“The dental surgeon came by today,” Hamilton said. “He looked at the X-rays, and tomorrow he’ll tell us what we can expect for treatment.”
What we can expect?
“Kimberly could be eating steak again in just a few months,” Artemus continued, his voice breaking.
Kimberly clapped her hands together like a small child, the gesture bringing Tricia close to tears once again. She cleared her throat, swallowing the onslaught of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Where’s the deputy?” Russ asked.
Hamilton glowered. “The sheriff has decided that whatever danger Kimberly was in has passed, and she pulled the guard earlier this afternoon.”
“Is that wise?” Tricia asked.
“I don’t think so, but she wasn’t interested in my opinion,” Hamilton said. “That’s why I’ve decided to spend the night. Someone needs to look out for Kimberly’s interests.”
Kimberly blinked, her brow furrowing as she tried to follow the conversation.
Tricia waggled a finger at Hamilton, who got up from the bedside chair to follow her.
Russ reached over to take the cup of cola and spoon from Hamilton’s hands. “Hey, Kimberly, did you ever play dinnertime airplane when you were a kid?”
She looked at him quizzically. He dipped the spoon into the flat soda and waved it back and forth in front of Kimberly’s face, her gaze joyfully following.
“Yee-ow, yee-ow,” he intoned, mimicking a small aircraft, and gently landed the spoon onto her tongue.
She swallowed and laughed. “A-gah!” she said.
Russ obliged.
Hamilton followed Tricia into the corridor, his hands plunged deep into his pants pockets, his shoulders slumped. “She’s pretty high on painkillers,” he said, glancing back into the room. “They’re planning to wean her off them in the next couple of days.”
Tricia nodded. “I’m so glad she’s making progress, but it was really you I came to see.”
“Me?”
“I found the woman who wrote the Jess and Addie books.”
He frowned. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It really wasn’t that hard. But I will admit I had some help.”
“And what do you expect me to do about it?”
“Help me expose Zoe’s killer.”
“You know who killed her?”
“I’m pretty sure I do. And I’m pretty sure I know why, too.”
“He wants a cut of the money.”
“She.”
He turned, looked back into the hospital room. “And you think this person is the one who attacked Kimberly, too?”
“I do,” Tricia said, and nodded.
“Then, yeah, I’ll help you. I’ll do anything to put that bitch behind bars.”
Twenty-Three
Angelica was already ensconced in Tricia’s loft apartment by the time she and Russ returned to Stoneham. They knew this even before they opened the door because the heavenly aroma of something delicious met them on the stairs.
Miss Marple greeted Tricia at the door, looked up at Russ, and turned away in disgust. Luckily, he was used to her reaction and took no offense.
“Finally!” Angelica called from her position at the stove. Decked out in peach sweats and fluffy pink slippers, there was no doubt she felt totally at home in Tricia’s digs.
“How was Kimberly?”
“Awful. I mean, she’ll recover, but I hope she’s got good insurance. She’ll be seeing a lot of her dentist in the next few months. You should’ve seen Russ with her. Her mouth smelled awful, but he spoon-fed her warm cola.”
“Ewww. She’s a stranger. How could you do that?” Angelica asked.
Russ shrugged. “I used to help my mom by feeding my
grandmother after she had a stroke. It never bothered me.”
“You’re a very nice man,” Angelica said, and pointedly stared at Tricia, mentally transmitting the words Who you don’t appreciate enough.
Maybe she was right.
“Ange, you didn’t have to cook for us,” Tricia said. “We were going to call for a pizza.”
“You two live on pizza. You need real food.”
“I agree,” Russ said. “What smells so great?”
“Chicken cordon bleu.”
“Homemade?” he asked hopefully.
“Sort of not. But this shortcut version is really tasty. Now that you’re here, I can pop them back in the oven,” she said, and removed a plate from the fridge, transferring the contents to a baking sheet and into the oven.
“What are we having with it?” he asked.
“Caramelized carrots and stuffed baked potatoes. Is that okay?”
Russ nodded. “I’ll say.”
“I appreciate the effort, but aren’t you tired after working alone all day?” Tricia said, already feeling guilty.
“I wasn’t alone,” Angelica said, and stirred the carrots on the stove. “At least not the whole day. You want a beer or something, Russ?”
“You bet,” he said.
Angelica turned toward the fridge.
“You’ve hired someone?” Tricia took off her coat and handed it to Russ, who hung it, plus his own, on the oak hat tree in the corner.
Angelica handed Russ his beer and a pilsner glass from the cupboard. “I contacted another employment agency. They sent over a woman who’d never worked retail a day in her life,” she said, and turned up the heat under the carrots.
“And she’s already quit?”
“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I have to call them to send me someone else before the end of the week. I just can’t get competent help.”
Tricia ground her teeth together to keep from speaking.
“Then again, I wonder if there’s any way I could wrestle Frannie away from the Chamber of Commerce.”
“Wouldn’t that just upset Bob?” Tricia asked.
Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh, he’d get over it . . . eventually. It’s just that he can offer her benefits like health care and the like.” She sighed dramatically, truly the epitome of the put-upon small business owner.
“It might be a stretch, but you could offer benefits,” Russ pointed out. “Of course you’d have to pay for it. I do it for my two employees through a group plan.”
“Oh?” Angelica said, actually sounding interested. “Doesn’t the Chamber offer insurance? I know some do in New York.”
Russ shook his head. “It’s not legal here in New Hampshire. But I’m pretty sure the Chamber stocks a few brochures on local group plans for their members. Ask Frannie for one. She doesn’t have to know why you want it.”
Angelica raised an eyebrow. “I might have to offer benefits just to keep an employee for more than a few weeks.”
She shook her head. “People these days have such an entitlement complex. They think everything should be done for them. Tricia—set the table,” she ordered, her tone full of entitlement.
Tricia did as she was told. Chicken cordon bleu made a far better dinner than pizza. It made one more affable to commands from someone else in one’s own kitchen. She only half listened as Russ and Angelica discussed the pros and cons of group health insurance plans. She needed to keep Angelica away from Haven’t Got a Clue tomorrow night. Perhaps she could enlist Bob’s help—get him to take Angelica out of the picture and keep her safe from any potential harm.
Or was she just getting paranoid? Was it likely Nikki would pull out a gun and shoot whoever was in the store at the time? Don’t be silly, she chided herself, yet worry continued to worm through her. Her grand plan was hit-and-miss at best. She was counting on the element of surprise.
Nikki was the unknown, possibly explosive, factor. If she was capable of murder—and attempted murder—what else was she capable of?
“Would you like a glass of wine, Trish?” Angelica asked.
Tricia looked up, took in her sister’s face. Angelica was here, in her kitchen, cooking a meal for her, because she didn’t want Tricia to be alone—to possibly face a murderer with no backup. That was a form of love she’d never expected to receive from Angelica.