So, he did still care.
“Yes, we’re both okay,” Angelica answered, perturbed, and Sarge issued a low growl, baring his teeth.
“Don’t mind Sarge,” Tricia said, indicating the dog. “He’s very protective of Angelica.”
Sarge gave another growl to make sure Baker understood who was top dog.
Baker ignored him. “So, what’s going on?”
Tricia told him-leaving out all mention of their encounter with Chauncey Porter and feeling guilty for doing so. But her gut feeling was that Chauncey was innocent of Pippa Comfort’s death. Still, he might be a target of whoever killed her. And the most likely suspect was still Harry Tyler. Even if he hadn’t killed his wife, she might have told him how Chauncey had recognized her, conveying her anger, and even though she was now dead, Harry might still have punished Chauncey for bringing up a sore-or shameful-subject to Pippa.
Oh yeah? something inside her taunted. Harry had told her he and Pippa weren’t even close anymore. Would he really care to avenge her reputation now that she was dead?
He might. If it helped restore his.
Baker waved a hand in front of Tricia’s face to gain her wandering attention. “What are you thinking about?” he asked suspiciously.
Tricia shook herself. “Oh, nothing important.”
Baker looked skeptical. “Sure.” Only he dragged the word out for at least four seconds. He turned his attention to Angelica. “Are you in the habit of taking your dog for a walk and leaving the door wide open?”
Angelica faced him, offended. “No.”
“Then why tonight?”
“Sarge caught the scent of something and dragged us along.”
Well, she hadn’t lied, but neither did she admit the truth.
“Uh-huh,” Baker uttered, and still looked unconvinced.
The uniformed officer came back downstairs. “All clear,” he called and then, at the sight of his boss standing in the middle of the shop, came to a halt and straightened. “Chief. What are you doing here?”
“Just following up. Go get the big flashlight out of your cruiser. Ms. Miles here”-he indicated Angelica-“says her dog was interested in something in the alley. I’d like to take a look.”
“Sure thing.”
The young officer left the store in a hurry.
Angelica sighed. “I need a drink-preferably alcoholic-and hopefully incredibly strong, thanks to the day I’ve had.”
“We’re not quite through here,” Baker said.
Angelica sighed. “I can see why you installed comfortable upholstered chairs in your store, Tricia. I could sure go for one right now.”
“What do you hope to find in the alley?” Tricia asked Baker.
“Hopefully, nothing.”
“Yes, me, too,” Angelica said, “because upstairs there’s a gin and tonic with my name on it.”
The officer returned, and he and Baker went out the back door.
“Oh no!” Tricia hissed. “What if they find the blood?”
Angelica looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “What blood?”
“Chauncey’s head was bleeding. There was a patch of blood on the asphalt.”
“Oh. That blood.” Angelica bit her lip and shrugged. “It’s dark. They’ll never see it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
But they did see it.
Not five minutes later Baker came back into the store, his expression grim. “I don’t mean to alarm you ladies, but we found a patch of blood out in the alley. That’s probably what your little dog was interested in.”
“Ooh, you’re good,” Angelica said under her breath.
Baker looked pleased.
Tricia rolled her eyes.
“I’m having a tech come by and take a sample. You’ll probably see flashing lights in the alley for the next hour or so. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”
“Worry about a possible mugging or something?” Angelica said, and Tricia shot daggers at her.
“Why would you say a mugging?” Baker asked, again suspicious.
Angelica shrugged. “Do you suspect something worse?”
“I don’t know what to suspect,” Baker said, and scrutinized the women. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I told you what’s on my mind. A nice tall drink. Now, Chief, I’ll take my dog out for one last pee and then I’m going to bed.” She turned toward her sister. “Tricia, you’ve got a long day ahead of you, too. It’s time you went to bed.” She glared at Baker. “And apparently alone.”
She picked up Sarge and headed for the back door.
“I’m sorry, Grant. Angelica really has had a tough day.”
“Yes.” He moved to stand in Tricia’s personal space, something she’d been longing for for days, only now she wished he hadn’t. “Tricia, if something is going on in this village that I should know about, for heaven’s sake-tell me!”
“If I could, I would.” Talk about being vague.
He studied her face, and she willed him to kiss her, but instead he turned aside. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your front door.”
That was the best offer she’d received in a week, and she accepted with resignation.
Baker waited until she’d let herself in before he turned to leave. No good-night kiss, just a terse “See you,” and he headed back down the sidewalk, presumably to take the shortcut to the alley next to the Patisserie and join up with his officers.
Miss Marple made a solitary-and hungry-welcoming committee. She eagerly followed as Tricia climbed the steps to her loft apartment. She fed the cat and, being bone tired, got ready for bed.
Despite the fatigue that weighed down on her, Tricia thought it unlikely she’d be able to fall asleep. Instead of immediately retreating into a book, she turned off the bedroom light and raised the blind on the window.
Stoneham’s streets were deadly quiet, but after such a tumultuous day Tricia drank in the tranquility. Chief Baker’s SUV still sat outside Haven’t Got a Clue, but within a minute or two Tricia saw him walk back down the street to claim it. He looked up at her window, but because of the darkness did not see her watching him. He turned away and climbed into the vehicle. Moments later, the headlights came on and the SUV slowly pulled away from the curb.
“Good night, Grant,” Tricia said with a pang of regret.
Miss Marple jumped up on the windowsill with a sympathetic “Yow!” She nuzzled her head into Tricia’s hand and purred loudly.
Tricia was about to turn away from the window when movement on the sidewalk across the street caught her attention.
Someone-a man-walked briskly up the west side of Main Street, heading north. Tricia recognized the gait-and the set of the shoulders-even though the street was bathed in partial shadow.
Harry Tyler.
And what was he doing in this part of the village at this time of night?
Not surprisingly, Tricia slept late and the morning came far too early. First thing, Tricia called the hospital and found that Mr. Everett had already been released. Okay, the day was starting out with something good, but she didn’t expect to see him at work that day, and she hadn’t had time to do any of the after-hours tasks, nor had she had time to train Linda to do them. That put something else on the to-do list.
After a quick shower and even quicker breakfast, Tricia hurried down the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple followed in her wake, always eager to start the workday.
Considering Linda had only observed one closing, the store appeared neat. The mail had been opened and was paper-clipped in stacks on the counter, which Linda had labeled with Post-it notes. Ads and circulars-probable recycles-bills, and…a pastel, multicolored silk scarf. Clipped to it was a printed note that had obviously been cut from a larger sheet of copy paper. It read: Remember when you wore this?
Tricia felt heat rise up her neck to burn her cheeks. No, she didn’t remember ever wearing the scarf. Who was sending her this junk in the mail? First the picture, then the cocktail napkin-now this. Could someone have gotten her mixed up with another person? That didn’t seem likely. The picture had definitely been Tricia.