Untitled (22 page)

   "I'm afraid I have some disturbing news."

   "News?" he repeated, dully.

   "It's about Kimberly Peters. I'm afraid there's been—" Accident wasn't the right word. "I'm sorry to tell you she was attacked in Zoë's home last night. She was taken to Southern New Hampshire Hospital in Nashua. I'm sorry, I don't know what her condition is."

   "Attacked?" he repeated, sounding much more interested.

   "Yes." Tricia proceeded to fill him in on the previous evening's events.

   "Oh, my," he said, sounding rather shell-shocked by the time Tricia finished her recitation.

   "I know she's not your client or anything, but I thought you might like to know."

   "Yes. Thank you. And you say she's at a hospital in Nashua?"

   "Yes."

   "Perhaps—" He stopped, and Tricia was surprised to

hear a catch in his voice. "Perhaps I'll send her some flowers before I leave."

   "That would be nice," Tricia said, and then mentally amended—i
f she survives
. "Have you got a ride to the airport?"

   "Yes. The inn's shuttle will take me. Thanks for asking. And thank you for calling, Ms. Miles." Hamilton hung up.

   Tricia frowned, annoyed at his abrupt dismissal. She exhaled a long breath, but decided not to worry about it. She had other things to do.

   Miss Marple danced around the door to the stairwell, and Tricia was just about to head downstairs when the phone rang. She glanced at the little readout, but didn't recognize the number on caller ID. She picked up the receiver anyway, hoping it wouldn't be Portia McAlister. "Hello?"

   "Tricia?" Whew! It was Ginny.

   "You sound awful. What's wrong?"

   "I'm just tired. I spent most of the night in the emergency room at Southern New Hampshire Medical Center in Nashua."

   "How did you know about Kimberly?"

   "Kimberly?" Ginny echoed, sounding puzzled.

   "Yes, she was taken there by ambulance last night after being attacked in Zoë's home."

   "That's terrible. But I wasn't there for her. I drove Brian in somewhere around midnight. He was so sick. He came over all pale and clammy early last evening. He was vomiting and had diarrhea. He wouldn't let me call an ambulance, but after three or four hours of this, he agreed to let me drive him to the emergency room."

   "Appendicitis?" Tricia guessed.

   "No. They think it was food poisoning. I admit I'm not that great a cook, but how can you ruin soup and sandwiches? The fridge came with the house, and I don't think it keeps food cold enough. It was probably the sliced ham. We'd had it for almost a week."

"Were you sick?"

   "No. But we didn't eat the same things. I had a slice of pizza from the convenience store down the road. The doctor said it will probably be tomorrow before the lab can identify what made Brian so ill."

   "I'm really sorry about this, Ginny. Is Brian home now?"

   "Yes, but he's so weak, I don't think I should leave him. Will you tell Frannie I can't make it to the diner?"

   "Diner?"

   "Yeah, the Tuesday Night Book Club is meeting there. A cheer-up brunch for Nikki."

   "Oh, dear, I completely forgot about it."

   "Can you do me another favor? I was afraid to call Angelica. I know she was counting on me to come in today."

   "Don't worry about Ange. I'll explain it all. And if Brian needs you tomorrow, don't feel you have to come to work."

   "But I do have to come in. Especially if we're going to have to replace the fridge now, too. And I don't know how we're going to pay the hospital bill. We don't have any insurance," she said with a small sob.

   Tricia could well afford to give Ginny the money she needed to buy a refrigerator or pay the hospital bill, but she also knew Ginny was proud. Too proud to take what she hadn't earned. She'd have to think of some way to give her a bonus. But then she also knew Ginny would insist that Mr. Everett be treated in the same way. She'd been lucky in hiring two of the hardest-working, best employees in all of Stoneham. And why was it so hard to be generous and not appear to be fawning?

   "Do what you have to do, Ginny. You know I'm behind you."

   "Thanks, Tricia. I'm just worried that Angelica will think I'm trying to screw her. I'm not. Really. Please, make her understand."

   "I will. Now you take care of yourself
and
Brian. And keep me posted."

   "Thanks. I will." And Ginny broke the connection.

   Tricia hung up her phone. Now the real work began. Convincing Angelica that Ginny w
asn't
just out to annoy her. The thing was . . . could she spare Mr. Everett, who did not want to work for Angelica, and since she hadn't been open in days, could she really do without any help?

   Her mind raced. Mr. Everett had made it plain he did
not w
ant to return to the Cookery. Tricia thought of everyone she knew in Stoneham—was there anyone she could call upon to lend a hand?

   She grabbed her local phone book, flipped through the pages, and came up with the name of someone she thought might help. She punched in the number and recited a silent prayer.

   The phone rang once, twice, and was answered on the third ring.

   "Hello?"

   "Frannie?"

   "Is that you, Tricia?" came the oh-so-familiar Texas twang.

   "Yes. Frannie, I'm calling to let you know Ginny can't make it to the diner for Nikki's brunch this morning. Her boyfriend is very ill and she doesn't want to leave him."

   "Oh, that poor thing. I hope he'll be better soon."

   "She thinks so. Frannie, I also have a very, very big favor to ask of you."

   Frannie laughed, a joy-inspiring sound like that of an angel. "What's up?"

   "You know my sister Angelica owns the Cookery—the cookbook store."

   "Oh, sure. I was in there the other day, remember? She's got the most marvelous gadgets hanging up on her north wall. I swear I could've spent an entire paycheck in there."

   "Well, she's got a really big problem. She's lost her sales force." Tricia had to bite her tongue not to say why. "If you're not doing anything this afternoon, would you consider spending a few hours helping her out?"

   Tricia squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath, and crossed her fingers.

   "If this was football season, I'd have to say no. I watch all the Patriots games—and the Dallas games, if they ever show 'em. But right now—I'm champing at the bit to do something I've never tried before! So, yes, I'd be glad to give your sister a hand."

   "You would?" Tricia said, hoping she didn't sound too astonished.

   "Yeah. I was just gonna sit around here and watch an Audrey Hepburn marathon on American Movie Classics, but it sounds a whole lot more fun to spend the day talking about food."

   "So—so, you'll come to the Cookery?"

   "Sure. What time does your sister need me?"

   "Come about eleven thirty. That way she can give you a brief overview of the store and how she operates."

   "Sure. We'll be done with brunch by that time."

   Tricia winced, hoping that by Monday Frannie would not be her newest enemy. "Great," she managed. "I'll tell Angelica that you'll be there before she opens. I really owe you, Frannie."

   Frannie laughed, the sound of her voice pure gold. "Not at all. I think this will be a blast. Woo-hoo! Today will sure be a lot more interesting than what I'd planned."

   Yeah, and may you
not
live in interesting times, as the old Chinese curse proclaimed.

   "See you at the diner," Tricia said. They said good-bye, and she hung up.

   Tricia had to fortify herself with a very strong cup of coffee before she dared dial Angelica's number. She picked it up on the third ring.

"Ange, it's Tricia."

"Hey, what's up?"

   "First of all, why did you take your manuscript to the Brookview Inn?"

   "Because that's where Artemus Hamilton is staying. I figured this morning would be my only chance to get it to him before he leaves for New York."

   "You could've mailed it to him."

   "That's so tedious, and why bother when a personal visit is so much more—"

   "Annoying? Presumptuous? Impolite?" Tricia interrupted.

   "Personal," Angelica finished. "I think he was charmed by me and my presentation. I'll look forward to receiving an acceptance letter in the coming weeks."

   She was absolutely clueless.

   "Believe it or not, I didn't call to talk about your manuscript. Now don't get mad, but Ginny can't work for you today."

   "What?" came Angelica's scorching voice.

   "I said don't get mad. Her boyfriend has been hospitalized, and she needs to be with him today."

   "Oh. Well, I guess I can understand that," Angelica said, not sounding at all convincing.

   "He's going to be okay, but even better, I've found somebody willing to give you a hand for today at least."

   "Who?" Angelica demanded, not in the least placated.

   "Frannie Armstrong."

   "Oh, Frannie?" She almost sounded pleased. "That sounds quite all right. Thanks, Trish."

   Tricia resisted the urge to exhale a breath of relief. "Good. Well, I told her to show up half an hour before you open. That should give you all the time you need to train her." No, it didn't, but it sounded reasonable.

   "Oh, Trish, you are a savior." No, she wasn't, because she hadn't been willing to offer up Mr. Everett as a sacrificial lamb. And really, would Frannie hate her forever after several hours of unpleasant servitude at the Cookery?

   Maybe. But right now she was willing to take the chance.

Miss Marple
bounded down the stairs to the shop, eager to get back to work sunning herself on the counter, dusting the higher shelves with her fluffy tail, or just taking a nap on one of the comfy chairs in the nook.

   Tricia crossed the store to open the blinds over the big display window. The sight of the News Team Ten van greeted her. Standing outside it, looking a bit windblown and partially frozen, was Portia McAlister.

   Feeling a tad sorry for the woman, Tricia opened her door. "You look like you could use a cup of hot coffee."

   "Could I ever," Portia said.

   "Where's your cameraman?"

   "At the diner. He wanted something a little more substantial."

   Tricia held the door wide open and sighed. "Come on in."

   Portia wasted no time.

   Tricia shut the door. "Look, the sheriff says I can't talk to you about Zoë's murder or what happened to Kimberly Peters last night."

   Portia frowned. "She's gotten to everyone. There
is
such a thing as freedom of speech in this country, you know."

   "I'm a firm believer in it myself. I also firmly believe in not annoying Wendy Adams," Tricia said, and stepped over to the store's coffee station.

   A sly smile crept onto Portia's lips. "Yes, I understand you've had a run-in with her before."

   "Something else I'm not interested in talking about."

   "Then why did you invite me in?"

   "Because I'm tired of trying to avoid you."

   "It's my job to be persistent. And you're making that job very difficult."

   "Sorry. It can't be helped."

   Portia straightened. "If you can't tell me about the crimes against Carter and her niece, at least tell me why you're so interested in them yourself."

   "Initially I wanted to get my store open. Wendy Adams had me shut down for days. Longer than was technically necessary."

   "And now?"

   "Let's just say I'm not sure the Sheriff's Department is following every one of their leads."
And are clueless about
some potential leads
, she kept herself from voicing aloud.

   Portia leaned her elbows on the counter. "You know, I could be a big help to you. I know things about the case you probably don't."

   "Such as?"

   "I'm not about to spill them without getting something in return."

   Tricia hoisted the coffee grounds basket into the air. "I did offer you coffee."

   "I can get that from the diner."

   "You do have that option."

   "Come on, Tricia, toss me something. Just a crumb."

   Tricia thought about it. It might be better to get someone with the tenacity of a terrier in on the hunt. Someone who could ask questions and redirect Wendy Adams's anger away from Tricia's inquiries.

   "How do you feel about revealing your sources?"

   "I spent a week in jail back in the spring of 2003 to protect one. I have to tell you, those orange jumpsuits are ugly as hell, and the fabric chafes, but I'd do it over again if I had to."

   Tricia poured water into the coffeemaker and hit the On switch. She'd promised Artemus Hamilton she wouldn't say anything about Zoë not writing the Jess and Addie books until after the weekend. That was before someone had gone after and nearly killed Kimberly Peters.

   "Okay, I'm ready to dish. Years ago, several of Stoneham's citizens questioned whether Zoë Carter actually wrote any of the books she's credited with."

   Portia's eyes widened. "Interesting. Did they have any proof?"

   Tricia shook her head. "No, but their suspicions got me looking into things."

   "And you don't believe she wrote the books, either?"

   "I
know
she didn't write them. I've had it confirmed from two sources."

   "Would one of them be Kimberly Peters?"

   "I'm not saying. You asked me to toss you a crumb. That was it. Now it's your turn to give up something."

   Portia straightened and smoothed back her hair. "Okay. Fair is fair. Like you, I've been looking into Zoë Carter's background. It seems she was indicted for embezzlement back in the 1990s."