“I’ve already got musical entertainment booked through July,” Michele said.
The door opened and pink-cheeked Bob Kelly strode through it. “Are you having a dry run tonight?” he asked hopefully, rubbing his hands together presumably to ward off the cold.
His arrival startled Sarge, who jumped to his feet, growling and baring his teeth.
“Down, boy,” Angelica gently admonished, and Sarge sat back on his haunches but continued to growl at his quarry. “Sorry, Bob, but this is a private party,” Angelica said.
His tone soured. “Yes, I hear Tricia has once again kept Stoneham safe from yet another murderer.” He squinted at her in the dim light. “Is that a black eye you’re sporting?”
Tricia glared at him. “No.”
He returned her glare. “My mistake. Your cop pal came to visit me this afternoon.”
“Are you in trouble?” Angelica asked.
“Not now that they’ve got the killer.”
“Too bad,” Tricia said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kelly, but I can’t sell you a drink. I don’t yet have a liquor license,” Michele said.
“Can’t I just sit here at the bar and visit with you ladies?”
“No,” Tricia and Angelica chorused.
“Hey, fella-are you dense?” Pixie asked, her words beginning to slur. “Your company is not appre-appre-appreciated.”
Bob straightened, taking umbrage at her tone. He looked for help from Angelica and Michele, but the two of them could only shrug.
Michele finished making Tricia another gin and tonic and set it on the bar top.
“You don’t want to rile Pixie here. She’s a kickboxer,” Tricia told Bob.
“Learned it in stir,” Pixie said proudly.
“Pixie?” Bob simpered, giving her a once-over with a jaundiced eye.
Pixie staggered a little as she dismounted her stool and rose to her full height-all five foot two or three of it. “Yeah, you got somethin’ to shay about it?”
Bob took in Pixie’s tattered dress, her torn hose, and her disheveled hair and backed up a step. “You ladies have a nice evening.” He left without another word.
No sooner had the door closed when it opened again, admitting Chief Baker, who held a bouquet of pink carnations-the kind sold by the convenience store up by the highway. This time Sarge stood and wagged his tail. “Are you serving liquor without a license?” Baker asked Michele, and reached down to give Sarge’s ears a scratch.
She sighed.
Tricia took another sip of her drink. “Oh Grant, give it a rest.”
“I’m entertaining a few friends,” Michele explained. “I am not open for business. And maybe I should just lock that door.” She shook her head. “I’d offer you a beer, but someone might say you were on the take. But feel free to help yourself to the pretzels.”
“That could still be construed as a bribe,” Angelica pointed out.
“Good point. No pretzels for you, either,” Michele said, and removed the bowl from the bar.
“These are for you,” Baker said, and handed the flowers to Tricia.
“Thank you,” she said, and made a show of smelling them-not that they had much of a scent. Had the convenience store been out of roses? And why had he decided to give them to her in front of witnesses-so that she’d feel more forgiving? Should she let him off the hook that easily?
Not a chance.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“A small peace offering.”
Tricia glanced askance at Angelica, who frowned.
“You mean now that I’ve found the killer for you, I’m no longer a suspect and you can be seen speaking with me in public?”
Baker looked startled, like a deer caught in headlights.
“I-I-I…”
Tricia sighed, placed the carnations on the bar, and picked up her glass, pressing it to her cheek once more. “So what happened with Luke Fairchild?”
Baker swallowed before answering. “He demanded to see a lawyer and then clammed up. His wife, however, was willing to tell us everything. She’s already agreed to testify against him when the time comes.”
Tricia shook her head. “He should never have told her he loved his first wife more.”
“He told her that?” Angelica asked, appalled.
“All men are rats,” Pixie slurred, and rattled the ice in her glass, but Michele made no move to make her another drink. Pixie squinted up at Baker. “You’re probably a rat, too.”
“Shhh! Pixie. Have some respect. He’s supposed to be Tricia’s boyfriend,” Angelica grated. She cleared her throat. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Who mugged Chauncey Porter?”
“Angelica,” Tricia warned. They had promised they wouldn’t say anything about it.
“Luke Fairchild,” Baker answered. “Porter closed his shop early and came to see me this afternoon. After your arrival at the inn, he came down to the parlor to have a glass of sherry. He saw Fairchild grab one of the candleholders and slip out of the inn’s front door.”
“Why didn’t he just tell you that from the beginning?” Tricia asked.
“He was angry. He felt humiliated by Mrs. Comfort’s disparaging remarks. He might not have said anything if Fairchild hadn’t come after him the other night.”
“I suspected he was lying when he wouldn’t talk about it,” Angelica said.
“You knew about the mugging?” Baker asked, annoyed.
Tricia nodded. “But we promised Chauncey we wouldn’t say anything.”
“Why did Luke come after him?” Angelica asked.
“Fairchild says Porter was trying to blackmail him for money. I’ve yet to determine if that’s true.”
“Poor Chauncey,” she said.
Considering his dire financial situation, he might have been driven to blackmail, but Tricia didn’t want to believe it. If Fairchild could kill without conscience, he could certainly lie, too.
Tricia looked up at Baker.
Tricia stood. “Ladies, I’ve got a cat who is hours overdue for her dinner.” She turned her attention to Pixie. “You’re in no condition to drive. You can stay the night on my couch if you like.”
Pixie shook her head, then put a hand to her temple-presumably to keep the room from spinning. “You live on the third floor. I can’t walk up that many steps when I’m this potted.”
“I’ll be heading home soon,” Michele said. “I’ll give her a lift. And I can pick her up tomorrow to go to work at Haven’t Got a Clue, too. I have a feeling we’re going to become good pals, Pixie.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You must tell me where you got that dress. I’m sure it was lovely before you saved the day.”
“Yeah, it was a beaut. I can tell you all the best places to get vintage togs.”
“I guess I’d better get going, too,” Angelica said. She grabbed their coats from the bar stool next to her and passed Tricia’s along, then stooped to pick up Sarge. “Thanks for the drinks. Talk to you soon,” she told Michele, and headed out the door.
Tricia put on her coat. “I’ll second that. Let’s do lunch soon,” she told Michele, who was already collecting glasses and tidying up the bar.
Tricia picked up her flowers and allowed Baker to walk her across the street to Haven’t Got a Clue. She unlocked the door and realized she’d left the lights on hours before. Miss Marple got up from one of the chairs in the reader’s nook and scolded her for being away so long, while Baker closed the door behind them.
“Have some cookies. That will hold you while I say good night to Grant,” she told the cat, and rounded the beverage station’s counter to grab the bowl and bag of snacks she kept for emergency purposes.
“Does Grant have to leave?” Baker asked.
Tricia shook out half a bowl of treats and set them on the floor. Miss Marple wasn’t kidding about her hunger pangs. She dug in.