A Fatal Chapter

“And who does this theoretical us entail?”

“You, me, Antonio, Gi

“And how do you propose to deliver that magic pill?”

“No pill. People who are happy in their work are happy in life. It’s as simple as that. And I want the people who arrive in this beautiful little town in New England stressed and careworn to leave happy and uplifted.”

“You hope.”

“So far, so good.”

Tricia couldn’t argue with that.

“What are you plotting for the future?”

“Not plotting, considering. Now that you know, you could be a wonderful sounding board. In fact, it would be oodles of fun if you and Antonio and Gi

“Like a shoe store?” Tricia suggested.

Angelica shook her head. “That’s been on my wish list for years. We’re much too small for a chain store, and a boutique would be too expensive for the residents.” She shook her head. “It’s a pipe dream.”

“A tea shop?” Tricia suggested.

Again Angelica shook her head. “Not enough trade to keep one in business through the lean times. But I have thought about offering afternoon tea at the Brookview I

“You wouldn’t hire a na

“Children need to interact with other children. It’s good for them.”

“What makes you the expert when it comes to child care?”

“Google is my best friend,” Angelica said wryly.

“What about the ghost walks?”

“They could be great fun—and quite lucrative, not only for the cemetery, but for the Dog-Eared Page and the Bookshelf Diner. Before Pete died, he sent a report to NRA looking for backing.”

“Did you give him any money for them?”

“It was included with the check Antonio gave them.”

Tricia nodded. “When I spoke to Janet Koch at the Historical Society this morning, I suggested Michele give the talks.”

“What a great idea!”

“Of course, her boss would have to okay it,” Tricia said.

Angelica’s smile was more a smirk. “I’m sure I can arrange it. Anything else happen today I should know about?”

Tricia hesitated, then shook her head.

Angelica considered her empty glass. “We’d better not have another. Not if we’re going to check out those flower baskets.”

Tricia downed the last of her drink, then placed the olive in her mouth, slid it off the pick, and chewed.

“You set the table and I’ll get the food ready,” Angelica said, heading for the fridge.

Tricia carried her glass over to the sink, then scooped flatware from a drawer and placed it on the table, her thoughts straying back to the subject of Jim Stark. The idea of her store renovation possibly being derailed had her feeling disheartened and depressed.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, she ordered herself.

She just wished she could pay more attention to that little niggling voice inside her brain that advised her to look at worst-case scenarios.

Sometimes she hated that stinking little voice she called her conscience.

•   •   •

It wasn’t quite dark, but unlike in years past when the streets of Stoneham had emptied at six o’clock, several cars still lined the south end of Main Street. The Dog-Eared Page was the draw, but farther down the street a few cars were also clustered near the Bookshelf Diner. “We really need more eateries here on Main Street,” Angelica said as they, along with Sarge, headed north on the sidewalk. “We need at least one fine dining restaurant here in the village.”

“Where would it go?” Tricia asked.

“It could go where the Chamber office is currently located, but that’s a bit close to the eyesore that is Kelly Realty.”

“You’d think Bob would have done something to the outside of that building to spruce it up. Gray-painted cinderblock has no curb appeal and is not at all conducive to the ambiance he’s always tried to encourage from the people he rents to.”

Angelica didn’t comment.

They continued down the block, passing more and more denuded hanging baskets. “What we need is a ladder so we can look into the baskets to see if the blossoms have been broken off or cut.”

“Does it matter?” Tricia asked. “None of them have flowers.”

“I guess you’re right,” Angelica groused.

A few other people ambled down the sidewalk, and the sisters greeted them with smiles but didn’t bother with conversation. Tricia rather enjoyed the walk, and Sarge certainly did. However, Angelica was far too quiet.

They walked as far as the Antiques Emporium, crossed the street, and headed back south toward the town square. Every single hanging basket had been hit. “This kind of petty vandalism makes me so angry,” Angelica muttered.

“The police station is just ahead. Do you want to report it?”

“Yes, I do.” Angelica sped up, and Tricia and little Sarge had a hard time keeping up with her. “Do you think Grant is working late tonight?”

Tricia had seen his car parked in the municipal lot when they’d passed minutes earlier. “Probably. He doesn’t have much to do in the evenings, either.”

Arriving at the station door, Angelica grabbed Sarge, tucking him under her arm, and they entered.

Polly Burgess, the station’s elderly dispatcher and receptionist, was also working late. She eyed Sarge with disdain. “No dogs allowed. You’ll have to take it outside.”

“He’s a he, not an it—and he’s my service dog,” Angelica said.

“What kind of service can a dog that small perform?” Polly demanded.

“He’s my emotional support.”

“Where’s his service vest?”

“In the laundry. Now, we’d like to speak to the chief, please.”

“He’s off duty.”

“But he is here,” Tricia said.

“Yes.”

“Would you please tell him we’re here?” Tricia asked.

“We’d like to report a crime,” Angelica chimed in.

Polly looked at them with suspicion. “What kind of crime?”

“Vandalism.”

Polly sighed and pushed the intercom button. “Chief. There are a couple of citizens here who’d like to report vandalism.”

“I’ll be right there,” came Baker’s clipped voice.

Polly glared at the sisters.

Baker appeared from behind his office door, his eyes lighting up when he saw Tricia. “Hello. What’s this about vandalism?” he asked.

“Can we talk in your office?” Angelica asked as Baker reached out to pet Sarge, who growled. He pulled his hand back.

“Sure.”

The sisters followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk. Angelica set Sarge on the floor but kept him on a short leash.

“What’s this about vandalism?” Baker asked again.

“Someone has clipped every flower in the hanging baskets around the village.”

Baker frowned, as though that wasn’t his idea of a major crime. “Is that all?”

“Those baskets cost nearly fifty bucks apiece. If we have to replace them, it will be a substantial cost,” Angelica said.

Baker looked unimpressed. “Do you have any suspects?”

Angelica shook her head.

“Do you know when it happened?”

“No. Tricia noticed all the blossoms were gone just today.”

“Maybe someone’s got really bad allergies,” Baker suggested and laughed.

“They’ve been hanging for over two months,” Angelica pointed out.

Baker’s smile faded and he frowned. “The baskets are still up, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“They haven’t been smashed, right?”

“No.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he asked.

“I’m reporting a crime,” Angelica said. “I thought that’s what good citizens were supposed to do.”