Tricia buckled her seat belt as a horn blasted behind them.
Angelica hit the gas and the car lurched forward. "The shop looks dreadful. Couldn't you at least have that plywood painted to match the rest of the storefront?"
"It'll only be there another day."
"It's not likely to entice customers. You look dreadful, too, Trish. Those dark circles under your eyes are really unbecoming."
Tricia bit her tongue to keep from blurting a scathing retort.
Oblivious of her sister's pique, Angelica continued. "I have big news. I won!"
"Won what?" Tricia asked, glad for the change of subject.
"The parlay on Deborah Black's baby. He was born last night at eight thirty-seven p.m."
"How did you even know about it?"
"I told you, I visited all the stores in town. The owner of History Repeats Itself, Jim Roth, sold me the square. He's an absolute doll. Too bad he's married."
"Speaking of dolls, how was your big date with Bob last night?"
Angelica snorted. "Some date. He takes me to this little dump of a clam shack on the side of the highway and gives me an hour-long real estate pitch. Although I have to admit the food was pretty good."
A grudging admission if Tricia had ever heard one.
"Still, it reinforces my belief that what this little town needs is fine dining. And I might be just the person to make it happen."
Tricia was determined not to encourage her. "I had dinner at the diner last night and only three tables were occupied. They roll up Stoneham's sidewalks at seven."
"It might have to be a lunch-only establishment. Surely that little diner can't handle all the tourists at midday."
But Tricia didn't want to talk about restaurants. Her window had been broken at about eight thirty. Where had Bob been at the time? "So what time did you invite Bob back to your hotel room?"
Angelica's hand's tightened on the wheel. "I didnot invite him to my room."
"But surely he took you back to the inn. What time was that?"
"Terribly early. Somewhere around eight."
So, Bob could've thrown the rock. The question was, why?
"At least he invited me to the dining room for a nightcap," Angelica continued with disdain. "Otherwise I would've been in bed and asleep by nine o'clock."
"What time did he leave?" Tricia pressed.
"I don't know. Maybe nine fifteen."
Tricia's insides sagged. So much for Bob being responsible, though that still left him a viable suspect in Doris's murder. "The subject of where he went after he left us on Tuesday night didn't come up, did it?"
"It did. But it wasn't easy working it into the conversation," Angelica said, her attention focused on the road. "Bob doesn't like to talk negatively about Stoneham. And the first murder in sixty years is definitely negative."
"And?"
"He wouldn't say. Just that it was 'business.'"
"Typical of him." There had to be other avenues Tricia could explore, but right now she couldn't think of any so she concentrated on the matter at hand. "Did you find anything promising on your house hunt this morning?"
Angelica brightened. "Actually, Bob did steer me toward a darling little cottage that's for rent with an option to buy. The problem is the size. It's much too small."
"Is that where we're going now?"
"Yes. If nothing else, it's got potential."
Stoneham's small business district was already past, and trees and mileposts sped by.
"I'm trying to decide what to do with the money," Angelica said.
"Money?" Tricia asked, confused. "Oh yeah, the parlay. How much did you win, anyway?"
"Four hundred dollars."
"Four hundred dollars?" Tricia repeated, shocked.
"Not bad, huh? I think I'll send Deborah some flowers as a little thank-you."
Tricia sank back in her seat. "And you'll still have enough left for a Louis Vuitton key chain, too."
A number of businesses hugged the road that approached the highway. Tricia spotted the old smashed-up Cadillac Seville sitting beside a service station. "Stop the car!" she yelled, craning her neck as they whipped past.
Angelica slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing onto the shoulder. "What's wrong? Did I hit something?"
"Back up, back up!"
Angelica jammed the gearshift into reverse and hit the accelerator.
"Whoa-stop, stop!" Tricia called, unhooking her seat belt and bolting from the car. She charged across the sea of asphalt surrounding the closed gas station, halting in front of the mangled mess that had once been Winnie Wentworth's most prized possession. The front end was now a tangle of metal, already rusting from all the rain they'd had since Winnie's death. The windshield's glass had been reduced to a spider's web of cracks. No sign of blood. With no seat belt, she might have been ejected out the driver's window. The outcome was the same: death.
Angelica was suddenly at her side. "This belonged to the woman who sold Doris the cookbook?"
Tricia nodded and leaned forward to try the rear passenger side door handle. It opened.
"Hey, wait a minute," Angelica said and pulled Tricia's hand away. "This is a crime scene."
"The sheriff said Winnie's death was an accident. There's no crime tape. Poking around inside the car isn't trespassing."
"Says you."
Tricia waved her sister off and climbed into the grimy, damp interior. Various unpleasant odors assaulted her, and it was difficult to discern them: sweat, urine, and possibly mold? She rooted through the pile of gray clothes and blankets on the floor, coming up with a sheaf of yellowing newspaper clippings that had been stuffed under the driver's seat. She backed out of the car, shoving the papers toward Angelica, who stepped away in horror.
"I don't want to touch that. Think of all the germs!"
Tricia slammed the car door, shook her head in disgust, and set the fluttering papers on the right rear quarter panel. They were all the same: pages from the Stoneham Weekly News advertising section, listing tag sales, estate sales, and auctions, with a number of entries circled.
"There must be five or six weeks' worth here," Tricia said, flipping through the sheets.
"So what?"
"Maybe we can find the address where Winnie bought that cookbook."
Angelica frowned. "What good will that do?"
"It might lead us to whoever killed her."
"You just told me the sheriff said it was an accident."
"And if you believe her, let me interest you in some swampland in Florida. Oh, Ange, it's obvious Sheriff Adams doesn't care about actually solving Doris's murder. She seems to spend all her time trying to pin it on me!" She gathered up the scraps and started back for Angelica's car.
"You can't take that stuff along," Angelica said, struggling to keep up with her sister's brisk pace.
"Why not? The sheriff apparently didn't want it. It's just garbage now."
"Then throw it away."
Tricia stopped dead, turned, and faced her sister. "Not until I map out where Winnie found her treasures in her last few weeks."
Fourteen
Angelica started the car and pulled back onto the highway. "You are in a mood today."
Tricia clutched the papers on her lap. "I have reason to be." She let out a sigh and related her encounter with Mike Harris earlier that morning, feeling better for finally having unburdened her soul. "I'm even wondering if he could've thrown that rock through my store window last night."
"Hmm. Sounds more like you had a panic attack," Angelica commented, steering the rental car through the countryside with amazing familiarity. "My friend Carol used to get them whenever she had to face something unpleasant-like a visit with her in-laws. No wonder she could never stay married for more than six months at a time."