“I presume you mean about me investing in the inn.”
He nodded.
“Because it seemed like a good venture. Stoneham needs places visitors can stay. You’ve been more concerned with collecting rent on your own properties. That’s good for you, but the booksellers and restaurants need income to survive. Stoneham needs more development-more than you’re willing to promote.”
“But I was in on the deal-until you cut me out.”
Angelica merely shrugged.
Bob scowled. “I suppose next you’ll tell me you’re going to challenge me for president of the Chamber of Commerce.”
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t ruled it out,” Angelica declared.
Bob laughed uproariously, and Tricia fought the urge to kick him.
“There’s no way the booksellers and other merchants would vote you in against me.”
“Oh no?” Angelica asked.
Did Bob hear the menace in her voice? Tricia stifled a laugh. Boy, was he in trouble now.
“I own this village,” Bob continued. “You have as much chance of taking my Chamber job as I have of becoming the next Miss America.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Bob, I think you’d look sweet in a rhinestone tiara,” Tricia said.
He turned an evil glare at her. “Shut up.”
“Don’t you talk to my sister like that,” Angelica cried.
“I’ll do what I please,” Bob asserted, “and you can’t do anything about it.”
“Oh no?” Angelica asked with more than a hint of threat in her voice.
Bob’s chest seemed to puff out. “Yeah.”
Angelica’s mouth twisted into a devilish smile. “Sarge-attack!”
The tiny dog lunged at Bob as Angelica hit the release on his retractable leash, and was instantly attached to Bob’s left pants leg.
“Get him off, get him off me!” he cried, shaking his leg to try to dislodge the dog, but Sarge was a growling ball of fur tugging at the fabric.
Tricia laughed. Of course, she was instantly sorry-but she’d felt the same as Sarge on more than one occasion.
“Bad dog,” Angelica said, jerking the leash back, but there was no remorse in her voice. Sarge would probably get a pâté treat once Angelica got him back home. She hauled in the leash and picked up the still-barking dog.
This time it was Tricia who ordered Bob to “Go home.”
Bob’s lower lip trembled as he rubbed at his calf, but apart from a tear in the fabric, there was no dark bloodstain marring the light-colored material. For a moment, Tricia thought he might burst into tears.
“Please, Bob-just go home,” she said softly.
Without a word, Bob shoved past them and soon disappeared into the gloom between the streetlights.
The sisters looked after him for a long minute. Sarge’s sharp barks winnowed into grunts as Angelica petted him and murmured “Good boy” into his ear. Eventually, she set him back down on the ground. “Well, that was unexpected,” she said.
“Hardly. You had to know Bob would eventually catch up with you. This is a tiny village, after all.”
“Yes, but who knew it would be so satisfying?” Angelica said smugly.
“You’ve just made an enemy of your landlord. Bob isn’t going to let you forget it. He owns the buildings where you live and work.”
“And I’ve got six months left on the lease for the Cookery and eighteen on Booked for Lunch.”
“What if he won’t renew them?”
Angelica shrugged. “I might have to move. I wouldn’t like that,” she admitted. “I like living next door to you, but-I’d adjust.”
Tricia had been appalled when Angelica had bought the Cookery’s assets and signed a three-year lease for the building. Now she couldn’t imagine her sister living even a block away from her. “What about me?” she asked as they paused in front of the Cookery.
“You’d adjust, too.” Angelica fumbled for her keys and sighed. “I may not have any business left if interest in that damn video doesn’t die down.”
“Then that nonsense you told Bob about taking his job at the Chamber was all bluff and bluster?”
“Oh, no. I was serious about that. I am a woman scorned.” She looked down at Sarge, who looked back adoringly. Smiling, she picked him up again, planting a kiss on his head. “Wasn’t my little man brave to stand up to that bully Bob?”
“I didn’t see any blood on his pants, but if Sarge broke the skin, odds are you’re looking at a lawsuit.”
“You’re my witness. Bob ordered you to leave. I felt threatened. You don’t deny that, do you?”
“No,” Tricia answered, unsure if that was the honest truth. “And I’d feel better if I accompanied you to the alley for Sarge’s comfort stop, just in case Bob shows up again.”
“It’s okay with me,” Angelica said, and opened the Cookery’s door. They entered the store and Angelica turned on the lights and led the way to the back entrance. She disabled the security system on the back entrance and opened the door. Tricia followed her down the concrete steps to the alley and paused, thinking she’d heard some odd, unidentifiable noise.
Across the one-lane asphalt drive was a weedy strip of grass. Sarge knew why he was there and quickly finished his business. “Come, come!” Angelica called, but the dog’s ears pricked up, and he gave one sharp bark before he bolted. He ran until the leash pulled taut, jerking him to a halt, and he barked his displeasure.
Tricia squinted to try to identify what the dog was interested in. A mound of something littered the alley.
“What is that?” Angelica asked.
“I don’t know,” Tricia said, “but I could swear it moved.”
The women looked at one another and by unspoken agreement headed in the direction of the mound. Sarge bounded forward as soon as he realized the leash had gone slack and was soon upon the darkened hump, excitedly sniffing his prize.
“Good grief,” Tricia said, and picked up her pace. “I think it’s a person.”
“A person?” Angelica asked, and struggled to keep up with her sister.
Tricia bent down and reached for what she thought was a shoulder. It was a struggle to pull the body over. She gasped in recognition.
“Oh dear! It’s Chauncey Porter!”
NINETEEN
Although Tricia had touched too many dead bodies-including Pippa Comfort’s just three days before-she steeled herself to see if she could find a pulse along Chauncey’s neck. A giddy thrill ran through her as she felt the blood coursing through the carotid artery under his right ear. She looked up into Angelica’s worried face. “He’s alive,” she said, and then looked down again, noting a small patch of blood on the asphalt.
“Chauncey-Chauncey! Can you hear me?”
The portly gent’s eyes roved under his closed lids before he opened them. His hand jerked up to probe the back of his head. “Somebody hit me,” he gasped, then winced and seemed to deflate, falling back on the cold hard road surface.
“Call 911,” Tricia told Angelica as Chauncey’s hand groped to catch hers.
“No!” he cried. “Please don’t.”
“But we have to report this,” Tricia told the older man.
“No, don’t. I won’t speak to the cops,” he cried, and tried to rise, but his bulk made it too difficult and he lay back again, panting.
“What are you doing here in the alley?” Angelica asked.
“I’m trying to lose weight. For the last few weeks I’ve been walking the streets and alleys of Stoneham at night. So far I’ve lost ten pounds. My goal is sixty.”
A lofty goal, and one Tricia hoped he would make.
“You’d better press this against the back of your head. It’s bleeding a little,” she said, extracting a wad of clean but crumpled tissues from her pocket. “Do you know who hit you?”
Chauncey pressed the tissues to his head and winced. “No,” he said, but Tricia wasn’t sure she believed him.