Book Clubbed

Tricia set the handwritten chart of later generations down beside it and compared the two. Names, birth dates, and death dates didn’t tell the story of the people who were now dust. What had they been like? Doing a little math, she found that the women died young, many the same year the last of their children had been born. Had they died in childbirth? How sad.

Tricia turned her attention back to the newer chart. Not only was there a line from John Morrison and Elizabeth Ta

The name?

Gerald.

TWENTY-ONE

An astonished Tricia stared at the names before her. She tried hard to remember Jerry’s face, comparing it with her memories of Betsy. Yes, now that she knew the truth, they did share similar features. Worse, they’d had a daughter. A daughter with birth defects that had eventually caused her death. Had they known at the time of their marriage that they were half brother and sister? Betsy’s parents must have given her the Bible. Along with all her other interests, could genealogy have been one of her hobbies? Had she made the chart showing her name and that of her ex-husband, or had she paid someone else to fill in the blanks?

It didn’t matter. And even if Betsy had made that discovery, was it worth being killed for? That was a mighty big leap of logic. And yet . . . why was Joelle so adamant that she get her hands on the book? She and Betsy hadn’t been all that close. What other reason could Joelle have had to account for her obsessive search for the Bible?

Then Tricia remembered what Jerry Dittmeyer had said when she met him just days before: he was engaged and his lady love was expecting a child.

Joelle and Jerry?

No, it just didn’t seem possible. But why else would Joelle be so keen to obtain the Bible?

Joelle was eager to plan a wedding for Tricia. Had she been pla

Tricia studied every scrap of paper that had fluttered loose from the Bible and found nothing else of significance.

She gathered them all up and set them aside, all but the genealogy chart. What was she supposed to do with it? Why was it so important to Joelle? Did she know the significance of what was listed on it? Betsy didn’t talk much about herself to strangers, and since she and Joelle weren’t close, would she have shared with her sister what she knew about her father’s love child?

If Joelle and Jerry were a couple, and if she was indeed pregnant with his child, was that baby as doomed as its older cousin/sibling? Joelle was in her forties, not an optimum time of life to become pregnant.

Had Betsy discovered that Jerry and Joelle had been doing more than just seeing each other? Did she not only feel a sense of betrayal, but fear for any child they might have? Could that be the reason she’d cut Joelle out of her will? Had Betsy ever told Jerry of their shared parentage? Could she have shared that news with one of them after finding out Joelle was pregnant? It was the perfect excuse for murder, and explained why Joelle was desperate to hide—or destroy—the evidence.

Someone knocked on the shop door, but Tricia ignored it. Couldn’t whoever it was read the sign that said the store was closed?

She stared at the paper before her. Should she call Chief Baker, telling him what she knew, or sit on it for a day or two and hope there was another, more viable suspect in Betsy’s death?

The knock came again, harder this time.

“We’re closed!” Tricia called.

Miss Marple stood up from her perch behind the register, looking nervous. Tricia looked over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Miss Marple, we aren’t going to let that person in.”

“Open up!” a male voice demanded. Even muffled, Tricia was pretty sure she recognized it: Jerry Dittmeyer.

Uneasy, Tricia picked up the phone and dialed the Stoneham police station. The knocking grew louder still, and then Tricia realized Jerry wasn’t knocking, he was kicking the door. Miss Marple jumped down from her perch and ran to the readers’ nook, hiding under one of the chairs.

“Please state the nature of your emergency,” came Polly’s dispassionate voice.

“Send someone quick! Somebody’s breaking down my door.”

“Remain calm,” Polly said, sounding a little bored. “What’s your name and address?”

“You know darn well it’s Tricia Miles, 221 Main Street in Stoneham—” But before she could say anything more, the door flew open, and Jerry barreled in, with Joelle right behind him.

The wind came roaring in with them, sending all the papers on top of the cash desk flying.

“There it is!” Joelle hollered, advancing on Tricia.

Tricia grabbed the book and shoved it under the cash desk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t. Give it to me, it’s mine,” Joelle screamed.

“Give her what she wants,” Jerry said, “and there won’t be any more trouble.”

“You’ve already kicked my door in. That’s trouble enough, and I intend to press charges.”

Joelle didn’t seem concerned and stamped up to the back of the cash desk, cornering Tricia. For a moment, Tricia thought Joelle was going to hit her, but instead she grabbed the Bible, carelessly holding it over the cash desk, and proceeded to shake it, but no papers fell from its pages. Tricia had already removed them all. For something that was supposedly so precious to her, Joelle treated the old book roughly. She let it drop on the counter with a loud thump, and turned crazed eyes on Tricia. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Betsy told me her deepest secret was hidden in this Bible. She told me I’d never find it, and she was right. How could I know she stored her crap in that rental house? You must have taken what was inside it. Where is it? Give it to me!”

Tricia knew exactly where the missing genealogy chart was—on the floor right behind Joelle—but she had no intention of telling her.

“What is it you’re looking for, Jo?” a nervous Jerry demanded, circling behind Joelle to stand next to the chart.

“I’m not sure. But Betsy threatened to use it against me.”

“So what? She’s dead. Let’s go. I’m already in trouble for kicking in this door. I’m not going to jail for something so petty.”

Joelle seemed ready to burst into tears.

It was then Jerry caught sight of the folded paper on the floor. Tricia shoved Joelle aside and made a grab for it, but Jerry intercepted her and sent her flying backward. Before she could right herself, in a flash, Jerry unfolded it, realized its significance, and pulled a lighter from his jacket pocket. He lit it.

“Jerry, no!” Joelle shrieked as Jerry backed up a couple of steps until he was free from the cash desk. He held the paper in the air, his expression triumphant.

“Don’t be stupid, Jerry,” Tricia cried. “You might burn that piece of paper, but it won’t be hard to re-create it. It’s based on public records.”

“Shut up!”

“Jerry, stop it,” Joelle cried. “You’re being irrational. Let’s get out of here before the cops show up.”

“That’s right, Jerry. I called them when you started kicking in my door.”

So where on earth were they?

Joelle lunged forward, but Jerry backed up several steps. “Give me that paper,” she demanded.

“No!” Jerry cried.

Joelle made a grab for it and Jerry fell backward over Sarah Jane’s carriage, landing on his rear end. With a harsh whoosh, the dried faux leather that covered the old doll carriage burst into flames like a torch. Jerry sat there, stu