A Fatal Chapter

“Then you’re in the clear.”

“With you.” He kept staring at the plywood. “Not Toni.”

“Why would she think you had a motive?”

“I told you. I was jealous of their friendship.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s all it was. From what I heard, Pete wasn’t able to . . .” Tricia wasn’t sure how to delicately express what she needed to say. “He . . .” Oh, hell. “He couldn’t get it up.”

Stark turned to eye her.

“To compensate,” she continued, “he made out like he was a dedicated skirt chaser. From what I understand, it was a condition he’d suffered for quite some time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I believe men and women can be friends without sexual intimacy.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, his expression skeptical.

“Take me, for instance. I’m striving to be friends with three men right now.”

“But you did once have a deeper relationship with each of them, right?”

Did Stark know all about Tricia’s love life since moving to Stoneham? Small town talk . . .

Tricia shrugged. “Okay, bad example. But isn’t it just possible that Toni and Pete had a purely platonic relationship?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Has she ever given you reason not to trust her?”

He didn’t look at her but shook his head.

“Do you two talk much?”

He shrugged.

“Are you interested in antiques?” she tried.

“No.” He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Well, it depends on your definition. Architectural salvage? Now that’s another subject.”

“Could that be common ground for you and Toni?”

Stark shrugged. “That would be pushing it.”

“How do you know? Seems to me that in your line of work you probably come across a lot of architectural elements that could be salvaged.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“Toni’s got a fledgling antiques business with empty booths. Couldn’t there be an opportunity to share an interest there?”

Stark said nothing, but he did look thoughtful.

They stared at the ugly façade of what had once been the prettiest storefront on Main Street.

“So,” Tricia said at last, “that kitchen reno you’re doing is going to take two weeks.”

“Thereabouts.”

Tricia nodded. “Where will you start here?”

“By having a Dumpster delivered. The charred and moldy books will be the first to go.”

“Oh, dear,” Tricia said, her heart breaking.

“Then we’ll pull everything back to the studs.”

Tricia raised a hand to stop him. “On second thought, maybe I don’t want to know.”

“It’s probably better you don’t. Once we get the new insulation installed and the drywall up, then you should start coming around. Otherwise, it’ll just upset you.”

She knew she was made of tougher stuff, but she just nodded.

Stark misunderstood her silence. “I didn’t do you wrong the first time we did this. You’ll be just as pleased with Haven’t Got a Clue reborn.”

Tricia managed a smile. “Thank you.”

Stark nodded. “Well, I’m off to give someone else an estimate. This time, it’s an addition to a house on Pine Avenue.”

“I’m glad you stopped by. I’m looking forward to working with you again.”

“So am I,” Stark said. He offered his hand and Tricia shook it. She’d always liked the contractor, and she now believed that he had nothing to do with Pete Renquist’s death.

Although the list of suspects was one man fewer, Tricia still wasn’t sure who had killed Pete. She’d have to stay on guard . . . as would all of Stoneham’s citizens.

•   •   •

Tricia resumed her course for the Chamber office and, once inside, was surprised to hear a radio playing in the office. She was sure all had been quiet when she’d left. She tiptoed toward the office and found Mariana at her desk.

“What are you doing here on a weekend?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

Mariana started. “Heavens, you scared me half to death.”

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

“I could use a little overtime, and Angelica said it would be all right for me to finish up work on the mailers. It was kind of a last-minute thing,” she said, sounding apologetic.

“Oh. Okay. I guess I’m a little jumpy today. I’m just going up to change and then I’ve got to go back out again.”

“That’s okay. Just do what you usually do on weekends.”

Tricia nodded and headed upstairs where she changed into a long-sleeved shirt. Afterward, she went out to the garage to scrounge up the pair of gardening gloves she kept for when she trimmed the roses out back. She thought about calling Grant Baker to report what Fra

Of course, she hadn’t been all that surprised when Fra

She stuffed a large clean trash bag into the pocket of her slacks and started off again.

It wasn’t far from the Chamber office to the business in question, and since it wasn’t yet ten o’clock, Stoneham’s main street was still pretty much deserted. Most of the businesses didn’t open until at least ten, and where she was headed wouldn’t open at all that day, since its perso

As she approached the neat white building, Tricia decided there was no need for stealth and turned in its driveway, heading for the back of the building. As expected, a midsized rusty Dumpster sat behind the place. She approached it and wondered if she should be wearing a mask when she rummaged through its contents, not because she feared the smell, but she wasn’t sure what kind of chemical and poison containers might have been tossed there.

She opened the Dumpster’s hatch and peered inside. As she feared, there were a number of large black plastic bags. This particular waste company was the same one that the Chamber used and made their pickups along Main Street on Monday, which was why she’d decided to check out the container before it was emptied in two days.

Tricia grabbed the first bag and squeezed its contents. No soft fabric, no plastic-covered metal stems. She had no desire to open any other bags unless absolutely necessary. On the fifth bag, she hit pay dirt. Smiling, she pulled at the plastic until it broke open, and out spilled a variety of colorful silk blooms. But before she could enjoy her triumph, a car roared into the parking lot. A Stoneham police cruiser.

Suddenly the back door of the building burst open and a man came ru

“Whose trash?” Tricia demanded.

The officer got out of the patrol car. It was Hanson, the same officer who had been on duty the night Michele had been attacked. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

“Arrest him!” Tricia called.

“Arrest her!” Earl Winkler demanded.

Hanson held out a placating hand. “Not until somebody tells me what’s going on.”

“I told the dispatcher—this woman is trespassing and stealing my trash.”

“And this man,” Tricia said, whirling and pointing at Earl, “vandalized all the hanging baskets on Main Street and in the park—not once, but twice. First by snipping off all the live blooms, and then removing all the silk flowers that were put in the baskets in an effort to make them pretty once again.” She held up the bag of flowers as proof.

Hanson turned to Earl. “What do you have to say?”

“Why would I want to vandalize the flowers along Main Street?”

“Because he hates the merchants for bringing change to Stoneham,” Tricia answered for him.

Hanson said nothing, but he pi

“Someone must have planted that bag in my Dumpster,” Earl said defensively.

“Oh, yeah?” Tricia challenged. “We could also dust the contents for fingerprints.”