Bob shook his head again and looked at his watch, as though she was taking up too much of his time.
“Who’s going to tell Angelica about this?” Tricia demanded.
“Angelica?” he repeated, a note of alarm entering his voice.
“Yes. She’s expecting Frannie to show up to help her out on Saturday. I don’t think it ought to be Frannie who tells Angelica why she can’t be there. And I don’t think it should be me who tells her, either. That leaves only one person.”
“Me?” he asked, appalled.
“Yes, Bob, you. And the sooner, the better. In fact, this evening would be perfect. It’s early closing night. You could take her to dinner and break the news to her. Take her someplace nice, too, won’t you?”
“I’d planned to take her to this little seafood place I know in Portsmouth.”
“That’s wonderful. And I’ll make it my business to talk to her tomorrow morning to make sure this little situation has been resolved.”
“You’d check up on me?”
“Yes. And if she doesn’t know the reason why Frannie can’t work for her on Saturday, I will tell her myself, and you can bet I won’t put the same spin on it you would.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“You bet it is,” Tricia said. She turned, grabbed the handle, and made sure she slammed the door on her way out.
Tricia worked off most of her anger on the chilly walk back to her store. She stopped off at the Cookery to find a harassed Angelica overwhelmed with customers. Whipping off her coat, she held down the register for fifteen minutes while her sister helped patrons. Thankfully, the bus that awaited most of the customers had a tight schedule, and the store soon emptied out.
“Thanks for showing up when you did. It’s been like this all day,” Angelica said, breathless.
“What happened to your new employee?”
“She didn’t show up.” Angelica studied Tricia’s face. “Why are you here?”
Tricia wriggled back into her coat sleeves. “I brought you this,” she said, taking the health care brochure out of her pocket. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it, but you might want to study it carefully. Hiring Frannie away from the Chamber might not be as difficult as you thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s for you to find out. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Intriguing,” Angelica said with a smile. She looked down at the brochure in her hand. “I will study it. Thank you.”
The phone rang, and Angelica practically jumped on it.
“The Cookery, how can I help you?” She paused. “Oh, Bob, it’s you! Sure, I’m free tonight.”
Tricia forced a smile and waved as she let herself out. At least one part of her plan had been set into motion. She continued down the walk to Haven’t Got a Clue. It was full of customers who were in need of assistance.
As the rest of the afternoon wore on, and still no word from Grace, Tricia’s anxiety multiplied. As she checked her watch for the hundredth time, she hoped Nikki had been kept as busy over at the Stoneham Patisserie. At the same time, if she was run ragged, Tricia worried Nikki might opt out of attending the weekly book club meeting—which would spoil everything.
At T minus one hour, she dialed the number.
“Stoneham Patisserie, this is Nikki. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Nikki. It’s Tricia over at Haven’t Got a Clue. I just wanted to make sure you’ll be attending the book club meeting tonight. I managed to line up a special guest—someone in publishing who was here for Zoe’s memorial service. He stayed in town an extra couple of days just so he could talk to the group. I’d like to have as many warm bodies as possible in the store to make him feel welcome.”
Nikki sighed, and Tricia flinched, afraid her plans might already be on the verge of unraveling. “I guess I can make it, but I can’t pull off a cake on this short notice. Can I bring something else? Cookies?”
It was Tricia’s turn to sigh—with relief. “You don’t have to bring anything,” she said. “I’ve got everything covered.”
“Oh. Well, okay. I’ll be there around six.”
“See you then,” Tricia said brightly and hung up the phone. No sooner had she set the receiver down than it rang again. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia.”
“Tricia, it’s Grace.”
“Thank goodness. I was getting worried. Do you have good news for me?”
“It took some persuasion, but I’ve convinced the sheriff to arrive at precisely six o’clock.”
“What excuse did you give her?”
“None at all. I just reminded her of her duty, that she’s a public servant, and that it would be in her best interest to be there on time.”
“And she bought it?”
“I believe she respects my reputation and the authority I used to wield. I wonder if I could use that same tactic to get the Board of Selectmen to step up their efforts and find a humane solution to the geese problem.”
“Grace, I’m sure you could.”
“Thank you for your faith in me. Ah, I think I hear William at the door. I’m looking forward to hearing all about the intrigue that’s going on at your shop.”
“And I’ll be glad to update you later myself.”
“Thank you, dear. Good-night.”
Tricia hung up the phone.
“Aha! The stage is set,” Ginny said, as she wrestled into her jacket a full half hour earlier than usual. Mr. Everett had been dismissed early after flawlessly performing his part of Tricia’s scheme.
“Stage?” Tricia asked, pretending she hadn’t thought of what lay ahead in the same terms.
“Didn’t Shakespeare say that in one of his plays?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Now scoot, will you?”
Ginny hesitated halfway to the door, her expression growing serious. “I don’t like this, Tricia. I think you should cancel the whole thing.”
“It’s too late now. And anyway, I’m not a bit worried,” she lied.
“Well, I am.”
No way did Tricia want Ginny hanging around and possibly spoiling everything. She came around the cash desk and put an arm around Ginny’s shoulder, guiding her toward the door. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call you at home later tonight, okay?”
“Well, okay.”
“Now go home. Relax.”
“I’ll go back to our house, but it’s not yet a home.”
“It will be one day.” Tricia opened the shop door, gently pushed Ginny through. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Say hi to Brian for me.”
“Good night,” Ginny called, and shuffled down the sidewalk toward the municipal parking lot.
Tricia shut the shop door, turning the cardboard sign around to CLOSED, but she didn’t lock the door. Nor did she shut the blinds along the big display window. If something unforeseen was destined to happen, she wanted Haven’t Got a Clue to stand out like a lighted stage with the curtains drawn for the whole world to see.
She looked out over the street. Several of the other bookstores were already darkened. Tuesday was early closing night for most of the booksellers and other merchants. It was no joke that they rolled up the sidewalks of Stoneham a little after six p.m. If something unusual did happen, would there be anyone around to notice?
That’s when she saw Russ across the street, standing in the doorway of History Repeats Itself, trying to blend in with the shadows. She raised a hand to wave, but he ducked out of sight. He’d promised he’d be there, cell phone in hand, to call nine-one-one in case of an emergency.
There will be no emergency, Tricia told herself. And if she was lucky, this whole fiasco with Zoe’s murder and Kimberly’s attempted murder would be over and done with within the hour. Tricia glanced at her watch. She was still two players short for her little production: Artemus Hamilton and Wendy Adams.
A silhouetted form paused in front of the shop. The door opened and Hamilton stepped inside. “Am I too late?”
“No,” Tricia said, relief flooding through her. “Let me take your coat.”
He stuffed his leather gloves in his pockets, unbuttoned his coat, and shrugged out of it. Tricia took it to the back of the shop to hang with the others.