“Then tell your friend Captain Baker.”
Tricia pursed her lips. He wouldn’t be her first choice of confidant. “When’s the next Chamber meeting?” she asked.
“Friday.”
“That’s too long to wait.”
“What else can you do?” Bob asked.
“I assume Betsy can give me a list of all the current Chamber members.”
“I was kidding when I said you should visit them all.”
Tricia nodded. “I’ve got the perfect excuse; I’m still collecting for Davey Black’s education fund.”
Bob shrugged and moved toward the door—a hint that it was time to leave. “Better you than me. But if you find the woman wearing that ring, you’d better call Steve Marsden.”
“Of course I will,” Tricia said, not entirely sure it was a true statement. She looked back at the image of the Claddagh on the computer screen and suddenly felt quite charitable toward Bob for all his help. Of course, he had to go and spoil it.
“If something happened to you because of this conversation, Angelica would never forgive me, and I’ve been in the doghouse far too long,” he said.
Tricia straightened and frowned. “I’m relatively sure you’re on safe ground, Bob. I have no plans to do anything stupid.”
“Well, see that you don’t.”
“Thank you for your help,” Tricia said.
“I hope you’re going to tell Angelica how I helped you. I need a good word from someone about now.”
“You’ll get it,” she said as he opened the door for her. “Good night, Bob.”
“Good night.”
He didn’t wait to see if she got back to her car all right, just closed the door with a bit of a bang. Tricia didn’t look back.
“Well, what did he say?” Angelica said, once Tricia was back in the car.
“Bob remembers getting a business card for Monty’s flying service and that it was a woman wearing a Claddagh ring who gave it to him.”
“He remembered it was a woman, eh?” Angelica said sharply.
“Only that it was a woman’s hand. He doesn’t remember who actually gave it to him.” Tricia frowned. “And do we know anyone who wears a Claddagh?”
“Maybe,” Angelica said, sounding thoughtful.
Tricia blinked. “You remember seeing one lately?”
“Yes, but . . . I’m not sure when. It had to be within the past week or so, though. I thought maybe I should get one to wear on my right hand.”
“Good. Bob’s not good enough for you, anyway.”
Angelica sighed theatrically. “Oh, I don’t know. I still have some residual feelings for him—albeit buried deep.”
Tricia started the car and eased away from the curb. She turned the corner onto Fifth Street and noticed that Brandy Arkin’s house was lit up. She slowed the car.
“Why are you stopping?” Angelica asked.
“Do you think it’s too late to talk to Brandy about the whole eBay scheme?”
“Definitely.”
“But this might break the case.”
“The case is broken,” Angelica reminded her. “Your Captain Baker captured the thief red-handed.”
“We could nail it shut for him.” She turned off the engine. “Now, what pretense can I use to get in to see her?”
“How about asking, Are you selling stolen goods for Cheryl Griffin?” Angelica suggested.
“That’s too obvious. I have to ease into the conversation.”
“David’s probably already told her to steer clear of you after your last altercation with him.”
Tricia pursed her lips and thought about it. Then it came to her. “I’ve got it! Remember at Deborah’s funeral gathering Elizabeth told us she suspected Brandy had Davey’s security blanket? Maybe I could go to Brandy and ask her about it, appeal to her better nature.”
“Anyone who’d deprive a baby of his security blanket is no candidate for a Mother Teresa award.”
“That’s the least of her personality faults, if she can stoop to selling stolen goods.”
“This is where you call your buddy the captain and let him do the digging,” Angelica ordered.
“What digging? All I have is theory—and all I want to do is just talk to her.”
“You shouldn’t go in alone.”
“You think she’s going to threaten me for asking about eBay?”
“You are about to accuse her of a crime,” Angelica pointed out.
“But if she didn’t know the goods were stolen, she’s a victim, not a perpetrator.”
“Whatever,” Angelica said, causing Tricia to wince yet again.
“Besides, it looks suspicious enough with me showing up this time of night.”
“Then I will wait in the car, and if you don’t come out in a timely manner—”
“I do not want you to come and get me. If I’m in danger, you’d be in trouble, too.”
“I have no intention of coming to save your skinny butt. I value my own hide too much. But I can dial 9-1-1 faster than anyone I know.”
“Good, then it’s settled.” She opened the car door. “Wish me luck!”
“Good luck.”
Tricia made her way up the walk to the house and paused to look into the night sky. She squinted, examining the twinkling lights in the sky. Could one of them be a mothership poised to swoop down on New Hampshire, capturing its entire population as slaves? She thought about the potential horror of such a situation—for all of five seconds—then said to herself, “Nahhhh.”
Tricia hammered on the scratched oak door for a third time before he heard the muted sound of footsteps approach. The outside light snapped on, and she looked directly at the front door’s peephole and braved a smile. The door jerked open. “What are you doing here at this time of night?” Brandy asked, sounding more than a little annoyed.
“I’ve come to ask you a huge favor. It has to do with Davey Black. Can I come in?”
Brandy heaved a sigh and stepped back. “I guess.” She stepped aside and let Tricia enter before leading her into what must have once been a large parlor at a time when the house had been a stately home. All around the edges of the room were the bulky pink, green, and orange plastic toys that seemed like required equipment wherever a child was in residence, although the children in this house had been day boarders while their parents worked.
All the furniture had a scuffed, beat-up look to it—like it had survived college years and beyond. Perhaps if Brandy had invested everything she had in the now-defunct day care center, flea market and yard sale finds were all she could afford to furnish her home. Or was it that the children she’d taken care of were rough on everything?
Several self-built, flake-board cabinets lined the south end of the room, surrounding a flake-board computer desk. The computer was switched off. Nearby stood a table covered in white butcher paper. On it was a small red Pyrex bowl and a pocket digital camera—the tools of Brandy’s eBay trade.
“Now, tell me why you’re interested in Davey Black?” Brandy demanded, and leaned against one of the cabinets.
“His mother was my friend. Her mother, Elizabeth, is also my friend.”
“Yeah, and Deborah Black put me out of business, so why should I want to help any of her relatives?”
“Davey’s just a little boy. He misses his mother; and he misses his blanket. He cries himself to sleep every night.”
“Is that sob story supposed to melt my cold heart? Listen, I’ve seen every kind of spoiled rotten kid on the face of the planet, and in about fourteen years there’ll be a jail cell with that little hooligan’s name on it.”
Tricia was taken aback by the vehemence in Brandy’s tone.
“I think you’d better leave,” Brandy said.
“No, please. Do you have Davey Black’s security blanket? He’s heartbroken.”
Brandy crossed her arms. “Look, I told the kid’s grandmother I don’t have it.”
“But could you please look? I’d be willing to pay you for it,” Tricia said, adding a bit of a lilt to her voice.
Brandy’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”