“It’ll only be for a couple of hours,” Tricia said.
“You hope,” Angelica said, and Tricia felt like kicking her.
Tricia bent down to extricate Davey from the belt that held him in place. As she picked him up, she caught an unpleasant odor wafting from his nether regions. The poor kid must have literally had the crap scared out of him during this whole ordeal. She carried him over to the playpen and set him down. “Anyone know how to change a baby?”
“How hard can it be?” Angelica said.
“What am I going to tell Antonio?” Ginny insisted.
“Tell him you’re being a good neighbor,” Angelica said, and turned to Tricia. “Have you got David’s phone number? The kid is his—he ought to be the one taking care of him.”
Tricia winced. “Technically—David isn’t Davey’s father. Biologically, that is. He’s more or less dumped the boy on Elizabeth.”
“You’re kidding,” Ginny said, aghast.
Angelica threw her hands into the air. “Another man who can’t—or won’t—take care of his responsibilities.”
“That’s the thing—Deborah cheated on him and passed Davey off as David’s son. That’s one of the reasons they hit a snag in their marriage.”
“This is all very interesting,” Ginny said, “but I need to get some work done. I’m not terribly confident as it is, and all the distractions—”
Angelica turned to face her. “Why don’t you show me what’s got you bogged down? Maybe I can help. I do successfully run two businesses,” she bragged.
Ginny brightened. “That would be great.”
“Why don’t we take the books out front and spread them over the cash desk. We’ll give Davey some privacy while Tricia changes him.”
“Thanks a lot,” Tricia groused.
Angelica hustled Ginny, along with the pile of papers she’d been working on, into the shop, leaving Tricia with Davey. The boy screwed up face as he plucked at the seat of his rompers.
Tricia swallowed and held out her hands to pick the boy up. “Come to Tricia,” she said in what she hoped was a cheerful voice, “and I’ll tell you about the Ten Little Indians—Agatha Christie–style.”
The pizza had a chewy crust, double cheese, pepperoni, and onions. Angelica did the ordering, of course. She did consult Tricia and Ginny first but ordered what she wanted, anyway. It was tasty, so Tricia didn’t see the need to complain. Aloud.
“Is that child asleep yet?” Angelica asked, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.
Tricia stood between the door to the back room and the Happy Domestic’s showroom. “Finally,” she said, and tiptoed back to the chair she’d occupied just moments before. “It’s a good thing I never had kids—I don’t think I’m cut out for motherhood. Has there ever been a more important and yet less appreciated job?”
“Not in my experience,” Angelica said.
Ginny didn’t comment. With a pizza slice in one hand, she had her nose buried in the pile of spreadsheets in front of her. “If we can’t figure out the passwords in the computer, it’s going to take a long time to duplicate these data,” she said with a worried frown.
“But at least you have an idea of what you’re in for now,” Angelica said cheerfully.
Ginny nodded. “Thanks to you. I don’t think I would’ve been able to puzzle all this out.”
“Call the local geek squad tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Angelica said. She closed the lid on the pizza box. “Why don’t you take it home, Ginny? I’m sure you’ll make better use of this than Tricia or I would.”
“Thanks. If I have a lot of late nights here at the store, my stove will probably sport cobwebs.”
A banging on the door caused the three women to look up. Backlit by the picturesque gas lamps stood Elizabeth Crane. “Good grief,” Tricia called, and hurried to open the door. “Elizabeth, come in, come in. We were so worried about you. Are you okay?”
Elizabeth stood rooted on the rush welcome mat. “I’ve been better,” she said testily. “You might have at least put a note on your shop door to tell me where you’d be. I’ve been calling all over town trying to track you down. And after what I’ve been through tonight . . .”
“I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me to—”
Elizabeth cut her off. “I’ve come for my grandson. Will you please get him?”
Angelica stepped closer. “Are you all right, Elizabeth?”
“I’m fine.” Could she have been more curt? But then, except for the brush burn on her cheek, she did indeed seem fine.
“Elizabeth, come in,” Ginny said, coming up from behind.
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said more sternly. “I never want to set foot in this store again. Now will you please get my grandson, or do I have to call the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I’ll get him,” Ginny said, and flew for the back room.
“Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” Tricia asked. “How did you get back to Stoneham? Can one of us drive you home?”
“I don’t need any of your help. You’ve done enough. You’re all in this together, along with David. Conspiring against me, taking Deborah’s store from me.”
Had her brain been addled when the car hit her?
“Elizabeth,” Tricia said, hurt.
“Tricia,” Angelica said, in nearly the same tone as Elizabeth.
Before another word could be said, Ginny arrived with a sleeping Davey strapped in his stroller. Tricia and Angelica stepped aside so she could steer the stroller through the door. “He didn’t even wake up,” she said.
Elizabeth snatched the handles from her, jostling the boy, who awoke with a start and began to cry. She bent down and smoothed his sleep-tousled hair, which had the desired effect, and he settled down again. She looked up. “I’ll send someone over to collect Davey’s toys, the playpen, and changing table, or did David sell them along with the rest of the inventory?”
Ginny shook her head.
“Really, Elizabeth,” Angelica chided, “there’s no need to be so nasty to us. If you want to be angry with David, be my guest. The man’s a jerk. But we’ve tried to be your friends.”
“Shut up,” Elizabeth said, grabbed the stroller’s handles, and started up the street.
Angelica blinked. It was rare that she didn’t get the last word.
Tricia stepped forward and shut the door. The three women looked at one another and then turned back to the cash desk. “I’d say that put a damper on the evening,” Tricia said.
Ginny straightened the papers, while Angelica searched for and found her purse on the floor.
“Did it feel like you’ve just been kicked in the teeth?” Angelica asked.
“Perhaps gratitude isn’t in Elizabeth’s lexicon,” Ginny grumbled.
“Never mind,” Tricia said. “She suffered a trauma, what with nearly getting killed earlier this evening. She’ll probably get over it in a couple of days and come back and apologize.”
“Or maybe with Deborah gone, Elizabeth will take Davey and move out of Stoneham. We can but hope,” Angelica said.
“She does have other children,” Ginny said, pausing to turn out the lights.
“But as far as I could tell, Deborah was her favorite. Will they want to take in their mother, when she let everyone know Deborah had the top spot in her heart?” Tricia asked.
“Who says she has to live with them?” Angelica pointed out.
“Very true,” Tricia agreed.
Ginny closed and locked the door.
“We’ll walk you to your car, Ginny,” Tricia said.
“That won’t be necessary. Stoneham is completely safe.”
“How soon you forget. Let’s see, who was murdered in the past couple of years?” Angelica asked. “The Cookery’s former owner; that hot-shot New York Times bestselling author; Tricia’s ex-roommate; Jim Roth—”
“And Deborah,” Tricia put in.
“Okay, walk me to my car,” Ginny said, surrendering. She and Angelica walked side by side up the sidewalk, with Tricia following. “Angelica, I don’t mean to be a pain, but would you please explain again how you figured out that equation on the spreadsheet?”