“It’s easy, really,” she began, but Tricia tuned her out. It was Elizabeth and her spiteful attitude that whirled through her thoughts. Was she just rattled by her experience that evening, or was she serious about blaming them, along with David, for all of her problems? Either way, it left Tricia feeling troubled.
The entire situation left her feeling troubled. Angelica had the right attitude. Move on. She’d said it about Christopher, too.
It was often hard to take good advice, especially when it ran up against everything you believed. But for now, Tricia decided that Angelica was probably right on all accounts. She’d just never give her the satisfaction of saying so.
Nineteen
Tricia and sleepless nights were getting to be a common pair since she’d moved to Stoneham. Was it the fact that she’d experienced more death in thirty-six months than she had in more than thirty- six years, or was it just the fact no one shared her bed anymore?
There’s more to life than just sex, she reminded herself, but early that morning she couldn’t think of what it might be.
Four miles on the treadmill seemed like forty, so there was no way she’d make up for the missing miles from days before. It took two cups of coffee to perk her up before she and Miss Marple headed down the stairs to start their day at Haven’t Got a Clue. When she’d heard the car roaring down the road that had hit Elizabeth Crane, she’d bolted from the store without doing her end-of-day tasks. And when she’d returned after midnight, she’d been too tired to tackle them. She still felt tired, but forced herself to haul out the Hoover and start to vacuum the carpet.
The phone rang. Since the store wasn’t due to open for half an hour, Tricia thought about letting it go to voice mail, but on the fourth ring, she shut down the vacuum cleaner and grabbed the receiver—much to Miss Marple’s relief. “Haven’t Got a—”
“Oh, Tricia, we’ve been robbed—we’ve been robbed,” Ginny sobbed.
For a moment Tricia couldn’t understand why Ginny was so upset. A quick look around Haven’t Got a Clue told her that everything was still in place as it had been the night before. Even the till, with its meager offerings, was intact. And then she remembered that Ginny no longer worked for her and in fact now managed her own store.
“What’s missing?” Tricia asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know the stock well enough yet to tell. But there’s busted glass all over the floor. And there’s a huge mess in the back room.”
And everything had been in perfect order the night before.
“What about the alarm, did you set it last night before we left?”
“Elizabeth didn’t give us the code, and the security company hasn’t gotten back to us yet. Oh crap—I don’t even know if the insurance will cover this. Antonio is in charge of all that.”
“Did you call him?”
“His voice mail kicked in. He must be at a meeting.”
“Did you call the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I couldn’t think what else to do, so I called you.”
“Hang up. Call 9-1-1, and I’ll be right over.”
“Oh, thank you, Tricia.” The line went dead and Tricia replaced the receiver in its cradle, her hands shaking. She couldn’t remember any of the stores along Main Street being robbed—at least since the murder at the Cookery two years before. And even then, only one item had been taken—and there’d been no wholesale destruction. Poor Ginny having to face this on day two of her new job.
Grabbing her keys, Tricia locked the store and once again crossed the road for the Happy Domestic.
The shop door was ajar, and Tricia pushed it open with her elbow. She wasn’t about to put her fingerprints in the mix—she knew enough about crime scene investigations to avoid that. As Ginny had said, the carpeted floor was covered with broken glass from several smashed display cases. The remnants of porcelain figurines and delicate Waterford crystal glassware lay among the overturned card carousel. Books had been pulled from the shelves, their dustcovers ripped to shreds.
Whoever was responsible had been mighty angry.
And who had been furious the evening before?
Elizabeth Crane.
With her cell phone still in hand, Ginny came out from the back room, her face twisted into a grimace and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Tricia,” she wailed, and rushed for her, throwing her arms around her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tricia soothed, patting Ginny’s back. And it would be okay. The person who’d made the mess had taken his—or her—aggression out on inanimate objects, not the new owner—or manager—of the store.
A tinny voice came from Ginny’s cell phone. “Miss, Miss—”
Tricia pulled back. “Pull yourself together, and talk to the dispatcher,” she said firmly but with kindness. “We’ll make this right. I promise.”
Ginny nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She raised the phone back to her ear. “I’m here,” she said, her voice sounding stronger.
Tricia heard the sound of a siren, and looked out the store’s display window to see a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pull up outside. The driver’s door flew open and Deputy Placer leapt from the car. “You reported a robbery?” he asked Tricia.
“The store’s manager did,” she said, indicating Ginny with a nod of her head. “It must have happened sometime last night—after midnight.”
Placer frowned. Tricia could almost read his thoughts. No action here!
Through the window, she saw Boris and Alexa Kozlov standing on the pavement. They were soon joined with other rubberneckers who’d come to see what was happening.
“You don’t belong here,” Placer said to Tricia.
“Ginny—Miss Wilson—called me when she discovered the mess.”
“Why don’t you wait outside while I talk to her,” Placer said.
Tricia frowned. Despite their many encounters, she and the deputy had never become buddies, and apparently never would, either. “I’ll do that. Ginny, I’ll be outside.”
Ginny sniffed and nodded.
“What happened?” Alexa asked as Tricia stepped over the threshold.
“Last night, someone broke into the Happy Domestic and did a lot of damage.”
“Hmm,” Boris grumbled, and turned away, heading back for the Coffee Bean. For an instant Tricia wondered if he could’ve been responsible for the mess inside the store, but then she instantly dismissed the idea. Boris had been angry with Deborah and Elizabeth—not the new owner of the store. But then, did he know the store had already changed hands and was now owned by Nigela Racita Associates?
Tricia shook the thought away. She was letting her imagination run wild. Much as she hated to admit it, there was someone else with a much better motivation to ransack the store, and for some reason—maybe a misplaced sense of loyalty—she refused to consider it.
Whoever had vandalized the Happy Domestic had a score to settle. And, unfortunately, there was more than one possible suspect. The problem was, which one did it?
Time did not fly when there were few suspects to consider for the robbery at the Happy Domestic, and no sales at Haven’t Got a Clue, either. Tricia had sent Mr. Everett across the street to help Ginny with the cleanup and, more important, for moral support. It pleased her that the two had such a good rapport. Of course, the Sheriff’s Department investigators probably weren’t letting him do much of anything yet, but she knew Ginny would appreciate his being there.
Sheriff’s Department patrol cars lined the street, and did nothing to improve the morning’s sales. Tricia hoped they’d clear off before the expected busload of tourists arrived at one thirty.
“Yow!” Miss Marple announced, startling Tricia from her reverie.
“Yes, it sure is lonely here without Ginny and Mr. Everett. We’ll have to do something about that pretty soon. But if Elaine Capshaw turns down my job offer, I will not hire Cheryl Griffin,” she reaffirmed. “You and I will run the store alone rather than put up with her and her threats of alien invasions.”