“Can I help you?” the woman called. She wore a heavy sweater over dark slacks, and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold.

Tricia wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Before she could open her mouth, the woman called out again, “Mrs. Dittmeyer died late last week, you know.”

Tricia closed her window, grabbed her keys, and got out of the car. “So I heard.” She walked a few steps up the drive until she was facing the woman.

“Are you a friend?”

“I thought so. Now . . . I’m not so sure,” Tricia said.

“It’s freezing out here. Would you like to come in and talk?”

“Yes,” Tricia said, a bit startled by the invitation. She quickly walked down Betsy’s drive and hurried up the neighbor’s front walk. She was ushered inside the neat home’s small foyer, and the woman closed the door.

“I’m Margaret Westbrook. I was Mrs. Dittmeyer’s neighbor for over twelve years.”

“I’m Tricia Miles. I own the mystery bookstore in Stoneham. Betsy worked as the receptionist for the Chamber of Commerce there. My sister is the president.”

Margaret nodded. “Her death shocked the whole neighborhood. Although I must say she wasn’t the most friendly person to live next to. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think the old—” She caught herself, and Tricia wondered what uncomplimentary descriptor Margaret had been about to utter. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t think Mrs. Dittmeyer had any friends,” Margaret finished.

“Perhaps acquaintance would be a better descriptor,” Tricia agreed.

“I heard she worked in one of the outlying towns. I must admit we were hoping she’d move there.”

“Oh?”

“Since her husband moved out, Mrs. Dittmeyer hasn’t been diligent about trash removal. We’ve all had a devil of a time with mice. The exterminators come at least once a month to keep our traps filled with bait, otherwise we’d be overrun with them.” Tricia remembered the dead mouse she’d seen while in Betsy’s house, and shuddered. “I hope whoever takes care of her estate will get the place cleaned out before summer and we’re beset by flies again, too.”

“She really wasn’t a good neighbor,” Tricia said and, as expected, Margaret nodded.

“She made Pete and Donna Anderson tear down their fence three years ago because it was inches over her property line. She could have just signed a paper saying she knew it was on her property and didn’t dispute it, but instead she threatened them with a lawsuit and made them tear it down. It cost them a couple of thousand dollars to make things right.”

“I take it you weren’t on friendly enough terms to call each other by first names.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Margaret said ruefully. “Her husband, Jerry, would at least acknowledge us if we were out in the yard, but Mrs. Dittmeyer would pretend she hadn’t seen us when she’d get out of her car or come out to get her mail.”

So far, Tricia had learned nothing more about Betsy than she knew when she’d first driven up. Did Margaret really know anything about the woman, or was she just a lonely person who wanted someone to talk to, and should Tricia say anything that would give her more fodder for gossip?

“I haven’t heard anything about a funeral service being planned,” Tricia tried instead.

“I don’t suppose there will even be one. I think Mrs. Dittmeyer alienated just about everyone she knew.”

“I understand she has a sister,” Tricia said.

Margaret nodded. “She was over to the house just a couple of hours ago. She’s been coming and going for the past couple of days. She introduced herself to me the day after Mrs. Dittmeyer died.”

Had she? “Is she emptying the house?”

“Oh, no. At least I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her carrying anything to her car.” She hesitated. “Although . . . she always seems to have a different purse when she leaves.”

Betsy probably had a bunch of them. You could stuff a lot of small collectibles into a big purse. Then again, Christopher said Betsy had a lot of money. Was there a chance she’d been liquidating her assets and hiding the money in her house? But why?

Margaret shook her head. “I never did understand that woman, and now I guess I never will. At least I have hope that the next person who moves in will keep up the property and get rid of all the trash. And maybe he or she will be a lot friendlier, too.”

Tricia nodded. There didn’t seem to be much else to add. “Thank you for speaking with me, Margaret. I think I’ll try to get hold of Betsy’s sister to ask about the funeral arrangements.”

“Would you like me to tell her you dropped by the next time I see her?”

That wouldn’t be a good idea at all. It would tip Joelle off that Tricia was still snooping around. She wished she hadn’t given her name, although even if she hadn’t Tricia was sure Margaret would have given Joelle a thorough description and might even have taken down her license plate number. “That won’t be necessary. We’re acquainted,” she said simply and left it at that. “I’d better go now. Thank you so much for speaking with me.”

“Come back anytime,” Margaret said and followed Tricia out onto her stoop.

Tricia went straight back to her car. Since Margaret hadn’t known much about Betsy, it was likely none of the other neighbors would, either. And she knew Margaret would report back to Joelle if she did any further snooping around Betsy’s property. And what else was she looking for that she hadn’t already seen when she’d been inside the house?

Margaret waved as Tricia pulled out of the driveway. As she drove down the street she looked up at her rearview mirror and saw that she was still being watched. Rats. She was sure to hear from Joelle before the day was through.

An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Tricia’s stomach. Did Joelle, who’d been disinherited, have a compelling motive for murder? And if she had killed her sister . . . was there a possibility she might kill again?

FOURTEEN

Tricia parked her car in its usual spot in the Stoneham municipal parking lot. The wind was still wicked as she cut across the lot to reach the sidewalk. She paused for a moment, looking over at the Stoneham Weekly News. She hadn’t spoken to Russ Smith in several weeks. Perhaps she ought to visit and offer her congratulations on the new arrival and maybe bend his ear about Betsy Dittmeyer’s death. Russ often had information that Tricia wasn’t privy to, although six months before he’d told her that after sharing an important piece of information that she owed him a big favor, and that one day he would collect. It had sounded ominous. She hoped today wouldn’t be the day.

She crossed the street and entered the newspaper’s office. Patty Perkins sat behind a counter staring intently at her computer screen. She looked up and smiled brightly. “Hey, Tricia. I haven’t seen you around here in quite a while.”

“’Tis the season. I feel like I’ve been hibernating in my store. There sure haven’t been many customers since the Christmas rush ended.”

Patty nodded. “Yeah, our display ad revenues are way behind last year at this time. I’m going to have to start calling our regulars and see what we can do about that. But that’s not why you’re here today. Did you want to talk to Russ?”

Tricia looked toward Russ’s closed office door. “If he’s available.”

She grimaced. “He’s going over the accounts. I’m sure he’d welcome any interruption about now. Go right on in.”

“Thanks.”

Tricia stepped around the counter and rapped her knuckles against the hollow-core door. She opened the door a crack and stuck her head inside. “Hi, Russ. Are you terribly busy?”