EIGHTEEN
Considering how boring the day had been,
Tricia was looking forward to a quiet evening with a glass of wine,
a good book, and Miss Marple’s company. But as she went to turn the
deadbolt on the shop door, she heard the muffled roar of an engine
zooming up Main Street, the screech of brakes, and a scream. She
yanked at the lock and wrenched the door open in time to see the
taillights of the car heading north and what looked like a pile of
clothes and a stroller on the sidewalk. A child screamed, and
Tricia recognized the stroller. Could the pile of clothes
be—?
“Elizabeth!” she nearly screamed, and ran toward
the huddled mass on the sidewalk. She ran up the sidewalk, as other
shop doors along the street also began to pop open.
“What happened?” Frannie called.
“Call 9-1-1!” Tricia hollered as she approached
Elizabeth, who wasn’t moving. She crouched beside her, noting her
scraped cheek where her face had done more than just kiss the
sidewalk. Davey continued to scream, but the stroller looked intact
and he didn’t appear to be hurt—just terrified.
“Elizabeth?” Tricia called, afraid there would be
no answer. She was still breathing, which was a hopeful sign, and
there was no sign of blood. Still, she could be badly hurt with
internal injuries. Tricia decided not to touch her—just in
case.
“Is she alive?” Tricia looked up into Nikki’s
worried face.
“So far. What’s taking the rescue squad so long to
get here? They’re only up the street.”
True to her words, she heard the sound of a siren
and looked up to see the fire truck approach. It rolled to a halt,
and in seconds the EMTs spilled from the cab.
“What happened?” one of them asked, crouching down
to touch Elizabeth’s neck, checking for a pulse.
“I heard the roar of a car, a squeal of brakes, and
a scream.”
“Did you see the car’s make?” the second EMT asked.
Tricia shook her head. “It all happened so fast—I’m not even sure I
could tell you the color.” She stood, backing away to allow the men
to do their work.
“Do you think she’s going to—” Frannie didn’t seem
able to finish the sentence.
“Did someone deliberately try to run Elizabeth
down?” Nikki asked.
“Hey, what happened?” Russ called from across the
street, as he emerged from the Stoneham Weekly News with his
Nikon slung around his neck. With no traffic in sight, he bounded
across the road without even looking to the left or right. He
stepped onto the curb and exchanged a worried glance with Nikki.
For a moment, Tricia thought they might grab one another, kiss
passionately, and then cling to each other, but then they both
looked down at Elizabeth with concern. Russ showed great restraint
by not photographing her at her worst.
Soon Elizabeth began to stir. Her first thoughts
were of Davey, still strapped in his stroller. He’d ceased crying
and now whimpered, arms outstretched, trying to reach his
nana.
“Davey, Davey,” Elizabeth called, which seemed to
upset the boy even more.
“He’s okay,” the EMT assured her. “But you’re going
to the hospital to get checked out.”
“Who’ll take care of Davey?” Elizabeth wailed, her
eyes wild with fright. “I’m all he’s got!”
“We’ll find someone,” the second EMT said as he
fastened a cervical collar around her neck.
Elizabeth’s gaze roamed all the faces towering
above her and finally focused on Tricia. “Tricia, you were
Deborah’s best friend here in Stoneham. Will you take care of Davey
for me?”
“I . . . I . . .” was all she could get out as the
EMTs rolled Elizabeth onto a backboard. She howled in pain.
The EMTs soon transferred her to a gurney and
hustled her to the back of their ambulance.
“That poor woman,” Nikki murmured. “First she lost
her daughter, then the shop, and now this.”
Someone—Russ?—pushed the stroller in front of
Tricia. No one else seemed interested in taking charge of the
toddler, and already the sidewalk seemed to be clearing. Tricia
looked down at the whining child, wondering what she’d do with him.
Had he had dinner? Was he potty-trained? The paramedics had grabbed
Elizabeth’s purse, but there didn’t seem to be a diaper bag
anywhere in sight. What had Elizabeth been doing walking down Main
Street after business hours? Nothing was open. Shouldn’t she have
been at home getting Davey ready for bed?
Tricia glanced around and saw that Angelica had
emerged from the Cookery and was conversing with Frannie, who
nodded and stepped back inside. Angelica advanced on Tricia, who
felt rather shell-shocked. What on earth was she supposed to do
with a not-quite-two-year-old boy?
“Why would Elizabeth pick you to take care of the
kid?” Angelica asked. “You never even earned your Girl Scout child
care badge. Have you ever babysat in your entire life?”
“No,” Tricia said, desperate to keep from
panicking.
If nothing else, Angelica was quick on her feet.
“Didn’t Deborah have a playpen for Davey over at the Happy
Domestic? Maybe it’ll still be there.”
Ginny had not been drawn to the accident scene.
Could she still be at the store?
As the ambulance pulled away from the curb, Tricia
pushed the stroller across the street, with Angelica following
behind. They paused outside the darkened storefront. Still, they
could see a light burning in the back of the shop.
Angelica pounded on the door.
“Maybe Ginny went home and just forgot to turn off
the lights,” Tricia said.
Angelica kept hammering on the door until Tricia
was sure she’d rattle the glass loose.
“Stop, stop! You’ll break something,” Tricia said,
but instead a silhouette appeared in the doorway that led to the
store’s back room. It paused for what seemed a long time before
darting forward.
Ginny fumbled to open the door. “We’re
closed!”
“We’re not here to shop,” Angelica said, and barged
in, holding the door open for Tricia to come inside. “Is there
still a playpen or crib in the back room?”
“Yes, but—” Ginny protested, but Angelica was like
a steamroller and barreled forward, and Tricia followed without
protest.
Angelica had a better memory than Tricia. The back
room contained not only a small, colorful rectangular mesh and
plastic playpen that could double as a crib, but a changing table,
toy box, and a large package of disposable diapers—everything
needed to take care of Davey for the next few hours until they
could figure out something else.
“You can’t be here,” Ginny protested. “I’ve got
tons of work to do and no time to mess around with a baby.” She
seemed to shake herself. “And what are you doing with Davey Black,
anyway?”
“Elizabeth was hit by a car a few minutes ago.
They’ve taken her to St. Joseph Hospital to get checked out. She
wanted me—of all people—to take care of Davey.”
“Whoa, she must have been desperate,” Ginny
blurted, and then seemed to realize she’d just insulted her boss.
Oops—former boss, Tricia reminded herself.
“What else are we going to do with him?” Angelica
asked. “We’re not prepared to take care of a small child.
Everything we need is here.”
Davey seemed to sense the tension building and
started to cry once again. Ginny, too, appeared on the verge of
tears.
“It’ll only be for a couple of hours,” Tricia
said.
“You hope,” Angelica said, and Tricia felt like
kicking her.
Tricia bent down to extricate Davey from the belt
that held him in place. As she picked him up, she caught an
unpleasant odor wafting from his nether regions. The poor kid must
have literally had the crap scared out of him during this whole
ordeal. She carried him over to the playpen and set him down.
“Anyone know how to change a baby?”
“How hard can it be?” Angelica said.
“What am I going to tell Antonio?” Ginny
insisted.
“Tell him you’re being a good neighbor,” Angelica
said, and turned to Tricia. “Have you got David’s phone number? The
kid is his—he ought to be the one taking care of him.”
Tricia winced. “Technically—David isn’t Davey’s
father. Biologically, that is. He’s more or less dumped the boy on
Elizabeth.”
“You’re kidding,” Ginny said, aghast.
Angelica threw her hands into the air. “Another man
who can’t—or won’t—take care of his responsibilities.”
“That’s the thing—Deborah cheated on him and passed
Davey off as David’s son. That’s one of the reasons they hit a snag
in their marriage.”
“This is all very interesting,” Ginny said, “but I
need to get some work done. I’m not terribly confident as it is,
and all the distractions—”
Angelica turned to face her. “Why don’t you show me
what’s got you bogged down? Maybe I can help. I do successfully run
two businesses,” she bragged.
Ginny brightened. “That would be great.”
“Why don’t we take the books out front and spread
them over the cash desk. We’ll give Davey some privacy while Tricia
changes him.”
“Thanks a lot,” Tricia groused.
Angelica hustled Ginny, along with the pile of
papers she’d been working on, into the shop, leaving Tricia with
Davey. The boy screwed up face as he plucked at the seat of his
rompers.
Tricia swallowed and held out her hands to pick the
boy up. “Come to Tricia,” she said in what she hoped was a cheerful
voice, “and I’ll tell you about the Ten Little
Indians—Agatha Christie–style.”
The pizza had a chewy crust, double cheese,
pepperoni, and onions. Angelica did the ordering, of course. She
did consult Tricia and Ginny first but ordered what she wanted,
anyway. It was tasty, so Tricia didn’t see the need to complain.
Aloud.
“Is that child asleep yet?” Angelica asked, wiping
her mouth with a paper napkin.
Tricia stood between the door to the back room and
the Happy Domestic’s showroom. “Finally,” she said, and tiptoed
back to the chair she’d occupied just moments before. “It’s a good
thing I never had kids—I don’t think I’m cut out for motherhood.
Has there ever been a more important and yet less appreciated
job?”
“Not in my experience,” Angelica said.
Ginny didn’t comment. With a pizza slice in one
hand, she had her nose buried in the pile of spreadsheets in front
of her. “If we can’t figure out the passwords in the computer, it’s
going to take a long time to duplicate these data,” she said with a
worried frown.
“But at least you have an idea of what you’re in
for now,” Angelica said cheerfully.
Ginny nodded. “Thanks to you. I don’t think I
would’ve been able to puzzle all this out.”
“Call the local geek squad tomorrow, and I’m sure
you’ll be fine,” Angelica said. She closed the lid on the pizza
box. “Why don’t you take it home, Ginny? I’m sure you’ll make
better use of this than Tricia or I would.”
“Thanks. If I have a lot of late nights here at the
store, my stove will probably sport cobwebs.”
A banging on the door caused the three women to
look up. Backlit by the picturesque gas lamps stood Elizabeth
Crane. “Good grief,” Tricia called, and hurried to open the door.
“Elizabeth, come in, come in. We were so worried about you. Are you
okay?”
Elizabeth stood rooted on the rush welcome mat.
“I’ve been better,” she said testily. “You might have at least put
a note on your shop door to tell me where you’d be. I’ve been
calling all over town trying to track you down. And after what I’ve
been through tonight . . .”
“I’m sorry. It didn’t occur to me to—”
Elizabeth cut her off. “I’ve come for my grandson.
Will you please get him?”
Angelica stepped closer. “Are you all right,
Elizabeth?”
“I’m fine.” Could she have been more curt? But
then, except for the brush burn on her cheek, she did indeed seem
fine.
“Elizabeth, come in,” Ginny said, coming up from
behind.
“No, thank you,” Elizabeth said more sternly. “I
never want to set foot in this store again. Now will you please get
my grandson, or do I have to call the Sheriff’s Department?”
“I’ll get him,” Ginny said, and flew for the back
room.
“Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” Tricia asked. “How did
you get back to Stoneham? Can one of us drive you home?”
“I don’t need any of your help. You’ve done
enough. You’re all in this together, along with David. Conspiring
against me, taking Deborah’s store from me.”
Had her brain been addled when the car hit
her?
“Elizabeth,” Tricia said, hurt.
“Tricia,” Angelica said, in nearly the same tone as
Elizabeth.
Before another word could be said, Ginny arrived
with a sleeping Davey strapped in his stroller. Tricia and Angelica
stepped aside so she could steer the stroller through the door. “He
didn’t even wake up,” she said.
Elizabeth snatched the handles from her, jostling
the boy, who awoke with a start and began to cry. She bent down and
smoothed his sleep-tousled hair, which had the desired effect, and
he settled down again. She looked up. “I’ll send someone over to
collect Davey’s toys, the playpen, and changing table, or did David
sell them along with the rest of the inventory?”
Ginny shook her head.
“Really, Elizabeth,” Angelica chided, “there’s no
need to be so nasty to us. If you want to be angry with David, be
my guest. The man’s a jerk. But we’ve tried to be your
friends.”
“Shut up,” Elizabeth said, grabbed the stroller’s
handles, and started up the street.
Angelica blinked. It was rare that she didn’t get
the last word.
Tricia stepped forward and shut the door. The three
women looked at one another and then turned back to the cash desk.
“I’d say that put a damper on the evening,” Tricia said.
Ginny straightened the papers, while Angelica
searched for and found her purse on the floor.
“Did it feel like you’ve just been kicked in the
teeth?” Angelica asked.
“Perhaps gratitude isn’t in Elizabeth’s lexicon,”
Ginny grumbled.
“Never mind,” Tricia said. “She suffered a trauma,
what with nearly getting killed earlier this evening. She’ll
probably get over it in a couple of days and come back and
apologize.”
“Or maybe with Deborah gone, Elizabeth will take
Davey and move out of Stoneham. We can but hope,” Angelica
said.
“She does have other children,” Ginny said, pausing
to turn out the lights.
“But as far as I could tell, Deborah was her
favorite. Will they want to take in their mother, when she let
everyone know Deborah had the top spot in her heart?” Tricia
asked.
“Who says she has to live with them?” Angelica
pointed out.
“Very true,” Tricia agreed.
Ginny closed and locked the door.
“We’ll walk you to your car, Ginny,” Tricia
said.
“That won’t be necessary. Stoneham is completely
safe.”
“How soon you forget. Let’s see, who was murdered
in the past couple of years?” Angelica asked. “The Cookery’s former
owner; that hot-shot New York Times bestselling author;
Tricia’s ex-roommate; Jim Roth—”
“And Deborah,” Tricia put in.
“Okay, walk me to my car,” Ginny said,
surrendering. She and Angelica walked side by side up the sidewalk,
with Tricia following. “Angelica, I don’t mean to be a pain, but
would you please explain again how you figured out that equation on
the spreadsheet?”
“It’s easy, really,” she began, but Tricia tuned
her out. It was Elizabeth and her spiteful attitude that whirled
through her thoughts. Was she just rattled by her experience that
evening, or was she serious about blaming them, along with David,
for all of her problems? Either way, it left Tricia feeling
troubled.
The entire situation left her feeling troubled.
Angelica had the right attitude. Move on. She’d said it about
Christopher, too.
It was often hard to take good advice, especially
when it ran up against everything you believed. But for now, Tricia
decided that Angelica was probably right on all accounts. She’d
just never give her the satisfaction of saying so.