TWENTY-SEVEN
Champagne chilled in a silver bucket, but
Tricia felt like doing anything but celebrate. Still, she didn’t
think she’d succumb to tears, either. Ginny’s leaving was just
another sad passage in life. And it wasn’t like she’d never see her
onetime assistant again. Ginny would still live at the edge of town
in her little cottage. She’d be working right across the street,
and she might even show up at Chamber of Commerce meetings. But it
would never be the same at Haven’t Got a Clue. Life moved on, but
sometimes it seemed like Tricia was always being left behind. She
fingered the diamond stud in her left ear and thought about
Christopher.
Had it only been days since the terrible events at
the Tiny Tots Day Care? True, Brandy had not succumbed to her
injuries, and Grant Baker assured Tricia she would have a long time
to recover—in jail.
Worse yet, after Brandy revealed David Black’s
betrayal, a deputy had gone to Deborah’s and David’s home to find
that Brandy had taken out her revenge on David, too. He would live.
No doubt nursed back to health by Michele Fowler . . . until one or
the other tired of the obligation.
The shop door opened, but before Tricia could tell
the person behind it that the store was closed, in barreled Antonio
Barbero with a large cardboard box. “Can you help, per
favore?” he called.
Tricia reluctantly went to the door to hold it
open, and was surprised to find three more people behind Antonio,
all carrying what looked like rental equipment: tables, folding
chairs, and a large coffee urn. “What’s all this?”
“I hope you don’t mind my arranging for some food
and drink for your guests.”
“Where do you want the table set up?” asked one of
the men in white chef togs.
“Is this all stuff from the Brookview Inn?” Tricia
asked.
Antonio nodded. “Set up along that wall,” he told
his minions. “There will be somewhere to plug in the coffee urn,
will there not?” he asked Tricia.
“Yes,” she answered, overwhelmed and a little
annoyed that Antonio was hijacking her farewell party for Ginny.
“You really didn’t have to do this. I ordered—”
“Sweets for my sweet,” Antonio said, directing the
rest of his workers on where to set up other equipment. “I spoke to
Nikki at the Patisserie. We coordinated the entire menu.”
“Menu?” Tricia asked, aghast.
“But you must have hot hors d’oeuvres. Nothing is
too good for Ginny,” Antonio said, deadly serious.
Tricia could hardly complain because—he was right.
But who was going to eat all the food his workers had
brought?
As if reading her mind, Antonio reached into the
breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a linen envelope. Tricia
lifted the flap and withdrew an engraved invitation.
Ms. Tricia Miles requests the honor of your
presence . . .
Good grief, it sounded more like a wedding
invitation than an after-hours farewell party.
She skimmed the rest of the note. “How many of
these did you send out?”
“Only thirty or forty.”
“Thirty or forty?” Tricia squealed. How would they
ever fit thirty or forty bodies into Haven’t Got a Clue?
Russ Smith walked through the still-open door. He
hadn’t been on Tricia’s invitation list, but as though anticipating
her intention of throwing him out, he brandished his invitation.
“And where’s the girl of the hour?” he asked with a grin.
“Girl,” Tricia grated, wondering what she had ever
seen in this Neanderthal of a man.
“Why, Ginny, of course.”
“She should be here any—” Before she could utter
the word moment, Ginny entered Haven’t Got a Clue. She took
one look around the room and her lips trembled. “Oh, Tricia, you
didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”
Tricia threw a sour look at Antonio. “Well,
I—”
“You have had the most wonderful employer. It is so
sad you must leave this most welcoming place,” Antonio said, his
teeth nearly gleaming. Had he just had them whitened? “But, I’m
sure Tricia cannot blame me for stealing you away from her. You are
already marvelous as the manager for the Happy Domestic. Do you not
agree?” he said, with a pointed look at Tricia.
She forced a smile. “Of course.” She turned a more
genuine expression on her now-former employee. “I can’t take all
the credit for—” She gestured toward the table now laden with food.
“It was—”
“The work of all your friends,” Antonio
supplied.
Ginny covered her mouth with her left hand, her
eyes swimming with tears. She seemed about to speak, but before she
could, the bell over the door jingled, and Angelica stepped over
the threshold, carrying a large wrapped gift, with one of her
gigantic purses slung over her left shoulder.
“Well, doesn’t it look nice in here,” she said with
an admiring smile at the food and the drink. “Tricia, I thought you
said this was going to be a simple affair.”
“Well, I—” But before she could elaborate, Nikki
Brim-field from the Patisserie swooped in with a large tray piled
high with cookies covered in plastic wrap.
“Happy new job, Ginny,” she called. She looked
fantastic in a tight black dress and heels, with her upswept hair
pinned firm with a ruby-studded clip. She set the tray on the empty
end of the long serving table and uncovered the cookies, before she
doubled back and gave Ginny a warm hug. “Congratulations. This is a
wonderful opportunity for you. I started out managing the
Patisserie and now I own it. Maybe you’ll have the same
luck.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ginny said shyly, but she
seemed to like the notion just the same.
The bell over the door rang again, and this time it
was Mr. Everett and his bride, Grace, who entered.
“Congratulations, Ginny,” Grace called, and hurried over to plant a
grandmotherly kiss on Ginny’s cheek, leaving the faintest imprint
of red lipstick.
“Thank you, Grace. I’m already overwhelmed. I just
hope I can live up to Antonio’s expectations. And . . . Ms.
Racita’s, too, of course.”
Mr. Everett held out his hands, taking both of
Ginny’s. “Miss Marple and I shall miss your sunny smile,” he said,
and this time it was Ginny who kissed him.
Mr. Everett actually blushed.
“I love your moustache,” Ginny said. “What made you
decide to go with the Poirot look instead of Selleck’s?”
Mr. Everett cleared his throat. “It was Grace’s
request.”
“And isn’t he cute?” she gushed. “I had to order
the moustache wax online.”
“I think it looks very dignified,” Tricia said, and
Mr. Everett’s blush deepened.
Grace turned a fascinated gaze on Antonio. “When do
we get to meet this woman of mystery who’s been buying up so much
of Stoneham?”
Tricia trained her gaze on Antonio. This was a
question she’d been dying to ask herself.
He shrugged. “Ms. Racita is so very busy. But I
think she will have to come to Stoneham soon to see all that she
has acquired. It would be in her best interests, I think.”
Yes, Tricia thought. It would. But
before she could voice that thought, the door opened again, and
this time it was Bob Kelly. He held a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of
red carnations—trust Bob not to spring for roses—but they were
cheerful and he ignored the others and made a beeline for Ginny,
handing her the flowers and lunging forward to plant a kiss on her
cheek.
“Thank you, Bob,” she said, with just a bit of a
strain in her voice.
Angelica leveled a glare at Bob, who was standing
much too close to Ginny, whose discomfort was quite evident. “Whoa,
boy. Rein yourself in,” Angelica ordered.
Bob turned, looking sheepish, and stepped back.
“Hello, honey bun.”
Hadn’t he yet noticed that Angelica hated that
particular term of endearment?
Angelica gazed at Ginny fondly. “You’re almost like
a part of the family. I’m sorry you’re leaving Haven’t Got a Clue,
but I’m so proud of you for taking the next step in your career.”
She leaned in and gave Ginny an air kiss, then pulled back and
smiled. She proffered her gift. “For your new home.”
Ginny opened her mouth to protest—she’d had her
home for over a year. But she accepted the gift and set it on the
beverage counter. “Thank you, Angelica. I hardly know what to
say.”
“Open it,” Angelica encouraged.
With the delight of a child at Christmas, Ginny
ripped the paper and discarded the ribbon, lifting the lid on a
beautifully crafted box, covered in gray silk organza, that looked
more like a throw pillow. Ginny’s mouth dropped as she first gazed
inside the box and then reached for the gift inside.
“Oh, Angelica, it’s beautiful. Where did you get
it?” she asked, lifting the beautiful bronze sculpture of a
horse—one Tricia recognized as having been for sale at Foxleigh
Gallery.
“Just something I picked up on my travels,” she
said. Tricia had seen the price tag. It wasn’t a Kmart blue-light
special, by any means. She hadn’t realized Angelica was that fond
of Ginny.
“I’m overwhelmed by the kindness you’ve all shown
me,” Ginny said, as the door opened, and Cheryl Griffin stuck her
head inside. “Oh, wow. Is this a party?”
Tricia hurried to the door. “Yes, but I’m afraid
it’s a private party.”
“Oh, no sweat. I wanted to tell you that I can’t
take the job here at your store. I’ve got a job at the Clothes
Closet, and they’re going to help me with my legal problems,
too.”
“Congratulations,” Tricia said, and tried to edge
Cheryl out of the doorway, but then Cheryl caught sight of Grace.
“Hey, there’s Mrs. Everett. She’s my friend.” Cheryl pushed past
Tricia, who shook her head and made to close the door, only to find
Frannie, Julia Overline, Chauncey Porter, Mary Fairchild, and a
bunch of the other Main Street booksellers approaching the store.
Captain Baker was at the end of the line.
“Ah, here’s the man of the hour,” Bob announced
once everyone had entered. “Or should I say, the new year?” he
added with a laugh. “Congratulations, Captain, on being named
Stoneham’s new police chief.”
Tricia whirled on Baker. “You didn’t tell me you’d
been offered the job as Stoneham’s police chief,” Tricia said,
feeling hurt.
“I had to wait until the Board of Selectmen made a
public statement—which was earlier today. Besides . . . you never
asked where my new job would take me.”
“Isn’t this exciting! Our own police force,”
Frannie said, with delight. “How big a force will there be?”
“Just six officers to start. We’ll see how that
goes.”
“This is all very nice,” Antonio said, “but this is
Ginny’s celebration. Captain Baker—may I be so bold as to suggest
you hold your own party—somewhere else.”
Baker opened his mouth to protest, but it was
Angelica who stepped in to defend him. “Antonio, it was Bob who
brought up the subject,” she said, leveling a hard gaze at the
Chamber chief.
“Sorry,” Bob apologized.
From the vicinity of the floor came a low growl.
Tricia looked around but saw Miss Marple on her perch behind the
register. She wasn’t good in crowds.
“What’s that noise?” Bob asked, and bent
down.
The growl grew louder, and then a white blur
emerged from Angelica’s purse, and soon attached itself to Bob’s
trouser leg.
“Sarge!” Tricia called, making a lunge for the tiny
white dog. And though Sarge wasn’t a terrier, he was tenacious. It
took both Angelica and Tricia to pull the feisty bichon frise away
from Bob. Angelica held him to her cheek, and the dog immediately
calmed. “Be still, my little sweetheart, I won’t let that big bad
man hurt you.”
Bob looked anything but a big bad man. He’d
paled, shocked by the sudden attack.
“What are you doing with Sarge? The receptionist at
the animal hospital told me that the woman who adopted him was well
known to the dog.”
“I had a dream that Sarge was my little Pom-Pom
reincarnated. I could hardly let him be given to just anyone,” she
explained fervently.
Sarge licked her chin and made mewling noises
reminiscent of a kitten. Ginny, Grace and Mr. Everett, and Frannie
were suddenly clustered around Angelica, each of them hesitantly
petting the dog, who seemed to lap up the attention.
“Have you thought this through? You lead a busy
life. You can’t bring a dog into Booked for Lunch. And before you
know it, you’ll be back on the road to promote your next
cookbook.”
“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud. This dog
needs me.” She kissed the top of Sarge’s head. “And I need
him.”
Tricia glanced back at Miss Marple, who seemed
quite annoyed.
Still holding Sarge in the crook of her arm,
Angelica nudged Frannie to pick up the tray filled with punch cups.
Tricia took one. “Tricia, I think it’s time for you to propose a
toast.” Angelica grabbed one of the glasses.
Tricia smiled, holding her cup aloft. “To Ginny.
May this new step be the start of a wonderful career.”
“Hear, hear,” chorused the rest of the
gathering.
“I have something else to announce,” Ginny said,
and Antonio beamed at her. She brandished the ring finger on her
left hand, and on it was a gorgeous full-carat diamond solitaire.
“Antonio and I are engaged.”
“This really is a celebration!” Frannie squealed
with delight, and rushed forward to give the bride-to-be a hug,
nearly spilling her champagne punch.
Tricia stepped back and let the others surround
Ginny to give their hearty congratulations. Some part of her felt
wistful as she remembered announcing her own engagement to
Christopher and the whirlwind of parties and arrangements that
occurred afterward. It had been the best time of her life. That
idea disturbed her now. Surely the life she had was one to be
envied, and yet the thought that her best days might already be
behind her . . .
Captain Baker stepped close and whispered in her
ear. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“Not a good bargain,” she said, grateful she’d
managed to keep her voice steady.
“We’ve both got new adventures ahead of us. You’ll
soon have a new employee to train, and I’ll soon have a whole new
life. I hope you’ll be a big part of that life.” He raised his
glass, looking hopeful.
Tricia raised hers to clink against his.
Then again, who said the future didn’t offer
pleasures yet to come?