“Happy new job, Ginny,” she called. She looked fantastic in a tight black dress and heels, with her upswept hair pinned firm with a ruby-studded clip. She set the tray on the empty end of the long serving table and uncovered the cookies, before she doubled back and gave Ginny a warm hug. “Congratulations. This is a wonderful opportunity for you. I started out managing the Patisserie and now I own it. Maybe you’ll have the same luck.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ginny said shyly, but she seemed to like the notion just the same.
The bell over the door rang again, and this time it was Mr. Everett and his bride, Grace, who entered. “Congratulations, Ginny,” Grace called, and hurried over to plant a grandmotherly kiss on Ginny’s cheek, leaving the faintest imprint of red lipstick.
“Thank you, Grace. I’m already overwhelmed. I just hope I can live up to Antonio’s expectations. And . . . Ms. Racita’s, too, of course.”
Mr. Everett held out his hands, taking both of Ginny’s. “Miss Marple and I shall miss your sunny smile,” he said, and this time it was Ginny who kissed him.
Mr. Everett actually blushed.
“I love your moustache,” Ginny said. “What made you decide to go with the Poirot look instead of Selleck’s?”
Mr. Everett cleared his throat. “It was Grace’s request.”
“And isn’t he cute?” she gushed. “I had to order the moustache wax online.”
“I think it looks very dignified,” Tricia said, and Mr. Everett’s blush deepened.
Grace turned a fascinated gaze on Antonio. “When do we get to meet this woman of mystery who’s been buying up so much of Stoneham?”
Tricia trained her gaze on Antonio. This was a question she’d been dying to ask herself.
He shrugged. “Ms. Racita is so very busy. But I think she will have to come to Stoneham soon to see all that she has acquired. It would be in her best interests, I think.”
Yes, Tricia thought. It would. But before she could voice that thought, the door opened again, and this time it was Bob Kelly. He held a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of red carnations—trust Bob not to spring for roses—but they were cheerful and he ignored the others and made a beeline for Ginny, handing her the flowers and lunging forward to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Thank you, Bob,” she said, with just a bit of a strain in her voice.
Angelica leveled a glare at Bob, who was standing much too close to Ginny, whose discomfort was quite evident. “Whoa, boy. Rein yourself in,” Angelica ordered.
Bob turned, looking sheepish, and stepped back. “Hello, honey bun.”
Hadn’t he yet noticed that Angelica hated that particular term of endearment?
Angelica gazed at Ginny fondly. “You’re almost like a part of the family. I’m sorry you’re leaving Haven’t Got a Clue, but I’m so proud of you for taking the next step in your career.” She leaned in and gave Ginny an air kiss, then pulled back and smiled. She proffered her gift. “For your new home.”
Ginny opened her mouth to protest—she’d had her home for over a year. But she accepted the gift and set it on the beverage counter. “Thank you, Angelica. I hardly know what to say.”
“Open it,” Angelica encouraged.
With the delight of a child at Christmas, Ginny ripped the paper and discarded the ribbon, lifting the lid on a beautifully crafted box, covered in gray silk organza, that looked more like a throw pillow. Ginny’s mouth dropped as she first gazed inside the box and then reached for the gift inside.
“Oh, Angelica, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?” she asked, lifting the beautiful bronze sculpture of a horse—one Tricia recognized as having been for sale at Foxleigh Gallery.
“Just something I picked up on my travels,” she said. Tricia had seen the price tag. It wasn’t a Kmart blue-light special, by any means. She hadn’t realized Angelica was that fond of Ginny.
“I’m overwhelmed by the kindness you’ve all shown me,” Ginny said, as the door opened, and Cheryl Griffin stuck her head inside. “Oh, wow. Is this a party?”
Tricia hurried to the door. “Yes, but I’m afraid it’s a private party.”
“Oh, no sweat. I wanted to tell you that I can’t take the job here at your store. I’ve got a job at the Clothes Closet, and they’re going to help me with my legal problems, too.”
“Congratulations,” Tricia said, and tried to edge Cheryl out of the doorway, but then Cheryl caught sight of Grace. “Hey, there’s Mrs. Everett. She’s my friend.” Cheryl pushed past Tricia, who shook her head and made to close the door, only to find Frannie, Julia Overline, Chauncey Porter, Mary Fairchild, and a bunch of the other Main Street booksellers approaching the store. Captain Baker was at the end of the line.
“Ah, here’s the man of the hour,” Bob announced once everyone had entered. “Or should I say, the new year?” he added with a laugh. “Congratulations, Captain, on being named Stoneham’s new police chief.”
Tricia whirled on Baker. “You didn’t tell me you’d been offered the job as Stoneham’s police chief,” Tricia said, feeling hurt.
“I had to wait until the Board of Selectmen made a public statement—which was earlier today. Besides . . . you never asked where my new job would take me.”
“Isn’t this exciting! Our own police force,” Frannie said, with delight. “How big a force will there be?”
“Just six officers to start. We’ll see how that goes.”
“This is all very nice,” Antonio said, “but this is Ginny’s celebration. Captain Baker—may I be so bold as to suggest you hold your own party—somewhere else.”
Baker opened his mouth to protest, but it was Angelica who stepped in to defend him. “Antonio, it was Bob who brought up the subject,” she said, leveling a hard gaze at the Chamber chief.
“Sorry,” Bob apologized.
From the vicinity of the floor came a low growl. Tricia looked around but saw Miss Marple on her perch behind the register. She wasn’t good in crowds.
“What’s that noise?” Bob asked, and bent down.
The growl grew louder, and then a white blur emerged from Angelica’s purse, and soon attached itself to Bob’s trouser leg.
“Sarge!” Tricia called, making a lunge for the tiny white dog. And though Sarge wasn’t a terrier, he was tenacious. It took both Angelica and Tricia to pull the feisty bichon frise away from Bob. Angelica held him to her cheek, and the dog immediately calmed. “Be still, my little sweetheart, I won’t let that big bad man hurt you.”
Bob looked anything but a big bad man. He’d paled, shocked by the sudden attack.
“What are you doing with Sarge? The receptionist at the animal hospital told me that the woman who adopted him was well known to the dog.”
“I had a dream that Sarge was my little Pom-Pom reincarnated. I could hardly let him be given to just anyone,” she explained fervently.
Sarge licked her chin and made mewling noises reminiscent of a kitten. Ginny, Grace and Mr. Everett, and Frannie were suddenly clustered around Angelica, each of them hesitantly petting the dog, who seemed to lap up the attention.
“Have you thought this through? You lead a busy life. You can’t bring a dog into Booked for Lunch. And before you know it, you’ll be back on the road to promote your next cookbook.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud. This dog needs me.” She kissed the top of Sarge’s head. “And I need him.”
Tricia glanced back at Miss Marple, who seemed quite annoyed.
Still holding Sarge in the crook of her arm, Angelica nudged Frannie to pick up the tray filled with punch cups. Tricia took one. “Tricia, I think it’s time for you to propose a toast.” Angelica grabbed one of the glasses.
Tricia smiled, holding her cup aloft. “To Ginny. May this new step be the start of a wonderful career.”
“Hear, hear,” chorused the rest of the gathering.
“I have something else to announce,” Ginny said, and Antonio beamed at her. She brandished the ring finger on her left hand, and on it was a gorgeous full-carat diamond solitaire. “Antonio and I are engaged.”