“It was all those after-school piano lessons, dance classes, and everything we were involved in that kept us from the dinner table.”

“That and the fact that Daddy didn’t get home until after eight most nights.”

“When you own a business, you stay until the work is done.”

“You didn’t tonight.”

“I did,” Angelica insisted. “But since the Cookery hadn’t had a customer in well over an hour, I let Frannie go early and came up here to cook. I always feel better with a wooden spoon in my hand,” she said, and with said wooden spoon stirred the soup then took a tentative taste. “Needs more pepper.” She grabbed the grinder from the top of the stove and gave it several good twists. “What did you think of Karen Johnson?”

“I like her. I have a feeling she’s going to be good for Stoneham.”

“Me, too,” Angelica agreed. “And isn’t it nice that so many women are stepping up to make this little village a destination point?”

“Stoneham, New Hampshire’s home for entrepreneurial women,” Tricia said.

Angelica tipped her glass in Tricia’s direction. “I’ll drink to that.”

They did. But then Tricia stared mournfully at the condensation on the side of her wineglass. “I couldn’t help but think about Betsy as I came up the stairs.”

“She’s been on my mind a lot today, too,” Angelica said. “Her death has put all Chamber business on hold. It’s very inconvenient. I suppose I’ll have to process Karen’s membership myself.”

“It’s not like Betsy asked to get killed,” Tricia said.

“I don’t know. She must have really pissed someone off—which apparently wasn’t all that difficult,” Angelica said, tested the soup again, and found it more to her liking.

“It’s too bad Grant confiscated the Chamber’s computer. It would have been nice to see if Betsy had anything to hide. I don’t suppose she saved her work to an online storage site.”

“We talked about procuring one, but I don’t think Betsy took it upon herself to do anything without explicit instructions from either Bob or me. But it doesn’t really matter.”

“Why?”

“Because I have nearly the entire hard drive saved on flash drives—just in case.”

Tricia’s eyes widened with delight. “Are you kidding?”

“Why would I?”

“When did you last back up the files?”

“About a week ago, thank goodness. The police took the computer. Without those files, I wouldn’t be able to run the Chamber.”

“I don’t suppose Grant would have taken it if he didn’t think he might find something incriminating.”

“I suppose,” Angelica said and took a sip of wine.

“Aren’t you curious to see if there’s something there that could’ve gotten Betsy killed?”

“I guess,” Angelica admitted.

“Then what are we waiting for? Boot up your computer and let’s have a look.”

*   *   *

Tricia’s delight soon turned to irritation as she and Angelica slogged through the Chamber’s computer files, taking only a few minutes’ break to eat their soup before starting in on the task once again. Spreadsheets kept track of the Chamber’s income and expenditures, including those members who paid their dues on time and those continually in arrears. Some spreadsheets had multiple worksheets, and they had to check them all, too, which made the task even more labor-intensive.

Angelica got up from her seat, taking their empty wineglasses with her, with Sarge trailing behind her. Tricia took the opportunity to slip into her seat, and scrolled through the flash drive’s contents. Angelica returned a few minutes later with their refilled glasses and a plate piled high with buttered baguette slices.

Tricia grabbed one, nibbling on it while manipulating the mouse with her other hand, and tried not to look down at Sarge, whose eyes watched her every move, no doubt hoping she’d drop a piece of bread into his waiting mouth.

Angelica pointed to a list of names in the documents file. “Click on that one.”

Tricia clicked on the document titled MEMBER REPORT. The first page contained a list of the Chamber members’ names in alphabetical order. Each had been bookmarked so that clicking on a name caused the cursor to jump deeper into the document to a corresponding paragraph.

“Looks like it lists the entire Chamber membership. Click on the link for my name. Let’s see what it says,” Angelica said.

Tricia clicked on her sister’s name and began to read. “Angelica Miles Samuels Collins Beck Prescott Miles—whew! That’s a mouthful. Born—”

“Skip that part,” Angelica instructed.

“—went to school at . . . blah blah blah. Graduated from Dartmouth. Yada yada yada. Joined the Chamber of Commerce over two years ago. Owns the Cookery, Booked for Lunch, and has a share in the Sheer Comfort Inn.”

“So far no dirt,” Angelica said with relief.

“Oh, yeah? Listen to this: Ms. Miles is a selfish, opinionated bitch with an interfering nature. She’s been known to break and enter—Hey, this is the exact date we snuck into Grace Harris’s house and found the evidence against that rotten no-good bastard who had her committed to a nursing home.” Tricia looked over at her sister. “Did you ever tell Bob about it?”

“Well, of course.”

“And he must have told Betsy—the date and all.”

“That rat,” Angelica practically growled. “Is there anything else in there?”

Tricia rolled the little wheel on the mouse, her gaze darting back and forth as she silently read the text. Angelica read along, too.

“Good lord—it even lists my panty size,” Angelica cried, appalled.

“Whoa, that’s a low blow,” Tricia agreed. “Let’s see what it says about me.” Tricia scrolled down to reveal her own name.

Angelica began to read. “It says you’re a—”

“Goody Two-shoes!” Tricia read.

“And a nosy one at that,” Angelica said.

“Nosy, bossy, condescending, smug. Did Betsy consult the thesaurus to write this?” Tricia asked, taking a healthy and rather sloppy sip of wine.

“No panty size,” Angelica commented dryly, pulling Tricia out of the chair and retaking command of the computer, “but it does say that you’re the village jinx and lists—wow—twelve separate incidents to back it up.”

“Let me see that,” Tricia said, grabbing the mouse from Angelica’s hand. Sure enough, the dates and details of every unfortunate incident had been recorded. What was Grant Baker going to think when he read it?

“Let’s check out some other names,” Angelica said, rescuing the mouse and scrolling back to the top of the list and clicking the mouse on Michele Fowler’s name. “Born and schooled in London, England. Her first marriage broke up when she found her husband in bed with her best friend. She took him to the cleaners and opened her first business, a tearoom in Brighton.”

“How did Betsy find out all this information?” Tricia asked.

“Michele is pretty much an open book. If she told anyone local that story, I’m sure it’s been repeated a number of times.”

“I never heard it.”

“It’s because you lead such a sheltered life,” Angelica said, and not for the first time. She read on. “Fowler lost that business to bankruptcy and married her second husband soon after. He owned a pub, which she helped run.”

“So that’s why Nigela Ricita Associates hired her.”

“We already knew she had restaurant experience. She told us she once managed Nemo’s in Portsmouth.”

“And ran an art gallery,” Tricia put in and took another piece of baguette. “She’s a woman of all trades.”

Angelica turned her attention back to the computer screen and continued to read. “Fowler is a woman of loose morals and most recently slept with David Black and Will Berry. Good grief. Betsy even had dates!”

“That’s rather catty of Betsy to name names,” Tricia commented.

“She named your former lovers, too, and speculated you’d remarry Christopher.”