Tricia shook her head. “I do not need a lawyer. If Pippa knew about me and Harry, she sure didn’t show it when we walked in.”
“She was ticked you weren’t Bob,” Angelica reminded her.
“But was she angry at me? I don’t think so. And if you want suspects, for all we know, maybe Pippa was having or once had an affair with Chauncey or Ellington.”
Angelica laughed. “Chauncey? Not on your life. I mean, maybe twenty years ago and a hundred pounds ago-if he had hair.”
“Why not Ellington?”
Angelica bit her lower lip. “He’s a possibility. He’s not bad to look at, and he’s rich.” She pondered the thought.
Tricia shook her head. “Forget it. Let’s leave this up to the local police force.”
“Yes, their first murder-and once again, you were there.”
“I’m starving. How about a pizza? I already told Grant I was going to order one.”
“What about my leftovers at Booked for Lunch?” Angelica cried.
“I was going to have it delivered here.”
“They already said we could go once an officer escorts us to get our luggage.”
“Come on, you know Grant is going to want to talk to me about Harry.”
“Well, I don’t have to be part of that conversation,” Angelica said crossly. She gathered up her purse, marched over to the door to the kitchen, and threw it open. “Chief Baker, I want to go home. Now!”
The chief’s expression went from surprised to a scowl. “Then go.”
Angelica let the door swing shut. “Tricia, you may bring my luggage home.” Without waiting for a reply, Angelica stalked off to the front door, letting it slam behind her.
Chauncey Porter, who had apparently lost his police escort, stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh my,” he said in a low voice. Tricia had completely forgotten he was in the house. How long had he been standing there, eavesdropping on their conversation? Had he heard what Angelica had said about him just minutes before?
Chauncey gripped the handle of his scuffed overnight bag tightly and hefted the book he’d been reading in the other. “I’d-I’d better be going home.” He nodded to Tricia and hurried to the door, looking distinctly guilty. What did he have to hide?
Suddenly the thought struck her as ominous.
What if sweet Chauncey Porter wasn’t quite so sweet after all?
Tricia shook her head and frowned. The fact that a violent death had just occurred encouraged her to think the worst of everyone. And Angelica had been right. When Jon Comfort was proven to be the long-lost best-selling author Harrison Tyler, suspicion was sure to fall on her.
Anger rolled through her for the years she had mourned the loss of her first lover, Harrison Tyler.
Now she could just kill him.
FOUR
The swinging door from the kitchen banged open and Chief Baker entered the living room with Harry Tyler right behind him. “Was that Mr. Porter leaving?” he asked.
“Yes, and I’d like to leave, too. If Mr. Comfort-or Tyler, or whatever he’s calling himself today-will give me a hand with my luggage, I’ll be off,” Tricia said rather curtly.
“I will help you,” Baker said.
“Fine with me,” Comfort said, and stalked off for the kitchen once again.
Baker waited until the door swung shut before he spoke, his voice low, angry. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tyler?” he demanded.
“Have you told me about every woman you’ve ever been with?” Tricia replied.
“Comfort or Tyler is a suspect in Pippa Comfort’s death. And you could be considered an accomplice.”
“How? I didn’t even know he was alive until he marched into the inn’s kitchen. You were there. You saw how surprised I was to see Harry Tyler return from the dead.”
“Of course, but the district attorney might not believe it.”
“That’s ridiculous. I hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since the day before he disappeared and was presumed dead over twenty years ago. I hadn’t even thought of the man in years.” Okay, that was bending the truth a little. She’d made a point of remembering Harry on his birthday, and on the anniversary of his so-called death, but after such a long period of time they were only wistful thoughts of what might have been. She’d mourned for him for a year or so, and then she’d dated other men and moved on with her life, eventually marrying Christopher Benson.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Baker said.
“Of course it does; you’re the Stoneham chief of police. You’re the one investigating this death.”
“Yes, and I have to make sure that everyone who’s a viable suspect gets treated exactly the same way. Including you.”
“I did not kill Pippa Comfort!” Tricia said, a bit louder than necessary.
“And you didn’t see anyone in that yard when you came out with the dog?”
“It was as quiet as a grave.”
Baker actually winced at her word choice.
“Now, since you let Angelica leave in a huff, I’ve got to bring all her luggage home, and my sister does not travel light. And unless you or one of your men gives me a ride home, I’ve got to drag that luggage through the streets of Stoneham.”
“I will give you a ride home.”
“Thank you. The suite is this way.” Tricia turned and started up the stairs with Baker hot on her heels.
“What were you doing here tonight, anyway?” he asked.
“Angelica won a raffle at the last Chamber of Commerce meeting. A night’s stay at the inn. Pippa thought she’d be bringing Bob along. She was shocked to see it was me.”
“Oh?” Baker asked suspiciously as they rounded the first landing.
“And don’t read anything into that. Bob’s a real estate agent. I’m sure she was hoping he’d tell prospective clients about the inn. Pippa gave us the master suite, which is why we’re still climbing stairs.” But by the time she’d said that, they had finished their ascent. Tricia rattled the door to the room and only then realized that Angelica still had the room key. “Oh, crap! Ange has the key.”
“There’s got to be a spare. I’ll go down and ask Comfort for it. Do you want to come with me and see him again for yourself? Make sure he’s the man you say he is?”
“After what he pulled, I have no desire to see or hear from Harry Tyler ever again. I’ll wait here, thank you.”
Baker frowned, noticed the back stairs, and took off.
Tricia leaned against the locked door and sighed. This was not how she’d envisioned her evening would go. A soak in the suite’s Jacuzzi tub would be just the thing right now, too. Then again, she’d felt guilty leaving Miss Marple alone for the night. When she got home, she’d make up for her absence by filling the cat’s bowl with kitty snacks.
She heard footsteps coming up the main staircase and seconds later saw Jon/Harry. He paused when he saw her standing there.
“What do you want?” Tricia asked.
“I live here.”
“Not in this suite. Did Chief Baker ask you to come up with the key?”
“No, I-” He stopped, ran his tongue over dry lips, and didn’t finish the sentence. He swallowed. “I thought you’d already be gone. I figured I should make sure the room was…inhabitable.”
“You’re still planning to open next week after what happened tonight?”
“I’ve got to make a living, if only to bury poor Pippa.”
Poor Pippa indeed. Only he didn’t sound all that sorrowful. Then again, maybe he was in shock. It hadn’t even been an hour since he’d learned of his wife’s death. Maybe he was in denial, and maybe Tricia was being too hard on him.
“I’m so sorry about Pippa. I only spoke to her for a minute or two, but…she seemed like a nice person.”