“Salmonella,” Tricia repeated. “It often comes from eggs. Nikki’s been in the food service business a long time. I don’t understand how she could accidentally—”
“I don’t think it was an accident. Remember I took home some of those cut-out cookies she sent over to the Cookery? I didn’t make the connection until I talked to Brian just now, but they made me sick. And now this.”
Tricia shook her head in denial. “I just can’t believe—” That Nikki would want to hurt her? Make her ill? Why? Unless what Russ had been saying all along was true. That Zoe’s killer thought she was getting too close to the truth—too close to tracking down him or her. Tricia remembered the bag of tools containing the sledgehammer and the can of spray paint sitting on the bakery’s floor. But what possible motive could Nikki have for killing Zoe? True, it was she who’d asked Tricia to invite the so-called author. Nikki left the signing early . . . and came in through the back door to strangle Zoe?
“What do you remember from the night of Zoe’s signing?” Tricia asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t paying attention when Nikki left, but she did leave early. And neither of you remembers disarming the security system, nor does Angelica.”
“It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t be hard for Nikki to do,” Ginny said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve worked in several stores in Stoneham. Half the merchants on the street have the identical system we do. Even the Cookery.”
“You think the Stoneham Patisserie might have the same system? That Nikki disabled our system and came in the back of the store to kill Zoe?”
“It’s possible.”
“But what’s her connection, her motive?”
Ginny shrugged. “The only way we’d know that is to ask her. And I doubt she’d say a word.”
Tricia thought about the awful scene at Zoe’s home on Saturday evening. “The last thing Kimberly Peters said before she lost consciousness was ‘stone.’ ”
“Stone,” Ginny repeated, looking thoughtful.
“I thought she was talking about the statue that got ruined.”
“But it’s marble, not stone.”
“Technically, marble is stone.”
“Stone,” Ginny repeated again. “It seems like I should remember something about that word.”
Tricia looked across the room. “Mr. Everett?”
Mr. Everett paused in straightening the shelves to join the two women. As a lifelong resident of Stoneham, he was a font of useful information. “Is there a family in the area named Stone?”
The old man shook his head. “Hasn’t been for years. Stoneham was named after Hiram Stone, who opened a quarry back in the mid-eighteenth century, although the village wasn’t incorporated until 1798.”
“So they died out generations ago?”
“Oh, no. One of my favorite customers was Faith Stone. Wonderful woman,” he said. “Very generous with her time. I occasionally saw her when my grocery store donated dented canned goods to the local food pantry where she volunteered. I believe she and Grace were acquainted. Something to do with the library.”
“What happened to her?”
He shook his head. “No one seems to know. She just disappeared one day.”
A shiver ran through Tricia as she remembered what Julia Overline had said the day before at Nikki’s brunch.
“Her family had her declared dead so that the estate could be freed up and fund her daughter’s further education,” Mr. Everett continued.
“Who was her daughter?” Tricia asked, dreading the answer.
“The manager of the Stoneham Patisserie: Nikki Brimfield.”
“Nikki?” Ginny repeated.
Mr. Everett nodded. “Brimfield is her married name, although I believe she’s now divorced.”
“And her maiden name?” Tricia asked, already knowing the answer.
“Stone, of course.”
Since Mr. Everett had mentioned that Grace and Faith had been acquainted, Tricia’s first impulse was to call Grace. She did, but there was no answer. Grace didn’t have voice mail or even an answering machine, so Tricia could only slam down the phone in frustration.
Her next thought was to talk to Stella Kraft. Unlike gadabout Grace, Stella was pretty much a homebody, and answered the phone on the first ring. “I’d be glad to talk with you again, Tricia.”
“Can I come over now?”
“Now is fine. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
Tricia left Ginny and Mr. Everett with a few hurried instructions, donned her coat, and started down the sidewalk. In a moment she heard her name being called.
“Tricia, Tricia!”
Tricia turned, delighted to see Grace Harris waving to her. She waited until the older woman caught up with her. “Grace, what brings you out so early on a Monday morning?”
Grace looked down at the sticky goo on her shoe. “Oh, dear, not again,” she muttered, and tried to scrape the goose poop from her sole. “I’ve run out of the Coffee Bean’s superior blend. When I saw you, I wanted to tell you how much I admire you for helping that Peters woman the other night.”
“News certainly gets around.”
“She wasn’t very nice, but I can’t imagine the cruelty it took to inflict those injuries.”
Tricia shuddered, remembering the amount of blood that had soaked into Kimberly’s clothes and pooled on Zoe’s office floor. “It was the least I could do.”
Grace nodded.
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” Tricia asked.
“Of course not, dear.”
“At Zoe’s signing, you said you were glad to speak to her under ‘happier circumstances.’ What did that mean?”
Grace bowed her head. “Had I known she was destined to die within minutes, I never would have brought it up. It was thoughtless of me.”
“You couldn’t have known she’d be murdered.”
“Yes, well, I like to think of myself as a good person. And bringing up an unpleasant incident from the past is just plain bad manners.”
This was maddening. “What was it?”
“A confrontation—in public—over her not supporting Stoneham’s efforts to promote ourselves as a book town.”
“Oh, that,” Tricia said, blowing it off. “Bob Kelly mentioned it to me last week.”
“He did? Why—that—how could he?” Grace sputtered.
“Grace, it was years ago, and I’m sure everyone—everyone but Bob,” she amended—“has forgotten about it.”
“I hadn’t forgotten it, but whatever feelings I had about it, they didn’t stop me from supporting her as an author.”
Finding out the truth about who actually had written the books would have done it, for sure.
“It’s all in the past now. I think you should just forget about it,” Tricia said.
“I have tried,” Grace admitted. “I was sorry I couldn’t make it to her memorial service on Saturday, but it sounds like that was a fiasco as well.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I had an appointment at the New Hampshire Medical Center,” Grace volunteered.
“Oh, dear, I hope nothing’s wrong.”
Grace smiled. “Luckily, no. Thank you for your concern.”
“Is that also where you were early Wednesday morning?” Tricia asked, pushing the boundaries of polite conversation, but she wanted to know what Mr. Everett felt so strongly about that he would lie to her.
“Yes. In the past I had some female problems,” Grace said, without elaborating.
“I see,” Tricia said, and nodded. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re all right.”
“Thank you.”
“I had another question for you, too. It concerns Faith Stone.”
Grace laughed. “Good grief, I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“Mr. Everett says you were friends.”
“Not really. We were acquainted. We belonged to the same book club—not unlike the one you host at Haven’t Got a Clue, only this was sponsored by the Stoneham Library. A nice little group. Mostly retirees and stay-at-home mothers.”
“Did you know Faith wanted to be a writer?” Tricia bluffed, wondering where the idea had even come from.