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Angelica cocked her head to one side and squinted in the darkness. “Isn’t that Russ’s pickup?”

“Where?” Tricia asked, peering out the passenger window.

“There. At Nikki Brimfield’s house.”

The lack of light made it impossible to tell the color of the truck, but it did look like Russ’s.

“I’m going to go have a look,” Angelica said, and before Tricia could stop her, she’d opened the driver’s door and escaped into the night.

Okay, what did this mean? That Russ and Nikki were a twosome? And if so, how come nobody had mentioned it to Tricia? Not that she cared. And if Russ was seeing Nikki, why had he mentioned taking her to lunch or dinner just the evening before?

And why did she suddenly feel hurt? She had no feelings for Russ. But maybe it wasn’t feelings for him; perhaps it was the feeling of being left out.

His attitude was certainly different this morning. Had he and Nikki come to some kind of decision about their relationship between last night and this morning? That didn’t seem right—not if he was afraid of Nikki seeing him without his bridge. He’d paid extra to make sure he didn’t lose it. They must still be at a stage where appearances counted.

The driver’s door opened and Angelica ducked back in. “Yup, it’s Russ’s truck all right. And all the lights are off inside the house. I think he must be warming Nikki’s bed.”

Tricia said nothing.

“I must say, I thought Nikki had better taste,” Angelica said. “But then, it must be a relief to you. At least with him seeing Nikki, he won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“That’s true,” Tricia said, and yet on some level it did bother her. She stared out the passenger’s window into the dark night and remembered how nervous Russ had been when she’d visited his house last evening. Had Nikki been there, too? Tricia hadn’t seen any evidence—like glasses or plates for more than one—on the cocktail table. Had Nikki been hiding in the kitchen or upstairs perhaps—warming Russ’s bed? Russ hadn’t been in a hurry to get rid of Tricia, either.

It didn’t make sense.

“While I was creeping around, I snuck up to Brandy’s window and peeked in.”

“Ange! That makes you a peeping Tom.”

“Peeping Thomasina, maybe,” she corrected.

“So what did you see?”

“Nothing. I think they went to bed, too. And that’s probably where we should go. It’s getting late.”

But Tricia didn’t want to go home. “I wish there were some kind of after-hours place here in Stoneham. Maybe a club that played jazz and served drinks.”

“And whom would they serve? The sidewalks roll up at dark. The problem is there’s a real lack of hotel space in the area.”

“But the Brookside Inn—” Tricia began.

“Isn’t within walking distance,” Angelica countered.

“Eleanor was worried someone would buy out the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort and put up a motel.”

Angelica shook her head. “It won’t happen. That place is a gold mine. But if the village could offer other amenities, it could attract the fully clad nudists in the evenings. And it wouldn’t hurt if Stoneham had a day spa, an antiques joint, and a jeweler. Those are the kinds of businesses that cater to the tourist trade. There are a lot of huge Victorian homes here in the village that would make wonderful bed-and-breakfast inns. The Chamber ought to try to convince some of the owners to convert their properties.”

Tricia laughed. “Have you told Bob all this? Surely he could recruit those kinds of businesses. I mean, he’s done it before.”

Angelica shrugged. “Bob’s vision only extends to the properties he owns, which are all rented. But there’s plenty of land on both ends of the village that could be rezoned as commercial property. It just takes someone with vision to pull it off.”

“And why shouldn’t you be that person?” Tricia suggested, with a laugh.

Angelica shook her head. “I’ve got enough on my plate. But don’t be surprised if Antonio Barbero and Nigela Racita Associates don’t pull it off first.”

Tricia thought about it. The way things were going, such development might be possible. “I heard that a small village in Canada—Niagara on the Lake—got just such an infusion of cash from a mysterious woman back in the 1990s. It made all the difference in the world.”

“Have you ever been there?” Angelica said with a sly smile.

Tricia shook her head.

“I have, and it’s spectacular. Everything you want without losing that small-town charm. And they’ve got scads of wineries within a ten- or fifteen-minute drive, plus a historical fort and a marvelous theater. And in the summertime, there are flowers everywhere. It’s just gorgeous.”

“When did you go to Canada?”

“Years ago, with Drew,” she said with a wave of her hand. Drew had been her fourth husband.

Tricia leaned back against her seat, wishing she was anywhere else in the state—the country, the planet—than staring at Nikki Brimfield’s darkened house. How she longed to escape her life. She hadn’t had more than a day off—at Christmas—since she’d opened Haven’t Got a Clue. And now, with Ginny gone, she had no hope of having a day’s respite until she’d fully trained someone else. And since she hadn’t felt comfortable enough giving Ginny a key, would she be as restrictive with whomever she hired to take Ginny’s place? Part of her hoped she’d learned her lesson. The other part wasn’t so sure.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Angelica said. “Is it because Russ is seeing Nikki?”

Tricia shook her head. “It’s just one thing piling on top of another. Deborah’s death, losing Ginny . . . What else can happen?”

In the dim light, Tricia could see the ghost of a smile light Angelica’s face. “It’s that old Chinese curse. . . .”

“May you live in interesting times,” Tricia recited. “Yeah, I know all about it.”

“Interesting doesn’t necessarily mean good—or bad,” Angelica said. “Just different.”

She turned the key in the ignition and steered away from the curb, waiting until they were half a block from Nikki’s house before she switched on the car’s headlights.

Tricia was tired of living a different life. She wanted her old life back. No, that wasn’t right, either. She wanted parts of her old life back, and she wanted them to neatly mesh with the life she’d built for herself since Christopher had left her. That wasn’t going to happen.

It was time for a new plan.

Too bad she had no idea where to start.

Sixteen

At nine o’clock Monday morning, the sun was up and the temperature was already near eighty. It would be a hot one. When Tricia opened the door to Haven’t Got a Clue to retrieve her newspaper, she saw Elizabeth Crane at the door of the Happy Domestic. She paused to watch as Elizabeth became more and more frustrated as she juggled keys, a coffee cup, and tried to keep little Davey from struggling out of his stroller.

Tricia tucked the paper under her arm and looked both ways before crossing the street to join her. “Something wrong?” she asked as she approached.

“Did you know the sale of the Happy Domestic has already gone through?” Elizabeth said, her voice shrill.

“I heard,” Tricia said sympathetically.

“Look at this!” Elizabeth said, and pointed to the shiny brass keyhole. “The locks have been changed. I’m shut out,” she cried in despair, and then burst into tears.

Tricia gathered her in a hug, patting her back.

“Nana, Nana!” Davey cried, yanking on Elizabeth’s sweater.

Elizabeth pulled back and wiped at her eyes. “I apologize for losing it. I just can’t believe how insensitive that Barbero man could be.”

“He did tell you about the sale last night,” Tricia said.