Angelica shook her head, took another spoonful of ice cream. “And Russ had no clue who he was chasing?”
“Just someone in dark sweats and a hoodie.”
Angelica frowned. “Didn’t you say there was no sign of a hammer in the house?”
Tricia nodded.
Angelica shook her head, frowning. “That doesn’t make sense. It would be pretty difficult, if not impossible, to run while carrying a sledgehammer. The handles are like three feet long.”
“We’re not sure it actually was a sledgehammer.”
“From the way you described those holes in the walls, what else could it be? And you’re no slouch when it comes to those kinds of details.”
Modesty prevented Tricia from agreeing.
“So,” Angelica continued, “where do you think the bad guy threw the hammer? In some bushes? Was this person already in the neighbor’s yard when Russ took off after him—her—whoever?”
Tricia thought back. Everything had happened so fast. “I’m not sure. I ran straight for the open front door, and Russ didn’t, so I guess maybe that could have happened. A couple of deputies followed the trail in the snow, but it petered out on the street. They talked about bringing in some dogs, but Russ said he lost the runner after about a block. He thought he heard a car start up on the next street over, but he couldn’t be sure if it was just a neighbor or the person he was chasing.”
Angelica added some more whipped cream to her bowl. “It’s pretty cold out, but I’ve got plenty of long underwear and fresh batteries in my big flashlight. What say we take a field trip to Pine Avenue and have a look for that hammer?”
Tricia pushed her spoon and the virtually untouched container of ice cream aside. “Oh, no. Sheriff Adams warned me off, and I don’t intend to disobey her. Besides, I’m sure she’s already combing the neighborhood for it.”
“Are you afraid of the sheriff?”
“Yes! She shut down my business for four days. I’m not going to give her a reason to do it again.”
Angelica stuck out her tongue. “Party pooper!”
Tricia shook her head. “I think I’m just plain pooped.” She stood. “Time for me to go home. To my cat. To my own bed.” The thoughts cheered her.
Angelica’s expression was a cross between a frown and a pout. “I can’t say I’m happy you’re going home.”
Of course not. If the store had been closed a few more days, she’d have a reprieve from finding permanent replacement workers as long as Ginny and Mr. Everett had nowhere else to go.
“I’m going to miss you, Trish. It was fun having you here. While I was alone here tonight, I realized I even miss Miss Marple.”
Tricia swallowed, feeling guilty for her sarcastic thought. She felt even worse when Angelica came around the island and gathered her in her arms for a hug.
Sixteen
Tricia woke at seven the next morning to the sound of a flock of honking geese flying over her building. Why was it they made such a pleasant noise and such an unpleasant mess? As the sound faded, she threw back the covers and got up to revel in her usual Sunday morning routine: three miles on the treadmill, a shower, and then a satisfying breakfast of a microwave-thawed bagel with cream cheese and coffee. Miss Marple had been especially happy to return to her favorite haunts and eat her meals in her usual spot. All was right once again in Miss Marple’s world, and she let Tricia know it with her continuous happy purring.
First on Tricia’s agenda was tidying her shop. Although the store had been closed to customers, it had still accumulated an inordinate amount of dust. Dusting was Mr. Everett’s favorite job, so she decided that she’d give the washroom another going over. Despite all her efforts the afternoon before, she feared she’d missed cleaning all the messy black fingerprint powder, and she wanted to give Haven’t Got a Clue a thorough vacuuming before the store opened.
Then she remembered Artemus Hamilton was leaving Stoneham this morning. She took a chance, phoned the Brookview Inn, and found him still there.
“Mr. Hamilton? It’s Tricia Miles. I’m glad I caught you before you checked out.”
“By any chance are you related to an Angelica Miles?” he asked.
“Um . . . yes,” she said, taken aback. “She’s my sister.”
“I just had a visit from her. She brought me fresh-baked muffins, hot coffee, and a manuscript.” He didn’t sound pleased.
“I’m so sorry. I tried to tell her she should query you, but she’s very new to bookselling and knows virtually nothing about the publishing business.”
“That much was obvious. Now why were you calling?”
“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—if 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.”