“Alleged deadbeats,” Ginny clarified. Tricia wasn’t sure if she was being funny or serious. “Did I hear you say something to Mr. Everett about me working Sunday?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’d be glad to. Antonio is going to be busy all day, so it’ll give me something to fill the hours.”
Busy how? Tricia wondered. Any time Antonio was too busy to spend a weekend with Ginny, that meant things were heating up at Nigela Racita Associates.
And why did the thought worry her so?
The lunch crowd at Booked for Lunch was long gone by the time Tricia showed up for her customary late lunch. This day, she was very late.
“I didn’t think you were going to make it today.” Angelica said, and got up from her stool, scooting around the counter. She hadn’t waited for Tricia, as evidenced by the plate covered with whole wheat crumbs that sat on the counter. She’d spread out the manuscript pages of her next cookbook and had been going over them with a red pen.
Angelica stooped to retrieve something from the little under-the-counter fridge and set the plastic-wrapped plate in front of Tricia.
“Thanks. Got any soup left?”
“Sorry, Tommy already cleaned the kitchen. There wasn’t much chicken noodle left, so I think he dumped it.”
Tricia frowned.
“Believe me, much as I loved Jake, he thought of himself as a chef, not a short-order cook, and he didn’t do a lot of cleanup. I’m thrilled that Tommy doesn’t mind washing dishes and scrubbing pots.”
“So you’ve gotten over the Brookville Inn stealing Jake?”
Angelica scowled. “It wasn’t the Brookville Inn that stole him from me. It was Nigela Racita Associates.”
“Ah, yes,” Tricia said, and uncovered her lunch, balling up the wrap and setting it aside. “But you said it was a good career move for him.”
“Of course it was. And I was the first to be served dinner the night he started there. I like to think it was me who set him up for greatness.”
“Jake? Greatness?”
Angelica frowned. “Obviously you haven’t eaten at the inn since he took over the kitchen. Their last chef was pretty damn good. Jake is better.”
“You know I haven’t eaten there lately.”
“Then I will take you there and treat you. What are you doing tonight?”
“I don’t know that I want to go out. I think I’d rather stay home and read.”
“You’ve been doing a little too much of that lately. Pining over Captain Baker maybe?”
“No! It’s just . . . Deborah’s death has really depressed me. I don’t feel like going out and celebrating—anything. By the way, I loaned out Mr. Everett to Elizabeth for a few days. And Ginny’s upset with me.”
Angelica blinked. “Because you loaned out Mr. Everett?”
“No. She thinks I don’t trust her.”
“Okay, I’m confused.”
Tricia stabbed a forkful of tuna and related the conversation she’d had with Ginny that morning.
“You’ve always said she was the best assistant in Stoneham. And if that’s true, doesn’t it seem rather suspicious you haven’t given her more responsibility?” Angelica asked.
“It isn’t a question of trust—or even responsibility. I’m on the premises most of the day. I don’t stray very far from the store—which is also where I live, I might add. There’s simply been no reason for her to open or close for me.”
Angelica leveled a narrow gaze at her sister. “You’re a workaholic.”
“I am not!”
“You’re worse than Daddy ever was.”
“That’s not true,” Tricia said, but it did seem to be the one trait she’d inherited from their father.
“Admit it, you can’t stand to sit still—unless you’ve got a mystery in your hands, and then the world stops. If you ask me, you’ve dug yourself into a rut. If you want to go out with Captain Baker—ask him to take you out, or you invite him to dinner.”
“You know I can’t cook much of anything.”
“That’s why the Brookview Inn has a catering menu, dear.”
“They do? How do you know?”
“I make it my business to know what every other eatery in the area is serving and what other ventures they’re involved in.”
That made sense. Tricia took another bite of tuna. Tommy made it differently than Jake. She couldn’t put her finger on just what it was—not so much the taste . . . maybe the texture. There weren’t as many crunchy bits. Yes, Jake had added more diced celery. Tricia had gotten used to it that way and now found she missed it. Not that she’d ever let Tommy—or Angelica—know it.
Angelica slipped on her reading glasses that had been hanging from a cord on her neck, and turned her attention back to her manuscript. “Have you heard anything else about the crash investigation?”
“Only that it’ll take months before they make a determination.”
“That’s ridiculous. Bob said the plane ran out of gas. End of inquiry.”
“If only it was that easy.” Tricia sighed and set her fork aside. “I feel like I should be doing more,” she said.
“What? Helping the cops figure this out?”
“Don’t be silly. And, anyway, it’s not the Sheriff’s Department that’ll be investigating. It’s the National Transportation Safety Board.”
Angelica waved a hand in the air. “Whatever.”
“I thought David might have called me—maybe asked me to help plan Deborah’s service. But, then, he hasn’t even asked any of Deborah’s family for input.”
Angelica sighed in exasperation. Looking over her glasses and down her nose at Tricia, she leveled her index finger at her. “See, I told you you’re a workaholic. So what if David hasn’t asked for your help. You’ve given Mr. Everett to Elizabeth to work in the store. That will bring in income until David decides what to do with it—and knowing you, you’ll be paying Mr. Everett’s wages. Short of adopting little Davey, what else can you do?”
Tricia thought about it for a few moments. “I could collect money for Davey—maybe set up a scholarship fund for him.”
“Unless he’s a boy genius, the kid won’t be going to college for at least sixteen years,” Angelica pointed out.
“That’ll give the money time to accrue interest.”
“Not at the ridiculous rates banks are offering these days.” Angelica stared at her sister for a long moment and then shrugged. “Whatever,” she said again. It was beginning to annoy Tricia.
“Will you donate something?” she asked.
“Sure, I can spare fifty bucks.”
Tricia gave her sister the evil eye.
“Okay, a hundred. Are you going to go door to door like you did when Jim Roth died?”
“Probably. And I’m going to hit up Antonio Barbero for a very big contribution. If Nigela Racita Associates is plotting to take over Deborah’s store, the least they can do is contribute to her son’s education.”
“Isn’t that kind of a double whammy? I mean, won’t Davey be on the receiving end of whatever his father gets for the business?” Angelica asked.
“Not necessarily. The louse could remarry or blow the money on fast cars and fancy women.”
Angelica scowled. “You really don’t like David, do you?”
“Not especially.” Tricia lifted her hand and rubbed her fingers together several times. “Come on, write out a check?”
Angelica got up and stomped around the counter once again. She pulled out her purse from underneath and reached for her checkbook, then paused. “Who am I supposed to make it out to? You? The Davey Black Education Fund?” She placed the checkbook back into her purse and stowed it under the counter again. “Maybe you need to think this through before you rush into it. It might be that you should hit the bank first and set up an account for the kid.”
“That’s a good idea. I could make Elizabeth the trustee, and then no matter what happens with David in the future, Davey will be all set.”
“Don’t you think you’d better ask her first?”