A Fatal Chapter

Tricia and Russ edged away, yet remained close enough that they could hear the EMTs.

“He’s gone into cardiac arrest,” Da

“Oh, no,” Tricia said, feeling close to tears.

“Well, at least he started out alive,” Russ said.

“Hey, don’t count Pete out yet,” she grated, glaring at him.

Russ just shrugged.

They watched as the EMTs worked in a fluid motion to transfer Pete to the gurney and whisk him off to the ambulance. By then they noticed a bunch of rubberneckers that had gathered around the edges of the park and were watching the show. Poor Pete.

Less than a minute later, the ambulance took off with its siren wailing. Sarge began to wiggle in Tricia’s arms, and she set him down on the ground. The firemen packed up their gear, stowed it in their vehicle, and left the scene.

With the show now over, the gawkers began to drift away.

“That’s it,” Russ said. He cocked his head and addressed Tricia. “What were you doing in the park, anyway?”

She brandished Sarge’s leash. “What do you think?”

He shrugged, looking back to the road, then at his watch. “Looks like Pete and I won’t get to talk about that article after all. I sure hope the poor guy makes it.”

Heavy-hearted, Tricia looked toward the road, where the ambulance had receded from sight. “Yes. Me, too.”

TWO

Tricia returned Sarge to Angelica’s apartment, stopping long enough to say hello to the Cookery’s manager, Fra

Pixie and Mariana had just as many questions, and Tricia told them the bare minimum, too.

“Boy, you’ve sure got the knack for finding stiffs,” Pixie muttered, shaking her head.

“He wasn’t dead!” Tricia turned to Mariana, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Have we heard from Angelica yet?”

Mariana shook her head. “She said she wasn’t pla

“Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry. I guess I’m feeling a little rattled.” Tricia settled into the chair in front of her desk, trying to decide if she was able to muster the enthusiasm needed to attack the pile of phone messages waiting for her attention. She’d catch up with her sister later. Angelica often came back to the Chamber office during the evenings to catch up with paperwork or make calls, sometimes bringing a makeshift di

Tricia found it hard to concentrate during the rest of the afternoon. In her mind’s eye she saw poor Pete lying on the gazebo’s cold concrete floor, barely holding on to life. She wondered if she ought to call St. Joseph Hospital to check up on him, but would they have information on an emergency case who hadn’t actually been admitted?

Pixie had moved on from putting labels on envelopes to actually stuffing them. For the most part, she worked quietly while soft rock issued from the radio on Mariana’s desk. Occasionally Pixie would sing along off-key, which caused Mariana to start clearing her throat as though she were choking on a bone. Though physically separated by the space between their desks, for the rest of the afternoon Pixie seemed to hover over Tricia, looking worried—even if she never moved from her chair.

At one point, a shiver passed through Tricia, and she looked up and, as expected, found Pixie staring at her. “What?”

Pixie looked away. “Nothing, I was just . . . staring into space.”

A lie.

The Chamber was open until six o’clock, but Mariana only worked until five. At 4:59, she turned off her radio, grabbed her purse from the desk drawer, and rose. “I’ll see you ladies tomorrow,” she said, and headed for the door.

“Have a good evening,” Tricia called.

“One more hour and it’ll be our turn,” Pixie said, and moved on to sealing the envelopes with a wet-sponge dauber. Without the background noise of Mariana’s radio, the time seemed to drag. The battery-operated clock on the wall seemed to tick louder with the passing minutes, not unlike Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart. Tricia couldn’t seem to concentrate on any task she attempted, opening files only to glance at the screen and then close them once again.

Finally, Pixie glanced at the clock, which at last read 5:58. “Holy smoke, is that the time?” she said, and scooped all the envelopes into a box, replacing it under her desk.

“What’s the matter? Have you got a hot date?” Tricia asked, and was surprised when Pixie actually blushed.

“Well, actually . . . yeah. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Boy? At Pixie’s age? Hardly.

“Pixie!” Tricia called, feeling lighter than she had in hours. “When did this happen?”

“A couple of months ago. I didn’t want to say anything. I mean, knowing how your love life is in the toilet and all.”

In the toilet wasn’t exactly true. Flushed and long gone was a better description. But it had been a conscious decision on Tricia’s part. After losing her home and store, she didn’t want to rush into any kind of relationship. She occasionally had lunch with her ex-husband, Christopher, but she was fairly certain she’d finally convinced him that any future relationship with him was out of the question. And while Chief Baker still dropped by on a regular basis, she thought of him only with friendship in mind—which was pretty much all their relationship had been based on, anyway.

“Don’t be silly,” Tricia chided her. “I’m thrilled for you. What’s his name? What’s he like? Does he—” She stopped herself.

“Know about my past?” Pixie finished for her. She nodded. “Yup. That was a difficult conversation, and things were a little tense for a while, but they’re better now. In fact, they’re terrific.” She positively beamed. “His name is Fred Pillins—ain’t that a weird name?”

“Pillins? I must say I’ve never heard of it before. It’s unique,” Tricia said. “Are you guys . . . serious?”

“When you’re on the high side of fifty, everything had better be serious,” Pixie said.

“Are you thinking about—?”

“Getting married?” Pixiee shook her head. “But shacking up ain’t out of the question. It would sure save on rent and groceries and stuff. The way things are—I’m either at his place, or he’s at mine.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“At Booked for Lunch. He delivers the meat and cold cuts. We hit it off right away, and then one day he asked me out to di

“And you never said a word,” Tricia muttered.

“Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I’ll talk your ear off about him,” she said with a grin.

“I’d love to hear all about him,” Tricia said sincerely.

Pixie consulted her watch. “But not today. I’m off.” She withdrew her purse from the desk drawer and grabbed the garment bag with her waitressing clothes. Fingering a wave, she mimicked Angelica. “Tootles!”

“Have a nice evening,” Tricia called after her.

Once the door closed behind Pixie, Tricia arranged the yellow Post-it notes chronicling the chores she needed to accomplish the next day in a line on top of her desk in the order of their importance.

As she passed Pixie’s desk, she noticed a folded section of the morning newspaper on top. Tricia scooped it up, intending to toss it into the wastebasket, which she would empty before she closed the office for the day. She paused to look at it. Pixie had finished the crossword, but she’d only figured out three of the four scrambled words from the Jumble in the Union Leader. Tricia stared at the letters before her. U-G-E-H-N-R. She thought about it for a moment. H-U-N-G-E-R. That was easy enough. She thought about the lunch she’d never gotten around to eating. No wonder she felt so empty inside.