It was another ten minutes before Tricia finished her evening chores, all the while stewing about Angelica's threats to make Stoneham her new hometown. She'd emptied the wastebaskets, cleaned the coffee station, straightened books on the shelves, and aligned the mystery review magazines on the nook's big, square coffee table, and still there was no sign of Bob. They'd never hear the bell from the third-floor apartment, so she was forced to wait until he showed up.
Her irritation escalated to smoldering anger with every passing minute. She peered out the shop windows. Nothing. She wondered if she should give him a call, but then remembered Ginny had given her only copy of his business card to Deirdre. She went in search of the phone book and remembered she'd let the answering machine take at least one call this morning. She'd been too upset to answer it after reading the Stoneham Weekly News.
Tricia played the message.
"Tricia? Hi, it's Mike Harris. In case you haven't already seen it, the Stoneham Weekly News has a scathing report about the murder at the Cookery. I wanted to let you know that Russ Smith is a jerk, and the whole village knows it. He'll sensationalize anything to sell copies of that rag. Don't take it seriously. My day is pretty full, but I'll try to get over to see you later this afternoon or early tomorrow. We're still on for Sunday morning, right? Talk to you later."
Tricia's finger hovered over the delete button. Well, at least one citizen in the village thought she was innocent.
A knock on the door caused her to look up. It came again and Tricia went to the door. Shoulders hunched inside his jacket, Bob Kelly looked as peeved as Tricia felt.
"Hello, Bob," she greeted without enthusiasm.
"Tricia," he grunted and stepped inside the shop.
"Angelica's upstairs."
He grunted again, waited as she locked the door, then followed her across the shop. "This way," she said and started up the stairs at a brisk pace.
As she hit the top-floor landing, Miss Marple was there to admonish her. "Did you give the cat anything to eat?" Tricia asked.
Angelica looked up from a pan on the stove. "I don't know what to feed a cat."
Miss Marple rubbed against Tricia's ankles, looked up at her with hope in her green eyes.
"Where's Bob?" Angelica asked.
Tricia looked down the staircase. Bob was nowhere in sight. "I thought he was right behind me." Annoyed, she started back down the stairs, with Miss Marple right at her heels. Bob rounded the second-floor landing.
"Sorry. Had to tie my shoe," he said. "What smells so delicious?"
Tricia waited for him to catch up, then turned back for her apartment, with Miss Marple sticking to her like glue. Bob was breathing hard by the time they reached the apartment.
"There you are," Angelica called from her station at the counter. Already a heavenly aroma teased the senses. "Trish, take Bob's coat," she scolded.
Tricia did as she was told, stowing Bob's jacket on the coat tree.
He took in the changes she'd made to the third-floor loft-he hadn't been there since she'd signed the lease. "It's beautiful, Trish. You've done a wonderful job converting the space into a home."
She had. But everything was modular-from the pickled maple cabinets to the granite-covered island that doubled as a breakfast bar. Should she ever decide to relocate she could remove everything, leaving the space as she'd found it-an empty shell.
"Have a glass of wine and relax, Bob," Angelica suggested. "Or would you like something a little stronger?"
"Wine is fine," he said, settling on a stool at the breakfast bar.
Again Angelica proved she knew her way around Tricia's kitchen. She took another couple of glasses from the cabinet and poured, setting the merlot before Tricia and Bob. Then she grabbed a pot holder, took a tray out of the oven, and settled the contents onto a waiting platter.
"The seafood around here is pretty good. I hope you like crab puffs." She offered the plate to Bob, who took one of the golden savory pastries. He popped it into his mouth and chewed.
"These are delicious. Where did you buy them?" he asked, eyes wide with pleasure.
Angelica laughed. "I made them, silly."
Tricia selected one as well. "From scratch?"
"Of course. Have another, Bob," Angelica said, taking one for herself.
"You're going to spoil me," he said, but he took another puff anyway.
Angelica set the platter down within reach of all them, pushed the napkin holder toward her guest, and leaned her elbows against the granite, resting her head on her balled fists. "You look tired, Bob. Tough day?"
Bob snagged a napkin, wiped his fingers. "I've got problems. Who knew Doris Gleason would have a sister bent on keeping the Cookery open?"
Angelica shook her head. "I heard all about it."
From where? Tricia wondered, annoyed. She turned to Bob. "I believe I suggested you wait to take action on the property. It fell on deaf ears."
Bob didn't answer, only glowered at her.
"Tricia, behave," Angelica admonished. "Bob is our guest."
No, he was her guest in Tricia's home.
"The worst thing is, this woman-this sister-is making out like I might have had something to do with Doris's death, just because I exercised my rights as the building's owner to do some cleanup and maintenance. She as good as accused me of killing Doris so I could lease the Cookery to someone willing to pay a lot more in rent."
Good. At least one other person in Stoneham considered Bob a viable suspect.
"Oh I'm sure she doesn't believe that," Angelica said. "It's just grief. If I lost my only sister"-she looked fondly at Tricia-"I'm sure I'd be just as devastated."
Bob wasn't listening. "She's already called in an attorney. Apparently Doris had sent her sister copies of the current and proposed leases. The sister threatened a lawsuit over my emptying the store. It may be easier for me to cut my losses and extend the current lease-as is-for another year and renegotiate at a later date. That way she would be up and running again in a couple of weeks. No matter what, it's going to cost me." He shook his head. "The damage that woman's death has done to Stoneham's economy will end up being in the millions."
"Don't be ridiculous," Tricia said.
"I'm not. The PR value of being the safest town in all New Hampshire was priceless. Losing it could affect future development here for decades."
Angelica clucked sympathetically, but it took all Tricia's self-control to keep quiet on that account. Instead, she decided to move things along. "How's that Stroganoff coming, Ange? It sure smells good."
Angelica was not about to be hurried and topped both her own and Bob's wineglasses.
Resigned, Tricia tried another topic. "What's this about a big box store coming to Stoneham?"
Bob choked on his wine. Angelica scurried around the island, thumped him on the back. "Are you okay?"
"Who told you that?" Bob asked, anger causing his eyes to narrow.
"I heard it. Around," Tricia offered lamely.
"I did, too, Bob," Angelica said. "Is it true?"
Bob cleared his throat, pounding on his chest before answering. "No. Maybe. I hope not."
"That's not much of an answer," Tricia said.
"All I can tell you is that a nationally known company has put out feelers. That doesn't mean they're actually looking to establish a presence in Stoneham."
"But you are talking to their representatives," Tricia pushed.
"I've been approached, and so has the Board of Selectmen, on a number of proposed projects. That's all I can say."
"Would candidates for selectman know about this interest, too?" Tricia asked. Maybe she could pump Mike Harris for information.
"No," Bob said emphatically and gulped the rest of his wine. Angelica filled his glass again.