“Let me see that ring,” Baker said and Tricia handed it over. “It looks like the real thing to me.”

“And me,” Tricia agreed. She held out her hand to take it from him, but Baker took hold of it and slipped the ring over her finger.

“What do you know? We’re engaged,” Baker said and laughed.

“We are not.” But when Tricia tried to take the ring off, it stubbornly remained stuck below her knuckle. “Now look what you’ve done,” she said irritably.

“It was just a joke. Soap it up and it’ll come right off.”

“It had better. It belongs to Nigela Ricita Associates. And what are we going to do to keep those people away? We can hardly stand guard out here in the cold for any length of time.”

Baker had no time to answer, because a car pulled up to the curb and Antonio stepped out. “Boungiorno! Hello, Tricia. To what do I owe the pleasure, Chief Baker?”

“Dumpster divers,” Baker said. “We just chased them away, but unless you get rid of this hunk of steel full of garbage today, they’ll be back.”

“It’s already arranged,” Antonio assured them. “They should be here within the hour.”

“Good. Look what we missed last night.” Tricia held out her hand, showing him the ring.

Antonio’s eyes lit up and he smiled. “Ah, who is the lucky man?”

Tricia glared at Baker. “Nobody. The scavengers found it, but it looks like this ring now belongs to your boss, too. I’ll give it to you as soon as I can get it off.”

A battered Ford pickup pulled up to the curb and a lanky man in his fifties got out. “Ah, this is my contractor, Jim Stark.”

“We’ve met,” Tricia said with delight. How could she forget the man who had converted Haven’t Got a Clue from a ruin to a showplace—and performed the same magic on her loft conversion? “Jim’s company has done a lot of work for me. Good to see you again, Jim.”

“Same here,” Stark said, shaking her hand. He was a good-looking man with a full head of gray hair and a wicked mustache. He reminded Tricia of the actor Sam Elliott. His grin was positively infectious.

“Would you like to come inside, Tricia? Perhaps if you warm up, the ring will come off. And you can listen to Jim’s recommendations and relay them to your sister.”

Tricia immediately brightened. “I’d love to.” She turned back to Baker. “Thanks for showing up and chasing those guys away. I really appreciate it, and I know Angelica will, too.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you later, Tricia,” Baker said and tipped his hat.

“Bye,” she called and watched as he turned and headed back down the sidewalk toward the police station. Baker was a genuinely nice man and she really did like him. A piece of her heart ached because she was sure they weren’t destined to be together.

Antonio wasted no more time. He pulled the house keys from his pocket and led Tricia and the contractor to the front door.

Tricia spent the next hour watching and listening as the men discussed the repairs and cosmetic changes that were to be made to convert the home into office space. She wished she had a pad and pen to take it all down, surprised at how much work Nigela Ricita Associates was prepared to do for the Chamber of Commerce—especially as the lease was only good for a year and they intended to raze the building. She was sure Angelica would be eager to hear all about it.

Before she left the house, Tricia visited the kitchen and found a bar of soap. She worked up a good lather and the diamond ring slipped right off. She studied it, deciding it probably was worth at least a thousand dollars. Maybe selling it would cover the cost of refinishing some of the floors. The diamond sparkled. Although it was just a simple setting, seeing it brought back feelings of regret that the engagement ring Christopher had given her, and she’d worn for nearly eleven years, now resided in her jewelry box.

Tricia dried her hands and went back to the living room, where Antonio and Stark stood talking.

She handed the ring to Antonio.

“Grazie. It’s good you got it off—otherwise the village would be buzzing with rumors about your impending nuptials.” And no doubt the person who’d be most interested was none other than Joelle Morrison, who’d call to once again offer her wedding planning services.

A big flatbed truck rumbled up to the curb outside the house. “Ah, good. They are here to pick up the first of the Dumpsters,” Antonio said and peered out the front window.

Tricia joined him. “I’d sure like to know who let it out that we’d found buried treasure in all those boxes of junk,” Tricia said.

“I assure you it was not Ginny or me. I know it was not you. That means it must have been Angelica.”

“Never,” Tricia protested.

“Then perhaps she told one of her employees,” Antonio suggested.

Tommy didn’t seem a likely suspect, nor did Bev, the waitress, who’d been out sick with the flu. That only left one person.

Frannie. The village gossip.

Rats!

*   *   *

Antonio offered to drive Tricia back to Haven’t Got a Clue, but since it was only a couple of blocks away she thanked him and opted to walk. As she neared the space between the buildings that housed the Have a Heart bookstore and the Patisserie, she saw the toes of a scuffed pair of boots protruding and had a feeling she knew who they belonged to.

“Bob, is that you?” Tricia called.

“Quiet!” Bob ordered. “I can’t be seen.”

Tricia looked around the village’s empty main street. “Who’s going to see you?”

“Your boyfriend is after me. He’s going to arrest me,” Bob said with what sounded like panic.

“I know. Bob, why don’t you just face up to it? Stoneham is a very small town, and you can’t hide out forever.”

“Would you let me stay with you . . . just for a couple of days while I figure things out?” The poor man seemed absolutely desperate.

Tricia frowned, wishing she could see Bob’s face, which was hidden in shadow. “You know I can’t. That would be harboring a fugitive. What’s the worst that could happen if you gave yourself up? They’ll charge you with a misdemeanor. Big deal.”

“It’s not the vandalism charge I’m afraid of,” Bob hissed.

“Then what?”

Bob practically squirmed.

“Come on, Bob, what is it you’re really hiding from?” Tricia demanded.

“It’s none of your business,” he said tersely, huddling deeper into his jacket.

Tricia nodded. “Okay, then let’s talk about something else. You are aware that Betsy Dittmeyer was murdered at the Cookery on Saturday, right?”

“It’s all everyone is talking about—not that I’ve spoken to anyone lately,” he hedged.

“Were you also aware that Betsy was skimming Chamber funds?”

Bob moved into the light, his eyes wide-open in alarm. “I hope you’re kidding.”

Tricia shook her head.

“That thieving cow,” Bob growled, his gloved fists clenching. “If I had known, I’d have fired her on the spot. And called the cops on her in a heartbeat.” But that would have had to have been before they were after him for goodness knows what former transgression.

“Angelica is going to ask for an audit of the books from an independent source.”

“As she should. In fact, I should have done it on a more regular basis.”

“How often were the books checked in the past?”

Bob shrugged. “Every two or three years. I know, I know—it should have been every year. And now I feel like a fool for trusting Betsy. But she seemed so competent at everything she did.” He was quiet for a moment. “You don’t suppose I could get in trouble over that as well, do you?”

“Maybe, but you’ve got more problems than just that. Did you know Betsy kept a dossier on all the Chamber members?”

“Oh?” he said, but the inflection in his voice was all wrong. Bob really was a terrible actor, and Tricia could tell by his expression that he knew all about the file.