A Fatal Chapter

Back in February, the building had been just a shabby little house, but with some serious elbow grease in the way of paint, sanded floors, new shutters, and window boxes filled with petunias, it now looked like a darling little cottage. It was a shame that the building would probably be razed in another year when Nigela Ricita Associates, the development company that owned it, would replace it with a brick commercial building more in keeping with Stoneham’s past. Still, despite it being only her temporary home, Tricia had come to enjoy living there.

Her quarters consisted of a bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a sitting room on the upper level, and until she could go back to her own home, she was making the best of things. Since she had escaped the fire with only the clothes on her back and her cat, she’d had to start from scratch. A bed and a bookcase had been her first purchases. And she’d been steadily filling the bookcase with copies of her favorite mysteries.

Goodness only knew how much longer the insurance company was going to take to finish their investigation. What investigation? An angry man had dropped a lighted piece of paper on a vintage (and highly flammable) doll carriage and torched the first floor. Why was it taking so long to make the logical conclusion and pay up?

Once Sarge was rewarded with a rawhide stick, the sisters separated. Angelica checked in with Mariana while Tricia headed to her own desk. For the time being, she was acting as the Chamber’s office manager. She didn’t mind the work, but she missed her store. She missed interacting with her employees on a daily basis. She missed her life!

Not that she didn’t see her assistant, Pixie Poe, and her part-time employee, Mr. Everett, on a regular basis. Angelica had been extremely kind to both of them by employing them either at her cookbook store, the Cookery; the little retro café she owned, Booked for Lunch; or the Chamber. Pixie usually waited on tables for part of the day and then put in a few hours in the Chamber office. She’d brushed up on her secretarial skills, and Tricia was half-afraid Pixie might decide that office work was more to her liking—and that she might find a clerical job that paid more or had more prestige. Still, Pixie seemed as pleased with the situation as one could be under the circumstances.

Tricia took her seat and woke her computer from its slumber. One of the first things she’d done after joining the Chamber’s staff was take over the monthly newsletter, a task she rather enjoyed. It was considerably bigger than the one she produced for her store, and she’d learned a thing or two about graphics that were sure to give her own newsletter more pizazz when she finally sent one out at the time of her grand reopening—whenever that might be.

“Ange, have you written your column for the newsletter?” she called.

Angelica looked up from the paper she’d been reading. “Yes. I’ll e-mail it to you when I get home. It’s on my laptop.” She looked at her watch. “Goodness, I need to get going.”

“I thought you didn’t have to be in Manchester until lunchtime.”

“I don’t, but I’m going to talk to a prospective new member.”

“I can do that for you,” Tricia offered.

“You’re already doing far too much. And besides, Mama needs a new pair of shoes. That could take an hour,” Angelica said, and waggled her eyebrows playfully, reminding Tricia of Pete.

Tricia shook her head and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

“Before I go, I’ll take Sarge for a you-know-what around the park. Later this afternoon, would you mind taking him for—” She paused and looked down at the dog. “W-a-l-k-i-e-s,” she spelled, but Sarge could spell, too—at least that word—and he looked up from his little doggy bed, cocking his head to let her know it.

“Sure. Leave him here and I’d be glad to,” Tricia said.

Angelica handed the paper back to Mariana. “I probably won’t be back today, so we can go over the schedule for the rest of the month tomorrow.”

“I’ll have it updated and ready to go,” Mariana promised.

Angelica walked over to her desk, retrieved Sarge’s leash, and said the magic word. “Walkies!” Sarge shot out of his little bed and gave a happy bark. She turned back to Tricia. “If I think of anything else, I’ll call or text you later.”

“I’m going to see you again in less than ten minutes,” Tricia said, and laughed.

“Sorry. My head is filled with so much clutter, I can barely think straight,” Angelica said, and headed out the door.

Mariana shook her head. “I don’t know how she juggles so many things, but I sure wish I had that ability—and her energy.”

“It’s sheer willpower on her part,” Tricia said, turning back to her computer.

A few minutes later, Angelica dropped Sarge off and left for her shoe-buying and meeting expeditions. Tricia found enough to do to keep her occupied for hours. Mariana went to lunch, and by the time she came back, Pixie had arrived to put in her four-hour stint.

“Greetings, all,” she called happily. She was dressed in her vintage waitress togs and an impossibly high pair of red heels, clutching a shopping bag, and a big alligator purse. She opened the purse, taking out a small bundle. Sarge welcomed her like an old friend as she slipped him a huge hunk of sliced ham from a napkin.

“Oh, Pixie, please tell me you didn’t wait on tables in those shoes,” Tricia said.

“Not to worry. I wore sensible flats for my shift at Booked for Lunch. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have style when I come to work here. Or at least I will when I change.” She dumped her purse and a creased newspaper on her desk before heading for the first-floor bathroom. A few minutes later, she returned, her hair no longer restrained by a hairnet, her makeup refreshed, and dressed in a silk dress that was a riot of magenta and orange flowers. No doubt about it, Pixie could make an entrance. “Isn’t this just the best day?” she called cheerfully as she strutted across the room to her desk with a hopeful Sarge trotting along behind her.

“So far so good,” Tricia agreed.

Pixie sat down, but Sarge walked up to Tricia’s desk, looked her in the eye, and cocked his head, gazing at her woefully.

“I suppose you want to go walkies,” she said. Sarge’s little tail happily thumped the floor. “I guess I could stand to stretch my legs, too,” she said, and got up from her chair.

“I’ll say. Did you even stop for lunch?” Mariana asked.

Tricia’s stomach rumbled. “I guess I forgot. I’ll grab something when I get back.”

“I’ll get started on labeling those envelopes for the new-member mailings,” Pixie said, already pulling a box out from under her desk.

“And I’ll be back in about ten minutes,” Tricia said. “C’mon, boy.”

Walking Sarge was never a chore, and he and Tricia headed down the sidewalk toward the town park, which was a perfect square, to do their usual two circuits. The lilac blooms and their lovely scent were long past, but thanks to the Board of Selectmen and Nigela Ricita Associates, there were stone containers filled with flowers at every corner, and on every street lamp hung a basket heavy with blossoms. All the benches had been painted, and now that the gazebo had been fully restored, the park was once again a destination. But on that afternoon there were no other people walking their dogs or strolling with baby carriages around the square.

Tricia hated to admit it, but her fondness for the picturesque Victorian gazebo had faded after the tragedy that had claimed her friend Deborah Black’s life and killed the pilot of the plane who had crashed into the structure. She tried not to think about it, but if she was honest, she usually avoided going near the stone shelter, and even tried to avoid looking at it during her walks with Sarge.

She looked down at the dog, whose little tail wagged with joy as they rounded the corner and started up the walk on the park’s western boundary. No such thoughts bothered Sarge, despite the fact that it had been his original owner who had caused the disaster.