“Oh?”
“Yes. And…you might want to bring an evidence bag with you.”
Tricia was frozen to the bone and night had fully fallen by the time Chief Baker’s SUV arrived in front of the pretty Victorian home. She stood under a lamppost stamping her feet in an effort to keep the circulation going. Sarge sprang to his feet and started to bark as Baker exited the vehicle.
“Why is it always you?” Baker asked in exasperation as he joined Tricia on the sidewalk, holding a large flashlight in one hand.
She shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess. Come on, I’ll show you what I’ve found.” She led him and Sarge back to the hedges across the way. “Let me have your flashlight,” she said, and he turned it on for her. It wasn’t hard to find the object-Sarge had his nose right on it once again.
“Hold him back, will you?” Baker said, and took the flashlight from her, inspecting the object. “Is it a-”
“Brass candleholder,” Tricia finished. “Pretty heavy, from the looks of it. It looked like there was some blood on it, too.”
Baker squinted up at her. “Did you see another one like it in the inn the other night?”
“I wasn’t paying that much attention. But I’ll bet if you ask Angelica, she could give you an inventory of everything she saw in that house.”
Baker straightened and looked her in the eye, his exasperation level escalating. “I’m glad you found it, but…I really wish you hadn’t found it.”
“Well, my fingerprints won’t be on it, so that ought to clear me.”
“Unless there are no fingerprints on it. That could mean you wiped it down before discarding it. And what brought you out here tonight, anyway?”
“Angelica went out for the evening and asked me to walk her dog.”
Baker scowled. “And the rest of it?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“You just happened to be walking Angelica’s dog-right past the house where a murder occurred the night before. A murder where you found the body. The body of your ex-lover’s wife. And now you conveniently find what appears to be the murder weapon.”
“Would you rather I hadn’t reported it?”
He shook his head wearily. “No.”
“Why don’t we hope this is the murder weapon, and that it will lead you to the real killer, instead of all this supposition that I held some kind of grudge against a woman I’d known for less than fifteen minutes.”
“You know perfectly well what the DA is going to think.”
“And that should give you even more incentive to prove him wrong. That is, if you don’t believe I’m capable of murder-unlike your ex-boss. Sheriff Adams was willing to railroad me to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. Are you going to do the same?”
Before he could answer, a patrol car with lights flashing turned the corner and pulled up behind Baker’s SUV. “Why don’t you and Sarge wait in my car? At least you’ll be out of the cold.” Like all cops, he’d left the motor running.
Tricia reluctantly retreated to the car. She was freezing. She lifted Sarge, got in, and shut the door. Baker was already conversing with the officer, and they both went over to look at the candlestick.
Time dragged. After a while Sarge gave up watching the men across the road and curled into a ball on Tricia’s lap and went to sleep. She wished she’d brought a book along.
Meanwhile, the Sheer Comfort Inn continued to stay dark. If Baker or his officer had gone to check to see if the owner was at home, Tricia hadn’t noticed. She’d been alternating looking out the window and watching the gas gauge plummet.
Eventually a Sheriff’s Department cruiser showed up. Since Stoneham’s newly reinstalled police department had no technical team, they still had to rely on the Sheriff’s Department for some things.
After another five minutes of discussion, the deputy donned latex gloves and extracted the candlestick from the hedge. Baker finally returned to the SUV to check in with Tricia. She hit the button and rolled down the window.
“If you want to wait here in the car until we’re done, I’ll drive you home.”
“How long is that going to take?” she asked.
He let out a weary breath. “Could be another hour.”
“I think I’ll walk.” She lifted a groggy Sarge off her lap, opened the car door, and got out.
“I’ll come over to your place later. Have you eaten?” Baker asked.
She shook her head.
“How about I bring a pizza?”
Tricia sighed. She had nothing else planned. “Sure. Why not?”
“You be careful walking home. You’ve got your cell phone, right?”
“That’s how I called you in the first place,” she reminded him. At least he was still concerned for her welfare.
“Oh, yeah.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, and finally he just lunged ahead and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. The others had discreetly turned their backs on them.
“I’ll see you in a while,” Tricia said, and started off down the pavement once more. She looked back at the corner. Baker had rejoined the other officers, but he was watching her and gave a wave. She waved back and continued on her way.
After another circuit around the park, Tricia started back for the Cookery. She let herself in and took Sarge back to Angelica’s loft. The lights were off. Angelica hadn’t yet returned from her dinner with Michele Fowler.
Tricia had just locked the door to the Cookery when Baker pulled up and parked across the street from Haven’t Got a Clue. Instead of a pizza box, he held a long paper bag with a sub sandwich inside. It was likely to be smothered in onions and hot peppers. Oh well.
He crossed the street.
“That was quick,” Tricia said in greeting.
“Mr. Comfort hasn’t yet returned home. I’ve left Rogers there to wait for him and have a call in to Judge Weaver for a warrant to search the inn.”
“Looking for what? The matching candlestick?”
He nodded.
Tricia unlocked her own shop door and let herself in. Miss Marple rose and stretched on one of the readers’ nook’s comfy chairs. “Dinnertime!” Tricia called, and the cat jumped to the floor and headed for the back of the shop and the stairs leading to Tricia’s third-floor loft.
Miss Marple bolted up the stairs and was impatiently waiting for Tricia to arrive and unlock the apartment door. Once inside, the cat went straight for her bowl. Tricia hung up her coat and hat and picked up the food and water bowls. She prepared the cat’s meal while Baker hung his jacket over the back of one of the island’s stools. He got plates out of the cupboard. “Glass of wine?” he asked. She nodded. He grabbed a glass, then retrieved the wine and a beer for himself from the fridge.
Miss Marple sat up pretty for her food, and then Tricia joined Baker at the island.
Baker unwrapped the sandwich, eased the smaller portion onto a plate, and handed it to Tricia.
“Since you’ve got his house staked out, I take it Harry is a viable suspect,” she said, lifting the sesame roll to peek at the sandwich’s contents.
“Everyone who was at the inn last night is a possible suspect, but we’ll be looking especially hard at Mr. Comfort-or Tyler, or-whoever he is. We talked earlier today and he verified your story about his identity.”
“Thanks for all your trust,” Tricia said sarcastically. Why had he asked for oil instead of mayonnaise on the sandwich? “Do you think he’s a flight risk?” she asked, removing the onions from the ham.
“Gut feeling?” Baker shook his head. “No.”
“Are you ever wrong about these things?”
“Not lately. Why? Do you want him to stay here in Stoneham?”
For a moment Tricia wasn’t sure how to answer, but she didn’t have time to sort through her feelings just then. “I really don’t care either way.” Lies, lies, her conscience taunted.