stuck out like a flag, while Paige’s handlers dragged the wounded man to the side of the inn and out of the line of fire.

“What happened?” Bob demanded.

“Someone fired shots at Mr. Paige—my God, at me!” Tricia cried.

Instead of stopping to make sure she was all right, or even reassure her, Bob barreled down the stairs after Paige and his entourage. “Stuart! Stuart!”

“Someone call nine-one-one,” a voice behind Tricia shouted.

Russ was suddenly beside her. “Tricia, what happened?”

“Is he dead? Is he dead?” another voice yelled.

Tricia’s knees felt weak as she grabbed the banister to keep from stumbling down the stairs. Somehow, she took off after Bob, with Russ right behind her.

A pasty-faced Paige sat on the ground behind a linen delivery truck, his bloodied right hand clasping his left shoulder. His crisp white shirt was stained scarlet. Although gasping for breath, he managed to speak with his flunkies, one of who was on a cell phone. Meanwhile, Bob hovered over them all like a worried mother hen.

The cell phone flipped shut. “The sheriff and ambulance are on their way,” the gray-suited man announced.

“Can I get you something? Something cold to drink? Something hot?” Bob blathered.

The flunky in brown pushed him aside. “Why don’t you take care of crowd control?”

Bob nodded like a bobblehead. “Sure, sure.”

Again he pushed past Tricia, heading back for the inn’s entrance.

Tricia surged forward, but a hand held her back. “Tricia!”

Russ! “Let go,” she growled, and pulled away. She crouched next to Paige. “Had you been threatened before this happened? Who’d want to kill you? Does it have anything to do with those pages Pammy Fredericks sent you?”

Paige opened his mouth to speak, but Tricia was yanked upright before she could hear what he said.

“Hey!”

“Stand back, ma’am. Give the man some air,” said the flunky in brown.

“I tried to stop her,” Russ said, sounding like a tattletale.

The wail of a siren cut through the cool autumn morning, and moments later the Stoneham Fire Department’s rescue unit pulled alongside the inn’s entrance. The EMTs jumped out, equipment in hand, and jogged to intercept Gray Suit.

Tricia and Russ were shunted off to one side, forced to stand with the rest of the rubberneckers. Their attention was riveted on the wounded man, but Tricia stared at the wooded area across the road from the inn. It hadn’t been developed. In addition to trees, the area was thick with brush—the perfect hiding place for someone with a rifle.

“Is that where the shots came from?” Russ asked.

She nodded. She was in no mood to look at—let alone speak to—him, and moved aside, skirting the crowd to stand on the other side of the inn’s driveway.

Once a couple of deputies had arrived, Bob managed to wrangle his way back to the mob surrounding Paige. No doubt he was already pondering the bad press that this incident would generate, and thinking about damage control.

“He’s going to be all right, right?” he badgered.

“His wounds aren’t life threatening,” an EMT told him, “but to be on the safe side, we’re going to take him to the trauma center in Nashua.”

Another Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up outside the inn, and Tricia was surprised Captain Baker wasn’t behind the wheel. Good. That would buy her more time.

She decided not to wait for the ambulance to take off, and walked purposefully for her car in the back parking lot. If she could arrive at the hospital before the captain, perhaps she could sneak in to see Paige before the sheriff’s deputy could interrogate the philanthropist.

“Tricia, wait!”

She turned and stopped. Russ. Again.

“Tricia!” he called again, and caught up with her. “What were you asking Paige? What’s with the envelope you mentioned?”

So, he had heard her. And, typically, he was more interested in the story than in her. He hadn’t been this interested on Tuesday before he’d dropped his bombshell about leaving Stoneham.

Her anger boiled over. But instead of coming up with a scathing retort, she settled on simplicity. “Leave me alone.”

He reached for her arm, but she wrenched it away. “Come on, we’ve been friends a long time.”

“A year. We were friends for a year. We’re not friends anymore.”

“Tricia!”

She pointed at the crowd still milling around the Sheriff’s Department cruisers and the ambulance. “Go get your story. You need the practice if you’re going to be a big-time crime beat reporter once again.”

Russ glared at her for what seemed like a long time, and then he turned to stalk back down the driveway.

Tricia watched him for a couple of seconds before she started for her car. As she walked, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, and punched in the preset button to dial Ginny’s cell phone. She picked up on the second ring.

“Ginny, it’s Tricia.”

“Where are you? The store was supposed to open five minutes ago!”

“I had an errand to run. I’ll be right there. By the way, didn’t you once tell me that Brian has an aunt who works at the medical center in Nashua?”

“Sure. Her name’s Elsie Temple. She works at the reception desk in the ER.”

Bingo!

“Is there any chance you could pull in a favor for me?”

“I can try,” Ginny said warily. “What do you have in mind?”

SEVENTEEN

Brian’s Aunt
Elsie wrung her hands nervously. A woman of fifty or so, her neatly coiffed hair was a dull jet black, with not a gray root in sight. “If anyone but Ginny had asked me to do this, I’d have said no right on the spot,” she said, bending to look beyond Tricia, checking for feet in the bathroom’s four stalls, and any eavesdroppers. Finding no one there, she handed a visitor’s badge to Tricia.

They’d had to meet in a second-floor ladies’ room, well out of the way of any security cameras—just in case. Tricia had no desire to get this nervous wreck of a woman fired.

“If anyone asks who you’re here to visit, say Smith. Seems like we’ve always got at least one in the ER at any given time. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let on who gave you the badge.”

“I won’t. And I promise I won’t cause a disturbance. I only want a chance to talk to Mr.—”

“Don’t tell me the patient’s name. The less I know, the better. Holy smoke,” Elsie nearly whimpered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Tricia peeled off the backing and applied the sticker to her jacket. “I’d better go. Thank you.”

Elsie nodded, grabbing a paper towel from the wall dispenser and soaking it in cold water. She wrung it out before applying it to her forehead.

The ladies’ room door closed behind Tricia, who felt like six kinds of a creep, but she had to get to Paige before Captain Baker did.

Was it possible she could find a dirty laundry bin and rustle up a lab coat? No, without a hospital name badge, she’d be outed in a heartbeat. Playing the visitor card was her best shot to get in and out of the ER without a hitch.

Head held high, Tricia made her way back to the emergency room lobby, looked around, and confidently strode through the doors into the patient-care area.

The ER reminded Tricia of a giant horseshoe, with patient cubicles grouped around center workstations filled with computer terminals. Patient names were written on whiteboards outside each cubicle. It had been at least ten minutes since Paige had been brought in. Since his injuries weren’t life threatening, he wasn’t liable to be rushed into surgery . . . she hoped.

Thanks to her visitor’s badge, nurses and technicians passed by her without a second glance. Good. She passed the last cubicle on the first side, and started down the row to check out the others. Intent on reading the patient names, Tricia almost bumped into a man in a gray suit. Too late she recognized him as part of Paige’s entourage.

“What are you doing here?” Gray Suit growled.

“I—I . . .” Caught—and without even finding Paige’s cubicle. “I need to speak with Mr. Paige.”

“Now is hardly the time.” Gray Suit looked around, grabbed Tricia’s elbow, and steered her toward the exit. Now she’d not only be shown the door, but probably be turned over to hospital security.

Gray Suit guided Tricia through the ER lobby, right past security, and out the Emergency entrance.

The cool air felt rather refreshing as Gray Suit kept Tricia moving down the sidewalk and away from the hospital. Finally he stopped and let go of her arm. “Paige won’t tell you anything,” he said at last.

“But you don’t even know what I want to ask.”

“I heard what you said back at the inn. You asked about an envelope from Pam Fredericks. He never saw it. I’m paid to make sure he
doesn’t
see things like that.”

“What happened to the envelope?”

“It was turned over to one of Mr. Paige’s attorneys.”

“Does the Sheriff’s Department know about it?”

Gray Suit shook his head.

“Were you aware Pammy Fredericks was murdered?”

Gray Suit looked up sharply. “No, I wasn’t. I don’t pay attention to what happens in hick towns. But that explains why we didn’t hear from her again.”

“Don’t you find it strange that Pammy attempted to blackmail Mr. Paige and then was found dead a day or so later?”